In the field where little Margie Garrison had been last seen, the scouts gave Robin Hood the scent. He found much difficulty in following it across the broad thoroughfare, but once in the open fields beyond, he jogged along steadily, pulling his young master after him. It was significant that poor Emerson did not know this short-cut to the old ruin, by which he might have eliminated a mile or more in his journey thither.

They led the way across fields on the edge of town and the dog had no doubtful pauses, save once at a cross-road where for a few seconds he moved about beset with perplexity. Then he was off again through the sparse woods between the outer reaches of Bridgeboro and Little Valley.

To Pee-wee, this following a dog upon the scent was the very essence of scoutish adventure. His legs, which relatively were not so long as his tongue, were kept in a continuous state of intensive labor, keeping up with Toby, whom he had appropriated as his own. Meanwhile, his tongue (always equal to any occasion) labored unceasingly. The others of the party having tasted the novelty of tracking with a hurrying dog, followed at a distance.

“One thing sure anyway, you can bet,” said Pee-wee, with such breath as he could spare. “I’m glad I went back with them to North Bridgeboro, gee whiz, I’m glad of that, you can bet. And you can bet I’m glad there’s a vacant place in my patrol, because Wig Weigand went away to live in Vermont and his father has a big farm there with fruit orchards and everything and I’m going to visit him there next Christmas vacation, because in the summer I go to Temple Camp and you’ll go there too. So will you take Robin Hood?”

“Where I go he goes,” Toby said.

“Gee whiz, I don’t blame you,” said Pee-wee. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re in my patrol. I was going to get a feller named Skybrow; maybe you know him, they call him Arabella. But anyway I guess he wouldn’t have joined anyway, that’s what Roy and the fellers say. But anyway after this I’m going to be friends with him, but just the same I’m glad you’re in my patrol. I saw you a lot down in Bridgeboro; once I was in Bennett’s drinking soda, you get a dandy soda there, and I saw you go by with Robin Hood and a girl that was buying candy said what a mag—what a mag—what a mag—nif——”

He paused a moment; came up for air.

“Well, you’ve got the both of us wished on you now,” said Toby.

“And Robin Hood’ll have the Pathfinder’s badge too,” said Pee-wee, “because I can fix it, because I know how to fix things; you leave it to me.”

He paused only when the dog paused, excitedly preoccupied with some baffling difficulty in the scent.

“All right, old Bob,” Toby encouraged.

The dog paused long enough in his intense preoccupation to lick the hand of his young master. But he seemed quite oblivious to the praises and friendly strokes of Pee-wee, and of the others who had come up.

“They never bother with any one but their owners, that kind, do they?” Connie asked. “That’s what I heard.”

“Didn’t you hear Toby say he bothered with heroes in the war?” Artie demanded.

“Sure, he did,” said Westy Martin.

“He used to invite them to his headquarters to supper and everything,” said Roy. “Didn’t he, Toby?”

“That’s all right,” said Toby. “He knows something big when he sees it.”

“Sure, that’s why he doesn’t see Pee-wee,” said Roy.

They were off again, following Robin Hood, who strained at his leash, causing Toby to stumble along.

“You’re crazy!” Pee-wee yelled. “I know what he means; he means heroes; he can see them with——”

“Opera-glasses,” said Roy. “Right the first time as usual.”

“Don’t you mind him,” Pee-wee panted, addressing Toby. “Didn’t I tell you they’re all crazy in that—anyway, listen. It means—I know what you mean because if you do something kind of very brave like, then he won’t be stuck-up, but he’ll kind of notice you; I bet that’s what you mean—hey?”

“Yop,” said Toby.

“And anyway, I bet he’ll notice me if he——”

“Has a magnifying glass,” said Roy.

“—if he’s in my patrol,” thundered Pee-wee; “because I bet he’ll be friends with the fellers in my, in our patrol, won’t he, Toby?”

“Yop, guess so,” said the taciturn Toby. “He knows who’s worth noticing all right.”

It was this last remark which Emerson Skybrow, scarred, bleeding, gulping with overwhelming fatigue, and standing half-naked in the darkness, heard in the unseen distance.