"Let's toss."
They did, and it fell to the lad who had claimed to have the scent of a deerhound to go out and reconnoitre, while the "natural-born scout" remained behind.
Divesting himself of all his burdens but his revolver and ammunition belt, Slim started off. Leaving Jerry to arrange their effects, he gave that young man a real shock when he silently returned five minutes later unheard by Jerry, and, standing only half a dozen feet behind him, blurted out:
"Forgot my field glasses."
Jerry whirled around as though he had been shot. "Why don't you sneak up and try to frighten a fellow to death?" he demanded.
"Sorry," Slim apologized. "Thought you heard me coming."
"I believe you did it on purpose," Jerry growled, as the other youth again started off.
"I'll send in my card first next time," was Slim's parting remark.
"Well, be sure to make yourself known," retorted Jerry, "or I might mistake you for a Boche and send in a bullet."
Slim's laugh floated back and he disappeared down a ravine through which he was making for a higher point of observation further on.