“But they’re as good, I bet,” Bob returned spunkily. And they separated.
The woods here were dense and heavy with rain of the night before. The fickle sun disappeared, and the stillness of the forest settled upon them. Unconsciously Billy and Bob lowered their voices, doing very little talking, for Billy’s eyes and mind were on the trail intently watching for the slightest sign. At each division of the trail he searched so long and carefully that Bob was impatient.
“We’ll lose all chance of winning in at the lake.”
“If we find the flag that will be the biggest win of all, and I’m not going to lose one pointer if I can help it.” Billy went down on his knees to look at a track.
“What did you expect to find?”
“I didn’t know; but it’s up to a scout to pass nothing by in the woods. Look for the arrow that points the way, you tenderfoot. It may be only a straight shaft or it may have a square at the feathered end.”
“What does that mean?”
“A letter three paces from the arrow.”
“What color will the arrow be?”
“Gee whiz! Did you think it would be bought from a store? Diamond-tipped, maybe? It’ll be any old stick touched up with a jack knife perhaps. You’ve got a lot to learn, kid.”