"I earned it," replied Fremont, covering the scroll with one hand.
"Can you tell me," he continued, "what the letters on the scroll say?"

"Be prepared," was the reply.

"Be prepared for what?"

"To do your duty, and to face danger in order to help others."

"What is the name of your patrol?"

"The Wolf. And your's is the Black Bear. I've heard a lot
about the boys of that patrol, a lot that was good."

"And never anything that was bad?"

"Not a thing."

"Well then" said Fremont, extending his hand, which the other
hastened to take, "you've got to help me now. You've got to
stand by me. It is your duty."

"If you belong to the Black Bear Patrol," began the boy, "and
have all the fine things you want--as the members of that patrol
do--what did you want to go an' do this thing for? What's your name?"

"George Fremont. What is yours?"

"Jimmie McGraw," was the reply. "I'm second assistant to the
private secretary to the woman who scrubs here nights. She'll