“First there’s the original Wolf Patrol,” he started in to say, “consisting of charter members for the most part. These are eight in number, and constitute a full patrol—Hugh Hardin, leader; Billy Worth, ‘Bud’ Morgan, Arthur Cameron, Ned Twyford, Jack Durham, Harold Tremaine, and Ralph Kenyon.
“Then comes the Hawk Patrol, with one vacancy, owing to a fellow leaving town. It now consists of Walter Osborne, leader; Blake Merton, ‘Gus’ Merrivale, Anthony Huggins, Mark Trowbridge, Frank Green, and ‘Chatz’ Marsters.
“Next we have the Otter Patrol, full to the brim. There’s Alec Sands, leader; ‘Buck’ Winter, Chester Brownell, Dick Bellamy, Tom Sherwood, Dale Evans, Sam Winter, and Albert Barnes.
“Then there’s the Fox Patrol, with two vacancies, owing to the same cause, families moving away from Oakvale. No scout thus far on our membership list has died. Don Miller is the leader, with ‘Shorty’ McNeil, Cooper Fennimore, ‘Spike’ Welling, ‘Monkey’ Stallings and Addison Prentice making up the rest.
“Last of all is the Owl Patrol, with only four on the roll. Lige Corbley is acting as leader the best he knows how, and the other fellows are ‘Whistling’ Smith, Andy Wallis and Pete Craig. So you see how matters stand. Strikes me, Hugh, we ought to fill up the vacancies in the Hawk and Fox Patrols before trying to complete the new chapter, though maybe the suggestion oughtn’t to come from so humble an individual as the greenhorn secretary, William Worth, at your service!”
He put away the paper and once more took the reins, whereat the intelligent horse, as though knowing who handled the lines now, once more fell back into his indolent gait, as though time did not matter—like master, like horse, Arthur told himself, noting this immediate change of pace.
“On the contrary,” said Hugh, immediately, “I’m glad you mentioned it, and in fact I consider it a very good suggestion. We’ll thresh it out at the next meeting, when we hope to have several applications for membership.”
“Gad-up, Peter, what ails you?” exclaimed Billy, flushing with pleasure, for he would rather receive a compliment from Hugh than any one he knew of. “Here we are on the border of town, with your oats waiting for you in the stable, and yet you loaf like that. You must be pretty much of a lazybones, I reckon.”
“Don’t forget that Peter has traveled quite some few miles, uphill and down,” remarked Hugh chidingly. “The load he’s pulling now, what with the bags of nuts and three boys, isn’t to be sneezed at. We’re going to get home in plenty of time for supper, for the sun’s just beginning to set now behind the bare ridges of old Stormberg Mountain over there in the west.”
“And to-night you promised to drop over to my house, remember, fellows,” remarked Billy. “With the Thanksgiving holidays nearly on us, we’ve got to think up some sort of outing to give us a breathing spell between studies.”