THE BOB-CAT.
The morning was half gone, and they had been making pretty fair progress.
"But," said Giraffe, when Allan mentioned this fact, "if we're only
holding our own, that means we'll never glimpse the poor old chap in a
week, 'less he just drops down from being so worn out, reduced to skin
and bones, so to speak," and both he and Step Hen chuckled at the
possibility of Bumpus ever coming to such an end.
"Oh! I don't know," said Allan. "There's always a chance that you might
sight him somewhere. You see, he turns every which way. Now he's heading
almost north; and a little while back it was nearly due east. Perhaps he
may double on his tracks yet; we can't tell."
"And if he did, and happened to discover all our footprints, what d'ye
think the blessed innocent would do?" asked Giraffe.
"Be scared stiff, most likely, and think Injuns must be trailing him,
bound to take his scalp," laughed Step Hen.
Thad stopped for a minute's breathing spell.
"I think both of you are wrong there," he remarked, "and if Bumpus did
only happen to come on his own trail, after we'd passed along, the
chances are he'd just make up his mind to sit down, and wait for us to
come around again."
"You don't say?" exclaimed Step Hen.
"How in the wide world would Bumpus ever guess it was _us_ made the
tracks?" Giraffe demanded, incredulously.
"He wouldn't have to guess, because he'd know!" Thad ventured.
"You must believe that fat chum of ours is waking up, Thad? Just tell us,
will you now, how he'd be so dead sure of this? We haven't been dropping
our visiting cards along the way, that I saw," and Step Hen gave Giraffe
a sly wink.
"Well, we have, right along," Thad continued, "and unless I'm much
mistaken, Bumpus can read the signs all right. He knows what kind of an
imprint your shoes make, Step Hen, and how there's a bunch of nails
shaped like a star in both of your heels. Look down there, and you'll
notice them."
"Well, I'll be jiggered if there ain't!" muttered the surprised Step Hen,
as if the fact was quite new to him.
"And Giraffe, he also knows that you 'toe in' with your right foot, so
that each time you step it makes a little peculiar scrape. Bend down and
I'll show you, here, and here, and here. Catch on to it, now, Giraffe?"
"Well, I never knew that before; but it's a fact, Thad, I do turn that
foot some, I admit. Tried to break off the habit lots of times, but it's
no use."
"More than that," said Thad, "look at my track, and you'll see there's a
marked peculiarity that makes it different from any other. I had a piece
put on each heel, and the line shows as plain as anything. And now here's
Allan's footprint--do you see anything about that you'd be likely to
recognize if you ran across it again?"
"Sure we do," burst out Giraffe. "The shoe is square at the toes, broader
than any other. Besides that, Allan walks with his feet nearly straight,
and most people turn them out some; all but those that toe-in."
"Well, you see, now, that each one of us has an individual mark,"
continued the patrol leader, wishing to impress the lesson on the others.
"Yes, that's all right, Thad; but how would a tenderfoot like Bumpus know
all about these things?" persisted Giraffe.
"How do _you_ know?" demanded the leader.
"Huh! because you just told us, I guess," the tall scout admitted.
"Well, that's just the case with Bumpus," went on Thad. "Of late he's
taken a remarkably deep interest in the thousand-and-one things that are
open to the eyes of a scout, if only he chooses to look around. And so,
when he asked about following a trail, I showed him how to tell the marks
of every scout in the patrol, himself included. And Bumpus wrote them all
down in that little notebook he carries."
"Well, if that don't beat all creation!" exclaimed Giraffe.
"Just imagine the poor boy squattin' down, to pull out his note-book, and
then say: 'There, I know Giraffe made those tracks; and that other must
be the manly tread of my good friend, Step Hen Bingham!' I guess it's up
to us to improve each shining hour, ourselves, Giraffe, like the busy
little bee. We don't want a tenderfoot like Bumpus to beat us out, do
we?"
"Not much we don't," said Giraffe.
And for three minutes the two of them were busily engaged writing
descriptions in their scout's note-book, with which every one in the
patrol was provided; stopping now and then to examine or measure one of
the tracks.
When this operation was concluded, much to the amusement of Thad and
Allan, the forward movement was again resumed.
But it seemed as though this little incident must have aroused the
curiosity and ambition of Giraffe and Step Hen, for they frequently asked
questions that had more or less bearing on trailing.
And the information which Allan was able to give, in addition to what the
scoutmaster said, quite enthused both searchers after facts.
"Say, I never thought there was so much in this trackin' business," Step
Hen honestly admitted. "I used to believe it was pretty much of a fake,
and that fellers just kind of went along, smellin' out things, like a
setter or a hound would. But now I see it's a whole lot of fun; and I'm
going in for trackin'. I am to be a champion trailer."
"Look out there, fellers!" shouted Giraffe.
They saw him swing his gun around, and almost immediately discharge the
heavy rifle. All of the others hastened to get their guns in a
serviceable condition, even while they were looking to see what had
happened to excite the tall scout.
Something flashed from one tree to another, and vanished amidst the dense
growth of leaves. As this tree was close to others, the chances were that
the animal would have little difficulty in eluding them.
"Wow! a big wildcat!" exclaimed Step Hen, in great excitement.
"Tell me, did you see his left hind leg drag _just a little_, when he
landed on that limb?" asked Giraffe, eagerly.
"Oh! you aimed to take him on the left hind leg, did you?" jeered Step
Hen, advancing a pace in the hope of discovering the beast crouching
above, and offering a fair target.
"I hadn't time to aim, but just shot any old way," declared the other.
"Fact is, I don't believe the butt of my gun was more'n half way to my
shoulder when I let go. He was agoin' to jump right then, and I knew it
was hit or miss with me."
"A dangerous thing to do when it's a lynx or a bob-cat," remarked Allan,
who, being a Maine boy, had had lots of experience with the fierce
beasts. "Better have let him get clean away. But I don't think you
wounded him, Giraffe."
"Huh? why not?"
"Because I never knew a wildcat that was wounded to run away," Allan
replied. "Once you give them pain, and you can make up your mind you've
got a fight on your hands, and the chances are, a warm one too."
Giraffe looked disappointed.
"Well, I tried for him, anyway," he remarked. "Let's see if we can
glimpse his old staring yellow eyes somewhere up there."
But they failed to do so.
"Make up your minds he's got clean off before now," said Allan. "The way
one of those big cats can spring from tree to tree is fierce. But we
haven't the time just now to be looking for cats. I don't believe we've
lost any, do you, Thad?"
"But that old rascal seemed to be hanging on a limb just about over where
our tenderfoot pard must have passed by," ventured Giraffe, a new fear
arising in his breast.
"Oh! my, I hope now he wasn't there when Bumpus came along," remarked
Step Hen, as if comprehending the thought that had taken form in the mind
of his comrade.
"What's this mean, Thad?" asked Allen, just then, pointing down close to
his feet; and the other three uttered various exclamations when they saw
what he was referring to.
"Spots of dried blood!" gasped Giraffe.
"It is, now, for a fact," Step Hen followed with, "Oh! that cat must have
jumped on poor old Bumpus, and clawed him up something scandalous. He
bled like a stuck pig, as he ran off. And see here, where something's
been just dragging along the ground. What if he's wounded so bad he had
to pull one leg after him? This is just awful, fellers. Poor old Bumpus!"
But Thad and Allan somehow did not seem to join with the others in
feeling sorry. At least they made no remarks. And as they all walked
slowly on, following the blood-stained tracks, if Giraffe or Step Hen,
instead of keeping their eyes so closely upon the ground, had ventured to
raise them a little, so as to take in the faces of their chums, doubtless
their surprise would have been great to notice that Thad wore a broad
smile, while Allan was making various suggestive gestures, and winking
one eye in the direction of the scoutmaster.
So they walked slowly forward a score or more of paces, when Giraffe and
Step Hen were once more startled. This time it was not by the sudden
appearance of a ferocious wild beast, but only the voice of Allan calling
out:
"Oh! look! look! whatever can that be, hanging yonder from the limb of
that tree?"