Yes, he was on the trail at last, and at the end of that trail was the
stalking badge--and the Eagle award. _Hervey Willetts, Eagle Scout._ It
sounded pretty good....

He realized now that this discovery of his was just a streak of luck,
that the chances would have been altogether against his finding real
tracks in these two remaining days. "I'm lucky," he said. Which must
have been true, else he would have lost his life long ere that....

Darkness was now coming on apace, and it must be long past supper-time.
But this was no time to be thinking of eating. Nothing would stop him
now, _nothing_. When he set his mind on a thing....

The tracks changed again in traversing the fields. They were not tracks
at all, in fact, but a narrow belt of trampled grass, which was not
visible close by. It was only by looking ahead that Hervey could
distinguish it. Half way across the field he lost it altogether, but,
remembering the fact that it could be seen better at a distance, he
climbed a tree and there lay the long narrow belt of trampled grass
running under the rail fence at the field's edge and into the sparse
woods beyond. He had not to follow it, only pick out the rail of the
fence near where it passed and hurry to that spot.

And there it was, waiting for him. If Hervey had been well versed in
tracking lore and less of a seeker after glory, he would have
scrutinized the lowest rail of the fence, under which the track went,
for bits of hair. But Hervey Willetts was not after bits of hair. It was
quite like him that he did not care two straws about what sort of animal
he was tracking. He was tracking the Eagle badge.