He said I shouldn’t feel that way and that he guessed playing baseball was good exercise anyway.  But he only said that so I wouldn’t feel bad.  Anyway as long as they were going to eat I thought I might as well go ahead and see if I could do that tracking if it didn’t take me too far.  On the way down to the other landing I thought what I’d say to Westy.  I knew he’d get a troop reprimand, but I decided he’d get a patrol reprimand too, you bet.  And I was feeling pretty bad about it too, because none of the Silver Foxes ever got a troop reprimand.  They got patrol reprimands but not troop reprimands.  And Westy had gone and spoiled it all and, gee, that’s one word I don’t like—­slacker.

When I got to the other landing I started following that trail.  If you think Westy had anything to do with it, you’re mighty mistaken, because he didn’t.  He always wore scout shoes, I knew that.

Well, believe me, that trail was a cinch and I could follow it as easy as a clothes line.  It went right up through River Lane where there isn’t any pavement and every footprint was plain.  I was afraid it would go through Daws Place, because that’s the easiest way to get to Main Street, and I’d lose it there on account of the pavement.  But it didn’t, and, oh, boy, wasn’t I glad!  Instead of going that way the tracks went right up across the ball field, just as plain as print.  That’s another way to get to Main Street, and it brings you out at Harvey’s candy store, but don’t ever go there for ice cream cones, because you get bigger ones down at Jack’s.

Then I lost the trail on account of the pavements.  Gee, that’s one thing I don’t like about pavements.  So there’s where I did some deducing.  Maybe you don’t know what bridging a trail-gap means.  You have only yourselves to blame for not being scouts.  Bridging a trail-gap means stopping to think when you lose a trail.  You have to decide where it most likely starts again.  That’s what grown-up scouts call mental tracking.  So I sat down on Ridgeway’s carriage step and thinked a couple of thinks.  That’s right on Main Street, you know, and I had to decide if that person went up or down Main Street or across the street.  Right across the street is the big bank building.  I’ve got forty-two dollars and eighteen cents interest in that bank.  Mr. Temple is the head of it, and he’s awful rich—­he owns railroads and things.  He started Temple Camp.  He calls me “Curly” because my hair curls.  I should worry.

Right down alongside of the bank runs Barrel Alley.  It reminds you of Fifth Avenue, it’s so different.  That’s where Tom Slade was born, down there.  Most every day somebody dies down there, but anyway there are paving—­stones there now, that’s one good thing.  Except for tracking.  So you see how it was that person, who ever he was, could have gone up Main Street or down Main Street, or over the stone crossing into Barrel Alley.