"
Roy sneered audibly.
"But I thought there might be another law--a 13th one about----"
"Oh, you make me sick with your 13th law!" Roy flared up. "Is that what
you were dreaming about when you stood on the end of that board and
beckoned to Garry----"
"I didn't beckon, I just looked----"
"Just looked! Well, I don't claim to be up on the law like you, but the
10th law's good enough for me,--'A scout is brave; he has the courage to
face danger in spite of fear.' This fellow will have the bronze cross,
maybe the silver one, for rescuing one of _our_ troop, one of _your own_
patrol. _You_ know how we made a resolution that the first honor medal
should come to us! And here you stand there watching and let a stranger
walk away with it!"
"Do you think he'll get it?" Tom asked.
"Of course, he'll get it."
Tom smiled slightly. "And _you_ think I'm a coward?"
"I'm not saying what I think. I never _did_ think so before. I know that
fellow will have the cross and they'll be the honor troop because in
_our_ troop we've got----"
"Don't say that again, Roy; please don't--I----"
Roy looked at him for one moment; perhaps in that brief space all the
history of their friendship came rushing back upon him, and he was on
the point of stretching out his hand and letting Tom explain. But the
impulse passed like a sudden storm, and he walked away.
Tom watched him until he entered the patrol shack, and then went on to
his own cabin. Jeb Rushmore was out with the class in tracking, teaching
them how to _feel_ a trail, and Tom sat down on his own couch, glad to
be alone.
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