Part 18 (2/2)

”Can they read Army and Navy wigwags?” asked Scout Ward.

”Sure,” I said. ”Can you?”

”Pretty good,” he answered. ”Shall I make a talk, or will you?”

But I wasn't very well practiced in wigwags, yet; I was only a Second-cla.s.s Scout.

”You,” I said. ”Do you want a flag?”

But he said he'd use his hat. (Note 48.)

He made the ”attention” signal; and Fitzpatrick answered. Then he went ahead, while Scout Van Sant spelled it out for me:

”R--e--d F--o--x.”

And Fitz answered, like lightning:

”E--l--k.”

”What shall I say?” asked Scout Ward of me, over his shoulder.

”Say we're all right, and ask them how they are.”

He did. Scout Van Sant spelled the answer:

”O. K. B--u--t c--a--n--t c--r--o--s--s. C--a--m--p t--i--l--l m--o--r--n--i--n--g. A--s--h h--u--r--t.”

When we learned that General Ashley was hurt, and knew that he and Fitzpatrick the Bad Hand were going to camp on the other side for the night, the two Red Fox Scouts, packs and all, and I got through that gulch somehow and up and out, where they were. It would have been a shame to let a one-armed boy tend to the camp and to a wounded companion, and do everything, if we could possibly help. Of course, Fitz would have managed. He was that kind. He didn't ask for help.

They were waiting; Fitz had unpacked the burro and was making camp.

General Ashley was sitting with his back against a rock. He looked pale and worn. He had sprained his ankle, back there when we had all tried to escape, yesterday, and it was swollen horribly because he had had to step on it some and hadn't been able to give it the proper treatment.

(Note 49.) Fitz looked worn, too, and of course we three others (especially I) showed travel, ourselves.

After I had introduced the Red Fox Scouts to him and Fitz, then before anything else was told I must report. So I did. But I hated to say it. I saluted, and blurted it out:

”I followed the beaver man and sighted him, sir, but he got away again, with the message.”

The general did not frown, or show that he was disappointed or vexed. He tried to smile, and he said: ”Did he? That surely was hard luck then, Jim. Where did he go?”

”We were with Bridger, and it seems to us that he did the best he could.

The fire interrupted,” put in Red Fox Scout Van Sant, hesitatingly.

He spoke as if he knew that he had not been asked for an opinion, but as a friend and as a First-cla.s.s Scout he felt as though he ought to say something.

”The best is all that any Scout can do,” agreed the general. ”Go ahead, Jim, and tell what happened.”

So I did. The general nodded. I hadn't made any excuses; I tried to tell just the plain facts, and ended with our escape in the willows, from that fire.

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