“Oh! you took a walk near the fountain and found the water so fine that you went in bathing!” cried one and another of the scouts who were in their first year in high school. “Must have been a pretty big fountain! Go ahead: what did you do next, Toiney?”
But the singer had suddenly sprung to his feet and stood, an alert, tense figure, in the flickering twilight.
“Gard’ donc!” he cried gutturally, while the cat-like breeze capered round him, flicking his short red tassel, catching at his legs in their queer high boots. “Gard’ donc! de littal light in de sky—engh? Sapré tonnerre! I’ll t’ink shee’s fire, me. No camp-fire, non! Beeg fire—engh? V’là! V’là!”
He glanced round sharply at his scout comrades, and pointed, with excited gesticulations, across the sable dunes in the direction of those recently erected summer residences.
CHAPTER XVII
THE SIGNALMAN
“Patrol leaders and corporals, muster your men!” The voice of the young scoutmaster rang sharply out upon the night.
The three boy patrols, Owls, Seals, and Foxes, who fell quickly into line at his order, were no longer surrounding their camp-fire amid the dusky sand-hills. That had been deserted even while Toiney was speaking, while he was pointing out the claims of a larger fire on their attention.