legible in the dusk, running as they did in the yielding caked surface
of the stream bed. They were as clear as tracks in caked snow. Then the
path of the dried up waterway petered out in an area of rocks and
pebbles and beyond that there was no clearly defined way; the brook had
evidently trickled down into the lower land taking the path of least
resistance among the rocks.

No doubt Tom Slade could have followed that water path to its end, but
Hervey was puzzled, baffled. Yet the enthusiasm which carried him, as
though on wings, to his triumphs was aroused now. He had the prophecy of
Tom Slade to strengthen his determination. He must make good for Tom's
sake now, as well as for the sake of his troop. He had told Tom that if
he only once found a trail, nothing would stop him--_nothing_. Very
fine. All that talk about there being something higher than the Eagle
award was nonsense, and Tom Slade knew it was nonsense. "He said I'd do
it, and I'm going to," Hervey muttered to himself.

Hervey had no patience with obstacles, he must be always moving, so now
he began frantically scrutinizing the ground to see if he could find
some sign of the marks which had eluded him. Since he could no longer
distinguish the stream bed, he looked for some sign of those marks
outside the stream bed.

And presently he was rewarded by the discovery of tracks, animal tracks
sure enough, without any ribbon, so to speak, printed between them.
There they were upon the hard, bare earth, two lines of claw marks,
continuing to a point where they disappeared again at the edge of a
close cropped field. Evidently his mysterious predecessor had known just
where he wished to go and had forsaken the stream bed when it no longer
went in his direction. These were no aimless tracks, they were the