“Sure, and I’ve no doubt it’s a heap of satisfaction to them that apply the feathers. Something like the old fable ‘fun for the boys, but death to the frogs.’ But tell me, Giraffe, please where would you get the tar, up in this big timber wilderness? And how about the feathers—got a pillow handy you can rip open?” and Step Hen laughed in the face of the long scout, feeling that he had by far the best of the bargain.
“Oh, shucks! guess that did kinder slip my mind,” grumbled Giraffe; and he felt so humiliated over his defeat in the wordy war that for five full minutes he actually remained as mute as the sphinx; and it generally took a good deal to keep Giraffe silent that long.
Of course they were constantly on the lookout for any signs ahead of those whose trail they followed. But they had very little hope of stumbling upon such a piece of good luck as overtaking them before night set in.
According to the latest report from Allan, in whom they all felt the utmost confidence, some hours had passed, perhaps four or more, since Hank and his French-Canadian partner had made those footprints.
“But they have been catching up on Bumpus right along,” he had also announced in the same breath. “If they were two hours behind at the spot where the bear was killed, they’ve cut that down to one at the time they passed here. And going at the same rate of speed I should say they’d overtake our chum about a couple of miles away from this spot.”
“Hope they made up their minds to camp right away then,” said Giraffe. “I’m not saying anything, and I can keep on as long as the next one; but this right—left, which old leg is it, anyway—feels sore sometimes, and then numb-like.”
“And I’m afraid mine’s swelling just a little, Thad,” ventured Step Hen. “P’raps there was some poison in that snake bite after all, and you didn’t suck it all out.”
“Don’t worry,” remarked the scoutmaster, cheerily. “Both of you are using your lame limb more than you should, that’s all. But that can’t be helped, because we’re bound to find our chum.”
“Yes,” said Giraffe, sturdily, “even if it takes a leg, as they say. But suppose, now, those men do come up with Bumpus, I reckon they’ll make out to be friendly hunters, sent out by some of us to find him; because they know a lot about the scouts. Step Hen here jabbered like an old woman, when we believed Hank was the forest ranger, Toby Smathers, we’d been told to find.”
“Not near so much as you did yourself, Giraffe,” remonstrated Step Hen. “That’s one thing I will admit you stand in a class by yourself—talking; yes, and in the making of fires at any old time and place. But of course they’ll fool Bumpus that easy, he’s so confiding, so free from suspicion himself.”