"I haven't got any time for theories, Mr. Carroll; not with four new troops coming to-morrow. It's a closed book now, I suppose. There are some funny things about the whole business. But one thing sure, the man's dead. I have a hunch he got crazed and rattled and hid here and there and was afraid they'd catch him and finally went up the mountain. He thought he had killed the kid, you see. I'd like to know what went on inside his head, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, I would."
Several of Mr. Carroll's troop, seeing him talking with Tom, approached and hung about as this chat ended. Wherever Tom Slade was, scouts were attracted to that spot as flies are attracted to sugar. They stood about, listening, and staring at the young camp assistant.
"Well, how do you think you like us up here?" Tom asked, turning abruptly from his talk with their scoutmaster. "Think you're going to have a good time?"
"You said something," one piped up.
"Where's Gilbert?" another asked.
"Oh, he'll be back in a little while," Tom said. "I sent him on an errand and I suppose he got lost."
"He did not!" several vociferated.
"No?" Tom smiled.
"You bet he didn't!"