thing ain’t tew be tolerated any more.”

“Let’s look into this a little closer, Mr.—Mr.——” said Hugh.

“Stebbins is my name, Uriah Stebbins, and I owns three farms araound this section,” the other hastened to remark when Hugh paused.

“And my name is Hugh Hardin, Mr. Stebbins,” continued the scout master, still looking pleasant, without appearing to smile too broadly; for he realized that the angular old farmer might be sensitive and easily believe he was being made an object of ridicule.

“All right, and I want tew say right naow that I doan’t b’lieve yeou done the trick, but haow ’baout some o’ the rest o’ the boys?”

“I’d be very much surprised, Mr. Stebbins,” Hugh assured him, “if it turned out that any of these scouts were guilty. They’re taught differently in the organization to which we all belong. Scouts like fun as much as any boys, but they try to have it without being mean, or injuring others. Now, can you tell me when the bars of your pasture were let down?”

“Sence high noon,” came the reply. “I know ’cause I was aout there ’raound that time, an’ everything was as it ought tew be. When I kim by jest naow I seen every bar tuk daown an’ the cattle air missin’.”

Hugh turned to the scouts, now clustered around the spot.

“Who has been off since lunch time?” he asked quietly.

“I was for one!” came from Arthur Cameron without hesitation; and Hugh fancied he saw something in the face of the speaker that made him think Arthur could tell a story if questioned; though the expression did not savor of guilt.

“No one else?” continued the scout master, firmly.

As there was no answer it seemed settled that Arthur must be the only scout who had left the vicinity of the camp since the hour when they sat around having their midday meal.

“Do you know anything about this matter, Arthur?” asked Hugh; while the farmer fixed his small, piercing eyes on the eager, flushed face of the scout as though he would bore him through, and read in advance what he was expecting to reply.

“I’m not so sure, but I think I do,” Arthur started to say. “You see, I came in only a short time ago, and meant to tell the queer thing I’d seen, but somehow it slipped my mind. That’s why I haven’t spoken of it up to now.”

“What do you mean by calling it a queer thing?” questioned Hugh, while all of the others pressed in closer so that they might not lose a single syllable.

“I’ll tell you, Hugh. I started out to mosey around a bit, not meaning to go so very far away. You know I’m getting to enjoy searching for the tracks of small animals more and more, and keep a record of everything I see connected with the trail of a rabbit or a fox or a ’coon.”

“Yes, we know all that, Arthur, so get down to business, please,” said Hugh.

“I was just coming out of some woods into a side road when I heard loud voices, and noticed three foreign-looking men passing through a pasture where there was a bunch of cattle feeding. All at once they called out in alarm, and I saw that one of the cattle, a Holstein bull marked black with a white band about its body, was making headlong after the men, who were running like mad for the fence.”

“Wow! Lucky Arthur to be the one to have such a free show!” Billy Worth was heard to say, half under his breath.

“They managed to just get over the fence and no more,” continued the narrator; “in fact, I’m not quite sure but what that bull helped the last man over, for there was a lot of angry talk afterward when the men were brushing themselves off. I wanted to laugh out loud the worst kind, but they looked so black, and I’ve heard these dagoes always carry knives with them, so I thought I would show my good sense in bobbing back into the woods and continuing my hunt for tracks in another direction.”

“You didn’t see anything more of the three foreign-looking men then, Arthur?” queried the scout master.

“Not a thing,” came the ready reply, with a frankness that could not be mistaken; “for I was soon taken up with a discovery I made, and trying to make head or tail of some curious tracks I ran across. When I thought to come back to the camp I was a little twisted in my bearings; but by making use of my limited knowledge of woodcraft I finally managed to get in all right.”

Hugh turned to the farmer, who had listened intently all this while.

“You heard what this scout said, Mr. Stebbins?” Hugh began. “I want you to know that no one ever questions the word of Arthur Cameron. It looks to me as if those three unknown men, possibly from the foreign settlement over at the cement works, lowered the bars of your fence just in revenge for the scare they got when your prize bull chased them.”

The farmer must have been impressed with the sincerity of these boys. Perhaps, as a rule, he had little use for growing lads, and his experience with such on his farm may not have prejudiced him in their favor; but Arthur’s story was so simple, and the explanation so convincing that he nodded his head slowly as if inclined to take back his former angry charge.

“Wall, naow, mebbe that is what happened,” he said reflectively. “Nero has got a rousin’ temper, an’ he ain’t agoin’ tew let any strangers cross the pasture he’s feedin’ in. I guess naow he mout a run them Eyetalians over the fence; an’ they’d be jest mean enough tew let daown the bars. But haow in creation am I agoin’ tew get on the track o’ my cattle?”

Hugh smiled now.

“Nothing easier, Mr. Stebbins,” he told the puzzled farmer, “if you choose to let us help you. As scouts, we would like nothing better than to find your herd for you; and while you may not know it, that sort of work is one of the things we’ve been trained in—following a trail.”

“By jinks! I really b’lieve yeou mean it!” exclaimed the pleased farmer, a grim smile flitting across his gaunt weatherbeaten face, as he looked around at the eager countenances of that dozen khaki-clad boys.

“You’ve been unjust to accuse us without any evidence except our happening to be camped near your farm, Mr. Stebbins,” said Hugh, meaning that the other should have something to reflect on afterward, “but we will let that pass. We’d like you to know boys better than it seems you do. And if you say the word, I’ll pick out several of the best trackers here to go with you to the pasture and follow your herd.”

“Wish yeou would, er—Mr. Hardy,” said the farmer, eagerly.

“Hardin is the name, sir, or plain Hugh. All right, we’ll start with you now,” and the scout master turned to glance around him at the eager faces of his chums.

Every fellow fairly held his breath in anticipation and suspense, hoping that he might be fortunate enough to be selected among those who were to take part in this little adventure.

“Alec, you for one; then Arthur, as you’ve had a hand in the game already, and are making a hobby of tracking, you can be the second. The other two are Billy Worth and Ralph Kenyon.”

The rest of the boys looked downcast, for they were in just the humor to welcome some diversion of this sort. However, they had been too well trained to give voice to their feelings of disappointment.

Hugh and the farmer hurried away, with the others tagging close at their heels. Reaching the road, which was not far from the camp on the river bank, they presently turned into a smaller thoroughfare, and in the end came to where there lay a dense wood