"Ye don' feel it with your hands, youngster, ye jest _sense_ it."
"_Good night!_" said Roy.
Tom said nothing. He had been watching Mr. Rushmore and hanging with
rapt attention on his every word.
They found the hill on the opposite shore not as steep as it had looked
from across the water, and here at its base, in the dim solitude by the
shore, was Temple Camp. There was a large open pavilion built of
untrimmed wood, which would accommodate eight or ten troops, allowing to
each some measure of privacy and there were as many as a dozen log
cabins, some large enough for two or three patrols, others intended
evidently to accommodate but one. There was a shack for the storage of
provisions and equipment, in which the boys saw among other things piles
upon piles of wooden platters.
"Not much dishwashing here," said Pee-wee, joyfully.
Here, also, were half a dozen tents and every imaginable article
necessary to camp life. Close by was a cooking shack and outside this
several long mess boards with rough seats; and just beyond was a spring
of clear water.
Jeb Rushmore had a cabin to himself upon the outside of which sprawled
the skins of as many as a dozen different sorts of animals--the trophies
of his life in the West.
John Temple had certainly done the thing right; there was no doubt of
that. He had been a long time falling, but when he fell he fell hard.
Temple Camp comprised one hundred acres of woodland--"plenty of room to
grow in," as Jeb said.
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