The scout impulsively lifted his broad-brimmed hat as he was in the habit of doing if, when marching with his troop, he encountered a funeral.
In the mind of each lad tolled like a slow bell the menacing echo of Toiney’s words: “You walkee—walkee—en you haf so tire’ en so lonesam you go deaded!”
CHAPTER V
“YOU MUST LOOK OUT!”
The four boys did not linger long before that lonely grave; the fears it evoked were too unpleasant. They pushed on again through the woods, each one clearing his throat of a husky tickling that was third cousin to a weary sob.
The scout was inwardly combating the depressing memory of Toiney Leduc’s warning with the advice of the Chief Scout that if he should ever find himself lost in the woods, Fear, not hunger or cold, would prove his worst enemy.
“I mustn’t lose my grip! I must keep my head—not be fogged by fear! I’m a boy scout of America,” he reminded himself.
Still the shadow of that gray cairn stalked him as well as the others. Even Leon was subdued by it. His manner had lost the last trace of its shallow cocksureness. The mantle of bluff had melted from him, leaving him a distracted, temper-tried boy like his three companions.