class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[7]"/> experience in the wilderness. Among his companions the Southern lad went by the name of "Bob White;" and considering what his last name happened to be, it can be easily understood that nothing else in the wide world would have answered.

Of course Step Hen had another name, which was plainly Stephen Bingham. When a mite, going to school for the first time, on being asked his name by the teacher, he had spelled it as made up of two distinct words; and so Step Hen he was bound to be called by his comrades.

Giraffe also was known in family circles as Conrad Stedman; but if any boy in Cranford was asked about such a fellow, the chances were he would shake his head, and declare that the only one he knew by the name of Stedman was "Giraffe," For some time he had gone as "Rubberneck," but this became so common that the other stuck to him. Giraffe loved eating. He was also passionately fond of making fires, so that the others called him the fire fiend. When Giraffe was around no one else had the nerve to even think of starting the camp-fire; though after that had been done, he was willing they should "tote" the wood to keep it running.

The day was rather warm, even for up in the mountains, and if the signs told the truth they might look for a thunder storm before a great while.

As the scouts had no tents along, and were marching in very light order, they would have to depend upon their natural sagacity to carry them through any emergencies that might arise, either in connection with the weather, or the food line. But they knew they could place unlimited dependence on their leaders; and besides, as Bob White had spent many years of his young life in this region, he must know considerable about its resources.

They were now in what is known as the Smoky Range, a spur of the Blue Ridge Mountains, which borders on Tennessee. Not a great many miles away was Asheville, a well-known resort; but few of the society people frequenting that place had ever ventured up in these lonely localities; for they did not have the best reputation possible.

Among these wild peaks dwelt men who, in spite of the efforts of revenue officers, persisted in defying the law that put a ban on the making of what has always been known as "moonshine" whiskey. Occasionally an arrest might be made; but there was much danger attached to this thing; and the country was so rugged, that it would take an army of United States regulars to clean out the nests of moonshiners holding forth there.

It would seem as though this might be a rather strange region for the hike of a Boy Scout patrol; and had the parents or guardians of the boys known as much about it as those living in Asheville, they might have thought twice before granting the lads permission to come here.

But it had been partly on the invitation of Bob White that the expedition had been planned and mapped out. He seemed to have a strange yearning to revisit the region that had been his former home; and when some one proposed that they explore some of the mysteries of the famous Blue Ridge, Bob eagerly seconded the motion, in his warm Southern way. And that was how it started. Once boys get an idea in their heads, it soon gains weight, just like a rolling snowball.

And now they were here, with the grim mountains all around them, silence wrapping them about, and mystery seeming to fill the very air. But healthy boys are not easily impressed or daunted by such things; and they cracked jokes and carried on as boys will do with the utmost freedom.

The conversation between Step Hen, Bumpus and Giraffe having attracted the attention of the scoutmaster, he called out at this juncture:

"Whose knapsack is that you've got strapped on your back right now, Number Eight?"

A shout went up as Step Hen, quickly turning the article in question around surveyed it blankly; but apparently both Bumpus and Giraffe had known of its presence all the while, though pretending ignorance.

"Who strapped that to my back?" demanded the owner. "I don't remember doing it, give you my word for it, fellers. Mighty queer how things always happen to me, and nobody else. But anyhow, I'm ready to continue the march, if the rest of you are."

Five minutes later, and the boys were straggling along the rough road that wound in and out, as it pierced the valleys between the peaks looming up on either side. There was no attempt at keeping order on the march, and the boys, while trying to remain within sight of each other, walked along in groups or couples.

Giraffe and Bumpus, a strange combination always, yet very good chums, were at some distance in the lead. Bringing up the rear were Thad and Allan, examining some chart of the region, which Bob White had drawn for them, and talking over what the plan of campaign should be.

In the midst of this pleasant afternoon quiet there suddenly arose the piercing notes of the bugle, followed by a loud and hoarse shout; and looking up hastily, Thad Brewster was surprised to see Bumpus wildly waving both his arms. Although he was at some little distance away, and at the bottom of the decline, what he shouted came plainly to the ears of the young scoutmaster, giving him something of a thrill:

"Hey! come along here, you fellers; Giraffe, he's got stuck in the crick, up to his knees, and he says it's quicksand!"

CHAPTER II.

SEEING GIRAFFE THROUGH.

"Quicksand!" shrieked Step Hen, who happened to be keeping company with Davy Jones just ahead of the two leaders of the patrol. "Hey! hurry your stumps, fellers, and get there before poor Giraffe is pulled under. Ain't it lucky he c'n stretch his neck so far? Anyhow he ought to keep his head above water."

Everybody was on the run by now, and as Bumpus kept sounding the assembly on his silver-plated bugle, what with the shouts of the advancing khaki-clad boys, the picture was an inspiring one.

When they reached the border of the little stream that crossed the mountain road, sure enough, there was the tall scout up above his knees in the water, and looking rather forlorn.

"What had I ought to do, Allan?" he bawled out, naturally appealing to the one whose practical experience was apt to be of more benefit to him at such a time than all the theories ever advanced. "You see, I was crossing here, and stopped right in the middle to turn around and say somethin' to Bumpus. Then I found that both my feet seemed like they was glued down. When I tried to lift one, the other only sank down deeper. And it came to me like a flash that I was gripped in quicksand. When I told Bumpus here he squawked, and blew his horn to beat the band."

"Horn!" echoed Bumpus, indignantly; "why can't you ever learn to say bugle. You're the only one I know of that owns to a horn; and you blow that often enough, I'll be bound."

"Ain't you goin' to get me out?" demanded the now alarmed Giraffe, as he felt himself slowly but surely sinking deeper. "Say, is that the way to treat a fellow you all have known so long? I ain't foolin', let me tell you. And if you stand there much longer, grinnin' at me, it'll be too late! You'll feel sorry when you only see the top of my head above water. I tell you there ain't no bottom to this crick. It goes clean through to China, it does, now. Give us a hand, Allan, Thad. One scout ought to help another, you know; and I bet some of you haven't done a single good deed to-day, to let you turn your badge right-side up."

Among Boy Scouts it is considered the proper thing to invert the badge every morning, and not change its position until the owner has something worth while to his credit, even though it