“None of us would ever know what hit us, I guess,” said Step Hen, finally.
“And I reckon I’ve learned my lesson all right,” added the tall scout. “Just as Thad said, what’s a ducking, when you think of taking chances with a thing like this? I am for a wetting down, every time, after this.”
“But what had we better do—head back for camp, and give our poor old chum Bumpus up for good?” asked Step Hen, dejectedly.
“Not just yet,” the scoutmaster replied.
“We’ve got some grub still,” suggested Giraffe, “and can make fires all right, no matter how wet the wood got.”
“Yes, we can stay out for another day or two,” said Thad, “and longer than that, if we think there’s any chance of finding him; because we could knock over some game at the worst.”
“But what’s the programme?” persisted Giraffe. “Are we going to lay out some sort of plan, and then follow it up; or just go meanderin’ around, every-which-way, trusting to sheer luck?”
“We’ll try and figure on what Bumpus was most likely to do,” said Thad, “and then pattern our plan after that. And later on, you know, we could give a shout once in a while. If he was near enough to us he might hear us that way.”
“You’re right, Thad, and it’s a good scheme,” declared Giraffe.
“A dandy one,” added Step Hen. “And if ever Bumpus hears me ashoutin’ he’ll know who ’tis, all right.”