... I wonder what he meant when he said that a trail sometimes
doesn't come out where you think it's going to come out...."
Hervey had greatly admired Tom Slade, but he stood in awe of him now.
"Well, anyway," said he to himself, "he said I'd win the award and I
didn't; so I put one over on him." To put one over on Tom Slade was of
itself something of a triumph. "He's not _always_ right, anyway," Hervey
reflected.
He was aroused from his reflections by little Skinny. "I followed them
from camp," he said. "They're _real_ tracks, ain't they? And they're
_mine_, ain't they? Because I found them? Ain't they?"
"Bet your life. I tell you what you do, Alf, old boy. You just follow
them up a little way further toward the mountain and I'll wait for you
here. Then we can say you did it all by yourself, see? The handbook says
a quarter of a mile or a half a mile, I don't know what, but you might
as well give them good measure. I can't remember what's in the handbook
half of the time."
"You know about good turns, don't you?"
"'Fraid not, except when somebody reminds me."
"I'm going to keep you for my friend even if I _am_ a second-class
scout, I am," Skinny assured him.
"That's right, don't forget your old friends when you get up in the
world."
"Maybe you'll get that canoe some day, hey?"
"What canoe is that, Alf?"
"The one for the highest honor; it's on exhibition in Council Shack. All
the fellows go in to look at it. A big fellow let me go in with him,
'cause I'm scared to go in there alone.
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