“Well,” remarked Thad, “between you and me I don’t believe Bumpus would do that, because we were talking of lightning only the other day. He had an uncle who was killed that way when a tree was struck; and Bumpus said nobody would ever get him to take such chances. I remember his asking me if it would be all right to crawl in a hollow log that lay flat on the ground, and I told him yes. So if he was able to find a log big enough to hold him, I guess that’s what he did.”
Giraffe gave a whistle. There was a little trace of envy in his manner, for Giraffe was a boy, and it did seem to him Bumpus was developing along the lines of a scout altogether too fast.
“I see your finish as patrol leader, Thad,” he remarked. “That Bumpus has just waked up, and there’s no telling what he’ll do. I expect we’ll all be kowtowing to him yet, like he was a real Chinese mandarin.”
“Glad of it,” laughed Thad. “And it would tickle me a lot, I tell you, if a few more scouts would take a notion to wake up.”
“Well,” returned Giraffe, “they may, yet. I know two that are digging knuckles into their eyes right at this minute, and stretchin’ and yawnin’ like they just meant to stir out of their dope sleep; eh, Step Hen?”
“That’s so, Giraffe! Bumpus has set us the pace, I tell you,” came the reply.
“What do you make of the trail, Allan?” the scoutmaster asked.
“About this,” replied the tracker. “Bumpus was leg-weary about this time. Plenty to show it. And I wouldn’t be surprised if we came on his camp before long. I’ve seen where he stepped out of his way, looking for dry wood, and then went on again, as if not satisfied.”
“Hurrah for Bumpus! He’s our pard;” exclaimed Step Hen, glad to even bask in the reflected light of so much glory.
“I wonder, now,” Giraffe remarked, his thoughts naturally turning in the one direction, “was he able to make a fire? Lots of fellers that like to call themselves scouts wouldn’t know how, when every stick of wood was soaking wet after such a rain.”