"Don't you think we've wasted enough time, without losing some more by going back?"
"We'll lose more by going ahead. And we're losing now by standing still chewing the rag about it. Come on."
"I'm going ahead. You followed my lead this far; I guess it won't hurt you to follow it a little farther. I'm Patrol Leader, you know."
Jerry sensed a little resentment in Phil's tone, and remembered that once or twice he had spoken to the Scout leader just as he did to his chums—and his chums always looked to him for commands.
"I'm not trying to boss you, Phil, don't think that. But I know that the other way is the best way, and I've got to follow it. So you go ahead, and I'll wait for you at this end of the bridge."
Without further word he strode off on the back road. It was so dark that he might have done so safely, but he did not look back. Nevertheless, a pleased grin spread over his face, for he was soon aware that Phil was tagging along not many paces behind. That had always been the way. Jerry was a born leader; the other boys followed him willingly because they never found any cause to lose confidence in his judgment.
"Phil, you're a genuine sport," was all he said as the other boy fell into step beside him as once more they reached the gravel roadway and turned into the right-hand branch.
Sooner than they expected they saw the gaunt skeleton of the upper bridgework against the dark sky. Jerry did not permit himself an "I told you so," but he said instead:
"We'll be in a pretty pickle if we get on the other side and find our boat gone."
Phil made no answer and in silence they walked across the hollow-echoing bridge. A series of giant stone steps led down to the river bank, and as soon as they reached bottom they saw that their fears were groundless, for there lay the Big Four as Jerry and Dave had left her eighteen hours before. Deep footprints in the mud bank, dimly visible in the dusk, told that someone had stopped to look the boat over. Perhaps had the oars been handy, the boat might not have remained so safely.