Wilfred did not seek out his own patrol; he avoided the cabin. Nor could he bring himself to seek out the Gray Wolves of New Haven and renew acquaintance with Allison Berry. It would sicken him to see the Emblem of the Single Eye proudly flaunted there. Besides, how did he know he would be welcome? If Berry remembered his own rescue at Wilfred’s hands then it was for him to seek Wilfred out, so Wilfred thought. One person Wilfred did seek out, however, and that was Tom Slade who, of course, knew all. The two strolled up into the woods away from the camp and sat on a stone wall which belonged to the Archer farm. Old Seth Archer and his men were out in the fields beyond raking hay, and Wilfred in his troubled preoccupation could hear the soothing voices of the workers directing the patient oxen, and occasionally a few strains of some carefree song.
“You see, Billy, you made your bed and now you’ve got to lie in it.”
“You mean I have got to get out of it?”
“Well,” said Tom, shrugging his shoulders; “what do you expect. If you’ve got two duties, do the most important one and explain why you can’t do the other. Now that’s plain, common sense, isn’t it?” He ruffled Wilfred’s wavy hair good-naturedly to take the sting out of what he had said.
“Why, Billy, you know what they think, don’t you? Somebody started it and now they all think it. They think you deliberately let Berry get that emblem; they think you did it because he’s an old friend. Now wait a second—don’t speak till I get through. A traitor never gets any love anywhere. When Benedict Arnold turned traitor—now wait a minute—why even the English had no use for him. They accepted the information but not the man. Now even Berry and that New Haven bunch haven’t got a whole lot of use for you. I suppose Berry’d be decent to you on account of what you did for him. But this is the way they see it—every last scout in this camp; you either were afraid to run after him or you deliberately wanted those fellows to get it. All right, now the only thing for you to do is to go to Artie Van Arlen—he’s your leader and he’s a mighty fine kid—you just go to him and tell him——”
“Tell him I’m a cripple like Archie Dennison?”
“No, tell him you’re under the doctor’s orders——”
“And he’ll have to tell the patrol and all the troop—no sir, I’m not on any sick list,” said Wilfred with a defiant shake of his fine head. “I don’t go in the class with Archie Dennison, thank you!”
Tom gazed at him, amazed at his absurd stubbornness.
“You made me a promise, you know,” Wilfred reminded him.
“Sure,” Tom agreed, still scrutinizing him in perplexity.
“I have to get out of the patrol,” said Wilfred.
“Well now, look here,” said Tom, starting on another tack, “you’re feeling pretty nifty, aren’t you? No more pains or anyth............