...
Still, as he looked back, the base of the mountain seemed almost as near
as when he had made his discovery, the fields and wood which had seemed
so long to the tracker were but small to the casual glance and he
realized that his whole journey was yet far short of a quarter mile.
The tracks now ran, as clear as writing, across one of those curious
patches of damp ground with a thin, slippery skin, which was torn
straight across in a kind of furrow. Hervey was so intent on studying
this that he did not notice in the shadow about a hundred feet ahead of
him a log directly in line with the tracks. When suddenly he looked up,
he paused and stared ahead of him in consternation.
Some one was sitting on the log.
CHAPTER XIV
HERVEY'S TRIUMPH
As soon as Hervey's dismay subsided he approached the log, and as he did
so the figure appeared familiar to him. There was something especially
familiar in the scout hat which came down over the ears of the little
fellow who was underneath it, and in the hair which straggled out under
the brim. The belt, drawn absurdly tight around the thin little waist,
was a quite sufficient mark of identification. It was Skinny McCord, the
latest find, and official mascot of the Bridgeboro troop, one of the
crack troop of the camp. Alfred was his Christian name.
The queer little fellow's usually pale face looked ghastly white in the
late dusk, and the strange brightness of his eyes, and his spindle legs
and diminutive body, crowned by the hat at least two sizes too large,
made him seem a very elf of the woods.
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