Roy Blakeley (Silver Fox Patrol and not in this story, thank goodness)
said, long after these adventures were over, that a handkerchief stuffed
in Pee-wee's mouth was a good idea and that it was a pity it had been
removed. But Pee-wee Harris was a scout, he was a couple of scouts, and
he saved his life by scout law and knowledge. And there you are.

Acting quickly he now groped his way around to the rear of the car. It
was odd how quickly his mind worked in his desperate predicament. His
eyes stung and his throat pained him and he knew that he had won only
the chance of a race with death. But what more does a scout want than a
fighting chance? His wits, spurred by the emergency, were now alert and
he recalled that the men who had stolen the car had rolled one door shut
and slammed another. So perhaps the rolling door had been barred inside.
Where the small door was he did not know, and there was no time now to
make a groping exploration of the sides. The rolling door must be in
back of the car, he knew that.

He was dizzy now and on the point of falling. His wrists tingled and his
head ached acutely. Only his towering resolve kept him on his feet.

Groping from behind the car he touched the boards and felt along them
for some indication of the door. Presently his hand came upon an iron
band set in a large staple through which was inserted a huge wooden
plug. This he pulled out and hauling on the staple slowly rolled open a
great wide door.

A fresh gust of autumn wind blew in upon him, a cleansing and refreshing
restorative, as if it had been waiting without to welcome the sturdy
little scout into the vast, fragrant woods which he loved. And the