high-ground,—like those bare ridges on old Stormberg yonder,—where we can command a good view of the stretch of country between here and the mountain. We will take with us our semaphore flags, to-day, although any other signaling apparatus will serve equally well in the game. Division B, numbering twelve scouts, will then go out and keep under cover in this stretch of country which we, the signalers, or defenders, overlook. This division, keeping under cover, will try to dodge or trick the signalers by appearing in different places and disappearing, and will finally take up a concealed position. After Division B has been out fifteen minutes, the rest, Division C, under command of Mr. Rawson, will leave camp.

“Then Division A will signal down to Division C, or attackers, the position of the hostile Division B, and other details that will help the attackers to advance unseen and surprise the enemy. Of course, Division B, the enemy, is watching the signals all the while. To win, the attackers must capture the scouts of Division B by surrounding their hiding-places. If Division C passes by more scouts than they capture, it counts a win for Division B.

“We’ll put a time limit of, say, two hours upon the game.”

Following this explanation, came a series of questions about minor details of the game, which were answered by Rawson, while Lieutenant Denmead undertook the arrangement of the troop into three divisions, so that in each division there should be a certain number of scouts who were familiar with the code.

It so happened that Alec Sands, Don Miller, Walter Osborne, and a lad named Arthur Cameron, who belonged to Hugh’s patrol and was just finishing his first month’s service as a tenderfoot, together with Bud Morgan and three others, were chosen to form Division A, much to their delight. Hugh was assigned to Division B, the so-called invaders or enemies, while Billy Worth became Assistant Scout Master Rawson’s right-hand man in charge of Division C.

Taking their semaphore flags, the first division, led by the Scout Master, sallied forth from camp. They followed a faintly defined trail which ran close to the shore of the lake and thence up the nearer slopes of old Stormberg, climbed up and up, scrambling over rocky patches of ground, plunging through thickets of white birch, ash, and maple, until they reached an elevation whereon grew only a few somber spruces and pines, but which commanded a magnificent view of the surrounding territory.

As these eight signalers proceeded on their way, they eagerly discussed ways and means by which their other activities could be correlated with working for the signal corps.

“Any exceptional feat of woodcraft scores twenty points in the record of the scout who performs it,” announced Lieutenant Denmead. “For instance, the scout who positively identifies the largest number of birds, animals, or trees may count twenty points to his credit; he who obtains the best six photographs of living wild animals may count fifteen points each; the same for him who makes the best collection of botanical specimens, insects, or minerals. And the prime requirement for the corps will be to send or receive a message by semaphore, American Morse, or Myer alphabet, sixteen letters per minute.”

Don gave a low whistle.

“You think that is pretty stiff?” inquired Denmead, turning to him with an encouraging smile. “Just you wait! I expect you fellows will be even more expert than that before these two weeks are over. Look out there, Arthur! That ledge you are standing on is rather slippery, my boy. Now then, Osborne, you and Sands go forward along that bare rib of rock, out to its edge, where you see a blasted pine-tree. Brace yourselves against the trunk and the lower branches, if they’re not rotten, and keep a look-out over the backwoods trail from camp. I suspect Division B will take that trail first. Have they left camp yet?”

“Can’t tell, sir,” called back Walter, when he and Alec had crawled to the end of the ledge. “I think they must have left, though, because——”

“Yes, they have, they have!” interrupted Don, pointing down to a clump of willows that grew in marshy ground near the easternmost arm of the lake. “See those blackbirds flying out in circles down there? That shows they are scared by something passing through the willow grove.”

The next moment, while they were taking their places and preparing to use the flags according to the alphabet-diagrams they had studied, there came to their ears, faint and far away, the low, weird, mournful howl of a wolf.

“That is Hugh Hardin calling his own patrol,” declared Billy. “Sounds like——”

“A trick!” muttered Alec, under his breath. “He wants to make us look for him in some place where he is least likely to appear.”

As if in answer to the wolf call came the subdued yet shrill “Kree-kree-eee” of a bird of prey, and, by an odd coincidence, a hawk was seen soaring rapidly above the tree-tops in another direction.

“Some of your Hawks are over there, Walt,” observed Alec. “The real bird is making no noise that I can hear. There he goes now! Watch him swoop down into that open glade! Wonder what he saw? A rabbit, most likely. Well, it must be nearly time for Division B to go into hiding, and I——”

“Attention, boys!” Lieutenant Denmead’s voice sounded close beside them, and he blew one long blast on his whistle, meaning “Silence,” or “On guard! Look out for my next signal.”

“Attention!” he repeated. “Get your flags ready. Watch for signs of the enemy. What is that over in that patch of scrub-oak yonder? Hello! Three of them! And running for cover, like mad! Signal it! Signal it, Alec! There! Now Division C has started from camp. They’re advancing to the attack.”

CHAPTER III.
A PERILOUS ENCOUNTER.

The three scouts of Division “B” who had been sighted by the Lieutenant as they made a dash for cover were Cooper Fennimore, Buck Winter, and his brother Sam, who, mistaking a sound signal of three blasts of Hugh’s whistle, had been creeping forward quite openly across a clearing made by lumbermen during the previous summer, thereby coming in full view of the signalers perched on the ribs of old Stormberg.

Alec and Walter, acting under Lieutenant Denmead’s rapid-fire commands, lost no time in signaling this information to the advance guard of Division “C,” as soon as the latter made their sortie from camp.

Instantly Rawson led his attackers in the direction of the clearing, instead of taking the backwoods trail, as Hugh and his followers had done.

From a coign of vantage on one of the upper forks of a young oak tree, which he had climbed with the agility of a monkey, Hugh perceived the trio’s mistake. He had intended to warn them by those three shrill blasts, but they had evidently counted only two, which would have meant “Safe—Go ahead.” Now, to leave no room for doubt, he sounded a succession of long, slow blasts meaning “Scatter. Get further away,” and accompanied them with the Wolf’s peculiar, long-drawn-out, “How-oo-ooo.”

Whether these sounds could reach the ears of the signalers he could not tell, but he had the satisfaction of seeing Cooper and Sam dart across the clearing and plunge into the surrounding underbrush, where they could easily find some place to hide in.

Of course, any one of the attacking party could not