“Meanin’ the right leg,” muttered Giraffe.
“You’re wrong—it’s the left one with Allan and me, and majority rules in our patrol, you know,” chuckled Step Hen.
“Come on, boys, I’ve got the bearings pretty well, if that star only stays out from behind the clouds that hide the moon.”
Thad, upon speaking in this strain, started, with Allan alongside to give council, and insure progress along direct lines.
Having had much more experience than the other pair of scouts they were not only able to keep in a fairly direct line with the fire, but managed to avoid stumbling over obstacles as well.
Giraffe and Step Hen proved less fortunate. Several times they stepped into holes, or else tripped over vines. And each mishap was accompanied by more or less of a crash, as well as much grumbling from the unfortunate one, and perhaps chuckling from the other.
This would never do in the wide world. Either they must slow up still more, so as to give the stumblers a chance to pick their way more carefully, or else those better able to move along without trouble would have to take Giraffe and Step Hen in tow.
It was decided that the latter method would be better, all things considered. And so Thad convoyed Giraffe, while Allan slipped a hand through the right arm of Step Hen.
“Case of the blind leading the blind, I guess,” muttered the latter, grimly, “because we’ve both got a game right leg.”
“Don’t talk any more than you have to, Step Hen,” cautioned the other.