The last of the eight boys was a dark-haired lad, with a face that, while handsome, was a little inclined to be along the order of the proud. Robert White Quail was a Southern-born boy. He came from Alabama, but had lived many years in this very region through which the Silver Fox Patrol was now hiking. Indeed, it had been at his personal solicitation that they had finally agreed to take their outing in climbing the famous Blue Ridge Mountains, and tasting some of the delights of a genuine experience in the wilderness. Among his companions the Southern lad went by the name of "Bob White;" and considering what his last name happened to be, it can be easily understood that nothing else in the wide world would have answered.
Of course Step Hen had another name, which was plainly Stephen Bingham. When a mite, going to school for the first time, on being asked his name by the teacher, he had spelled it as made up of two distinct words; and so Step Hen he was bound to be called by his comrades.
Giraffe also was known in family circles as Conrad Stedman; but if any boy in Cranford was asked about such a fellow, the chances were he would shake his head, and declare that the only one he knew by the name of Stedman was "Giraffe," For some time he had gone as "Rubberneck," but this became so common that the other stuck to him. Giraffe loved eating. He was also passionately fond of making fires, so that the others called him the fire fiend. When Giraffe was around no one else had the nerve to even think of starting the camp-fire; though after that had been done, he was willing they should "tote" the wood to keep it running.
The day was rather warm, even for up in the mountains, and if the signs told the truth they might look for a thunder storm before a great while.
As the scouts had no tents along, and were marching in very light order, they would have to depend upon their natural sagacity to carry them through any emergencies that might arise, either in connection with the weather, or the food line. But they knew they could place unlimited dependence on their leaders; and besides, as Bob White had spent many years of his young life in this region, he must know considerable about its resources.
They were now in what is known as the Smoky Range, a spur of the Blue Ridge Mountains, which borders on Tennessee. Not a great many miles away was Asheville, a well-known resort; but few of the society people frequenting that place had ever ventured up in these lonely localities; for they did not have the best reputation possible.
Among these wild peaks dwelt men who, in spite of the efforts of revenue officers, persisted in defying the law that put a ban on the making of what has always been known as "moonshine" whiskey. Occasionally an arrest might be made; but there was much danger attached to this thing; and the country was so rugged, that it would take an army of United States regulars to clean out the nests of moonshiners holding forth there.
It would seem as though this might be a rather strange region for the hike of a Boy Scout patrol; and had the parents or guardians of the boys known as much about it as those living in Asheville, they might have thought twice before granting the lads permission to come here.
But it had been partly on the invitation of Bob White that the expedition had been planned and mapped out. He seemed to have a strange yearning to revisit the region that had been his former home; and when some one proposed that they explore some of the mysteries of the famous Blue Ridge, Bob eagerly seconded the motion, in his warm Southern way. And that was how it started. Once boys get an idea in their heads, it soon gains weight, just like a rolling snowball.
And now they were here, with the grim mountains all around them, silence wrapping them about, and mystery seeming to fill the very air. But healthy boys are not easily impressed or daunted by such things; and they cracked jokes and carried on as boys will do with the utmost freedom.