Jiminety, but didn’t I get down on my knees and study those some more. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with the scouts, but maybe it did.
And even if it did I couldn’t make out what it meant, because that shoe was no scout shoe. I know a scout shoe when I see one, you can bet.
Anyway, I made up my mind I was going to follow that track as far as I could. Maybe it would peter out on a street or something and then—good night!
You’ll see what happened in the next chapter. Oh, boy, it’s going to be a peacherino!
CHAPTER XIV
THE SLACKER
One thing, I wished Tom Slade was there, because he was the best tracker we ever had. He could track an airplane—that’s what the fellows used to say. But he was over in France and the only other fellow in our troop who is a cracker-jack at tracking, is Westy Martin. I don’t say that just because he’s a Silver Fox, because I have to admit that Artie Van Arlen and Wig Weigand are heroes, and they’re not Silver Foxes. But, honest, Westy is a winner when it comes to tracking, and you’ve got to remember that, because now I’m going to tell you some other things about him and maybe you won’t know just what to think. But I’m going to tell you straight just what happened.
Well, I decided that I’d rather have another fellow with me, because that’s a good rule in tracking and anyway two fellows are better than one. And anyway, I knew he could hold a track longer than I could. He got the pathfinder’s badge for one of the best tracking stunts that was ever done up at Temple Camp and he’s done enough tracking stunts to win it two or three times over. He’s a fiend on tracking.
By now I knew that the fellows would all be coming down to the boat club landing to work on the houseboat, because we had it fixed that they would all be there by nine o’clock. I wasn’t going to flunk on that, you can bet, but I thought if I told them about the footprint they’d let Westy and me off for a little while, because if a scout is after a merit badge he can usually get leave all right. Anyway, that’s the way it is in our troop. And all the fellows knew I had the tracking bee, all right.
Gee, I hate to tell you about this, but I have to. Now, the way you get from Marshtown landing up to the boat club landing is to follow the shore and its only about a quarter of a mile. After I’d hiked it a little way, I could hear the fellows talking and sawing and hammering, and I knew they were all busy working.
When I got there they were all over the houseboat like flies, painting and varnishing and fixing up the flagpole, and I could hear Pee-wee as usual, shouting away. Jiminy, but it sounded good. Then I could hear somebody say, “Well, well, better late than never,” and I saw it was our scoutmaster, Mr. Ellsworth. He took a day off to help the fellows.