CHAPTER XX.
THE LONG VIGIL OF A SCOUT.
It really looked to Bumpus as though sooner or later they must come to climbing a tree, no matter how cold they found it on such a perch. And as it would presently be dark, since night was rapidly coming on, he wondered whether he would not be showing good judgment in selecting the proper kind of a tree, while there was enough light to see by.
But before he started to look around him, he thought it worth while to ascertain how his companion was doing; although to tell the truth Bumpus did not have the slightest hope of any good news.
“Ain’t you gettin’ anywhere yet, Giraffe?” he asked, as he rose clumsily, and wearily to his feet; for his short legs felt very stiff after resting so long.
The other gave a grunt as he replied:
“Oh! don’t bother me with such silly questions, Bumpus. You make me think of that story of Blue Beard, where the old feller’s a waitin’ for his last wife to come down, and get her head taken off; and she keeps callin’ to her sister, who’s in the lookout tower: ‘Sister Ann, Sister Ann, don’t you see anything comin’?’”
“But I want to know before I–” began Bumpus, when the other interrupted him.
“You will know all right, if I get it. But you keep away from me, Bumpus. Once before, you fell all over me, just when I was on the point of grabbing a spark. If you know what’s good for you, keep clear of me now. I’m desperately in earnest, I tell you. So be warned, Bumpus!”
The fat scout realized that if he knew what was good for him he had better give Giraffe a wide berth while he was strumming away with his “old fiddle,” as some of the boys sneeringly described the fire outfit that continually refused to “fire” even a little bit.
“I’m going to look for a good tree,” he said.