“That’s it; but it’s for the sake of my troop, too.”

Still again, they strolled on in silence.  A little twig cracked under Tom’s foot, the crackle sounding clear in the solemn stillness.  Some feathered creature chirped complainingly at the rude intrusion of its domain by these strangers.  And, almost under their very feet, a tiny snake wriggled across the trail and was gone.  The shadows were gathering now, and the fragrance of evening was beginning to permeate the dim woods.  And all the respectable home-loving birds were seeking their nests.

And so these two strolled on, and for a few minutes neither spoke.

“Well then, suppose I give you a tip,” Tom said.  “Will you promise that you’ll make good?  You claim to be a scout.  You say that when you get your mind set on a thing, nothing can stop you.  That the idea?”

“That’s it,” Hervey answered.

“You wouldn’t drop a trail after you once picked it up, would you?  Some animals take you pretty far.”

“You bet nothing would stop me if I once got the tracks,” Hervey said.  “I wouldn’t care if they took me across the Desert of Sahara or over the Rocky Mountains.”

“Hang on like a bulldog, hey?” Tom said.

“That’s me,” said Hervey.

“All right, it’s a go,” Tom concluded.  “I’ll see if I can give you a pointer or two down near camp in the morning.  Ever follow a woodchuck—­or a coon?  Only I don’t want any badge-getter falling down on a trail, if I’m mixed up with it.  That’s one thing I can’t stand—­a quitter.”

“I wouldn’t anyway,” Hervey said with great fervor; “but as long as I’ve got you and what you said to think about, you can bet your sweet life that not even a—­a—­a jungle would stop me—­it wouldn’t.”

“That’s the kind of a fellow they want for an Eagle Scout,” Tom said; “do or die.”

“That’s me,” said Hervey Willetts.

CHAPTER VI

THE EAGLE AND THE SCOUT

And so these two strolled on.  And presently they came to a point where the wood was more sparse, for they were approaching the rugged lower ledges of a mighty mountain, and the last rays of the dying sun fell upon the rocks and scantier vegetation of this clearer area, emphasizing the solemn darkness of the wooded ascent beyond.

Few, even of the scouts, had ever penetrated the enshrouding wilderness of that dizzy, forbidding height.  There were strange tales, usually told to tenderfeet around the camp-fire, of mysterious hermits and ferocious bears and half-savage men who lurked high up in those all but inaccessible fastnesses, but no scout from Temple Camp had ever ascended beyond the lower reaches of that frowning old monarch.

At Temple Camp, when the cheery blaze was crackling in the witching hour of yarn telling, the seasoned habitues of the camp would direct the eye of the newcomer to a little glint of light high up upon the mountain, and edify him with dark tales of a lonesome draft dodger who had challenged that tangled profusion of tree and brush to escape going to war and had never been able to find his way down again—­a quite just punishment for his cowardice.  But time and again this freakish glint of light had been proven to be the reflection of that very camp-fire upon a huge rock lodged up there and held by interlacing roots.