“Bob, I guess some of the things that seem useless are really worth the most.”
“But we can’t sell it for anything, we can’t eat it, and it won’t pay debts.”
“Well, how many debts would greenbacks pay if the American flag was wiped out? And anyway those that do the biggest things seldom do get paid in money.”
“Who, for instance?”
“The great artists; many of them starved in their own day, and now we pay a fortune for one piece of their work. And who pays the mothers? They do most of anybody.”
Bob was thoughtful. “Ye-s; I reckon lots of mothers get slim pay.”
The signs became more frequent now. They were written in broken twigs, in bunched and tied grass, and once in a more open place in piled stones. Presently the boys found themselves on the shore of Mow-itsh Lake about two miles from the rendezvous. There, in front of a great cedar, stood the notched and numbered staff with its well-known device etched with knife and ink,—a mountain with a scout and a flag on its summit. But the flag they had searched for was gone!
“I wonder what that means!” Billy shook the water from his hat and gazed in all directions for an answer.
“Search me. I’m no more good at knowin’ things of this country than if we were in Sahara.”
Billy looked at his watch. “Half an hour to get back to the rendezvous; and then dinner.”