Boy Scouts Mysterious Signal; Or, Perils of the Black Bear Patrol

by G. Harvey Ralphson

"Oh, so that is it?" mused Jimmie. "All right, von Strassheim, I think that I'll call you Fritz, though, if you don't object."

"Goot; call me Fritz, then!" laughed the soldier. "Great friends we shall be as I can perceive. And may I call you Jimmie?"

"Call me Jimmie, Red-head, The Wolf, Freckles—oh, anything," stated Jimmie with a laugh, in response to the other's good nature, "but," he went on, "for pity's sake don't call me late for eats."

"Mess call iss not yet," responded the other, again resuming his accustomed gravity. "We shall have plenty of time to pack our kits."

"Then let's be about it," suggested the lad. "Where shall we go to make a start, and what shall we do first, and how shall we do it?"

"One at a time—one at a time," protested Fritz. "First we shall go past the place where I found you signalling. Then we shall proceed to the stables and look after our horses."

"And then?" inquired Jimmie interestedly, feeling that any information he might get from Fritz would be useful later on.

"We shall in full marching order break camp," was the reply. "To the train of cars we will ride, and there put our horses and baggage aboard. Then we start for the west. But here is the exact spot where you were standing when I interrupted your conversation."

"Yes, this is the place," acknowledged Jimmie. "And right over there is the aeroplane of my friends. Oh, look!" the boy cried. "See, they're starting out with it! Great frozen hot boxes! Those other fellows are shooting! Good night!"