By this time the lad was shivering with cold, not having taken the
time to provide himself with heavy clothing before leaving the camp
in pursuit of the spy. As he glanced through the glazed opening he
saw a great fire of logs blazing in a rudely made fireplace at one
end of the room. He moved on until he found a door.

"Perhaps the owner of this log mansion will think I'm pretty prompt
in returning his call," the lad mused as he knocked softly at the
door. "But, all the same, I'm going to give him the pleasure of my
company until I can get warm."

There was no response to the knock, and so George opened the door
and entered. There was no one in front of the fire; no one in any
of the rude chairs. The boy stood looking about the room for a
moment and then walked back to three bunks fastened against the
wall, one above the other.

When he reached the front of the sleeping places an exclamation of
alarm came from a bundle of furs and blankets on the lower bunk and
a boy's frightened face gazed up at him. The boy sat observing the
other with evident suspicion for a moment, until his eyes caught
sight of the Boy Scout medals which adorned the sleeve of the lad's
coat.

Then he extended an arm in the full salute of the Boy Scouts of
America, and sat back with a grin on his face to note the result.

"Beaver Patrol; Chicago," he said directly.

"I know you," George said with an exclamation of surprise. "You're