"Maybe you don't know what kind of an animal made these tracks, maybe,
hey?"

Indeed Tom did not know. But one thing he knew which amused him greatly.
They were following the path of glory the wrong way. Not that it made
any particular difference, but it seemed so like Skinny. He had not
actually tracked an animal at all, since the animal had come toward the
lake. He had followed tracks, to be sure, but he had not tracked an
animal. Hervey must have known this but he had not mentioned it. The
thought thrilled even stolid Tom with fresh admiration for that young
adventurer. Hervey Willetts was no handbook scout, but Tom would not
have him different than he was--no, not by a hair. He thought how
Skinny's beginning at the wrong end was like his pinning of the badge on
the wrong side of his breast. Poor little Skinny....

And he thought of that other scout coming down through those woods,
tracking that mysterious animal indeed, and stopping short, and sitting
down on a log and throwing away his triumph like chaff before the wind.
Then there arose in his mind the picture of that bright-eyed,
irresponsible youngster with his hat cocked sideways on his head, off
upon some new adventure or bent on some new stunt. Not a very good scout
delegate perhaps, but the bulliest scout that ever tore a gaping hole in
his stocking....

Tom was aroused from his meditation by Skinny's eager voice. "Here's the
log where he talked to me," he said; "here's just the very same place we
sat down and he said he'd be my witness. He said I was old top, that's
what he called me."