“Well, I’d like to see that award given to our troop,” Westy mused. “I don’t suppose it makes much difference who goes. If I had to choose a fellow to go it would be you, and I did vote for you, you can bet. But as long as our troop gets the honor it doesn’t make much difference who goes. I’m glad I got back in time to vote. Gee williger, I’m proud to vote for a stunt like that—and I’m glad you’re in my patrol. That’s about all I’m good for, I guess—to vote.” “Who taught me to hit a bull’s eye?” Warde asked. “What are you doing to-morrow?” he broke off suddenly. “Come ahead over to my house and we’ll try a few cracks at the target; what do you say?” “Huh,” Westy mused wistfully. “I guess I’ll have to be getting ready for school to-morrow. I’ve got to unpack my trunk, too.” “We’ll see you Saturday night then? At the Rotary Club?” “Will they let people go?” Westy asked. “Sure, the more the merrier,” said Warde; “it’s a public meeting.” “I’ll come and shout for you when they announce the decision,” Westy said. “Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched,” laughed Warde. CHAPTER XXIII IRA GOES A-HUNTING When Westy strode away after making his sensational announcement at the farm, Ira Hasbrook watched the departing figure through a dense cloud of tobacco smoke. He was puzzled. For a while he smoked leisurely, submitting with languid amiability to the tirade of Aunt Mira. And when she finally withdrew to the sitting room to write to Bridgeboro he continued smoking and thinking for fully half an hour. Only once in all that time did he make any audible comment. “Some kid,” he mused aloud. It would be hard to say whether this comment was in approval of Westy’s sudden inspiration to kill a deer or in perplexity as to what he actually had done. Certainly Ira would not have held it to the boy’s discredit if he had killed a deer. He rather liked Westy’s unexplained decision to reform and kill a deer. With such a fine beginning he might some day even go after an Indian or run away to sea. Ira was greatly amused at the naïve way in which Westy had suddenly come out into the open as a lawless adventurer.... But he was puzzled. For one thing it seemed odd to him that Westy, directly after his bizarre exploit, should have chanced upon Luke Meadows, the leading poacher of the neighborhood and the bane of farmers and game wardens for miles around. Ira’s attitude with respect to Westy’s sensational confession was not the moral attitude. “I’ll be gol darned, I don’t believe he did it,” he mused. His thought seemed to be that it was too good to be true.