"Well, he stole away," Winton said; "he'll be back."
Cracky, I couldn't make heads or tails of that fellow. Somehow I kind of liked him—I couldn't help it.
CHAPTER XVII
TELLS ABOUT CAMP-FIRE AND SKINNY
All of a sudden I heard a fellow shout, "There he is!" And then everbody around the camp-fire set up a howl.
Skinny was standing in the dark away from the fire, just as if he was afraid to come in among the fellows. His uniform was all wrinkled and stained and he looked even worse than he did other times. There was a long mark on his cheek where I guess the gold dust twin had scratched him, and he didn't have his hat or his shoes. Good night, he didn't look much like pictures you see of heroes. But he was all quieted down, that was one thing. I guess he was played out.
"There he is, the crazy little Indian!" a fellow shouted; "come in here, Skinny, till we get our fists on you. You've won the gold cross, you little spindle shanks!"
Then a lot of fellows shouted, "Hurrah for Skinny! Come here, Skinny, till we pat you on the back—you little water snake!" They didn't even seem to know his last name or his front name either, and it made me mad.
"You trot right over here to mamma, Skinny," Vic Norris of the Elks shouted; "we'll take care of you."
The kid was smiling, all confused, as if he didn't know what to do.