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Camp Fires of the Wolf Patrol
Camp Fires of the Wolf Patrol
CHAPTER I.
IN CAMP ON THE SWEETWATER
A troop of khaki-clad boys had been marching, rather wearily perhaps, along a road that, judging from all indications, was not very much used by the natives.
The afternoon was waning, so that a summer's night would soon begin to close in around them. Dense woods lay in all directions, the foliage of which had afforded very pleasant shelter from the fierce rays of the August sun. "Halt!" came the loud order.
"Hurrah! we're going into our first camp, fellows!"
"Is that so, Mr. Garrabrant?"
"Pull off your lids, boys, and give a salute!"
"What a dandy old place for a camp. How d'ye suppose he came to pick this out, Elmer?"
"That's as easy to tell as falling off a log, Toby. We have to use water to cook with; and just notice this fine stream running past us," returned the boy addressed, who seemed to be the second in command of the detachment of scouts. "Besides," he added, "you forget that we aimed to reach the Sweetwater River by evening, so that we could start up the current in our boats to-morrow morning. And this, I reckon, is the stream that we're looking for."
"Hurrah again, fellows! The day's hike is done. Now for a bully rest!"
"Stand at attention, all! Call the roll, secretary, to see if there are any stragglers!" the scout master commanded, as the small troop ranged up before him.
This young man was Mr. Roderic Garrabrant, who had only too gladly assumed the rôle he occupied, being greatly interested in the boy problem; and possessing a few fads and fancies he wished to work out by actual experience. His knowledge of woodcraft was not so very extensive; but the moral effect of his presence was expected to exert considerable benefit in connection with the dozen or more members of the Hickory Ridge troop of Boy Scouts.