The Wolves went back to bring in their firewood, and the Eagles and the
Foxes carted tents and equipment from the trek wagon.
Tim's blood ran riot in his veins. As he carried in the last of the kindling, the second tent arose against the background of trees.
"Say," he called eagerly, "let's help there."
The tent squad made a place for him.
He seemed tireless. By and by, with the last tent up and the last rope guyed, he wiped the sweat from his face and grinned.
"Doesn't look like Lonesome Woods now, does it?"
Mr. Wall's watch showed four o'clock. Supper cooking would start at five.
There was an hour in which to string telegraph wires.
"The messages," Mr. Wall said, "will be received here. Do not get too close to each other with your instruments."
Scouts hustled out to the trek wagon for batteries, wire and instruments.
Tim staked a claim for the Wolves' receiving station.
"How much wire must each patrol have out?" Andy Ford asked.