Each one of the boys made at least one overnight hike in the course of the camp. In groups of fifteen or twenty they would set out in the morning in company of a councilor. That each councilor supervising such hikes was an adept was not evident, but it so happened. Each boy carried his blanket roll, and knapsack of rations, his canteen, knife, compass and hand axe.
They camped that night on the bank of a mountain stream, fed by the glaciers, whose rush sounded in their ears as they ate supper.
Phil started out with such a group one morning during the first week of the camp. He worked around the mountain to the east in order to keep well away from the usual tourist haunts.
After supper they sat around the campfire. Phil told them stories of the holy men of the east and their reputed powers, and of Saint Francis and the birds. He was in the middle of one of his yarns when a figure appeared within the circle of firelight.
Or rather figures. They saw an old man, in clothes that Davy Crockett might have worn, flanked by two beasts, on his left side a mountain lion, who purred when he saw the fire, on his right a buck of three points, whose soft brown eyes stared calmly into theirs. Some of the boys were alarmed at first, but Phil told them quietly to widen their circle and make room for the strangers. They sat in decent silence for a while, the boys getting used to the presence of the animals. In time one of the boys timidly stroked the big cat, who responded by rolling over and presenting his soft belly. The boy looked up at the old man and asked, “What is his name, Mister—”
“Ephraim. His name is Freedom.”
“My, but he’s tame! How do you get him to be so tame?”
“He reads my thoughts and trusts me. Most things are friendly when they know you—and most people.”
The boy puzzled for moment. “How can he read your thoughts?”
“It’s simple. You can read his, too. Would you like to learn how?”
“Jiminy!”
“Just look into my eyes for a moment. There! Now look into his.”
“Why—Why—I really believe I can!”
—”Of course you can. And mine too. I’m not talking out loud. Had you noticed?”
—”Why, so you’re not. I’m reading your thoughts!”
—”And I’m reading yours. Easy, isn’t it?”
With Phil’s help Howe had them all conversing by thought transference inside an hour. Then to calm them down he told them stories for another hour, stories that constituted an important part of their curriculum. He helped Phil get them to sleep, then left, the animals following after him. The next morning Phil was confronted at once by a young sceptic. “Say, did I dream all that about an old man and a puma and a deer?”
—’Did you?”
—”You’re doing it now!”.—”Certainly I am. And so are you. Now go tell the other boys the same thing.”
Before they got back to camp, he advised them not to speak about it to any other of the boys who had not as yet had their overnight hike, but that they test their new powers by trying it on any boy who had had his first all- night hike.
All was well until one of the boys had to return home in answer to a message that his father was ill. The elders would not wipe his mind clean of his new knowledge; instead they kept careful track of him. In time he talked, and the word reached the antagonists almost at once.
Howe ordered the precautions of the telepathic patrol redoubled.
The patrol was able to keep out malicious persons, but it was not numerous enough to keep everything out. Forest fire broke out on the windward side of the camp late one night. No human being had been close to the spot; telekinetics was the evident method.
But what control over matter from a distance can do, it can also undo. Moulton squeezed the flame out with his will, refused it permisson to burn, bade its vibrations to stop.