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"They all think, fellows, that the Beaver Patrol can't do it!" "We'll show 'em how we've climbed up out of the tenderfoot class; hey, boys?" "Just watch our smoke, that's all. Why, it's only a measly little twenty-five miles per day, and what d'ye think?" "Sure Seth, and what's that to a husky lot of Boy Scouts, who've been through the mill, and wear merit badges all around?
"As I was saying, can you tell us just where we can find the S.B. & L.'s field camp of engineers?" "What d'ye want of the camp?" growled Pete, after taking another whiff from his cigarette. "Why, our reasons for wanting to find the camp are purely personal," Tom continued. "Now, tenderfoot, don't get fresh with me," warned Pete sullenly.
Well, I made sure that it was in exactly the same quarter tonight when we were climbing the mountain. That means something, Bob." "To you; but to me it's only a blank," admitted the tenderfoot, regretfully. "I fancy that the direction of the wind has something to do with the working of this queer old geyser in the heart of Thunder Mountain.
"This time the tenderfoot didn't wait. He went in with a sort of hitch step, like a dancer. Ferguson's knife carved the air beside the tenderfoot's head, and then the skinny boy jerked up his right and his left one, two into Sandy's mouth. Down he goes again slumps down as if all the bones in his body was busted right down on his face.
Scott ploughed along ahead, looking back whenever the trail showed a nasty place, ready to jump off and go to the girl's rescue if necessary. "She's a plucky one all right," he said to himself. "This is no trail for a tenderfoot. I hope we don't run into anything worse before we get through. How are you coming?" he called back. They had come to a turn in the trail.
I am the blamedest tenderfoot! But don't you worry. We will find the camp. It's right in this neighborhood." "I'm not worrying," answered Rhoda stoutly, "except about you. You are shaking with exhaustion while I am as fit as can be." "Oh, don't bother about me!" exclaimed John. "I'm just a little tired." But Rhoda was not to be put off. "How much did you sleep last night?"
"Huh!" said Shorty, when accused by Stine. "I can sure read and spell, an' I know that chechako means tenderfoot, but my education never went high enough to learn me to spell a jaw-breaker like that." Both employers looked daggers at Kit, for the insult rankled; nor did he mention that the night before, Shorty had besought him for the spelling of that particular word.
A tenderfoot, newly arrived, appeared on the streets one day in knickerbockers and stockings. Kit was in town and was observed watching the tenderfoot. To the average cowboy a silk top hat was like a red flag to a bull, so much like it in fact that the hat was usually lucky to escape with less than half a dozen holes through it.
"The fellow seems to have come from nowhere. Had it not been for an accident, he would never have got within speaking distance of Genevieve, but they happened to be shipwrecked together alone on the coast of Africa." "Wrecked? shipwrecked? How perfectly glorious!" "I wouldn't mind it myself with you!" he flashed back. "I might," she bantered. "This Mr. Blake, I imagine, was hardly a tenderfoot."
He had never previously acted as guide, or, as he expressed it, "trundled a tenderfoot," and though a good hunter, who showed me much game, our experience together was not happy. He was very rheumatic and liked to lie abed late, so that I usually had to get breakfast, and, in fact, do most of the work around camp. Finally one day he declined to go out with me, saying that he had a pain.
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