They looked quite smart when they started off, in their khaki uniforms and their scouts’ hats all at precisely the same angle with chin-straps resting jauntily on the tip of the chin. Billy carried the banner of his own troop, the design being a snowy mountain with a jagged crest, a picture of old Olympus himself; not the classic mountain, but the Sentinel of the Pacific.
Their work was definite. They were to take the trolley line to the northeast city terminal, going and coming; from there cover at least fifteen miles on foot in the two days, whether they found the flag or not. Mr. Streeter said if they could only read his plain signs they could not miss it; but so far the patrols had failed.
Besides finding the flag each was to fulfil the rule of one kind act each day; to report some fact of the woods-life not before recorded in the annals of the city troops, or some new deed; and to stop one hour on Sunday for exercises of their own devising that should take the place of church. To accomplish this most of the circumstances would have to be in their favor. Billy hoped the weather would be one.
The start included breakfast which they took at an early restaurant, that their knapsacks might not weigh an unnecessary ounce. They set off northward from the railroad terminus, following the beautiful boulevard as long as its direction was right, then a country road for a mile or so, which they left at a given point for the trails where their real hunt began.
Billy divided the patrol into three squads, Hugh of the Skwis-kwises had Mumps from the Chetwoots for his partner; Redtop was assigned with “Bump” Parker; and Billy took Bob Brown. He was a tenderfoot. So was Hugh, though one of the cleverest and most observant of all the scouts; but he was doomed to his class till time should bring around his twelfth birthday, when he would be eligible to all the scout honors he could win.
“We’ll search the trails for three hours,” Billy decided, “and meet at the south end of Lake Mow-itsh on the main road.” He studied his map, a copy of which each one carried. “Ten points for the first squad to arrive, and ten points for any new bird seen in the forest and rightly named.”
“That’s easy!” Bob exclaimed. He was a recent arrival from the Middle States.
“You won’t think so after you’ve hiked a while; the forest is too dense for many birds,—not enough food for them.”
“And now for the routes; draw straws.”
Billy and Bob drew the longest route, which pleased the patrol leader. “Now’s your chance to show your grit, kid; your legs are not as long as mine.”