Tim stared away through the trees. Patrol leader! He had always wanted that. As for Don recommending him—Gee! wasn't that a hot one?
"If I get it," he said in a low voice, "will you stand by me if I get stuck? I'm an awful bonehead sometimes."
"Every patrol leader in the troop will be glad to help," said Don.
"I know." Tim nodded. "But I'd sooner go to you."
Their course still carried them north. By degrees, as they advanced, Tim's boldness became tinged with caution. They had gone quite some distance from their hiding place; there might be Eagles around.
The old whistling signals were resumed. Tim would slip off through the trees and whistle after a while, and Don would go forward and join him. There seemed to be no end to the trees. Were they never going to get out?
The third time Don went forward, Tim was frowning and biting his lips.
"I thought I heard something again," he said nervously. "It can't be that the Foxes swung down and around and headed us off. Wait here; I'll sneak closer."
When the whistle sounded, several minutes later, Don limped forward eagerly.
"I knew I heard something," Tim warned. "Listen, now."