He was as keen as a bloodhound for the
trail and instinctively Roy obeyed him.
They hurried out without waiting for so much as a bite to eat and with
the aid of their flashlights (and thanks to the recent rains) had no
difficulty in trailing Pee-wee as far as the railroad tracks.
"He'd either follow the track," said Tom, "or else the road we took and
hide somewhere till we passed. He wouldn't try any cross-country
business at night, I don't believe."
"Poor kid!" was all Roy could say. The thought of that note which he had
carelessly left about and of Pee-wee starting out alone haunted him and
made him feel like a scoundrel. All his gayety had vanished and he
depended on Tom and followed his lead. He remembered only too well the
wonderful tracking stunt that Tom had done the previous summer, and now,
as he looked at that rather awkward figure, kneeling with head low, and
creeping along from tie to tie, oblivious to all but his one purpose, he
felt a certain thrill of confidence. By a sort of unspoken
understanding, he (who was the most all-round scout of them all and
looked it into the bargain) had acted as their leader and spokesman on
the trip; and Tom Slade, who could no more talk to strangers, and
especially girls, than he could fly, had followed, envying Roy's easy
manner and all-around proficiency. But Tom was a wizard in tracking, and
as Roy watched him now he could not help realizing with a pang of shame
that again it was Tom who had come to the rescue to save him from the
results of his own selfishness and ill-temper.
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