CHAPTER XI
CLOSE QUARTERS
After a while they bandaged the ankle tightly with wet cloths. Don put on his shoe but did not lace it. He tried to climb the ravine bank, but that was a bit too rough. Tim picked him up with a fireman's lift and surged with him to the top.
That experience set Tim to shaking his head. He could carry the patrol leader easily enough on the level, but climbing was a vastly harder job.
"Wait here," he said. "I'll see how the ground looks ahead." In ten minutes he was back. "Two or three ravines. You couldn't make them on that foot. We'll strike north and follow the brook."
Don puckered his eyes. "If the Eagles and Foxes get scouting around that will throw us right into them."
"All right," said Tim. "Maybe we'll capture some Eagles and Foxes along with the cup." He wasn't going to get scared until there was something to be scared of.
At first Don limped along with one hand on Tim's shoulder. By and by he found a tree limb that would answer as a cane, and let go the shoulder.
"You scout ahead," he told Tim. "You've got to be the eyes of this party. We can guard against surprise better if we separate. Wait for me every little while. Whistle twice if anything goes wrong."
"How about one whistle if everything's all right?" Tim asked. "Then you'll know where I am if I change direction."
"All right," Don agreed, and Tim slipped away among the trees.
After that Don followed the sound of soft, guarded whistles. The combination of a cane and a bad foot made it slow work. Once he tried to hurry, and the ankle stabbed him cruelly. He was all right so long as he used the foot carefully, and he sighed and resigned himself to a snail's pace. Every now and then he would come upon Tim, standing like a statue—waiting and listening. Once Tim took off the bandages, wet them, and put them back.
When the job was finished, Tim gave him a hand and helped him up. They stood looking at each other. Each boy read something in the other boy's eye. An embarrassed grin twisted Tim's mouth.
"You're all right," Don said suddenly.
"Well—" Tim looked away. "I'm going to be."
The flight with the treasure was resumed. Tim disappeared ahead. Almost immediately he was back.
"We've got to swing out," he said. "There's a lot of tangled underbrush near the brook. We'll go more to the west."
"That will carry us over toward our old trail," said Don.
Tim nodded. They both knew what that meant. Either Eagles or Foxes had been following the blaze. The dangers of a meeting were increased.
They had completely lost track of distance. They did not know how far they were from the edge of Lonesome Woods. They did not even know where they were.
The flight slowed down to a cautious advance. So slow did they go that Don's tender foot scarcely impeded them. Tim would go out in front and come back, and then go off to the sides. He ranged about tirelessly. And always his whistle, low, soft, kept guiding.
There came a time when for a quarter of an hour the whistle did not sound. Don became alarmed. Which way to continue he did not know. In doubt he stopped. He heard a stirring off to his right, and quickly faced that way. Tim stole toward him.
"I think I heard something," he whispered.
They listened, but heard only forest noises.
"Careful," warned Tim, and slipped away once more.
Don watched him until he disappeared. Following, he made sure not to stray from the direction Tim had taken. He limped around trees, and tried to avoid places where there were deep leaves and dead branches, because leaves and branches made noise.
Suddenly a sound halted him abruptly—two low, short whistles—the signal of danger.
Tim came back with concern on his face. "They're over there, Don. Quick! this way."
They changed their course to the east again. After a while they halted. For a moment they heard nothing. Then, to the left, came unmistakably the faint sound of voice.
Again they changed their course. Each step now was made with caution. By and by, when they thought they were safe, they stood still and strained their ears.
This time the sound was even nearer.
"We can't go back deeper into the woods," Tim argued breathlessly. "Your ankle won't stand it. We've got to get out. We can't go to our right—there's the ravine and the underbrush. If we keep going ahead they'll overtake us. If we try to get off to the left, we're sure to cross them on an angle."
"Never mind me," Don urged. "Make a dash for it."
Tim shook his head stubbornly. "Wouldn't it be fine for a scout to leave his patrol leader in the lurch? Maybe we'll think of something. Come on; no use of standing here."
They wormed their way forward. They began to meet patches of thick brush.
All at once Tim gave a suppressed cry.
"Look at that brush, Don. If we can get them off on a false scent—Where are they?"
The sound was still off to the left.
"Give me your haversack." Tim shed his own. "Now your canteen. Now over there. Lie behind that brush. Quick."
Don hobbled over to the dense growth. Watching, he saw Tim go off a short distance and drop a haversack; going on, he dropped a canteen and disappeared.
Don expected him to come back the way he had gone. Instead, Tim made a wide swing and approached the brush from the rear. He stretched off on his stomach alongside the patrol leader.
"I laid the canteens and the haversacks in a row," he whispered, "about a hundred feet apart toward the ravine. They'll think we went that way in a hurry and dropped our things so as to travel light. It will take them time to search that underbrush. As soon as they pass we'll go off to the left. Every minute we'll be getting farther away from them."
"Why won't they think we dropped the haversacks while heading the other way?" Don asked.
"What, toward them?" Tim grinned. "That would have walked us right into their arms."
Don thought it out. Through a peephole in the brush he could see the first haversack on the ground.
"Suppose they find it out there, Tim, and don't see the canteen?"
"Well, what of it?"
"Suppose they start to search right around here?"
"Gee!" Tim gave a low whistle. "I hadn't thought of that. How's this: if we see them coming, jump up and surprise them and yell 'Capture!'"
"Suppose they yell, too?" Don asked. "Mr. Wall may say that two sound scouts would have a better chance to capture than a team with one limping scout."
That was reasonable. The situation became tense. If the searchers took the false trail and went on, all right. If they started to search—good night!
They lay behind the brush and waited. It seemed, after a while, that they had been there an hour. Don had just begun to believe that the pursuit had gone off in a new direction, when Tim's hand grasped his shoulder with a convulsive pressure.
There had been a faint sound of cracking wood.
Nearer it came, almost directly in front of them. Then another sound echoed off to one side. All at once a khaki-clad figure slipped between two trees.
Tim's hand grew rigid. Don tried to flatten himself into the earth.
They knew the boy—Larkins, patrol leader of the Foxes. On he came. Suddenly he saw the haversack. He halted and jumped sideways behind a tree.
Don and Tim knew what that meant. Larkins thought it might be a trap. It was not going to be easy to fool him.
Would he never come out from behind the tree? They had heard, after he disappeared, a queer woody sound that somehow did not seem out of place. Now they heard it again and recognized its source. Larkins was hitting a stick of light wood against other wood.
At the first signal, the echoing sounds they had heard off to the side had ceased. At this new signal it began again. Larkins walked out and picked up the haversack. A moment later another khaki figure came into view. It was Rood, another Fox scout.
"It's Don's," Larkins said in excitement; "here's his name."
"Maybe they're hiding around here," said Rood.
Don's heart almost stood still.
"Maybe." Larkins stood up and walked slowly toward the brush.
Don felt Tim gather his muscles. He knew what that meant. If discovery was certain, Tim was prepared to spring out and cry "Capture!" and let Mr. Wall decide.
"Say," Rood called, "what's that?"
Larkins paused suspiciously. "What's what?"
"Down there. Looks like a canteen."
"Get it." Larkins turned quickly from the brush. Don buried his face in his arm so that the searcher would not hear his sigh of relief.
Rood brought back the canteen. "I could see another haversack, too. I bet they heard us and are making a run for it after dropping everything." His voice shook with excitement.
"We've got to get on then," cried Larkins. "Where's the other haversack? Which way? Never mind bothering with it. Spread out. No use being cautious—not until we think we're getting close."
He ran straight on. Rood sprinted off at an angle.
Behind the brush Don and Tim waited. The sounds of feet crashing through the forest grew fainter and at last ceased.
Tim jumped to his feet. "That settles the Foxes," he cried. "Now if we can duck the Eagles we're all right."