“And will you prove it for me?”
“That’s me.”
“Then I won’t be a tenderfoot any more. I’ll be a second-class scout.”
“Is that what you have to do to be a second-class scout, Skinny? I forget about the second-class tests. You have to track an animal, or something like that? I’ve got a rotten memory.”
“And I’ll—I’ll have a trail named after me, too; it’ll be called McCord trail. These are my tracks, see? Because I found them. Only maybe they’ll say I’m lying. Anyway, how did you happen to come here?” he asked as if in sudden fear.
“I was just taking a walk through the woods, Skinny.”
Skinny continued to stare at him, still with a kind of lingering misgiving, but feeling that gentle patting on his shoulder, he seemed reassured.
“I was just flopping around in the woods, Skinny; just flopping around, that’s all....”