ral that had turned out tragedies;
and wanted to carry no ill tidings home to dear old Cranford, when the
patrol set their faces that way.

Step Hen had one trait from which nothing ever seemed capable of
breaking him. He was exceedingly careless by nature, and forever
misplacing things that belonged to him. And the fun of it was, that he
could never see how the fault lay with himself; but kept bewailing the
misfortune that always picked him out as a victim; just as though some
invisible little imp were haunting his footsteps forever, and watching
for opportunities to hide his belongings in the most unheard-of places.
It did not matter that they were usually found just where Step Hen had
himself dropped them in a moment of absent-mindedness; he would grumble
to himself, and observe his companions suspiciously, as though he really
believed they had been playing a little joke upon him after all.

Thad had even lain awake nights, figuring on how the other might be
radically cured of this failing; for Step Hen had many admirable traits
of character, and it seemed a great pity that his record as a scout
should be marred by so tenacious a fault. But up to the present the
scoutmaster had not been able to build up a scheme that promised to
effect a cure. And every once in a while the complaining voice of Step
Hen might be heard in the land, wondering "where in Sam Hill that knife
of mine has disappeared to; last time I had it I was mighty careful to
put it away in the sheath; and now it's gone like magic. Who sneaked it
off me, tell me that? Funny how it's only _my_ things that disappear all
the time. Oh! is that it sticking up there in the tree, Giraffe? You say
you saw me put it there? Well, I don't remember the least thing about
that. Guess you must have been dreaming; but of course I'm glad to find
it again. I wish people would use their own knives."

Perhaps, some time or other Step Hen might be given a lesson that
would make so lasting an impression on him that he would begin to see
the absurdity of being careless. Thad often felt that he would like to
help the good work along, if ever the chance arrived.

Smithy was more than a little curious in his way. He possessed a kindly
nature, too, and had made friends with Mike, one of the pack mules.
Often in the goodness of his heart the dude scout would walk alongside
the burden bearer, talking to him, and patting the animal's nose.
Sometimes Mike resented these attentions,