The question was as to the bronze cross or the silver one, and it was the silver one which came. Roy, who had been the most observant witness, testified before the Honor Court that the frantic struggling of the rescued scout must have incurred danger to the rescuer and that only his dexterity and skill had saved him.

But after all, who can say how much risk is involved in such an act. It is only in those deeds of sublime recklessness where one throws his life into the balance as a tree casts off a dried leaf that the true measure of peril is known. That is where insanity and heroism seem to join hands. And hence the glittering cross of the yellow metal lying against its satin background of spotless white stands alone by itself, apart from all other awards.

There was no thought of it here and least of all by Garry himself. When asked by the court how much he believed he had jeopardized his life, he said he did not know, and that at the time he had thought only of saving Dory Bronson. He added that all scouts know the different life-saving "wrinkles" and that they have to use their judgment. His manner had a touch of nonchalance, or rather, perhaps of indifference, which struck one or two of the visiting scoutmasters unfavorably. But Jeb Rushmore, who was in the room, sitting far back with his lanky arms clasped about his lanky limbs, and a shrewd look in his eyes, was greatly impressed, and it was largely because of his voice that the recommendation went to headquarters for the silver medal. In all of the proceedings the name of Tom Slade was not once mentioned, though his vantage point on the spring-board ought to have made his testimony of some value.

So Garry Everson and his little one-patrol troop took up their abode in Hero Cabin, and the little sandy-haired fellow with the cough raised and lowered the colors each day, as Tom had done, and ate more heartily down at mess, and made birchbark ornaments in the sunshine up at his beloved retreat, and was very proud of his leader; but he had little use for Tom Slade, because he believed Tom was a coward.

In due time the Silver Cross itself came, and scouts who strolled up to visit the cabin on the precipice noticed that sometimes the little sandy-haired fellow wore it, so that it came to be rumored about that Garry Everson cared more about him than he did about the medal. There were times when Garry took his meals up to him and often he was not at campfire in the evenings. But the little fellow improved each day and every one noticed it.

In time the feeling toward Tom subsided until nothing was left of it except a kind of passive disregard of him. Organized resentment would not have been tolerated at Temple Camp and it is a question whether the scouts themselves would have had anything to do with such a conspiracy. But the feeling had changed toward him and was especially noticeable in certain quarters.

Perhaps if he had lived among his own troop and patrol as one of them the estrangement would have been entirely forgotten, but he lived a life apart, seeing them only at intervals, and so the coldness continued. As the time drew near for the troop to leave, Tom fancied that the feeling against him was stronger because they were thinking of the extra time they might have had along with the honor they had lost, but he was sensitive and possibly imagined that. He sometimes wondered if Roy and the others were gratified to know that these good friends of their happy journey to camp could remain longer. But the camp was so large and the Honor Troop stayed so much by itself that the Bridgeboro boys hardly realized what it meant to that little patrol up at Hero Cabin. Tom often thought wistfully of the pleasant cruise up the river and wondered if Roy and Pee-wee thought of it as they made their plans to go home in the Good Turn.

Two friends Tom had, at all events, and these were Jeb Rushmore and Garry Everson. The Honor Troop was composed mostly of small boys and all except the little boy who was Garry's especial charge were in Tom's tracking class. He used to put them through the simpler stunts and then turn them over to Jeb Rushmore. Apparently, they did not share the general prejudice and he liked to be with them.

One afternoon he returned with three or four of these youngsters and lingered on the hill to chat with Garry. He had come to feel more at home here than anywhere else.

"How's the kid?" Tom asked, as the sandy haired boy came out of the cabin and passed him without speaking.

"Fine. You ought to see him eat. He's a whole famine in himself. You mustn't mind him," he added; "he has notions."

"Oh," said Tom, "I'm used to being snubbed. It just amuses me in his case."

"How's tracking?"

"Punk. There's so much dust you can't make a track. What we need is rain, so we can get some good plain prints. That's the only way to teach a tenderfoot. Jeb says dust ought to be good enough, but he's a fiend."

"He could track an aeroplane," said Garry. "Everything's pretty dry, I guess."

"You'd say so," said Tom, "if you were down through those east woods. You could light a twig with a sun glass. They're having forest fires up back of Tannerstown."

"I saw the smoke," said Garry.

"There's a couple of hoboes down the cut a ways; we tracked them today, cooking over a loose fire. I tried to get them to cut it out; told 'em they'd have the whole woods started. They only laughed. I'm going to report it to J. R."

"They on the camp land?"

"If they were they'd have been off before this."

They strolled out to the edge of the cut and looked off across the country beyond where the waning sunlight fell upon the dense woods, touching the higher trees with its lurid glow. Over that way smoke arose and curled away in the first twilight.

"There's some good timber gone to kindling wood over there," said Garry.

"It's going to blow up to-night," said Tom; "look at the flag."

They watched the banner as it fluttered and spread in the freshening breeze.

"Looks pretty, don't it?" said Tom. "Shall we haul it down?"

"No, let the kid do it."

Garry called and the little fellow came over for the task he loved.

"Sunset," said Garry. "Now just look at his muscle," he added, winking at Tom. "By the time this precious three weeks is up, he'll be a regular Samson."

Garry walked a few paces down the hill with Tom. "I wish I could have had a chance to thank Mr. Temple when he was here," he said, "for this bully camp and that extra time arrangement."

"He deserves thanks," said Tom.

They walked on for a few moments in silence.

"You—you don't think I'm a coward, do you?" said Tom, suddenly. "I wouldn't speak about it to anyone but you. But I can't help thinking about it sometimes. I wouldn't speak about it even to Roy—now."

"Of course, I don't. I think you were a little rattled, that's all. I've been the same myself. For a couple of seconds you didn't know what to do—you were just up in the air—and by the time you got a grip on yourself—I had cheated you out of it. You were just going to dive, weren't you?"

"Sometimes it's hard to make a fellow understand," said Tom, not answering the question. "I can't tell you just what I was thinking. That's my own business. I—I've got it in my Handbook. But all I want to know is, you don't think I'm a coward, do you?"

"Sure, I don't."

Garry turned back and Tom went on down the winding path through the woods to camp. The breeze, becoming brisker, blew the leaves this way and that, and as he plodded on through the dusk he had to lower his head to keep his hat from blowing off. The wind brought with it a faint but pungent odor which reminded him of the autumn days at home when he and Roy raked up the leaves and burned them behind the Blakeley house. He avoided this train of thought. His face was stolid, and his manner dogged as he hurried on, with the rather clumsy gait which still bore the faintest trace of the old shuffle Barrel Alley had known so well.

Near the camp he ran plunk into Roy.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," said Roy, and passed on.

"Roy," Tom called after him, "I want to speak to you a minute."

Roy paused.

"I—I was thinking—do you smell smoke, Roy? It makes me think how we used to rake up the leaves."

Roy said nothing.

"I understand the troop is going home tomorrow and some of you are going in the Good Turn. I hope you'll have a fine trip—like when we came up. I wish you could all stay longer. It makes me kind of homesick to see you all go."

"We might have stayed longer," said Roy, coldly, "only—is that all you want to say to me?" he broke off.

"I just want to say good-bye and——"

"All right, good-bye," said Roy, and walked away.

Tom watched him for a few seconds, then went on down to supper.