Not all, however; for there on the edge of the clearing, in full view of the sending station, stood Buck Winter gazing wildly around him, evidently trying to make up his mind where to hide. As usual, Buck had lost his head.
Craning his neck, Hugh could see in the distance two flags,—one held by Bud Morgan, and the other by Arthur Cameron,—pointing directly, it seemed, at the bewildered Buck. Another flag, on the end of the mountain ledge, was being jumped rapidly up and down, to urge speed on the part of the attackers. The air was so still and clear that morning that the defenders’ flags could be plainly seen: small, waving patches of brighter color against the blue of the sky.
Hugh read their messages rapidly.
“Wonder if they can see me?” he asked himself. “I’d better climb down, get Buck out of danger of being captured, and sprint over to those rocks. Then I can—oh jingo!”
He uttered the exclamation aloud, for at that very moment he caught sight of Billy emerging from the timber.
“Buck! I’ve got you!” yelled Billy, dashing forward to seize the young Otter, who promptly turned and fled.
Hugh watched the chase with keen interest.
“Billy is no match for that kid, in speed,” he commented. “He’ll never capture Buck! Wish he could! If one of Division B must be captured so soon, I want it done by a Wolf, anyway: that would give our patrol two points.”
Suddenly Billy Worth stumbled against a half-buried root, staggered, and fell headlong, rolling over and over on the dry leaves. Buck Winter raced ahead—straight into the arms of two scouts of Division “C,” who had skirted the clearing and come out most unexpectedly on the further side.
The first capture was made. The attackers had won the first victory.