"They found me broke and lost and picked me up,
which was mighty good of them. Say," he added, with a slight
scowl on his face, "this is a fine, large country to get lost in."
"I should think so," agreed Jimmie. "I wasn't lost, but I
hadn't any more money than --than--than a--a--a rabbit when
I found Fremont and Ned at El Paso. And my clothes looked
like they'd come out of a ragbag. Wore 'em out reclinin' in
my side-door Pullman."
"You're fixed up all right now for clothes," observed the
drummer, looking the boy's well-dressed, muscular figure
over with approving eyes.
"George Fremont bought these," said Jimmie, looking down at
his suit. "All right, ain't it? I'm goin' to pay him back
when I get to working again. I don't want anybody to give
me anything."
"Lieutenant Gordon's son is a patrol leader at Washington,"
the drummer said, after a thoughtful pause, "and I suppose
that's the reason he helped me out. I reckon a Boy Scout
can find friends in any part of the world, if he is deserving
of them. I found a Mexican boy, over here in the hills, who
belongs to a patrol he calls the Owl. We may meet him if we
remain about here very long."
"A Boy Scout who is on the square won't have trouble in
getting through," Jimmie observed, "but we've got to be
moving. I imagine the guards want us to remain here, so
we'll have to sneak off if we leave camp. The guards seem
to think we couldn't find our way back. We'll show 'em.
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