See them? There they are. Those are tracks."
"Yes, I see them."
"I tracked them all the way up from camp and I've got to go further up
yet, so as to be sure. You got to be _sure_--or you don't get the badge.
So now I won't be a tenderfoot any more. Are you a second-class scout?"
"First-class, Skinny."
"I bet you don't care about tracks--do you?"
Hervey put his arm over the little fellow's shoulder and as he did so he
felt the little body trembling with nervous excitement.
"Not so much, Skinny. No, I don't care about tracks. I--eh--I like
diving better. How far up are you going to follow the tracks?"
"I'm going to follow them away, way, way up so as I'll be _sure_. They
might say it wasn't a half a mile, hey?"
The hand which rested on the little thin shoulder, patted it
reassuringly.
"Well, I'll be there to tell them different, won't I, Skinny, old boy?"
"Will you go with me all the way up to where the mountain begins--will
you?"
"Surest thing you know."
"And will you prove it for me?"
"That's me."
"Then I won't be a tenderfoot any more. I'll be a second-class scout."
"Is that what you have to do to be a second-class scout, Skinny? I
forget about the second-class tests. You have to track an animal, or
something like that? I've got a rotten memory."
"And I'll--I'll have a trail named after me, too; it'll be called McCord
trail. These are _my_ tracks, see? Because I found them. Only maybe
they'll say I'm lying.
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