“Boys,” said Charles, (they still used the familiar appellation of former years,) “did any of you ever read a romance in which a scout figured as the hero, or in which the hero sometimes played the part of a scout, or spy?”
“I have,” said two or three.
“Well, how did they go about it?” Charles asked.
“Oh,” said Stephen, who took it upon himself to answer, “they always wore leather breeches, moccasins, and shot-belts; they always struck the trail at once, smoked the chiefs’ peace-pipe, and slew the common Indians; they always followed their trade alone,—or if they had a mate, both went alone,—and chewed home-made tobacco with the few tusks still left them; they always tomahawked deserters, other people’s spies, or scouts, and wild-cats; and finally, they always found out secrets that got them into trouble, but lived to receive a gold snuff-box on the occasion of the hero’s wedding. What they did with the gold snuff-box I don’t know; for there the romancer, being too much exhausted to write ‘The End,’ which has six letters, always wrote ‘Finis,’ which has only five.”
“Thank you, Steve,” said Charles. “But according to that, it is hopeless for us to act the orthodox spy, so we shall have to go on blindly and take our chances.”
And they did go on blindly—so blindly, that five hours later, when hunger began to show her hand, they perceived that they were lost! Lost in a vast forest, which, for all they knew, was infested with robbers!
“It is strange that we have not travelled in a circle,” George mused. “You all know, of course, that when a man loses his way, it is a fundamental principle that he should travel in a circle.”
“Well, if we keep on diligently, probably we shall have the pleasure of finding that we are travelling in a circle,” Charles commented.
“I tell you what it is, boys;” Steve said, making use of an expression that had left his lips at least once daily since his twelfth year; “I tell you what it is, boys; now that we are lost, let us make the most of it. I have had a hankering to get lost ever since I cried myself to sleep over the mournful tale of the ‘Babes in the Woods;’ and now I am going to enjoy the novel sensation of being lost! Hurrah!”