“Well, here’s another thing,” Jimmie explained. “When I went out to look for you, I gave the ‘help’ smoke signal from the top of a granite rock in the pines. In five minutes after the columns of smoke became large enough to be seen at a distance, the signal was answered from the north, it seemed to me from the vicinity of the old mission. Now, of course, you didn’t send out that signal.”
“I rather think not,” smiled Ned.
“Then it was sent up by this crooked messenger boy with the intention of getting us out to look for you. He believed, of course, that we would regard the call for help as coming from you and rush away from camp.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” warned Ned. “There’s something about that boy I rather like. Besides, he really is a member of the Wolf Patrol, New York.”
“My own patrol?” exclaimed Jimmie. “I never saw him at the club room. He told me that he belonged to the Wolf Patrol, but I didn’t believe it. I think he’s a fake.”
“Time alone will tell,” answered Ned. “I’m going to believe in the boy until I get some positive proof that he really is crooked.”
Jimmie was about to continue the argument when a succession of shrieks and calls for help came from the forest on the slope below.
“Now, what’s that?” demanded Jimmie. “That isn’t any of our boys!”
“Help! Help! Help!” cried the voice.
“No,” Ned agreed, “our boys don’t make a racket like that.”