Every boy became suddenly stationary when this surprising intelligence broke from the lips of the new member, who, like three others in the troop, did not wear a khaki uniform.

Elmer had several times let his eye fall on the stout boy, as though trying to guess what his manner indicated.

He had seen Landy come up last of all, panting so for breath that not one word had he spoken while the scout master was explaining things.

Landy was not only a tenderfoot scout, but he had in a number of ways proven his right to the title of greenhorn.

Imagine, then, the utter amazement of his comrades when he so coolly declared that he might be able to lead them to a hidden shack.

Elmer, if surprised, did not allow this fact to interfere with his plain duty.

“Come here, Landy,” he said, and the stout new recruit hastened to do as he was ordered.

Of course Landy would not have been human, and a boy, had he been able to repress the grin that forced itself upon his rosy countenance.

Perhaps he remembered saying not so very long ago that the time might come when he would be able to prove his ability to carry the name of a scout.

Of course at the time Landy could never have even dreamed the opening would arrive so soon. That made it all the more welcome. Perhaps now, some of the fellows who loved to tease him, and say that he was too fat and slow-witted to ever be a shining success in the Hickory Hill troop, would change their tune.

Landy’s hour had come. He was in the lime light, and occupied the center of the stage.

Mindful of the respect due his superior officer, Landy saluted as he clicked his heels together, and stood at attention before the scout master.

“You say you can show us where there is a hidden shack or cabin, do you, Number Eight?”

Elmer frequently addressed the boys by the number they held in their patrol, and as Landy was the last one admitted into the Wolf Patrol he went as Number Eight.

“Yes, sir,” the tenderfoot replied, quite enjoying the fact that fifteen pairs of eager eyes were riveted upon him right then and there.

Landy looked redder than usual, but for all that he seemed able to command his voice, for it did not tremble a particle.

“You arrived later than the rest when I sounded the assembly on the bugle,” went on Elmer; “was that because you were some little distance away?”

“Yes, sir, I was just going to peek in through the window of that funny little cabin I found when I heard the call. But I didn’t look, sir, because I knew a scout’s duty was to obey!”

“Hear, hear!” said Red, in a low voice.

“That was well done, Number Eight,” Elmer continued, “and I hope you will always keep your duty before your mind. Do you think you could lead us to where you saw that hidden shack?”

“I expect I can, sir; anyhow, I’m ready to try,” Landy promptly answered.

Several of the scouts exchanged nods and glances. Why, they had never before dreamed that the fat boy had so much business about him. He acted just as might one who had been a member of the troop a whole month, instead of but a few days.

It was plain to be seen that his becoming a scout was going to be the making of Philander Smith. Already there was a great change in his ways. He was throwing off his weaknesses, and beginning to think for himself.

“All right,” said Elmer; “suppose you come with me, then, Number Eight, and try to go back over your own trail. That might be the quickest way to get there.”

“But how about us, Mr. Scout Master; do we keep up the formation as arranged?” asked Mark.

“No, for the present that is all off,” Elmer replied, “the whole of you fall in behind; and don’t forget to keep an eye out for your sticks. But no talking above a whisper, remember. This may turn out to be serious business.”

The scouts already realized this. Still his words of caution entailing silence were well placed, for boys as a rule do love to chatter.

And so the whole troop started off, with Elmer and Landy in the lead, the latter hardly knowing whether to be tickled at the attention he was receiving, or worried because he presently began to doubt his ability to “deliver the goods.”

Strange how all sections of the woods look alike to a fellow who is a novice in the art of picking his way. Landy had imagined that he was just soaking in valuable information while following the lead of Matty or Elmer. But when the crisis arose, and he found himself placed upon his own responsibility, he lost confidence.

Pretty soon Elmer guessed the truth, and that their guide was getting what Lil Artha would call “wabbly.” This was when he took them twice to the same spot and then looked pained.

“Up a stump, fellows,” chuckled Larry, who had perhaps himself felt a little twinge of jealousy because a greenhorn had so suddenly leaped into the front when older and more experienced scouts had been unable to score.

But Elmer was not at all dismayed. In fact, to tell the actual truth, he had rather expected that the new beginner might find more or less trouble in carrying out his orders.

“Getting mixed up some, are you, Number Eight?” he demanded, as Landy scratched his head and then tenderly caressed quite a good-sized lump they now saw he had on his forehead.

“Well, I’m sorry to say, sir, I seem to be a little confused,” admitted the fat boy; “but then perhaps that ain’t to be wondered at if you knew just how hard I bumped into that crooked tree yonder.”

“With your head?” asked Elmer.

“Yes, sir,” replied Landy; “you see I was trying to hurry, when my foot caught in a vine and I went ker-slam right against that tree. Say, but I saw ten million stars right then! and that’s no exaggeration, sir.”

“Why do you say it was this tree, Number Eight?” the young disciple of woodcraft continued.

“Well, it was impressed pretty forcibly on my head, and my mind, too, sir,” grinned Landy, “and perhaps, if you looked, you could find the dent I bet I made when I struck.”

Some of the boys snickered at this. Not so Elmer, who seemed to feel he had quite a serious proposition on his hands, and that the others had a right to look to him to untangle the knot.

“I’ll soon find out,” he said, and then turning to the crowd he added: “keep back and give me a chance to see if Landy is right.”

“He’s after the trail, that’s what,” said one of the scouts, as they saw Elmer advance to where the crooked tree pointed out by the fat recruit stood, and bend down at its base.

Every eye remained glued on the young scout master. Not a word more was said, for they knew that explanation of Elmer’s movements must be the right one.

No sooner had Elmer dropped to his knees than he felt a thrill of pleasure.

“It’s here, sure enough!” he muttered, as his eye discovered the torn turf where Landy’s toes must have dragged when he fell.

And with the knowledge of trailing which he possessed, it must surely prove an easy task to follow those plain tracks. Landy knew nothing at all concerning the art of hiding a trail, and which the bearer of the wampum belt and his companion had tried their best to put into practice with the idea of deceiving the pathfinder who came behind.

When Landy put his foot down it was with considerable emphasis. Consequently, any one of the more experienced scouts would have been equal to the task of following that trail backward.

As Elmer moved away he made a swift, beckoning movement with his arm. This the boys interpreted as a command or invitation to “get a move on,” as Lil Artha put it, and follow after their leader.

So the troop moved onward, and more than one fellow’s teeth came together with a click as he grasped his cudgel tighter in his hand, and resolved to give a good account of himself should it become necessary to do something violent.

True, the rules counseled peaceful victories; but there may be times when it becomes absolutely necessary for Boy Scouts to show that they have good red blood in their veins.

And most of those present were of the opinion that the present occasion promised to be just such a crisis that called for strenuous treatment.

Their companion, Nat Scott, had mysteriously disappeared, and they had good reason to believe that he had fallen into the hands of these unknown men who made the vicinity of Munsey’s mill their secret headquarters.

Why they should seize upon Nat, and what object they could have in holding him a prisoner, were questions no one could answer, as yet. But they meant to know, and that before long.

Now and then some fellow would step aside without a word, and possess himself of some attractive club that had caught his eye while passing.

Evidently none of them had forgotten the injunction of their leader to arm themselves. And really it was strange how much comfort even a stout walking stick could give a fellow on an occasion of this sort, when unseen and unknown perils hovered about them.

Meanwhile Elmer stuck to his task. Indeed, it was an easy one for so experienced a tracker and pathfinder, and he did not hurry along faster simply because he wanted a little time to collect his own thoughts, and decide what ought to be done.

When Landy so obediently gave up his investigation, and sought to rejoin the balance of the troop when the bugle sounded, he managed to make what proved to be a “bee line” through the woods. Even trees that were in the way could not stop him with impunity, as he had proven when he collided with that crooked one.

This made Elmer’s job still easier. And as he advanced farther into the woods he marveled first at the rashness of Landy in wandering so far away; and second at the ability he displayed in getting safely back to the shore of the pond.

Elmer was keeping one eye out ahead as he moved along. Of course he anticipated coming upon the concealed shack at any moment now. When he saw an unusually large cluster of high bushes and undergrowth he felt positive that he must be almost in touch with the place.

What kind of reception might they expect? If these men, whom none of them had as yet even seen, turned out to be rascals who were hiding from justice, and who suspected them of being a posse sent out to round up the tramp thieves, their manner of greeting might prove to be anything but friendly.

Could they have one or more fierce dogs among them? Elmer had not seen the first trace of a dog anywhere around, but this could hardly be accepted as positive evidence that there were none.

Frequently such men make it a point to possess canine companions. And these are invariably of some species fond of the spirit of battle.

It was partly the expectation of running across such four-footed enemies that had influenced Elmer to have the boys arm themselves with clubs. He knew what a power for good a stout cudgel may prove under such conditions.

Looking closely he had to confess that he could see no sign of life about that clump of bushes.

And yet the trail led directly from it; and as if to sweep away his last remaining doubt he now discovered a second series of fresh tracks leading straight toward the spot.

Besides, here was a regular path, beaten down by many feet, and which headed in the quarter Elmer knew the big pond lay.

That settled it.

Elmer waited for the balance of the troop to come up. Everyone’s gaze was fastened on him. Eyes flashed more brightly than usual, and some of the boys naturally showed their nervousness by the way they kept their cudgels moving.

“Is that the place, Landy, where you saw the shack?” he demanded.

Landy had known it was for more than a full minute past, but he remembered that a scout on duty must wait to be asked before volunteering any information.

“Yes, sir,” he replied, “that is the place.”

“Spread out a little, fellows,” said Elmer, quietly, “and advance slowly. Everyone be ready to give a good account of himself if they rush any dogs on us. Forward now!”

And silently the sixteen scouts, spread out somewhat like an open fan, started to advance upon the strange dense thicket in which Landy had seen a shack.