“…honesty and fair play,” the Leader was saying. “And we further resolve to drink liquids, as they did, and to eat solid food, and to increase our skill in their tools and methods.”
The invocation completed, the youngsters scattered around the plain. The Patrol Leader came up to Drog.
“This is the last meeting before the Jamboree,” the Leader said.
“I know,” Drog said.
“And you are the only second-class scouter in the Charging Mirash Patrol. All the others are first-class, or at least Junior Pioneers. What will people think about our patrol?”
Drog squirmed uncomfortably. “It isn’t entirely my fault,” he said. “I know I failed the tests in swimming and bomb making, but those just aren’t my skills. It isn’t fair to expect me to know everything. Even among the pioneers there were specialists. No one was expected to know all—”
“And just what are your skills?” the Leader interrupted.
“Forest and Mountain Lore,” Drog answered eagerly. “Tracking and hunting.”
The Leader studied him for a moment. Then he said slowly, “Drog, how would you like one last chance to make first class, and win an achievement badge as well?”
“I’d do anything!” Drog cried.
“Very well,” the Patrol Leader said. “What is the name of our patrol.”
’The Charging Mirash Patrol.”
“And what is a Mirash?”
“A large and ferocious animal,” Drog answered promptly. “Once they inhabited large parts of Elbonai, and our ancestors fought many savage battles with them. Now they are extinct.”
“Not quite,” the Leader said. “A scouter was exploring the woods five hundred miles north of here, coordinates S-233 by 482-W, and he came upon a pride of three Mirash, all bulls, and therefore huntable. I want you, Drog, to track them down, to stalk them, using Forest and Mountain Lore. Then, utilizing only pioneering tools and methods, I want you to bring back the pelt of one Mirash. Do you think you can do it?”