“Well, we’ll lope off into the woods and bring you back some more water. If you’ll leave a little in the bottom of the mug I’ll soak our handkerchiefs in it and wrap them round your ankle; cold applications may relieve the pain;” the scout was recalling what he had learned about first aid to the injured.
Darkness descended upon the old bear’s stamping-ground. But the camp-fire burned gloriously, throwing off now and again a foam of flame whose rosy clots lit in the crevices of the tall rock and bloomed there for an instant like scarlet flowers.
The work necessary in making camp for the night done, the four boys gathered round it, dividing their scanty rations, the scraps of food left in Coombsie’s basket, and speculating as to how early in the morning a search-party would come out and find them.
“Toiney Leduc will certainly be one of the party. Toiney is a regular scout; he’s only been here a year, but he knows the woods well,” remarked Leon, then was silent a minute, gazing wistfully into the heart of the flames which filled the pause with snappy conversational fire-works.
“Tell us something about this boy scout business, bo’!” he spoke again in the slow, sprained voice, his feverish eyes burning into the fire, his tone making the slangy little abbreviation stand for brother, as he addressed Nixon. “It seems as if it might be The Thing—starting that fire was a great stunt—and if it’s The Thing—every fellow wants to be in it!”
“Oh! you don’t know what good times we have,” began the scout.
And briefly skimming from one point to another, he told of the origin of the Boy Scout Movement far away in Africa during the defense of a besieged city, and of the great English general, the friend of boys, who had fathered that movement.
Leon’s eyes narrowed as he still gazed into the camp-fire: it was a long descent from the defense of a beleaguered city to the championship of a besieged chipmunk, but his quick mind grasped the principle of fiery chivalry underlying both—one and the same.
“Can you sing some more of that U.S.A. song which you were shouting in the woods near the log camp?” Marcoo broke in, as the narrator dwelt on those good times spent in hiking, trailing, camping with the scoutmaster.
“Perhaps I can—a verse or two! That’s the latest for the Boy Scouts of America—the Scouts of the old U.S. Don’t know whether I have a pinch of breath left, though!”