“There’s Hugh calling to us, so come along, Billy. The trackers are getting busy with their work, I guess.”
Although this part of the competition was of the deepest interest to the scouts themselves and to many of the men present, the girls cared little for it. They did not seem to be able to understand what could be so intensely exciting about a few “scratches” on the ground, a clip of fur, and other similar things. Then the full story followed of how a rabbit had ventured out, been chased by some enemy, as was evidenced by its way of running and dodging, and finally met with a sudden end, marked by blood spots and fur again. And after all others had given the puzzle up in despair, it was Hugh who proved to the committee what sort of enemy it had actually been, through whom poor bunny had come to his untimely end:
A hungry owl, he said, had been foraging for his supper, and in the darkness the unlucky rabbit had been readily discovered by the yellow eyes of the big bird. Then had begun that chase. Hugh easily showed the committee where he had found a mark of the bird’s wing-tips in the soft mud at the time it made an unsuccessful swoop down with the intention of securing its prey with its curved claws.
He also gave them a feather he had picked up near where the tragedy had happened, which a number of the other scouts admitted had certainly fallen from the plumage of a Virginia horned owl, such as usually hunts at night time for its food and destroys many pests like field mice.
By degrees the series of contests simmered down until finally the end came. The vigilant committee had kept accurate tally, and after summing up, it was formally announced that the Otters had come out ahead by a score of points.
Of course there was a tremendous amount of cheering by the adherents of that lively bunch of fellows, headed by Alec Sands. Don Miller and his Foxes, as well generous Walter Osborne with the Hawk boys, swung their hats and joined in the racket, because after all it was a family affair. And people said that Hugh Hardin, with the members of the Wolf patrol, which had given the Otters the hardest rub of all, certainly cheered as loud as anybody could, as they congratulated the winners of the open air contests.
“But this doesn’t mean that that banner is already yours, remember, Alec,” warned Billy Worth, as he came upon the excited leader of the Otters, moving up and down and starting new salvos of cheering, which was of course sweet music in his ears. “To-night comes the gathering at the hall, where in the presence of all the scouts, and as many outsiders as can crowd in, the head of the committee will announce what things the several patrols have been doing these weeks past to merit points, according to the schedule laid out.”
“Yes,” added “Spike” Welling, one of the Foxes, “and Blake Merton has promised to sing several of his best songs between the readings, so as to sort of break up the monotony.”
“Which is about the only prime thing the poor Hawks will show up in this trip,” remarked Cooper Fennimore, his chum; “but I hear they’ve determined to wake up and do better next time. Better bottle up some of that enthusiasm, Alec, till you hear what the returns to-night tell. Then if you win you’ll have breath to shout; and if you get left at the stake, you’ll be glad you didn’t count your chickens before they were hatched.”
“Oh! I’m not worrying about that,” came the quick answer from the confident Alec. “We’ve got it all cut and dried long ago. Wait till you hear how we picked up points by fives and tens here and there, doing lots of wonderful things that count. You’ll be willing to give me credit for being a good general; and perhaps you’ll wish a certain election had gone differently.”