“Bumpus did make it, that’s certain,” Allan broke in with.
“And after the storm, too?”
“No question about that, because the rain hasn’t washed the marks at all,” was the joyous declaration of Allan.
“See?” cried Giraffe.
If he had been wearing a vest. Step Hen really believed the proud lengthy scout would have thrust his thumbs into the arm holes and assumed a pose, as though about to have his picture taken as a serious rival to Cooper’s “Leatherstocking,” the greatest of trail finders.
“What luck!” Step Hen broke out with.
“Luck nothing,” flashed back Giraffe, refusing to be cheated out of any of his honors. “It’s the reward of patient, plodding work, and using eyes and brain right along. Now, if I’d been satisfied to limp along, looking up at the sky, and all around, but never once on the ground, like some people I know do, d’ye suppose I’d ever run across this trail? Not much. Give Old Eagle Eye his due, Step Hen.”
“Yes, he deserves it,” said Thad, “because this is a most important find. It places us on top once more.”
“Because now we’ve got something to work on,” added Allan.
“Was this track made this morning?” asked Step Hen.