“More than that,” said Thad, “look at my track, and you’ll see there’s a marked peculiarity that makes it different from any other. I had a piece put on each heel, and the line shows as plain as anything. And now here’s Allan’s footprint—do you see anything about that you’d be likely to recognize if you ran across it again?”
“Sure we do,” burst out Giraffe. “The shoe is square at the toes, broader than any other. Besides that, Allan walks with his feet nearly straight, and most people turn them out some; all but those that toe-in.”
“Well, you see, now, that each one of us has an individual mark,” continued the patrol leader, wishing to impress the lesson on the others.
“Yes, that’s all right, Thad; but how would a tenderfoot like Bumpus know all about these things?” persisted Giraffe.
“How do you know?” demanded the leader.
“Huh! because you just told us, I guess,” the tall scout admitted.
“Well, that’s just the case with Bumpus,” went on Thad. “Of late he’s taken a remarkably deep interest in the thousand-and-one things that are open to the eyes of a scout, if only he chooses to look around. And so, when he asked about following a trail, I showed him how to tell the marks of every scout in the patrol, himself included. And Bumpus wrote them all down in that little notebook he carries.”
“Well, if that don’t beat all creation!” exclaimed Giraffe.
“Just imagine the poor boy squattin’ down, to pull out his note-book, and then say: ‘There, I know Giraffe made those tracks; and that other must be the manly tread of my good friend, Step Hen Bingham!’ I guess it’s up to us to improve each shining hour, ourselves, Giraffe, like the busy little bee. We don’t want a tenderfoot like Bumpus to beat us out, do we?”
“Not much we don’t,” said Giraffe.