For two or three hours we traveled as fast as we could, driving Sally and stepping on her tracks so as to cover them. We felt so good over our prospects—over being upon the open way and winning out at last—that we struck up songs:
"Oh, the Elk is our Medicine;
He makes us very strong—"
for us; and:
"Oh, the Red fox is our Medicine—"
for the Red Fox Scouts. And we sang:
"It's honor Flag and Country dear,
and hold them in the van;
It's keep your lungs and conscience clean,
your body spick and span;
It's 'shoulders squared,' and 'be prepared,'
and always 'play the man':
Shouting the Boy Scouts forev-er!
Hurrah! Hurrah! For we're the B. S. A.!
Hurrah! Hurrah! We're ready, night and day!
You'll find us in the city street and on the open way!
Shouting the Boy Scouts forev-er!"
But at the beginning of the second verse Major Henry suddenly quit and sat down upon a log, where the trail wound through some timber. "I've got to stop a minute, boys," he gasped. "Go ahead. I'll catch up with you."
But of course we didn't. His face was white and wet, his lips were pressed tight as he breathed hard through his nose, and he doubled forward.
"What's the matter?"
"I seem to have a regular dickens of a stomach-ache," he grunted. "Almost makes me sick."