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diff --git a/old/61114-0.txt b/old/61114-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index d0bba6a..0000000 --- a/old/61114-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5300 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Westy Martin in the Yellowstone, by Percy -Keese Fitzhugh, Illustrated by Richard A. Holberg - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: Westy Martin in the Yellowstone - - -Author: Percy Keese Fitzhugh - - - -Release Date: January 5, 2020 [eBook #61114] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WESTY MARTIN IN THE YELLOWSTONE*** - - -E-text prepared by Roger Frank and Sue Clark - - - -Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this - file which includes the original illustrations. - See 61114-h.htm or 61114-h.zip: - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/61114/61114-h/61114-h.htm) - or - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/61114/61114-h.zip) - - - - - -WESTY MARTIN IN THE YELLOWSTONE - - -[Illustration: HOW CHEERING IT WAS—LIKE A FRIEND FROM HOME.] - - -WESTY MARTIN IN THE YELLOWSTONE - -by - -PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH - -Author of -the Tom Slade Books -the Roy Blakeley Books -the Pee-Wee Harris Books - -Illustrated - -Published with the approval of -The Boy Scouts Of America - - - - - - -Grosset & Dunlap -Publishers :: New York - -Made in the United States of America - -Copyright, 1924, by -Grosset & Dunlap - - - - - THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO - THE ROTARY CLUB OF AMERICA - -WHOSE MEMBERS HAVE SHOWN THEIR VITAL INTEREST -IN THE FUTURE CITIZENSHIP OF OUR COUNTRY BY -THEIR SPLENDID WORK AMONG THE BOYS OF AMERICA - - - - - CONTENTS - - I Mr. Wilde and the Three Scouts - II Mr. Wilde Holds Forth - III The Knockout Blow - IV The Chance Comes - V The Shadow of Mr. Wilde - VI Stranded - VII Hopes and Plans - VIII On the Way - IX The Rocky Hill - X The Camping Site - XI Alone - XII In the Twilight - XIII Warde and Ed - XIV The Master - XV The Haunting Spirit of Shining Sun - XVI A Desperate Predicament - XVII Sounds! - XVIII Westy’s Job - XIX The Way of the Scout - XX A Fatal Move - XXI In the Darkness - XXII The Friendly Brook - XXIII The Cut Trail - XXIV Downstream - XXV Little Dabs of Gray - XXVI Movie Stuff - XXVII The Advance Guard - XXVIII The Garb of the Scout - XXIX The Polish of Shining Sun - XXX Visitors - XXXI No Escape - XXXII Off to Pelican Cone - XXXIII Hermitage Rest - XXXIV Vulture Cliff - XXXV Disappointment - XXXVI Off the Cliff - XXXVII Ed Carlyle, Scout - XXXVIII The Wounded Stranger - XXXIX Westy’s Descent - XL Warde Meets a Grizzly - XLI A Scout Mascot - - - - - WESTY MARTIN IN THE YELLOWSTONE - - - - - CHAPTER I - - MR. WILDE AND THE THREE SCOUTS - - -When Westy Martin and his two companions, Warde Hollister and Ed -Carlyle, were on their long journey to the Yellowstone National Park, -they derived much amusement from talking with a man whose acquaintance -they made on the train. - -This entertaining and rather puzzling stranger caused the boys much -perplexity and they tried among themselves to determine what business he -was engaged in. - -For a while they did not even know his name. Then they learned it was -Madison C. Wilde. And because he kept a cigar tilted up in the extreme -corner of his mouth and showed a propensity for “jollying” them they -decided (and it was a likely sort of guess) that he was a traveling -salesman. - -Mr. Wilde had the time of his life laughing at the good scouts, and, -moreover, he humorously belittled scouting, seeming to see it as a sort -of pretty game for boys, like marbles or hide-and-seek. - -He had his little laugh, and then afterward the three boys had their -little laugh. And he who laughs last is said to have somewhat the -advantage in laughing. - -Mr. Wilde told the three scouts that Yellowstone Park was full of -grizzlies. “Oh, hundreds of them,” he said. “But they’re not as savage -as the wallerpagoes. The skehinkums are pretty wild too,” he added. - -“Is that so?” laughed Westy. - -“You didn’t happen to see any killy loo birds while you were there, did -you?” - -Mr. Madison C. Wilde worked his cigar over to the corner of his mouth, -contemplating the boys with an expression of cynical good humor. “Do -they let you use popguns in the Boy Scouts?” he asked. “Because it isn’t -safe to go in the woods without a popgun.” - -“Oh, yes,” said Warde Hollister, “and we carry cap pistols too to be on -the safe side. Scouts are supposed to be prepared, you know.” - -“Some warriors,” laughed Mr. Wilde. “You’ll see the real thing out here, -you kids,” he added seriously. “No running around and getting lost in -back yards. If you get lost out here you’ll come pretty near knowing -you’re lost.” - -“What could be sweeter?” Ed Carlyle asked. - -The foregoing is a fair sample of the kind of banter that had passed -back and forth between Mr. Wilde and the boys ever since they had struck -up an acquaintance. They had told him all about scouting, tracking, -signaling and such things, and he had derived much idle entertainment in -poking fun at them about their flaunted skill and resourcefulness. - -“I’d like to see some boy scouts up against the real thing,” he said. -“I’d like to see you get really lost in the mountains out west here. -You’d all starve to death, that’s what would happen to you—unless you -could eat that wonderful handbook manual, or whatever you call it, that -you get your stunts out of.” - -“We eat everything,” said Westy. - -“Yes?” laughed Mr. Wilde. “Well, I’m pretty good at eating myself, but -there’s one thing I can’t swallow and that’s the stories I hear about -scouts saving drowning people and finding kidnapped children and all -that kind of stuff. You kids seem to have the newspapers hypnotized. I -read about a kid that put out a forest fire and saved a lot of lives at -the risk of his own life. How much do you suppose the scout people pay -to get that kind of stuff into the papers?” - -“Oh, vast sums,” said Warde. - -Mr. Wilde contemplated the three of them where they sat crowded on the -Pullman seat opposite him. There was great amusement twinkling in his -eyes, but approval too. He did not take them too seriously as scouts, -_real scouts_, but just the same he liked them immensely. - -“I bet you’ve been to the Yellowstone a lot of times,” said Ed Carlyle. - -“Oh, a few,” said Mr. Wilde. “I’ve been up in woods off the trails where -little boys don’t go—without their nurse girls.” - -“I’ve heard there are bandits in the park,” said Westy. - -“Millions of them,” said Mr. Wilde. “But don’t be afraid, they don’t -hang out at the hotels where you’ll be.” - -“Is it true there are train robbers out this way?” Westy asked. - -“Getting scared? Why, I thought boy scouts could handle train robbers.” - -“We can’t even handle you,” Warde said. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - MR. WILDE HOLDS FORTH - - -Indeed the three boys seemed on the point of giving Mr. Wilde up for a -hopeless case. - -“Why? Do you want to go hunting train robbers?” the exasperating -stranger asked. - -“Well,” said Westy, rather disgusted, “we wouldn’t be the first boy -scouts to help the authorities. Some boy scouts in Philadelphia helped -catch a highway robber.” - -This seemed greatly to amuse Mr. Wilde. He screwed his cigar over from -one corner of his mouth to the other and looked at the boys -good-naturedly, but seriously. - -“Well, I’ll tell you just how it is,” he said. “There are really two -Yellowstone Parks. There’s the Yellowstone Park where you go, and -there’s the Yellowstone Park where I go. There’s the tame Yellowstone -Park and the wild Yellowstone Park. - -“The park is full of grizzlies and rough characters of the wild and -fuzzy West, but they don’t patronize the sightseeing autos. They’re kind -of modest and diffident and they stay back in the mountains where you -won’t see them. You know train robbers as a rule are sort of bashful. -You kids are just going to see the park, and you’ll have your hands -full, too. You’ll sit in a nice comfortable automobile and the man will -tell you what to look at and you’ll see geysers and things and canyons -and a lot of odds and ends and you’ll have the time of your lives. -There’s a picture shop between Norris and the Canyon; you drop in there -and see if you can get a post card showing Pelican Cone. That’ll give -you an idea of where I’ll be. You can think of me up in the wilderness -while you’re listening to the concert in the Old Faithful Inn. That’s -where they have the big geezer in the back yard—spurts once an hour, -Johnny on the spot. I suppose,” he added with that shrewd, skeptical -look which was beginning to tell on the boys, “that if you kids really -saw a grizzly you wouldn’t stop running till you hit New York. I think -you said scouts know how to run.” - -“We wouldn’t stop there,” said the Carlyle boy. “We’d be so scared that -we’d just take a running jump across the Atlantic Ocean and land in -Europe.” - -“What would you really do now if you met a bandit?” Mr. Wilde asked. -“_Shoot him dead_, I suppose, like Deadwood Dick in the dime novels.” - -“We don’t read dime novels,” said Westy. - -“But just the same,” said Warde, “it might be the worse for that bandit. -Didn’t you read——” - -Mr. Wilde laughed heartily. - -“All right, you can laugh,” said Westy, a trifle annoyed. - -Mr. Wilde stuck his feet up between Warde and Westy, who sat in the seat -facing him, and put his arm on the farther shoulder of Eddie Carlyle, -who sat beside him. Then he worked the unlighted cigar across his mouth -and tilted it at an angle which somehow seemed to bespeak a good-natured -contempt of Boy Scouts. - -“Just between ourselves,” said he, “who takes care of the publicity -stuff for the Boy Scouts anyway? I read about one kid who found a German -wireless station during the war——” - -“That was true,” snapped Warde, stung into some show of real anger by -this flippant slander. - -“I suppose you don’t know that a scout out west in Illinois——” - -“You mean out _east_ in Illinois,” laughed Mr. Wilde. “You’re in the -wild and woolly West and you don’t even know it. I suppose if you were -dropped from the train right now you’d start west for Chicago.” - -The three boys laughed, for it did seem funny to think of Illinois being -far east of them. They felt a bit chagrined too at the realization that -after all their view of the rugged wonders they were approaching was to -be enjoyed from the rather prosaic vantage point of a sightseeing auto. -What would Buffalo Bill or Kit Carson have said to that? - -Mr. Wilde looked out of the window and said, “We’ll hit Emigrant pretty -soon if it’s still there. The cyclones out here blow the villages around -so half the time the engineer don’t know where to look for them. I -remember Barker’s Corners used to be right behind a big tree in Montana -and it got blown away and they found it two years afterward in Arizona.” - - - - - CHAPTER III - - THE KNOCKOUT BLOW - - -It is said that constant dripping wears away a stone. At first the boys -held their own good-humoredly against Mr. Wilde’s banter. He seemed to -be only poking fun at them and they took his talk in the spirit in which -it was meant. He seemed to think they were a pretty nice sort of boys, -but he did not take scouting very seriously. - -Now Westy was a sensitive boy and these continual allusions to the -childish character of boy scouting got on his nerves. Then suddenly came -the big shock, and this proved a knockout blow for poor Westy. - -It developed in the course of conversation that Mr. Madison C. Wilde was -engaged in a most thrilling kind of business. In the most casual sort of -way he informed these boys that he was connected with the movies. Not -only that, but his business connected itself with nothing less than the -interesting work of photographing wild animals in their natural haunts -for representation upon the screen. He was none other than the -adventurous field manager of educational films, at which these very boys -had many times gazed with rapt interest. - -Nor was this all. Mr. Wilde (heartless creature that he was) casually -brought forth from the depths of a pocket a mammoth wallet containing -such a sum of money as is only known in the movies and, affectionately -unfolding a certain paper, exhibited it to the spellbound gaze of his -three young traveling acquaintances. This document was nothing less than -a permit from the Commissioner of National Parks at Washington -authorizing Mr. Wilde to visit the remotest sections of the great park, -to stalk wild life on a truly grand scale, on a scale unknown to Boy -Scouts who track rabbits and chipmunks in Boy Scout camps! - -But here was the knockout blow for poor Westy. Mr. Wilde explained that -waiting for him at the hotel near the Gardiner entrance of the park was -a _real scout_ whose services as guide and stalker had been arranged for -with some difficulty. This romantic and happy creature was an Indian boy -known in the Far West as _Shining Sun_. He was not, as Mr. Wilde -explained, a back-yard scout. He was the genuine article. And he was -going to lead Mr. Wilde and his associates into the dim, unpeopled -wilderness. - -And while Shining Sun, the Indian boy, was engaged in this delightfully -adventurous task, Westy Martin and his two companions would be riding -around on the main traveled roads on a sightseeing auto! - -Was it any wonder that Westy was disgusted? Was it any wonder that in -face of these startling revelations he began to see himself as just a -nice sort of boy from Bridgeboro, New Jersey? A back-yard scout? - -Truly, indeed, there were two Yellowstone Parks! Truly, indeed, thought -poor Westy, there were two kinds of scouts. - -And he, alas, was the other kind. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - THE CHANCE COMES - - -Then it was that Westy Martin, thoroughly disgusted with fate and -thoroughly dissatisfied with himself and boy scouting generally, arose, -just as the trainman called out: “_Emigrant! Emigrant is the next -stop!_” And Westy Martin, leading the way, went headlong into the -adventurous field of “big scouting”—never knowing it. - -The three of them sat down disconsolately on one of the steps of the -rear platform of the last car while the train paused at Emigrant, a -deserted hamlet almost small enough to put in one’s pocket. Warde and Ed -had followed Westy through the several cars, not fully sharing his mood, -but obedient to him as leader. They made a doleful little trio, these -fine boys who had been given a trip to the Yellowstone Park by the -Rotary Club of America in recognition of a heroic good turn which each -had done. Alas, that this glib stranger, Mr. Wilde, and that other -unknown hero, Shining Sun, the Indian boy, should have destroyed, as it -were with one fell blow, their wholesome enjoyment of scouting and their -happy anticipations. Poor Westy. - -I must relate for you the conversation of these three as they sat in -disgruntled retirement on the rear platform of the last car nursing -their envy of Shining Sun. - -“I remind myself of Pee-wee Harris tracking a hop-toad,” grouched Westy. - -“Just the same we’ve had a lot of fun since we’ve been in the scouts,” -said Warde. “If we hadn’t been scouts we wouldn’t be here.” - -“We’ll be looking at geysers and hot springs and things while _they’re_ -tracking grizzlies,” said Westy. “We’re boy scouts all right! Gee whiz, -I’d like to do something _big_.” - -“Just because Mr. Wilde says this and that——” Ed Carlyle began. - -“Suppose he had gone to Scout headquarters in New York for a scout to -help him in the mountains,” said Westy. “Would he have found one? When -it comes to dead serious business——” - -“Look what Roosevelt said about Boy Scouts,” cheered Warde. “He said -they were a lot of help and that scouting is a peach of a thing, that’s -just what he said.” - -“Why didn’t you tell Mr. Wilde that?” Ed asked. - -“Because I didn’t think of it,” said Warde. - -“Just because I got the tracking badge that doesn’t mean I’m a -professional scout like Buffalo Bill,” said Ed. “We’ve had plenty of fun -and we’re going to see the sights out in Yellowstone.” - -“While _they’re_ scouting—doing something big,” grouched Westy. - -“We should worry about them,” said Ed. - -Westy only looked straight ahead of him, his abstracted gaze fixed upon -the wild, lonesome mountains. A great bird was soaring above them, and -he watched it till it became a mere speck. And meanwhile the locomotive -steamed at steady intervals like an impatient beast. Then, suddenly, its -voice changed, there were strain and effort in its steaming. - -“Guess we’re going to go,” said Warde, winking at Ed in silent comment -on Westy’s mood. “Now for the little old Yellowstone, hey, Westy, old -scout?” - -“Scout!” sneered Westy. - -“Wake up, come out of that, you old grouch,” laughed Ed. “Don’t you know -a scout is supposed to smile and look pleasant? Who cares about Stove -Polish, or Shining Sun, or whatever his name is? I should bother my -young life about Mr. Madison C. Wilde.” - -“If we never did anything _real_ and _big_ it’s because there weren’t -any of those things for us to do,” said Warde. - -Westy did not answer, only arose in a rather disgruntled way and stepped -off the platform. He strolled forward, as perhaps you who have followed -his adventures will remember, till he reached the other end of the car. -He was kicking a stone as he went. When he raised his eyes from the -stone he saw that the car stood quite alone; it was on a siding, as he -noticed now. The train, bearing that loquacious stranger, Mr. Madison C. -Wilde, was rushing away among the mountains. - -So, after all, Westy Martin had his wish (if that were really desirable) -and was certainly face to face with something _real_ and _big_ and with -a predicament rather chilling. He and his two companions, all three of -them just nice boy scouts, were quite alone in the Rocky Mountains. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - THE SHADOW OF MR. WILDE - - -Westy’s first supposition was that the coupling had given way, but an -inspection of this by the three boys convinced them that the dropping of -this last car had been intentional. They recalled now the significant -fact that it had been empty save for themselves. It was a dilapidated -old car and it seemed likely that it had been left there perhaps to be -used as a temporary station. They had no other surmise. - -One sobering reflection dominated their minds and that was that they had -been left without baggage or provisions in a wild, apparently -uninhabited country, thirty odd miles from the Gardiner entrance of -Yellowstone Park. - -As they looked about them there was no sign of human life or habitation -anywhere, no hint of man’s work save the steel rails which disappeared -around a bend southward, and a rough road. Even as they looked, they -could see in the distance little flickers of smoke floating against a -rock-ribbed mountainside. - -Warde was the first to speak: “I don’t believe this is Emigrant at all,” -he said. “I think the train just stopped to leave the car here; maybe -they’re going to make a station here. Anyway this is no village; it -isn’t even a station.” - -“Well, whatever it is, we’re here,” said Ed. “What are we going to do? -That’s a nice way to do, not lock the door of the car or anything.” - -“Maybe they’ll back up,” said Westy. - -“They might,” said Warde, “if they knew we were here, but who’s going to -tell the conductor?” - -It seemed quite unlikely that the train would return. Even as they -indulged this forlorn hope the distant flickers of smoke appeared -farther and farther away against the background of the mountain. Then -they could not be seen at all. - -The three honor boys sat down on the lowest step of the old car platform -and considered their predicament. One thing they knew, there was no -other train that day. They had not a morsel of food, no camping -equipment, no compass. For all that they could see they were in an -uninhabited wilderness save for the savage life that lurked in the -surrounding fastnesses. - -“What are we going to do?” Warde asked, his voice ill concealing the -concern he felt. - -Ed Carlyle looked about scanning the vast panorama and shook his head. - -“What would Shining Sun do?” Westy asked quietly. “All I know is we’re -going to Yellowstone Park. We know the railroad goes there, so we can’t -get lost. Thirty miles isn’t so much to hike; we can do it in two days. -I wouldn’t get on a train now if one came along and stopped.” - -“Mr. Wilde has got you started,” laughed Ed. - -“That’s what he has,” said Westy, “and I’m going to keep going till I -get to the park. I’m not going to face that man again and tell him I -waited for somebody to come and get me.” - -“How about food?” Warde asked, not altogether captivated by Westy’s -proposal. - -“What we have to get, we get,” said Westy. - -“Well, I think we’ll get good and tired,” said Ed. - -“I’m sorry I haven’t got a baby carriage to wheel you in,” said Westy. - -“Thanks,” laughed Ed, “a scout is always thoughtful.” - -“He has to be more than thoughtful,” said Westy. “If it comes to that, -if we had been thoughtful we wouldn’t have come into this car at all. -It’s all filled up with railroad junk and it wasn’t intended for -passengers.” - -“They should have locked the door or put a sign on it,” said Warde. - -“Well, anyway, here we are,” Westy said. - -“Absolutely,” said Warde, who was always inclined to take a humorous -view of Westy’s susceptibility. “And I’ll do anything you say. I’ll tell -you something right now that I didn’t tell you before. Ed and I agreed -that we’d do whatever you wanted to do on this trip; we said we’d follow -you and let you be the leader. So now’s our chance. We agreed that you -did the big stunt and we voted that we’d just sort of let you lead. I -don’t know what Shining Sun would do, but that’s what we agreed to do. -So it’s up to you, Westy, old boy. You’re the boss and we’ll even admit -that we’re not scouts if you say so. How about that, Ed?” - -“That’s me,” said Ed. - -“We’re just dubs if you say so,” Warde concluded. - -The three sat in a row on the lowest step of the deserted car, and for a -few moments no one spoke. Looking northward they could see the tracks in -a bee-line until the two rails seemed to come to a point in the -direction whence the train had come. Far back in that direction, thirty -miles or more, lay Livingston where they had breakfasted. There had been -no stop between this spot and Livingston, though they had whizzed past -an apparently deserted little way station named Pray. - -Southward the tracks disappeared in their skirting course around a -mountain. The road went in that direction too, but they could not follow -it far with their eyes. It was a narrow, ill-kept dirt road and was -certainly not a highway. The country was very still and lonesome. They -had not realized this in the rushing, rattling train. But they realized -it now as they sat, a forlorn little group, on the step and looked about -them. - -To Westy, always thoughtful and impressionable, the derisive spirit of -Mr. Wilde made their predicament the more bearable. The spirit of that -genial Philistine haunted him and made him grateful for the opportunity -to do something “big.” To reach the park without assistance would not, -he thought, be so very big. It would be nothing in the eyes of Shining -Sun. But at least it would be doing something. It would be more than -playing hide-and-seek, which Mr. Wilde seemed to think about the wildest -adventure in the program of scouting. It would, at the least, be better -than coming along a day late on another train, even supposing they could -stop a train or reach the stopping place of one. - -“It’s just whatever you say, Westy, old boy,” Warde said musingly, as he -twirled his scout knife into the soil again and again in a kind of -solitaire mumbly peg. “Just—whatever—you—say. Maybe we’re not——” - -“You needn’t say that again,” said Westy; “we—you _are_ scouts. You just -proved it, so you might as well shut up because—but——” - -“All right, we are then,” said Warde. “You ought to know; gee whiz, it’s -blamed seldom I ever knew you to be mistaken. Now what’s the big idea? -Hey, Ed?” - -“After you, my dear Sir Hollister,” said Ed. - -“Well, the first thing,” said Westy, “is not to tell me you’re not -scouts.” - -“We’ll do that little thing,” said Warde. - -“New conundrum,” said Ed. “What is a scout?” - -“You are,” said Westy. “I wish I’d never met that Mr. Wilde.” - -“Forget it,” said Warde. - -“All right, now we know the first thing,” said Ed. “How about the -second? Where do we go from here?” - -Westy glanced at him quickly and there was just the least suggestion of -something glistening in his eyes. “Are you willing to hike it?” he -asked. - -“You tell ’em I am,” said Ed Carlyle. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - STRANDED - - -“Well, we know which direction to start in, and that’s something,” said -Westy. - -“And we’re not hungry yet, and that’s something else,” said Warde. “We -ought to be able to walk fifteen miles to-day and the rest of the way -to-morrow. And if we can’t find enough to eat in Montana to keep us from -starving——” - -“Then we ought to be ashamed to look Mr. Wilde in the face,” said Westy. - -“I wish I knew something about herbs and roots,” said Ed. “The only kind -of root that I know anything about is cube root and I don’t like that; -I’d rather starve. I wonder if they have sassafras roots out this way. -I’ve got my return ticket pinned in my pocket with a safety-pin so we -ought to be able to catch some fish.” - -“How about a line?” Warde asked. - -“I can unravel some worsted from my sweater,” said Ed. “Oh, I’m a -regular Stove Polish. Maybe we can find some mushrooms; I’m not -worrying. I know one thing, I’d like to go up on Penelope’s Peak with -Mr. Wilde and those fellows.” - -“Pelican Cone,” said Westy. - -“My social error—Pelican Cone,” said Ed. - -“He’d about as soon think of taking us as he would our grandmothers,” -said Westy. “That’s what gets me; they take an Indian boy who maybe -can’t even speak English, because he can do the things _we’re_ supposed -to be able to do. I don’t mean just you and I. But wouldn’t you think -there’d be some fellow in the scout organization—— Gee, I should think -out west here there ought to be some who could stalk and things like -that. You heard what he said about amateurs and professionals. He’s -right, that’s the worst of it.” - -“He’s right and we’re wrong as he usually is,” said Ed. “Believe me, I’m -not worrying about what _he_ thinks. We have plenty of fun scouting. -What’s worrying me is whether we should follow the tracks or the road. I -believe in tracking and I’d say follow the tracks only suppose they go -over high bridges and places where we couldn’t walk. It’s not so easy to -track railroad tracks. But the trouble with the road is we don’t know -where it goes.” - -“I don’t believe it knows itself,” said Warde, “by the looks of it.” - -“We want to go south; we know that,” said Westy. “Gardiner is south from -here.” - -“I thought we were on our way out west,” said Warde. “I wish we had a -compass, I know that.” - -“Do you suppose Shining Sun has a compass?” Westy asked. - -“Now listen,” said Ed. “I mean you, Westy. You’ve got the pathfinder’s -badge and the stalker’s badge and a lot of others; you’re a star scout. -You should worry about Dutch Cleanser or Stove Polish or whatever his -name is——” - -“Shining Sun,” said Westy. - -“All right, when the shining sun comes up a little higher we’ll find out -which is north and south and east and west and up and down and in and -out and all the other points of the compass including this and that. How -do you know we want to go south from here? Tell me that and I’ll find -out where south is.” - -“Silver Cleaner, the Indian boy!” shouted Warde. “Grandson of the old -Sioux Chief Gold Dust Twins. I’ll tell you why we have to go south. -Livingston, where we ate our last meal on earth, is north of here. We -turned south at Livingston; this is a branch that goes down to the -Gardiner entrance of the Park. If we go south from here we’re sure to -strike the Park even if we don’t strike Gardiner. The Park is about -fifty miles wide. I don’t know whether there’s a fence around it or not. -Anyway, if we go south from here we’re sure to get into the Park.” - -“Maybe we’ll land on Pelican’s Dome,” said Ed. - -“Come face to face with Mr. Wilde, hey?” said Warde. “We’ll say to Stove -Polish, ‘Oh, we don’t know, when it comes to picking trails——’” - -“Come on, let’s start,” said Westy. - -“Sure,” said Warde, “maybe they’ll be naming canoes after us -yet—Hiawatha, Carlylus, Wesiobus, Martinibo——” - -“I wonder what Indian they named Indian meal after?” said Ed. - -“You’re worse than Roy Blakeley,” said Warde; “they named it after the -Indian motorcycle, didn’t they, Westy, old scout?” - -“You say you think the road runs south?” Westy asked. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - HOPES AND PLANS - - -“I say let’s follow the road,” said Westy. “We’re pretty sure to come to -some kind of a settlement that way. If we follow the tracks we might -come to a place where we couldn’t go any farther, like a high trestle or -something like that. I wish we had a map. The road goes south for quite -a distance, you can see that. What do you say?” - -“Just whatever you say, Westy,” said Ed. - -“Same here,” said Warde. - -“Only I don’t want to be blamed afterward,” said Westy, looking about -him rather puzzled and doubtful. - -When he thought of Shining Sun, thirty miles seemed nothing. But when he -gazed about at the surrounding mountains, the distance between them and -the Park seemed great and filled with difficulties. He was already -wishing for things the very existence of which was doubtless unknown to -the Indian boy who had become his inspiration. - -“Anyway,” said Westy, “let’s make a resolution. You fellows say you made -one and left me out of it. Now let’s make another one, all three of us. -Let’s decide that we’ll hike from here to the Gardiner entrance without -asking any help of any one. We’ll do it just as if we didn’t have -anything with us at all.” - -“We haven’t,” said Warde. - -“I mean even our watches and matches and things like that,” said Westy. -“Just as if we didn’t even have any clothes; you know, kind of -primitive.” - -“Don’t you think I’d better hang onto my safety-pin?” Ed asked. “Safety -first. An Indian might—you know even an Indian might happen to have a -safety-pin about him.” - -Westy could not repress a smile, but for answer he pulled his store of -matches out of his pocket and scattered them by the wayside. Warde, with -a funny look of dutiful compliance, did the same. Ed, with a fine show -of abandon and contempt for civilization, pulled his store of matches -out of one pocket and put them in another. “May I keep my watch?” he -asked. “It was given to me by my father when I became a back-yard -scout.” - -“Back-yard scout is good,” said Westy. - -“Thank you muchly,” said Ed. - -“I mean all of us,” Westy hastened to add. - -It was funny how poor Westy was continually vacillating between these -two good scouts who were with him and that unknown hero whose prowess -had been detailed by the engaging Mr. Wilde. He was ever and again being -freshly captivated by Ed’s sense of humor and whimsical banter and -impressed by Warde’s quiet if amused compliance with this new order of -things by which it seemed that the primitive was to be restored in all -its romantic glory. - -It never occurred to Westy to wonder what kind of a friend and companion -his unknown hero, Shining Sun, would really be. What he was particularly -anxious to do, now that the chance had come, was to show that -cigar-smoking Philistine, Mr. Wilde, that boy scouts were really good -for something when thrown on their own resources. - -Pretty soon the first simple test of their scouting lore was made when -they took their bearing by that vast, luminous compass, the sun. It -worked its way through the dull, threatening sky bathing the forbidding -heights in gold and contributing its good companionship to the trio of -pilgrims. It seemed to say, “Come on, I’ll help you; it’s going to be -nice weather in the Yellowstone.” - -“That’s east,” said Westy. “We’re all right, the road goes south and if -it stops going south, we’ll know it.” - -“If it’s the kind of a road that does one thing one day and another -thing the next day I have no use for it anyway,” said Warde. - -“When it’s twelve o’clock I know a way to tell what time it is,” said -Ed. “Remind me when it’s twelve o’clock and I’ll show you.” - -The sun, which had not shown its face during the whole of the previous -day, brightened the journey and raised the hopes of the travelers. To -Westy, now that they were started along the road and everything seemed -bright, their little enterprise seemed all too easy. He was even afraid -that the road went straight to the Gardiner entrance of the park. He -wanted to encounter some obstacles. He wanted this thing to have -something of the character of an exploit. - -Poor Westy, thirty miles over a wild country seemed not very much to -him. It would be just about a two-days’ hike. But he cherished a little -picture in his mind. He hoped that Mr. Madison C. Wilde would be still -at the Mammoth Hotel when he and his companions reached there, having -traversed—_having traversed_—thirty miles of—having forced Nature to -yield up—— - -“We can catch some trout and eat them, all right,” he said aloud. - -“Oh, we can eat them, all right,” said Ed. “When it comes to eating -trout, I’ll take a handicap with any Indian youth and beat him to it.” - -“It’s going to be pleasant to-night,” said Westy. “We can just sleep -under a tree.” - -“I hope it won’t be _too_ pleasant,” said Ed. - -“You make me tired,” laughed Westy. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - ON THE WAY - - -To be sure, a hike of thirty miles is no exploit, not in the field of -scouting, certainly. If the road went straight to the park, then the -boys could hardly hope to face that doubter, Mr. Wilde, with any -consciousness of glory. - -On the time-table map which Westy had left in the train, the way from -Livingston to Gardiner seemed very simple. A little branch of the -Northern Pacific Railroad connected the two places with a straight line. -And a road seemed to parallel this. - -But maps are very seductive things. You have only to follow a road with -your lead pencil to reach your destination. Nature’s obstacles are not -always set forth upon your map. Lines parallel on a map are often not -within sight of each other on the rugged face of Nature. A little, round -dot, a village, is seen close to a road. But when you explore the road -the village is found to nestle coyly a mile or two back. - -So if what the boys had undertaken was not so very _big_, at least it -held out the prospect of being not so very little. But big or little, -something _big_ did happen among those lonely mountains that very day, -an exploit of the first order. It was a bizarre adventure not uncommon -in the Far West and it had an important bearing on the visit of these -three scouts to the Yellowstone Park. And Westy Martin, hiking along -that quiet, winding, western road, dissatisfied with himself because of -what a chance acquaintance had said to him, was face to face with the -biggest opportunity in all his young scout life. He did not know it, but -he was walking headlong into it. - -He had been proud when he had won the stalking badge. He was soon to -know that this badge meant something and that it was no toy or gewgaw. - -“I suppose it’s pretty wild on Pelican Cone,” said Warde, as they hiked -along. - -They were all cheerful for they were sure of their way for the present -and were not disposed to borrow trouble. It was a pleasant summer -morning, the sun shone bright on the rock-ribbed mountains, a fresh, -invigorating breeze blew in their faces, birds sang in the neighboring -trees, all Nature seemed kindly disposed toward their little adventure. - -As the railroad line left the roadside and curved away into a mountain -pass, they felt a momentary lonesomeness, the trusty rails had guided -them so far on the long journey. It was like saying good-by to a friend, -a friend who knew the way. For a minute they conferred again on whether -they should “count the ties,” but they decided in favor of the road. So -they went upon their adventure along the road, just as the great, -thundering, invincible train had gone upon its adventure along the -shining tracks. - -“Yellowstone Park is just about like this,” said Westy; “I mean the wild -parts. Of course there are things to see there like geysers and all -that, but I mean the wild parts; it’s wild just like this. I suppose -there are trails,” he added with a note of wistfulness in his voice. “I -suppose they know just where to go if they want to get a look at -grizzlies. I’d be willing to give up the other things, you bet, if I -could go on a trip like that. I was going to ask Mr. Wilde, only I knew -he’d just guy me about it.” - -“We can see the film when it comes out anyway,” said Ed, always cheerful -and optimistic. “We can go up on Mount what-do-you-call it, Pelican——” - -“Pelican Cone,” said Westy. Already that hallowed mountain was familiar -to him in imagination and dear to his heart. “Can’t you remember -_Cone_?” - -“I can remember it by ice cream cone,” said Ed. “What I was going to say -was if that film comes to Bridgeboro we can go up on that cone for -thirty cents and the war tax. What more do we want?” - -“Sugar-coated adventures,” said Warde. - -“Sugar-coated is right,” said Westy disgustedly. - -“Now you’ve got me thinking about candy,” said Ed. “I hope we can buy -some in the Park.” - -“Do you suppose they have merry-go-rounds there?” Warde asked. - -“Gee whiz, I hope so,” said Ed. “I’m just crazy for a sight of wild -animals. Imitation ones would be better than nothing, hey, Westy?” - -“Imitation scouts are better than no kind,” said Warde. “We’re pretty -good imitations.” - -“I wouldn’t admit it if I were you,” said Westy with the least -suggestion of a sneer. - -“A scout that gives imitations is an imitation scout,” said Ed. “Dutch -Cleanser is an imitation scout; he imitates animals, Mr. Wilde West said -so. That proves everybody’s wrong. What’s the use of quarreling? None -whatever. Correct the first time. You can be a scout without knowing it, -that’s what I am.” - -“Nobody ever told you you were Daniel Boone, did they?” Westy sulked. - -“They don’t have to tell me, I know it already,” said the buoyant Ed. - -“Come on, cheer up, Westy, old boy,” said Warde. “We came out here to -see Yellowstone Park and now you’re grouching because a funny little man -with a cigar as big as he is that we met on the train says we’re just -playing a little game, sort of. What’s the matter with the little game? -We always had plenty of fun at it, didn’t we? Are you going to spoil the -party because a little movie man wouldn’t take us up in the forest with -him? Gee whiz, I wouldn’t call that being grateful to the Rotary Club -that wished this good time on us. I wouldn’t call that so very big; I’d -call it kind of small.” - -Westy gave him a quick, indignant glance. It was a dangerous moment. It -was the ever-friendly, exuberant Ed who averted angry words and perhaps -prevented a quarrel. “If there’s anything big anywhere around and it -wants to wait till I get to it, I’ll do it. I won’t be bullied. I’m not -going to run after it, it will have to wait for me. I’m just as big as -_it_ is—even more so. It will have to wait.” - -They all laughed. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - THE ROCKY HILL - - -They picked blackberries along the way during the hour or so preceding -noon and made bags of their handkerchiefs and stored the berries in -them. At noontime they sat down by the wayside and made a royal feast. - -The country was rugged and in the distance were always the great hills -with here and there some mighty peak piercing the blue sky. There was a -wildness in the surroundings that they had never seen before. Perhaps -they felt it as much as saw it. For one thing there were no distant -habitations, no friendly, little church spires to soften the landscape. -The towering heights rolled away till they became misty in the distance, -and it seemed to these hapless wayfarers that they might reach to the -farthest ends of the earth. - -But the immediate neighborhood of the road was not forbidding, the way -led through no deep ravines nor skirted any dizzy precipices and it was -hard for the boys to realize that they were in the Rocky Mountains. They -lolled for an hour or so at noontime and talked as they might have -talked along some road in their own familiar Catskills. - -One thing they did notice which distinguished this storied region from -any they had seen and that was the abundance of great birds that flew -high above them. They had never seen birds so large nor flying at so -great a height. They appeared and disappeared among the crags and -startled the quiet day with their screeching, which the boys could hear, -spent and weak by the great distance. They supposed these birds to be -eagles. Their presence suggested the wild life to be encountered in -those dizzy fastnesses. The boys saw no sign of this, but their -imaginations pictured those all but inaccessible retreats filled with -grizzlies and other savage denizens of that mighty range. As Westy -looked about him he fancied some secret cave here and there among the -mountains, the remote haunt of outlaws and of the storied “bad men” of -the West. - -They hiked all day assured of their direction by the friendly sun. Now -and again they passed a house, usually a primitive affair, and were -tempted to verify the correctness of their route by comforting verbal -information. But Westy thought of Mr. Madison C. Wilde and refrained. -They were not often tempted, for houses were few and far between. Once -they encountered a lanky stranger lolling on the step of a shabby little -house. He seemed to be all hat and suspenders. - -[Illustration: THEY HIKED ALL DAY ASSURED OF THEIR DIRECTION BY THE -FRIENDLY SUN.] - -“Shall we ask him if this is the way?” Warde cautiously asked. - -“No,” said Westy. - -“I’m going to ask him,” said Ed. - -“You do——” said Westy threateningly, “and——” - -But before he had a chance to complete his threat, the blithesome Ed had -carried out his fiendish purpose. - -“Hey, mister, is this the way?” he said. - -“Vot vay?” the stranger inquired. - -“Thanks,” said Ed. - -“You make me tired,” Westy said, constrained to laugh as they hiked -along. “If that man could have spoken English——” - -“All would have been lost,” said Ed, “and we would be sure of going in -the right direction; we had a narrow escape. That’s because I was a good -scout; I saw that he was a foreigner; I remembered what it said in my -school geography. ‘_Montana has been settled largely by Germans who own -extensible—extensive farms—in this something or other region. The -mountains abound in crystal streams which are filled with trout—that can -easily be caught with safety-pins._’ It’s good there’s one scout in the -party. If we had some eggs we’d fry some ham and eggs if we only had -some ham; I’m getting hungry.” - -“Now that you mentioned it——” said Warde. - -“How many miles do you think we’ve hiked?” asked Westy. - -“I don’t know how many you’ve hiked,” said Ed, “but I’ve hiked about -ninety-seven. I think we’ve passed Yellowstone Park without knowing it, -that’s what _I_ think. Maybe we went right through it; the plot grows -thicker. I hope we won’t walk into the Pacific Ocean.” - -It was now late in the afternoon and they had hiked fifteen or eighteen -miles. Once in the midafternoon they had heard, faint in the long -distance, what they thought might be a locomotive whistle and this -encouraged them to think that they were still within a few miles of the -railroad line. - -Westy would not harbor, much less express, any misgivings as to the -reliability of the sun as a guide. Perhaps it would be better to say -that he would not admit any inability on his part to use it. Yet as the -great orb began to descend upon the mountain peaks far to the right of -their route and to tinge those wild heights with a crimson glow, he -began to imbibe something of the spirit of loneliness and isolation -which that vast, rugged country imparted. After all, amid such a -fathomless wilderness of rock and mountain it would have been good to -hear some one say, “Yes, just follow this road and take the second turn -to your left.” - -“That’s West, isn’t it?” Westy asked, as they plodded on. - -“You mean where the sun is setting?” asked Warde. “Oh, absolutely.” - -“It sets there every night,” said Ed, “including Sundays and holidays.” - -“Well then,” said Westy, feeling a little silly, “we’re all right.” - -“We’re not all right,” said Warde; “at least _I’m_ not, I’m hungry.” - -“Well, here’s a brook,” said Westy. “Do you see—look over there in the -west—do you see a little shiny spot away up between those two hills? -Away up high, only kind of between the two hills? It’s only about half a -mile or so. It’s the sun shining on this brook away up there. That shows -it comes down between those two hills.” - -They all paused and looked. Up among those dark hills in the west was a -little glinting spot like gold. It flickered and glistened. - -“Maybe it’s a bonfire,” said Warde. - -“I think it’s the headlight of a Ford,” said Ed. “A Ford can go anywhere -a brook can go.” - -“You crazy dub,” said Westy. - -“My social error,” said Ed. - -“What do you say we go over there?” Westy said. “Do you see—notice on -that hill where all the rocks are—do you see a big tree? If one of us -climbed up that tree I bet we could see for miles and miles; we could -see just where the road goes. It’s only about fifteen or twenty miles to -the entrance of the park; maybe we could see something—some building or -something. Then we could camp for the night up there and catch some -fish. Wouldn’t you rather not reach Gardiner by the road? Maybe we can -plan out a short-cut. Anyway, we can see what’s what. What do you say?” - -“The fish part sounds good to me,” said Ed. - -“How are we going to cook the fish?” Warde asked. - -Ed pulled out a handful of matches and exhibited them, winking in his -funny way at Warde. - -“I thought you threw them away,” said Westy. “Do you think we couldn’t -get a fire started without matches?” - -“A scout never wastes anything,” said Ed. “The scouts of old never -wasted a thing, I learned that out of the Handbook. Again it shows what -a fine scout I am. Do you suppose Mr. Madison C. Wild West lights his -cigars with sparks from a rock?” - -“The Indians——” began Westy. - -“The Indians were glad enough to sell Massachusetts or Connecticut or -Hoboken or some place or other for a lot of glass beads,” said Ed. “They -would have sold the whole western hemisphere for a couple of matches. -You make me weary with your Indians! I wish I had a chocolate soda now, -that’s what I wish. The Indians invented Indian summer and what good is -it? It comes after school opens, deny it if you dare. Hey, Warde? If I’d -lived in colonial days I bet I could have got the whole of Cape Cod for -this safety-pin of mine.” - -“Well, what do you say?” laughed Westy. “Shall we go up there and camp? -And that will give us a chance to get a good squint at the country.” - -“Decided by an unanimous majority,” said Ed. - -“When do we eat?” said Warde. - -“Leave it to me,” said Ed slyly. And again he went through that funny -performance of appearing to throw his matches away by pulling them -nonchalantly from one pocket and depositing them in another. “If there -are no trout up there I’ll never believe the school geography again. I -may even never go to school again, I’ll be so peeved.” - - - - - CHAPTER X - - THE CAMPING SITE - - -They left the road and made their way across country toward the hills -whose lofty peaks were now golden with the dying sunlight. They followed -the brook which had flowed near the roadside up to where it came through -a rocky cleft between two hills. - -As they climbed up to the spot, the glinting light which had been their -beacon faded away and only the brook was there, rippling cheerily over -its stony bed. It seemed as if it had bedecked itself in shimmering gold -to guide these weary travelers to this secluded haunt. - -To be sure they had not penetrated far from the unfrequented road, but -they were able now to think of themselves as being in the Rocky -Mountains. The cleft through which the brook flowed was wide enough for -a little camping site at its brink and here, with the rushing water -singing its soothing and incessant lullaby, they resolved to rest their -weary bodies for the night. - -One side of this cleft was quite precipitous and impossible of ascent. -But the side on which the boys chose their camp site sloped up from the -flat area at the brook side and was indeed the side of a lofty hill. It -was on this hill that Westy had noticed the tree from the upper branches -of which he had thought that he might scan the country southward, which -would be in the direction of the park. A very much better view might -have been obtained from neighboring mountain peaks, but the ascent of -such heights would have been a matter of many hours and fraught with -unknown difficulties. From the hill the country seemed comparatively low -and open to the south. - -“This is some spot all right,” said Warde. “It looks as if Jesse James -might have boarded here.” - -“Or William S. Hart,” said Ed. “Anyway I think there are some fish -getting table board here; it’s a kind of a little table-land. If we -can’t get any trout we can kill some killies. I wonder if there’s any -bait in the Rocky Mountains? I bet the angle-worms out here are pretty -wild.” - -“Hark—shh!” said Westy. - -“I’m shhhhing. What is it?” asked Ed. - -“I thought I heard a kind of a sound,” said Westy. - -“I hope it isn’t a grizzly,” said Warde. “Do you suppose they come to -places like this? Come on, let’s gather some branches to sleep on; I -know how to make a spring mattress. Is it all right to sleep on -branches, Westy?” - -It was funny to see Ed sitting on a rock calmly unraveling some worsted -from his sweater, all the while with his precious safety-pin stuck -ostentatiously in the shoulder of his shirt. - -“It’s good you happened to have your sweater on,” said Warde. - -“I hope I don’t lose my railroad ticket now,” said Ed. “I had it pinned -in. I tell you what you do. Big Chief,” he added, addressing Westy, and -all the while engrossed with his unraveling process; “you climb up that -hill and take a squint around and look for a patch of yellow in the -distance. That will be Yellowstone Park. Look all around and if you see -any places where they sell hot frankfurters let us know. By the time you -get back we’ll have supper ready, what there is of it, I mean such as it -is. I’m going to braid this stuff, it’s too weak. Look in the sink and -see if there are any sinkers, Wardie.” - -“All right,” said Westy, “because if I wait till after supper it might -be too dark.” - -“If you wait till after supper,” said Ed, “maybe the tree won’t be -there. We may not have supper for years. How do I know that fish are -fond of red. I always told my mother I wanted a gray sweater, same color -as fish-line, and she goes and gets me a red one. I wonder what Stove -Polish catches fish with.” - -“Maybe with the string that Mr. Wilde West was stringing us with,” said -Warde. - -“I guess I’d better go,” laughed Westy. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - ALONE - - -Westy was still laughing as he climbed the hill. He was thinking that -these two companions of his were pretty good scouts after all. In his -mood of dissatisfaction with himself and modern scouting, it had not -occurred to him that being a good scout consists not in getting along -with nothing, but in getting along with what you happen to have. - -A little way up the hill he looked back and could see Ed sitting on a -rock, one foot cocked up in the air with several strands of worsted -about it. He seemed to be bent on the task of braiding these and there -was something whimsical about the whole appearance of the thing which -amused Westy and made him realize his liking for this comrade who was of -another troop than his own. - -Reaching the summit of the hill he saw that the tree he had seen from -below was not as isolated as it had looked to be. It was a great elm and -rose out of a kind of jungle of brush and rock and smaller trees. These -near surroundings had not been discernible from the distant road. A -given point in Nature is so different seen from varying distances and -from different points of view. - -But the hill was not disappointing in affording an extensive view -southward. There was no object in that direction which gave any hint of -Yellowstone Park, but probably much of the wild scenery he beheld was -within the park boundaries. It was significant of the vastness of the -Park and of the smallness of Westy’s mental vision that he had expected -to behold it as one may behold some local amusement park. He had thought -that upon approach he might be able to point to it and say with a -thrill, “There it is!” He had not been able to fix it in his mind as a -vast, wild region that just happened to have a tame, civilized -name—_Park_. - -There was something very peculiar about this great tree and Westy -wondered if some terrific cyclone of years gone by might have caused it. -Evidently it had once been uprooted, but not blown down. At all events a -great rock was lodged under its exposed root, causing the tree to stand -at an angle. It seemed likely that the same wind-storm which had all but -lain the tree prone had caused the rock to roll down from a slight -eminence into the cavity and lodge there. Great tentacles of root had -embraced the rock which seemed bound by these as by fetters. And under a -network of root was a dark little cave created by the position of the -rock. - -Westy poked his head between the network of roots and peered into this -dank little cell. It smelled very damp and earthy. Some tiny creature of -the mountains scampered frantically out and the stir it caused seemed -multiplied into a tumult by the darkness and the smallness of the place. -Westy weakened long enough to wish he had a match so that he might make -a momentary exploration of this freakish little hole. - -His first impulse was to throw off his jacket before climbing the tree, -but he did not do this. He was good at climbing and he shinned up the -tree with the agility of a monkey. He rested at the first branch and was -surprised to see how even here the view seemed to expand before him. He -felt that at last he was doing something free from the contamination of -roads and railroad tracks. He was alone in the Rockies. He had once read -a boys’ book of that title, and now he reflected with a thrill that he, -Westy Martin, was, in a sense, alone in the Rockies. Not in the perilous -depths, perhaps, but just the same, in the Rockies. He wondered if there -might be a grizzly within a mile, or two or three miles of him. _The -Rockies!_ - -He ascended to the next branch, and the next. Slowly he climbed and -wriggled upward to a point beyond which he hesitated to trust the weight -of his body. And here he sat in a fork of the tree and looked southward -and eastward where a vast panorama was open before him. - -To the north and west was a near background of towering mountains, -making his airy perch seem low indeed. But to the south and east he saw -the West in all its glory and majesty. Mountains, mountains, mountains! -Magnificent chaos! Distance unlimited! Wildness unparalleled! Such -loneliness that a whisper might startle like a shout. It needed only the -roar of a grizzly to complete this boy’s sense of tragic isolation and -to give the scene a voice. - -From where he sat, Westy could look down into the cosy little cleft and -see Ed Carlyle standing clearly outlined in the first gray of twilight; -standing like a statue, hopefully angling with his converted safety-pin -and braided worsted. Warde was gathering sticks for their fire. Westy’s -impulse was to call to them, but then he decided not to. He preferred -not to call, nor even see them. For just a little while he wanted to be -_alone in the Rockies_. - -So he did not call. He looked in another direction and as he did so his -heart jumped to his throat and he was conscious of a feeling of -unspeakable gratitude to the saving impulse which had kept him silent. -For approaching up the hill from the direction in which he now looked -were the figures of two men. And one glimpse of them was enough to -strike horror to Westy Martin’s soul. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - IN THE TWILIGHT - - -It required but one look at these two men to cause Westy devoutly to -hope that they had not seen him. They were rough characters and of an -altogether unpromising appearance. - -One preceded the other and the leader was tall and lank and wore a -mackinaw jacket and a large brimmed felt hat. But for the mackinaw -jacket he might have suggested the adventurous western outlaw. But for -the romantic hat with flowing brim he might have suggested an eastern -thug. The man who followed him wore a sweater and a peaked cap, that -dubious outfit which the movies have taught us to associate with prize -fighters and metropolitan thugs. - -But a more subtle difference distinguished these strangers from each -other. The leader walked with a fine swinging stride, the other with -that mean carriage effected by short strides and a certain tough swing -of the arms. He had a street-corner demeanor about him and a way of -looking behind him as if he were continually apprehending the proximity -of “cops.” He had an East-Side, police-court, thirty-days-on-the-island -look. His companion seemed far above all that. - -[Illustration: WESTY MOVED NOT A MUSCLE, SCARCELY BREATHED.] - -Westy moved not a muscle, scarcely breathed. The tree was evidently the -destination of these strangers for they approached with a kind of weary -satisfaction, which in the smaller man bespoke a certain finality of -exhaustion. The leader evidently sensed this without looking behind him, -for he referred to it with a suggestion of disgust. - -“Yer tired?” - -“I ain’t used ter chasin’ aroun’ the world ter duck, pal,” said the -other. - -“Jes’ roun’ the corner; some cellar or other I reckon?” said the leader. - -“Dat’s me,” replied the other. - -By this time Westy was satisfied that they had not seen him before or -during his ascent, and it seemed to him a miracle that they had not. -Ludicrously enough he was conscious of a sort of disappointment that the -taller man had not seen him, and this together with the deepest -thankfulness for the fact. - -There was something inscrutable about this stranger, a suggestion of -efficiency and assured power. If Westy could have believed, without -peril to himself, that his presence could not escape this man’s eagle -vision it would have rounded out the aspect of lawless heroism which the -man seemed to have. It was rather jarring to see the fellow fail in a -matter in which he should have scored. And this, particularly in view of -his subsequent conversation. But Westy’s dominant feeling was one of -ineffable relief. - -“There ain’t no trail up here?” the smaller man asked, as he looked -doubtfully about him. - -“I never hide ’long no trails,” the taller man drawled, as he seated -himself on the rocky mound which was the roof of the little cave. “I -telled yer that, pardner. I ony use trails ter foller others. Long’s I -can’t fly I have ter make prints, but yer seen how I started. Prints is -no use till yer find ’em. But ready-made trails ’n sech like I never -use—got no use fer ’em. Nobody ever tracked me; same’s I never failed -ter track any one I set out ter track. When yer see me a-follerin’ a -reg’lar trail yer’ll know I’m pursuin’, not pursued, as the feller says. -Matter, pardner? Yer sceered?” - -“A dog could track us all right,” said the other. “He could scent us -along the rails, couldn’t he? Walkin’ the rails for a mile might kid the -bulls all right, but not no dog.” - -“Nobody never catched me, pardner, an’ nobody never got away from me,” -drawled the other man grimly. - -“They put dogs on, don’t they?” the smaller man asked. He seemed unable -to remove this peril from his mind. - -“Yere, an’ they take ’em off again.” - -“Well, I guess you know,” the smaller man doubtingly conceded. - -“I reckon I do,” drawled the other. - -“I ain’t scared o’ nobody gettin’ up here,” said the one who was -evidently a pupil and novice at the sort of enterprise they had been -engaged in. “But you said about dogs; sheriff’s posse has dogs, yer -says.” - -“They sure do,” drawled the other, lighting a pipe, “an’ they knows -more’n the sheriffs, them hound dogs.” - -“Well, yer didn’ cut the scent, did yer? Yer says ’bout cuttin’ scents, -but yer didn’ do it, now did yer?” - -For a few moments the master disdained to answer, only smoked his pipe -as Westy could just make out through the leaves. The familiar odor of -tobacco ascended and reached him, diluted in the evening air. It was -only an infrequent faint whiff, but it had an odd effect on Westy; it -seemed out of keeping with the surroundings. - -“I walked the rail,” said the smoker very slowly and deliberately, “till -I come ter whar a wolf crossed the tracks. You must have seed me stoop -an’ look at a bush, didn’t yer? Or ain’t yer got no eyes?” - -“I got eyes all right.” - -“Didn’t yer see me kinder studyin’ sumthin’? That was three four gray -hairs. Then I left the rail ’n cut up through this way. It’s that thar -wolf’s got ter worry, not me ’n you.” - -“Well, we done a pretty neat job, I’ll tell ’em,” said the smaller man, -apparently relieved. - -“Well, I reckon I knowed what I was sayin’ when I telled yer it was -easy; jes’ like doin’ sums, that’s all; as easy as divvyin’ up this here -swag. Ten men that’s a-sceered ain’t as strong as one man that ain’t -a-sceered. All yer gotter do is git ’em rattled. Ony yer gotter know yer -way when it’s over.” - -“Yer know yer way all right,” said the other, with a note of tribute in -his voice. - -“Yer ain’t looked inside yet,” said the master. “Neat little bunk fer a -lay-over, I reckon. Ony kinder close. ’Tain’t fer layin’ low I likes it -’cause I like it best outside, ’n we’re as safe here. Ony in case o’ -sumthin’ gone wrong we got a hole ter shoot from. With me inside o’ that -nobody’d ever git inside of three hundred feet from it. I could turn -this here hill inter a graveyard, I sure reckon. Yer hungry?” - -“Supposin’ any one was to find this here place?” the other asked. “You -said ’bout sumthin’ goin’ wrong maybe.” - -“Well, he wouldn’ hev the trouble o’ walkin’ back,” said the tall man -grimly. - -Just then Westy, who had scarce dared to breathe, took advantage of the -stirring of the strangers to glance toward his friends in the cleft. The -little camping site looked very cosy and inviting. But even as he looked -his blood ran cold and he was struck with panic terror. For standing at -the brink of the rivulet was Warde Hollister, his hands curved into a -funnel around his mouth, ready to call aloud to him. - -Westy held his breath. His heart thumped. Every nerve was tense. Then he -heard the screeching of one of those great birds flying toward the crags -in the twilight. He waited, cold with terror. . . . - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - WARDE AND ED - - -“Don’t call to him,” said Ed. “As long as we haven’t got our fire -started yet, what’s the use calling? He likes to be alone, sometimes; I -know Westy all right. Don’t call.” - -It was this consideration on the part of Ed for the mood and nature of -his friend that saved Westy at the moment. And incidentally it saved -Warde and Ed themselves from discovery. Westy knew his peril, but they -did not know theirs. - -Ed stood at the brink of the stream fishing, his partly unraveled -sweater tied around his waist, giving a Spanish touch to his appearance. -It was a funny habit of his to wear clothes the wrong way. He was always -springing some ludicrous effect by freakish arrangement of his apparel. -Warde was gathering sticks for their fire. - -“Here’s another killie,” said Ed. “Small, but nifty. That makes seven so -far, and about ’steen of these other kind, whatever they are. Don’t call -till you have to. Westy had this little lonely stroll coming to him ever -since Mr. Wilde West sprung that stuff on us. He likes to communicate -with Nature, or commune or commute or whatever you call it. He’s -imagining he’s hundreds and hundreds of miles off now—I bet he is. He’s -thinking what a punk scout he is. He likes to kid himself; let him -alone, don’t call.” - -“There’s one thing I want to say to you,” said Warde, “now we’re alone. -I guess you never quarreled with a fellow, did you?” - -“Here’s another killie—a little one,” said Ed. - -“Well, all I wanted to say was,” said Warde, “I’d like to let you know -that I think you’re about as good an all-round scout as any there ever -was, Indians, or I don’t care what. Understanding everything in nature -is all right, but understanding all about people is something, too. -Isn’t it?” - -“I suppose it must be if you say so,” said Ed. - -“This pin’s only good for the little ones——” - -“I mean you understand Westy, you know just how to handle him,” said -Warde. “Scouts have to deal with men, maybe wild men, just the same as -they have to deal with nature, I guess. You can read Westy like a—a—like -a trail. Gee, in the beginning I was hoping Westy and I could come out -here alone. Now I just can’t think of the trip without you along. Do you -_ever_ get mad?” - -“I get mad every time this blamed worsted breaks,” said Ed. - -“I know Westy’s kind of—you know—he’s kind of sensitive. He’s awful -serious about scouting. That Mr. Wilde just got him. Now he’ll do -something big if it kills him. And what good will it do him? That’s what -I say. Mr. Wilde will never see him again. You can’t make Indians out of -civilized white people, can you? Now he thinks none of us are regular -scouts. And that’s just what I want to tell you now while we’re alone. I -want to tell you that you’re my idea of a scout; he is too, but so are -you. What’s your idea of a scout, anyway? I was kind of wondering; -you’re all the time joking and never say anything about it.” - -“I guess you might as well start the fire now,” said Ed. “Thank -goodness, he isn’t here to see you using matches; he’s mad at matches. -Get the fire started good and then we’ll give him a war-whoop. I’ll -clean the fish.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - THE MASTER - - -Westy knew that he was in great peril. He knew that these two men were -desperadoes, probably train robbers, and that they would not suffer any -one to know of their mountain refuge and go free. He believed that the -odds and ends of conversation he had overheard related to one of those -bizarre exploits of the Far West, a two-man train robbery; or rather a -one-man train robbery, for it seemed likely that one of the men had not -been an expert or even a professional. - -For the leader of this desperate pair Westy could not repress a certain -measure of respect; respect at least for his courage and skill. The -other one seemed utterly contemptible. There is always a glamour about -the romantic bad man of the West, dead shot and master of every -situation, which has an abiding appeal to every lover of adventure. - -Here was a man, long, lanky, and of a drawling speech, whose eye, Westy -could believe, was piercing and inscrutable like the renowned Two Pistol -Bill of the movies. This man had said that no one could trail him and -that no trail was so difficult that he could not follow it. Truly a most -undesirable pursuer. One of those invincible outlaws whose skill and -resource and scouting lore seems almost to redeem his villainy. - -Westy knew that he was at the mercy of this man, this lawless pair. He -knew that his safety and that of his friends hung on a thread. One -forlorn hope he had and that was that darkness would come before the -boys started their fire. Then these ruffians might not see the smoke. -And perhaps they would fall asleep before Warde or Ed shouted. Then he -could take his chance of descending and rejoining them. All this seemed -too good to be possible and Westy had one of those rash impulses that -seize us all at times, to put an end to his horrible suspense by making -his presence known. One shout and—and what? - -He did not shout. And he prayed that his friends would not shout. If he -could only free himself and let them know! But even then there was the -chance of this baffler of dogs trailing him and his companions and -shooting them down in these lonely mountains. And who would ever know? - -And just then he learned the name of this human terror who was smoking -as he lolled in the dusk on the rock below. He was evidently a -celebrity. - -“That’s why they call me Bloodhound Pete,” drawled the man. “Nobody can -corral me up here; thar ain’t no trail ter this place ’n nobody never -knowed it. But I knowed of it. I ain’t never come to it from the road, -allus through the gulch ’n roun’ by Cheyenne Pass, like we done jes’ -now. _But if you wus here I could trail yer_, even if I never sot eyes -on the place afore. I could trail yer if yer dealed me the wrong trick, -no matter whar yer wuz.” - -“I ain’t dealin’ yer no wrong trick,” said the other. - -“That’s why I ony has one pard in a big job,” said Bloodhound Pete -grimly. “’Cause in a way of speakin’ I ain’t fer bloodshed. I’d ruther -drop one pardner than two or three. I don’t kill ’less thar’s need to, -’count o’ my own safety.” - -Westy shuddered. - -“Me ’n you ain’t goin’ ter have no scrap over the swag,” said the other -man. - -“N’ ye’ll find me fair as summer,” said the bloodhound. “Fair and -square, not even sayin’ how I give the benefit to a pardner on uneven -numbers.” - -“Me ’n you ain’t a-goin’ ter have no quarrel,” said the other. “Yer wuz -goner drop that there little gent, though, I’m thinkin’,” he added, -“when he tried ter hold yer agin’ the car door. He wuz game, he wuz.” - -“That’s why I didn’ drop ’im,” said the bloodhound. “Yer mean him with -the cigar? Yere, he was game—him an’ the conductor. They was the ony -ones. Them an’ the woman—she was game. Yer seed her, with the fire ax. I -reckon she’d a used it if I didn’t take it from ’er. That thar little -man had a permit or a license or sumthin’ to ketch animals down over ter -the Park. Here ’tis in his ole knapsack an’ money enough ter buy a -couple o’ ranches.” - -“How much?” asked the other. - -“I ain’t usin’ no light,” said the bloodhound, “’count er caution. We’ll -sleep an’ divvy up fair an’ square in the mornin’.” - -“Suits me,” said the other. - -“And jes’ bear in mind,” drawled Bloodhound Pete, “that I allus sleep -with one eye open an’ I can track anything ’cept a airplane.” - -Westy shuddered again. He fancied the lesser of those two desperadoes -shuddering. Bloodhound Pete seemed quite master of the situation. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - THE HAUNTING SPIRIT OF SHINING SUN - - -This was the kind of man that Westy had to get away from. For he found -it unthinkable that he and his companions should be shot down and left -in that wild region, a prey to vultures. He tortured himself with the -appalling thought that perhaps the great bird he had just seen and heard -was one of those horrible creatures of uncanny instinct waiting -patiently among its aerial crags for the bodies of the slain; for him, -_Westy Martin_! - -He had been able to realize, or rather to believe, that he was alone in -the Rockies. He had, in the few moments that he had been there, indulged -the thrilling reflection that he was actually in the storied region -where grizzlies prowled, and other savage beasts woke the echoes with -their calls, where eagles screamed in their dizzy and inaccessible -domains. He had thrilled to the thought that he was at least within the -limits of that once trackless wonderland of adventure where guides and -trappers, famed in his country’s romantic lore, had wrought miracles -renowned in the annals of scouting. - -But Westy had not carried these reflections so far as to include the -reality which now confronted him. He had been a trapper for a few sweet -moments; he had penetrated the wilds after Indians—in his imagination, -which is always a safe place to hunt. And now suddenly here he was, -actually _trapped_ in the Rocky Mountains; the victim of cold-blooded -desperadoes. His life hung by a thread. His killing would be a trifling -incident in the aftermath of a typical western train robbery. - -It was odd how ready his imagination had been to feast upon the perils -of the Wild West and how his blood turned cold at this true Western -adventure into which he was drawn. The day before, in his comfortable -seat in the speeding train, he would have said that such a thing as this -was just impossible. It would have been all right in the books; but as -involving him, Westy Martin, why, the very thought of it would have been -absurd. - -Yet there he was. There he was, the thing was a reality, and he knew -that every chance was against him. He wondered what Shining Sun, the red -boy, that silent master of the forest, would have done in this -predicament. Then his thoughts wandered away from that exploited hero to -his own pleasant home in Bridgeboro and he pictured his father sitting -by the library table reading his evening paper. He pictured his father -telling his sister Doris for goodness’ sakes to stop playing the -Victrola till he finished reading. Then Doris strolling out onto the -porch and ejecting himself and Pee-wee Harris from the swinging seat and -sitting down herself to await the arrival of Charlie Easton. . . . - -He looked anxiously in the direction of the cleft, fearful that at any -minute smoke would arise out of it or voices be audible there. The two -men were talking below, but he could not see them now nor hear what they -said. The whole thing seemed so strange, so incredible, that Westy could -not appreciate the extraordinary fact that the very property, the wallet -of his traveling acquaintance, Mr. Wilde, was in possession of these -outlaws. - -One slight advantage (it was not even a forlorn hope) seemed to be -accruing to him. It was growing dark. This at least might prevent the -smoke from the distant fire being seen. As for the blaze, that could not -be seen from the foot of the tree because of the precipitous descent at -the base of the hill. From his vantage point in the tree Westy would -have been able to see the fire. But there was no blaze to be seen and he -wondered why, for surely, he thought, they must have been able to catch -some sort of fish. - -Then in his distraction, he found a measure of relief in thinking of -matters not pertinent to his desperate situation. He thought how after -all Ed’s safety-pin and braided worsted had probably not made good. This -aroused again his morbid reflections about boy scouting. Shining Sun, -without so much as a safety-pin, would have been able to catch fish, -probably with his dexterous hands. - -Westy was disgusted with himself and all his claptrap of scouting, when -he thought of this primitive little master of the woods and water. -Frightened as he was, he was reflective enough to be indignant at Mr. -Wilde for that skeptic’s irreverent use of the name of Stove Polish. -Shining Sun was all but sacred to serious Westy. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - A DESPERATE PREDICAMENT - - -The peril from visible smoke was gone, but there was small comfort in -this. Warde and Ed had probably not succeeded in catching any fish and a -fire was therefore useless. Presently one or other of them would shout -or come to investigate. And what then? Westy’s life and the lives of his -comrades seemed to hang on a thread. - -He roused himself out of his silent fear and suspense and realized that -if he were going to do anything he must act quickly. He was between two -frightful perils. If he were to act, _do something_ (he knew not exactly -what), it must be before his friends called, yet not till the men below -had fallen asleep. Haste meant disaster. Delay meant disaster. When -should he act? And what should he do? If he had only a little time—a -little time to think. What would the Indian boy do? - -He listened fearfully, his heart in his throat, but there was no sound. -He was thankful that Ed Carlyle was not such a good scout—no, he didn’t -mean exactly that. He was glad that Ed was not exactly what you would -call a _real_—no, he didn’t mean that either. He was glad that Ed had -not been scout enough—had not been able to catch any fish. There are -times when not being such a marvelous super-scout is a very good thing. - -Silence. Darkness. And the minutes passed by. He was jeopardizing his -life and his companions’ lives, and he knew it. If he waited till they -shouted all three of them would be—— He could not bear to think of it. -_Would be killed! Shot down!_ He, Westy Martin, and his two pals. - -What would Shining Sun do? - -Well, he, Westy Martin, would act at once. He would take a chance, be -brave, die game. He would, if need be, be killed in the Rockies, like so -many heroes before him. He would not be a parlor scout. He had dreamed -of being in peril in the Rockies. Well, he would not falter now. He -could not be a Shining Sun, but at least he could be worthy of himself. -He would not be wanting in courage, and he would use such resource as he -had. - -He could not afford to wait for a shout from the cleft. He must descend -and trust to the men being asleep. He wished that Bloodhound Pete had -not made that remark about sleeping with one eye open. He wished that -that grim desperado had not unconsciously informed him that he could -track anything but an airplane. Then it occurred to him that he might -disclose his presence to these men, promise not to tell of their hiding -place, and throw himself on their mercy. Perhaps they—the tall one at -least—would understand that a scout’s honor—— - -Honor! A scout’s honor. What is that? Shining Sun was a scout, a _real_ -scout. What would _he_ do? He would escape! - -Westy listened but heard no sound from below. He hoped they were in the -little cave, but he doubted that; it was too small and stuffy. A place -to shoot from and hold pursuers at bay, that was all it was. - -Silently, with an arm around an upright branch, he raised one foot and -unlaced a shoe, pausing once or twice to listen. - -No sound from below or from afar. Only the myriad voices of the night in -the Rocky Mountains, an owl hooting in the distance, the sound of -branches crackling in the freshening breeze, the complaining call of -some unknown creature. . . . - -He hung the shoe on a limb, releasing his hold on it easily, then -listened. No sound. Then he unlaced the other shoe and hung it on the -branch. Strange place for a Bridgeboro, New Jersey, boy to hang his -shoes. But Shining Sun wore no shoes, perish the thought! and neither -would Westy. He removed his scout jacket with some difficulty and hung -it on a limb, then he removed the contents of its pockets. - -Westy Martin, scout of the first class, First Bridgeboro Troop, B. S. -A., Bridgeboro, New Jersey, had won eleven merit badges. Nine of these -were sewed on the sleeve of the khaki jacket in which he had traveled. -This had been his preference, since he was a modest boy, and was -disinclined to have them constantly displayed on the sleeve of his scout -shirt which he usually wore uncovered. But two of the medals had been -sewed on the sleeve of his shirt at some time when the jacket was not -handy. These were the pathfinder’s badge and the stalker’s badge. So it -happened that he carried these two treasured badges with him, when he -left his jacket hanging in the tree and started to descend upon his -hazardous adventure. - -He had received these two honors with a thrill of pride. But throughout -this memorable day they had seemed to him like silly gewgaws, claptrap -of the Boy Scouts, signifying nothing. They were obscured by the -haunting spirit of Shining Sun. - -For another moment he listened, his nerves tense, his heart thumping. -Then he began ever so cautiously to let himself down through the -darkness. A long, plaintive moan was faintly audible far in the mountain -fastnesses. . . . - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - SOUNDS! - - -Half-way down he thought he heard voices, but decided it was only his -imagination taunting him. There was no sound below. He was fearful, yet -relieved, when he reached the lowest branch; now there would be no -branches squeaking, no crackling twigs, sounding like earthquakes in the -tense stillness. - -He paused a moment, his heart almost choking him. Suppose the men were -not asleep. He was within easy pistol shot now, he could readily be -discovered, a dark object clinging to the dark, branchless trunk. _A -sound. A voice?_ No, it was only his own haunting fear that spoke. In a -few moments he would know the worst—or rather, perhaps, know nothing. -With a kind of reckless abandon he let himself down, carefully, -silently, inch by inch. He knew that any second he might hear a startled -and aroused figure below him and fall limp, lifeless, to the ground. - -He did not make a sound as he descended the trunk. And each uneventful -moment gave him fresh courage. He was near enough to the ground now to -hear the voices of the outlaws clearly, but he heard nothing. Nor could -he see below anything but the dark mound of the rock outlined in the -deeper darkness. His besetting fear now was that his companions might -shout. It seemed incredible that they did not make some sound. - -Westy’s good sense became his ally now. His success so far gave him -poise. He bethought him that bad men of the West, albeit they do big -things, have also the habit of talking big. However it might have been -with the taciturn pioneers of old, the bad men of the West (if the -movies know anything about it) are incorrigible boasters. - -This comforting thought did not mitigate Westy’s fear of Bloodhound -Pete. But it afforded him the solacing reflection that after all, in -plain fact, no man can sleep with one eye open. This robber, and -murderer if need be, was either asleep or not asleep. And if he was -asleep then Westy knew he had a chance; perhaps a forlorn chance, but a -chance. He took a measure of comfort from this application of his common -sense. - -And as he descended without interruption he began, all in that brief -time, hopefully to consider the dubious prospect of escape from these -ruffians. Would they sleep long? He could readily believe that -Bloodhound Pete was invincible on the trail. Would immediate escape -avail the boys anything? - -With each measure of success comes a fresh measure of hope and courage. -No news is good news. As long as nothing happens all is well. Westy put -one cautious, hesitating foot upon the solid ground. He was face to face -with his great adventure. - -Thus he paused like the chameleon, one foot poised in air, the other -upon the ground, motionless in the freak attitude of first alighting. He -seemed fearful of placing his whole weight and both feet on the ground. - -Then he stood beside the tree, a small, dark figure, his clothing torn, -his legs and bare arms bleeding from scratches. He was hatless and -barefooted. The tree, with a fine sense of scout picturesqueness, had -caught his shirt and ripped it open in front, pulling off the buttons -and exposing his brown, young chest. His trousers were all but in -tatters. His hair was disheveled and it did not ill-become him. - -He looked suitable to be in the Rockies. No one would have known him for -a “parlor scout,” playing the little outdoor game. . . . - -Again he listened. There was no sound but the wailing far off. He was in -the shadow of the tree, the trunk between him and the little cave, and -he dreaded to move. Well, there was nothing left to do but take a chance -and steal away. - -Silence. A silence welcome, but fraught with terror. Surely these -blackguards must be sleeping. But the sleeper who guards a treasure and -fears pursuit enjoys not a peaceful slumber. Westy moved one leg -preparatory to taking a step. How fateful each well-considered step! He -felt the ground with his bare foot—pawed it. A twig which his shoe would -have broken gave a little under the soft pressure, but caused no sound. -He moved his foot from it and explored the ground near by. Then he took -a step. - -He paused and listened, his heart beating like a trip-hammer. He craned -his neck and could just see the low entrance of the cave. It looked to -be just an area of black in the surrounding darkness. Should he—yes, he -felt the ground with his sensitive foot and took another step. - -And now he paused, baffled by a new difficulty. For the moment he knew -not which way to go. The darkness had closed in and rendered all -directions alike. He could not for the life of him determine in which -direction the cleft lay. He glanced about puzzled by this new doubt. -Then he _thought_ he knew. He made a long stride now so as to cover as -much space as possible without touching ground, feeling the earth -cautiously as his foot touched it. Then he moved—momentous step. He was -a yard farther from the outlaws than he had been. So far so good. He -gathered courage. - -Then a thought occurred to him. Suppose these ruffians were taking turns -at sleeping. Well, then he must be the more careful. He took another -long, carefully considered step and listened. Only silence. He was on -his way and all was well. Again he stepped—a long cautious stride. His -nerves were on edge, but he was buoyant with the sense of triumph, of -achievement. - -Then suddenly his blood ran cold, and he paused, one foot in air, and -almost lost his balance. One of the men had coughed. And there was a -sound as of one stirring. . . . - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - WESTY’S JOB - - -Again Westy paused in frightful suspense. He knew that these men would -not give him the advantage by calling, “Who’s there?” In another second -he might be dead. Would he hear the shot, he wondered. Does a person who -is shot hear the shot that lays him low? Would he know if he were -shot—in the head? - -He paused, unable to move a muscle, haunted by these ghastly thoughts. -Some one was evidently awake and listening. Should he risk it and take -another step? Suppose a twig should crackle. If he took a long stride he -might possibly lose his balance. It seemed to him that his very -breathing could be heard, that those ruffians could count his -heart-beats. - -He put one foot forward, felt softly of the ground with his bare foot, -pressed the uncertain earth a little, then took another step and felt -that he had removed himself still farther from peril. There was no -sound, and he indulged the hope that the cough and the stirring had been -in sleep. - -He took several strides now and each was like a stimulant to him. He -would not relax his caution, each step must be well considered, but he -believed that he was moving in safety. He was, perhaps, fifteen feet -from the tree, and his hope ran high. He began to think of his escape in -the past tense and rejoiced in his achievement. If only his friends -would not shout. . . . - -Well, that was a narrow escape. He would always, he reflected, have -something to tell. It had been like an evil dream; he could not bring -himself to believe the reality of it. How his mother would shudder when -he told her. But he would laugh and say, “All’s well that ends well.” He -would say, “I’m here anyway.” Probably Doris would not be too ready to -believe him, and Charlie—— - -Then suddenly Westy thought of something. He was far enough from the -tree now to think calmly, and in the flush and elation of his -achievement, a rather chilling thought came to him. Is there any triumph -in escape? Can any one who is running from peril ever think of himself -in a heroic light? Skillful such a thing might be. But after all is it a -thing to tell about with pride? - -Certainly, Westy bethought him, it was not a thing to tell with pride to -Mr. Madison C. Wilde, if he should ever meet that Philistine again. To -tell Mr. Wilde that he, Westy Martin, Boy Scout of America, had been -within a dozen feet of that portly wallet, had even heard it spoken of! -No, he could not do that. Of course he would have to tell of this -affair, but he devoutly hoped that Mr. Wilde would be gone from the -Mammoth Hotel at Hot Springs before he and his companions arrived. - -He pictured to himself the way that Mr. Wilde would cock his head -sideways in a manner of critical attention and screw his cigar over to -the corner of his mouth as he listened to the heroic narrative in which -would figure the whereabouts of his wallet. It seemed that this -sagacious little man must be always haunting poor Westy. He had well -nigh ruined his carefree young life with his homily on scouting _that -isn’t_. And now here he was again, a terrible specter with a cigar and a -derby hat, stalking behind him and saying, _“What you have to do, you -do.”_ - -That was in reference to the scouting and wilderness miracles of Shining -Sun. He had done things because he had _had_ to do them or starve. Well, -thought sober Westy, if disgrace is the alternative, it is just as bad. -This sophisticated little stranger, Mr. Wilde, loomed up before him now -and took the edge off a very credible achievement in scouting—escaping -from train robbers in the Rockies. - -Achievement! Westy had read about masterly retreats. They were conducted -by military strategists, but not by _heroes_. They were skillful but not -brave. To be a scout you must have the stuff that heroes are made of. -And to be a hero you must _do something_, you must be _brave_. _What you -have to do, you do._ Westy Martin knew in his heart what his job was. -There was nothing glorious in running away from his job, however -silently and fleetly he ran. If he was going to be a scout he must _do -his good turn_. You cannot do a good turn to yourself. A good turn is -like a quarrel, in a sense. It requires two people. - -He might get away from these robbers, but he could not get away from Mr. -Madison C. Wilde. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - THE WAY OF THE SCOUT - - -Much of Mr. Wilde’s bantering comment on the train had related to these -same good turns. He had referred to the heroic act of mowing a -neighbor’s lawn or of pursuing some gentleman’s recreant hat in a -wind-storm. Well, here was the sort of good turn that would open his -eyes. _To return him his wallet._ - -Westy did not believe that he could do this. He seemed, by a miracle of -good luck, to have attained a point of safety. Flight was possible now, -and he had an idea which he thought would baffle pursuit. He had thought -cautiously to take three or four long strides then run as fast as he -could and rejoin his friends before one or other of them shouted to him. - -Now the thought of a higher obligation deterred him, and he paused, -gazing wistfully, yet fearfully, through the darkness in the direction -where he had thought safety and permanent escape awaited him. Then he -glanced fearfully back at the tall black tree trunk, and considered that -little distance he had achieved by his skill and deathlike silence. - -That little distance represented more effort, certainly more strain, -than would have been required to walk half a dozen miles. It seemed like -a little bank account, a treasury of hard-earned safety. And now he was -to squander this in a foolhardy attempt. He almost wished that a shout -from his friends would take the matter out of his hands and give him an -excuse for flight. Then he was ashamed of that thought. - -With hesitating, reluctant step he drew nearer to the tree, cautiously, -silently, pausing with each step to listen. He placed his hand over his -heart as if to muffle its beating; it seemed as if the whole country -could hear the thumping in his breast. In that little area surrounding -the tree, Westy Martin was living a whole life. So intense was his -concentration, so taut his nerves, that there seemed nothing, no -interests, no world, outside this little sphere of action, where every -move was fraught with ghastly peril. He placed each foot upon the ground -and waited, as a chess player considers and waits before releasing his -hold of the chessman. - -Going from the tree each step had meant fresh assurance of safety. Going -toward it each move meant greater peril. He could not rid his mind of -the curiosity about whether he would _know it_ if he were suddenly shot -dead. Would he hear a sound first—a click, a stir? Was some one watching -and listening even now, with pistol upraised and ready? _He, Westy -Martin!_ It seemed incredible, unthinkable. - -Then he made an important decision. What trifles were such things to -seem important, to stand between him and death. _Death!_ He lowered -himself to his hands and knees. - -That would mean four points of contact with the ground instead of two, -doubling the danger of sound. But it would lower his height. It was the -carriage of the animals, and Westy had read that it is always best to -imitate the animals when one’s purpose is similar to that of an animal. -He remembered that a cat in stealing up on a bird holds its body as -close to the ground as possible. - -Then, in the tenseness of his fear, an irrelevant thought came to him. -It was odd how irrelevant thoughts relating to the outer world came to -him in this desperate situation. Perhaps his thought about the cat and -the bird suggested it. He remembered reading how the famous Wright -Brothers, pioneers in aviation, had learned to make their first airplane -by studying the flight of birds. Then he thought how Bloodhound Pete had -declared that he could track anything but an airplane. Westy smiled; a -ghastly, terror-haunted smile, but he smiled. He was thinking of his -scheme for eluding pursuit if he should ever be so fortunate as to be in -flight. - -He crept around the tree trunk and peered into the dark opening of the -tiny cave. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - A FATAL MOVE - - -As Westy peered around the tree he beheld something which at first -shocked him, then relieved his nervous tension somewhat. Just outside -the entrance of the cave was a face upturned toward the sky. At first he -saw nothing but this face framed in darkness; it seemed to have no body -connected with it. He could not see it well enough to distinguish the -features, but he could make out that it bore a flowing mustache. Nor -could he see whether the eyes were open, but he assumed they were not, -for the posture of the head was certainly not that of one on guard. - -At first Westy thought that the man might be looking up into the tree -ready to shoot, not knowing that he, Westy, had descended. He had enough -presence of mind to look about for anything that glistened, but could -discover no betraying glint of a pistol. - -Strangely enough, the sight of this upturned face, grim and ghastly -because only hazily revealed in the blackness, reassured him. It was a -jarring sight, but better than uncertainty. - -Cautiously, testing every move, he crept a few inches closer. The face -seemed to move, yet still lay stark, staring like a dead man at the -starless heaven. It was only the faint shadow of a fluttering twig -crossing that motionless face. - -Westy crept a few inches closer. And then, suddenly, he realized that -Bloodhound Pete _was on guard_. He was on guard in his sleep. He was not -sleeping with one eye open. But he was on guard with both eyes closed. -He was sleeping in the little hole which formed the entrance of the -cave. His body, as well as Westy could make out, was mostly within the -dank little retreat; only his head and shoulders were outside. It would -have been impossible to pass by him, in or out. - -So small was the opening that dangling tentacles of root hung low above -his face like loathsome snakes, and as they swayed in the breeze caused -tiny shadows to play upon his motionless countenance, producing a -ghostly and startling effect. It seemed evident that his companion was a -prisoner within; he could not have escaped except across the prone body -of his comrade. Thus Bloodhound Pete guarded, even in his sleep, the -accomplice whose services had probably been necessary to him. He seemed -to Westy to have an uncanny power. - -The boy wondered whether this little cell was a favorite resort of the -outlaw because exit from it could be so conveniently and unsuspectingly -embarrassed. Certainly Bloodhound Pete, having reached his chosen lair, -had very little fear of danger from without. He had reckoned on the -country, but he had not reckoned on the tree. - -Westy approached now near enough to touch that motionless face. He was -all a-tremble. Yet his proximity had at least this advantage. He could -not be shot down unawares—the thing he had dreaded. If the man moved he -would know it. A man cannot snatch his senses so quickly from sleep as -to be able to shoot instantaneously. He would have at least a few -seconds of grace. - -He did not dare to move now; he paused and looked about. Oh, if his -heart would only stop thumping; it sounded like an engine to him. Cold -drops of perspiration stood out on his forehead. His hands were icy -cold. He swallowed nervously and it seemed that this would arouse echoes -from the surrounding hills. He remembered the odd phenomenon that -standing close to a sleeping person often causes the slumberer to open -his eyes. The very atmosphere of a human presence may arouse one. - -Westy knew that he must not stand there courting such perils. Yet he -knew not what to do next. Certainly he could not enter the cave nor -rummage in this creature’s pockets. He could make one move nearer; it -would avail him nothing, but he could do it. Possibly he might discover -a way—something—— - -He lifted his left hand from the ground, moving it forward, and at the -same time his right knee was instinctively raised by a sort of nervous -correspondence. He was ready to move forward. So far as he was -concerned, he had confidence now; he knew he would not make a sound. He -could settle hand or knee upon the earth with the silence of death. But -the breeze was blowing the foliage and now and then crackling a little -twig near by. Westy paused. It seemed as if an electrical current were -coursing through his lifted arm. - -Far off somewhere in the untrodden fastnesses of the mighty range was -that moaning he had heard before. For a second, two, three seconds, he -paused, tense, trying to control his panting breaths. Then slowly he -advanced his hand and lowered it upon—something soft and warm. . . . - -Panic seized him with the realization that he had miscalculated in the -darkness and was pressing his hand upon that dark, outstretched form. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - IN THE DARKNESS - - -But there was no movement of the sleeper. - -Westy clutched the warm, dark thing and retreated, or rather shrank -back. He paused, watching, listening, and moved backward a few feet. Was -it safe to stand? He could do this silently, but would not the radical -change of posture arouse the sleeper? Might not it stir the air enough -to—No—yes, he would. - -He drew himself to his feet, silent, trembling. Then he backed away a -few paces more, clutching the thing on which his groping hand had -descended. He knew what it was now. It was the mackinaw jacket of -Bloodhound Pete which had been folded up for use as a pillow. In his -sleep the outlaw’s head must have rolled off it and that but a minute or -two prior to Westy’s approach for, as we know, the spot on which the -cautious hand of the scout had descended was still warm. - -Now Westy’s heart beat frantically, but with a new suspense, with -imminent triumph and elation. Hurriedly he put his hands into the -pockets of the jacket and presently, wonder of wonders, stood under the -black sky, alone in the Rockies, with the big wallet of Mr. Wilde, the -Philistine, gripped in his soil-covered hands. And still he heard the -distant wailing. It seemed to him that that savage voice in the night -ought to change or cease, in view of his triumph; that the Rocky -Mountains should take notice of this thing that he had done. He seemed -to be in Aladdin’s Cave or on the brink of Captain Kidd’s treasure hole, -or in a dream. - -Westy felt of the big wallet, smelled of it; it was real, it was -leather. He blinked his eyes and knew he was awake. Silently, oh, with -such joyous caution, he stole a few paces farther from the tree. Suppose -Warde or Ed should call now. _Warde!_ _Ed!_ It seemed as if he had not -seen them for years. - -Again he clutched the wallet to make sure it was substantial. It was -very substantial; Mr. Wilde did not deal in the ethereal. Well, then -(Westy gulped with nervous elation as he tried to formulate the fact in -orderly fashion in his mind) he, Westy Martin, scout of Bridgeboro, New -Jersey, had in the twentieth century when there are autos and electric -lights and radios and things—he, Westy Martin, had outwitted a -desperado, a wild western train robber in the Rocky Mountains and -recovered a quantity of booty—_he, Westy Martin!_ - -Suppose, just suppose his friends should call to him now! This thought -aroused him to the realization that he was not yet out of danger, that -every second’s delay jeopardized his triumph. He took a few long strides -with utmost caution as before, then paused again, listening. Everything -seemed to be quiet and he gave way to a little, silent, incredulous -laugh, the whole affair seemed so unreal, so at odds with his simple -young life. He had a queer feeling that this was not his own experience. -His first relaxation after what he had done was this silent, mirthless -laugh. Then he gathered himself together, assured himself of his -direction and started running with all his might and main. - -A few moments should have brought him to the cleft, but he ran for five -minutes as fast as he could, yet did not reach it. He knew he was going -down hill and he was sure he was running in the direction in which the -lowest branch of the tree pointed. He remembered noticing that branch in -the daylight and now in his flight he had made assurance doubly sure by -noticing where it pointed. - -Yet he did not reach the cleft. He ran a little farther, then paused, -bewildered, anxious. Here was a fine state of things! _He was lost._ His -friends would shout, would undoubtedly ascend the hill in search of him. -They would either be heard or would stumble onto that desperate pair of -robbers. What was he to do now? Where was he? Wherever he looked there -was only darkness. Standing still he could not even be sure about the -slope. He ran a little to make sure of this. Yes, he was running _down_; -he could tell by the way each foot struck the ground. He ran a little -further, then paused irresolute. - -Silence, darkness; darkness impenetrable. Westy tried to believe that he -could see the outline of a mountain he had noticed in the daylight. He -remembered where this was in relation to the cleft. It seemed like -blackness hovering in blackness; there was no real outline, it was all -elusive. He became greatly agitated. To be baffled like this in the very -fullness of his achievement galled him to distraction. - -He was seized with a rash impulse to scream and let happen what would. -He was within hearing of four people, yet he could not shout. He -wondered what would happen if he did shout, or if his comrades shouted. -If one of them shouted _just once_, he might run with all his might and -main to them and prevent a second shout. But even one shout would be -perilous business. He was panic-stricken. - -How easily Shining Sun would have sped to his destination through -wilderness and darkness! With what unerring instinct that hero of the -wilds would have extricated himself from this predicament. “Shining Sun -with a coat full of money and things.” Westy laughed nervously. Shining -Sun and money seemed not to go together at all. He was of the race that -sold vast tracts of country for glass beads and trinkets. - -It was only in a nervous way, caused by his perplexity and panic, that -Westy thought then of the Indian boy who had haunted him as much as Mr. -Wilde had. Such thoughts jump in and out of the troubled and preoccupied -mind like spirits. - -He was now on the verge of utter panic. He ran a few paces, paused, then -ran a few paces in another direction. In this way he became the more -confused. He had no more idea of his direction than he would have had at -midnight on the trackless ocean. He had escaped from the outlaws. But -the Rocky Mountains had caught him. The one thing to deliver him out of -this penetrable blackness was his voice, and that would only betray him -to criminals as black as the night itself. He stood stock still, not -knowing what to do, cold with desperation, his morale gone; a pitiful -spectacle. - -The Rocky Mountains had him by the throat. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - THE FRIENDLY BROOK - - -Then he heard a voice. It was not the voice of either of his comrades, -nor was it the voice of either outlaw. It was a voice soft and low, the -voice of the Rocky Mountains calling to him the way to go; the scarce -audible murmur of the stream far in the distance. - -To Westy the sound was as welcome as a log would be to a man drowning. -He heard it, a low, steady ripple, far in the fathomless night. Here was -a voice he need not fear, thrice welcome voice that would guide him to -his friends and arouse no one. - -He ran now in the direction of this distant sound. Now and again he had -to pause and listen, so faint was it. Once, when the fitful breeze was -wrong, he could not hear it. He paused in the still, lonesome night, -caught the faint murmur, and hurried on. - -He was not running down hill, that was sure. But the murmur of the brook -was louder now; he was approaching it. Soon it had swelled into a merry, -little song with an accompaniment of splashing as it hurried over rocks. -The cheery preoccupation of the rushing stream was in odd contrast to -all about; it seemed so carefree and intent there in the very -neighborhood of the most harrowing experience of Westy’s life. It was -quite happy and at home, alone in the Rockies. - -Presently he reached it and knew that he was at a point about half a -mile below the cleft. Instead of going straight toward the cleft he had -descended the hill southward, converging toward the brook, and reaching -it at a point where it had flowed down into comparatively level country. -He stood near a large rock which he remembered passing when they had -followed the stream up to the cleft. - -And now, nerve-racked and fatigued in body, his bare feet sore and -bleeding, Westy paused for just a moment to make sure of his direction. -He knew where he was, the rock was like an oasis in the trackless -desert, and the brook was like a trail. But he was not going to trifle -with his good fortune now. He would verify every surmise. He would not -make a mistake in his elation. He could see nothing. In which direction, -then, was the cleft? - -He was almost certain about this; yes, of course he was certain; he -laughed at the thought of there being any doubt about it. He found it -easy to laugh. Yet if the cleft lay upstream—— Well, first he would -determine which way was _upstream_. - -And just then Westy Martin showed what kind of a scout he was. He was -just about to step into the water to _feel_ which way it flowed when -something deterred him. In that brief second of inspired thought he was -the scout par excellence. Instead of stepping into the brook he laid a -twig in the water and watched it hurry away in the rippling current. Of -course he was right about the direction of the flowing water, the twig -confirmed his assurance of this. - -Well then, why could he not, looking upstream, see the light of his -companions’ fire in the cleft? In the afternoon, from this point, they -had seen the very spot where they later camped. He was puzzled and -looked in the other direction—downstream. There was no spark anywhere, -only dense blackness. - -Well, he was sure anyway; he could not be mistaken. He knew which way -was upstream and his friends were there, light or no light. They were -there _if nothing had happened to them_. What _could_ have happened to -them? - -Well, he was sure and he would play his trump card. He would show -Bloodhound Pete that there was at least one thing besides an airplane -that he could not trail. He took his next momentous step as thoughtfully -as he would have spent his last dollar. He stooped and selected a spot -where an area of soft earth bordered the stream. Here his footprints -would be clear. Then he walked into the stream, approaching it not -squarely, but _converging toward_ it at an angle. - -He entered the water facing upstream so as to give the impression that -this was his direction, as indeed it was, as far as the cleft. If he -turned in the water and retraced his course, no one would see the -footprints disclosing this maneuver. The friendly brook had guided him -and now he used it as his good ally. Once in the stream he could move in -_either direction_ and no one would know in which direction he moved. A -pursuer would think that he had gone upstream. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - THE CUT TRAIL - - -Westy found the water refreshing to his bare, scratched feet. And he was -happy now and hopeful. He was puzzled about not seeing a light, but he -would not worry about that. He was proud of what he had done; it had a -flavor of real scouting about it—if it worked. He had deliberately given -a clew to his direction, and for the time being this constituted a -peril. But he could retrace his steps without its being known and escape -south while his pursuers were proceeding north. Eluding pursuit was just -a question of getting away quickly now. - -His little subterfuge acted like a tonic to his exhausted nerves and -weary body. He was having some fun. His success so far and the need of -haste were exhilarating. He hurried along through the cool, murmuring, -enveloping water, feeling indeed that this little Rocky Mountain brook -was his friend. There were no telltale footprints now for the grim, -invincible outlaw to follow; _he had cut his trail_. He liked that -expression _cut his trail_. It was every bit as good as the coyote -stunt. . . . - -Soon the rocks began enclosing him, and the brook flowed swiftly and -noisily. He could feel the swish of the oncoming water against his -ankles. In a few moments he was bucking a tiny waterfall, and it was -hard for him to lift himself up over the mossy, slippery rocks. But he -kept in the stream; nothing could have tempted him out of its -protection. - -[Illustration: IN A FEW MINUTES HE WAS BUCKING A TINY WATERFALL.] - -He was climbing up where he and his two companions had climbed late that -afternoon, except that he was in the water. He knew the spot well -enough, even in the dark. It seemed an age since he had seen his -friends. His return was almost like going home to Bridgeboro. If he -could only know they were there! Suppose they had gone searching for him -on the hill! - -At this appalling thought he paused and listened, fearful of hearing a -pistol shot in the darkness. But all he could hear was the rippling -water merrily covering his tracks. What he did not realize was that he -was confusing actual time with the strain he had been under. He had -lived a whole lifetime in less than an hour, and he seemed to have been -absent from his comrades for days. - -Soon the narrow way he had been climbing spread into the cleft, with the -slope on one side, the precipitous wall on the other, and the little -area of shore on either side of the stream. The place looked different -in the darkness, but he knew it. - -“Warde—Ed—are you here?” he scarce more than whispered. - -There was no answer. - -“Where are you, anyway?” Westy asked, emboldened by his fright to speak -louder. - -There was no answer. - -He knew not what to do now; he dared not leave the water to investigate -and he could see little in the dense darkness. He peered about trying to -penetrate the night with his eyes. Thus he was able to distinguish -something, he knew not what, on the shore not far distant. He spoke -again in a hoarse whisper and listened. Only the cheery little brook -answered him. He thought the something, whatever it was, had not been -there before. - -Well, if it was a rock he would soon know. He picked a pebble out of the -brook and threw it at the uncertain, intangible mass. It made no sound. -He picked up a larger one and threw it and was rewarded by an -unpretentious and complaining grunt. - -Thus, encouraged and greatly relieved, he selected his third missile -with a view to immediate and emphatic results. - -“Wasmatanyway,” he heard in the darkness, accompanied by an unmistakable -stirring. - -Westy’s first impulse was to be angry but he realized at once that the -slumber of his friends had probably saved all their lives. He realized -too, as he had not realized when he left them, how dog-tired they all -had been. - -“Who’s—wass—there?” stammered Warde, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “I -bes a grizzly, wake up, Ed, you ole——” - -“Shut up,” said Westy. “Wake up and stand up quick and do what I tell -you. Stand up and don’t move. We’re in danger! _Stand up and don’t move, -do you hear?_ Shake Ed and make him stand up—and stand just where you -are. Hear?” - -Fortunately Warde was in that compliant mood induced by half sleep. He -shook Ed and soon both of them were on their feet. - -“Now do what I tell you, _quick_,” said Westy. “For goodness’ sake grab -hold of Ed so he don’t topple over again. Do you hear me—do you -understand? Get awake and do—stand where you are, can’t you—now listen, -both of you. Do you want to see Yellowstone Park or do you want to be -trailed and shot?” - -“What’s matter with you?” Warde asked mildly, in amiable drowsiness. - -“J’get any frankfurters?” asked Ed, emerging into consciousness. “I -remind myself (yawn) of the (yawn) of the sleeping sickness, I’m so -dopey. You back, Westy, old boy? Glasseeyer.” - -“I’d be mad at you only maybe you saved my life,” said Westy. “I suppose -I have to be grateful.” - -“You’re entirely welcome,” yawned Ed. “’N’ many of ’em—_absoloootly_.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - DOWNSTREAM - - -“Now listen,” said Westy. “I’ll tell you afterward. Are you awake enough -to have some sense?” - -“You addressing me?” said Ed. “Don’t you want some—some kind of fish? I -caught about a dozen, didn’t I, Warde?” - -“Never mind the fish,” said Westy; “do what I tell you and be careful. -Walk slantingways toward the brook—_upstream_—and walk into the brook -that way. Step in as if you were walking _upstream_. All right, that’s -all right. Now come down toward me—_keep in the water_, whatever you -do.” - -It was a bewildered but obedient pair that waded downstream toward -Westy. They had approached the brook against the current and entered it -at an angle suggestive of continuing in that direction. Then, dutifully, -they had turned and approached Westy. - -“Is it all right to bring my safety-pin?” asked Ed. - -“Follow me,” said Westy. - -“I demand an explanation,” said Ed. “I fished and caught some fish with -my safety-pin, then we waited for you before starting a fire——” - -“Yes, thank goodness for that,” said Westy. - -“We fell asleep, waiting,” said Warde; “we were good and tired.” - -“We tried to keep awake telling Ford stories,” said Ed. “Did you ever -hear that one about—what’s the matter anyway, are we pinched?” - -“Listen,” said Westy, “and stop your fooling. I’ll tell you now, though -every minute counts, I can tell you that. There are two robbers camped -under that big tree, they’re asleep-” - -“I don’t blame them,” said Ed. “I was asleep myself.” - -“_Listen_,” said Westy, impatiently. “They came under the -tree—_listen_—they came under the tree after I was up in it, and I heard -their talk. Maybe you think I didn’t have some narrow escape! They had -robbed the train we were on—listen! I can’t tell you the whole business -now, but anyway I’ve got Mr. Wilde’s wallet and his permit and -everything. I had a jacket or something or other—I guess it was—it -belonged to one of them—_listen_—I had—I pulled it from near one of -them—Bloodhound Pete—that’s his name—I don’t know where it is now—don’t -ask me—back up there I guess—I was so excited—but I’ve got the -wallet—you needn’t believe it if you don’t want to. One of those—one of -those men—Blood—Bill—Pete—I mean Bloodhound—Bloodhound Pete—can track -anything—I heard him say so. - -“Now you fellows follow me and don’t either one of you set a foot on dry -land. We’re going down, not up. When we get past the place where I left -my footprints on the shore, we’ll be all right, that’s what I think. If -they think we followed the stream they’ll follow it up. See? Now come on -and hurry.” - -Thus the trio that had arrived in the cozy, little cleft, which had -seemed to be made for a camping spot, left it in fear and haste, having -eaten not one morsel there. In single file they hurried along through -the protecting water, Warde and Ed thoroughly aroused by the peril which -beset them. - -They were not hungry, despite their rather long fast. Nor were they -inclined to talk until they had passed the rock near which Westy had -entered the water. Even Ed’s cheery mood seemed clouded by the -seriousness of their situation. Not even Westy’s exploit of recovering -the wallet, nor the thrilling details of his adventure, were matter for -talk. They moved along, a silent little procession, clinging, trusting -to this one hope of safety, the water. So they trod on, silent, -apprehensive. - -The brook was not only their concealment, but their guide, and they -followed its winding course through the darkness with but the one -dominating thought, to place themselves beyond the peril of capture. -After a little while they reached the point of the brook’s intersection -with the road and paused to consider whether now it might be safe for -them to forsake the stream’s uncertain pathway and resume their former -line of travel. - -They decided to stick to the brook for wherever it led, even through the -somber and bewildering intricacies of the forest, it at least would not -betray them into the hands of murderers. At last, after three hours of -wading, their uneventful progress had cheered them enough for Ed to -remark: - -“We don’t know where we’re going, but we’re on our way.” - -“I guess everything’s all right,” said Warde. - -“Don’t be too sure,” said Westy. - -“Well, anyway, I’m feeling encouraged enough to be hungry,” said Ed, “I -just happened to think of it. I’ve got my little string of fish with -me—if I ever have a chance to cook them.” - -“How many miles do you suppose we’ve walked in this brook?” Warde asked. - -“I don’t know how far _you’ve_ walked in it,” said Ed, “but _I’ve_ -walked in it ninety-two and eleven-tenth miles. I think it runs into the -Gulf of Mexico.” - -“Nix,” said Westy. - -“No? Then it runs into the kitchen sink.” - -“It runs into a lake and we’re coming to it,” said Westy. “We’ve been -walking over three hours. Shall we take a chance and camp there?” - -“Either that or we walk right into the lake, don’t we?” asked Ed. “If -I’m going to do that, I’d like to know it beforehand if it’s all the -same to you.” - -“What do _you_ say, Warde?” Westy asked. - -“I’m too tired to say anything,” said Warde. “If those friends of yours -were to come and shoot me, I couldn’t be any more dead than I am now.” - -“Correct the first time,” said Ed. - -Soon the brook began to broaden out and presently the fugitives for the -first time found themselves in water too deep for wading. They were -almost at the edge of a sheet of water, black as ink, where it lay -surrounded by precipitous hills. A more desolate spot one could hardly -imagine. It was easy to believe that they were the first human beings to -lay eyes on it. - -“Well,” said Westy doubtfully, “I guess it’s all right; anyway, I guess -we can’t go any farther, I’m all in.” - -“If we don’t get out of this water, we’ll be all in,” said Ed. “I’m up -to my knees already. So far I’m not so stuck on Yellowstone Park. Maybe -it’ll seem better when I see it.” - -“I’d like to know where we are,” said Warde. “I bet we’ve walked ten -miles anyway.” - -“Well,” said Westy, “let’s camp on shore and have some eats. They may be -asleep yet and anyway, they couldn’t find us here.” - -It was amusing how distance and utter weariness seemed to diminish the -terrible power of Bloodhound Pete. He and his imprisoned accomplice -seemed very far away, and effectually baffled, should they undertake -pursuit. And as Westy and his two companions settled down to make a -second camp and prepare their belated meal, the peril they had feared -grew less and less and, in proportion as it ceased to dominate their -minds, Westy’s exploit loomed large. And his two friends, sitting about -their little camp-fire, reflected upside down in the still lake, -examined the wallet of Mr. Madison C. Wilde, the Philistine, as if it -were some relic from Aladdin’s Cave. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - - LITTLE DABS OF GRAY - - -So at last they cooked the fish. Warde cleaned them with his jack-knife -on a flat stone while Westy and Ed gathered enough wood for a little -fire. Westy was now so affluent in heroism, and had so far regained his -poise in consequence, that he could stand calmly by and witness the -civilized proceeding of lighting a fire with a match. Or perhaps he was -too weary and hungry to experiment with any of those primitive devices -for striking a spark with Nature’s raw materials. - -And it might be observed that if you should happen to have escaped from -train robbers in the Rocky Mountains and have walked a dozen miles more -or less in the night, a mess of fish cooked loose upon a wood fire is -not half bad. You will find them charred and tasting of smoke (which is -well) and elusive when subjected to the rules of table etiquette. They -crumble and fall apart and have to be sought for in the glowing -fastnesses of consuming wood and extracted like the kernels of hickory -nuts. They have to be caught all over again. But they are delicious—if -you have lately escaped from train robbers in the Rocky Mountains. - -In such a country as they were in one is much less likely to suffer from -cold and exposure at night, notwithstanding the biting air, than in some -tamer woodland where the ruggedness of Nature offers no natural shelters -and wind-breaking rocks. - -The boys, refreshed by their meal, but staggering from fatigue, walked -around the little lake in search of a shelter along the precipitous -shore. They found a place which seemed to have been made for three weary -scouts, a place which, as Ed remarked, any boarding-house keeper in the -East could get ten dollars a week for. It was not high enough to sit up -in, but none of them felt like sitting up. Only a few pine branches were -necessary to transform this little recess into a dormitory. And here the -three award boys slept with a profundity which there is no word in any -language capable of describing. - -It was midmorning when Westy awoke, finding his companions still -sleeping soundly. His joints were stiff and he found it soothing to his -knees to hold his legs out straight. But he was not exactly tired. It -was the aftermath of fatigue. - -The sun was well up over the little mountain lake, glinting the water as -it made its slow progress across the blue sky. How cheering it was! It -seemed to radiate hope. How companionable—like a friend from home. The -same genial sun that rose over the hills at Temple Camp and flecked the -lake there with its glinting light. And here it was in the Rocky -Mountains! What a change it wrought in the country and in the award -boy’s spirit. Oh, he could do anything now, and all was well! - -He stretched one leg out stiff and held it that way and lingered upon -the ineffable relief that this afforded his knee. - -Westy did not know how far they had walked in the brook during the -night, nor in what direction, but the great mountains seemed still to be -far away. He tried to identify the landscape with that he had last been -able to see, which was from his vantage point in the big elm, but there -was nothing recognizable now, only the brook. - -He had thought that perhaps daylight would find them amid the wild -fastnesses they had seen from a distance. But as he looked about he saw -that the immediate neighborhood was not forbidding though it was wild -and unpeopled. Could it be that he was in the heart of the Rockies? In -such a place as Lewis and Clark, for example, had camped in their -adventurous journey of exploration? The Rockies that he had dreamed of -were always in the distance, holding themselves aloof as it seemed, from -these hapless pilgrims. It was strange. Was he, in fact, _in the -Rockies_? - -He was, indeed, only the Rockies were too big for him. He had expected -to find them under his feet. He had thought of them as something quite -limited and distinct. Of course, there were dizzy heights and remote -passes, terrible in their primeval wildness, and these it was not -vouchsafed him to visit. But he was in the vast, enchanted region, just -the same. Had he not escaped from train robbers in these very wilds? He, -Westy Martin? - -He felt in his pocket and made sure of the precious wallet of which he -was the proud custodian. It was there, smooth and bulging; the whole -thing was real. He had slept and awakened and the whole thing was real. -If he had shot a grizzly, as _Dan Darewell in the Rockies_ by Captain -Dauntless had done, he could hardly be more incredulous of his own -achievement. He began to reflect how it had all happened. - -He was glad that the others were not yet awake. Their sprawling -attitudes bespoke rest rather than grace. There seemed no danger of -their rousing. He did not know whether they were farther from the -Yellowstone Park than they had been the day before or nearer to it. If -their journey of the night had tended in a fairly straight course toward -it then they might be now within four or five miles of it, perhaps even -less. - -There was no particular direction which attracted Westy’s gaze; he just -gazed about. Mountains, mountains, mountains! They appalled him. He -could see the mountains, but not the way through them. And they seemed -impenetrable. One thing did attract his attention; this was a great tree -far off, one of those big, lonely trees which serve as landmarks. From -the position of the sun he thought this was south. But this fact -afforded him no enlightenment. East, west, north, south, were all the -same; there was no telling where Yellowstone Park was. - -Then suddenly, he noticed something else which did arouse his interest. -Beyond the tree was a little dab of gray in the clear sky. He thought it -a tiny cloud, but it dissolved even as he watched it. Immediately -another appeared a short distance from where it had been and likewise -dissolved. Then another. - -“Those aren’t clouds,” said Westy. “They’re—— I bet it’s a train.” - -He listened, but could hear nothing. But a little farther along, in line -where the little dabs of white had appeared and disappeared, there -straggled up a faint, half-tangible area of flaky whiteness which was -gone instantly it was discernible. - -“It’s a train all right,” Westy said, delighted. “I bet—I know it is.” - -Beyond the point where he had been looking, the rugged landscape rolled -away, magnificent, majestic, endless. Here and there among the crowded -mountains some mighty peak pierced the sky. No touch of human -contamination was there, no gray streak imaginable as a road, no -steeple, no green area of farm-land, with thin lines scarce discernible -as fences. So it might have been a hundred thousand years ago. If man -were there with all his claptrap he was swallowed up in the distance and -vastness and all unseen by the scratched and tattered boy who stood -barefooted in his wild refuge and gazed and gazed. - -It was only scenery that he saw, and it would have been about the same -had he glanced in another direction. Only the little, gray, dissolving -specks had drawn his gaze there, and he looked long and wonderingly on -the stupendous glory that was spread before him. He knew not what it -was, in particular, that he was looking at. - -Thus, Westy Martin, award boy, saw the Yellowstone National Park for the -first time. Saw it as a scout should see it, divested by the kindly -distance of every vestige of human handiwork or presence that it has. -Saw it in all its awesome grandeur, and saw not its boundaries or its -artificial comforts, only its primeval magnificence extending mile upon -mile and not distinguishable from the vast, mountainous country in which -it lies. - -Westy did not know that the area he was gazing at was within the -boundaries of Yellowstone Park. His interest was centered in the little -flickers of smoke that he had seen. If these indicated the railroad it -would not be difficult to reach it, and from there on the way would be -easy and perhaps short. For the hundredth time since he had become its -custodian, he felt in his pocket to make sure the wallet was safe. - -Then for a few moments he thought, standing there alone. He had always -liked, at times, to be alone; he was that kind of a boy. But now he -could not bring himself to end this romantic, musing loneliness. Well, -fate had been kind to him (he gave all the credit to fate) and he had -done something, something worth while. To be sure, there was nothing so -very primitive about it, he mused. Shining Sun doubtless could have made -Nature yield him up a hundred various delectables out of which to make a -feast. Poor Westy knew nothing about herbs and edible roots nor other -commissary stores which the forest holds for those who know her secrets. - -Again, he felt his pocket to make sure the wallet was safe. “I—I bet -Shining Sun never even saw a wallet,” he said. “I bet he doesn’t even -know how valuable money is.” Poor Westy, he could not hope to be a -scout, free of all the prosaic contaminations of civilization, like -Shining Sun. But at least no one could say now that he and his friends -were just parlor scouts playing games in a backyard. . . . - -He lingered just a moment more, gazing upon the vast, rugged panorama as -if it were _his_, something he had won. Then he looked, not ruefully but -with a thrill of pride, on his scratches and tattered raiment. Well, at -least he could look Shining Sun in the face, and Mr. Madison C. Wilde, -too, if he should ever encounter that jarring personage again. - -Then he went over and aroused his friends. If the money in the wallet -had been his, he would have given it for a cup of hot coffee. “Come on, -get up,” he said; “we’ll have to catch some more fish if we can, but -anyway, I think we’ll get there this morning; I think I know where the -railroad tracks are. Have—I hope—have you got any matches left, Ed?” - -“Absolooootly,” said Ed, sitting up refreshed and cheery as always. “And -my trusty safety-pin is always at your service, Scout Martin. Where do -we go from here?” - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - - MOVIE STUFF - - -The spacious lobby of the Mammoth Hotel near the Gardiner entrance of -Yellowstone Park was the scene of an amusing spectacle. Tourists, -resting in comfortable chairs in the big, sunny, white-trimmed room, -found a kind of restful diversion in the demeanor of a little man who -strode back and forth like a lion in its cage, occasionally pausing -before the clerk’s counter to relieve himself of some pithy and vigorous -comment. Away he would stride again in his strenuous roaming, now and -again tacking so as to come within speaking range of a portly, elderly -man, who sat with an air of grim resignation in a large rocking-chair. -Here he would deliver himself of confidential observations relating to -their joint interests and perplexities. - -The little man had a bristly mustache which contributed to his -pugnacious aspect, and his derby hat was cocked on the back of his head -in a way which seemed to indicate trouble and preoccupation. His -unlighted cigar, too, contributed to this effect; it seemed more a -weapon than a solace sticking upward at a rakish angle out of the corner -of his mouth like a miniature cannon. He seemed altogether out of place -among the scattering of carefree sightseers, who rocked at ease or read -magazines or addressed postcards by the thousand. - -“I don’t suppose they’d pay any attention to a wire,” he observed in -sudden inspiration as he paused, in his ruminating course at the clerk’s -counter. - -“Did you speak to the park superintendent?” one of the clerks casually -asked. - -“I spoke to forty-’leven superintendents,” the little man shot back as -he moved away on his circling orbit. Then, as a sort of gesture of -belligerence, he looked at his watch. “I’ve talked to everybody except -the wild animals themselves,” he added, addressing nobody in particular. -Then, reaching his grimly silent colleague, he planted himself before -him, legs outstretched, a very picture of nonchalant annoyance and -impatience. - -“Well, there’s nothing to do but wait for a duplicate permit, I -suppose,” he said. “If the grizzlies and all the other savage junk up on -Mount what-d’you-call-it are as slow and clumsy as the government, we -ought to be able to pose them for photos. Can you beat it? Allen says -they can’t countersign an affidavit here, so there you are. You wiring -for coin?” - -“Oh, yes, that’s not what’s worrying me,” said the elderly man. - -“What do you think about Glittering Mud? Can you beat that kid? That -manager of his, Black Hawk, ought to be in Wall Street! He’d have Morgan -and Rockefeller and that bunch racing for the poorhouse. Well,” he -added, subsiding somewhat and seating himself beside his colleague, -“we’ll just have to sit and look at Old Faithful for a couple of weeks, -I suppose.” - -“You saw the superintendent of the whole shebang?” - -“He’s away.” - -“Huh. Well, we don’t want to get into any trouble with the government. -Best thing is just to wait for a new permit, I suppose.” - -“’Tisn’t the best thing, it’s the only thing,” said the little man. - -“I wish you’d had Billy along,” said the elder man; “he could have shot -the hold-up; it would have been good stuff.” - -“Yes, it _would_ have been good stuff,” agreed the little man; “good -Wild West stuff. That Bulldog—what did the conductor call him?” - -“Bloodhound Pete,” said the elder man. - -“He was a regular feller,” said the little man, lifting one knee over -the other and smiling in a way of pleasant reminiscence; “yes, he was -the real thing; he had eyes like Bill Hart’s. The conductor told me -afterwards that every blamed detective Uncle Sam has has been after that -gent for three years—never even got a squint at him. Nobody ever saw him -except passengers and express messengers and mail car clerks. He’s an -artist. Conductor told me he doesn’t make any tracks—_nothing_—just -disappears. Once a pal squealed on him and then they thought they had -him. But the pal was found shot—no tracks as usual. The man’s an artist, -one of the good old Jesse James school. Regular Robin Hood! Fairbanks -ought to do that guy——” - -“Well, he’s set us back a couple of weeks I suppose,” said the elder -man, “and a thousand dollars.” - -“It’s the couple of weeks I’m thinking of,” said the other. “I’d give -another thousand to get down to business.” - -His mood of impatience and annoyance seemed to return, and he allowed -himself to slide down in his chair so far that the chair-back pushed -against the brim of his hat and tilted it forward at an angle which -somehow suggested the last extremity of disgust and perplexity. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII - - THE ADVANCE GUARD - - -It is not necessary to tell you that this greatly harassed little man -was none other than our traveling acquaintance, Mr. Madison C. Wilde, -who had cast such a gloomy shadow in the young life of Westy Martin. He -had emerged from one of the most harrowing experiences a traveler may -have, without discredit to his pluck, but with a very heavy strain upon -his temper. - -His cigar, which was a sort of barometer of his mood, stood in an almost -vertical position as he sat upon his back in the chair, his face (what -could be seen of it under his tilted hat) lost in a brown study. His -companion was Mr. Alexander Creston, owner of Educational Films. Wild -life as it is, upon the screen. - -Mr. Wilde attracted a good deal of attention for two reasons, and -several boys among the resting tourists hovered as near as they dared -and gazed at him. For one thing, he was connected with the movies. Also -he was the victim of a daring hold-up, had been face to face with a -desperate character, a man crowned with a halo of mystery, a famed -outlaw whom no awestruck boy had ever seen. These boys could not see -this fabled terror, so they stood about gazing at the man who had been -one of his victims. Mr. Wilde shone by the reflected light of Bloodhound -Pete. - -The other victims of the hold-up had gone upon their sightseeing tours -very much shaken by their experience of the previous morning. Of all -that hapless company only Mr. Wilde remained, stranded in the Mammoth -Hotel at Mammoth Hot Springs, with nothing to do but wait for the -machinery at Washington to grind him out another permit. Mr. Creston, -who likewise waited, had wired for money to replace the very -considerable sum which the bandits had taken. Billy, the camera man, who -with Mr. Creston had awaited the arrival of Mr. Wilde, also rested at -the Mammoth Hotel in enforced idleness. - -To have encountered Bloodhound Pete, the mysterious, unseen terror of -Wyoming, conferred a certain prestige even upon his victim. And so the -boys who happened to be about gazed in awe at the figure of Mr. Wilde -whose posture, eloquent of preoccupation and annoyance, discouraged them -from questioning him. - -But one likely looking boy in natty scout attire, whose mother was -conducting a masterly post card assault against her distant friends, -ventured to address the harassed and forbidding personage who had been -vouchsafed the glory of seeing the modern Robin Hood. - -“If there’s anything I can do for you, I’ll be glad to do it,” the boy -said. It required some temerity to say even that much. “If you want me -to go to the superintendent’s office or something?” - -This altogether scoutish proffer of service caught Mr. Wilde in a mood -not calculated to receive it kindly. No doubt his vexation was natural. -At first he did not answer at all, then, looking at the Boy Scout in a -way of surly half-interest, he said in a tone quite unworthy of his -usual bantering cordiality. - -“No, sir, _absolutely nothing_. There’s nothing that any of you kids can -do for me. So you might as well all chase out of here and see the park -instead of standing around gaping. Come on, beat it now!” - -The group scattered. - -“Kids around here are a blamed nuisance,” Mr. Wilde observed to his -companion. - -“I wish we could find a nice, likely youngster to take up yonder,” said -Mr. Creston. - -“Huh—yes—I should think,” muttered Mr. Wilde. “And who’d go along as -nurse girl?” - -“I’d go along as nurse girl,” said a cheery voice. Mr. Wilde looked up -and beheld the funny, smiling countenance of Ed Carlyle. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII - - THE GARB OF THE SCOUT - - -Mr. Wilde stared. The loitering boys stared. Everybody stared. And well -they might, for the figure they gazed upon was bizarre to the last -degree. Around Ed’s waist was drawn a sweater like a romantic Spanish -sash, while sticking ostentatiously in the shoulder of his shirt was a -safety-pin, disqualified for its conventional use by much twisting and -bending. - -But the onlookers had not long to stare. The sound of loud talking -outside caused a general rush of the younger element to the great -veranda, while their less curious elders looked from doors and windows -and wondered. - -Approaching along one of the walks that bisect the spacious lawn in -front of the big hotel was a strange sight. A boy in tattered khaki was -approaching, hatless and barefooted, surrounded and followed by a -questioning, gaping, shouting, clamorous throng. With him was another -khaki-clad boy who was laughing at the excitement they were causing and -answering the queries of their astonished escort. - -It was no wonder that the boys gazed spellbound at the ragged -apparition, nor that the park employees and tourists paused to stare. -His trousers were all but in shreds, and not a button remained upon his -mud-bespattered and torn shirt which lay open exposing his scratched -chest. His hair was disheveled, one rebellious lock depending over his -forehead. With one hand he kept continually pushing this back and -sometimes effected the same result with a fine toss of his head, which -somehow rounded out his picturesque, vagabond aspect. His other hand was -firmly buried in his trousers pocket, which bulged with the pressure of -something large and flat. It was noticeable that he kept his hand there. - -But it was not the name of Westy Martin that brought every last person -out of the hotel, watching eagerly the excited little group. Rather was -it the awful name of Bloodhound Pete shouted by an exuberant follower of -the award boys. - -“He got it from Bloodhound Pete! He got it from Bloodhound Pete!” - -“Let’s see it!” - -“Yes, you did—not!” - -“Give us a look!” - -“Seeing is believing!” - -“Where did he?” - -“When?” - -“How?” - -“Who says he did?” - -“_This_ feller did—_alone_? _Yaaah!_” - -“What do you take us for?” one breathless skeptic demanded of Warde. - -And so, shouting, clamoring, denying, scoffing, questioning and crowding -about him and talking all at the same time, the crowd constituted itself -a vociferous escort to Westy as he passed along the walk and up the big -veranda and into the spacious, airy lobby of the Mammoth Hotel. - -He had expected to keep his promise to his poor, fond mother and “wash -his hands and face and brush his clothes before leaving the train,” and -a few minutes later descend, bag and baggage, from an auto before the -portal of his first stopping place in the park. “When you enter a -hotel,” she had said, adjusting his collar, “you want to have your hair -brushed and look like a gentleman.” - -“Is Mr. Madison C. Wilde here?” Warde asked. - -“The movie man?” - -“Sure he is, he’s in the smoking room.” - -“No, he isn’t, he’s in the lobby—he’s mad.” - -“Come on, I’ll show you where he is, he chased us.” - -Before Mr. Wilde had recovered from the sight of Ed Carlyle, Westy stood -before him, conspicuous in the clustering, vociferous throng, a fine -picture of rags and tatters. Warde, standing close to him, had forcibly -loosened his comrade’s rolled-up sleeve so that on the loose hanging -khaki the stalker’s badge and the pathfinder’s badge were exposed. -Westy’s other arm, with a long scratch on it where he had let it slide -against the bark of the big elm, was at his side, hand in pocket, -clutching the treasure that was there. - -Not so much as one vestige remained about Westy of the trim boy scout -whom Mr. Wilde had “jollied” on the train; only his two badges exposed -by his patrol mate and rendered clearer to view by Ed Carlyle as he -smoothed down his companion’s wrinkled sleeve. - -“Mr. Wilde,” said Westy, pulling his scarred arm out of his pocket, -“here’s your wallet; it’s got your money and your permit all safe. I -took it away from Bloodhound Pete and—and——” - -“The pleasure is entirely ours,” Ed Carlyle concluded for him. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX - - THE POLISH OF SHINING SUN - - -Westy told his story simply, modestly, while a swelling crowd clustered -about. It seemed that he and his comrades had not been missed from the -train during the short run after they had been left behind. Doubtless -the excitement caused by the train robbery had sufficiently extinguished -any curiosity among their chance acquaintance en route. Indeed, Mr. -Wilde very frankly observed, “You kids were the least of my troubles; I -was thinking of my wallet. I was trying to write out some descriptive -stuff about wild animals and hoping you wouldn’t come back again when -the train stopped and a woman screamed and the next thing I knew I was -handing my writing tablet to Bill Hart and telling another woman to shut -up. Never gave you kids another thought.” - -Westy and his comrades were greatly relieved to learn that no word of -their non-appearance had been wired to Bridgeboro. It is true that they -had only just escaped with their little adventure and saved themselves -from prosaic complications, for the gentleman who was to have received -them at Gardiner had been in communication with Livingston and had -engineered the dispatch of an auto over the road to pick them up. But -fate was kind to them and somehow they had not encountered the rescue -car, which (to make matters worse) was a Ford sedan. - -So it befell that the three award boys, in despite of all modern -claptrap, crossed the boundary of Yellowstone National Park as some -scout or trapper of old might have crossed it, having safely eluded two -western desperadoes and a Ford sedan. But it was a narrow escape. - -“Could we see Shining Sun? Is he here?” Westy asked almost in a reverend -whisper. - -“All is over between Stove Polish and myself,” said Mr. Wilde. “Never -mention his name again. That canny, little red-face wanted five hundred -dollars down before leaving this hotel, and his manager, Pink Vulture or -Black Hawk or whatever he calls himself, insists on the kid being -featured in all the exploitation stuff. _N-o-t-h-i-n-g_ doing, I told -him! That ain’t the way we put over Educational Films. _Lo, the poor -Indian_—bunk. Why, Stove Polish is starting his own outfit in Hollywood -next year. What d’yer know about that? Don’t talk to me about that -Cheyenne! It’s good he wasn’t around when the Yankees bought Cape Cod -for a couple of spark plugs or something or other.” - -Westy gasped. - -“As a pathfinder that kid is O.K.,” said Mr. Wilde. “He can track a -dollar to its silent lair. _N-o-t-h-i-n-g_ doing, I told him! If you -want to meet him, there he is in the next room or somewheres or other. -Keep your hands on your watches.” - -Dumbfounded at this hearty tirade, the three boys, followed by an -admiring throng of other boys, explored the public places of the big -hotel. They penetrated the dining room and glanced about curiously. They -peered into the remotest fastnesses opening from corridors and stole -into all the carpeted nooks and crannies where they thought a Cheyenne -Indian might lurk. Mr. Wilde had declined to hit the trail with them. - -“I’ll show him to you,” said an accommodating youngster who clung to -Westy; “I know him; I’ll find him for you. Mr. Creston was bawling him -out; oh, boy, you ought to have heard him.” - -So it was that Westy’s cup of joy was full and he found himself hunting -Indians like the gallant Custer or like Buffalo Billy. And, at last, -they brought poor Westy’s hero to bay in one of the parlors. He sat in a -rocker, talking with his manager, Mr. Hawk, Black Hawk of the -Rockies—and Hollywood. - -Poor Westy, he could only gaze speechless. More atrocious than all the -atrocities committed by the movies was Shining Sun, the Indian boy. He -was ravishing in his sartorial splendor, wearing a red-ribboned straw -hat and spats! _And he carried a cane_—young boy though he was. Oh, -shades of Pontiac and Sitting Bull! He carried a cane! Wesley Barryized, -Jackie Cooganized, movieized, he sat there talking to Mr. Hawk about the -disagreement they had had with _Educational Films_. And if old Massasoit -did not turn in his grave it must have been because he was too shocked -or grieved to stir! - -Westy gazed at this sophisticated youngster in chilled disillusionment. -Shining Sun had indeed been shining while he, the parlor woodsman, the -back-yard scout, had been getting away from the most notorious bandit -west of the Mississippi. If Westy had beheld Bloodhound Pete in a dress -suit and stove-pipe hat he could hardly have received a greater shock. -That the Indian boy had real skill and woods lore did not save him in -the eyes of this sturdy little hero of the Silver Fox Patrol, who had -found money the only false note in his memorable adventure. - -“Come on away,” Warde whispered, “he’s talking business. Shh! Don’t you -know he’s the Cheyenne Valentino?” - -“He ought to be stabbed to the heart with my safety-pin,” said Ed. “If I -ever meet him in a lonely spot on Broadway some dark night, I’ll lasso -him with worsted from my sweater. Come on, let’s get away from here. I’m -sorry for you, West, you old tramp; I’m for the Boy Scouts of America. -I’d rather live on fish and wear honest rags.” - -“_You tell ’em_,” said Warde, earnestly. - -He put his arm over his patrol mate’s shoulder as if to claim a kinship -of which even Ed could not boast. But it made no difference to Ed, for a -scout is a brother to every other scout throughout the whole length and -breadth of the land. Westy seemed conscious of this as he rapped Ed on -the shoulder while the three strolled away together. “Well, are you -cured?” Warde asked. - -“Yes, I’m cured,” said Westy. - -“You admit you’re a scout?” queried Ed. - -“I admit _you’re_ one,” Westy said. - -“Thanks for those kind words.” - -“You always smile and look pleasant and that’s the main thing,” said -Westy. - -“Wrong the first time,” said Ed. “The main thing is not to accept -anything for a service; law five, also law nine; handbook page -thirty-four.” - -“You said it,” enthused Warde. “The trouble with——” - -“Tarnished Sun,” interrupted Ed. - -“The trouble with him,” said Warde, “he’s been commercialized.” - -“Repeat that word,” said Ed. - -“Commercialized,” said Warde. - -“Go to the head of the class and take a slap on the wrist,” said Ed. - -“It means kind of spoiled by money and being famous and all that,” said -Warde. - -“I’ll take your word for it,” said Ed. “It’s a mighty nice word, I’ll -say that.” - -“There are people trying to commercialize boy scouts, too,” said Warde. - -“Not if we see ’em first,” said Westy. - -“If we get killed, we’ll get killed for love,” said Ed. “We won’t take -any money for it—not even a tip.” - -“Let’s all make a solemn vow that we won’t carry canes,” said Warde. - -“I’m with you,” said Ed. “Or wear spats.” - -“Right,” said Warde. - -“I’ve got to get some clothes somewhere,” said Westy. - -“I think there’s a clothing store at the bottom of the canyon,” Warde -observed. - -“First I’d like to go to the Devil’s Kitchen and get something to eat,” -said Ed. - -“Don’t you want to see the petrified forest?” Westy asked. - -“Not unless I can eat it,” said Ed. “Just at present I don’t want to see -anything I can’t eat—except fish. If anybody mentions fish to me, I’ll -stab him with my safety-pin. I wouldn’t even listen to a fish story.” - -“I bet Mr. Creston and Mr. Wilde had an awful scrap with Tarnished Sun,” -said Warde. - -“I bet Shining Sun hit him with his cane,” said Ed. “If he did, I hope -Mr. Wilde just puffed cigar smoke in his face; it would serve him -right.” - -“Do you smell roast beef?” said Warde. - -“_Boy_, that smells good,” said Westy. - -“I think we’re on the right trail,” said Ed. - - - - - CHAPTER XXX - - VISITORS - - -As Westy went about the hotel in his tattered attire and thought of -Shining Sun, the Indian boy, unnoticed and occupied with his business -quarrel, it seemed to him that the world was upside down. - -Wherever the award boy went, people looked at him, and as for boys, of -whom there were many about the place, they followed him around, -besetting him again and again for details of his adventure. Some of the -more shy ones contemplated him with a kind of awe as if he had come from -Mars, asking questions about Bloodhound Pete which, of course, Westy -could not answer. - -He found himself a real hero, with no essential of that thrilling role -lacking. Gentlemen patted him on the shoulder, telling him that he was -“_some_ boy,” and one girl begged that before he changed a _single -stitch_ of his _perfectly adorable_ attire, he let her take him with her -kodak. In the dining room all faces were directed to the table where the -three award boys ate. And indeed it was worth while watching them eat, -for, as Ed observed, “nobody ever ate like this before.” - -“The tables are turned, that’s sure,” said Warde. - -“Maybe we can continue at another table,” said Ed. - -“I mean Westy’s the real scout after all,” said Warde. - -“My error, I was thinking of dining tables,” said Ed. “I can’t seem to -think of anything else. That girl over at the third table, Wes, the one -that’s eating a cruller; she’s the one that took your picture, isn’t -she? I want to collect a dollar and a half from her as your manager.” - -“She ought to take _your_ picture in that crazy sweater,” Westy said. - -“That will cost her fifty cents and the war tax,” said Ed. “That sweater -saved your life, young Scratch-on-the-arm, full-blooded New Jersey Boy -Scout. That’s a good name, hey, Warde?” - -“Yes, and you ought to be called Red Sweater or Bent Safety-pin,” -laughed Warde. - -“And _you_ ought to be called Warde’s Cake,” said Ed. “You seem to have -the plate all to yourself.” - -“I can’t stop eating while people are watching me,” said Warde. - -“Let them look,” said Ed, “it’s no disgrace to eat. Pass the pickles -will you, Scratch-on-the-arm? When are we going to start seeing the -Park, anyway?” - -“To-morrow morning,” said Westy. - -“We’re going to see Cleopatra’s Terrace,” said Warde. - -“I don’t want to go where she is,” said Ed. “I had her in the fourth -grade; she and I don’t speak.” - -“There are a lot of terraces,” said Westy. - -“If they want to bring them in, I’ll look at them,” said Warde. “The -rest of to-day I’m going to rest.” - -“And I’ve got to get hold of my baggage,” said Westy. - -“Maybe you could borrow a cutaway suit from Tarnished Sun,” said Ed. -“I’d like to see the Devil’s Kitchen to-day anyway; I never knew he -could cook.” - -“I’ve tasted some things I think he must have cooked,” said Warde. - -“We have to see Orange Spring, too, while we’re here,” said Westy. - -“I heard that was a lemon,” said Ed. - -“There’s one spring I would like to visit,” said Warde. - -“The bed spring,” said Ed. “Right the first time. Let’s all visit the -wonderful bed springs and drop in on Satan for breakfast.” - -“Already you’re thinking about breakfast,” said Westy. - -“Sure, I am,” said Ed. “In about an hour I’ll be asleep and I can’t -think of it then, can I? I’m good and tired if anybody should ask you.” - -“They don’t have to ask, they can see it,” said Warde. - -But it befell that the three boys had something else to think about when -they adjourned to the spacious, spotless room that had been reserved for -them. For scarcely had they entered it when in came Mr. Willison, the -gentleman connected with one of the camps who had assumed the -responsibility of receiving the trio and “having an eye to them,” as he -had said, during their sojourn in the Park. He was active in scouting -and an enthusiastic Rotarian. - -A fine, genial man he was, who caught the boys’ mood of raillery toward -the natural wonders they were to see and was not at all inclined to line -up the customary “sights” before them like a school lesson. With him was -Mr. Wilde, hat on back of head, hands thrust down in trousers pockets, -whimsical, efficient, sophisticated. He seemed buried in a kind of -worldly, practical rumination. - -“Well, how are the back-yard scouts?” he asked, with a kind of surly -cordiality, as he seated himself on the edge of one of the beds. “You -went and did it, didn’t you?” he added, turning to Westy. “You -satisfied?” - -“Are _you_ satisfied?” Westy asked. - -Mr. Wilde scrutinized him shrewdly. “Uh huh,” he finally said. - -“Then _I’m_ satisfied,” said Westy. - -Mr. Wilde glanced sideways with a skeptical, knowing look at Mr. -Willison. That gentleman exhibited an air of silent confidence. An acute -observer might have surmised that he and the thoroughly worldly Mr. -Wilde had some sort of bet pending. It was not in Mr. Wilde’s nature to -deal in compliments, but no one could have failed to interpret his -sagacious, approving, amused look at the boy who stood, ill at ease, -leaning against the dresser. - -“So you’re satisfied, huh? I suppose you think you’re a regular feller -now—regular scout!” - -“I think I’m pretty tired,” said Westy. - -“You going to send an account of it to the Boy Scout Magazine?” - -“No, I’m not.” - -“No?” - -There followed a pause. Then Mr. Wilde very deliberately pulled out the -memorable wallet, placed it flat on his lap and laid it open. - -“Was everything all right—all there?” Warde asked. - -No answer. Westy leaned against the dresser, kicking one foot nervously. -Somewhere within easy hearing an orchestra was playing the _Three -O’Clock in the Morning Waltz_. It seemed odd to be hearing this in the -wilds of the Rocky Mountains. Westy could hear the sound of dancing. He -felt tenderly of the long scratch on his bare leg. He dropped the towel -which lay over his shoulder. Ed Carlyle sat up on top of the high -dresser, his legs dangling. Warde, sitting on the edge of another bed, -kept time with the plaintive music, drumming with his fingers. - -Oddly enough, Westy felt almost as nervous and apprehensive as when he -had let himself silently down out of the big elm. No one spoke. Every -one seemed to be waiting. - -And Mr. Wilde was distressingly slow and deliberate. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI - - NO ESCAPE - - -At length Mr. Wilde spoke. “Mr. Creston thinks that you kids should be -suitably rewarded. Do you want to fix a price or do you want to leave it -to me? You did a big thing—he thinks we ought to consider the three of -you as one.” - -“That suits me all right,” said Ed, swinging his legs; “then any one of -us can answer for the whole three. What is it? I’ll answer.” - -“Righto,” said Warde. - -“I was thinking,” said Mr. Wilde, “that two hundred and fifty dollars——” - -Then Westy spoke up, kicking his foot nervously and gulping, while tears -appeared in his sober, clear eyes. - -“If—if you’re going to talk about money,” he said, “I’d—I wish you’d let -me go out of the room first. The Rotary Club, they didn’t give us money; -they sent us out here. Any—any fun that we have out here it’s on them—it -is—it’s on those men that sent us. Now—now you’ll—you’re trying to spoil -it all for us—that’s what you’re doing. Just when we’re going to turn in -because we’re good and tired, you come up here and try to spoil -everything for us—you do! Just when everything’s going all right—now -you—you have to—if you’re going to talk about money, I want to go out of -the room—why can’t you let us—just be scouts—even if we’re not really—if -you’re going to start about rewards I don’t want to stay here! Just -because I’m an award fellow you needn’t think that means the same as -_reward_, because it doesn’t!” - -Mr. Madison C. Wilde methodically folded his wallet, placed it in his -pocket, and was on his feet quick enough to get between Westy and the -door. There he held him fixed, a hand on either of the boy’s sore -shoulders. “You didn’t get away that time, did you?” he said. “You’re -not stealing a march on Bloodhound Pete now, you’re dealing with M. C. -Wilde, _Educational Films, Savage Life for Each and All_. You said -something about good turns on the train. I don’t know whether you meant -it, you talked a heap of nonsense. But if you did, now’s the time to -prove it. Will you help us out up in the woods or not—you and your side -partners? You talked about good turns and not taking rewards, now, by -golly, I’ll call your bluff! Will you hit the trail for Pelican Cone -after grizzlies and things—or no? There’s not a cent in it! What do you -say?” - -“Mr. Willison——” began Westy, utterly flabbergasted. - -“You leave Mr. Willison to me,” said Mr. Wilde. “I’ll take care of him -all right! Didn’t I take care of Stove Polish, all right? He went way -back and sat down when _I_ got through with him. Now how long is it -going to take these kids to see the spouting forests and the petrified -geysers and things?” - -“About four days,” laughed Mr. Willison. - -“All right,” said Mr. Wilde, “get busy and make it snappy. Billy and I -want to hit the trail in four or five days. Go on to bed now, you kids; -Mr. Willison and I will plan things out for you. Don’t be scared if you -hear the bears roaring in the night.” - -“Who’s Billy?” Warde asked. - -“He’s camera man,” said Mr. Wilde. - -As the men opened the door to depart, the strains of dance music could -be heard louder in the big hall below. Weary as he was, Westy lay awake -after his companions (a hopeless pair in the matter of slumber) were -dead to the world. And when he did fall asleep he dreamed that he was -doing a toe dance on the very apex of Pelican Cone, when suddenly a -grizzly bear approached and asked him to dance the _Three O’Clock in the -Morning Waltz_. He accepted the invitation and fell off the mountain -into the Devil’s Kitchen, where they were serving sandwiches and chicken -salad in the intervals of the dancing. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII - - OFF TO PELICAN CONE - - -So it happened that Westy Martin, who had called himself and his -companions back-yard scouts, was now afforded the opportunity to do -something really big in the line of scouting. Little he dreamed how very -big that something would be. - -We need not pause to accompany our three heroes on these tours of the -Park. They saw the sights in true tourist fashion. They saw Old Faithful -geyser, they went down into the Devil’s Kitchen, they gazed at the -petrified forests—and thought of Pelican Cone. Where was Pelican Cone? -Somewhere away off the main traveled roads, no doubt. They asked fellow -tourists about it, but none had ever heard of it. And the more remote -and inaccessible and unknown it seemed to be, the more they longed to -penetrate its distant and intricate fastnesses. - -At last, at the appointed time, Westy waited in the big office of the -Mammoth Hotel near the Gardiner entrance of the Park. A little group of -envious boys, belonging to tourist parties, stood about curiously and -enviously. - -“Aren’t the other two fellows going?” one asked. - -“Sure, they’re getting ready,” said Westy. - -“Gee whiz, I’d like to be going up there,” said another. “I bet it’s -wild, hey?” - -“I guess it is. I’ve never been up there,” said Westy. - -The envious little audience stood about gazing at Westy while he waited -for his two companions and for Mr. Wilde and Billy the camera man. -Westy, bag and baggage, had appeared in the office a half hour before -the appointed time; he was not going to take any chances of missing his -new friends! He had awakened at daylight and lay counting the minutes. -At six o’clock he had arisen, eaten breakfast alone, then wandered -about, waiting. - -When finally he took his stand in the big office of the hotel he found -himself quite as much a celebrity as that fallen hero Shining Sun had -ever been. - -At last his four comrades on the big adventure appeared together, having -partaken of a hasty breakfast. - -Mr. Wilde had rooted out the two sleepers whose rest had not been -disturbed by thoughts of the big trip. - -“A hopeless pair,” said Mr. Wilde cheerily. “Are you all ready?” - -“Where’s your scout suit?” Westy asked Ed Carlyle. - -“He was too sleepy to see what he was putting on,” said Mr. Wilde in his -brisk way. “It’s not the clothes that make the scout—how ’bout that, Ed? -Westy, my boy, you’re all for show.” - -“No, but I don’t see why he didn’t wear his khaki suit as long as he’s -got one,” said Westy. “_You’ve_ got a khaki suit on, I see.” - -“Meet Billy, the camera man,” said Mr. Wilde. “Billy, now you see the -whole outfit, Westy, Ed, and Warde. They’ve got last names, but we’re -not going to bother carrying them when mountain hiking. You don’t want -any more weight and paraphernalia than necessary. Ed is such a fine -scout he doesn’t require any significant equipment—like you. You fellows -with all your scout trappings belong in the Shining Sun class. That -right, Ed?” - -It was impossible to debate such a matter with Mr. Wilde. There was a -certain finality to everything he said. And his buoyant air of banter -quite silenced poor Westy. But the boy did wonder, he could not help -wondering, why Ed Carlyle, in this great scout adventure of their young -lives, should have failed to don his regular scouting apparel. - -“Trouble with you,” said Mr. Wilde, patting Westy on the shoulder, -“you’re all for fuss and feathers. You want to tell the world you’re a -scout instead of proving it. You and Warde are all dolled up like -Christmas trees—parlor scouts. Am I right, Billy? Now, are you all ready -or do you want to go upstairs and brush your hair? All right then, let’s -go. We seem to be creating quite a disturbance here. If we don’t beat it -we’ll have Old Faithful Geyser, the Petrified Forests, and the Devil’s -Kitchenette tearing their hair with jealousy.” - -An automobile was waiting outside the hotel to take the party as far as -Yellowstone Falls beyond which point there was no regular road to their -remote and lonely destination. It was a ride of about twenty-five miles -down around Norris Geyser Basin and eastward to the vicinity of the -Grand Canyon. The award boys had seen this in all its colorful glory -only two days before, and had descended into its depths. Eastward from -this point was a tract of wild Rocky Mountain country where no tourists -ever went and rising out of this rugged region some twelve or fifteen -miles distant was Pelican Cone rearing its head nine thousand five -hundred feet above the surrounding country. - -There was a trail to the mountain, a trail which could have told many -thrilling tales if it could have spoken to the passerby. Along its -winding way famous scouts of old had passed in their quest of grizzlies, -and the solemn depths of the neighboring forests had once resounded with -the appalling war-cry of the Indians. - -It was with a thrill of high anticipation that Westy Martin, taking a -last look at the frontier of tourist travel (wild enough indeed), turned -his gaze toward the forbidding and unpeopled region which they were -about to enter. As he did so the familiar honk of the automobiles which -had brought them to the stepping-off place could be heard as the car -sped northward along the road toward Tower Falls. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIII - - HERMITAGE REST - - -For three hours they tramped along this obscure trail which ran through -such wildness as our scouts had never seen before. Then suddenly and to -their great surprise they came upon quite a sizable permanent camp. It -was on the lower reaches of the mountain and was called Hermitage Rest, -a very good name for it, considering its remoteness and isolation. It -was conducted by an old Rocky Mountain guide named Buck Whitley, and was -the refuge of a dozen or more tired business men who found relaxation in -the soothing companionship and hospitality of their host, who boasted -that he had never seen a locomotive! - -Buck Whitley was a true Rocky Mountain character, a holdover from the -good old school of Kit Carson with whom he had many times been on the -trail. The camp consisted of some twenty rough cabins, and the pastime -of the guests was mostly fishing. The only jarring note in this -primitive outfit was a telephone carried from the main line at the Hotel -on Yellowstone Lake. This was the only suggestion of civilization. It -was Buck Whitley’s only concession to his tired business men and he -professed not only ignorance but scorn of the talk which went over the -wire. - -Our travelers paused at this romantic and sequestered spot for lunch and -ate such trout as there is no word in the English language to describe. -It was from old Buck Whitley that Mr. Wilde derived some information -about the neighboring mountain which, evidently, he had not been able to -derive at Mammoth Hot Springs. The boys listened intently and with -mounting expectancy to the talk between the old scout and Mr. Wilde and -Billy, the camera man. This talk involved a series of considerations -from which our young heroes seemed to be excluded. It was Mr. Wilde’s -way to amuse himself with the three scouts, to jolly them, but he had -not made them cognizant of his plans in detail. - -Their first real knowledge of the business in hand was now gleaned in -this indirect fashion, and they were appalled at the hazardous nature of -the work to be undertaken. - -“Yer got ter go over ter east cliff fer vultures,” said Old Buck in -answer to Mr. Wilde’s question. “Jes’ foller the trail up around ter the -north, then around ag’in ter the sout’east, ’en that’ll fetch yer right -along the edge of it—Vulture’s Cliff, they calls it.” - -“Nests out along there, I suppose?” Mr. Wilde queried. - -“Sech as they is,” said the old scout. “Yer’ll see a clump o’ sticks, -looks somethin’ like a bush, them’s the way they looks. Yer got ter look -sharp if yer go near ’em.” - -“Sweep you right off the ledge, huh?” said Mr. Wilde. Evidently he knew -something about these matters. - -It seemed to Westy that he had been investigating the habit of vultures. -Westy’s thoughts had dwelt mostly on the subject of grizzlies. It was -now becoming momentarily evident that Mr. Wilde had a particular -enterprise in hand, that for some reason or other he wished to cast one -or more of these horrible birds in a startling role. He screwed his -cigar over to the opposite corner of his mouth and listened attentively -while Old Buck Whitley narrated a ghastly episode which he had once -beheld with his own eyes. The three scouts listened spellbound. The -reminiscence involved the fate of a man who many years before had -ventured out on Vulture Cliff and had actually been driven out to the -very edge of the dizzy precipice, outmaneuvered by one of those great -birds which he had vainly tried to dodge, and pushed over the edge by a -sudden skillful swoop of that monster of the air. - -“Jimmie couldn’t even get his hands on him,” said the old guide, “and he -couldn’ dodge ’im neither—no, sir. The bird kept in back of him, keepin’ -Jimmie between him and the edge, swoopen against him and drivin’ him -nearer and nearer till he took a big swoop and came sweepin’ down -against him and over he went into the country down yonder. Yer can pick -out odds and ends of bones, bleached white, down there now with a -spyglass. The bird he went down and finished him like they do.” - -“I was wondering if they really do that,” said Mr. Wilde, in a way of -business interest. “I was reading about it, but you know these natural -history books are cluttered up with all sorts of junk.” - -“’Tain’t no junk,” said Buck Whitley. “You folks take my advice and keep -away from the edge. Don’t get so far out you can’t ketch hold on a tree -or somethin’. They’ll back yer right off jes’ like if they was dancin’ -with yer.” - -“Pretty neat, huh,” said Mr. Wilde. “That’s the kind of stuff we want. -I’m going to get a shot at a scene like that if I can fix it. Novelty, -huh?” - -Westy, who had listened with rapt attention to this appalling narrative, -thought that there might be two opinions about the meaning of the word -_neat_. One thing seemed evident. Mr. Wilde had a rather more -adventurous purpose in view than merely the photographing of wild life. -He was after thrills. It seemed as if he had dug up somewhere references -to the habit and diabolical skill of vultures in procuring the death of -their victims. - -Westy had read of mortal combats on the edge of precipitous heights. He -had seen one man push another from a precipice in the movies. Also he -had the usual indifferent knowledge about vultures. He knew that they -were of great size and strength but were far from being heroic. He knew -that they followed armies, and had an uncanny intuition in the matter of -where the dead were to be found. - -Now, from what he had heard, it appeared that in the lonesome and craggy -neighborhood of their nests these horrible creatures were wont to play -more heroic roles. That by skill and persistence they could make the -dizzy precipice their confederate and compass the death of their baffled -and outmaneuvered victims by precipitating them upon jagged rocks far -below the scene of encounter. - -“Then they wait a reasonable time,” Mr. Wilde had said, “before -descending to the feast.” - -To be involved in an affair of this kind seemed quite a different sort -of matter than stalking grizzlies and mountain leopards. In such a -predicament a man might be permitted to violate the good and stringent -rule of the Park and shoot his fearful assailant. But surely he would -have no right deliberately to place himself in a position where such -means of defense would be necessary. Yet it was evidently Mr. Wilde’s -purpose to avail himself of this uncanny habit of the dreadful vulture -to stage a scene which would furnish a real thrill to movie fans -throughout the land. - -How was he going to do this? And to what peril might he intend to -subject these boys whom he had jollied and called parlor scouts? - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIV - - VULTURE CLIFF - - -Perhaps it was because these three good scouts were after all just boys -that they began to be conscious of certain real or imagined perils in -their big adventure. They talked over among themselves what they were -likely to be expected to do and they began to be a little concerned -about the secrecy which characterized the expedition. Westy had talked -of doing something _big_, of being a scout in the large and adventurous -sense. And he had felt quite ashamed of scouting as he knew it, when he -allowed himself to view it through the sophisticated gaze of Mr. Wilde. -He began to wonder now whether all his big talk, or rather the -expression of his big hopes, was not going to plunge him and his -companions into perils which he had not anticipated. Poor Westy, he was -not afraid; he was only young and unseasoned. Mr. Wilde, on the other -hand, was thoroughly seasoned—oh, very. So thoroughly seasoned that he -did not take these youngsters into his confidence. And thereby ensued -something very like tragedy. - -The trail up the mountain was through such a wilderness as the boys had -never seen before. It was late in the evening when they came out into -the open and beheld a panorama far below them and reaching eastward as -far as the eye could see. Mountains, mountains, mountains, rolling one -upon another in stately and magnificent profusion. So they might have -been for thousands, millions, of years without so much as one -contaminating sign of man and all his claptrap works. - -How small, how insignificant, would even a city seem in that endless -region of rock and hill. The vast scene was gray in the twilight, for -even the sun was sinking to rest in the more hospitable direction whence -they had come. They were facing the sunless chill of a Rocky Mountain -evening, looking eastward toward the only compass point that was open to -their view. They were almost at the edge of a mighty precipice, a -stupendous gallery of nature. It was as if a mountain had been rent -asunder and half of it taken away to afford a dizzy view of the -amphitheater below. - -As the party paused to make their camp within the shelter of the forest -a few hundred feet from the brow of the precipice, Mr. Wilde, his -unlighted cigar tilted like a flag-pole out of his mouth sauntered over -toward the edge with Billy, the camera man, with the practical manner of -a man who might intend to buy real estate in that forsaken region or who -was picking out a suitable spot for a tennis court. The boys, useful at -last, and competent in their task, began pitching their tent and making -ready their little camp. They saw Mr. Wilde and the camera man approach -a little clump of something dark within a very few feet of the -precipice. It was bare and bleak out there, without background or -vegetation, and the two khaki-clad figures seemed bereft of their -individuality; they were just two dark objects examining another object -on the naked, cheerless rock. High in the air above a black speck moved -through the dusk and disappeared among the distant mountains. - -“I don’t see how they can get a picture of a thing like that,” said -Warde; “a vulture doing a thing like that, I mean. They wouldn’t get a -picture of me having a scrap with a vulture, not while I’m conscious.” - -“You wouldn’t be conscious long,” said Warde. - -“The first thing they’ll be able to get a picture of up here,” said Ed -Carlyle, “is me eating some fried bacon, only they’ll have to be quick. -Come on, let’s get the fire started. Where’s the can-opener, anyway? -Chuck that egg powder over here, will you? I’m going to stage a scene -with an omelet.” - -“I know one thing,” said Warde, “we’ve been talking about something -_big_. Whatever they want me to do I’m going to do it. I’m not going to -flunk.” - -“Believe me, I’m going to do something big,” said Ed. “Watch me! I’m -going to do a bacon sandwich—_a big one_. Where’s the thing to fry this -on anyway? Let’s have a big supper; big is my middle name. You fellows -must be crazy! You don’t suppose Mr. Wilde wants us to risk our young -lives, do you? If I saw a vulture now I’d eat him before he had a chance -to eat me, I’m so hungry. I wish there was some place around here where -we could get an ice cream soda; I’m thirsty too.” - -“A raspberry sundae would go good,” said Warde, as he gathered sticks -for their fire. “I remind myself of Pee-Wee Harris. They say vultures -live to be a hundred years old.” - -“I bet there’s plenty of them up here all right,” said Westy. “We came -to the right place.” - -“I don’t see any now,” said Ed. “I guess they all went to the movies, -hey?” - -“It would be mighty risky,” said Westy, “staging a scene like that—a -vulture trying to edge somebody off a cliff. I don’t see how they could -do it.” - -“Leave it to Mr. Wilde,” said Warde. - -“I’ll be very glad to,” said Ed in his funny way. “You’d think we were -all dead ones talking about vultures. Come on, let’s get ready to eat. -If I had some eggs I’d cook some ham and eggs if I only had some ham. I -wonder how cocoa would go in an omelet?” - -“It’ll all go,” said Warde. - -“Right the first time as you usually ain’t,” said Ed. “To-morrow we’ll -catch some trout, hey?” Then raising his voice this exuberant member of -the party called aloud, “Hey, Mr. Wilde and Billy, the camera man, come -on home to supper! You’ve just got time to wash your face and hands!” - -His voice sounded strange and singularly clear in the stillness and -gathering dusk. The last word or two reechoed and sounded ghastly in the -solemn and lonely twilight. - -“Somebody hiding around here,” said Ed, clapping his hand to his ear in -a funny manner of affectation. “He’s not going to get anything to eat -anyway, that’s one sure thing.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXXV - - DISAPPOINTMENT - - -After a hearty camp supper, devoured with appetites whetted by the keen -mountain air, the boys found themselves only too glad to roll in for a -good night’s sleep. “Have the bell-boy call me in the morning,” called -Ed airily from his blanket, but before either the drowsy Warde or tired -Westy could come back at him with a reply, sleep overpowered all three. -They only waked next morning when the brisk stirring about of Mr. Wilde -and Billy disturbed them. - -“Come on now, you fellows,” jeered Mr. Wilde. “Scouts ought to be up and -dressed ahead of an old business man like me.” - -Warde and Westy took this remark to heart and scrambled shamefacedly for -their clothes, but Ed’s unfailing good humor left him untouched. He -lolled back, gazing up and up into the depths of foliage above him and -retorted, “Have that bellhop get my pants from the tailor.” - -“Aren’t you going to wear your scout suit at all?” queried Westy in -disapproval. - -“Aw, gee, Mr. Wilde joshed me so about wearing ‘rompers’ I’m going to -stick to my corduroys,” said Ed, springing up, his mind eagerly on -breakfast. - -“Are you going up to Vulture Cliff this morning, Mr. Wilde?” asked -Warde, impatient to know the program of the outing. - -“That’s just where I’m going, Mister,” replied Mr. Wilde, busy already -with preparations for this hike. “And,” he added, “I hope you young -hopefuls put in a lucky day catching plenty of fish for a good meal this -evening, because when Billy and I get back here we’ll be hungry enough -to eat a hard-boiled rhinoceros.” - -“Can’t we go with you?” asked Westy, his face the picture of -disappointment. - -“Go with us, your grandmother,” grinned Billy heartlessly. “That cliff -is no place for little children.” - -“I should say not,” added Mr. Wilde. “I can’t be responsible to your -mammas if their darling boys fall down and have the buzzards pick their -bones. Why, don’t you know a vulture would rather eat a Boy Scout than a -dish of ice cream? No, you kids stick around here out of our way where -you’re safe and show us what kind of a meal a star scout can cook.” - -It was a cruel disappointment to the boys to find that their part in -this unique expedition was to be limited to the mere routine of camp -duty. This was truly a blow to their expectations and pride, but each -was too good a scout to argue or whine. They took this disappointment -characteristically: Westy, the sensitive, was hurt. He felt that he had -proved himself in the encounter with Bloodhound Pete and was entitled to -be trusted in “big” things. He was too proud to say this, however, and -only flushed and kept silent. Warde was plainly indignant. Ed, however, -although quite as disappointed as the others, accepted it with his usual -“I should worry” air. - -“Go ahead,” he said jauntily. “You can’t make me mad. I’m just crazy to -be kitchen police. If I had a popgun I’d shoot a couple of elephants for -a nice little fricassee for your supper. But listen, if you two fall off -that cliff, don’t expect me to come running and pick you up.” - -As Mr. Wilde and Billy set off, Warde sulked. Westy said, “I don’t think -it’s fair, and it’s just our luck to be kept out of big things.” - -But Ed said, “Poot! What do you care! I’d just as lieves have a good -day’s fishing as monkey around up there on the top of the world trying -to get movies of the angels. That ole cliff is too high for this baby! -It’s worse than the Woolworth Tower and _that_ always makes me seasick. -Come on, let’s go fishing. Maybe we’ll meet a grizzly.” - -At this prospect Westy brightened and helped gather up their tackle -which Ed opined was “some improvement on that historic safety pin.” -Warde, however, refused to go along. - -“I’m not going,” he said. “I turned my ankle on a loose rock last night -anyway and it hurts. You catch the fish and I’ll cook them—that’s fair. -I’m going to write a letter home. I don’t know when I’ll mail it, but -I’ll get it written anyway.” - -“’Tain’t your ankle, it’s your feelings that hurt,” said Ed, astutely. -“But do as you like, here’s where Kit Carson and Dan’l Boone leave you. -S’long,” and Westy and Ed disappeared through the woods toward the sound -of a boisterous mountain stream, leaving Warde behind. How little they -knew what was to happen before they were all together again! - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVI - - OFF THE CLIFF - - -It was late in the afternoon when Ed and Westy who had been working -their way upstream all day awarded with a goodly string of gleaming -trout, found themselves on a high and rocky point from which Vulture -Cliff was plainly visible. In the clear mountain air it seemed as if -they might almost touch it. - -Tired from their scrambles and satisfied with their catch, the boys -stretched out on the rocks and gazed up at the cliff. They were -separated from it by a narrow gulch of such dizzy depths that Ed said it -made him seasick to look down. - -“Don’t look down, then, look up,” said Westy. “You can see the vultures -from here.” - -“Gee, so you can. Don’t they look like airplanes? I wonder how big they -are?” - -“Well,” said Westy, “that guide at the Hermitage said he killed one once -that measured over eight feet from the tip of one wing to the tip of the -other, spread out. Of course he didn’t kill that one on this -reservation, but I bet these are just as big.” - -“I bet they are, and my goodness look what a lot of them there are. They -must scent something dead over there,” cried Ed in excitement. - -“Dead nothing!” Westy disagreed. “Something’s scaring them! Look! -There’s a man! Why, it must be Mr. Wilde; you can see him as plain as -plain. I don’t see Billy anywhere. Now Mr. Wilde’s gone back in the -bushes. Let’s climb up higher and watch.” - -They scrambled higher to a point that afforded a very clear view of the -precipice opposite. Neither man was now to be seen, but several vultures -were circling the cliff and others joined them, perching clumsily on the -rock shrugging their ugly humped shoulders in disgust at being -disturbed. Out from the wooded height there jutted a long narrow shelf -of bare rock that overhung the deep ravine below. This was the vultures’ -roost and outlook. In crevices along here the monstrous birds had their -great awkward nests and here “on top of the world,” as Ed said, their -little ones were hatched. On the edge of this shelf there grew a -solitary crooked pine, deformed in its efforts to keep a difficult -foothold in the barren rock against many a mountain tempest. At the foot -of this tree an object caught the boys’ eyes. “What’s that?” they both -cried at once, and squinting against the afternoon sun they shaded their -eyes in true Indian fashion and peered intently. It couldn’t be! It was! -There was no mistaking a _scout uniform_ even at this distance. Yet -neither boy would believe his eyes. The thing they saw seemed too -impossible to be true! Both together they said the same thing at once. - -“_That can’t he Warde!_” They looked at one another and then back again. - -“As sure as you’re born, that’s Warde Hollister sitting under that tree -on the very tip edge of the cliff!” - -Westy was so breathless that he could only gasp. - -“Why, my gosh!” said Ed irritably, “he’s as crazy as a June bug to sit -up there on top of the Woolworth and let his silly legs hang over the -edge. Hasn’t he got any _sense_?” - -“Haven’t you heard,” said Westy, “of people who lose their senses when -they get up on something high and want to jump off? What if——” - -“What if——” echoed Ed and both felt too horrified to say more. -Instinctively they crouched low as if the very sight of Warde so near -the dizzy edge made them cling closer to solid rock themselves, not only -for their own peace of mind but as if their act might hold Warde back, -too. - -But now another horror threatened. It was plain that the vultures -resented this stranger in their midst. Sweeping forth with wide wings -several vultures, apparently startled from their fastnesses on the -rocks, swooped out and circled the lone pine. - -Mindful of the ghastly story Buck Whitley had told of vultures, both -boys shuddered. - -“There come some more,” Westy whispered—in his fright he could not -control his voice to speak aloud. Two more great birds winged out over -the gulch and turned in air around the pine. They glided smoothly out on -the wind with wings motionless, like monoplanes, but flapping hideously -as they returned to their haven in the rocks. It became evident that -something out of sight in the woods behind was frightening the birds. - -“It’s Mr. Wilde!” Westy choked. “He’s driving the vultures at Warde on -purpose!” As this idea dawned on Ed he felt himself as he afterwards -described it “turning green around the gills.” Then his good sense -returned. - -“Oh, you’re crazy!” Ed snapped, and his positive tones cheered Westy -greatly. “They don’t know he’s there! They’re just scaring the birds up -to photograph them. Can’t you see through it? Warde was peeved at being -left behind, so he sneaked off on us and beat them to it and now he -thinks he’s the real smart Alec to get ahead of them out there after Mr. -Wilde told us to stay behind. I did think he had more sense than that!” - -Two birds were now circling lower and definitely toward the scout-clad -figure under the tree. This figure remained so motionless that Westy -shuddered and said, “Maybe he’s dead already, vultures act that way over -dead things.” - -“Dead, my eye,” contradicted Ed, sturdily. “He’s not dead. Maybe he’s -scared to move, or fainted or maybe he’s just asleep. Let’s climb up -higher yet and yell at him.” They climbed and shouted, but the distance -was too great for their voices to carry and the giant mountains only -threw back mocking echoes of their puny lungs at them. - -“Those birds must have a nest near that tree,” Ed argued, as the huge -pair beat their ragged wings against the scout. The two boys, watching, -powerless to help, could only scramble higher hoping to reach a point -higher up where they might be seen and signal, but they gained this -vantage point just in time to see the khaki figure topple under the -vulture wings and tumble down the sheer cliff into the rocks and trees -below. - -Neither Westy nor Ed dared rise from his place for several minutes, so -sickened were they by this fearful sight. Then crawling to the edge, -they both ventured to look down. Far, far below they could just make out -the khaki figure lying with limbs distorted. - -“He’s dead,” gulped Westy. “Every bone he has must be smashed.” He began -to cry. - -“No, look! He’s moving!” True enough, the scout, lying on a sharp -decline, turned and slid farther down the ravine. - -In another moment the boys above succeeded in getting their shocked -minds clear enough to act like scouts. - -“We’ve got to go down and get him,” said Westy, asserting himself. “You -can’t see either Mr. Wilde or Billy and you can’t make them hear us. -There’s no time to waste hunting them up first to help us. I’m going -right down now on a chance I might get to him in time.” - -“One of us ought to get a doctor,” Ed suggested. - -“How?” put in Westy. - -“Well, don’t you remember they had a telephone at the Hermitage? We -could phone into Yellowstone for a doctor from there.” - -“Good idea. You thought of it, so you go there and I’ll climb down after -Warde. There’s no time to waste, so hurry.” - -“Oh, I’ll hurry. Here, keep these matches and make a signal fire to -guide us to you if you can’t get out of there by night.” - -So saying, the boys separated, Westy preparing to descend the dangerous -slope, and Ed daring the obscure trail to circle the mountain to -Hermitage Rest. - -The sun, still bright on the mountain tops, had already left the valleys -in a sinister twilight as the boys parted. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVII - - ED CARLYLE, SCOUT - - -Ed lost no time in making most of the daylight still remaining to get a -good start around the mountain toward Hermitage Rest. For a time this -was easy, as the setting sun gave an easy guide to the points of the -compass, but before he had gone far down the slope the sun had dropped -out of sight behind a mountain top, and as there was only the vaguest -trail in these wild parts, Ed soon realized it would take all his scout -knowledge to find his way at all. He crashed along through the -undergrowth often scaring up wild rabbits and other small animals which -on another occasion he would have delighted to stalk, but now his heart -was so heavy he hardly noticed them as he hastened on. - -Ed had been tramping the woods since morning, with only a light snack at -noon, as both he and Westy had looked forward to a good dinner with -plenty of fish that night, but now their fish lay abandoned on the -rocks, no doubt making a meal for the vultures, and Ed had no time, even -if he had brought along his tackle, to stop and catch fish for his own -supper. He could not help wondering what Mr. Wilde and the camera man -would think when they returned to camp and found not only no supper but -no scouts. A broken piece of sweet chocolate, which he remembered he had -in his hip pocket, was the only supper Ed had, and he was hungry enough -to feel uncomfortable, but anxiety for Warde and Westy made him forget -himself and hurry along. - -He took the precaution to fill his canteen with water, then hastened on -with no other refreshment. By this time he had retraced the steps over -which he and Westy had lingered fishing all day and struck the trail -leading down toward the Hermitage. - -As he got farther and farther down, the sky grew overcast obscuring all -chance of a moon, the trees became denser and Ed found himself in such -darkness as to make him feel perilously confused along this unfamiliar -trail. Before this he had encountered landmarks which he remembered -passing on their way up—a lightning-blasted pine; the big loose rock -where Warde had complained of turning his ankle, an abandoned squirrel -nest, a fallen tree and such marks as a trained scout would observe and -remember for future guidance. These had made him confident that he had -been going the right way, but now it was so dark that Ed could see -little before him, and he began to fear that he had lost the trail. For -a moment the mountains seemed so vast, the woods so dense, that poor -hungry Ed felt like a very small atom alone in the wilderness, and -indeed he is not the only boy who would have quailed a little at the -task ahead of him! Miles of introdden nightfall, and that grim need for -haste, might well dismay a man as well as a boy! However, Ed was -stout-hearted and even when alone kept up that humorous spirit of his -which so often saved the day. - -“Alone in the great city,” he muttered, as he stumbled over a log, “I -better ask my way of the next policeman.” Cheering up a little at this, -he plunged on, but was brought to a standstill by a thicket through -which he could not pass, and this made him realize he was off the trail. - -Knowing that every minute’s delay might mean life or death to Warde, Ed -found himself choking up with fear lest he get lost in the woods and -fail to get a doctor in time. Just as he had often restored the other -boy’s spirits in moments of trial by his unquenchable humor, Ed now -bolstered up his own waning courage by comic comments to himself. “Gosh, -these street lights are bum,” he complained, and blundered around, -beating at twigs until he pushed through to a clearer stretch beyond. - -He began to be thankful that he had not worn his scout uniform after -all, for the thicket had torn his shirt, scraped off his cap and -scratched his face, and the corduroy knickers he wore protected his legs -and knees far more comfortably than his loose khaki shorts would have -done. Ed had been forcing his way along, now running against logs, now -falling over rocks—into gullies until he felt that he must surely have -progressed miles, when something soft slapped him in the face. He ducked -down, startled, and saw that he had run into a bush on which what was -hanging but his own cap! It was this cap lost in the thicket that had -struck him in the face! Now, indeed, Ed was discouraged. After supposing -he had made a long advance toward Hermitage Rest he only found that he -had done the usual tenderfoot trick of traveling in a circle! - -“Spats, cane and all, I ought to have old Stove Polish leading me by the -hand,” was his disgusted thought. - -But now, however, Ed’s eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark and he -was able to make out his way more distinctly. - -Fortunately at this time the moon came out through clouds that had -obscured it. As good luck would have it, the moon was nearly full and -promised to shed a helpful light if more clouds did not gather. Ed -remembered that the moon, when large and red as it was then, rose in the -east, for he could remember often making a wish on a little new moon, -seen first in the western sky at sunset. Assuring himself once more of -the points of the compass by the moon and the direction of the hillside, -Ed gritted his teeth and pushed on, determined to make no further -tenderfoot blunders that night. His chagrin was almost as deep as -Westy’s would have been at the thought of how Mr. Wilde would have -jeered at him for being a parlor scout who got lost in the woods! His -progress was now more successful, but he had every reason to fear that -he might lose himself again, and therefore proceeded with far less -confidence than he had set out. As if with the coming of the moon the -little people of the woods were stirred to the business of their night -life, the trees seemed noisy now with insects and night birds. The -grewsome hoot of an owl sent the gooseflesh crawling up to Ed’s scalp, -but he made fun of himself and pushed on, whistling to keep up his -spirits. He had really advanced a long way when he was brought to a -standstill by a sound that made his blood run cold. It was a moaning -that had such a human quality that for a moment Ed thought some one must -be lying hurt near by. Then he remembered having read that the voice of -the mountain lion sounds like a woman crying. The moaning recommenced -and Ed stood paralyzed in his tracks. Of all creatures, the mountain -lion, he knew, was the most ferocious wild beast in all the wild -Rockies. Even a seasoned old hunter like Buck Whitley did not scorn to -run away from one of these creatures. Ed besides was of course unarmed -save for a broken-bladed scout knife and his trusty safety-pin. - -The moaning continued and Ed located it as coming from a clump of bushes -near the trail right by which he must pass. It must be admitted that Ed -was thoroughly frightened, but he took some comfort in recalling the -story of an officer who had been chided because on the eve of battle his -knees shook and this officer had replied, “They would shake more if they -knew where I was going to take them.” Ed took his shaking knees back up -the path, determined to detour and make a run for it. Just then, -however, the moaning broke into a call. “Hey, there! Help!” cried a -man’s voice. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVIII - - THE WOUNDED STRANGER - - -Ed was so relieved to hear a human voice that, as he said afterwards, -“If it had been Bloodhound Pete himself I’d have welcomed him with open -arms.” He hurried to the bushes looking down and saw there upon the -ground the figure of a man. Stooping down, Ed made out a short -disreputable man wearing an old sweater and peaked cap. - -“What’s the matter?” Ed cried, stretching out his hand to help him up. -“I’m shot,” groaned the stranger, and Ed drew back his hand quickly, to -find his fingers wet and sticky. With a shudder Ed realized that this -was blood. - -When this sorry figure saw that his rescuer was a mere boy in knickers -an ugly scowl twisted his unpleasant features and he swore. “Who you -with? Where’s your pa?” he snarled. - -“I’m alone,” Ed replied. “What’s the matter? Can I help?” - -“Well, half a loaf’s better than no bread, I s’pose,” the stranger -retorted ungraciously. “See here, I was huntin’ and got shot to pieces -accidentally, see? Get somebody to tie me up and carry me outa dis -hold.” - -“You’re not supposed to hunt on this reservation,” put in Ed. - -“Dat’s none o’ your business,” snapped the wounded man, angry to see he -had made a slip. - -“I can tie you up some,” Ed offered, although he hesitated to stop for -this “good turn” when Warde was in danger. However, though torn between -two duties, he felt that he could do nothing else but render first aid -to this man as quickly as he could. - -The water in his canteen came in handy now, and he bathed the gunshot -wound in the man’s head and shoulder as best he could. The man, -disappointed that the canteen contained not whiskey, but good water, -cursed fretfully. - -Ed found that doing practicing bandaging on an obliging fellow scout was -a very different thing from binding up the hot, wet wounds of this man, -who groaned in agony when touched. Privately Ed suspected the man as -having been shot for a poacher or wounded in some bootleg scuffle -perhaps as he carried no rifle or hunting outfit, and Ed entertained no -very good opinion of him. His opinion, however, did not effect the -thoroughness with which he tried to do the job. He tore up what remained -of his ragged shirt, bandaged the man’s head, and made an emergency -sling to ease his arm. The man could not bear to be moved, so Ed simply -made him as comfortable as he could with a soft pile of leaves and -promised to bring a doctor. The man’s gruffness had melted and he said, -“You’se is a good little kid, and I won’t forget it. Beat it along now -and hurry back.” - -Ed then redoubled his speed down the mountainside in vain endeavor to -make up for lost time. Trudging on and on, refusing to stop for sleep or -rest, Ed walked all night long. - -Dawn was just tinging the eastern mountain rims when Buck Whitley, an -early bird, beheld a weird sight approaching the main cabin at Hermitage -Rest. A small boy in undershirt and torn trousers stumbled wearily up -the steps and collapsed. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIX - - WESTY’S DESCENT - - -Westy Martin lost no time in starting down the face of the ravine toward -his friend. The cliff he descended was so precipitous that the problem -of reaching the bottom alive absorbed all his attention and he had no -time to worry much over what condition he might find Warde in. -Occasionally, as he hung by his fingers from one rock and ventured to -drop to a shelf below, he wondered how anything could be left of Warde -at all. Sometimes the loose stones and dirt gave way under his feet and -sent him tumbling until he could clutch a bush and hold on, only to find -his hands and knees skinned raw. Pausing to pant and gain his balance, -Westy would try not to wonder whether the vultures would leave anything -of Warde for him to find. It was lucky for Westy that the sunlight, -reflected against these steep rocks which directly faced the sunset, lit -up the ravine long after Ed, on the opposite side of the mountain, was -left in darkness. For Westy, in darkness, would have been in peril -indeed, since the task he was attempting seemed to him very like those -movie scenes of a Human Fly crawling down the face of a skyscraper! Had -this ravine been an Alpine pass traversed by mountain-climbing tourists, -each tourist would have been roped to another and guides would have -controlled these safety lines. Such a descent Westy was daring all -alone. He came at last to a narrow and abrupt slide between two long -walls of rock. Here there were few bushes to hold back by and the only -thing to do, Westy decided, was to sit down and slide. To climb back and -hunt another way down was impossible. So down he sat and slid -cautiously, but try as he might to brake his pace with his feet, he shot -faster and faster until he had every fear that he would shoot clean off -the mountainside and land below, food for vultures too. Vainly he spread -his feet and clutched at the rocks with his hands until his fingers -bled. He could not stop himself, but, gathering momentum, he shot down -the mountain slide faster than before. Ahead of him the rocks narrowed -so that while at first he had a gleam of hope that they would stop his -fall, on tumbling nearer he felt sure that to dash against them at his -present speed would only dash out his brains and at best break all his -ribs. With never a thought that he might shoot over an edge into -eternity, Westy quickly lay flat on his back and in a spatter of pebbles -and cloud of dust shot safely between the narrow walls of rock just -skinning both shoulders. He found himself riding on a miniature -landslide coasting quickly toward the edge of overhanging rock and his -heart leapt to his throat as he realized he might as well fall off a -twelve-story fire-escape to pavements below, as hope to survive the -dashing to pieces which he now faced. In the flash of time that it took -for the falling dirt to shoot him out on this ledge, he had one -sickening moment when he wished he had never heard of scouting, and it -must be confessed he offered up a quick prayer for help. Then the -miracle happened, as if in answer to this prayer. He stopped as suddenly -as he had started. The seat of his breeches had caught on the branches -of a small scrub pine that thrust out from between rocks in the path of -his descent, and this had checked his fall. For a moment Westy hardly -dared draw breath for fear brush or breeches give way. Then, securing a -grip on the friendly little pine and assuring himself that it was rooted -sturdily, Westy cautiously freed himself and lay down to study the way -ahead. It was less steep below, and, lowering himself down inch by inch, -Westy was soon on a safe way to the bottom. His shirt was scraped off -from neck to belt, including considerable skin, the seat of his trousers -could never be the same again, but save for such battle scars, Westy, to -his surprise and thankfulness, was not so much the worse for all the -hard wear and tear he had undergone “skidding down the face of the -Woolworth Tower,” as Ed would have said. Westy now faced the task of -finding Warde. This was made only too easy by the sight of vultures -ahead. Furious at these loathsome scavengers Westy ran headlong, yelling -to frighten them away. The sight ahead made him pause and feel too faint -to move. - -Two giant birds were tearing at the scout figure with their hideous -curved beaks. Westy was near enough to see their powerful crooked claws -with which they helped in tearing his friend’s khaki suit. The bird’s -ugly naked necks twisted to and fro in their bloody task. A great smear -of red discolored the tunic. At Westy’s approach the huge birds flapped -roughly away on ragged wings that made a great creaking and rustling and -left behind the smell of carrion. - -Westy could never tell how he summoned courage to approach that lump of -blood and khaki. But when he finally found himself standing by it he -could not believe his eyes. This was not Warde he was gazing at, but a -mere dummy stuffed with sticks and leaves and baited with some meat and -old dead fish! It was only a scarecrow that had fallen over the cliff! - -Bewildered by this unbelievable hoax Westy stood spellbound. At this -moment a great scrambling and shouting followed by hearty laughter broke -upon him and Mr. Wilde, followed by Billy, the camera man, came out of -the woods opposite, convulsed with loud guffaws. - -“Well, young one, if I ever called you a little Lord Fauntleroy I take -it all back now,” roared Mr. Wilde. “You’re the original Douglas -Fairbanks and a true screen star. You’ve made this film a howling -success.” Whereupon he doubled up with laughter which cramped him so -violently that for a time he could not speak. - -“Oh, laugh! laugh!” urged Billy, ironically, rubbing at his neck. “It’s -awful funny! Oh, yes! A mere incident like breaking my only neck in the -cause is nothing! Oh, no! Laugh! Laugh by all means!” - -“Well, what _is_ he laughing at?” demanded Westy crossly. Here was -Westy, his clothes and skin peeled off in too many places for comfort -and after risking life and limb and undergoing the nervous shock of -hours of horror. He was now simply laughed at. Small wonder if Westy -felt sore in spirit as well as in body. Billy explained as Mr. Wilde -could do nothing but snicker. - -“Why, he wanted to film the birds in the act of knocking some one off a -cliff, and I don’t doubt he’d have used me for that part if he didn’t -need me to crank the camera. Anyway, he spared me and rigged up a dummy. -He didn’t want you kids getting into danger up there so he said nothing -to you. You remember Ed didn’t wear his scout suit. Well, we took that -along to stuff for a dummy. We had to bait the scarecrow with stuff to -attract the old buzzards, and for that we’d brought along some meat -anyway, and we just stuffed it inside the suit. I’m afraid Ed’s suit is -ruined; we didn’t expect that. We’ll get him another. It was well worth -the price, for it all worked out fine after we’d worked all day up -there, scaring up those birds and trying to hide from them and focus on -the dummy and all. Just as the sunlight began to go back on us the birds -condescended to star for something elegant. They knocked the boy scout -over the cliff and I filmed it for a thriller. Well, then something -happened that we hadn’t bargained for and it was too good to miss. We -saw you start down the cliff on the other side. Mr. Wilde was afraid -you’d fall, but I said, no, you could make it all right, you weren’t a -scout for nothing and when you didn’t hear him when he yelled to you to -go back I said, ‘let him go ahead and I’ll snap him too and we can add -it to the picture as the “Daredevil Rescue.”’ Well, it was too good to -miss. We followed along down after you on the other side and I hope to -say the movie fan’s hair will stick up on end when they see you shoot -the shoots and hang over the Leap of Death by the seat of your pants. It -was wonderful! Doug Fairbanks isn’t in it. I’m sorry to say it got too -dark for me to get you when you discover the body and you’ll have to act -that over for me in broad daylight. Of course the fact that I had to run -along holding on by my eyelashes in steep spots just to film you, is a -mere detail. Wilde just kept laughing and hollering at me, ‘Shoot! -shoot! There’s a good one, shoot!’ and I said, ‘I’ll break my neck at -this,’ and he said, ‘Well, don’t break the camera.’ Oh, a camera man has -a sweet life. I twisted every joint out of socket on the way down, but, -oh, boy, wait till you see yourself in that picture!” - -This pleasing prospect cheered Westy enough to remove the sting of -ridicule that pricked him when he saw he had been made the goat, and be -it said to his credit that he joined Mr. Wilde in laughing at himself. - -“Yes, but what about Ed?” he asked. - - - - - CHAPTER XL - - WARDE MEETS A GRIZZLY - - -In the meanwhile, what had Warde been doing? - -After he was left alone in camp, he dutifully tidied up the place, -bathed his aching ankle and wrote home as he planned. The writing took a -long time as he was slow and had so much to tell. Warde did not enjoy -writing letters and when he had finished he felt as cramped and tired as -if he had chopped a cord of firewood. The sharp mountain air helped make -him sleepy and when he stretched out on the grass to rest for “just a -minute,” sleep overcame him and he took a nap like a baby. When he waked -he did not need the short shadows of the noon sun directly overhead to -tell him it was lunch time. Disappointed that his pals had not returned -he rummaged about for a snack of bread and bacon for himself. He began -to long for companionship, but did not dare to wander off far from camp -for fear the boys would return and he would miss them and any fun on -foot. So Warde stayed in camp until he fidgeted alone and decided to use -his time to good advantage by collecting firewood. This he did so -industriously that soon he had a fine pile. On coming back to it with -another armful of sticks Warde saw something moving by one tent. Mr. -Wilde and Billy shared one tent, the boys another, while the camera and -camp supplies were stored in a third. Something was moving near the tent -where the provisions were kept. - -Overjoyed, after his long solitude at seeing what he supposed of course -was Ed or Westy, Warde shouted. At the sound of his voice the intruder -started and reared up. It was an enormous grizzly bear! - -You may imagine that Warde stopped stock-still, unable to move hand or -foot. He seemed turned to stone and did not even drop his sticks. - -The grizzly stood on his hind legs, solemnly regarding him and he did -not move either. It would have been worth Billy’s while to have been -behind a bush then with his camera, for the picture of boy and bear each -standing staring at one another would have been another thriller to his -credit. - -The grizzly was taller than a tall man as he stood there, his forepaws -bent as if contemplating one vast and soft embrace. - -Warde’s instinct to heave one of his sticks at the animal he checked as -foolhardy, for such an attack would be sure to enrage the brute. Warde -softly stepped backward. The bear stepped forward. Warde ventured -another backstep, the bear dropped to all fours with a windy “snoof” and -advanced toward him. - -At this point Warde thought wildly of climbing a tree. But he could not -remember whether grizzly bears climb trees or not. At any rate, the idea -of scrambling up a tree trunk with the bear clawing at his back did not -appeal at this time to our hero. He wished more than ever that his -fellow scouts would appear. Then the remembrance of Westy’s accusation -that they were only “parlor scouts” stung him and he resolved to act in -a manner worthy a real scout. Just what this would be was the puzzle. -Warde had seen grizzlies in the zoo, of course, but he missed the trusty -iron bars from the landscape now. Thought of the zoo recalled the fact -that at feeding time the keepers threw loaves of bread to them. If he -could only circle about and reach the provisions perhaps the bear would -eat bread or something instead of boy. Do grizzlies eat boys or do they -not? The answer to this was as vague in Warde’s mind as the answer to, -Do they climb trees? At any rate he remembered that they hugged their -victims to death, crushing them in that fur and iron embrace. Nothing -appealed less to Warde at this moment than any such show of affection! -He tried to ease around behind the woodpile and the bear began to follow -him. “At any rate,” thought Warde, “while the old boy keeps down on all -fours he can’t hug me.” He moved cautiously and the bear advanced -threateningly. Warde felt the natural impulse to turn and run, but the -idea of the bear galloping behind halted this. To keep running, pursued -by a bear, was too much like a bad dream in which the bear comes even -closer and you can’t move your feet. Warde decided it was less harrowing -to stand his ground and face the brute. At any rate the bear had not -emitted any blood-curdling “feeding-time-at-the-zoo” growls. He only -gave a few “snoofs” not unlike a pet dog. Warde maneuvered about keeping -tent or woodpile cautiously between himself and his visitor and the bear -lumbered after him. In this way Warde finally reached the provisions and -finding a pan of Billy’s biscuits still on hand, he tossed one at the -bear. It snapped this up eagerly and lunged forward. Stepping backward -inhospitably, Warde threw another biscuit and threw it good and far. The -bear turned and trotted after it. By throwing the biscuits one at a time -with all the snap of a Big League pitcher, Warde succeeded in keeping -the great animal at a comfortable distance. It reminded him of those -stories of Russia when the sleigh is pursued by wolves and one by one -the riders jump overboard as sacrifice to delay the pack so that the -sole surviving heroine may escape. Warde hated to think what he would do -when all the biscuits were gone. - -He felt sure he could not continue to throw every piece of food they had -to the bear. Finally the last remaining biscuit went, and, impatient for -more, the bear came forward at a brisk and clumsy trot. Warde felt it -was just as well to side step. The big creature thrust himself into the -tent and tumbled everything about, now stopping to snap up a tidbit, now -investigating and upsetting boxes with his nose. At last he came to -Billy’s camera supplies. Here in tin boxes were spare films and if -anything destroyed these, the expedition was spoiled. At this point -Warde asserted himself. To tell the truth he had rather envied the glory -Westy acquired in his encounter with Bloodhound Pete. The bear did not -seem too ferocious and Warde felt that here was a chance for him to -outwit the animal and win for himself perhaps a modicum of fame. He -tried to think what he had ever heard about bears, and to save his life -could only recall the adventure of the absurd Goldilocks and the -repeated, “Who has been sleeping in my bed?” said the middle-sized bear -in his middle-sized voice. You will admit that Goldilocks was not a -great help to a scout facing a Rocky Mountain grizzly! Why is it the -most foolish thoughts occur to you in moments of stress? Warde felt very -annoyed that people filled up children’s minds on that silly stuff -instead of teaching them useful things like how to drive away live bears -that are licking your biscuit pan. Warde couldn’t seem to think up -anything to stop the bear’s dishwashing, and like a good many other -people when baffled he blamed it on his education. “Gosh,” he thought -indignantly, “when _I_ have a boy I won’t waste his time on nursery -rimes; I’ll bring him up to things that amount to something in a pinch!” - -It was when the bear nosed at the camera boxes again that Warde was -spurred to action. He felt that the day would be lost if he did not -protect those precious films for which they were undertaking this whole -trip. Pressed with need to act, Warde suddenly was blessed with an idea. -He remembered the adage that no animal can look you in the eye. He -ventured therefore to advance and glare unblinkingly straight into the -bear’s eyes. The bear snarled and shook his head. Instead of backing -away, however, to Warde’s dismay he came straight at him with a “snoofy” -challenge. Through Warde’s mind had been running a hodgepodge of all the -wild animal stories he had ever read and now there flashed to his mind -one from an old volume of St. Nicholas. In this tale an East Indian boy -saves a white baby from a tiger by blowing tunes on a piccolo. It seemed -animals do not like music any better than your cat does. Now it just -happened that Billy was one of those chaps who always blew tunes on a -harmonica. He had driven them crazy with this all the way up, and his -harmonica was at that moment in his coat pocket and the coat hung on a -tree where he had left it for a strenuous day in shirtsleeves. Warde -felt a thrill of pride at the ingenious idea. He succeeded in reaching -the coat pocket, extracted the mouth organ and began to play. There was -only one tune he knew how to play and that was “Home, Sweet Home.” As -the seedy notes of this familiar song piped up on the forest air, the -bear acted very strangely. Perhaps you think he, like the tiger, fled -obligingly. Oh, no! Perhaps a grizzly likes a mouth harp as much as a -tiger dislikes a piccolo. Perhaps the tiger would have liked the mouth -harp and perchance the bear would have fled before a piccolo. There is -no telling. But the truth of the matter is that the grizzly actually -enjoyed “Home, Sweet Home.” Instead of turning tail—what little tail he -had! and leaving—he simply rose to his full height on his great haunches -and swayed in waltz time. He even seemed to grin. - -A suspicion now dawned on Warde that this chummy bear was no wild beast, -but one of the amiable tame bears of Yellowstone Park, straying through -the wilderness in which he knew well enough, no doubt, he was protected -by benign game laws. - -A vast relief loosened the nervous tightness in his chest. Immediately -after this relief, however, Warde felt a sort of disappointment that he -was done out of an opportunity to play the hero. “At any rate,” he -comforted himself, “I’m glad I found it out myself before any of the -others got the laugh on me.” At this moment, however, an opportunity to -assert himself did arise, for the bear, still hungry, insisted on nosing -in among the supplies again and threatened to upset and ruin the films. -It was at this point that Warde got his first really useful inspiration. -He suddenly remembered that it was _fire_ that frightened animals away. -He lost no time in kindling a dry pine branch which flared up fiercely. -This he waved at the bear and the bear backed away. A little thrill of -triumph tingled up Warde’s spine. He was not altogether made a clown of -now, and in protecting those films as well as the grub even from a -_friendly_ bear he was proving himself a valuable camp guard. He waved -his torch and the bear with a snort of disgust, wheeled away. It must -not be supposed that he disappeared altogether, not he. He sat down at a -distance and licked out his pink tongue. He was not longing to crunch -Warde’s bones, he only pined, pathetically, for biscuits. From time to -time he ventured nearer. Between the bear and the films Warde stood -guard with his torch and he realized that danger from any carelessness -with the fire might prove more disastrous to the inflammable celluloids -than the bear’s mischief. - -Evening was now approaching and surely, Warde thought, some of the -campers would return! Where were those fish Mr. Wilde had demanded? -Warde began to fear some accident had happened. He decided, as it grew -later, that the best thing he could do was to get the camp ready in case -something had happened to one of his friends. Always thoroughly -practical, he made up all the bunks comfortably for the night, pausing -to wave a firebrand at his friend the bear from time to time as a -warning to keep his distance. He built a roaring fire to keep off other -animals, to keep up his own spirits and to act as a signal to his -friends if they were lost. He heated plenty of hot water to have on hand -in case of an emergency, and finally he prepared flapjacks for supper. -No one came to help eat them and finally he began to cook some for -himself. This appetizing smell lured the bear back into the circle of -firelight, and so tantalized was he and so curious that he half lost his -fear of flames and stood not far off wrinkling up his nose. This was a -little too much for Warde. It had become really dark now, and with no -sign or sound of his comrades he began to be alarmed lest some serious -accident prevented their return. He had been alone all day long and this -loneliness at night in the woods began to tell on him. He welcomed even -the presence of this bear now. Recalling the fact that bears have such a -sweet tooth that they risk getting stung while clawing for honey in a -bee tree, he threw a flapjack dripping with syrup at his old friend. The -bear delightedly gulped it down. This amused Warde and diverted him from -his worries. He tossed another. The bear was charmed. Each had lost all -fear of the other now. Bear and boy had supper together. This strangely -comforted the lonely, worried Warde. It was as if when in trouble your -pet Airedale nosed up with sympathy. Well fed, the bear waddled out of -range of the fire, stretched out and napped. Warde, stoking his fire -from time to time, determined to sit up all night if need be, and stick -to his post to be ready when needed. But any boy who deliberately says, -“Now I am going to sit up all night,” soon finds his eyelids weighted. -Warde fought off sleep valiantly. But as though a chloroform sponge were -pressed on his nose, he succumbed and slumbered. Opposite him, a little -away from the fire, the big grizzly lay snoozing too. From time to time -he snored. - -It was late moonshine when Warde was startled to wakefulness by the -sound of voices and footsteps. Mr. Wilde, Billy and Westy had returned, -having waited until the moon made possible an exit from the ravine by a -longer, but safer, route than the cliff. Their battered aspect showed -how welcome the hot sponge off from Warde’s kettle of water would prove. - -“Good boy to keep up the fire,” approved Mr. Wilde. “We never would have -found this joint at night without that light. Jumping Jehoshaphat—_what -is that_?” - -That was the grizzly bear, disturbed and disgruntled by so many noisy -newcomers. He lumbered away into the woods and never was seen again. -Needless to say, Warde from that day to this has always been nicknamed -“Old Grizzly.” - -“What’s that?” echoed Warde airily, “why, that’s just my chum, Old -Featherbed. Ain’t we cozy?” - -“What’s the idea?” asked the startled Billy. When Warde explained that, -though amiable, the bear’s curiosity made him too nosy among the films, -Bill stuck out his hand. - -“Put it there, pard!” he cried. “You saved the whole party. Without my -films this trip is nothing. Mr. Wilde, you got to hand it to these boys. -While one stars in a screen triumph of Daredevil Dick the other rescues -the spare celluloids from all the wild animals in the ark. You better -take them into the firm.” - -“I guess I’ll have to,” agreed Mr. Wilde. “By the way, where’s that -other member of the firm—Ed?” - - - - - CHAPTER XLI - - A SCOUT MASCOT - - -As we already know, Ed did not return that night. Alarmed that some -danger had befallen him, the campers took council as to what had best be -done. To search that vast range at night on the mere chance that Ed was -lost was worse than the proverbial needle-in-the-hay-stack hunt. -Besides, Mr. Wilde said he was satisfied now that these scouts could -ably take care of themselves in emergencies. This admission from him -filled Westy and Warde with deep pride. They had indeed made good in his -eyes. It was agreed that they wait until daylight and then hit the trail -to Hermitage Rest to inquire if Ed had reached there safely, and if not -to organize a search party. Mr. Wilde confessed to a twinge of -conscience that the scouts had undergone such dangers. Until daylight -could clear matters up it was thought best to get what rest they could -in all that remained of the night in order to be fit for whatever -emergency might tax them the next day. Westy, for one, was fatigued -beyond any further endurance, and indeed the cliff climbing exertion had -so worn out even Billy and Mr. Wilde that they were more than grateful -for Warde’s thoughtfulness in having the bunks all ready to fall into. -So fatigued were all three of the vulture hunters that they lay as if -drugged and no wonder overslept themselves in the morning. They woke to -find that the practical Warde had breakfast all prepared so that no time -might be lost in starting out to find Ed. - -Their late breakfast, however, had scarcely been finished when voices -were heard coming up the trail and Ed himself appeared, leading a party -of men. Although exhausted from his night’s hike, Ed insisted on guiding -the relief party back as soon as he had been refreshed with black coffee -and an ample breakfast. The party consisted of Buck himself, together -with several men from Hermitage Rest, one of whom fortunately happened -to be a doctor so that no time was needed to phone to Yellowstone for a -surgeon after all. The doctor, kit in hand, hastened forward with Ed, -expecting a nasty job with a mangled boy. Imagine his astonishment and -Ed’s embarrassment when the unexpected outcome was explained. - -“Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,” jeered Warde, who ever since the bear -episode had his mind pestered with nursery rimes. “Sat on a wall, Humpty -Dumpty had a big fall, all the Hermitage doctors and all Ed’s men -couldn’t put Humpty together again.” - -It was a long time before Warde, who had _not_ been dashed to pieces -ever the cliff, would quit calling Westy and Ed “Humpty” and “Dumpty.” - -The doctor expressed himself as only too glad to find that in spite of -his trip, his services were not needed in camp. To Mr. Wilde’s apologies -he said, “I have all I can do with a patient farther down the trail and -since I am not needed here, I propose that we return to him and try to -move him to Hermitage Rest where good care may possibly save his life. -He is so far gone from loss of blood from his gunshot wounds that I may -have to do a blood transfusion to save him, if I can get any one to -volunteer to give him some of theirs.” - -“I will!” Ed offered promptly, for he felt that this was his own -particular patient and he felt glad that his efforts to get a doctor in -a hurry were really useful after all. - -All hands started down the trail at once to see Ed’s stranger, who had -been left where he lay in charge of a man who volunteered as nurse. By -daylight and with Buck, who knew the mountains as you know your own -backyard, it took far less time to reach the stranger than it had taken -Ed by night. - -The wounded man lay on the ground, looking weaker than when Ed found -him. At sight of his face, cap and sweater, Westy could not repress an -exclamation, “Why, I’ve seen him before!” he gasped. “So have I,” added -Mr. Wilde grimly—“he’s Bloodhound Pete’s partner.” At this -identification, the man groaned. - -“Where’s Pete?” demanded Mr. Wilde. - -“He’s gone, but before he left he got me good,” muttered the man. - -“Somebody crooked a wallet from Pete one night and he claimed I done -it,” said the man, and then went on to tell this story. “So he beat me -up next day and at de point of his gat he drove me miles out here where -he said he could leave me dead and nobody would ever find it out but de -buzzards. Den he shot at me and I run and he come after and I hid behind -trees and shot at him, but he had two guns and he’s dead-eye with both. -Pete’ll kill any pal he has if he thinks he turns on him. I ain’t the -first he’s tried to do for. He wouldn’t believe me when I said I hadn’t -crooked the swag off him. He said I was de only one in miles of him dat -night. Well, he must of lost it hisself. I know I didn’t take it. -Anyways, it was gone, and he shot me and left me for dead where de -buzzards would of picked me bones in a couple more hours if it hadn’t a -been for dis young kid.” - -“This kid here,” said Mr. Wilde, pushing Westy forward, “is the one who -outwitted Pete.” - -“Well, he done for me, I guess,” snarled the man. “I ain’t never -squealed on a pal before, but Pete done me dirt, and I’ll give him away -now so de police can square wid him.” - -It was this information which made it possible later for the mounted -state police to pursue the notorious Bloodhound through the forests and -eventually see that he was safely behind bars. Ed felt that in spite of -Humpty Dumpty, his night’s work had not been in vain. - -In the meanwhile, however, it was necessary to move Pete’s partner to -Hermitage Rest for surgical care if the man was to stand any chance of -life at all. - -“Your young friend, Ed, here, has offered to supply you with some of his -blood if necessary,” said the doctor. The sick man’s eyes, small and -evil though they were, filled with tears. - -“Listen,” he said, “I know I ain’t gointer live and I don’t care. I -ain’t got one thing in dis world to live for nohow, but I want to say -before I go dat only two people in dis world ever treated me white. One -was my old mother, dead and gone now, peace to her soul, and de other is -dis kid. Kid, I hear you got de same name as mine and I’d like to give -you something to remember me by, and every time you look at it you -remember to steer clear of de line I got into. Here’s me watch me mother -give me when I was twenty-one. You keep it and remember me. Look inside -de lid and see wat it says there and then think wat a mess I made of all -she wished for me.” - -Ed reverently opened the lid. Carved on the inside of the old-fashioned -silver case were these words: - - “TO EDDIE - FROM MOTHER - Hoping He Will Always Be a Good Man!” - -There was considerable clearing of manly throats as Ed Carlyle, reading -this, touched the hearts of all those grouped about the sad figure on -the ground. - -“Come, come,” broke in the doctor cheerfully. “You aren’t ready for your -funeral yet by any means, my man. I can patch you up as well as ever and -unless I miss my guess you have many years ahead in which you can make -up for lost time in leading a useful life with this young scout as your -mascot, eh, Eddie?” - -“Sure you will,” said Buck. “You can stay at my place until you’re well -and then I’ll give you a job. You ain’t the first tough character I’ve -seen come to his senses and make good. Let’s get a move on now, and -mosey on down to a good bed and good grub.” - -It was agreed that Ed should accompany them back, as he too was in great -need of a good bed and long sleep. Westy, however, had to remain with -Billy to act out again for the camera man a scene depicting the rescue -and first aid, which he had failed to complete the day before. The -practical Warde was to return and help break up camp, and the scouts -would join one another at Hermitage Rest the next day. - -As they parted, Mr. Wilde shook hands with Ed and said, “I have to take -back all that jollying I gave you scouts and I want to say now that next -summer I am planning a trip to take motion pictures of wild animals and -I would like very much indeed if the three of you could come along and -help make that trip a success.” - -“Wow! You _bet_ we will!” shouted all three joyfully, hilarious at the -prospect that their adventures should continue together through another -vacation. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WESTY MARTIN IN THE YELLOWSTONE*** - - -******* This file should be named 61114-0.txt or 61114-0.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/1/1/1/61114 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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