"Other older man,—name Artemus Rawson.—Get that?"
There was a little interval at that. Perhaps Thad might be figuring it out; or he may have mentioned the name aloud, and be speaking with some one who was near by, possibly asking Aleck if he recognized the name.
"Yes," came the flash, presently.
Step Hen had begun to grow cold. He felt that if he once found himself cornered, and making mistakes, he was apt to get rattled in his excitement, and forget the little he really did know about sending and receiving. So when Thad replied that he had grasped even that name, the sender found himself imbued with another relay of confidence. When he started in once more, he sent a little faster, though the scoutmaster at the first opportunity warned him to go slow and sure.
"Say looking for Aleck—that he has robbed uncle—headed down valley when left here—Understand that?"
"Yes, but not so fast. Go on," came the reply.
Step Hen understood that Thad gave him this warning, not because he was himself unable to receive at that rate, for he had seen the patrol leader and Allan go smoothly along at twice the pace. He was thinking of Step Hen, for he knew what was apt to happen if once the other overstepped the bounds, and muddled himself up; as like as not he would get his signals mixed, and after that be utterly unable to send coherently.
"Be with you by morning—we think they suspect Aleck there—you know what to do."
"Yes. Good for you. Anymore?"
Step Hen sighed with relief. The great burden of responsibility had fallen from his shoulders on to those broad ones of the scoutmaster. Yes, Thad would surely know what to do—he always did when the emergency arose. And that was what made his chums feel such implicit confidence in their leader.