“Thad never forgets he’s a Boy Scout, and able to find things out in a way that would never occur to any ordinary fellow,” said Allan, not without a touch of genuine admiration in his tone; for he realized, much to his regret, that there were times when the same could not be said of him, skillful tracker that he was, as all Maine boys are supposed to be.
The three of them sat there in the car and watched Thad. Apparently he had not the slightest trouble in finding what he was looking for, since the hoofs of the horse had left plain imprints on the dusty road.
“He’s turned up the road that leads to Duren, all right, as sure as anything!” announced Giraffe, after they had seen Thad pass along that way for a short distance.
“That means a good riddance of bad rubbish,” laughingly remarked Allan.
When a minute later Thad returned he looked satisfied.
“He started on that way, and so far as I tracked him he kept right along, so it looks as if we might be well rid of him,” he reported.
“Guess all that talk about Grevenbroich told on him,” insinuated Bumpus, proudly, as though the idea had originated with him, and he felt that the credit should come his way also.
They had just started off and gone about a hundred yards when Giraffe was heard to snort in disgust.
“Played a neat game on us after all!” he exclaimed; “we’re a fine lot of babes in the woods to let a German soldier bamboozle us in that way. Look over yonder and you can just manage to glimpse him through little openings in the trees.”
“Oh! he’s galloping off in the direction of Duren!” cried Bumpus; “and I warrant you after going along that road a piece he came back on the side, to hide, and was there watching us all the while.”