"I've enough potatoes for us both," said Don. "What kind of meat have you?"
"Sausage."
"Gosh! That ought to be fine. Let's go whack—half my lamb chops for half your sausage."
Soon eager nostrils were sniffing the glorious odor of sizzling meat touched with the tang of wood smoke. Don and Andy finished their cooking in silence. They began to eat. All over the camp scouts drew together and pooled their rations. Tim Lally sat by his fire, alone.
"He's beginning to look good and sore," Andy said in a low voice.
Don glanced toward the red-haired scout. Tim caught his eye and made a derisive face, and then turned his back and began to whistle as though he was having a gloriously good time.
But Don was not fooled. Tim was lonesome. He felt that he was frozen out.
But what could Tim expect if he was going to antagonize everybody?
By and by cooking utensils were cleaned and put away. The fires were smothered. Haversacks were slung across strong young shoulders. The troop marched away.
Up a winding road the scouts went, sometimes singing, sometimes shouting boisterously, sometimes silent. Suddenly they came out in a clearing.
To the right was Danger Mountain; to the left was Lonesome Woods.