Alec looked down at the object in his hand. In the moonbeams he could scarcely make out what it was, for it was covered with mud-stains. Mechanically he opened it and turned what seemed to be pages soiled and crumpled and badly torn. All at once he uttered a little exclamation of astonishment.
“Oh!” he breathed. “It’s Hugh Hardin’s note-book!”
* * * * * * * *
When the signal corps reached the camp of the National Guard, late in the following afternoon,—having made the trip over to the Oakvale meadows on foot as far as Rainbow Lake, and thence in Tom Walsh’s farm wagon,—they were at once taken to Major Brookfield’s quarters and introduced to that officer. He received them with a genuine cordiality that straightway won their hearts, and he assigned them to the Blue Army.
“There is to be a sham battle next Saturday,” he told them, “and the Blues feel that they will be beaten because they are fighting the regulars, who compose the majority of the Reds, though they, the Blues, outnumber their foes. I want you boys to do all you can to save the day. Who is the leader of this corps, Lieutenant?”
“We have not yet elected a leader, Major Brookfield,” answered Scout Master Denmead, “owing to the fact that we hadn’t time, before coming here, to apply the last test which I had decided upon. You see, we left camp rather hurriedly this morning, in order to be here on time for the beginning of the maneuvers.”
“I understand. Well, it won’t make any difference, anyway. Perhaps the work these lads are going to do with us may be counted further toward some one’s election.”
“That’s an excellent idea.”
“The first ‘job’ you’ll have,” continued the Major, addressing his attentive listeners, “is to go out ahead with a detachment of Blues and help lay telegraph wires. I presume most of you are pretty well grounded in elementary surveying?”
The scouts replied by saluting.