Miles, a small village about four miles distant from camp in a straight line, was on the opposite side of Indian Lake. A study of the map had shown that if the trip was made entirely afoot the distance was nearly seven miles, whether one passed around the southern end of the lake or the northern. Some light advantage appeared to lie with the northern route, since one could finish the journey over the railroad track and so save a possible half-mile. Mr. Gifford and Sam had tossed a coin for choice of routes and the former had won and selected the northern way. Almost on the minute of the half-hour the two parties, shouting good-bye, set off from in front of The Wigwam, the “Reds” hiking briskly away toward the road that led to the Indian Lake station and the “Blues” skirting the lake to cross the playing-field and ultimately reach the road which led by many turns and angles about the southern or lower end of the lake.

It had been agreed that after half of the distance had been covered each party should be divided into a first and second group, the slower walkers in the latter, each group in charge of one of the councillors. This was to keep the weaker boys from straggling and, possibly, getting lost. Filled with enthusiasm and a physical energy generated by three days of inactivity, the “Blues” set off at a pace which would have left them tired out before half the distance had been traversed had Sam allowed them to continue. But once away from camp he took the lead and made the fellows suit their pace to his.

“We’ve got seven miles to do, fellows,” he said, “and maybe more, and the idea is not only to get there first, but to get there in good condition. If we overdo it now we’ll suffer later. Three miles an hour over the roads we’ll have is plenty fast enough. Some of you could do better than that and some of you will find it a little too fast. After a while we’ll divide into two squads and Mr. Brown will take one and I’ll take the other. Those of you who feel the pace can take it more slowly with the second crowd. If any of you have to stop you must tell Mr. Brown or me, so you won’t get left behind. There isn’t any reason why you should, though, because there’ll be a rest of a few minutes every half-hour.”

Steve Brown joined Sam, and, turning occasionally to make sure that none of the nineteen youths who comprised the squad was straggling, the two councillors and the boys about them chatted and laughed and had a very merry time of it in spite of the steady downpour of rain. The first half-mile was across country and, toward the end of it, the going was mostly up-hill. At last, though, they came suddenly on the road, a narrow and ever-winding country lane just wide enough for one vehicle. Fortunately, the soil was mostly sand and the roadway was consequently fairly dry. At least, there were few of the puddles and muddy stretches which they were to encounter later on. The woods closed in on each side of them, although occasionally they had a brief view of the lake, grey and sullen, a half-mile or so below. It was shortly after reaching the road that Sam called the first halt after consulting what he called his “one-jewelled watch.”

Some of the boys had not yet found their second wind and were glad to perch themselves for a few minutes along the side of the road. The weather was by no means chilly and those whose raincoats were of rubber found them much too warm, especially as they also had their blanket-rolls across back and chest. Several begged to be allowed to remove their coats, but this neither Sam nor Steve thought it wise to consent to. A few minutes past three they went on, some of the older and stronger fellows inclined to grumble over the slowness of the pace. The road presently turned abruptly toward the east and led them out on the summit of a sparsely-wooded ridge from which they had a view of the lower end of the lake and of the country on the other side. On a fair day, as Steve said, they might have seen the camp very easily, for they had reached a point nearly halfway around the end of the lake and much of the eastern shore was visible. The councillors discussed the advisability of cutting across near the lake and trusting to pick up the road again later, and the boys were much in favour of the plan, but it was finally decided that, although they might gain in distance, the more difficult travelling would equalise matters and that it would be best to keep to the highway even though it insisted on fairly turning its back on their destination.

By the time the next rest was taken some straggling was already in evidence. Several of the younger fellows showed a disposition to slow down, and Sam and Steve decided that at the next stop the party should be divided into the two squads as planned. It was then nearly twenty minutes to four and they judged that they had covered about three miles and a half, although as no one had a pedometer save young Chase, and his was, as he explained, absolutely unreliable, this estimate was mostly guesswork and, as indicated later, probably too great by the better part of a mile. At five minutes past four, they having then struck fairly westward once more, with, as they believed, the lower end of the lake well behind them, another halt was called and Steve recruited for his rear-guard.

Strangely, however, few of the nineteen would allow that they were at all tuckered. Horace Chase and Billy White confessed to blistered heels, but were all for keeping up with the first group. The councillors had to take matters into their own hands and, using their best judgment, relegate eight of the nineteen to the rear squad. Most of the eight objected strenuously. They felt themselves utterly disgraced. Mutiny was in the air and the two councillors had to be very stern and short-spoken before affairs were finally settled. Then Sam with his eleven started off a bit more briskly and Steve, waving a laughing good-bye and threatening to get there first, after all, held his overeager and disgruntled squad to what they grumblingly assured him was a snail’s-pace.

There was less talking now in the ranks. Fellows had found it wise to husband their breath, for the road had grown muddy and wet and the walking was harder. The rear squad soon dropped from sight around a turn and Sam’s party, pushing forward at a good rate of speed, began to look for signs of civilisation. But another half-hour passed, with its accompanying rest—only two or three minutes this time—before they caught sight of their first house. It was a deserted cabin perched on a gravelly hill just off the road. But even the sight of an empty house was welcome, since it seemed to promise a settlement, near at hand. And, a quarter of an hour later, the settlement, such as it was, appeared. There was a country store and half a dozen houses in it, and Sam called a halt while he entered the store to make inquiries. Several of the boys went inside with him, while the others seated themselves on the edge of the rickety platform outside to rest.

The only occupant of the store was an elderly man who hobbled forward with the aid of a hickory stick. He was very deaf and Sam was forced to twice repeat his question before the store-keeper sensed it. Then he grinned a toothless grin and asked: “On foot, be ye?”

Sam assured him that they were and the old man shook his head.

“It’s a goodish way to Miles,” he said. “Most four miles, I guess, by the road.”

“Four miles!” ejaculated Sam. “But, man alive, we’ve walked at least six and it was supposed to be only seven when we started.”

“Where’d ye come from?”

“The Wigwam, a boys’ camp on Indian Lake. It’s about three miles this side of Indian Lake village.”

“Well, if ye was goin’ to Miles why didn’t ye cross the lake?” inquired the man contemptuously.

“We wanted to walk. Does this road we’re on now go to Miles?”

“Uh-huh, mostly. It goes to Tappenville, too, and Lower Millis. If you keep to the right turn about a mile an’ a half beyond here and then take the middle branch a ways beyond that ag’in you’ll likely get to Miles.”

“Is there any shorter way?”

“Well, there is an’ there ain’t. If you go across that field yonder an’ find Benny James’s place likely he’ll row ye across to t’other side, an’ then——”

“But we want to walk,” said Sam impatiently.

“Uh-huh; all right. Keep the road then, son.”

“And there’s no short cut?”

“I don’t know as there be. Still, ye might strike off across the hill when ye reach the first fork. Likely you’d pick up the road ag’in beyond Lower Millis.”

“I see.” Sam frowned thoughtfully. Finally, “I guess we’d better stick to the road,” he said.

“Uh-huh; I would if I was you, son.”

Rather dejectedly then they took up the journey once more. “I don’t believe the old codger knows what he’s talking about,” grumbled Tom Crossbush. “How can it be four miles further when we’ve walked five or six?”

“Five or six!” said another of the party. “I’ll bet we’ve walked ten!”

A little further on, the rain, which for the past hour had been hardly more than a drizzle, stopped entirely, and off came raincoats. Walking was a bit easier then. The road went up hill and down and turned and twisted crazily. At the first fork a sign-post pointed one way to Tappenville and another to Lower Millis, but said nothing of Miles. But they took the right-hand road, after Sam had pinned a note of direction to Steve on the post, and went doggedly on, resisting the temptation to leave the highway and try the short-cut across country. The road seemed bent on travelling in every direction save that in which they wanted to go. There never was such a stupid, stubborn old road as that! Murmurs of discontent began to be heard. The fellows were thoroughly disappointed, too, because all hope of winning the hike was now idle. It was already after five o’clock and doubtless by this time the “Reds” were comfortably encamped and waiting for supper. The thought of that supper encouraged them to renewed exertions.

It’s a long lane that has no turning, and at last Sam, who had been watching anxiously for a good half-hour for their destination, gave an exclamation of relief. The winding road turned a sudden corner, and there, straight ahead, loomed a white triangle on which was lettered: “Railroad Crossing—Look Out for the Engine.” With whoops of joy the boys gained the track and set off northward, fatigue and disappointment forgotten in the prospect of reaching the end of the journey. Only a hundred yards or so further on a wider road than the one they had abandoned crossed the railway. On one side, perhaps a half-mile away, lay Indian Lake, glimpsed through a fringe of trees that bordered a meadow. In that direction stood a red-brown farm-house, and the sun, slipping for an instant from the wrack of clouds above the western horizon, flashed ruddily against the distant windows. Turning their backs on the lake, they followed the new road. A house came into sight, a dog barked at them, somewhere a rooster crowed, civilisation drew near. And then, without warning, the brief glimpse of sunlight faded and the rain began once more. And at almost the same moment a lane branched to the right ahead of them and a sign nailed to a tree directed them to “Centennial Park.”

With raincoats thrown hastily over their heads to keep their blankets dry the boys broke into a trot. The lane ascended a hill, a gleam of white shone through the trees ahead, voices came to them, and a moment later they were “out of the woods” in more ways than one. The trees gave place to open turf and they were on a hill, the lake stretching below in the rain-blurred twilight. In front was a roofed building, open on all sides. To the left were some smaller structures; sheds, booths, and so on, all tightly boarded up. Under the big roof of the auditorium boys were lounging or moving about, and as Sam’s squad crossed the park a shout of greeting met them.

With rather less enthusiasm the newcomers waved and answered. Tom Crossbush turned to Sam. “They aren’t all there,” he said.

“Maybe, if Mr. Brown comes along soon, we’ll beat them after all!”

“Why, no, they’re not all there by any means,” answered Sam. “I see only about a dozen. Perhaps the rest are around, though.”

“They’re all kids, too, sir!” said Joe Groom excitedly. “They must be Mr. Gifford’s second squad, sir!”

By this time they were close to the building and some of the boys came out to meet them and Mr. Haskins called from the shelter.

“That your first squad, Craig?” he asked.

“Yes. Is that yours?”

“No, second. Goodness knows where the rest are. We’ve been here nearly an hour. Either they took the wrong road or we did. We haven’t seen them since about four o’clock!”

Sam smiled. “How many of you are there?” he asked.

“Only eleven,” replied Mr. Haskins ruefully. “You’ve got us beaten, I guess, unless the Chief and Gifford show up soon. I suppose your second squad will be right along?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t believe so. As near as I can figure it, we’ve done about nine miles, and I guess the younger chaps will be pretty well fagged. Queer how you got by your first squad, though.”

“Mighty queer,” agreed the other. “There was only one place——”

He stopped and gazed toward the entrance. Sam’s eyes followed. Out from the grove moved a group of boys. “There they are now,” said Sam. “Only——”

But further speech was drowned by the shout that went up from the assembled “Blues.” Over the rail or down the steps they fled to meet the arrivals, a small band of eight youths led by a councillor who came across the turf with a springy, unwearied step. Sam stared in surprise. They weren’t “Reds” at all! They were——

“You win,” said Mr. Haskins, with a chuckle.