It was fine sitting there, watching the sun sink into a golden sea behind the mountains, while the valley below was already in the shadow and the dark was creeping up the hillsides. We sat there a long time without speaking, until finally the golden sea faded into a streak of gray, and up and down the valley we could see the twinkling lights of a half dozen towns and the farmhouses between. Then Mr. Norton threw an armful of brush on the coals, and in the light of the blaze, which made the shadows dance like ghosts of Indian braves, he began his story. "Some of you boys went out to Illinois, last summer," said he, "and I know from what you have told me that you learned much about the great French scout, LaSalle; how he explored the Ohio River and went up and down the Mississippi, taking possession of the country in the name of the king of France. We already have had one story which grew out of those early explorations. The Lewis and Clark Expedition through the Northwest, which I told you about, can be traced back to those scouting trips of LaSalle and the others, on account of which France claimed the country. "This story is of another scouting trip, long after LaSalle's time and before Lewis and Clark were born, probably. It took place even before the United States was born, but, in a way, it grew out of those same trips of LaSalle and Tonty, Marquette and Joliet, the French explorers of the seventeenth century." "Was this scout a Frenchman, then?" asked Benny. "No, he was of English parentage, one of the finest English country gentlemen who ever lived, but born in America, and one of the greatest American scouts. "He was a friend of yours, too, Skinny," he added, laughing to himself. "Not me," Skinny told him, shaking his head. "I think a lot more of England than I did, on account of General Baden-Powell and the Boy Scout business, but I don't know this feller." "That is strange. It seems to me that I have heard you remark something about his being able to lick Napoleon Bonaparte with one hand tied behind his back." "George Washington!" shouted Skinny. "The Father of his Country. First in----" "Say, who's tellin' this story, anyhow?" said Bill, pulling Skinny over and sitting on him. "Yes, George Washington, who, it seems to me, would have made the finest kind of a Boy Scout in his younger days--a scout worthy of membership in Raven Patrol. He seems to have had all of the Scout virtues. He was trustworthy, loyal to his home and his native land; he was thrifty; he was brave; he was reverent." "I'll bet he couldn't bandage a broken leg like we can," Benny told him. "Maybe not, but he could find his way through the forest and he didn't go around shooting at girls, thinking that they were bears. He liked girls too well for that. I believe he liked the girls better, even, than our patrol leader does." We set up a yell at that. "Aw, I ain't stuck on no girls," said Skinny. "I just rescue 'em, that's all."