Don drew a deep breath. Why hadn't he brought Andy Ford! However, it was too late for regrets. Once Mr. Wall had said that sometimes a fellow had to brace his legs and stand firm. One of those times had come.
"There'll be no fire," he said in a voice he did not recognize as his own.
"There will be a fire," Tim retorted. "I worked as hard as you today. You can't say I didn't. But I'm not going to put up with crazy notions. Who ever heard of a night camp and no fire?"
Don's fingers twitched. He was the leader here and he had said no fire. The scout law read obedience. And yet, if Tim insisted, what was he to do? Oh, it wasn't fair for a fellow to get bull-headed and smash the rules.
Tim scraped the match. It burst into a tiny flame.
Don took a step forward. "Tim—"
"Oh, forget it," said Tim. He was going to light that fire, even if he put it out a moment afterward. He shielded the match with his hands and bent over the wood.
There was no other way—not if Tim was twice as big. Don's heart was in his throat. He was afraid. Nevertheless, without hesitation, he knocked Tim's hands apart and the match went out.
"You will, will you?" cried Tim. He scrambled to his feet and rushed.
There was not much light. What there was aided Don, for Tim could not make full use of his superior weight and strength. One rush followed another. Don kept striking out and stepping aside. Sometimes a fist came through his guard and stung him and made him wince. Always, ever since becoming patrol leader, he had feared that he and Tim would some day clash. Now the fight was on.