“You betcher!” said Elmer Bunty, stoutly.
“All set? Right! Hike along behind me; we can see for almost an hour, and it won’t take us long to get there.”
“Say, Ranger, why don’t we go the short cut over the hill—the one Mr. Golinda showed me? It saves a mile.”
“I’m not sure enough of it in the dusk, Scout; we might waste more time fooling about looking for it than in keeping to the main trail.”
“No, we wouldn’t! I know it, sure as shooting, Ranger. He showed me that first day when I went down to meet Mrs. Golinda and I came back all alone! I can find it, Ranger!”
It didn’t matter particularly, Dean thought, if they did poke about in the twilight for an extra half hour; if the youngster could dramatize the dreary stumble through the damp dusk, let him. He had a surprisingly good sense of direction.
“That’s a Scout’s business, scouting,” said the boy, contentedly.
“Right. Lead off, old top.”
The Scout with Rusty at heel set forward with amazing briskness. “I remembered this funny shaped madroña tree right here. And a little ways ahead there’s a big rock, hanging right over us....” He trudged sturdily. “I don’t guess we’ll have much to eat to-night, will we, Ranger?”
“Well, not what you’d call a banquet, Scout. But we’ll munch a few raisins and a cracker and do a Rip Van Winkle, and dream about the breakfast Mrs. Golinda’s going to give us in the morning. We’ll be up with the lark and pop in on her and meanwhile we can feed our fancies on the thought of her coffee and golden muffins and broiled ham and scrambled——”