y 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 ever