"It's from our partners, and it says 'Come to council,'" I reported. "They're hunting for us. We'll have to go over there."
"Think they're in trouble?"
"They don't say so, but we ought to signal back and go right over."
"I'll go, too, for luck, and see you through, then," said the Ranger.
"Do I have to make that extra ride?" complained the beaver man, angry again.
"Sure," answered the Ranger. "That's only a mile or so and then it's only a few more miles to the cabin, and we aren't afraid of the dark."
They watched us curiously while we hustled and scraped a pile of dead sage and grass and rubbish, and set it to smoking and made the Elks' "O. K." signal. The other Scouts must have been sweeping the horizon and hoping, for back came the "O. K." signal from them.
And traveling our fastest, with the beaver man grumbling, we all headed across the plateau for the place of the smoke. Sunday was turning out good, after all.
