"The Wolves have it," Mr. Wall decided.
"Little more load for the Eagles and the Foxes," sang Tim, and pitched his blanket and haversack into the trek wagon. Don and the others unslung theirs. Two minutes later the Wolf patrol was running in advance of the column with only their axes and canteens.
They plunged into the woods with a whoop. Presently they all drew together and listened. The place was still—ghostly still. The air was cooler, and heavier, and—and different.
"Gee!" said Bobbie. "It is lonesome in here, isn't it?"
Tim shrugged his shoulders. "Come on. Let's get firewood."
The sound of the axes chased away the quiet. The firewood became a small pile, a great pile, and then a fat, clumsy pyramid.
"Hello there, Wolves," came a faint hail.
The troop had arrived. Soon the woods rang with high-pitched shouts and cries.
The problem now was to find a camp site. Scouts swung out in all directions. One group tried to advance the wagon. Now the wheels would get tangled in clumps of underbrush, and now there would be seemingly no way to squeeze through the trees. At last it could be advanced no further.
The Foxes had found a clearing on sloping ground. A brook ran at one end.
The ground slope insured good drainage in case of rain.