“Then we’ve got to get a hustle on us, that’s all,” Giraffe asserted. “Already we’re away behind in the race, and just as like as not another night’s going to catch us before we overhaul these parties. That’ll make it bad.”
“We can’t help it any,” remarked Thad, “we’re doing our level best, and there’s a limit, you know. We’ve just got to leave the rest to Providence.”
“And Bumpus’ luck—don’t forget that,” said Step Hen.
“He’s sure got it along with him this trip,” Giraffe avowed, “and it’s been working over time for our fat chum too. Seems to me these here gents are kind of rash tryin’ to meddle with a feller that has everything comin’ to him like Bumpus has. P’raps they’ll think they have made a mistake when they tackle that walkin’ wonder.”
Both Giraffe and Step Hen chuckled a little, as though the idea rather appealed to their boyish sense of humor. And Thad could not help thinking things had come to a strange pass indeed, when these two scouts, who had lorded it over Bumpus so long, on account of their superior knowledge, were ready to admit that they might yet sit at the feet of the fat chum, and take lessons in woodcraft.
Would wonders ever cease, Thad thought? But then, he knew only too well that once a scout becomes fully enthused with zeal in the pursuit of knowledge along these lines he will not only open up new pleasures daily for himself, but surprises for his friends as well.
They had been gone from the camp-fire about half an hour now. There was no trouble at all about following the trail; indeed, Allan more than once declared that even if a bandage were tied over his eyes he would have been able to keep right along, using his fingers to guide him, so plainly marked were the footprints of men and boy.
“Hello!” said Allan, suddenly, “I wonder now what started him to running?”
“Bumpus, you mean, don’t you?” asked Giraffe.
“Yes, he began right here. You can see how his toes press down,” Allan remarked.