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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c7a08bb --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #61118 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/61118) diff --git a/old/61118-0.txt b/old/61118-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a3480a4..0000000 --- a/old/61118-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4652 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Westy Martin, 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 - - -Author: Percy Keese Fitzhugh - - - -Release Date: January 6, 2020 [eBook #61118] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WESTY MARTIN*** - - -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 61118-h.htm or 61118-h.zip: - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/61118/61118-h/61118-h.htm) - or - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/61118/61118-h.zip) - - - - - -WESTY MARTIN - - -[Illustration: HE MANAGED TO GET HOLD OF A BRANCH OF A SCRUB OAK.] - - -WESTY MARTIN - -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, Inc. - - - - - 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 OE AMERICA - - - - - CONTENTS - - I A Shot - II A Promise - III The Parting - IV The Sufferer - V A Plain Duty - VI First Aid—Last Aid - VII Little Drops of Water - VIII Barrett’s - IX On the Trail - X Luke Meadows - XI Westy Martin, Scout - XII Guilty - XIII The Penalty - XIV For Better or Worse - XV Return of the Prodigal - XVI Aunt Mira and Ira - XVII The Homecoming - XVIII A Ray of Sunshine - XIX Pee-Wee on the Job - XX Some Noise - XXI One Good Turn - XXII Warde and Westy - XXIII Ira Goes A-Hunting - XXIV Clews - XXV A Bargain - XXVI The Marked Article - XXVII Enter the Contemptible Scoundrel - XXVIII Proofs - XXIX The Rally - XXX Open to the Public - XXXI Shootin’ Up the Meetin’ - XXXII The Boy Edwin Carlisle - XXXIII Mrs. Temple’s Lucky Number - XXXIV Westward Ho - XXXV The Stranger - XXXVI An Important Paper - XXXVII Parlor Scouts - XXXVIII Something “Real” - - - - - WESTY MARTIN - - - - - CHAPTER I - - A SHOT - - -A quick, sharp report rent the air. Followed several seconds of -deathlike silence. Then the lesser sound of a twig falling in the still -forest. Again silence. A silence, tense, portentous. Then the sound of -foliage being disturbed and of some one running. - -Westy Martin paused, every nerve on edge. It was odd that a boy who -carried his own rifle slung over his shoulder should experience a kind -of panic fear after the first shocking sound of a gunshot. He had many -times heard the report of his own gun, but never where it could do harm. -Never in the solemn depths of the forest. He did not reach for his gun -now to be ready for danger; strangely enough he feared to touch it. - -Instead, he stood stark still and looked about. Whatever had happened -must have been very near to him. Without moving, for indeed he could not -for the moment move a step, he saw a large leaf with a hole through the -middle of it. And this hung not ten feet distant. He shuddered at the -realization that the whizzing bullet which had made that little hole -might as easily have blotted out his young life. - -He paused, listening, his heart in his throat. Some one had run away. -Had the fugitive seen him? And what had the fugitive done that he should -flee at the sight or sound of a human presence? - -Suddenly it occurred to Westy that a second shot might lay him low. What -if the fugitive, a murderer, had sought concealment at a distance and -should try to conceal the one murder with another? - -Westy called and his voice sounded strange to him in the silent forest. - -“Don’t shoot!” - -That would warn the unseen gunman unless, indeed, it was his purpose to -shoot—to kill. - -There was no sound, no answering voice, no patter of distant footfalls; -nothing but the cheery song of a cricket near at hand. - -Westy advanced a few steps in the dim, solemn woods, looking to right -and left.... - - - - - CHAPTER II - - A PROMISE - - -Westy Martin was a scout of the first class. He was a member of the -First Bridgeboro Troop of Bridgeboro, New Jersey. Notwithstanding that -he was a serious boy, he belonged to the Silver Fox Patrol, presided -over by Roy Blakeley. - -According to Pee-wee Harris of the Raven Patrol, Westy was the only -Silver Fox who was not crazy. Yet in one way he was crazy; he was crazy -to go out west. He had even saved up a hundred dollars toward a -projected trip to the Yellowstone National Park. He did not know exactly -when or how he would be able to make this trip alone, but one “saves up” -for all sorts of things unplanned. To date, Westy had only the one -hundred dollars and the dream of going. When he had saved another -hundred, he would begin to develop plans. - -“I’ll tell you what you do,” Westy’s father had said to him. “You go up -to Uncle Dick’s and spend the summer and help around. You know what -Uncle Dick told you; any summer he’d be glad to have you help around the -farm and be glad to pay you so much a week. There’s your chance, my boy. -At Temple Camp you can’t earn any money. - -“My suggestion is that you pass up Temple Camp this summer and go up on -the farm. By next summer maybe you’ll have enough to go west, and I’ll -help you out,” he added significantly. “I may even go with you myself -and take a look at those geezers or geysers or whatever they call them. -I’d kind of half like to get a squint at a grizzly myself.” - -“Oh, boy!” said Westy. - -“I wish I were,” said his father. - -“Well, I guess I’ll do that,” said Westy hesitatingly. He liked Temple -Camp and the troop, and the independent enterprise proposed by his -father was not to be considered without certain lingering regrets. - -“It will be sort of like camping—in a way,” he said wistfully. “I can -take my cooking set and my rifle——” - -“I don’t think I’d take the rifle if I were you,” said Mr. Martin, in -the chummy way he had when talking with Westy. - -“Jiminies, I’d hate to leave it home,” said Westy, a little surprised -and disappointed. - -“Well, you’ll be working up there and won’t have much time to use it,” -said Mr. Martin. - -Westy sensed that this was not his father’s true reason for objecting to -the rifle. The son recalled that his father had been no more than -lukewarm when the purchase of the rifle had first been proposed. Mr. -Martin did not like rifles. He had observed, as several million other -people had observed, that it is always the gun which is not loaded that -kills people. - -The purchase of the coveted rifle had not closed the matter. The rifle -had done no harm, that was the trouble; it had not even killed Mr. -Martin’s haunting fears. - -Westy was straightforward enough to take his father’s true meaning and -to ignore the one which had been given. It left his father a little -chagrined but just the same he liked this straightforwardness in Westy. - -“Oh, there’d be time enough to use it up there,” Westy said. “And if -there wasn’t any time, why, then I couldn’t use it, that’s all. There -wouldn’t be any harm taking it. I promised you I’d never shoot at -anything but targets and I never have.” - -“I know you haven’t, but up there, why, there are lots of——” - -“There’s just one thing up there that I’m thinking about,” said Westy -plainly, “and that’s the side of the big barn where I can put a target. -That’s the only thing I want to shoot at, believe me. And I’ve got two -eyes in my head to see if anybody is around who might get hit. That big, -red barn is like—why, it’s just like a building in the middle of the -Sahara Desert. I don’t see why you’re still worrying.” - -“How do you know what’s back of the target?” Mr. Martin asked. “How do -you know who’s inside the barn?” - -“If I just tell you I’ll be careful, I should think that would be -enough,” said Westy. - -“Well, it is,” said Mr. Martin heartily. - -“And I’ll promise you again so you can be sure.” - -“I don’t want any more promises about your not shooting at anything but -targets, my boy,” said Mr. Martin. “You gave me your promise a month ago -and that’s enough. But I want you to promise me again that you’ll be -careful. Understand?” - -“I tell you what I’ll do, Dad,” said he. “First I’ll see that there’s -nobody in the barn. Then I’ll lock the barn doors. Then I’ll get a big -sheet of iron that I saw up there and I’ll hang it on the side of the -barn. Then I’ll paste the target against that, see? No bullet could get -through that iron and it’s about, oh, five times larger than the -target.” - -“Suppose your shot should go wild and hit those old punky boards beyond -the edge of the iron sheet?” Mr. Martin asked. - -“Good night, you’re a scream!” laughed Westy. - -Mr. Martin, as usual, was caught by his son’s honest, wholesome -good-humor. - -“I suppose you think I might shoot in the wrong direction and hit one of -those grizzlies out in Yellowstone Park,” Westy laughed. “Safety first -is your middle name all right.” - -“Well, you go up to Uncle Dick’s and don’t point your gun out west,” -said Mr. Martin, “and maybe we can talk your mother into letting us go -to Yellowstone next year.” - -“And will you make _me_ a promise?” asked Westy. - -“Well, what is it?” - -“That you won’t worry?” - - - - - CHAPTER III - - THE PARTING - - -The farm on which Westy spent one of the pleasantest summers of his life -was about seventy miles from his New Jersey home and the grizzlies in -Yellowstone Park were safe. But he thought of that wonderland of the -Rockies in his working hours, and especially when he roamed the woods -following the trails of little animals or stalking and photographing -birds. The only shooting he did on these trips was with his trusty -camera. - -Sometimes in the cool of the late afternoon, he would try his skill at -hitting the bull’s eye and after each of these murderous forays against -the innocent pasteboard, he would wrap his precious rifle up in its oily -cloth and stand it in the corner of his room. No drop of blood was shed -by the sturdy scout who had given his promise to be careful and who knew -how to be careful. - -The only place where he ever went gunning was in a huge book which -reposed on the marble-topped center table in the sitting room of his -uncle’s farmhouse. This book, which abounded in stirring pictures, -described the exploits of famous hunters in Africa. The book had been -purchased from a loquacious agent and was intended to be ornamental as -well as entertaining. It being one of the very few books available on -the farm, Westy made it a sort of constant companion, sitting before it -each night under the smelly hanging lamp and spending hours in the -African jungle with man-eating lions and tigers. - -We are not to take note of Westy’s pleasant summer at this farm, for it -is with the altogether extraordinary event which terminated his holiday -that our story begins. His uncle had given him eight dollars a week, -which with what he had brought from home made a total of something over -a hundred dollars which he had when he was ready to start home. This he -intended to add to his Yellowstone Park fund when he reached Bridgeboro. - -He felt very rich and a little nervous with a hundred dollars or more in -his possession. But it was not for that reason that he carried his rifle -on the day he started for home. He carried it because it was his most -treasured possession, excepting his hundred dollars. He told his aunt -and uncle, and he told himself, that he carried it because it could not -easily be put in his trunk except by jamming it in cornerwise. But the -main reason he carried it was because he loved it and he just wanted to -have it with him. - -He might have caught a train on the branch line at Dawson’s which was -the nearest station to his uncle’s farm. He would then have to change to -the main line at Chandler. He decided to send his trunk from Dawson’s -and to hike through the woods to Chandler some three or four miles -distant. His aunt and uncle and Ira, the farm hand, stood on the -old-fashioned porch to bid him good-by. - -And in that moment of parting, Aunt Mira was struck with a thought which -may perhaps appeal to you who have read of Westy and have a certain -slight acquaintance with him. It was the thought of how she had enjoyed -his helpful visit and how she would miss him now that he was going. -Pee-wee Harris, with all his startling originality, would have wearied -her perhaps. Two weeks of Roy Blakeley’s continuous nonsense would have -been enough for this quiet old lady. - -There was nothing in particular about Westy; he was just a wholesome, -well-balanced boy. She had not wearied of him. The scouts of his troop -never wearied of him—and never made a hero of him. He was just Westy. -But there was a gaping void at Temple Camp that summer because he was -not there. And there was going to be a gaping void in this quiet -household on the farm after he had gone away. That was always the way it -was with Westy, he never witnessed his own triumphs because his triumphs -occurred in his absence. He was sadly missed, but how could he see this? - -He looked natty enough in his negligee khaki attire with his rifle slung -over his shoulder. - -“We’re jes going to miss you a right good lot,” said his aunt with -affectionate vehemence, “and don’t forget you’re going to come up and -see us in the winter.” - -“I want to,” said Westy. - -Ira, the farm hand, was seated on the carriage step smoking an atrocious -pipe which he removed from his mouth long enough to bid Westy good-by in -his humorous drawling way. The two had been great friends. - -“I reckon you’d like to get a bead on a nice, big, hissin’ wildcat with -that gol blamed toy, wouldn’ yer now, huh?” - -“You go ’long with you,” said Aunt Mira, “he wouldn’ nothing of the -kind.” - -Westy smiled good-naturedly. - -“Wouldn’ yer now, huh?” persisted Ira. “I seed ’im readin’ ’baout them -hunters in Africa droppin’ lions an’ tigers an’ what all. I bet ye’d -like to get _one—good—plunk_ at a wildcat now, wouldn’ yer? _Kerplunk_, -jes like that, hey? Then ye’d feel like a reg’lar Teddy Roosevelt, huh?” -Ira accompanied this intentionally tempting banter with a demonstration -of aiming and firing. - -Westy laughed. “I wouldn’t mind being like Roosevelt,” he said. - -“Yer couldn’ drop an elephant at six yards,” laughed Ira. - -“Well, I guess I won’t meet any elephants in the woods between here and -Chandler,” Westy said. - -“Don’t you put no sech ideas in his head,” said Aunt Mira, as she -embraced her nephew affectionately. - -Then he was gone. - -“I don’t see why you want ter be always pesterin’ the poor boy,” -complained Aunt Mira, as Ira lowered his lanky legs to the ground -preparatory to standing on them. He _had_ been a sort of evil genius all -summer, beguiling Westy with enticing pictures of all sorts of perilous -exploits out of his own abounding experiences on land and sea. “You’d -like to’ve had him runnin’ away to sea with your yarns of whalin’ and -shipwrecks,” Aunt Mira continued. “And it’s jes a parcel of lies, Ira -Hasbrook, and you know it as well as I do. Like enough he’ll shoot at a -woodchuck or a skunk and kill one of Atwood’s cows. They’re always -gettin’ into the woods.” - -“No, he won’t neither,” said her husband. - -“I say like enough he might,” persisted Aunt Mira. “Weren’t he crazy -’baout that book?” - -“I didn’ write the book,” drawled Ira. - -“No, but you told him how to skin a bear.” - -“That’s better’n bein’ a book agent and skinnin’ a farmer,” drawled Ira. - -“It’s ’baout the only thing you didn’t tell him you was,” Aunt Mira -retorted. - -Acknowledging which, Ira puffed at his pipe leisurely and contemplated -Aunt Mira with a whimsical air. - -“I meant jes what I said, Ira Hasbrook,” said she. - -“The kid’s all right,” said Ira. “He couldn’ hit nuthin further’n ten -feet. But he’s all right jes the same. We’re goin’ ter miss him, huh, -Auntie?” - -But they did not miss him for long, for they were destined to see him -again before the day was over. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - THE SUFFERER - - -In truth, if this were a narrative of Ira Hasbrook’s adventures, it -might be thought lively reading of the dime novel variety. He had not, -as he had confided to Westy, limited his killing exploits to swatting -flies. - -He was one of those universal characters who have a way of drifting -finally to farms. And he had not abridged his tales of sprightly -adventure in imparting them to Westy. He had been to sea on a New -Bedford whaler. He had shot big game in the Rockies. He had lived on a -ranch. His star performance had been a liberal participation in the -kidnapping of a despotic king in a small South Sea island. - -Naturally, so lively an adventurer had nothing but contempt for a -pasteboard target. And though he did not wilfully undertake to alienate -Westy from his code of conduct, he had so continually represented to him -the thrilling glories of the chase, that Aunt Mira had very naturally -suffered some haunting apprehensions that her nephew might depart -impulsively on some piratical cruise or Indian killing enterprise. - -These vague fears had simmered down at the last to the ludicrous dread -that her departing nephew (whom she had come to know and love) might, -under the inspiration of the satanic Ira, celebrate his departure from -the country by laying low some innocent cow in attempting to “drop” an -undesirable woodchuck. She had come to have a very horror of the word -_drop_ which occurred so frequently in Ira’s tales of adventure.... - -But Aunt Mira’s fears were needless. Westy had been Ira’s companion -without being his disciple. In his quiet way he had understood Ira -thoroughly, the same as in his quiet way he understood Roy Blakeley and -Pee-wee Harris thoroughly. The cows, even the woodchucks, were safe. The -shot which turned the tide of Westy Martin’s life was not out of his own -precious rifle. - -He had not taken many steps after hearing the shot when he came upon the -effect of it. A small deer lay a few feet off the trail. The beautiful -creature was quite motionless and though it lay prone on its side with -the head flat upon the ground, its gracefulness was apparent, even -striking. It lay in a sort of bower of low hanging foliage and had a -certain harmony with the forest which even its stricken state and -somewhat unnatural attitude could not destroy. - -As Westy first glimpsed this silent, uncomplaining victim, a feeling -(which could hardly be called a thought) came to him. It was just this, -that the cruelty which had wrought this piteous spectacle was doubly -cruel for that the creature had been laid low in its own home. The -friendly, enveloping foliage revealed this helpless denizen of the woods -as a sorrowing mother might show her dead child to a sympathizing -friend. Such thoughts did not take form in the mind of the tremulous boy -but he had some such feeling. He was thoughtful enough, even at the -moment, to wonder how he could have taken such delight in stories of -wholesale killings. One sight of the actual thing aroused his anger and -pity. - -He approached a little nearer, this scout with a rifle over his -shoulder, and beheld something which startled, almost unnerved him. He -could see only one of the eyes, for the deer lay on its side, but this -eye was soft and seemed not unfriendly; it was not a startled eye. The -beautiful animal was not dead. He did not know how much it might be -suffering, but at all events its suffering was not over, and there was a -kind of resignation in the soft look of that single eye; just a kind of -silent acceptance of its plight which went to the boy’s heart. - -Who had done this thing, against the good law of the state, and in -disregard of every humane obligation? Who had fled leaving this -beautiful inhabitant of the quiet woods in agony? The leaves stirred -gently above it in the soothing breeze. A gay little bird chirped a -melody in the overhanging branches as if to beguile it in its suffering. -And the soft, gentle eye seemed full of an infinite patience as it -looked at Westy. - -He was face to face with one of the sporting exploits of that horrible -toy, the rifle. For just a moment it seemed as if the stricken deer were -looking at his own rifle as if in quiet curiosity. Then he noticed a -tiny wound and a little trickle of blood on the creature’s side. It made -a striking contrast, the crimson and the dull gray.... - - - - - CHAPTER V - - A PLAIN DUTY - - -_...And the great hunter crouching behind the rock brought his trusty -rifle to bear upon the distant stag. The keen-eyed marksman looked like -a statue as he knelt, waiting._ - -Westy recalled these words in the mammoth volume on the sitting room -table at the farm. He had admired, even been thrilled at the heroic -picture of the great hunter whose exploits in the Maine woods were so -flatteringly recorded. It had not at the time occurred to him that the -noble stag might have looked like a statue too. Well, here was the -actual result of such flaunted heroism, and Westy did not like it. It -was quite a different sort of picture. - -Then, suddenly, it occurred to him that he was to blame for this pitiful -spectacle. He who shoots does not always kill. But he who shoots intends -to kill. If the fugitive had failed of his purpose it was because he had -been frightened at the sound of some one near at hand. The shooting -season was not on, it had been a stolen, lawless shot. - -A feeling of anger, even of hate, was aroused in Westy’s mind, against -the ruthless violator of the law who had been forced to save himself by -flight before his lawless deed was completed. He had probably thought -the footfalls those of a game warden. To shoot game out of season was -bad enough as it seemed to the scout. To shoot living things seemed now -bereft of all glory to the sensitive boy. But to shoot and not kill and -then run away seemed horrible. This poor deer might suffer for hours. - -Westy had seen a little demonstration of the kind of thing he had been -reading and hearing about. Through the medium of the alluring printed -page, he had been present at buffalo hunts, he had seen kindly, -intelligent elephants laid low, and here he was seething with rage that -the blood of this harmless, beauteous creature had been shed, and shed -to no purpose. - -But Westy was more than a sensitive boy, he was a scout. And a scout has -ever a sense of responsibility. It was futile to consider what some -stranger had done while this poor creature lay suffering. All that he -had read and heard about hunting big game and all such stuff was -forgotten in the consciousness of a present duty. He, Westy Martin, must -put this deer out of its suffering; he must kill it. - -The owner of the precious rifle, all shiny and oily, shuddered. He, -scout of the first class, must finish the work which some criminal -wretch had begun. - -He was too essentially honest to take refuge in his promise not to shoot -at anything but a target. He had a momentary thought of that, and then -was ashamed of it. Phrases familiar to him ran through his head. Serious -boy that he was, he had always been a reader of the Handbook. _A scout -is helpful. A scout is friendly to all.... A scout is kind. He is a -friend to animals. He will not kill nor hurt...._ - -Yet he was not friendly to all. He was enraged at the absent destroyer, -who had made it necessary for him to do something he could not bear to -do. He wished that Ira were there to do it instead. He who had admired -the great hunter crouching behind a rock, wished now that the mighty -hunter might be present to attend to this miserable business. He had -never dreamed of such an emergency, of such a duty. He wished that one -or other of the sprightly youngsters in the advertisements, who were so -ready with their firearms, might shoot for once in this humane cause. - -Poor Westy, he was just a boy after all.... - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - FIRST AID—LAST AID - - -He never in all his life felt so nervous, and so much like a criminal, -as when he reached with trembling hand for the innocent rifle with which -he was to shed more crimson blood and destroy a life. He looked guiltily -at the deer whose eye seemed to hold him in a kind of gentle stare. It -seemed as if the creature trusted him, yet wondered what he was going to -do. - -There was a kind of pathos in the thought that came to him that the -suffering deer did not recognize the rifle as the sort of thing which -had laid him low. The creature’s innocence, as one might say, went to -the boy’s heart. - -He backed away from the stricken form, three yards—five yards. He felt -brutal, abominable. The cautious little bird had withdrawn to a tree -somewhat farther off where it still sang blithely. Westy paused, -listening to the bird. Then he stole toward the tree trying to deceive -himself that he wanted to see what kind of a bird it was, when in plain -fact all he was doing was killing time. The bird, disgusted with the -whole affair as one might have fancied, made a great flutter and flew -away to a more wholesome atmosphere. The bird was not a scout, it had no -duties.... - -Westy advanced a few paces, his rifle shaking in his hand. It was simple -enough what he had to do, yet there he was absurdly calculating -distances. Oh, if it had only been the white target there before him -with its black circles one inside another, the only hunting ground or -jungle Westy knew. Strange, how different he felt now. - -He could not bear that soft eye contemplating him so he walked around to -the other side of the deer where the eye could not see him. Then he felt -sneaky, like one stealing up behind his victim. And through all his -immature trepidation hate was in his heart; hate for the brutal wretch -who had fled thinking only of his own safety, and leaving this -ungrateful task for him to do. - -Suddenly it occurred to Westy that he might run to Chandler and tell the -authorities what he had found. That would be his good turn for the day. -Ira had always “guyed” him about good turns. That would seem like -running away from an unpleasant duty. To whom did he owe the good turn? -Was it not to this stricken, suffering creature? - -So Westy Martin, scout of the first class, did his good turn to this -dumb creature in its dim forest home. The dumb creature did not know -that Westy Martin was doing it a good turn. It seemed a queer sort of -good turn. He could never write it down in his neat little scout record -as a good turn. He would never, _never_ think of it in that way. If the -deer could only understand.... - -The way to do a thing is to do it. And it is not the part of a scout to -dilly-dally. When a scout knows his duty he is not afraid. But if the -deer could only know, could only understand.... - -Westy approached the creature with bolstered resolution. He lifted his -gun, his arms shaking. Where should it be? In the head? Of course. He -held the muzzle within six inches of the head. A jerky little squirrel -crept part way down a tree, turned suddenly and scurried up again. It -was very quiet about. Only the sound of a busy woodpecker tapping away -somewhere. Westy paused for a moment, counting the taps.... - -Then there was another sound; quick, sharp, which did not belong in the -woods. And the woodpecker stopped his tapping. Westy saw the deer’s -forefoot twitch spasmodically. And a little stream of blood was trailing -down its forehead. - -Westy Martin had done his daily good turn.... - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - LITTLE DROPS OF WATER - - -The feeling now uppermost in Westy’s mind was that of anger at the -unknown person who had made it necessary for him to do what he had done. -He felt that he had been cheated out of keeping his promise about -shooting. He knew perfectly well that what he had done was right and -that only technically had he broken his promise to his father. But he -had done something altogether repugnant to him and it turned him against -guns not only, but particularly against the sneak whose lawless work he -had had to complete. - -It must be confessed that it was not mainly the fugitive’s lawlessness -or even his cruel heedlessness that aroused Westy. It was the feeling -that somehow this work of murder (for so he thought it) had been wished -on him. It had agitated him and gone against him, and he was enraged -over it. - -He had not been quite the ideal scout in the matter of readiness to kill -the deer; he might have done that job more promptly and with less -perturbation. But he was quite the scout in his towering resolve to -track down the culprit and tell him what he thought of him and bring him -to justice. - -It was characteristic of Westy, who was a fiend at tracking and -trailing, that this course of action appealed to him now, rather than -the tamer course of going direct to the authorities. There was something -very straightforward about Westy. And besides, he had the adventurous -spirit which prefers to act without cooperation. - -“_By jumping jiminies._ I’ll find that fellow!” he said aloud. “I should -worry about catching the train. I’ll find him all right, and I’ll tell -him something he won’t forget in a hurry—I will. I’ll track him and find -out who he is. Maybe after he’s paid a hundred dollars fine, he won’t be -so free with his blamed rifle.” - -It was odd how he had balked at putting an end to the wounded deer, and -then had not the slightest hesitancy to pursue, he knew not what sort of -disreputable character, and denounce him to his face and then report -him. Westy would not show up with the authorities, not he; not till he -had first called the marauder a few names which he was already deciding -upon. They were not the sort of names that are used in the language of -compliment. It is not to be supposed that Westy was perfect.... - -He was all scout now. Yet he was puzzled as to which way to turn. It is -sometimes easier to follow tracks than to find them. No doubt the -fugitive had been some distance from the deer when he had shot it. Where -had he been then? Near enough for Westy to hear the patter of his -footfalls, that was certain. Also another thought occurred to him. The -man’s shot had not been a good one, at least it had not proved fatal. He -was either a very poor marksman or else he had fired from a considerable -distance. - -Westy’s mind worked quickly and logically now. He had easily the best -mind of any scout in his troop. Not the most sprightly mind, but the -best. He tried hurriedly to determine where the man had stood by -considering the position of the wound on the deer’s body. But he quickly -saw the fallacy of any deduction drawn from this sign since the deer -might have turned before he dropped. Then another thought, a better one, -occurred to him. The animal had been shot below its side, almost in its -belly. Might not that argue that the huntsman had been somewhat below -the level of the deer? - -The conformation of the land thereabouts seemed to give color to this -surmise. The ground sloped so that it might almost be said to be a -hillside which descended to the verge of a gully. Westy went in that -direction for a few yards and came to the gully. He scrambled down into -it and found himself involved in a tangle of underbrush. But he saw that -from this trenchlike concealment, the animal might easily have been -struck in the spot where the wound was. - -His deduction was somewhat confirmed by his recollection that it was -from this direction he had heard the receding footfalls. A path led -through this miniature jungle and up the other side where the pine -needles made a smooth floor in the forest. - -Presently all need of nice deducing was rendered superfluous by a sign -likely to prove a jarring and discordant note in the woodland studies of -any scout. This was a crumpled tinfoil package which on being pulled to -its original size revealed the romantic words so replete with the spirit -of the silent woods: - - MECHANIC’S DELIGHT - PLUG CUT TOBACCO - -The tinfoil package was empty and destined to delight no more. But it -was not even wet, and had not been wet, and had evidently been thrown -away but lately. - -It was immediately after throwing this away that Westy noticed something -else which interested him. It was nothing much, but bred as he was to -observe trifling things in the woods, it made him curious. The rank -undergrowth near him was besprinkled with drops as if it had been rained -on. This was noticeable on the large, low-spreading plantain leaves near -by. Surely in the bright sunshine of the morning any recent drops of dew -or rain must have dried up. Yet there were the big flat leaves -besprinkled with drops of water. - -Westy remembered something his scoutmaster had once said. _Everything -that happens has a cause. Little things may mean big things._ Nine boys -out of ten would not have noticed this trivial thing, or having noticed -it would not have thought twice about it. But Westy approached and felt -of the leaves and as he did so, he felt his foot sinking into swampy -water. He tried to lift it out but could not. Then, he felt the other -foot sinking too. He hardly knew how it happened, but in ten seconds he -was down to his knees in the swamp. Frantically he grasped the swampy -weeds but they gave way. He could not lift either foot now. He felt -himself going down, down.... - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - BARRETT’S - - -So this was to be the end; he would be swallowed up and no one would -know what had become of him. The silent, treacherous marsh would consume -him. He was in its jaws and it would devour him and the world would -never know. Nature, the quiet woods that he had loved, would do this -frightful thing. - -Then he ceased to sink. He was in above his knees. One foot rested on -something hard. But it was not that which supported him. The marshy -growth below held him up. He was not in peril but he had suffered a -shocking fright. He managed to get hold of a crooked branch of scrub oak -which overhung the gully and drew himself up. It was hard to do this for -the suction kept him down. It was evidently a little marshy pool -concealed by undergrowth that he had stepped into. - -For no particular reason, he purposely got one foot under the submerged -thing it had descended upon. He thought it was a stick. It came up -slantingways till with one hand he was able to get hold of it. It was -hard and cold. For this reason, he was curious about it and he kept hold -of it with one hand while he scrambled clear of the tiny morass. It was -dripping with mud and green slime. But he knew what he was holding long -before it was clear of its slimy, green disguise. _It was a rifle._ - -Then Westy knew the explanation of the wetness on the leaves. The rifle -had not been there long. It had probably been thrown there in panic -haste and the water had splashed up onto the low, dank growth which -concealed the frightful hole. The gun would never have been found but -for Westy’s observant eye and consequent mishap. - -He wiped the dripping slime from the rifle and examined his find. The -gun was old and had evidently seen much service. On the smooth-worn butt -of it was something which interested him greatly and seemed likely to -prove more helpful than any footprints he might hope to find. This was -the name _Luke Meadows_, evidently burnt in with a pointed tool, -possibly a nail. Printed in another direction on the rifle butt, so that -it might or might not have borne relation to the name, were the letters -very crudely inscribed _Cody Wg_. - -Even in his surprise, Westy recognized a certain appropriateness in the -word _Cody_ burnt into a rifle butt; it seemed a fitting enough place on -which to perpetuate the true name of Buffalo Bill. At the time he could -not conjecture what the letters _Wg_ stood for. But it seemed likely -enough that Luke Meadows was the name of the owner of the rifle. - -The gun had certainly not been in the swamp long for no rust was upon -it. He believed that the owner of it, fearing to be overtaken with it in -his possession, had flung it into the little swamp before fleeing. - -He was not so intent now on finding footprints. Surely the person who -had hidden the gun was the culprit, and it seemed a reasonable enough -inference that he belonged in the neighborhood. The quest seemed greatly -simplified; so simplified that Westy began formulating what he would say -to the marauder. Of one thing he was resolved, and that was that the man -should pay the penalty of his lawlessness. - -Westy did not burden himself with two guns; he hid the one he had found -in the bushes, then bent his course eastward through the woods. If he -had been going straight to Chandler to catch the train, he would have -cut through the woods southeast, emerging at the edge of the town. But -he changed his course now and went directly east because he wanted to -reach the little settlement known as Barrett’s. This was on the road -which bordered the woods to the east and ran south into Chandler. - -Westy would not exactly be going out of his way, he would simply be -losing the advantage of a short cut. Barrett’s was the nearest and -seemed the likeliest place from which one given to illicit hunting would -come. At Barrett’s he would inquire for Luke Meadows. - -The name on the rifle saved him the difficulties and delays of tracking. -For with the culprit’s name, Westy felt that he could easily be found. - -In about fifteen minutes, he emerged from the woods at Barrett’s. He had -been there before, but one sight of the place now made him glad that he -had not brought the telltale rifle with him. He felt that if he had, -Meadows or Meadows’ cronies might relieve him of it and put an end to -its availability as evidence. It was safe where it was.... - -Barrett’s was one of those places that grow up around a factory and -subsist on the factory. Sometimes quite pretentious little villages grow -up in this way and attain finally to the dignity of “GO SLOW” signs and -traffic cops. But in this case the factory having put Barrett’s on the -county map closed up its door and left Barrett’s sprawling. There was a -settlement and no factory to support it. - -When the Barrett Leather Goods Company stopped making leather goods, a -couple of dozen men and as many more girls were thrown out of -employment. With the leather goods factory closed there was nothing for -the working people of Barrett’s to do but move away or subsist as best -they could by hook or crook. The better sort among the inhabitants moved -away. Those that remained soon became a dubious set whose professional -activities were, at the least, shady. - -Barrett’s was a sort of hobo among villages, an ill-kept, prideless, -lawless place, having all the characteristics of a shiftless man who had -gone to the bad. The countryside shunned it. And it was not considered a -safe place for the youth of the surrounding villages, especially at -night. Every now and then, some one from Barrett’s was taken to Chandler -and thence sent to jail.... - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - ON THE TRAIL - - -Barrett’s was not accustomed to visits from nattily attired boy scouts -with rifles slung over their shoulders and the lolling youths of the -settlement stared at him and commented audibly as he passed. - -“Hey, what’s that you got over your shoulder?” one of them called. - -“That, oh, that’s a soup spoon,” said Westy, quite unperturbed. “Do you -know where Luke Meadows lives?” - -“What d’yer want ’im fer?” one of the natives asked. - -“Oh, I just wanted to see him,” said Westy. - -“Whatcher want ter see ’im fer?” - -“Oh, just for fun. Do you know where he lives?” - -“He lives in that white house up the road,” said a rather more -accommodating boy. “Do you see the house with the winder broken? The one -with the chimney gone? He lives there, only he ain’t home.” - -“He is too,” contradicted another informer. “I seen him go in his back -door half an hour ago; he come around through the fields from the -woods.” - -“Thanks,” said Westy. - -If Luke Meadows lived in the house indicated and had indeed returned -home through the fields, then he must have emerged from the woods at a -considerable distance from his home, an unnecessary thing to do except -upon the theory that he wished to throw some one off his track, or at -least avoid being seen. Westy thought he could sense the position in -which this man stood toward the game wardens of the county. He thought -it likely that there had been previous encounters between them. Hunting -game out of season is a pursuit which is pretty apt to be chronic. - -Now that Westy was about to encounter this man, he felt just a little -trepidation. Perhaps it would have been better to go to Chandler first. -But then the matter would have been out of his hands. He wished first to -tell this man a thing or two which scouts know.... - -As he went along the narrow, dusty road, his uneasiness increased. He -was not exactly afraid but he was beginning to balk a little at the -prospect of denouncing a person who was probably many years his senior. - -The little houses along the road, which must have been hopelessly -unsightly from the beginning, had fallen into a state of disrepair and -squalor which seemed in striking discord with the surrounding -countryside. A slum in the city is bad enough; in the fair country it is -shockingly grotesque. - -These little houses were double, each holding two families, and some of -them were in blocks of three or four. They seemed to nestle under the -shadow of the big wooden factory back in the field. Every window of the -big factory was broken and a more forlorn picture of disuse and -dilapidation could scarcely be imagined. From this factory a rusty -railroad track disappeared into the woods; it had probably once joined -the main line at Chandler. - -Beyond these little rows of cheap frame houses was one which stood by -itself. Its chimney was indeed gone and its window broken, but at least -it stood by itself, was of a different color and architecture from the -others, and had, in its shabby way, a character of its own. A little -girl was swinging on the fence gate, or would have been swinging if the -hinges had not been broken. A dried and curling woodchuck skin was -nailed to the clapboards beside the door, a dubious hint of the -predilections of the householder. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - LUKE MEADOWS - - -“Does Luke Meadows live here?” Westy asked. - -“Yes, sirrr,” said the little girl with a strong roll of her r’s. - -“Could I see him?” - -“I reckon you can,” said the little girl, then without going to the -trouble of entering the house, she called, “Dad, thar’s a boy wants to -see you.” - -These were the first samples Westy had of that characteristic way of -saying _reckon_ and _thar_ which he had soon to associate with new -friends in a free, vast, far-off region. It occurred to him that if -Meadows wished to lie low, as the saying is, it might go hard with the -little girl who was so ready to admit his presence to a stranger. - -The appearance and reputation of Barrett’s, as well as the unlawful -shooting, had conjured up a picture in Westy’s mind which had made him -apprehensive about his reception. And now he felt that the little girl -might also feel something of the hunter’s displeasure. - -His kindly fear for her was quite superfluous, for presently there -appeared from within the house a youngish man who absently, as it -seemed, placed his arm around the child’s shoulder and drew her toward -him as he waited for Westy to make his business known. - -The man was tall and raw-boned and wore nothing but queer-looking -moccasins, corduroy trousers and a gray flannel shirt. His cheek-bones -were high and he was as brown as a mulatto. What caught Westy and -somewhat disconcerted him, was the stranger’s eyes, which were gray and -of a clearness and keenness which he had never seen in the eyes of any -human being before. They were the eyes of the forest and the plains, the -eyes that see and read and understand where others see not. The eyes -that speak of silent and lonely places and bespeak a competence which -only rugged nature can impart. Such eyes Daniel Boone may have had. - -At all events, they disconcerted Westy and knocked the beginning of his -fine speech clean out of his head. The man was calm and patient, the -little girl wriggled playfully in his strong hold, and Westy stood like -a fool and said nothing. Then he found himself. - -“Are you Lu—— Are you Mr. Luke Meadows?” he asked. - -“Reckon I am,” drawled the man. - -“Well, then,” said Westy, gathering courage, “I came to tell you that I -know what you did in the woods because I—because I was the one that was -there—I was the one that shouted.” - -“Yer seed me, youngster?” the man drawled, not angrily. - -“No, I didn’t see you,” said Westy, “but gee, you don’t have to see a -person to find them out. You shot a deer and you know as well as I do it -isn’t the season. And then you hid your gun—I guess you thought I was a -game warden or something. But I found it, I’ll tell you that much and I -saw your name on it. - -“Do you know what you made me do?” he added, becoming vehement as his -anger gave him courage. “You made me kill a deer, that’s what you made -me do! You made me kill a deer after I promised I’d never shoot at -anything but a target—that’s what you made me do,” he shouted in boyish -anger. “You didn’t even kill it, you didn’t! Now you see what you did, -sneaking and shooting game out of season! Now you see what you made me -do!” - -There was something so naïve and boyish in putting the injury on -personal grounds that even Meadows could not repress a smile. - -“I made a promise to my father, that’s what I did,” said Westy -indignantly. - -The man neither confessed nor denied his guilt. It seemed strange to -Westy that he did not deny it since criminals always protest their -innocence. At the moment the man’s chief concern seemed to be a certain -interest in Westy. He just stood listening, the while holding the little -girl close to him and playfully ruffling her hair. Perhaps his dubious -standing with the authorities made him lukewarm about protestations of -innocence. - -“Waal?” was all he said. - -“And you’re not going to get away with it either,” said Westy. - -Meadows drew a tinfoil package from his trousers pocket, took some -tobacco from it and replaced the package in his pocket. Westy saw that -the package was a new one and that it bore the MECHANICS DELIGHT label. - -“You left the other package in the woods,” Westy said triumphantly, “and -that’s how I happened to find your gun.” - -“Yer left the gun thar, youngster?” - -“Yes, I did,” said Westy angrily, “and I know where it is all right.” -Then the true Westy Martin got in a few words. “The only reason I came -here first,” he said, “was because I didn’t want to seem sneaky. I -didn’t want you to think that I had to go and get the—the constables or -sheriffs—I didn’t want you to think I was afraid to face you alone. I -didn’t want to go and tell on you till I saw you first, that’s all.” - -“Waal, naow yer see me,” drawled Meadows. - -“And I’m going to do what I ought to do, no matter what,” Westy flared -up. - -“S’posin’ yer run an’ play,” said Meadows to the little girl. Then, as -she moved away. “An’ what might yer ought ter do?” he asked quietly. - -“You admit you shot that deer?” Westy asked. “Jiminies, you can’t deny -it,” he added boyishly. - -“Waal?” said Meadows. - -“Do you see this badge?” said Westy, pulling the sleeve of his scout -shirt around so as to display the several merit badges that were sewn -there. “That top one,” he said in a boyish tone of mingled pride and -anger, “is a conservation badge; it’s a scout badge.” - -“Yer one of them scaouts, huh?” - -“Yes, I am and I won that badge. It means if I know of anybody breaking -the game laws, I’ve got to report it, that’s what it means. I’ve got to -do it even if it seems mean——” - -“Seems mean, huh?” - -“No, it doesn’t,” Westy forced himself to say. “Because what right did -you have to do that? Gee, I don’t say you wanted to leave the deer -suffering, I don’t say that.” He had been fully prepared to charge the -offender with that but now that he was face to face with him, he found -it hard to do so. He put the whole responsibility for his purpose on his -conservation badge, in which Meadows seemed rather interested. - -“What’s that thar next one?” he asked. - -“That’s the pathfinder’s badge,” said Westy. - -“Yer a pathfinder, huh?” - -“Yes, I am,” said Westy, “but I guess maybe I’m not as good at it as you -are. But anyway, if you know all about those things—shooting and the -woods and all that—jiminies, you ought to know enough not to shoot game -out of season. Maybe that deer was a very young one, or maybe——” - -“Haow ’baout my young un?” Meadows asked calmly. “How ’baout that li’l -gal yer seed?” - -“Well, what about her?” demanded Westy angrily. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - WESTY MARTIN, SCOUT - - -“What makes yer say maybe I’m good at that sort of thing?” asked Luke -Meadows. - -“I don’t know,” said Westy; “just sort of you seem that way. But anyway, -that hasn’t got anything to do with what _I_ have to do, has it? I got -that merit badge by passing six tests, if anybody should ask you. And -the last one of those tests is doing something that helps enforce the -game laws, and you can bet I’m going to keep on doing that too. You’ll -have to pay a fine, that’s what you’ll have to do, and it serves you -right.” - -“Yer goin’ ter tell ’em in Chandler haow yer found my gun near the -spot?” - -“Yes, I am and it serves you right,” said Westy. “You broke the law and -you made me shoot—— Do you think it was fun for me to do that?” he -flared up angrily. - -“Waal, I reckon that’ll be enough fer ’em,” said Meadows. “It’ll cook my -goose. They’ve got the knife in me, as you easterners say.” - -He sat down on the top step of his miserable home and seemed to -meditate. “Mis Ellis over yonder, I reckon she’ll look out fer the kid,” -he said. “’Tain’t been nuthin but carnsarned trouble ever sence we come -from Cody. If I could get one—_jes one_—good aim—_jes—one—good—shot_—at -the man that told me ter come east and work in that thar busted up -factory! The wife, she worked in it till she got the flu last winter and -died. And here we are, me ’n’ the kid—stranded like play-actin’ folk. I -can’t shoot them factory people nor that thar loon I run into in Cody, -so I get off in the woods ’n’ shoot. Yer can get ten dollars fer a -deerskin if yer kin get through without them game sharks catchin’ yer. -Yer a pretty likely sort o’ youngster, yer are. Never had that thar flu, -did yer?” - -He said no more, only sat with his hands on his knees, occasionally -spitting. And for a few moments there was silence. - -“Is Cody a town?” Westy asked. - -“In Wyoming,” Meadows answered. - -And again there was silence. - -“That’s where Yellowstone Park is,” said Westy. - -“’Baout thirty or forty mile,” said Meadows. - -“That’s where I’m going to go,” said Westy. - -Still again there was silence, and Westy felt uncomfortable. He felt -that he would like to know a little more about this man. And that was -strange seeing that he was going to Chandler to report him. It seemed -odd that Meadows did not threaten or try to dissuade him. - -Then, suddenly the whole matter was roughly taken out of Westy’s hands. -Two men, with a leashed dog, came diagonally across the road. They had -evidently come out of the woods and their importance and purpose were -manifested by the group representing Barrett’s younger set which -followed them in great excitement, running to keep up and be prompt upon -the scene. There was no mistaking the air of vigorous assurance which -the men bore. But if this were not enough the badge upon the shirt of -one of them left no doubt of his official character. It was this one who -held the dog and the tired beast was panting audibly. - -“Well, Luke, at it again, hey?” said the game warden, in that -counterfeit tone of sociability which police officials acquire. - -[Illustration: “WELL, LUKE, AT IT AGAIN, HEY?” SAID THE GAME WARDEN.] - -“H’lo, Terry,” drawled Luke, not angrily. - -Surrounding the two men stood the gaping throng of curious boys. One or -two slatternly women gave color to the scene. Somewhat apart from the -group, a frightened, pitiful little figure, stood the child, Luke’s -daughter. - -“You run over to Mis Ellis’,” Luke said to her. But the little girl did -not run over to Mrs. Ellis. She just stood apart, staring with a kind of -instinctive apprehension. - -“Well, Luke,” said the game warden, “seems like you got some explainin’ -to do this time. What was you doin’ in the woods? Killin’ another deer, -hey? When was you goin’ back to get him, Luke? Better get your hat, -Luke, and come along with us. Farmer Sands here seen you comin’ out -through the back fields——” - -Then the little girl interrupted the game warden’s talk by rushing -pell-mell to her father. Luke put his big, brown hand about her and then -Westy noticed that his forearm was tattooed with the figure of a -buffalo. - -“You run along over t’ Missie Ellis,” said Luke, “and she’ll show yer -them pictur’ books; you run like——” - -Here he arose, slowly, deliberately, as if with the one action to -dismiss her and place himself in the hands of the law. Then, suddenly, -he lifted her up and kissed her. In all the long time that Westy was -destined to know Luke Meadows, this was the only occasion on which he -was ever to see him act on impulse. - -But Westy Martin’s impulse was still quicker. Before the little child -was down upon the ground again he spoke, and his own voice sounded -strange to him as he saw the gaping loiterers all about, and the -astonished gaze of Terry, the game warden. In the boy’s trousers pocket -(which is the safe deposit vault pocket with boys) his sweaty palm -clutched the hundred and three dollars which he was taking home to save -for his trip to the Yellowstone He had kept one hand about it almost -ever since he left the farm, till his very hand smelled like the roll of -bills. But he clutched it even more tightly now. His voice was not as -sure as that unseen clutch. - -“If you’re hunting for the fellow who killed the deer over in the -woods,” he said, “then here I am. I’m the one that killed the deer -and—and if—if you’re going to take—arrest—anybody you’d better arrest -me—because I’m the one that did it. I killed the deer—I admit it. So you -better arrest me.” - -For a few seconds no one spoke. Then, and it seems odd when you come to -think of it, the dog pulled the leash clean out of Terry the game -warden’s hand, and began climbing up on Westy and licking his hand.... - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - GUILTY - - -He took his stand upon the simple confession that it was he who had -killed the deer. He knew that he could not say more without saying too -much. And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men could not make -him say more. Fortunately, he did not have to say more, or much more, -because Farmer Sands availed himself of the occasion to preach a homily -on the evil of boys carrying firearms. - -“Who you be, anyways?” he demanded shrewdly. - -Westy’s one fear was that Luke would speak and spoil everything. For a -moment, he seemed on the point of speaking. Probably it was only the -sight of his little daughter that deterred him from doing so. It was a -moment fraught with peril to Westy’s act. Then, it was too late for Luke -to speak and Westy was glad of that. - -He was on his way to Chandler between the game warden and the farmer. - -“Well, who you be, anyways?” Farmer Sands repeated. - -It was Terry, the game warden, who answered him across Westy’s shoulder. - -“Why, Ezrie, he’s jus’ one of them wild west shootin’, Indian huntin’, -dime novel readin’ youngsters what oughter have some sense flogged inter -him. I’d as soon give a boy of mine rat poison to play with as one of -these here pesky rifles. It’s a wonder he hit him, but that’s the way -fools allus do. What’s your name, kid? You don’t b’long round here?” - -Westy, albeit somewhat frightened, was self-possessed and shrewd enough -not to beguile his escort with an account of himself. - -“I told you all I’m going to,” he added. “I was going through the woods -and I saw the deer and killed him. Then, I went through to Barrett’s and -I was going to come along this road to Chandler. If I have to be taken -to a judge, I’ll tell him more if he makes me. Please take your hand off -my shoulder because I’m not going to try to run away.” - -“Yer been readin’ Diamond Dick?” asked Farmer Sands, squinting at him -with a look of diabolical sagacity. - -“No, I haven’t been reading Diamond Dick,” said Westy. - -“Wasn’t yer stayin’ up ter Nelson’s place?” the game warden asked. - -“Yes, he’s my uncle,” said Westy. - -“He know yer got a gun?” - -“Sure, he does.” - -“Well, you’d better ’phone him when you get to Chandler if you don’t -want ter spend the night in a cell.” - -Westy balked at the sound of this talk, but he only tightened his sweaty -palm in his pocket and said, “He didn’t kill the deer. Why should I -’phone to him?” - -Farmer Sands poked his billy-goat visage around in front of Westy’s face -and stared but said nothing. - -In Chandler, the trio aroused some curiosity as they went through the -main street and Westy felt conscious and ashamed. He wished that Mr. -Terry would conceal his flaunting badge. As they approached the rather -pretentious County Court House, he began to feel nervous. The stone -building had a kind of dignity about it and seemed to frown on him. -Moreover in the brick wing he saw small, heavily barred windows, and -these were not a cheerful sight. - -What he feared most of all was that once in the jaws of that unknown -monster, the law, he would spoil everything by saying more than he meant -to say. He was probably saved from this by the dignitary before whom he -was taken. The learned justice was so fond of talking himself that Westy -had no opportunity of saying anything and was not invited to enlarge -upon the simple fact that he had killed a deer. Probably if the local -dignitary had known Westy better he would have expressed some surprise -at the boy’s act but since, to him, Westy was only a boy with a gun -(always a dangerous combination) there was nothing so very extraordinary -in the fact of his shooting a deer. Fortunately, he did not ask -questions for Westy would not have gone to the extreme of actually -lying. - -He stood before the desk of the justice, one sweaty palm encircled about -his precious fortune in his pocket, and felt frightened and ill at ease. - -“Well, my young friend,” said the justice, “those who disregard the game -laws of this state must expect to pay the penalty.” - -“Y-yes, sir,” said Westy nervously. - -“It’s an expensive pastime,” said the justice, not unkindly. - -“Yes, sir,” said Westy. - -“I can’t understand why you did it, a straightforward, honest-looking -boy like you.” - -Westy said nothing, only set his lips tightly as if to safeguard himself -against saying too much or giving way to his feelings. - -“A boy that is honest enough to speak up and confess—to do such a -thing—I can’t understand it,” the justice mused aloud, observing Westy -keenly. - -“It’s lettin’ ’em hev guns that’s to blame,” observed the game warden. - -“It’s dressin’ ’em all up like hunters an’ callin’ ’em scaouts as duz -it,” said Farmer Sands. “They was wantin’ me ter contribute money fer -them scaouts, but I sez—I sez no, ’tain’t no good gon’ ter come of it, -dressin’ youngsters up ’an givin’ ’em firearms an’ sendin’ ’em out ter -vialate the laws.” - -“They seem to know how to tell the truth,” said the justice, apparently -rather puzzled. - -“He was gon’ ter hide in Luke Meadows’ place when we catched him -red-handed an’ he wuz sceered outer his seven senses an’ that’s why he -confessed,” said Farmer Sands vehemently. - -“Nobody can scare me into doing anything,” said Westy, defiantly. “I -told because I wanted to tell and the reason you didn’t give money to -the boy scouts was because you’re too stingy.” - -This was the second time on that fateful day that Westy had shot and hit -the mark. It seemed to amuse both the judge and the game warden. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - THE PENALTY - - -“Has your uncle a telephone?” the justice asked, not unkindly. - -“No, sir,” said Westy. “Anyway, I wouldn’t want to telephone him.” - -“Could you get your father in Bridgeboro by ’phone?” - -“He’d be in New York, and anyway, I don’t want to ’phone him.” - -“Hum,” mused the judge. “Well, I’m afraid I haven’ much choice then, my -boy. The fine for what you did is a hundred dollars. I’ll have to turn -you over to the sheriff, then perhaps I’ll get in communication——” - -Westy’s sweaty, trembling hand came up out of his pocket bringing his -treasure with it. Boyishly, he did not even think to remove the elastic -band which was around the roll of bills, but laid the whole thing upon -the justice’s desk. - -“Here—here it is,” he said nervously, “—to—to pay for what I did. -There’s more than what you said—there’s three dollars more.” - -There was a touch of pathos in the innocence which was ready to pay the -fine with extra measure—and to throw in an elastic band as well. Farmer -Sands looked shrewdly suspicious as the justice removed the elastic band -and counted the money; he seemed on the point of hinting that Westy -might have stolen it. - -“Where did you get this?” the justice asked, visibly touched at the -sight of the little roll that Westy had handed over. - -“I had about twenty-five dollars when I came,” said Westy, “and the rest -my uncle paid me for working for him on his farm.” - -“There seems to be three dollars too much,” the justice said, handing -that amount back to Westy. The boy took it nervously and said, “Thank -you.” - -The crumpled bills and the elastic band lay in a disorderly little heap -on the justice’s desk, and the local official, who seemed very human, -contemplated them ruefully. Perhaps he felt a little twinge of meanness. -Then he rubbed his chin ruminatively and studied Westy. - -The culprit moved from one foot to the other and nervously replaced the -trifling remainder of his fortune in his trousers pocket. He was afraid -that now something was going to happen to spoil his good turn. He hoped -that the justice would not ask him any more questions. - -“Well, my young friend,” said that dignitary finally, “you’ve had a -lesson in what it means to defy the law. I blame it to that rifle you -have there more than to you. Does your father know you have that rifle?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Approves of it, eh?” - -“N-no, sir; I promised him I wouldn’t shoot at anything but a target.” - -“And you broke your promise?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -Still the judge studied him. “Well,” said he, after a pause, “I don’t -think you’re a bad sort of a boy. I think you just saw that deer and -couldn’t refrain from shooting him. I think you felt like Buffalo Bill, -now didn’t you?” - -“I—yes—I—I don’t know how Buffalo Bill felt,” said Westy. - -“And if Mr. Sands hadn’t got in touch with Mr. Terry and found that -deer, you would have gone back home thinking you’d done a fine, heroic -thing, eh?” - -Westy did think he had done a good thing but he didn’t say so. - -“But you had the honesty to confess when you saw that an innocent man -was about to be arrested. And that’s what makes me think that you’re a -not half-bad sort of a youngster.” - -Westy shifted from one foot to the other but said nothing. - -“You just forgot your promise when you saw that deer.” - -“I didn’t forget it, I just broke it,” said Westy - -“Well, now,” said the judge, “you’ve had your little fling at wild west -stuff, you’ve killed your deer and paid the penalty and you see it isn’t -so much fun after all. You see where it brings you. Now I want you to go -home and tell your father that you shot a deer out of season and that it -cost you a cold hundred dollars. See?” - -“Yes, sir,” said Westy. - -“You ask him if he thinks that pays. And you tell him I said for him to -take that infernal toy away from you before you shoot somebody or -other’s little brother or sister—or your own mother, maybe.” - -Westy winced. - -“If I were your father instead of justice of the peace here, I’d take -that gun away from you and give you a good trouncing and set you to -reading the right kind of books—that’s what I’d do.” - -“I wouldn’ leave no young un of mine carry no hundred dollars in his -pockets, nuther,” volunteered Farmer Sands. - -“Well, it’s good he had it,” said the justice, “or I’d have had to -commit him.” Then turning to Westy, he said, “Maybe that hundred dollars -is well spent if it taught you a lesson. You go along home now and tell -your father what I said. And you tell him I said that a rifle is not -only a dangerous thing but a pretty expensive thing to keep.” - -“Yes, sir,” said Westy. - -“Are you sorry for what you did?” - -“As long as I paid the fine do I have to answer more questions?” asked -Westy. - -“Well, you remember what I’ve said.” - -“Yes, sir,” said Westy. - -“Did you ever hear of Lord Chesterfield’s letters to his son?” - -“N-no—yes, sir, in school.” - -“Well, you get that book and read it.” - -Westy said nothing. To lose his precious hundred dollars seemed bad -enough. To be sentenced to read Lord Chesterfield’s letters to his son -was nothing less than inhuman. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - FOR BETTER OR WORSE - - -It was now mid-afternoon. The boy who had gone to work on his uncle’s -farm so as to earn money to take him to Yellowstone Park, stood on the -main street of the little town of Chandler with three dollars and some -small change in his pocket. This was the final outcome of all his hoping -and working through the long summer. He had just about enough money to -get home to Bridgeboro. - -And there only disgrace awaited him. For he would not tell the true -circumstances of his killing the deer. He had assured Luke Meadows of -his freedom; he would not imperil that freedom now by confiding in any -one. His father might not see it as he did and might make the facts of -the case known to these local authorities. Westy thought of the little, -motherless girl clinging to her father, and this picture, which had -aroused him to rash generosity, strengthened his resolution now. Westy -was no quitter; he had done this thing, and he would accept the -consequences. - -What he most feared was that at home they would question him and that he -would be confronted with the alternative of telling all or of lying. He -thought only of Luke Meadows and of the little girl. And being in it -now, for better or worse, he was resolved that he would stand firm upon -the one simple, truthful admission that he had killed a deer. - -Yet he was so essentially honest that he could not think of returning to -Bridgeboro without first going back to the farm to tell them what he had -done. He knew that this would mean questioning and might possibly, -through some inadvertence of his own, be the cause of the whole story -coming to light. But he could not think of going to Bridgeboro, leaving -these people who had been so kind to him to hear of his disgrace from -others. He would go back himself and tell his aunt; he would be in a -great hurry to catch the later train and that would save him from being -questioned. Yet it seemed a funny thing to do to go back and hurriedly -announce that he had killed a deer and as hurriedly depart. Poor Westy, -he was beginning to see the difficulties involved in his spectacular -good turn. - -He wandered over to the railroad, worried and perplexed. Wherever he -might go there would be trouble. He would have to face his aunt and -uncle, then his father and mother. And he could not explain. How could -he hope to run the gauntlet of all these people with just the one little -technical truth that he had killed a deer? - -It was just beginning to dawn on him that truth is not a technical thing -at all, that to stick to a technical truth may be very dishonest. Yet, -he had (so he told himself) killed the deer. And that one technical -little truth he had invoked to save Luke Meadows. - -He would not, he _could_ not turn back now. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL - - -He could catch a train to Bridgeboro in half an hour and leave the -thunderbolt to break at the farm after he was safely away. Or he could -return to the farm and still catch a train from Chandler at -eight-twenty. He decided to do this. - -He lingered weakly in the station for a few minutes, killing time and -trying to make up his mind just what he would say when he reached the -farm. The station was dim and musty and full of dust and aged posters. -One of these latter was a glaring advertisement of an excursion to -Yellowstone Park. It included a picture of Old Faithful Geyser, that -watery model of constancy which is to be seen on every folder and -booklet describing the Yellowstone. Westy looked at it wistfully. “See -the glories of your native land,” the poster proclaimed. He read it all, -then turned away. - -The ticket office was closed, and in his troubled and disconsolate mood -it seemed to him as if even the railroad shut him out. Not a living soul -was there in the station except a queer-looking woman with spectacles -and a sunbonnet and an outlandish bag at her feet. Westy wondered -whether she were going to New York. - -Then he wondered whether, when he reached Bridgeboro, he might not -properly say that he was very sleepy and let his confession go over till -morning. Then it occurred to him that he was just dilly-dallying, and he -strode out of the station and through the little main street where -farming implements were conspicuous among the displays. He paused to -glance at these and other things in which he had never before had an -interest. Never before had he found so many excuses for pausing along a -business thoroughfare. - -He intended to return through the woods but a man in a buckboard with a -load of clanking milk cans gave him a lift and set him down at the -crossroads near the farm. He cut up through the orchard because he had a -queer feeling that he did not want any one to see him coming. It seemed -very quiet about the farm; he had an odd feeling that he was seeing it -during his own absence. It looked strange to see his aunt stringing -beans on the little porch outside the kitchen and Ira sitting with his -legs stretched along the lowest step. His back was against the house and -he was smoking his pipe. The homely, familiar scene made Westy homesick -for the farm. - -“Mercy on us, what you doin’ here?” Aunt Mira gasped. “Westy! You near -skeered the life out of me!” - -[Illustration: “MERCY ON US, WHAT YOU DOIN’ HERE?” GASPED AUNT MIRA.] - -Ira removed his atrocious pipe from his mouth long enough to inquire -without the least sign of shock. “What’s the matter, kid? Get lost in -the woods and missed your train?” - -“No, I didn’t get lost in the woods,” said Westy, with a touch of -testiness. - -“Land’s sake, Iry, why can’t you never stop plaguin’ the boy,” said Aunt -Mira. - -“I came back,” said Westy rather clumsily. “I came back to tell you -something. I’ve got something I want to tell you because I—because I -want to be the one to tell you——” - -“You lost your money,” interrupted Aunt Mira. “I told your uncle he -should have made you a check.” - -“Scouts and them kind don’t carry no checks,” said Ira. - -“I came back,” said Westy, “because I want to tell you that I shot a -deer in the woods and killed him. It’s true so you needn’t ask me any -questions about it because—because I shot him because I had good -reasons—anyway, because I wanted to, so there’s no good talking about -it.” - -Aunt Mira laid down her work and stared at Westy. Ira removed his pipe -and looked at him keenly yet somewhat amusedly. Aunt Mira’s look was one -of blank incredulity. Ira could not be so easily jarred out of his -accustomed calm. - -“Where’d yer shoot ’im?” he asked. - -“In the woods,” said Westy; “in—in—do you mean where—what part of him? -In his head.” - -“Plunked ’im good, huh? Ye’ll have Terry after you, then you’ll have ter -give ’im ten bucks to hush the matter up. Just couldn’t resist, huh?” - -“Ira, you keep still,” commanded Aunt Mira, concentrating her attention -on Westy. “What do you mean tellin’ such nonsense?” she questioned. - -“I mean just that,” said Westy; “that I killed a deer and I did it -because I wanted to. Then I went through the woods to Barrett’s because -I decided to go to Chandler that way, and while I was talking to a man -there the game warden and another man came along because they must have -been—they must have known about it or something. - -“Anyway, I told them I did it—killed the deer. So then I got arrested -and they took me to Chandler and the judge or justice of the peace or -whatever they call him, he said I had to pay a hundred dollars, so I -did. I’ve got enough left to get home with, all right. But anyway, I -didn’t want you to hear about it because I wanted to tell you myself. -I’ve got to stand the blame because I killed him and so that’s all there -is to it.” - -It was fortunate for Westy that Aunt Mira was too dumfounded for words. -As for Ira, his face was a study during the boy’s recital. He watched -Westy shrewdly, now and then with a little glint of amusement in his eye -as the young sportsman stumbled along with his boyish confession. Only -once did he speak and that was when the boy had finished. - -“Who was the man you was talkin’ with in Barrett’s, kid?” - -“His name is Meadows,” Westy answered. - -“Hmph,” was Ira’s only comment. - -Indeed he had no opportunity for comment for Aunt Mira was presently -upon him and her incisive commentary on Ira’s qualities probably saved -Westy the discomfort of further questioning. He was such a thoroughly -good boy that now when he confessed to doing wrong, Aunt Mira felt -impelled to lay the blame to some one else. And Ira was the victim.... - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - AUNT MIRA AND IRA - - -“Now you see, Iry Hasbrook, where your boastin’ and braggin’ and lyin’ -yarns has led to,” said Aunt Mira, after Westy had gone. It had proved -impossible to detain him, and he had marched off after his sensational -disclosure with a feeling of infinite relief that no complications had -occurred. But he might have seen danger of complications in Ira’s -shrewd, amused look if he had only taken the trouble to notice it. - -“He’s a great kid,” said Ira. - -“A pretty mess you’ve got him in,” said Aunt Mira, “with your _droppin’_ -this and _droppin’_ that. Now he’s _dropped_ his deer and I hope you’re -satisfied. ’Twouldn’t be no wonder if he ran away to sea and you to -blame, Ira Hasbrook. It’s because he’s so good and trustin’ and makes -heroes out of every one, even fools like you with your kidnappin’ kings -and rum smugglin’ and what all.” - -“How ’bout the book in the settin’ room?” Ira asked. - -Aunt Mira made no answer to this but she at least paid Ira the -compliment of rising from her chair with such vigor of determination -that the dishpan full of beans which had been reposing in her lap was -precipitated upon the floor. She strode into the sitting room where the -“sumptuous, gorgeously illustrated volume” lay upon the innocent worsted -tidy which decorously covered the marble of the center table. - -Laying hands upon it with such heroic determination as never one of its -flaunted hunters showed, she conveyed it to the kitchen and forthwith -cremated it in the huge cooking stove. Then she returned to the back -porch with an air that suggested that what she had just done to the book -was intended as an illustration of what she would like to do to Ira -himself. But Ira was not sufficiently sensitive to take note of this -ghastly implication. - -“Yer recipe for makin’ currant wine was in that book,” was all he said. - -For a moment, Aunt Mira paused aghast. It seemed as if, in spite of her -spectacular display, Ira had the better of her. He sat calmly smoking -his pipe. - -“Why didn’t you call to me that it was there?” she demanded sharply. - -“You wouldn’t of believed me, I’m such a liar,” said Ira quietly. - -“I don’t want to hear no more of your talk, Iry,” said the distressed -and rather baffled lady. “I don’t know as I mind losin’ the recipe. What -I’m thinkin’ about is the hundred dollars that poor boy worked to -get—and you went and lost for him.” - -She had subsided to the weeping stage now and she sat down in the old -wooden armchair and lifted her gingham apron to her eyes and all Ira -could see was her gray head shaking. Her anger and decisive action had -used up all her strength and she was a touching enough spectacle now, as -she sat there weeping silently, the string beans and the empty dishpan -scattered on the porch floor at her feet. - -“He’s all right, aunty,” was all that Ira said. - -“I thank heavens he told the truth ’bout it least-ways,” Aunt Mira -sobbed, pathetically groping for the dishpan. “I thank heavens he come -back here like a little man and told the truth. I couldn’t of beared it -if he’d just sneaked away and lied. He won’t lie to Henry—if he wouldn’t -lie to me he won’t lie to Henry. I do hope Henry won’t be hard with -him—I know he won’t lie to his father, ’tain’t him to do that. He was -just tempted, he saw the deer and his head was full of all what you told -him and that pesky book I hope the Lord will forgive me for ever buyin’. -I’m goin’ to write to Henry this very night and tell him I burned up the -book and prayed for forgiveness for you, Iry Hasbrook—I am.” - -Ira puffed his horrible pipe in silence for a few moments, and in that -restful interval could be heard the sound of the bars being let down so -that the cows might return to their pasture. The bell on one wayward cow -sounded farther and farther off as Uncle Dick, all innocent of the -little tragedy, drove the patient beasts into the upper meadow. - -The clanking bell reminded poor Aunt Mira to say, “You told him he -couldn’t even shoot a cow, you did, Iry.” - -“He’s just about the best kid that ever was,” was all that Ira answered. - -“I’m goin’ to write to Henry to-night and I’m goin’ to tell him, Iry, -just what you been doin’, I am. I’m goin’ to tell him that poor boy -isn’t to blame. I know Henry won’t be hard on him. I’m goin’ to tell him -about that book and ask him to forgive me my part in it,” the poor lady -wept. - -“Ask him if he’s got a good recipe for currant wine,” drawled Ira. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - THE HOMECOMING - - -Aunt Mira’s tearful prayers were not fully answered, not immediately at -all events. Westy’s father _was_ “hard on him.” His well advertised -prejudice against rifles as “toys” seemed justified in the light of his -son’s fall from grace. Westy did not have to incur the perils of a -detailed narrative. - -Mr. Martin, notwithstanding his faith in his son, had always been rather -fanatical about this matter of “murderous weapons” even where Westy was -concerned. He was very pig-headed, as Westy’s mother often felt -constrained to declare, and the mere fact of the killing of the deer was -quite enough for a gentleman in his state of mind. Fortunately, he did -not prefer a kindly demand for particulars. - -“I just did it and I’m not going to make any excuses,” said Westy -simply. “I told you I did it because I wouldn’t do a thing like that and -not tell you. You can’t say I didn’t come home and tell you the truth.” - -The memorable scene occurred in the library of the Martin home, Westy -standing near the door ready to make his exit obediently each time his -father thundered, “That’s all I’ve got to say.” First and last Mr. -Martin said this as many as twenty times. But there seemed always more -to say and poor Westy lingered, fending the storm as best he could. - -It was the night of his arrival home, his little trunk had been -delivered earlier in the day, and on the library table were several -rustic mementos of the country which the boy had thought to purchase for -his parents and his sister Doris. A plenitude of rosy apples (never -forgotten by the homecoming vacationist) were scattered on the sofa -where Doris sat sampling one of them. Mrs. Martin sat at the table, a -book inverted in her lap. Mr. Martin strode about the room while he -talked. - -They had all been away and the furniture was still covered with ghostly -sheeting. About the only ornaments at large were the little birch bark -gewgaws and the imitation bronze ash receptacle which Westy had brought -with him. This latter, which seemed to mock the poor boy’s welcome home -had Greetings From Chandler printed on it and was for his father. - -“And that’s all I’ve got to say,” said Mr. Martin. - -“Anyway, I didn’t lie,” said Westy, his eyes brimming. - -“I never accused you of lying and I’m not laying all the blame to you -either,” thundered his father. “Three and three and three make nine. A -boy, a gun, and a wild animal make a killing and that’s all there is to -it.” - -“Well, then let’s talk of something else,” said Mrs. Martin gently. -“Don’t you think this ash tray is very pretty? Westy brought it to you, -dear.” - -“For goodness’ sake, don’t use the word _dear_ again, mother,” said -Doris, munching her apple. “I’ve heard so much about deers——” - -“And the boy’s lost a hundred dollars!” thundered Mr. Martin, ignoring -his daughter. “When I was his age——” - -“Well, he’s had his lesson,” said Doris sweetly. “A hundred dollars -isn’t so much for a good lesson.” - -“No?” said her father. “It’s enough for you to make a big fuss about -when you want it. I said from the beginning that I was opposed to -firearms. I don’t want them around the house—look at Doctor Warren’s -boy.” - -At this Doris sank into a limp attitude of utter despair, for the -accidental killing of the Warren boy had occurred before Westy was born -and it had been cited on an average of twice a day ever since Westy’s -rifle had been brought into the house under the frowning protest of his -father. - -“Well, now, let’s settle this matter once and for all,” said Mr. Martin. -“And I don’t want to be interrupted either,” he added. “You’ve bought a -gun against my wishes,” he said, turning on Westy. “You had to have a -gun—nothing would do but a gun. Your mother saw no harm. Your sister -said there was—what did you say?—something heroic, was it, about a gun? -All right, you got the gun—repeater or whatever it is. I asked you not -to take it away with you but you must take it to shoot at targets. You -went up there to earn some money to go out to the Yellowstone. Now here -you are back again with hardly a cent in your pockets and you’ve broken -the law and the one thing I’m thankful for is that you haven’t shed the -blood of some other boy. Now this is the last word I’m going to say -about it——” - -Doris groaned, Mrs. Martin looked sadly at her son who was listening -respectfully, shifting from one foot to the other, his straightforward -eyes brimming over. - -“This is the last I’m going to say about it,” repeated Mr. Martin in a -way which did actually at last suggest something in the way of a -decisive end of the whole business. “Now, Westy,” he continued with a -note of feeling in his voice, “you’ve put an end to all my thoughts -about going to the Yellowstone with you.” Westy gulped, listening. -“You’ve paid the money you earned and saved to keep yourself out of -jail. Three and three and three make nine——” - -“Just the same as they did before,” said Doris sweetly. - -“—a boy, a gun, and a wild animal, those three things spell danger. Now, -my boy, I’m not going to go on blaming you and I’m not going to ask you -any questions because those three things answer the question good enough -for me. Boy—gun—— And you’ve lost a hundred dollars and had a good -scare. I don’t blame you that you don’t want to talk about it. The gun -spoke for itself; am I right?” - -“Y-yes, sir,” Westy gulped. - -“All right then, as they say, return the goods and no questions asked. -They say every dog is entitled to one bite and I suppose every boy that -has a gun gets one shot. Now you’ve had yours and paid a good price for -it. Now, Westy, you bring me that gun, here and now.” He clapped his -hands with an air of finality and there followed a tense silence. - -“If—if I don’t—if I promise not to use—even take it outdoors——” - -“No, sir, you bring me that gun here and now.” - -Mr. Martin was grimly mandatory and neither his wife nor daughter -ventured a word, though Mrs. Martin looked the picture of misery. Westy -brought his precious rifle from his room and handed it to his father. -Mr. Martin held it as if it were a poisonous snake. The mirthful Doris -placed the apple she was eating upon her head as if to invite the modern -William Tell to shoot it off. But Mr. Martin was not tuned to this sort -of banter. - -Unlocking the closet beside the fireplace he gingerly lay the rifle -inside it and locked the closet again, joggling the door to give himself -double assurance that it was securely locked. In his over-sensitive -state, Westy construed this last act as an implication by his father -that his son might later try to get the door open. - -“You don’t have to lock it,” said Westy proudly. - -“It isn’t you he’s thinking about, dearie,” said Mrs. Martin. “He’s -afraid about the gun.” - -Very likely that was true. Mr. Martin had indeed lost some faith in -Westy’s ability to keep his promise where a gun was concerned, but his -confidence in his son had not diminished to a point where he believed -Westy would invade that forbidden closet. Probably Doris expressed her -father’s mental state accurately enough when she said later to her -mother, “He isn’t afraid that Westy will break in, he’s afraid that the -gun will break out. The rifle has got father’s goat as well as somebody -or other’s deer.” - -“You shouldn’t use such slang, dear,” said Mrs. Martin gently. - -The dungeon to which the rifle had been consigned was one of those holy -of holies to be found in every household. Mr. Martin had always been the -exclusive warden of this mysterious retreat. - -As a little boy, Westy had supposed it contained a skeleton (he never -knew why he thought so) and that all his father’s worldly wealth was -there secreted in an iron chest of the kind which has always been in -vogue with pirates. Later, when he had learned of the existence of banks -he had abandoned this belief and had come to know (he knew not how) that -the closet contained books which had undergone parental censorship and -been banned from the library shelves. Doris had never regarded this -closet with the same reverential awe that Westy had shown for it; she -said it was full of moths and that its forbidden literature was easily -procurable through other sources. - -But ever since Westy and Roy Blakeley had tried to peek in through the -keyhole of this closet to discover the skeleton there, the son of the -house had looked upon it as a place of mystery. And though it had lost -some of the glamor of romance as he had grown older, he knew that -whatever was in it never came out. It was a tomb. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - A RAY OF SUNSHINE - - -Mrs. Martin gave Westy about ten minutes to regain his poise and then -followed him to his room where his open trunk stood in the middle of the -floor. Westy was sitting on the bed and the oilcloth cover of his -departed rifle lay like a snake upon the pretty bedspread. It was -evident that when he had gone to his room to get the gun in obedience to -his father’s demand, he had removed the cover to gaze at his treasure -before handing it over. Mrs. Martin lifted the limp thing and hung it -over the foot-board. - -“I’m going to ask him to put the gun in it,” Westy said wistfully. - -“I don’t think I would, dearie,” said his mother, sitting down on the -bed beside him. “I think I just wouldn’t say any more about it; let the -matter drop. If you speak to him again he will only flare up. Doris says -she thinks some ancestor of his may have been killed by a rifle back in -the dark ages; some cave man, that’s what she says. And she thinks the -fear of guns is in your father’s blood. He’s very nervous about such -things, dearie.” - -“They didn’t have rifles in the dark ages,” said Westy. - -“I know, but it’s just the way Doris talks; she’s very modern and -independent. She shouldn’t say that a hundred dollars isn’t a great deal -of money, for it is. Maybe it isn’t a great deal for Charlie Westcott -and those friends of hers, but it’s a good deal for you, dear.” - -Westy sat on the edge of the bed half listening, his eyes brimming. And -it is odd, when you come to think of it, that no one save a rough farm -hand with an exceedingly varied and checkered career, had ever taken -particular notice of a certain quality in those gray eyes. - -“Oh, my dear,” said Mrs. Martin with deep sympathy and affection, “I’m -so sorry, so sorry for the whole thing. Your father should never have -suggested your going to work on the farm. Now he says he never wants to -hear the Yellowstone mentioned. Doris says she thinks we may have to -take the yellow vase from the parlor because it will remind him of the -Yellowstone——” - -“I don’t mind,” said Westy, getting command enough of himself to speak. -“I had fun working and I don’t mind about the hundred dollars.” - -“And it was so noble and straightforward of you to tell your father what -you had done. I told him if he had only given you a chance you might -have explained. I told him that perhaps the deer was chasing you and -intended to kill you.” - -Westy smiled ruefully. - -“Was it?” his mother ventured to ask. - -“No, deers don’t run after people,” Westy said. - -“Well, I don’t know anything about them,” said his mother resignedly. - -“It’s all right, mom,” said Westy. - -“I’m only sorry you ever went up there,” mused Mrs. Martin. “But I want -you to promise me, dearie, that you won’t say another word about it to -your father; don’t speak about Yellowstone Park either, because he feels -very strongly about the whole thing.” - -“I won’t,” said Westy. - -“You know, dear,” Mrs. Martin observed with undeniable truth, “I’ve -known your father longer than you have. We must just say nothing and let -the whole matter blow over. Very soon he’ll be angry about his income -tax and then he’ll forget about this summer. He thinks that your Uncle -Dick shouldn’t have such men about his place as that horrible Ira, as -you call him. He blames that man more than you. He says that farms are -hiding places for good-for-nothing scoundrels who can’t get employment -elsewhere.” - -“Ira isn’t a scoundrel,” said Westy. - -“Well, he stole a king, and I’m sure a man that steals a king isn’t a -gentleman.” - -There seemed no answer to this. But Westy moved closer to his mother and -let her put her arm about him. - -“Now, dearie, it’s all over,” she said, “and it was a horrible nightmare -and I’m proud of my boy because he was straightforward and honest—and -I’m sure your father is too. But he’s very queer and we mustn’t cross -him. So now we’ll forget all about it and I’ve something to tell you. -Pee-wee Harris——” - -At the very mention of this name Westy laughed. - -For Pee-wee Harris, present or absent, spread sunshine in the darkest -places. But never in a darker place than in Westy’s room that night of -his return from his summer’s vacation. - -“They’re back from camp, then?” he asked. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - PEE-WEE ON THE JOB - - -“Yes, they’re back,” said Mrs. Martin, “and Pee-wee was here last -evening and talked steadily for two hours. He told me to tell you to -come to scout meeting to-morrow and vote——” - -“Vote? What for?” - -“I don’t know, it’s something about an award,” said Westy’s mother. “The -Rotary Club has offered some kind of an award for scouts, that’s all I -know. He told me to tell you to be sure to come and vote. He said it’s a -special meeting at Roy’s house and they’re going to have refreshments.” - -“They won’t have any when he gets through,” said Westy wistfully. - -“I’m so glad,” said his mother, rising, “that you can plunge right into -your scout work and forget all about this dreadful summer. At the -seashore we were very much disappointed, the gnats were terrible. I’m -glad we’re all home and that it’s over. Doris did nothing but dance and -she’s lost eight pounds instead of gaining.” - -“All right, mom,” said Westy, letting his mother kiss him good night. -“I’m glad I’m home too; I’ll be glad to see the troop. It makes me feel -good just to hear you mention Pee-wee.” - -“I’m sure he’ll cheer you up,” said Mrs. Martin. “I don’t know what to -think about what he says— I’m sure he always tells the truth.” - -“Oh, yes, but sometimes he stands on his head and tells it so it’s -upside down,” laughed Westy; “that’s what Roy says.” - -“He says that Warde Hollister found some sort of a job for a woman up -near camp so that the woman won’t have to send her little child to the -orphan asylum. He ran five miles through a swamp, Walter says. I hope to -goodness he had his rubbers on.” - -“Was it a boy or a girl—the child, I mean?” Westy asked. - -“I’m sure I don’t know, but I think the father is in jail. Anyway, the -boys want you to vote for Warde. Now will you promise me you’ll go to -sleep?” - -Westy promised, and kept his promise that time at all events. If he had -known all there was to know about these matters perhaps he would not -have fallen asleep so easily. - -He did not have to wait until the following evening, for the next -morning Pee-wee Harris (Raven and mascot) arrived like a thunder-storm -and opened fire at once upon Westy. - -“Now you see what you get for going somewhere else and I’m glad I’m not -sorry for you, but anyway I’m sorry you weren’t there because we had -more fun at Temple Camp this summer than ever before and we’re going to -have the biggest hero scout in our troop and his picture is going to be -in _Boys’ Life_ and his name is going to be in the newspapers and I bet -you don’t know who it is, I bet you don’t!” - -“Is it you?” - -“Why?” - -“Because you said the _biggest_.” - -“Listen, you have to be sure to come to scout meeting to-night—they’re -going to have refreshments, but that isn’t the reason, but anyway you -have to be sure to come and I’ll tell you why—listen. You know good -turns? Listen! The Rotary Club—my father’s a member of it—listen!—they -offered a prize to the scout that did the biggest good turn involving -resources and powers—I mean prowess, that’s what it said, during this -summer. Only the scout has to be in a troop in this county, that’s the -only rule. - -“Every troop in the county has a right to vote who did the biggest good -turn in the troop and then they send the name of that scout to the -Rotary Club and those men have a committee to read the reports sent from -all the different troops and then they decide which scout out of all -those scouts did the biggest good turn. All the good turns are big ones -because if they’re not they don’t get to the league and they decide -which is the biggest of all the big ones and then—listen! _Listen! The -scout that gets elected by those men gets a free trip to Yellowstone -Park next summer and all his expenses are paid, candy and sodas and -everything._ And after they elect him they’re going to have a banquet. -And do you know who’s going to the Yellowstone? Warde Hollister.” - -“You mean they’ve voted already?” Westy asked. - -“No, not till next Saturday night, but anyway we’re going to elect him -and send his name in and when you hear what he did you’ll vote for him -all right and I bet you’ll be proud he’s in your patrol. You needn’t ask -me what he did because you have to come and find out and there’s going -to be ice cream, too. So will you be there?” - -“You bet,” said Westy, smiling, “but how about other troops all over the -county? They haven’t been asleep all summer.” - -“Gee whiz, what do we care?” said Pee-wee. - -“You’d better not be too sure,” Westy laughed. - -“I bet you—I bet you a soda Warde’s the one to go,” vociferated Pee-wee. - -“All right,” said Westy. - -“Do you bet he won’t?” Pee-wee demanded incredulously. “_A feller in -your own patrol?_” - -“They’ve got some pretty good scouts over in Little Valley,” said Westy. - -“What do we care? You just wait. Will you surely be there—up at Roy’s?” - -“You bet,” said Westy. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - SOME NOISE - - -It was good to see the familiar faces once again, to hear Roy’s banter -and Pee-wee’s vociferous talk. And now that he was back among them, the -summer did indeed seem like a nightmare, a thing to be forgotten. It was -not hard for Westy to forget his disgrace (or at least to put it out of -his thoughts) in the merry, bustling troop atmosphere. - -[Illustration: NOW THAT HE WAS BACK AMONG THEM, THE SUMMER SEEMED LIKE A -NIGHTMARE.] - -They met in the barn at Roy’s house up on Blakeley’s Hill, where a fine -troop meeting room had been fixed up, with electric lights and a radio -that never worked. - -“Allow me to introduce the honorable Westy Martin,” shouted Roy, -standing on the old kitchen table which his mother had donated to the -cause of scouting; “Silver Fox in good standing except when he’s sitting -down. Hey, Westy, we’re going to have refreshments on account of all -being so fresh, that’s what my father says—I should worry. Hey, Westy, -Pee-wee says next summer you’re going to take your rifle to Coney Island -and shoot the chutes—he’s so dumb he thinks chutes are wild animals.” - -“Next summer I’m going away with the troop,” said Westy. - -“The pleasure is ours,” Roy shouted. “We can stand it if you can. Temple -Camp wasn’t like the same place without you—it was better. Did you hear -about Warde, how he’s going to get his head in the fly-paper, I mean his -face in the newspaper? He’s already rejected by an overwhelming -majority.” - -“I don’t know anything but what Pee-wee told me,” said Westy, speaking -as much to Warde as to Roy, “but I’m for you all right.” - -“And you ought to be proud of your patrol,” said the genial, familiar -voice of Mr. Ellsworth, their scoutmaster, trying to reach Westy with -his hand. - -“Hurrah for the Silver-plated Foxes,” shouted Roy. - -“If the leader of the Silver-plated Foxes will give me the floor for a -few minutes,” laughed Mr. Ellsworth, “we can get down to business and -then——” - -“Have the refreshments,” shouted Pee-wee. “Everybody sit down.” - -“Also shut up,” shouted Roy. - -“Also listen,” said Mr. Ellsworth. - -“Absolutely, positively,” said Roy. “First let’s give three cheers on -account of Westy being back, I mean three groans.” - -“Then,” said Mr. Ellsworth, “as our sprightly leader of the Silver Foxes -would say, let’s have a large chunk of silence——” - -“And very little of that,” shouted Roy. - -“You’re crazy,” shouted Pee-wee. - -“We’re proud of it,” shouted Roy. - -“Shut up, everybody,” shouted Doc Carson. - -“How can I shut up when I wasn’t saying anything?” thundered Pee-wee. - -“Shut up, anyway,” shouted Roy. “Three cheers for Westy Martin down off -the farm. How are the pigs, Westy?” - -“Pretty well, how are all _your_ folks?” Westy was inspired to answer. - -“No sooner said than stung,” said Roy. “If I said anything I’m sorry for -I’m glad of it.” - -“Suppose you say nothing at all,” laughed Mr. Ellsworth. - -“The pleasure is mine,” said Roy, subsiding. - -“Scouts,” said Mr. Ellsworth, having gained the floor at last. “This is -a special meeting for a purpose which you all know about except Westy——” - -“I told him!” shouted Pee-wee. - -“And he will become familiar with the matter as we proceed,” Mr. -Ellsworth continued. “As all of us know, the Rotary Club of Bridgeboro -has done a very splendid and public-spirited thing. This organization -has offered a reward to the scout of Rockvale County who shall be -selected as the one who has done the most conspicuous good turn during -the summer. This award, as we know, is a free trip to the Yellowstone -National Park, where a national jamboree for Boy Scouts is to be held. - -“Special stress was laid upon one or two requirements which would lift -the good turn out of the class of simple every-day kindness and -helpfulness to others. That is, as I understand it, the winning good -turn must have something in the way of heroism in it. I don’t mean -simply physical heroism, of course, but heroism of soul, if I might put -it so. Sacrifice, courage—I think we all know what is meant. - -“According to the printed letter received by our troop (and by every -troop in the county, I suppose) it is our privilege to select by vote -the scout among us who has done the most conspicuous good turn. On last -Monday, Labor Day, the period for performance of such good turn closed. -In accordance with the printed letter received we had an informal vote -and decided that Warde Hollister of the Silver Fox Patrol is entitled to -the award, so far as our troop is concerned. There was only one absent -member and that was Westy Martin. This, of course, we all know and I’m -just running over the matter so that our action may be thoroughly -understood and deliberate. - -“In accordance with requirements I, as scoutmaster of a contesting -troop, have written a report embodying the deed or exploit which Warde -did and which we purpose to present to these gentlemen for their -consideration. I am now going to read this for the approval of all of -you and when I have finished I shall ask all of you to sign it. Your -signatures will be your votes, and in this sense they will be -perfunctory, as we have already had an unanimous vote. If any of you -scouts want to criticize or add anything to my description of the -exploit, sing out and don’t hesitate.” - -“I will,” shouted Pee-wee at the top of his voice. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - ONE GOOD TURN - - -Mr. Ellsworth unfolded a typewritten paper and read. Westy listened with -the greatest attention, for he was the only one who did not already know -of his scout brother’s exploit. - -“The First Bridgeboro New Jersey Troop, B. S. A. respectfully submits to -the Rotary Club of this town, the following report of an exploit -performed by one of its scouts, Warde Hollister, while at Temple Camp, -New York, on the ninth of August this year. This report is made under -supervision and guidance of William C. Ellsworth of Bridgeboro, who is -officially registered at National Headquarters as scoutmaster of said -troop. Conclusive corroborative evidence is readily available to -substantiate truthfulness of this report and will be procured and -transmitted if desired. - -“Whatever may be the issue in this contest, this troop wishes to express -its appreciation of the interest and kindness which the Rotary Club has -shown to the whole scout membership of this county, and indirectly to -the whole great brotherhood of which this troop is a part.” - -“Gee, but that’s dandy language,” shouted Pee-wee. - -“Unfortunately the award is not for fine language,” said Mr. Ellsworth. - -Mr. Ellsworth continued reading, “On the date mentioned, Warde -Hollister, a scout of the first class, was hiking in the neighborhood of -Temple Camp and stopped in a small and humble shack to ask directions——” - -“Tell how they gave him a drink of milk,” shouted Pee-wee. - -“The people were very poor,” Mr. Ellsworth read on, “and the mother, a -widow, was on the point of sending her little child, a boy of six, to an -orphanage, prior to seeking work for herself in the countryside. She -seemed broken-hearted at this prospect and was much overcome as she -talked with Scout Hollister. The woman’s name is Martha Corbett and her -home is, or was, on the road running past Temple Camp into Briarvale.” - -“There’s an apple orchard near it,” shouted Pee-wee. - -Mr. Ellsworth read on, “That night at Temple Camp, Scout Hollister heard -that a wealthy lady living at King’s Cove, about seven miles from Temple -Camp in a direct line, was leaving for New York by auto that night. This -information was imparted to him by the lady’s son who was a guest at -Temple Camp. The lady, Mrs. Horace E. Hartwell, whose husband is well -known in financial circles, intended, among other errands in the city, -to secure a female servant for her country home at King’s Cove. - -“It was known that she would motor to New York late that evening and -Scout Hollister, hoping to secure employment for the Corbett woman, -tried to get her on the telephone. He had reason to believe from -conversation with her son that the Corbett woman might prove available -for service if communication could be had with Mrs. Hartwell before her -departure for New York. - -“Unable to get the Hartwell place by telephone, Hollister decided to go -personally to King’s Cove by a short cut through the woods. To do this -it was necessary for him to cross a swamp causing much difficulty to the -traveler. Hollister covered the entire distance of six miles (including -this swamp) in less than two hours, a very remarkable exploit in the way -of speed and endurance, and did, in fact, reach King’s Cove in time to -intercept the Hartwell auto which had already started for New York. It -was only by taking the difficult short cut and traversing the dangerous -swamp that Hollister was able to do this. - -“Hollister made himself known to Mrs. Hartwell as one of the scouts at -Temple Camp and was the means of suspending her efforts to obtain a -servant in New York until he should have an opportunity to bring Mrs. -Corbett to see her. - -“The sequel of this exploit was that Mrs. Corbett and her young child -were taken into the Hartwell home which seems likely to be a permanent -refuge for both. - -“It is respectfully submitted to the Rotary Club that this good turn -contains both of the elements required for the winning of the -Yellowstone award, viz., generosity of purpose and prowess in the -consequent exploit.” - -“How about that, scouts, all right?” Mr. Ellsworth concluded. “Anybody -want to add anything?” - -“Three cheers for Warde Hollister!” two or three scouts shouted -instinctively. - -“Oh, boy, we’re going to have a trip to Yellowstone Park in our troop!” -vociferated Pee-wee. “Will you send me some post cards from there?” - -“Three cheers for the Silver Foxes,” shouted Roy; “we thank you.” - -“You make me tired, _you_ didn’t do it!” shouted Pee-wee. “Any one would -think you were the one that did it, to hear you shout.” - -“I’m the one that had the responsibility,” Roy shot back; “he’s in my -patrol.” - -“How about _you_, Warde?” Mr. Ellsworth laughed. “All O. K.?” - -“Sure it’s O. K.,” shouted Pee-wee; “it’s dandy language.” - -“It sounds kind of too——” Warde began. - -“No, it doesn’t,” Pee-wee shouted. - -“Well, anyway,” Warde laughed, “I’d like to say this if I can have a -word——” - -“Help yourself,” said Roy, “Pee-wee has plenty of them.” - -“I don’t care anything about seeing my name in the papers,” said Warde. -“I never thought much about Yellowstone Park but I guess I’d like to go -there all right. I don’t think so much of that stunt now that it’s -written down. But if it wins out I’ll be glad; I’ll be glad mostly on -account of the troop——” - -“Won’t you be glad on account of the grizzly bears?” thundered Pee-wee. - -“Sure,” Warde laughed, “but I’ll be glad mostly because we have—you -know—an honor in our troop. I like this troop better than Yellowstone -Park. Anyhow this is all I want to say; I hope you fellows won’t be -disappointed if I—if we don’t get it.” - -“What do you mean _don’t get it_?” Pee-wee roared. - -“I mean just that,” Warde laughed, as he tousled Pee-wee’s curly hair. -“I hope we get it, but I’m not going to worry about it. And if we do get -it I’ll be glad on account of the troop. I always stuck to the troop; I -could have gone to Europe last summer but I wanted to go away with the -troop. And if I do—if I _should_—go out to the Yellowstone this is the -way it will be with me; I’ll feel as if I’m going for the troop.” - -“That’s the way to talk,” said Mr. Ellsworth briskly. - -“I was just going to talk that way,” thundered Pee-wee. - -“Mr. Ellsworth saved us just in time,” said Roy. “Young Faithful was -going to spurt again. He’s got Old Faithful Geyser tearing its hair with -jealousy. Old Faithful spurts every hour, he spurts twice a minute.” - -“Well,” laughed Mr. Ellsworth, “if this report strikes you all right, -suppose you all put your names to it.” - -“I’ll put mine first,” shouted Pee-wee. - -It was not until after Westy Martin had signed his name that he had an -opportunity of seeking out Warde and talking with him alone. How the -hero escaped Pee-wee would be difficult to explain; probably that -hero-maker was detained by a prolonged encounter with the refreshments. -Warde, always modest, was glad enough to get away from the clamorous -throng and walk part way home with Westy, whom he had not seen all -summer. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - WARDE AND WESTY - - -“I said it was the troop I was thinking about,” Warde observed, “but I -guess it’s really that kid I’m thinking about as much as anything.” - -“You mean Mrs. Corbett’s kid?” Westy asked. - -“No, Pee-wee, Young Faithful. Huh, that’s a pretty good name for him, -hey?” - -“He’s all there,” Westy said. - -“_He’s_ not going to Yellowstone,” said Warde. “Not even a member of his -patrol is. Yet, by golly, here he is standing on his head on account of -me.” - -“Yop, that’s him all right,” said Westy. - -“How’d you make out this summer?” Warde asked. “We got a couple of cards -from you up at camp. Who’s that fellow in the snap-shot you sent me?” - -“Oh, he’s a farm hand at my uncle’s; he’s been all over, on whaling -cruises and everything. My father calls him a contemptible scoundrel -because he’s—I don’t know just why—because he’s been a sort of tramp—I -guess. He helped start a war in a South Sea island and they kidnapped -the king.” - -“That sounds pretty good,” said Warde. - -“Now that we’re all alone,” said Westy, purposely avoiding the subject -of his own summer, “I want to tell you that was some stunt you did. I -signed my name and I signed it good and black; I think I broke my -fountain pen.” - -“I’ll bring you one from the Yellowstone,” Warde laughed; “if I go,” he -added. - -“I think you’ll go all right,” said Westy. “You know how it is, Hollie, -when a fellow gets home after being away; everybody seems kind of -strange. That’s the way it seemed with me to-night; that’s why I didn’t -say much, I guess. But now that I’m seeing you all alone I’ll tell you -that that was one peach of a thing you did. I’m expecting to get post -cards from you next summer showing the petrified forests and Inspiration -Point and the Old Faithful Inn and all those places—you see.” - -“You seem to know all about them,” said Warde. - -“Sure,” said Westy, with a note of wistfulness in his voice. “I’ve read -a lot about it; I was—eh— There’s another thing I want to say to you -while we’re alone. You said you didn’t go to Europe last summer so you -could be with the troop. You said the troop always comes first with you. -I guess you didn’t mean that as a shot at me, did you? Because I went -away somewhere else this summer?” - -“What are you talking about?” Warde laughed, as he rapped Westy on the -shoulder and then gave him a shove almost off the sidewalk. “That’s you -all over, everybody says so; you’re so gol blamed sensitive. I wouldn’t -answer such a crazy question.” - -“Because I’ve got the same idea that you have,” said Westy. “I’m always -wishing I could do something for the troop; the troop comes first with -me, you can bet. But, gee, I never seem to be able to do anything. Look -at Roy, his father gave the barn——” - -“Come out of that,” laughed Warde. “Tell me what you were doing all -summer. We had _some_ summer at Temple Camp.” - -“Oh, I don’t know,” said Westy, “nothing in particular. I went for a -special reason and I guess it didn’t pan out very well. I should worry -about it, because anyway it’s all over. I don’t want to talk about it.” - -Warde glanced curiously at him but said nothing. - -“You can bet I’m going to camp with you fellows next summer,” Westy -said. “Only probably _you_ won’t be there.” - -“Oh, don’t be too sure of that,” Warde laughed. “There are a few other -troops to be heard from, Westy, old boy.” - -“Well, I’d like to see that award given to our troop,” Westy mused. “I -don’t suppose it makes much difference who goes. If I had to choose a -fellow to go it would be you, and I did vote for you, you can bet. But -as long as our troop gets the honor it doesn’t make much difference who -goes. I’m glad I got back in time to vote. Gee williger, I’m proud to -vote for a stunt like that—and I’m glad you’re in my patrol. That’s -about all I’m good for, I guess—to vote.” - -“Who taught me to hit a bull’s eye?” Warde asked. “What are you doing -to-morrow?” he broke off suddenly. “Come ahead over to my house and -we’ll try a few cracks at the target; what do you say?” - -“Huh,” Westy mused wistfully. “I guess I’ll have to be getting ready for -school to-morrow. I’ve got to unpack my trunk, too.” - -“We’ll see you Saturday night then? At the Rotary Club?” - -“Will they let people go?” Westy asked. - -“Sure, the more the merrier,” said Warde; “it’s a public meeting.” - -“I’ll come and shout for you when they announce the decision,” Westy -said. - -“Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched,” laughed Warde. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - IRA GOES A-HUNTING - - -When Westy strode away after making his sensational announcement at the -farm, Ira Hasbrook watched the departing figure through a dense cloud of -tobacco smoke. He was puzzled. For a while he smoked leisurely, -submitting with languid amiability to the tirade of Aunt Mira. And when -she finally withdrew to the sitting room to write to Bridgeboro he -continued smoking and thinking for fully half an hour. Only once in all -that time did he make any audible comment. - -“Some kid,” he mused aloud. - -It would be hard to say whether this comment was in approval of Westy’s -sudden inspiration to kill a deer or in perplexity as to what he -actually had done. Certainly Ira would not have held it to the boy’s -discredit if he had killed a deer. He rather liked Westy’s unexplained -decision to reform and kill a deer. With such a fine beginning he might -some day even go after an Indian or run away to sea. Ira was greatly -amused at the naïve way in which Westy had suddenly come out into the -open as a lawless adventurer.... - -But he was puzzled. For one thing it seemed odd to him that Westy, -directly after his bizarre exploit, should have chanced upon Luke -Meadows, the leading poacher of the neighborhood and the bane of farmers -and game wardens for miles around. - -Ira’s attitude with respect to Westy’s sensational confession was not -the moral attitude. - -“I’ll be gol darned, I don’t believe he did it,” he mused. His thought -seemed to be that it was too good to be true. - -He slowly drew himself to his feet, pulled his outlandish felt hat from -its peg, refilled his pipe, and sauntered over into the woods where he -soon hit the trail which formed the short cut to Chandler. He had not -walked fifteen minutes when he heard voices and presently came upon a -little group of people gazing at the carcass of the deer. Terry, the -game warden, and Farmer Sands were very much in evidence. - -“What cher goin’ to do with him; drag him out?” Ira inquired without -wasting any words in greeting. - -“H’lo, Iry,” said the game warden. “Work of the boy scouts; pretty good -job, huh?” - -“Yere, so he was tellin’ me,” drawled Ira. “Plunked him right in the -bean, huh?” - -“Who was tellin’ yer?” inquired Farmer Sands with aggressive shrewdness. - -“The kid,” drawled Ira. - -“Yer don’t mean he come back and told yer?” Farmer Sands inquired -incredulously. - -“Uh huh, work of the boy scouts,” said Ira. “I was thinkin’ he might ’a -been lyin’ only I don’t believe he knows how ter lie any more’n he knows -how to shoot. Got a match, Terry?” - -Ira leisurely lighted his unwilling pipe and proceeded in his lazy way -to examine the carcass. - -“Plunked him twice, huh—one under the belly there.” - -Ira wandered about, kicking the bushes while the men fixed a rope about -the head of the carcass. - -“I s’pose you know all ’bout what happened then, if the boy went back to -the farm?” Terry called to him. - -“Me?” Ira answered. “Naah, I don’t know nuthin ’bout what happened. I -know the kid lost a hundred dollars he was savin’ up. This here tobaccy -package b’long to you, Terry?” - -“Where’d you find that?” Terry called. - -“Over here in the bushes. Me and you never smoked such mild tobaccy as -Mechanical Delights or whatever it is. Howling Bulldog Plug Cut for us, -hey? Do you need any help, you men? Prob’ly the kid was smokin’ -Mechanical Delights and didn’t know what he was doin’, that’s my theory. -He couldn’t see through the smoke.” - -He stuffed the empty tinfoil package into his pocket and started ambling -through the woods toward Barrett’s. - -“Thar’s the man ’at’s to blame fer this here vila-shun of the law,” said -Farmer Sands shrewdly. “Him’s the man ’at turned that thar youngster’s -head—I tell yer that, Terry.” - -“Like enough,” said Terry. “Him and that scoutin’ craze.” - -“Maybe it was the scouting craze that made him tell the truth,” said a -bystander, evidently a city boarder in the neighborhood. “It seems a -queer thing that a young boy should break the law and shoot big game and -then go and give himself up.” - -“No, ’tain’t nuther,” said Farmer Sands. “He got sceered, that’s why he -confessed. He was sceered outer his skin soon as he clapped eyes on me -an’ Terry. You can’t fool me, by gum! I see jes haow it was the minute I -set eyes on the little varmint!” - -But he hadn’t seen how it was at all. Nor had Terry seen how it was. For -the explanation of this whole business was locked up in that dungeon of -mysteries in Mr. Martin’s library. It had been under their very noses -and they had not so much as examined it. And now it was in that closet -of dark traditions away off in Bridgeboro, under the grim and autocratic -guard of Westy’s father. And there it remained until a stronger man than -Mr. Martin ordered him to bring it out. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - CLEWS - - -Ira ambled along through the woods, emerging at Barrett’s where the -dubious rumors of his past career always assured him a ready welcome. He -had never been of the Barrett’s set, preferring the quiet of the farm, -and the adventurous game of quietly plaguing Aunt Mira. But they knew -him for a former sailor and soldier of fortune (or ill-fortune) and they -respected him for the dark traditions which were associated with his -name. - -He sauntered along the shabby little street till he came to the house of -Luke Meadows. He had no better plan than just a quiet tour of -observation and inquiry. He intended to chat with Luke. But his -curiosity had been greatly enlivened since he had seen the deer. - -But at Luke’s house he was doomed to surprise and disappointment. The -alien had gone away with his little girl. There had been no furniture -worth moving and the westerner’s few portable belongings (so the -loiterers said) had been taken in a shabby bag. - -Luke had not vouchsafed his neighbors any information touching the cause -of his departure or his destination. There was a picture, unconsciously -and crudely drawn by “Missie Ellis,” the neighbor to whose care Meadows -had consigned his little daughter just before the scout had saved him -from arrest and jail. She seemed a motherly person, well chosen by the -man who, in his extremity, had thought only of his little daughter. - -“I see them go,” said Mrs. Ellis, “and he was carryin’ her in one arm -and the bag in the other. They went up the road toward Dawson’s and I -says to my man, I says, sumpin is wrong and they’ve gone to git the -train. The county men was allus after him, houndin’ him and houndin’ -him; Lord knows, I never knew him to do no harm but shoot game. And the -little kiddie, she was the livin’ image of her mother. I nursed the poor -woman when she died of the flu and Luke he jes stood there by the bed -and lookin’ at her and sayin’ not a word. Even after she went not a word -did he say. - -“She was out of her head, she was, and she was sayin’ how they were back -in Cody where they came from and he says, ‘Yes, mommy, we’ll go back; -soon as you can travel we’ll go back.’ They was strangers here; I guess -they was allus thinkin’ and frettin’ about their big wild west. He says -once how he could see miles of prairies, poor man. Sech eyes as he had! -Seemed as if he could see across miles of prairies. - -“To-day he had some trouble with Terry again. I don’t know what it was -all about, but there was a youngster over here, a fine likely lookin’ -young lad and they took him away to Chandler. I says to my man, they’ve -gone to make the poor, frightened boy tell something and then come back -an’ arrest Luke. So I guess he goes away while it was yet time—Lord -knows what it was all about.” - -Ira walked through the poor, little, deserted house and even he was -touched by its bareness. Curious, gossipy neighbors accompanied him, -commenting upon the brown, taciturn man who had gone and taken away with -him the one thing of value that he possessed, his little girl. If he had -gone for fear Westy might weaken, under some rustic third degree, and -incriminate him, he might have saved himself the slight inconvenience of -a hasty departure. The scout who had seen to it that the little -motherless girl and her father were not parted, was not likely to say -one word more than he intended to say to the authorities or to any one -else. - -One thing Ira did find in the little house which interested him. This -was a collection of as many as a dozen empty tinfoil packages on the -wooden shelf above the cooking stove. According to the labels they had -contained Mechanic’s Delight Plug Cut tobacco. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - - A BARGAIN - - -Ira did not see anything remarkable in Westy’s having shot the deer -twice. He was surprised and amused at the boy, having shot it once; it -had caused him to regard Westy as a youthful hero of the true dime novel -brand. But he had not much respect for Westy’s skill as a marksman. And -he was quite ready to believe that two shots had been required to “drop” -the deer. Six or eight shots would not greatly have surprised him. - -What puzzled him was the undoubted fact (established by the telltale -tobacco package) that Luke Meadows had very lately been in the -neighborhood of the killing. He had not attached any particular -significance to this package until he had seen similar packages in -Luke’s deserted home. Now he found himself wondering how Westy had -happened to be at Luke’s house, and why Luke had so suddenly gone away. - -The true explanation of the whole business never occurred to Ira. That -anybody could voluntarily make the sacrifice that Westy had made was not -within the range of his conception. Probably he had never done a mean -thing in all his checkered career. But, on the other hand, he had -probably never done anything very self-sacrificing. To kidnap a -barbarous king was certainly not the act of a gentleman (as Westy’s -mother had observed) but it was not _mean_.... - -The nearest that Ira’s cogitations brought him to the truth was his -suspicion that somehow or other Westy and Luke Meadows had both been -involved in the lawless act of killing and that Westy (being the -financier of the pair) had been frightened into taking the blame. In -this case it seemed likely enough that Luke (aware of his dubious -reputation) would depart before Westy should have time to weaken and -incriminate him. This was about the best that he could do with the -rather puzzling circumstances, and several pipefuls of Howling Bulldog -Plug Cut were required to establish this theory. - -He had no intention of reopening the unhappy subject with Aunt Mira. It -pleased him to have her believe that Westy was a daring and law-defying -huntsman. And the whole matter would probably have died out of his own -mind in the preoccupation of his farm duties, save for two incidents -which restored his curiosity and revived his interest. Both of these -happened the next day, Saturday. - -On that afternoon, Ira took the milk cans to the little station at -Dawson’s and stopped in the post office on the way back. The postmaster, -Jeb Speyer, handed him a letter or two and a rolled up newspaper -addressed to Aunt Mira. On the wrapper of this newspaper were written -the words _marked copy_ and Ira contemplated the address and the -postmark with that ludicrous air of one who seldom reads. - -“Guess it’s from that youngster yer had daown t’h’ farm,” commented Mr. -Speyer; “Bridgeberry, hain’t it? That youngster oughter be walloped, and -by gol, I’d be th’ one ter do it, I tell yer; shootin’ up th’ woods -outer season.” - -“Well, I d’no,” drawled Ira, ruefully. “I’d kinder think twice ’fore I’d -wallop that kid. He jes soon shoot yer down as look at yer; shot a -school teacher fer givin’ him a bad mark last winter, I heerd.” - -“_I want ter know!_” ejaculated Mr. Speyer. - -“Yer got ter handle that kid with gloves,” said Ira. “He expects to be a -train robber when he grows up. Let’s have a paper of tobaccy, Jeb.” - -“What yer reckon’s become of Luke Meadows, Iry?” Jeb asked. - -“Him? Oh, I s’pect the kid killed him and hid him away somewheres. The -whole truth o’ that business ain’t out yet, Jeb.” - -“Think so, huh?” said Jeb shrewdly. - -“There’s queer things ’bout it,” said Ira darkly. - -On the way home he paused at the house of Terry, the game warden. He had -no object in doing this but Terry’s little house was on the way and the -game warden was nailing the deerskin to the barn door, so Ira stopped to -chat. Terry was the terror of game law violators the county over, but he -was a thrifty soul, and benefited so much by illegal killings as to sell -deer and fox skins to the market. Thus poor Luke Meadows put money in -the pocket of Terry, the game warden. Ira’s broad code of morals was not -opposed to this sort of thing and he stood by, chatting idly with Terry -about the value of the skin. - -“I got the bullets, I got the bullets,” said Terry’s scrawny little -daughter, exhibiting them proudly in the palm of her outstretched hand. -“See? I got the bullets.” - -Half-interested, and more to please the child than for any other reason, -Ira glanced at the bullets. Then, suddenly, he took them in his own hand -and examined them closely. - -What interested him about them was that they were not alike. - -“These outer the deer, Terry?” he asked. - -“Yop, ’n’ don’t you put ’em in yer mouth nuther,” said Terry, addressing -the child instead of Ira. “Them’s poison, them is.” - -“I tell yer what I’ll do,” said Ira, fumbling in his pockets. “You give -me them bullets and I’ll give you ten cents an’ yer can buy ice cream -and lolly-pops and them ain’t poison, are they, Terry?” - -Terry was too engrossed to review this proposition, but the child -complied with alacrity. - -“Now me an’ you is made a bargain,” said Ira. “An’ if I get hungry I can -chew up the bullets ’cause poison don’t hurt me. Once down in South -Americy when I deserted from a ship I et poison toads when I was hidin’ -from cannibals; you ask Auntie Miry if that ain’t so. Ain’t that so, -Terry?” - -“Reckon it must be,” said Terry, preoccupied. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - - THE MARKED ARTICLE - - -Here then was one undoubted fact; the deer had been shot by two -different guns. Ira cogitated upon this fact and tried to make up his -mind what he would do next, or whether he would do anything. And -probably he would not have done anything if it had not been for the -newspaper which he delivered to Aunt Mira. She did not give him this to -read for she still maintained a demeanor of coldness toward this -arch-seducer. But he found the paper on the sitting room table and read -the marked article. - -“BRIDGEBORO SCOUTS CONTEST FOR ROTARY CLUB AWARD,” the heading declared. -The article below ran: - -“Great excitement prevails among our local scout troops as a result of -the splendid offer of the Rotary Club of our town to send a scout to -Yellowstone National Park next summer. This rare opportunity is offered -to the scout of Rockvale County who, in the opinion of the Club’s -Committee, performed the most conspicuous good turn during the past -summer. Each of the three troops in Bridgeboro has elected a scout for -this contest. All of the deeds presented for the league’s consideration -reflect great credit on the young heroes who performed them. - -“The First Bridgeboro Troop, our oldest and largest local unit, presents -Warde Hollister as candidate for the rare treat of a trip to the -Yellowstone. Warde did a great stunt at Temple Camp during the summer -involving both prowess and generous spirit and the First Troop scouts -are moving heaven and earth to secure for him the award which will be a -reflected honor to their splendid organization.” - -On the same page with this article was a blank area surrounding an -advertisement and availing himself of this space, Westy had written: - - Dear Aunt Mira:— - - Maybe you’ll be sorry I can’t go to Yellowstone Park because - I had to do something else with my money. Dad says for me to - forget about going to Yellowstone. This article shows you - how, sort of, I will go anyway probably. Because in a scout - troop all the scouts are sort of like one scout so if Hollie - goes it will almost be the same as if I went, and I’ll hear - all about it anyway. So please don’t feel sorry because I - can’t go to the Yellowstone. I had a dandy time at the farm. - Give my regards to Ira. - - Westy. - -When Ira had finished his unauthorized perusal he lighted his pipe. Ira -could smoke and do anything else at the same time—except read. Reading -required all his effort and when he read, his pipe always took advantage -of his preoccupation to go out. When he had relighted it, he stuffed his -hands as far down as possible in his trousers pockets and went out and -gazed at the landscape. But he did not care anything about the -landscape. - -“He’s—one—all round—little—prince,” he mused aloud. “_He’s jes one -nat’ral born little prince!_ They don’t make ’em, that scout club, them -as is like that jes has ter be born that way. By gol, I’d like ter know -what the little rascal act’ally did do.” - -He came to the conclusion that what the little rascal had actually done -was to collaborate with Luke Meadows in the adventurous exploit of -killing the deer and then allowed himself to be frightened into assuming -all the guilt and paying the fine. Ira was artless enough, and ignorant -enough of scouting, to believe that this in itself would constitute a -claim upon the Rotary Club of Bridgeboro. - -“I ain’t gon to see no kid gon out to the Yellowstone without them gents -knowin’ ’bout this here,” mused Ira. “I’m a-gon ter look inter this mess -summat. I ain’t satisfied with the looks o’ things.” - -For a few minutes longer he stood, his back against the house, smoking -and considering. Then, delving into the abysmal depths of his trousers -pocket he disinterred a formidable nickel watch which was innocent of -chain or cord. He had exchanged a carved whale’s tooth for it in some -oriental sea town and it was his pride and boast. If Ira himself had -always been as regular as this miniature town clock no one would have -complained. - -“I got jes about enough time ter ketch the six-twenty from Dawson’s,” he -said. “I’m gone ter hev a look at this here Bridgeboro.” - -This was as far as he was willing to commit himself. He would go in the -rôle of idle tourist. There remained only one thing to do and that was -to saunter out to the kitchen porch and reach his outlandish felt hat -down from the peg which had been intended for a milk pail. If he had -been going to South Africa, he would have done no more than this. But he -did pay Bridgeboro the tribute of banging his hat against a porch -stanchion to knock the loose dust out of it. Then he sauntered up the -road toward Dawson’s. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII - - ENTER THE CONTEMPTIBLE SCOUNDREL - - -At eight o’clock that evening, an evening destined to be memorable in -the annals of local scouting, Ira Hasbrook stood upon the porch of the -Martin home and, having pushed the electric button, knocked out the -contents of his pipe against the rail preparatory to entering. - -He wore khaki trousers which in some prehistoric era had been brown, a -blue flannel shirt and an old strap from a horse harness by way of a -belt. He was not in the least perturbed, but bore himself with an -easy-going demeanor which had a certain quality that suggested that -nothing less than an earthquake could ruffle it. He was not admitted to -the house by the correct man servant and seemed quite content to wait on -the porch until Mr. Martin (whom he purposed to honor with a call) -should make known his pleasure touching the scene of their interview. - -“You want to see me; what is it?” that gentleman demanded curtly. - -“You Mr. Martin, huh? Westy’s father?” - -“Yes, sir, what can I do for you?” - -“Well,” drawled Ira, “you can do a turn fer him, mebbe; and that’ll be -doin’ somethin’ fer me. I’m down off the farm up yonder—up by Dawson’s.” - -“Oh, you mean you work for Mr. Nelson?” - -“By turns, when I’m in the country. The kid happen to be home?” - -“No, sir, he’s not,” said Mr. Martin curtly, “but I think I’ve heard of -you. What is your business here?” - -“Well, I never was in no business exactly, as the feller says,” Ira -drawled out. “Kid’s gone ter the meetin’, huh?” - -“I believe he has,” said Mr. Martin briskly. “Did Mr. Nelson send you -here? If there is anything you have to say to my son I think it would be -better for you to say it to me.” - -“That’s as might be,” said Ira easily. “Would yer want that I should -talk to yer here?” - -Mr. Martin stepped aside to let the caller pass within. Ira wiped his -feet but paid no other tribute, nor, indeed, paid the slightest heed to -the rather sumptuous surroundings in which he found himself. He followed -the lord of the establishment into the library and seated himself in one -of the big leather chairs. Mr. Martin did not trouble himself to present -Ira when his wife and daughter (fearful of some newly disclosed sequel -to Westy’s escapade) stole into the room and unobtrusively seated -themselves in a corner. - -“Well, sir, what is it?” said Mr. Martin authoritatively. - -“Well,” drawled Ira, “it’s ’bout yer son shootin’ a deer.” - -“We know about that,” said Mr. Martin coldly. - -“Yer don’t happen ter know if he used the rifle since, do you?” - -At this there was an audible titter from Doris. - -“Oh, yes, I know very well that he hasn’t,” said the official jailer, “I -have it under lock and key.” - -“I’d like ter git a squint at that there gun.” - -“That would be impossible,” said Mr. Martin. - -“Yes?” - -“Is there any claim that the gun doesn’t belong to my son? That he——” - -“There’s a notion he ain’t been tellin’ the whole gol blamed truth ’bout -that there shootin’ an’ I’m here ter kinder look over the matter, as the -feller says.” - -“Did you come here to charge my son with lying?” - -“Well, as you might say, _no_.I come here ter charge him with bein’ a -little rascal of a prince. But _of_ course if I thought he was a liar -I’d tell ’im so and I’d tell you so. Jes the same as if I thought you -was a fool or a liar I’d tell yer so.” - -“Isn’t he perfectly splendid,” Doris whispered in her mother’s ear. -“Isn’t he picturesque? Oh, I think he’s just adorable.” - -“Well, now, my man,” said Mr. Martin, considerably jarred by his -caller’s frank declaration, “what is it? I think I’ve heard of you and I -think if it wasn’t for you that murderous toy wouldn’t be locked up in -that closet there.” Ira glanced toward the family dungeon. “As I -understand it, from what Mrs. Nelson says, you got my boy’s head full of -nonsense and he ran amuck. He told the truth and confessed it and lost a -hundred dollars and his gun and a trip out west. And the gun’s locked up -in that closet where it will never do any more harm. It will never shoot -any more deer in season or out of season—I suppose you’ve shot them both -ways.” - -“Yes, sir, I have,” drawled Ira, “but I never used more than one gun at -a time; I never dropped an animal with two different kinds of bullets -like your boy did——” - -Mr. Martin looked surprised. - -“I was thinkin’,” said Ira, not giving Mr. Martin a chance to comment -upon this mystery, “that maybe not knowin’ much ’bout guns and bein’ -sceered of ’em—I can always mostly spot folks that’s daffy ’bout -firearms—I was thinking maybe you was just crazy fool enough when you -was mad ter lock that murderous toy up while it was loaded. _Of_ course -if you done that you can’t exactly say it won’t do no more harm.” - -This was exactly what Mr. Martin had done and a titter from his daughter -reminded him that he was at a slight disadvantage. - -“I’d like ter see whether both shots has been fired outer that gun,” Ira -drawled on. “I’d jes kind of sorter like to look it over. And while I’m -at it, I’ll take out the cartridge that I think is still in it. Then it -can’t bite. Maybe I’ll be able ter tell yer somethin’ or other when I -get through. Now you jes get that gun out without any more foolin’ -around or else yer don’t deserve ter be the father o’ that kid. Get it -out an’ don’t waste no more time; them gents is startin’ a meetin’ up -yonder.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII - - PROOFS - - -Ira Hasbrook took no notice of the tribute paid him by the mother and -daughter and father who clustered about him evidently not in the least -afraid of the gun now that it was in his hands. Even Mr. Martin -contemplated it without a quiver. Upon the library table lay one -cartridge. The other had done its good turn. - -“Yer see this here is one of them repeaters,” said Ira. “’Tain’t goin’ -ter hurt yer. Yer see these here two cartridges I got in my pocket? They -come outer the deer. They ain’t the same size, yer see? Two guns. The -one I jes took out matches that there little one outer my pocket. This -here big one came outer another gun—that ain’t no repeater. Now looka -here, here’s what tells the story—the gol blamed little rascal of a -double barrel prince! Looka here—feel on the end of that barrel. Powder. - -“Feel, mister, ’twon’t bite yer. Yer know what that means? That means -yer a proud father. I wasn’t gone ter shake hands with yer, but gol -blame it, I think I will! Feel it! Smell it! Powder, all right. That -means your boy was—about—gol, that toy o’ his wasn’t six inches from -that there deer when he shot it in the head.” He scrutinized and felt of -something near the end of the barrel. “Blood even! See that; that’s a -hair! I knowed I’d ketch the little rascal. _Mister, that boy o’ yours -shot that animal ter put it outer its suffering._” - -There was a moment’s pause as they clustered about Ira where he stood -near the library table squinting curiously at the end of the barrel and -gingerly examining it with one finger. And only one sound broke the -silence; that was when an almost inaudible “_oh_” of astonishment and -admiration escaped from Doris. “It’s wonderful,” she said more clearly -after a pause. - -“Be sure yer sins’ll find yer out, as the feller says,” drawled Ira. - -“If it hadn’t been for you——” Mrs. Martin began. - -“All right, mister,” Ira laughed, “yer don’t need ter be scared of her, -she’s empty. The only thing’s goner do any damage now is me. I’m goner -shoot up th’ Rotary Club. Now where’s this here meetin’ anyway? I’m -a-goner look it over.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX - - THE RALLY - - -The assembly hall of the Bridgeboro High School presented a gala scene. -The whole thing had come about unexpectedly; it had been an -“inspiration” as Pee-wee would have said. The local newspaper at the -instigation of several public-spirited individuals and organizations of -town, had stirred up a festival spirit in the interest of the Boy Scouts -which must have surprised the kindly gentlemen of the Rotary Club who -had certainly never expected that the award they had offered would be -made the occasion of a public rally. - -But Mrs. Gibson of the Woman’s Club had seen the opportunity for a “real -Scout night,” and the giving of the coveted award had been hooked up -with a well-planned rally. The Rotary Club was in it, the Woman’s Club -was in it, the Campfire Girls were in it, the Y.M.C.A. was in it, and -Pee-wee Harris was in it. He was not only in it, he was all over it. -Most of the troops in the county had lately returned from their summer -outings and they blew into Bridgeboro, tanned and enthusiastic. Not all -troops had elected candidates for the great award, but all were -interested. It was Scout Night in Bridgeboro. - -“Our troop is going to sit in the front row,” shouted Pee-wee; “and -listen—everybody keep still—_listen_—when Warde gets called up on the -stage—that’s the way they’re going to do—when he—shut up and listen—when -he gets called up on the stage, don’t start shouting till I do. When I -shout——” - -“I never heard you stop shouting,” said Roy. - -“I have to start in order to stop, don’t I?” Pee-wee roared. “How can I -shout without being still first?” - -“How are you going to get still?” Roy shot back. - -“You leave it to me,” yelled Pee-wee. “Don’t anybody shout till I do. -Then when I start everybody shout—wait a minute—this is what you all -have to shout: - - Yell, yell, yell, - Yell, yell, yell, - Yell, yell, yell, - Yellowstone! - -I invented it because it’s got a lot of yells in it.” - -“He thinks Yellowstone Park is named after a yell,” shouted Roy. - -The First Bridgeboro Troop did sit in the front row and for a while -Pee-wee was silent—while he finished eating an apple. The first six or -eight rows were filled with scouts and their patrol pennants raised here -and there made an inspiring and festive show. Behind them was the -regular audience. On the stage a khaki tent had been pitched with logs -piled outside it and a huge iron pot hanging over them upon a rough -crane. - -“Oh, boy, I wish that was filled with hunter’s stew,” Pee-wee whispered -to Dorry Benton who sat next to him. “Yum, yum, I wish I was on that -platform.” - -“He’s so hungry he could eat an imitation meal,” Dorry whispered to Roy. - -“Tell him to wait till the curtain comes down with a roll and he can eat -that,” whispered Roy. - -There was singing, and a high scout official from National Headquarters -made a speech. The bronze cross was given to one proud scout, the Temple -life-saving medal to another. A patrol from Little Valley gave a skilful -demonstration of first aid. The Boy Scout Band from Northvale played -several pieces; they had a very snappy little band, the Northvale Troop. - -Then, a scout was blindfolded and led to the tent. He promised to jump -up as soon as he heard the least sound of approach. Then a barefooted -scout stole up, while the audience waited in suspense, and had actually -started removing the bandage from the other boy’s eyes before the latter -knew he was near. This brought great applause. The Campfire Girls sang -in chorus and gave some interesting demonstrations. It was a pretty good -program. - -It was after ten o’clock when Mr. Atwater, of the Rotary Club, arose -from among those seated on the stage and, drawing a batch of papers from -his pocket, started to address the audience. - -“Three cheers for the Rotary Club of Bridgeboro!” some one called. And -three rousing cheers were given for that organization. - -“Hurrah for Yellowstone Park!” one called. - -“Hurrah for the scout that we don’t know who he is!” another shouted, -and there was much laughter. - -“Yes, we do know, too!” arose the thunderous voice of Scout Harris. - -“We’ll all know very soon,” laughed Mr. Atwater, “if you’ll give me a -chance to speak.” - -A certain atmosphere of tenseness seemed to pervade the front rows of -the assembly hall. Scouts became restless, there were whispering and -demands for quiet. Mr. Atwater smilingly waited. - -Then silence. - - - - - CHAPTER XXX - - OPEN TO THE PUBLIC - - -“My good friends,” said Mr. Atwater, “Shakespeare tells us that some are -born great and some have greatness thrust upon them. The Rotary Club -seems to have greatness thrust upon it. In an evil moment, one of our -members suggested giving a trip to the Yellowstone Park as a reward for -the best scout good turn performed in this county during the past -summer. Through the press scout troops were invited to elect members -eligible, by reason of their deeds, to compete for this award. The -Rotary Club had no expectation of being dragged into the light of day -and fulfilling its promise before the multitude——” - -“Don’t you be scared,” shouted Pee-wee. - -“I think I can get through with it,” laughed Mr. Atwater, amid much -laughter. “I have seen much to-night and it is my pleasure and pride to -put one boy scout in the way of seeing more—that great, vast wonderland -of the west, the Yellowstone National Park! (Great applause.) To him -that hath shall be given, as the Bible tells us. The Rotary Club cannot -make a hero. But I think it can pick one. And that it has tried to do -impartially, fairly. (Applause.) - -“The trouble with the Boy Scouts in Rockvale County is that they have -too many heroes; it isn’t a question of finding one, but more a question -of weeding them out. (Laughter.) - -“When I was a boy I got a medal for washing my hands and face each day -(including under my ears) and twice on Sundays. I kept up with that -ordeal for a period of weeks and then I got the cleanliness medal—and -lost it. I have always been sorry that I washed my hands and face each -day—including under my ears. (Great laughter.) Because now I have -nothing to show for it. (Cheers and uproarious laughter.) - -“So when this proposition of an award came up I said, ‘If we’re going to -give an award at all, let’s give something that can’t fall out of a -boy’s pocket. (Laughter.) Let’s give something that he can’t swap off -for a jack-knife—something that the teacher can’t take away from him.’” - -“You said it!” shouted Pee-wee. - -“When I was a kid (anticipatory laughter), a century or two ago, -everything I had sooner or later fell into the hands of my teacher. -(Broad smile from Principal Starky on the platform.) So I said let’s -give this young hero something he’ll always have! Let’s give him -mountains, and geysers and forests and grizzly bears, and lots to eat——” - -“Oh, boy!” said Pee-wee. - -“And if anybody can get those things away from him let them have them.” - -If every laughing face in that audience had not been directed at the -genial speaker who had captivated all, perhaps some might have noticed -the boy who sat in silence looking wistfully at the speaker and -listening intently. - -As Mr. Atwater passed on to more serious talk, that boy’s attention -seemed to concentrate and become tense. He saw neither Roy on his right -hand, nor Warde Hollister on his left, only the stage and the speaker, -and he seemed to be in a sort of trance. Only once did he speak and that -was when (under the spell of some alluring phrase of the speaker’s) he -said to Warde, “I hope you do get it, it’s our troop.” Then he said to -himself. “If it isn’t my trip it’s my troop.” Further than this, no one, -not even the restless and whispering Pee-wee, could draw his attention -from the speaker. - -“The Yellowstone National Park,” Mr. Atwater continued, “is Uncle Sam’s -great playground. There you are welcome. The geysers jump up when they -see you coming; the grizzly bears hug you to death. (Laughter.) You can -shoot the rapids but you can’t shoot anything else. You can leave your -gun at home, young fellow, because that wonderland belongs to the deer -just as much as it belongs to you. You can’t kill deer in the -Yellowstone.” - -Westy winced. Was the speaker looking at him? Of course not—foolish, -sensitive boy.... - -“Now, one of you scouts is going out to the Yellowstone next summer, on -the Rotary Club of Bridgeboro. The amount of money you will have to take -is just _not one cent_! You’re going to stay there for a month and bang -around—all expenses paid. You’re going to come back and say that old -Uncle Sam has some back-yard to play in. (Laughter.) You’re going to get -onto a friendly basis with forest rangers and bears, and deer, and trout -fishing and what all. No medal! No gewgaw to sew on your sleeve! No gold -piece to buy candy with! Just a trip to Uncle Sam’s Wonderland, the -Yellowstone National Park! (Great applause.) - -“Now who is going to have this trip? Six gentlemen and four ladies have -decided and they’re all here on the platform. (Applause.) And they did -the best they could to decide. It becomes my duty now to announce the -winner of this award. Edwin Carlisle of the Second Westboro Troop will -please stand up.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI - - SHOOTIN’ UP THE MEETIN’ - - -A tense silence prevailed. Pee-wee gasped, speechless. Even the -exuberant Roy stared. “_What do—you—know—about—that!_” Doc Carson -whispered to Artie Van Arlen. As Westy had been staring spellbound all -along, no turn in his thoughts was visible in his features. Warde -Hollister, of all the boys in the troop, seemed unperturbed. -Level-headed and sensible scout that he was, he had let the others do -the hoping, and the shouting. - -“We don’t get it,” whispered Dorry Benton. - -“Look!” whispered Wig Weigand to Warde. - -But the figure that came sauntering down the aisle was not Edwin -Carlisle, the hero. A queer enough figure he looked in that -representative assemblage in his faded trousers and blue flannel shirt. -Rough, uncouth and unaccustomed to such environment, he still bore a -certain air of serene heedlessness to all this pomp and circumstance, as -if he were concerned only with that which was really significant and -vital. One could not say of him that he _seemed_ at home, for that would -be paying the place an unconscious tribute. His calm assurance and easy -strength seemed to imply that the whole world was his home and that one -place was much like another to him. - -He paused half-way down the aisle and then for the first time the boys -in the front row saw him, just as he began to speak. Westy Martin stared -aghast like one seeing a ghost and his heart thumped in his throat as he -listened. - -“I d’no’s I oughter speak out ’n meetin’, as the feller says, but I got -somethin’ ter say in this here jamboree.” - -A silence like the silence of the grave followed. One astonished girl -(it might have been Doris Martin) said something undistinguishable in an -amazed, audible whisper. - -“I been in the Yallerstone,” drawled the speaker, “an’ I like what you -said—you gent. But I’m interested in somethin’ bigger ’n the Yallerstone -an’ that’s a kid yer got here. He’s big enough ter make the Yallerstone -look like one er them there city grass-plots I see. I’m talkin’ ter you, -mister, an’ before you go ter makin’ any plunge yer better listen. I was -goner speak out when you says somethin’ ’baout shootin’ deer, but I -didn’. - -“I’m down off a farm up Dawson way owned by his uncle—this here kid I’m -talkin’ ’baout. And if he’s settin’ roun’ here anywheres an’ hears me -tell any lies ’baout him he can up an’ call me a liar. Then I’ll let him -have—jes—two—shots—that’ll shut ’im up.” - -“Gracious!” Some lady said shuddering. “Is he a lunatic?” - -“Two shots, one big and one little I got in my pocket and I’ll tell him -to his face that he’s a little rascal of a prince. Yer happen ter be -anywheres around, Westy?” - -Silence, save for nervously fidgeting figures and people down in front -turning and craning to see this strange apparition. - -“Stand up, Westy, cause yer got ter go through with it and I’m down off -the farm ter take care o’ that. Some o’ you youngsters make him stand -up, wherever he is.” - -They made him stand up, and there he stood, nervous, ashamed, gulping. -He longed to be near Ira, to say “This is my friend,” yet he could not -bring himself even to look at him. - -“There yer are—thanks, you boys. Now, mister, that there kid had a -hunderd dollars saved up ter go to Yallerstone Park; he worked fer it, -chorin’ roun’ on the farm, helpin’ me hayin’ an’ what all. He starts -home with his hunderd dollars an’ sees a deer in the woods what’s been -dropped but ain’t killed—don’t leave ’im sit down, you boys. - -“Now, mister, he shoots that deer in the head and kills it ter end its -sufferings. He don’t know no more ’baout shootin’ than a drunken maniac -but at two or three inches he killed his deer. All right, mister. Then -he goes ter Barrett’s, a little settlement up our way. I d’no what he -goes fer. But I’m thinkin’ he goes ter see the man that shot that deer -first off. Leastways, when that man got the blame like he deserved, this -kid he up and says it was _him_ killed the deer. So ’twas, the little -rascal, but you see _how_ ’twas. Well, he gets arrested an’ he pays out -his precious hunderd dollars and comes home and says _he_ killed a deer -and gets a good tongue lashin’ and loses his gun, but he sticks fast. - -“Now all I come here fer now is ter let you folks in onter that stunt o’ -his an’ ask you if he gets his trip to the Yallerstone that he cheated -himself out of, or not. I don’t know nuthin’ ’baout kind turns ’cause I -ain’t never did none, but I wanter know if this here kid gets his trip -out Yallerstone way or not. Now, if I’m lyin’ he’ll tell yer so, ’cause -I understand these scout fellers don’t lie. I jes wanter know if he gets -his trip out Yallerstone way or not.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII - - THE BOY EDWIN CARLISLE - - -Consternation reigned. In the front row, where the First Bridgeboro -Troop sat, confusion prevailed. Pee-wee, in accordance with the old -precept of “Off with the old love, on with the new,” forgot for the -moment Warde’s chagrin and shouted uproariously for Westy. - -“_It’s going to be in our troop anyway!_” he yelled. “_It’s just the -same only different!_” - -And meanwhile, a trim-looking boy, Edwin Carlisle, was standing in the -audience waiting patiently and smiling, somewhat embarrassed. - -Mr. Atwater turned and conferred with his colleagues on the platform. -Pee-wee, restrained by his nearest neighbors, subsided into silence. -Westy (probably more utterly wretched than any one in the hall) tried to -silence excited questioners. “Who is he?” “Is it true?” “Is he crazy?” -“Did you ever see him before?” “I bet it’s the truth!” These and similar -whispered comments were showered upon him and he could only keep looking -about sheepishly, as if he were ashamed to have the spectators behold -this fuss. - -The boy, Edwin Carlisle, standing quietly among his sitting colleagues -some distance off, made a rather pathetic picture. His was not an easy -rôle but he bore himself with a demeanor of patience and good humor. - -And meanwhile, the outlandish stranger who had “shot up” the meeting -remained like a statue half-way down the aisle calmly awaiting an answer -to his question. Once it seemed as if he were on the point of lighting -his pipe, but he did not do that. - -It was Mr. Atwater who put an end to this rather embarrassing interval. - -“Just be seated—a few moments—my boy,” he said, addressing the Carlisle -boy. Then to Ira he said, “Suppose you come up here on the platform, my -friend, if you don’t mind; we’d like to speak with you.” - -Ira did not seem to mind. He ambled the rest of the way down the aisle, -turned to the left past a troop of scouts who stared at him as if he -were a trapper or a cowboy, and up the steps to the stage. Then for the -first time everybody saw him. Mrs. Ashly (conspicuous in the Woman’s -Club) arose as if on a sudden impulse and shook hands with him -cordially. He looked out of place but not ill at ease. He had walked -through the audience as a man might walk through a forest. - -Scarcely was he on the platform when something happened. A rather large -man, with a big, round, rugged face stood up in the audience. He was an -elderly man and dangled a pair of glasses as he spoke. - -“May I join you ladies and gentlemen on the platform?” he asked. - -“You bet you may,” came the genial response from Mr. Atwater. “If we had -known you were there, Mr.——” - -“_It’s Mr. Temple! It’s Mr. Temple!_” whispered Pee-wee excitedly. “Oh, -boy, it’s Mr. Temple! Now there’s going to be something doing—_shhh_!” - -“Listen to who’s saying _shhh_!” whispered Roy. - -“_Shhhh_, there’s going to be something doing, there’s going to be -something doing,” said Pee-wee. - -“There is,” said Roy grimly. “You’re going to be thrown out if you don’t -shut up.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIII - - MR. TEMPLE’S LUCKY NUMBER - - -Mr. John Temple, philanthropist, founder of Temple Camp and friend of -scouting, had evidently sensed a delicate and perhaps difficult -situation, and had gone to the rescue. He was given a fine welcome on -the stage and the burst of applause by the audience showed that his -public spirit and generosity were well known. - -Every town has its wealthy and distinguished citizen; the good work of -such men lives after them in libraries and hospitals. Mr. Temple was -Bridgeboro’s most distinguished character—next to Pee-wee. And even -Pee-wee paid him the compliment of declaring, “He buys more railroads -every day than I do ice cream cones.” If he did, he must have owned -practically all the roads in the country. - -After an interval of suspense, which was seen in an acute stage among -the scouts, Mr. Atwater turned to the audience and said, “Stand up -again, Edwin Carlisle.” - -The demeanor of this Carlisle boy was scoutish in the highest degree. -Many were already wondering what he had done to warrant his selection as -the winner of the great award. He had been on the point of receiving it -when Ira had “shot up” the meeting. He had stood patiently and -cheerfully waiting while he saw the honor that was his slipping away -from him with every sentence of Ira’s drawling talk. - -He had reseated himself with no sign of disappointment or resentment -when told to do so. And now he stood again among his comrades, cheerful, -willing, obedient. And there he stood with Yellowstone Park dangling -before his eyes and knew not what to think, but seemed content to abide -by the issue. Mr. Temple had seen him (shrewd man that he was he had -watched him amid the tumult when no one else had watched him) and Edwin -Carlisle, scout of Westboro, was safe. - -After a little while (it seemed an hour) Mr. Atwater withdrew from an -earnestly whispered conference and stood up to address the audience -again. Mr. Temple took a seat in the row of chairs facing the audience. -He seemed purposely to choose a seat beside Ira who sat, one knee over -the other, bending forward with his arms about his knee. The hunched -attitude was familiar to Westy and took him back to the kitchen porch at -the farm where he had listened to Ira’s dubious reminiscences. Mr. -Temple spoke genially to him from time to time, and once laughed audibly -at something Ira said. It might possibly have been the kidnapping -episode. - -“Westy Martin,” said Mr. Atwater, “stand up.” - -Westy stood, all bewildered. He was so close to the stage that one -nervous hand rested upon the molding which bordered it. A curious -contrast he seemed to the boy standing in the darkness of the hall some -distance back. But Ira Hasbrook caught his eye and winked a kind of -lowering wink at him, and Westy smiled back. - -“You heard what this man said, Martin; is it true?” - -“Y-yes, sir.” - -“All true?” - -“Y-yes—yes, it is.” - -“Well, then, my young friend, it becomes my privilege to inform you that -you have won the award of the Rotary Club of Bridgeboro of a trip to the -Yellowstone National Park (great applause) next summer. Your troop is -congratulated (process of gagging Pee-wee) and you have the unstinted -and unanimous commendation of this committee for your generous and -self-sacrificing act. (Applause.) Your friend Mr. Hasbrook wishes me to -say how fortunate it was that you had your rifle with you and were not -afraid to use it. - -“You will be glad to know that Mr. John Temple (who delights in taking -glory away from other people) has made a proposition which somewhat -amplifies the Club’s award. Indeed it puts our poor Club somewhat in the -shadow. He says that three is his lucky number. (Laughter.) And he, -therefore, proposes that a scout in your troop of whose exploit -honorable mention was to have been made, Warde Hollister, accompany you -to the Yellowstone at his expense. - -“The scout to whom the honor was to have been awarded, Edwin Carlisle of -Westboro, receives also honorable mention for his exploit in putting out -a forest fire. He too is to be a recipient of Mr. Temple’s munificence -and is likewise awarded the honor of accompanying you. - -“You, Martin, go as the Rotary Club’s winning candidate. Carlisle and -Hollister go with you as the two winners of special mention for their -exploits and are sent by Mr. Temple. I have suggested to him that you be -called the Temple Trio, but he insists that the name of the Rotary Club -shall be used. Your friend Mr. Hasbrook suggests that since probably -none of you know how to shoot, you be called the Bungling Bunch.” (Great -laughter suddenly increased to uproar by the thunderous voice of Scout -Harris.) - -“It’s just like I said it would be, only more so!” he shouted. -“It’s—it’s—it’s—it’s like two helpings of dessert! We’re going to have -two of them in our troop! That shows even when I’m mistaken I’m right!” - -And amid the tumult of cheers and laughter, Edwin Carlisle, scout of -Westboro, stood smiling, silent, obedient, till Mr. Atwater called to -him that he might sit down. - -So it happened that Westy Martin not only went to the Yellowstone, but -went in company of two companions the following summer. It was natural -that in the long interval of waiting these three scouts should strike up -a sort of special comradeship, and by spring they were inseparable. - -At last the big day came, and they were speeding westward in a -comfortable Pullman car, beguiling the tedious hours of travel by -matching their wits against a rather amusing stranger, a traveling man, -whose acquaintance they had made on the train. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIV - - WESTWARD HO - - -“Grizzlies? Oh, hundreds of them! But they’re away back up in the -mountains; you won’t see them.” - -“They’re about the fiercest animals there, aren’t they?” one of the boys -asked. - -“Well,” drawled the traveling man, working his cigar over to the corner -of his mouth and contemplating the boys in the shrewd way he had. “I -don’t know about that. The wallerpagoes are pretty ructious. But they -don’t bother you unless you bother them. Now you take a skehinkum, one -of the big kind——” - -“You mean the kind with the whitish black fur?” Warde Hollister laughed. - -The traveling man worked his cigar over to the opposite corner of his -mouth and looked at Warde with an expression of humorous skepticism. -“Don’t you learn about them in the boy scouts?” he asked. - -“Oh, positively,” said Warde. “They’re all right is long as you don’t -feed them on gum-drops.” - -The traveling man was having the time of his life with the three boys. -They called him the traveling man because they thought he looked and -talked like one. They had ventured to ask him his business and he had -told them that it was starting revolutions in South America. He had even -hinted that he was in a plot to blow up the Panama Canal, and had asked -them not to mention this to their parents. He had said that if they kept -his secret he might later let them in on a scheme to restore North -America to its rightful owners, the Indians. “Wrap it up and we’ll take -it and deliver it to them,” Warde Hollister had said. - -Throughout the long journey they had wondered and speculated as to what -and who this amusing stranger really was. And they had decided in -conference that he was a traveling salesman. He seemed to have a hearty -contempt for the boasted prowess of boy scouts, but the three boys did -not dislike him for that. In the pleasant art of jollying they had been -able to hold their own. And he seemed to like them for that. But he -would not take them seriously. - -They had told him about tracking and signaling and outdoor -resourcefulness and woods lore and he had been pleased to poke fun at -them about their skill and knowledge. He had appeared to derive much -entertainment from this pastime. Pee-wee Harris (Raven and mascot) would -have been able to “handle” him, but unfortunately Pee-wee was not on -this trip. So the responsibility for defending the dignity of scouting -fell to Warde Hollister, Edwin Carlisle and Westy Martin. - -“And bandits?” Westy asked. - -“Bandits? Oceans of them! They spurt right up out of the geysers,” said -the stranger. - -“What could be sweeter?” said Eddie Carlisle. - -“Can’t you answer a civil question?” Westy asked, the least bit testily. - -“Things have to be civil to suit you, hey?” the traveling man said. -“Anything uncivilized: and——” - -“We’re asking you if it’s true that there are train robbers and men like -that in the park?” Westy said. - -“Sure there are,” said the stranger. “Where do you suppose they buy -their post cards to send home?” - -The three boys seemed on the point of giving him up as a hopeless case. - -“Why? Do you want to go hunting them?” the stranger asked. - -“We wouldn’t be the first boy scouts to help the authorities,” Warde -said. - -This seemed to amuse the traveling man greatly. He contemplated the -three of them with a kind of good-humored, sneering skepticism. Then he -was moved to be serious. - -“Well, I’ll tell you how it is,” he said. “The Yellowstone Park is -really two places; see? There’s the wild Yellowstone and the tame -Yellowstone. 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 geyser in the back yard—spurts once an hour, -Johnny on the spot. I suppose,” added the stranger 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 Carlisle 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?” the stranger 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——” - -The traveling man laughed outright. - -“All right, you can laugh,” said Westy, a trifle annoyed. - -The stranger stuck his feet up between Warde and Westy, who sat in the -seat facing and put his arm on the farther shoulder of Eddie Carlisle -who sat beside him. Then he worked his unlighted cigar across his mouth -and tilted it at an angle which somehow seemed to bespeak a good-natured -contempt of the boy scouts. - -“Just between ourselves,” said he, “who takes care of the publicity -stuff for the boy scouts anyway? Who puts all this stuff in the -newspapers about boy scouts finding lost people and saving lives and -putting out forest fires and plugging up holes in dams and saving towns -from floods and all that sort of thing? 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 the stranger. “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? - -The traveling man 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 XXXV - - THE STRANGER - - -Emigrant. The last stop on the long, long journey from New York. The -last stop till the thundering train would reach the Gardiner entrance of -the Yellowstone National Park. They were within thirty miles of that -wonderland. - -Westy was glad that there was one more station to be reached before his -dream should be a reality. His nerves were so much on edge that the one, -poor, little station of Emigrant would act as a sort of valve to relieve -him of the tension that he felt. He was glad that they weren’t going to -reach their destination quite yet—he was too excited. Yes, he was glad -there was just one more station. Then, _then_—— - -As for the traveling man, he seemed to be about as excited and -anticipatory as if he were strolling across the street to buy another -cigar. - -The train thundered along through the rugged Montana country, its -screeching whistle now and again echoing from the towering mountains. -On, on, on it rushed with a kind of disdainful preoccupation, going -straight about its business, circling the frowning heights, crossing -torrents, unhindered, invincible. Did anybody live or even venture in -those wild mountains, Westy wondered. Were there trails there? Could it -be that grizzly bears heard in their fastnesses the shriek of that steel -monster that was rushing straight to its end? - -Only this roaring, swerving, thundering, rushing train stood between -Westy Martin and those uninhabited wilds. No smudge signal would save -him there. No approved device for helping the lost pilgrim in distress -would serve him in that endless, rugged wilderness. The leather seat of -the smoking car seemed good to him. - -“Who’s going to look after you kids?” their traveling acquaintance -asked. - -The boys, particularly Warde, did not like to hear it put that way but -he answered, “The auto is going to meet us at Gardiner; there’s a scout -official who’s going to be there and they’ll call our names out. They’re -going to take us to the hotel at Mammoth Hot Springs. After that we go -on a kind of a tour. It’s all planned out for us.” - -“Well, I’ll be with you as far as the Springs,” said the stranger, “so -if you don’t make connections all right I’ll get things fixed up for -you. How the dickens did you three kids happen to beat it out here -anyway?” - -“If we told you, you’d only laugh,” said Ed Carlisle. “We did some -stunts, that’s how. We——” - -“Don’t you tell him unless he tells us what _he’s_ doing out here,” -Warde said. - -“All right, that’s a go,” laughed the stranger. - -“I bet you’re just selling things to tourists,” said Westy. “I bet -you’re bringing a lot of souvenirs of Yellowstone Park from New York to -sell out here.” - -“Yes, and how about you?” the stranger asked. - -“We’re sent by the Rotary Club,” said Warde, “because we did three -things to win the award.” The traveling man cocked his head sideways and -listened in a humorously skeptical way which was very annoying. “You -found somebody who was lost in the woods?” he queried. - -“No, we didn’t find somebody who was lost in the woods,” Warde said -somewhat testily. - -“No? Well then they sent you because you’re the only three boy scouts -that haven’t done that. I congratulate you, here’s my hand.” - -“This fellow, Westy Martin,” said Warde, “killed a deer that somebody -else had shot because he wanted to put it out of its suffering and he -let people think he was the one that shot it; he did that so they -wouldn’t punish the other person. But it was found out so they gave him -the good turn award. This other fellow put out a forest fire and I took -a long hike and got a job for somebody. So now what are you doing out -here? You didn’t even tell us your name.” - -“Well, that’s very nice,” said their acquaintance; “my name is Madison -C. Wilde and I’m mixed up with the Educational Films——” - -“You’re in the movies?” shouted Ed. - -“Just at present,” said Mr. Madison C. Wilde. “I’m in the business of -getting snap-shots of wild animals to show you fellows when you happen -to have thirty cents to buy a ticket. Anything else you’d like to know?” - -“I’d like to know if you’re really going up on that mountain, Pelican -Cove, like you said,” Westy asked. - -“What do you suppose I’ve been hanging around Washington, D. C. for the -last two weeks for?” Mr. Wilde asked. “I’d rather stalk grizzlies on -Pelican Cone than stalk National Park Directors in Washington. I’d -rather go after pictures than permits, I can tell you that if anybody -should ask you. Grizzlies are bad enough, but park directors”—he shook -his head in despair—“that bunch in Washington,” and shook his head -again. - -The boys stared at him. In their minds the pursuit of wild animals, for -whatever purpose, was associated with buckskin and cartridge-laden -belts. Yet here was a little man with a bristly mustache whose only -weapon was an unlighted cigar innocently pointing toward heaven. They -had already imbibed enough of the atmosphere of the legendary west to be -somewhat shocked at the thought of this brisk, little man, with all the -prosaic atmosphere of the city about him, going into the wilds to stalk -grizzlies. He did not seem at all like Buffalo Bill. - -“Gee whiz!” ejaculated Westy. “I thought you were a salesman or -something like that.” - -Mr. Madison C. Wilde gave him a whimsical look and proceeded to draw -forth from an inside pocket a mammoth wallet while the three boys stared -speechless. Could this man be just fooling them? The wallet was -formidable enough to stagger any grizzly. It was bulging with money, -which to the boys seemed to confirm the stranger’s connection with the -movies, where fabulous sums are possessed and handed about. Mr. Wilde -was as deliberate with his wallet as any hunter of the woolly west could -possibly have been with his gun. He screwed his cigar over to the end of -his mouth, tilted it to an almost vertical position, then closing one -eye he explored the caves and fastnesses of his wallet with the other. - -His quest eventually resulted in the capture of a paper which he brought -forth out of a veritable jungle of bills and documents. “Here we are,” -said he, tenderly unfolding the document. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVI - - AN IMPORTANT PAPER - - -“With the exception of the Declaration of Independence,” said Mr. Wilde, -“this is the most valuable paper in the world.” - -He handed it to Westy and the three boys, reading it together, saw that -it was a permit issued by the director of the National Park Service at -Washington to Mr. Alexander Creston, President of the Educational Film -Company of New York to “dispatch employees of said Educational Film -Company into such remote sections of the Yellowstone National Park as -should be designated by the local park authorities for the purpose of -securing photographs of the wild life, the use of traps and firearms -being strictly prohibited. This permit expires——” And so forth and so -forth. It concluded with the signature of the director of the National -Park Service. - -“Gee williger!” said Westy. - -“Talking about stalking!” said Ed. - -“No wonder you laugh at us,” said Warde. - -“Did you ever try stalking officials in Washington?” Mr. Wilde asked. - -“We never stalked anything but robins and—and turtles and things like -that,” said Warde with a note of self-disgust in his voice. - -“Never hit the red tape trail, hey? Well I guess turtles are pretty near -as slow as Washington officials. I’ve been just exactly three weeks in -Washington stalking this permit. Pretty good specimen, hey? That’s more -valuable than any grizzly, that is.” He gazed at it with a look of -whimsical affection and tucked it safely away in his wallet. - -“It makes us feel kind of silly,” said Westy, “to think of the kind of -things you’re going to do. I guess it’s no wonder you make fun of us.” - -“Well, I’ll tell you,” said Mr. Wilde not unkindly and with some -approach to seriousness in his voice and manner, “you scout kids are all -right. You get lots of fresh air and exercise and they’re the best -things for you. You go stalking June-bugs and caterpillars and it keeps -you out of mischief. It’s just the difference between the amateur and -the professional. Now you kids go in for these things as a pastime and -that’s all right. You’re having the time of your lives. I’m for the boy -scouts first, last and always. Stalking, tracking, etc., you make games -out of all those things, and they’re bully good games too. You’re a -pretty wide-awake bunch. But you’ll never do these things in a serious -way because you don’t _have to_. Get me?” - -“We don’t get a chance,” said Westy. - -“Now you take a kid born out in the wilds—like this kid I’ve got waiting -for me—Stove Polish or whatever his name is; he’s an Indian.” - -“Who?” said Westy. - -“What?” said Warde. - -“_Stove Polish?_” gasped Ed. - -“Shining Sun his name is,” said Mr. Wilde. “Sounds like some kind of -stove polish so I call him Stove Polish——” - -“Where is he?” Westy asked, all excitement. - -“He’s waiting out at the Mammoth Hotel at Hot Springs with Mr. Creston; -you’ll see him. He’s going up in the mountains with Clip and me. Now -that kid is what you’d call a scout, the little rascal. He had to be a -scout or starve. He didn’t read his little book and raise up his hand -and say he was going to be a scout. He just got to be a scout because he -had to. - -“When you’re in the Rocky Mountains a couple of hundred miles from the -nearest town and the nearest town consists of one house, why, it’s a -case of you or the Rocky Mountains—which wins. See? If you stay lost you -starve. If you don’t know the signs you’re out of luck. If you don’t -know what herbs to eat you don’t get any dinner. If you can’t tell where -to look for a cave by the looks of the land, why then, you stay out in -the rain and snow. See? If you haven’t got a gun the only way you can -catch a bird is to fool him. So he knows how to fool them. You fellows -are scouts because you want to have a lot of fun. But Stove Polish is a -scout because he wants to live; he has to be one, or he did have to up -to a year or two ago. He knows how to run without making a sound because -if he made a sound it would be all up with him.” - -“You said it,” enthused Warde. - -“Why, a couple of years or more ago,” continued Mr. Wilde, “when that -little rascal escaped from the Cheyenne reservation right back here a -few miles, he got into the mountains and nobody heard a word from him -for a year and a half—never even sent a post card saying he was having a -nice time or anything. Beaver Pete found him up in the mountains and -brought him down to Yellowstone and Mr. Creston snapped him up like a -used Cadillac. Well now, that kid is a full-blooded Cheyenne Indian; -he’s a grandson of old Stick-in-the-mud who was in the Custer scrap. -You’ve heard of that old geezer, haven’t you? - -“Well, sir, that kid could call like a hawk and bring the hawk near -enough so he could drop it with a stone—_absolutely_. Beaver Pete told -me that when he found that kid in the trapping season he was wearing a -bearskin from a bear he had caught and killed without so much as a -bean-shooter. Nature couldn’t freeze him or starve him. He could find -water by instinct same as an animal does. You see, boys, what you _have_ -to do you can do. There is no such thing as scouting in the midst of -civilization or in neighbor Smith’s woods. Scouts are scouts because -they _have_ to be scouts; it isn’t an outdoor sport. A scout is a fellow -who has fought _because he had to fight_ with nature and has won out. -Scouts are silent people as a rule, I’ve met some of them. They’re -taciturn and silent. The boy scouts are the noisiest bunch I ever met in -my life.” - -The door at the end of the car opened and the voice of a trainman put an -end to Mr. Wilde’s talk. - -“Emigrant. The next stop is Emigrant.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVII - - PARLOR SCOUTS - - -The three winners of the Rotary Club award were not altogether cheered -by the talk of their traveling acquaintance. They felt a trifle ashamed -and dissatisfied with themselves. Here was a brisk, resourceful, -adventurous man whose vocation seemed a very dream of romance. And he -looked upon them as nice boys playing an interesting game. He did not -take them seriously. - -He regarded Shining Sun (or Stove Polish as he preferred to call him) as -a rare discovery—a real, all around, dyed-in-the-wool, little scout, a -scout whose skill and lore could be used in adventurous undertakings. -Amateurs! Nice boys! And they were about to have their reward of merit -for three exploits, the recital of which had not exactly staggered Mr. -Wilde. They were going to drive around Yellowstone Park in autos and -stop at the hotels and visit modern, well-equipped camps, and see the -petrified forests and the geysers. - -And meanwhile an Indian boy was going into the unfrequented depths of -the vast park to do for white men what they could not do for themselves. -Descendent of savages though he was, and with the primitive vein -persisting in him, they took him seriously, these men; he was a real -little scout. Not a boy scout. - -These were the thoughts, the reflections, of Westy Martin as he arose -saying in a rather disheartened tone, “Come on, let’s go out on the -platform and watch the scenery.” - -The three boys staggered through the aisle of the car holding to the -seat backs as the rushing train swerved in its winding course among the -mountains. They had been but visitors in the smoking car and now in the -one next it they came to their own seats, which at night had been -transformed into berths. - -On one of the seats lay a duffel bag containing the few camping utensils -which they had brought against the unlikely prospect of a night’s -bivouac in the open. Westy was glad that they had not exposed these -up-to-date devices to their acquaintance in the next car. He might have -commented flippantly on the collapsible or the folding frying pan. In a -previous encounter with that Philistine of the smoking car he had -inquired about the meaning of Westy’s treasured pathfinder’s badge, and -had said that when he was a boy he had often played hares and hounds and -hide-and-seek. - -“Come on out in back,” said Warde. - -They staggered on through the train holding the backs of seats to steady -their progress. All the passengers seemed weary, the cars littered and -hot and stuffy. Discarded newspapers and magazines lay on the seats and -floor. The passengers sprawled lazily in postures far from elegant. Only -the train seemed wide-awake and bent upon some definite purpose. It -roared and rattled and whistled and now and again a faint answering -whistle was heard from the distant mountains as if the ghost of some -locomotive long dead were concealed there. - -In one of the cars a litter of sticky bits of tissue paper filled the -aisle in company of an empty box which had contained somebody or other’s -fresh lemon-drops. Westy was not the scout to pass by such a litter, he -had cleared up the luncheon rubbish after too many motoring parties for -that. But he did not stoop to this worthy task of the scout now. He was -not in the mood to be a menial, a housemaid scout; not with the exploits -of Shining Sun so fresh in his mind. He was thoroughly dissatisfied with -himself and he passed the litter by in proud disdain of it. - -“Don’t you be a lemon-drop scout,” he said sneeringly to Warde, who was -just behind him. - -“How did you know I was going to stoop?” Warde asked. - -Ah, that was the question. It was because Westy Martin was a better -scout than he knew and like the true woodsman had eyes in the back of -his head. - -“I’m kind of sorry we didn’t ask him if he’d let us go up in the forest -with him,” Warde said. - -“A tall chance,” said Westy disconsolately. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVIII - - SOMETHING “REAL” - - -And so these three parlor scouts, winners of the Rotary Club award, -reached the rear platform of the last car and gazed upon the landscape -as it receded before their eyes. The whimsical Mr. Wilde had put them in -bad sorts and the great, vast, stupendous west seemed to confirm all -that their chance acquaintance had said. - -How hopeless the lot of the lost wanderer here, how useless the good -scout handbook, how futile all the pleasantly primitive devices to find -one’s way home—when home is just around the corner. They were just boys -playing at scouting, nice boys, boy scouts. Well, at all events, it had -won them this trip to the Yellowstone where there would be much to -see.... - -There was certainly not much to see at Emigrant. If there had ever been -an Emigrant there it must have emigrated away, or been blown away as Mr. -Wilde had said of other western stopping places. - -Certainly there was no sign of life there. Yet evidently the place was -useful to the railroad for the train stopped there, a visitation of life -and energy in a scene of desolation. - -Not a living soul was there to welcome them. Even the companionable -noise of the train had ceased or died down to a slow pulsating sound of -the locomotive. It seemed an impatient sound as if the steel brute were -anxious to be on its way again. How lonesome, even forbidding the -landscape looked from the cozy, little refuge where they viewed it. Only -this little platform between them and the vast unknown. - -Westy was a sensible, thoughtful boy and the bigness of the country -impressed him. It affected his mood. What Mr. Wilde had said would -probably not have been taken too seriously if Westy had been in the -east. It was not Mr. Wilde alone, but the whole environment as well, -which made all that Westy was and had accomplished paltry by comparison. -It all seemed to belittle his scouting and make it infantile and -ridiculous. Everything seemed to impart piquancy to Mr. Wilde’s home -truths. Here indeed was the land where men had fought with untamed -Nature and won out. - -It seemed to Westy that he had been swimming with a life preserver. He -sat down on the car platform and rested his chin on his hands and gazed -about. It was not a propitious mood for a boy to be in who was about to -be shown the wonders of the Yellowstone National Park. He almost wished -that he had not met that disturbing person, Mr. Wilde. He could not get -Shining Sun out of his mind. To do anything on a _little_ scale seemed -contemptible to Westy. Was scouting after all a toy? - -His two companions caught his mood though they were not as -impressionable as he. They sat down on the platform beside him and the -three made a rather disconsolate trio, considering that they were within -a score or so of miles of their hearts’ desire. - -“I remind myself of Pee-wee, tracking a hop-toad,” mused Westy. - -Ed Carlisle took him up, “Just because Mr. Wilde says this and that——” - -“Suppose he had gone to Scout Headquarters in New York for a scout to -help them in the mountains,” said Westy. “Would he have found one? When -it comes to dead serious business——” - -“Look what Roosevelt said about scouts,” said Warde. “He said they were -a lot of help and that scouting was a great thing, that’s 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 get the Astronomy badge that doesn’t prove I’m an -astronomer,” said Ed. - -“Nobody says a scout’s a doctor because he has the first aid badge,” -encouraged Warde. - -Westy only looked straight ahead of him, his abstracted gaze fixed upon -the wild, lonesome mountains. A great bird was soaring over 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 was strain and effort in its steaming. - -“Guess we’re going to go,” said Warde. “Now for the little old -Yellowstone, hey, Westy? Wake up, come out of that, you old grouch. -Don’t you know a scout is supposed to smile and look pleasant? We should -worry about Mr. Madison C. Wilde.” - -“If we never did anything _real_ and _big_ it’s because there weren’t -any of those things to do,” said Warde. “Didn’t he say what you _have_ -to do, you do? That’s just what he said.” - -Westy did not answer, only arose in a rather disgruntled way and stepped -off the platform. He strolled forward alone along the outside of the -car, kicking a stone as he went and watching it intently. When he raised -his eyes he had almost reached the other end of the car. The car stood -on a siding quite alone; the train was rushing away among the mountains. - -Westy Martin was at last face to face with something real and big. He -and his companions were quite alone in the Rocky Mountains. The Boy -Scouts of America and the heedless, cruel, monster Nature had come to an -issue at last. - -How this issue was decided and what happened to Westy and his comrades -before they reached their destination are told in the companion story -which continues their adventures under the title of _Westy Martin in the -Yellowstone_. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WESTY MARTIN*** - - -******* This file should be named 61118-0.txt or 61118-0.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/1/1/1/61118 - - -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. 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Holberg</h1> -<p>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 <a -href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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.</p> -<p>Title: Westy Martin</p> -<p>Author: Percy Keese Fitzhugh</p> -<p>Release Date: January 6, 2020 [eBook #61118]</p> -<p>Language: English</p> -<p>Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> -<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WESTY MARTIN***</p> -<p> </p> -<h3>E-text prepared by Roger Frank and Sue Clark</h3> -<p> </p> -<hr class="full" /> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<div class='page'> -<div style='text-align:center; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> -<div style='font-size:1.4em;'>WESTY MARTIN</div> -</div> -</div> <!-- page --> -<div class='page'> -<div class='figcenter' style='width:70%; max-width:446px;'> -<img src='images/img-fpc.jpg' alt='' style='width:100%;height:auto;' /> -<p class='caption'>HE MANAGED TO GET HOLD OF A BRANCH OF A SCRUB OAK.</p> -</div> -</div> <!-- page --> -<div class='page'> -<div style='text-align:center; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> -<div style='font-size:1.4em;'>WESTY MARTIN</div> -<div style='margin-top:1em;'>BY</div> -<div style='font-size:1.2em;'>PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH</div> -<div style='margin-top:1em;'><i>Author of</i></div> -<div>THE TOM SLADE BOOKS</div> -<div>THE ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS</div> -<div>THE PEE-WEE HARRIS BOOKS</div> -<div style='margin-top:1em;'>ILLUSTRATED</div> -<div style='font-size:0.8em;margin-top:1em;'>PUBLISHED WITH THE APPROVAL OF</div> -<div>THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA</div> -<div style='margin-top:1em;'>GROSSET & DUNLAP</div> -<div>PUBLISHERS :: NEW YORK</div> -<div style='font-size:0.8em;margin-top:1em;'>Made in the United States of America</div> -</div> -</div> <!-- page --> -<div class='page'> -<div style='text-align:center; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> -<div>Copyright, 1924, by</div> -<div>GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC.</div> -</div> -</div> <!-- page --> -<div class='page'> -<div style='text-align:center; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> -<div>THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO</div> -<div>THE ROTARY CLUB OF AMERICA</div> -</div> -<div style='text-align:center; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em'> - <div style='display:inline-block; text-align:left;'> -<div class='cbline'>WHOSE MEMBERS HAVE SHOWN THEIR VITAL INTEREST</div> -<div class='cbline'>IN THE FUTURE CITIZENSHIP OF OUR COUNTRY BY</div> -<div class='cbline'>THEIR SPLENDID WORK AMONG THE BOYS OF AMERICA</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> <!-- page --> -<div class='page'> -<table summary='TOC' class='tcenter' style='margin-bottom:3em'> - <thead> - <tr> - <th colspan='2' style='font-weight:normal;padding-bottom:1em;'>CONTENTS</th> - </tr> - </thead> - <tbody> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>I</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chI'>A Shot</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>II</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chII'>A Promise</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>III</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chIII'>The Parting</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>IV</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chIV'>The Sufferer</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>V</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chV'>A Plain Duty</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>VI</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chVI'>First Aid—Last Aid</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>VII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chVII'>Little Drops of Water</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>VIII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chVIII'>Barrett’s</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>IX</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chIX'>On the Trail</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>X</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chX'>Luke Meadows</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XI</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXI'>Westy Martin, Scout</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXII'>Guilty</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XIII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXIII'>The Penalty</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XIV</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXIV'>For Better or Worse</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XV</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXV'>Return of the Prodigal</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XVI</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXVI'>Aunt Mira and Ira</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XVII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXVII'>The Homecoming</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XVIII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXVIII'>A Ray of Sunshine</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XIX</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXIX'>Pee-Wee on the Job</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XX</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXX'>Some Noise</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXI</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXI'>One Good Turn</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXII'>Warde and Westy</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXIII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXIII'>Ira Goes A-Hunting</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXIV</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXIV'>Clews</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXV</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXV'>A Bargain</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXVI</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXVI'>The Marked Article</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXVII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXVII'>Enter the Contemptible Scoundrel</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXVIII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXVIII'>Proofs</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXIX</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXIX'>The Rally</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXX</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXX'>Open to the Public</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXXI</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXXI'>Shootin’ Up the Meetin’</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXXII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXXII'>The Boy Edwin Carlisle</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXXIII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXXIII'>Mrs. Temple’s Lucky Number</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXXIV</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXXIV'>Westward Ho</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXXV</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXXV'>The Stranger</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXXVI</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXXVI'>An Important Paper</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXXVII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXXVII'>Parlor Scouts</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tdc1'>XXXVIII</td><td class='tdc2'><a href='#chXXXVIII'>Something “Real”</a></td></tr> - </tbody> -</table> -</div> <!-- page --> -<div class='chapter'> -<div style='text-align:center; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> -<div style='font-size:1.4em;'>WESTY MARTIN </div> -</div> -<h2 id='chI'>CHAPTER I<br /> <span class='sub-head'>A SHOT</span></h2> -<p>A quick, sharp report rent the air. Followed several seconds of -deathlike silence. Then the lesser sound of a twig falling in the still -forest. Again silence. A silence, tense, portentous. Then the sound of -foliage being disturbed and of some one running.</p> -<p>Westy Martin paused, every nerve on edge. It was odd that a boy who -carried his own rifle slung over his shoulder should experience a kind -of panic fear after the first shocking sound of a gunshot. He had many -times heard the report of his own gun, but never where it could do harm. -Never in the solemn depths of the forest. He did not reach for his gun -now to be ready for danger; strangely enough he feared to touch it.</p> -<p>Instead, he stood stark still and looked about. Whatever had happened -must have been very near to him. Without moving, for indeed he could not -for the moment move a step, he saw a large leaf with a hole through the -middle of it. And this hung not ten feet distant. He shuddered at the -realization that the whizzing bullet which had made that little hole -might as easily have blotted out his young life.</p> -<p>He paused, listening, his heart in his throat. Some one had run away. -Had the fugitive seen him? And what had the fugitive done that he should -flee at the sight or sound of a human presence?</p> -<p>Suddenly it occurred to Westy that a second shot might lay him low. What -if the fugitive, a murderer, had sought concealment at a distance and -should try to conceal the one murder with another?</p> -<p>Westy called and his voice sounded strange to him in the silent forest.</p> -<p>“Don’t shoot!”</p> -<p>That would warn the unseen gunman unless, indeed, it was his purpose to -shoot—to kill.</p> -<p>There was no sound, no answering voice, no patter of distant footfalls; -nothing but the cheery song of a cricket near at hand.</p> -<p>Westy advanced a few steps in the dim, solemn woods, looking to right -and left....</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chII'>CHAPTER II<br /> <span class='sub-head'>A PROMISE</span></h2> -<p>Westy Martin was a scout of the first class. He was a member of the -First Bridgeboro Troop of Bridgeboro, New Jersey. Notwithstanding that -he was a serious boy, he belonged to the Silver Fox Patrol, presided -over by Roy Blakeley.</p> -<p>According to Pee-wee Harris of the Raven Patrol, Westy was the only -Silver Fox who was not crazy. Yet in one way he was crazy; he was crazy -to go out west. He had even saved up a hundred dollars toward a -projected trip to the Yellowstone National Park. He did not know exactly -when or how he would be able to make this trip alone, but one “saves up” -for all sorts of things unplanned. To date, Westy had only the one -hundred dollars and the dream of going. When he had saved another -hundred, he would begin to develop plans.</p> -<p>“I’ll tell you what you do,” Westy’s father had said to him. “You go up -to Uncle Dick’s and spend the summer and help around. You know what -Uncle Dick told you; any summer he’d be glad to have you help around the -farm and be glad to pay you so much a week. There’s your chance, my boy. -At Temple Camp you can’t earn any money.</p> -<p>“My suggestion is that you pass up Temple Camp this summer and go up on -the farm. By next summer maybe you’ll have enough to go west, and I’ll -help you out,” he added significantly. “I may even go with you myself -and take a look at those geezers or geysers or whatever they call them. -I’d kind of half like to get a squint at a grizzly myself.”</p> -<p>“Oh, boy!” said Westy.</p> -<p>“I wish I were,” said his father.</p> -<p>“Well, I guess I’ll do that,” said Westy hesitatingly. He liked Temple -Camp and the troop, and the independent enterprise proposed by his -father was not to be considered without certain lingering regrets.</p> -<p>“It will be sort of like camping—in a way,” he said wistfully. “I can -take my cooking set and my rifle——”</p> -<p>“I don’t think I’d take the rifle if I were you,” said Mr. Martin, in -the chummy way he had when talking with Westy.</p> -<p>“Jiminies, I’d hate to leave it home,” said Westy, a little surprised -and disappointed.</p> -<p>“Well, you’ll be working up there and won’t have much time to use it,” -said Mr. Martin.</p> -<p>Westy sensed that this was not his father’s true reason for objecting to -the rifle. The son recalled that his father had been no more than -lukewarm when the purchase of the rifle had first been proposed. Mr. -Martin did not like rifles. He had observed, as several million other -people had observed, that it is always the gun which is not loaded that -kills people.</p> -<p>The purchase of the coveted rifle had not closed the matter. The rifle -had done no harm, that was the trouble; it had not even killed Mr. -Martin’s haunting fears.</p> -<p>Westy was straightforward enough to take his father’s true meaning and -to ignore the one which had been given. It left his father a little -chagrined but just the same he liked this straightforwardness in Westy.</p> -<p>“Oh, there’d be time enough to use it up there,” Westy said. “And if -there wasn’t any time, why, then I couldn’t use it, that’s all. There -wouldn’t be any harm taking it. I promised you I’d never shoot at -anything but targets and I never have.”</p> -<p>“I know you haven’t, but up there, why, there are lots of——”</p> -<p>“There’s just one thing up there that I’m thinking about,” said Westy -plainly, “and that’s the side of the big barn where I can put a target. -That’s the only thing I want to shoot at, believe me. And I’ve got two -eyes in my head to see if anybody is around who might get hit. That big, -red barn is like—why, it’s just like a building in the middle of the -Sahara Desert. I don’t see why you’re still worrying.”</p> -<p>“How do you know what’s back of the target?” Mr. Martin asked. “How do -you know who’s inside the barn?”</p> -<p>“If I just tell you I’ll be careful, I should think that would be -enough,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“Well, it is,” said Mr. Martin heartily.</p> -<p>“And I’ll promise you again so you can be sure.”</p> -<p>“I don’t want any more promises about your not shooting at anything but -targets, my boy,” said Mr. Martin. “You gave me your promise a month ago -and that’s enough. But I want you to promise me again that you’ll be -careful. Understand?”</p> -<p>“I tell you what I’ll do, Dad,” said he. “First I’ll see that there’s -nobody in the barn. Then I’ll lock the barn doors. Then I’ll get a big -sheet of iron that I saw up there and I’ll hang it on the side of the -barn. Then I’ll paste the target against that, see? No bullet could get -through that iron and it’s about, oh, five times larger than the -target.”</p> -<p>“Suppose your shot should go wild and hit those old punky boards beyond -the edge of the iron sheet?” Mr. Martin asked.</p> -<p>“Good night, you’re a scream!” laughed Westy.</p> -<p>Mr. Martin, as usual, was caught by his son’s honest, wholesome -good-humor.</p> -<p>“I suppose you think I might shoot in the wrong direction and hit one of -those grizzlies out in Yellowstone Park,” Westy laughed. “Safety first -is your middle name all right.”</p> -<p>“Well, you go up to Uncle Dick’s and don’t point your gun out west,” -said Mr. Martin, “and maybe we can talk your mother into letting us go -to Yellowstone next year.”</p> -<p>“And will you make <i>me</i> a promise?” asked Westy.</p> -<p>“Well, what is it?”</p> -<p>“That you won’t worry?”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chIII'>CHAPTER III<br /> <span class='sub-head'>THE PARTING</span></h2> -<p>The farm on which Westy spent one of the pleasantest summers of his life -was about seventy miles from his New Jersey home and the grizzlies in -Yellowstone Park were safe. But he thought of that wonderland of the -Rockies in his working hours, and especially when he roamed the woods -following the trails of little animals or stalking and photographing -birds. The only shooting he did on these trips was with his trusty -camera.</p> -<p>Sometimes in the cool of the late afternoon, he would try his skill at -hitting the bull’s eye and after each of these murderous forays against -the innocent pasteboard, he would wrap his precious rifle up in its oily -cloth and stand it in the corner of his room. No drop of blood was shed -by the sturdy scout who had given his promise to be careful and who knew -how to be careful.</p> -<p>The only place where he ever went gunning was in a huge book which -reposed on the marble-topped center table in the sitting room of his -uncle’s farmhouse. This book, which abounded in stirring pictures, -described the exploits of famous hunters in Africa. The book had been -purchased from a loquacious agent and was intended to be ornamental as -well as entertaining. It being one of the very few books available on -the farm, Westy made it a sort of constant companion, sitting before it -each night under the smelly hanging lamp and spending hours in the -African jungle with man-eating lions and tigers.</p> -<p>We are not to take note of Westy’s pleasant summer at this farm, for it -is with the altogether extraordinary event which terminated his holiday -that our story begins. His uncle had given him eight dollars a week, -which with what he had brought from home made a total of something over -a hundred dollars which he had when he was ready to start home. This he -intended to add to his Yellowstone Park fund when he reached Bridgeboro.</p> -<p>He felt very rich and a little nervous with a hundred dollars or more in -his possession. But it was not for that reason that he carried his rifle -on the day he started for home. He carried it because it was his most -treasured possession, excepting his hundred dollars. He told his aunt -and uncle, and he told himself, that he carried it because it could not -easily be put in his trunk except by jamming it in cornerwise. But the -main reason he carried it was because he loved it and he just wanted to -have it with him.</p> -<p>He might have caught a train on the branch line at Dawson’s which was -the nearest station to his uncle’s farm. He would then have to change to -the main line at Chandler. He decided to send his trunk from Dawson’s -and to hike through the woods to Chandler some three or four miles -distant. His aunt and uncle and Ira, the farm hand, stood on the -old-fashioned porch to bid him good-by.</p> -<p>And in that moment of parting, Aunt Mira was struck with a thought which -may perhaps appeal to you who have read of Westy and have a certain -slight acquaintance with him. It was the thought of how she had enjoyed -his helpful visit and how she would miss him now that he was going. -Pee-wee Harris, with all his startling originality, would have wearied -her perhaps. Two weeks of Roy Blakeley’s continuous nonsense would have -been enough for this quiet old lady.</p> -<p>There was nothing in particular about Westy; he was just a wholesome, -well-balanced boy. She had not wearied of him. The scouts of his troop -never wearied of him—and never made a hero of him. He was just Westy. -But there was a gaping void at Temple Camp that summer because he was -not there. And there was going to be a gaping void in this quiet -household on the farm after he had gone away. That was always the way it -was with Westy, he never witnessed his own triumphs because his triumphs -occurred in his absence. He was sadly missed, but how could he see this?</p> -<p>He looked natty enough in his negligee khaki attire with his rifle slung -over his shoulder.</p> -<p>“We’re jes going to miss you a right good lot,” said his aunt with -affectionate vehemence, “and don’t forget you’re going to come up and -see us in the winter.”</p> -<p>“I want to,” said Westy.</p> -<p>Ira, the farm hand, was seated on the carriage step smoking an atrocious -pipe which he removed from his mouth long enough to bid Westy good-by in -his humorous drawling way. The two had been great friends.</p> -<p>“I reckon you’d like to get a bead on a nice, big, hissin’ wildcat with -that gol blamed toy, wouldn’ yer now, huh?”</p> -<p>“You go ’long with you,” said Aunt Mira, “he wouldn’ nothing of the -kind.”</p> -<p>Westy smiled good-naturedly.</p> -<p>“Wouldn’ yer now, huh?” persisted Ira. “I seed ’im readin’ ’baout them -hunters in Africa droppin’ lions an’ tigers an’ what all. I bet ye’d -like to get <i>one—good—plunk</i> at a wildcat now, wouldn’ yer? <i>Kerplunk</i>, -jes like that, hey? Then ye’d feel like a reg’lar Teddy Roosevelt, huh?” -Ira accompanied this intentionally tempting banter with a demonstration -of aiming and firing.</p> -<p>Westy laughed. “I wouldn’t mind being like Roosevelt,” he said.</p> -<p>“Yer couldn’ drop an elephant at six yards,” laughed Ira.</p> -<p>“Well, I guess I won’t meet any elephants in the woods between here and -Chandler,” Westy said.</p> -<p>“Don’t you put no sech ideas in his head,” said Aunt Mira, as she -embraced her nephew affectionately.</p> -<p>Then he was gone.</p> -<p>“I don’t see why you want ter be always pesterin’ the poor boy,” -complained Aunt Mira, as Ira lowered his lanky legs to the ground -preparatory to standing on them. He <i>had</i> been a sort of evil genius all -summer, beguiling Westy with enticing pictures of all sorts of perilous -exploits out of his own abounding experiences on land and sea. “You’d -like to’ve had him runnin’ away to sea with your yarns of whalin’ and -shipwrecks,” Aunt Mira continued. “And it’s jes a parcel of lies, Ira -Hasbrook, and you know it as well as I do. Like enough he’ll shoot at a -woodchuck or a skunk and kill one of Atwood’s cows. They’re always -gettin’ into the woods.”</p> -<p>“No, he won’t neither,” said her husband.</p> -<p>“I say like enough he might,” persisted Aunt Mira. “Weren’t he crazy -’baout that book?”</p> -<p>“I didn’ write the book,” drawled Ira.</p> -<p>“No, but you told him how to skin a bear.”</p> -<p>“That’s better’n bein’ a book agent and skinnin’ a farmer,” drawled Ira.</p> -<p>“It’s ’baout the only thing you didn’t tell him you was,” Aunt Mira -retorted.</p> -<p>Acknowledging which, Ira puffed at his pipe leisurely and contemplated -Aunt Mira with a whimsical air.</p> -<p>“I meant jes what I said, Ira Hasbrook,” said she.</p> -<p>“The kid’s all right,” said Ira. “He couldn’ hit nuthin further’n ten -feet. But he’s all right jes the same. We’re goin’ ter miss him, huh, -Auntie?”</p> -<p>But they did not miss him for long, for they were destined to see him -again before the day was over.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chIV'>CHAPTER IV<br /> <span class='sub-head'>THE SUFFERER</span></h2> -<p>In truth, if this were a narrative of Ira Hasbrook’s adventures, it -might be thought lively reading of the dime novel variety. He had not, -as he had confided to Westy, limited his killing exploits to swatting -flies.</p> -<p>He was one of those universal characters who have a way of drifting -finally to farms. And he had not abridged his tales of sprightly -adventure in imparting them to Westy. He had been to sea on a New -Bedford whaler. He had shot big game in the Rockies. He had lived on a -ranch. His star performance had been a liberal participation in the -kidnapping of a despotic king in a small South Sea island.</p> -<p>Naturally, so lively an adventurer had nothing but contempt for a -pasteboard target. And though he did not wilfully undertake to alienate -Westy from his code of conduct, he had so continually represented to him -the thrilling glories of the chase, that Aunt Mira had very naturally -suffered some haunting apprehensions that her nephew might depart -impulsively on some piratical cruise or Indian killing enterprise.</p> -<p>These vague fears had simmered down at the last to the ludicrous dread -that her departing nephew (whom she had come to know and love) might, -under the inspiration of the satanic Ira, celebrate his departure from -the country by laying low some innocent cow in attempting to “drop” an -undesirable woodchuck. She had come to have a very horror of the word -<i>drop</i> which occurred so frequently in Ira’s tales of adventure....</p> -<p>But Aunt Mira’s fears were needless. Westy had been Ira’s companion -without being his disciple. In his quiet way he had understood Ira -thoroughly, the same as in his quiet way he understood Roy Blakeley and -Pee-wee Harris thoroughly. The cows, even the woodchucks, were safe. The -shot which turned the tide of Westy Martin’s life was not out of his own -precious rifle.</p> -<p>He had not taken many steps after hearing the shot when he came upon the -effect of it. A small deer lay a few feet off the trail. The beautiful -creature was quite motionless and though it lay prone on its side with -the head flat upon the ground, its gracefulness was apparent, even -striking. It lay in a sort of bower of low hanging foliage and had a -certain harmony with the forest which even its stricken state and -somewhat unnatural attitude could not destroy.</p> -<p>As Westy first glimpsed this silent, uncomplaining victim, a feeling -(which could hardly be called a thought) came to him. It was just this, -that the cruelty which had wrought this piteous spectacle was doubly -cruel for that the creature had been laid low in its own home. The -friendly, enveloping foliage revealed this helpless denizen of the woods -as a sorrowing mother might show her dead child to a sympathizing -friend. Such thoughts did not take form in the mind of the tremulous boy -but he had some such feeling. He was thoughtful enough, even at the -moment, to wonder how he could have taken such delight in stories of -wholesale killings. One sight of the actual thing aroused his anger and -pity.</p> -<p>He approached a little nearer, this scout with a rifle over his -shoulder, and beheld something which startled, almost unnerved him. He -could see only one of the eyes, for the deer lay on its side, but this -eye was soft and seemed not unfriendly; it was not a startled eye. The -beautiful animal was not dead. He did not know how much it might be -suffering, but at all events its suffering was not over, and there was a -kind of resignation in the soft look of that single eye; just a kind of -silent acceptance of its plight which went to the boy’s heart.</p> -<p>Who had done this thing, against the good law of the state, and in -disregard of every humane obligation? Who had fled leaving this -beautiful inhabitant of the quiet woods in agony? The leaves stirred -gently above it in the soothing breeze. A gay little bird chirped a -melody in the overhanging branches as if to beguile it in its suffering. -And the soft, gentle eye seemed full of an infinite patience as it -looked at Westy.</p> -<p>He was face to face with one of the sporting exploits of that horrible -toy, the rifle. For just a moment it seemed as if the stricken deer were -looking at his own rifle as if in quiet curiosity. Then he noticed a -tiny wound and a little trickle of blood on the creature’s side. It made -a striking contrast, the crimson and the dull gray....</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chV'>CHAPTER V<br /> <span class='sub-head'>A PLAIN DUTY</span></h2> -<p><i>...And the great hunter crouching behind the rock brought his trusty -rifle to bear upon the distant stag. The keen-eyed marksman looked like -a statue as he knelt, waiting.</i></p> -<p>Westy recalled these words in the mammoth volume on the sitting room -table at the farm. He had admired, even been thrilled at the heroic -picture of the great hunter whose exploits in the Maine woods were so -flatteringly recorded. It had not at the time occurred to him that the -noble stag might have looked like a statue too. Well, here was the -actual result of such flaunted heroism, and Westy did not like it. It -was quite a different sort of picture.</p> -<p>Then, suddenly, it occurred to him that he was to blame for this pitiful -spectacle. He who shoots does not always kill. But he who shoots intends -to kill. If the fugitive had failed of his purpose it was because he had -been frightened at the sound of some one near at hand. The shooting -season was not on, it had been a stolen, lawless shot.</p> -<p>A feeling of anger, even of hate, was aroused in Westy’s mind, against -the ruthless violator of the law who had been forced to save himself by -flight before his lawless deed was completed. He had probably thought -the footfalls those of a game warden. To shoot game out of season was -bad enough as it seemed to the scout. To shoot living things seemed now -bereft of all glory to the sensitive boy. But to shoot and not kill and -then run away seemed horrible. This poor deer might suffer for hours.</p> -<p>Westy had seen a little demonstration of the kind of thing he had been -reading and hearing about. Through the medium of the alluring printed -page, he had been present at buffalo hunts, he had seen kindly, -intelligent elephants laid low, and here he was seething with rage that -the blood of this harmless, beauteous creature had been shed, and shed -to no purpose.</p> -<p>But Westy was more than a sensitive boy, he was a scout. And a scout has -ever a sense of responsibility. It was futile to consider what some -stranger had done while this poor creature lay suffering. All that he -had read and heard about hunting big game and all such stuff was -forgotten in the consciousness of a present duty. He, Westy Martin, must -put this deer out of its suffering; he must kill it.</p> -<p>The owner of the precious rifle, all shiny and oily, shuddered. He, -scout of the first class, must finish the work which some criminal -wretch had begun.</p> -<p>He was too essentially honest to take refuge in his promise not to shoot -at anything but a target. He had a momentary thought of that, and then -was ashamed of it. Phrases familiar to him ran through his head. Serious -boy that he was, he had always been a reader of the Handbook. <i>A scout -is helpful. A scout is friendly to all.... A scout is kind. He is a -friend to animals. He will not kill nor hurt....</i></p> -<p>Yet he was not friendly to all. He was enraged at the absent destroyer, -who had made it necessary for him to do something he could not bear to -do. He wished that Ira were there to do it instead. He who had admired -the great hunter crouching behind a rock, wished now that the mighty -hunter might be present to attend to this miserable business. He had -never dreamed of such an emergency, of such a duty. He wished that one -or other of the sprightly youngsters in the advertisements, who were so -ready with their firearms, might shoot for once in this humane cause.</p> -<p>Poor Westy, he was just a boy after all....</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chVI'>CHAPTER VI<br /> <span class='sub-head'>FIRST AID—LAST AID</span></h2> -<p>He never in all his life felt so nervous, and so much like a criminal, -as when he reached with trembling hand for the innocent rifle with which -he was to shed more crimson blood and destroy a life. He looked guiltily -at the deer whose eye seemed to hold him in a kind of gentle stare. It -seemed as if the creature trusted him, yet wondered what he was going to -do.</p> -<p>There was a kind of pathos in the thought that came to him that the -suffering deer did not recognize the rifle as the sort of thing which -had laid him low. The creature’s innocence, as one might say, went to -the boy’s heart.</p> -<p>He backed away from the stricken form, three yards—five yards. He felt -brutal, abominable. The cautious little bird had withdrawn to a tree -somewhat farther off where it still sang blithely. Westy paused, -listening to the bird. Then he stole toward the tree trying to deceive -himself that he wanted to see what kind of a bird it was, when in plain -fact all he was doing was killing time. The bird, disgusted with the -whole affair as one might have fancied, made a great flutter and flew -away to a more wholesome atmosphere. The bird was not a scout, it had no -duties....</p> -<p>Westy advanced a few paces, his rifle shaking in his hand. It was simple -enough what he had to do, yet there he was absurdly calculating -distances. Oh, if it had only been the white target there before him -with its black circles one inside another, the only hunting ground or -jungle Westy knew. Strange, how different he felt now.</p> -<p>He could not bear that soft eye contemplating him so he walked around to -the other side of the deer where the eye could not see him. Then he felt -sneaky, like one stealing up behind his victim. And through all his -immature trepidation hate was in his heart; hate for the brutal wretch -who had fled thinking only of his own safety, and leaving this -ungrateful task for him to do.</p> -<p>Suddenly it occurred to Westy that he might run to Chandler and tell the -authorities what he had found. That would be his good turn for the day. -Ira had always “guyed” him about good turns. That would seem like -running away from an unpleasant duty. To whom did he owe the good turn? -Was it not to this stricken, suffering creature?</p> -<p>So Westy Martin, scout of the first class, did his good turn to this -dumb creature in its dim forest home. The dumb creature did not know -that Westy Martin was doing it a good turn. It seemed a queer sort of -good turn. He could never write it down in his neat little scout record -as a good turn. He would never, <i>never</i> think of it in that way. If the -deer could only understand....</p> -<p>The way to do a thing is to do it. And it is not the part of a scout to -dilly-dally. When a scout knows his duty he is not afraid. But if the -deer could only know, could only understand....</p> -<p>Westy approached the creature with bolstered resolution. He lifted his -gun, his arms shaking. Where should it be? In the head? Of course. He -held the muzzle within six inches of the head. A jerky little squirrel -crept part way down a tree, turned suddenly and scurried up again. It -was very quiet about. Only the sound of a busy woodpecker tapping away -somewhere. Westy paused for a moment, counting the taps....</p> -<p>Then there was another sound; quick, sharp, which did not belong in the -woods. And the woodpecker stopped his tapping. Westy saw the deer’s -forefoot twitch spasmodically. And a little stream of blood was trailing -down its forehead.</p> -<p>Westy Martin had done his daily good turn....</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chVII'>CHAPTER VII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>LITTLE DROPS OF WATER</span></h2> -<p>The feeling now uppermost in Westy’s mind was that of anger at the -unknown person who had made it necessary for him to do what he had done. -He felt that he had been cheated out of keeping his promise about -shooting. He knew perfectly well that what he had done was right and -that only technically had he broken his promise to his father. But he -had done something altogether repugnant to him and it turned him against -guns not only, but particularly against the sneak whose lawless work he -had had to complete.</p> -<p>It must be confessed that it was not mainly the fugitive’s lawlessness -or even his cruel heedlessness that aroused Westy. It was the feeling -that somehow this work of murder (for so he thought it) had been wished -on him. It had agitated him and gone against him, and he was enraged -over it.</p> -<p>He had not been quite the ideal scout in the matter of readiness to kill -the deer; he might have done that job more promptly and with less -perturbation. But he was quite the scout in his towering resolve to -track down the culprit and tell him what he thought of him and bring him -to justice.</p> -<p>It was characteristic of Westy, who was a fiend at tracking and -trailing, that this course of action appealed to him now, rather than -the tamer course of going direct to the authorities. There was something -very straightforward about Westy. And besides, he had the adventurous -spirit which prefers to act without cooperation.</p> -<p>“<i>By jumping jiminies.</i> I’ll find that fellow!” he said aloud. “I should -worry about catching the train. I’ll find him all right, and I’ll tell -him something he won’t forget in a hurry—I will. I’ll track him and find -out who he is. Maybe after he’s paid a hundred dollars fine, he won’t be -so free with his blamed rifle.”</p> -<p>It was odd how he had balked at putting an end to the wounded deer, and -then had not the slightest hesitancy to pursue, he knew not what sort of -disreputable character, and denounce him to his face and then report -him. Westy would not show up with the authorities, not he; not till he -had first called the marauder a few names which he was already deciding -upon. They were not the sort of names that are used in the language of -compliment. It is not to be supposed that Westy was perfect....</p> -<p>He was all scout now. Yet he was puzzled as to which way to turn. It is -sometimes easier to follow tracks than to find them. No doubt the -fugitive had been some distance from the deer when he had shot it. Where -had he been then? Near enough for Westy to hear the patter of his -footfalls, that was certain. Also another thought occurred to him. The -man’s shot had not been a good one, at least it had not proved fatal. He -was either a very poor marksman or else he had fired from a considerable -distance.</p> -<p>Westy’s mind worked quickly and logically now. He had easily the best -mind of any scout in his troop. Not the most sprightly mind, but the -best. He tried hurriedly to determine where the man had stood by -considering the position of the wound on the deer’s body. But he quickly -saw the fallacy of any deduction drawn from this sign since the deer -might have turned before he dropped. Then another thought, a better one, -occurred to him. The animal had been shot below its side, almost in its -belly. Might not that argue that the huntsman had been somewhat below -the level of the deer?</p> -<p>The conformation of the land thereabouts seemed to give color to this -surmise. The ground sloped so that it might almost be said to be a -hillside which descended to the verge of a gully. Westy went in that -direction for a few yards and came to the gully. He scrambled down into -it and found himself involved in a tangle of underbrush. But he saw that -from this trenchlike concealment, the animal might easily have been -struck in the spot where the wound was.</p> -<p>His deduction was somewhat confirmed by his recollection that it was -from this direction he had heard the receding footfalls. A path led -through this miniature jungle and up the other side where the pine -needles made a smooth floor in the forest.</p> -<p>Presently all need of nice deducing was rendered superfluous by a sign -likely to prove a jarring and discordant note in the woodland studies of -any scout. This was a crumpled tinfoil package which on being pulled to -its original size revealed the romantic words so replete with the spirit -of the silent woods:</p> -<div style='text-align:center; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> -<div>MECHANIC’S DELIGHT</div> -<div>PLUG CUT TOBACCO</div> -</div> -<p>The tinfoil package was empty and destined to delight no more. But it -was not even wet, and had not been wet, and had evidently been thrown -away but lately.</p> -<p>It was immediately after throwing this away that Westy noticed something -else which interested him. It was nothing much, but bred as he was to -observe trifling things in the woods, it made him curious. The rank -undergrowth near him was besprinkled with drops as if it had been rained -on. This was noticeable on the large, low-spreading plantain leaves near -by. Surely in the bright sunshine of the morning any recent drops of dew -or rain must have dried up. Yet there were the big flat leaves -besprinkled with drops of water.</p> -<p>Westy remembered something his scoutmaster had once said. <i>Everything -that happens has a cause. Little things may mean big things.</i> Nine boys -out of ten would not have noticed this trivial thing, or having noticed -it would not have thought twice about it. But Westy approached and felt -of the leaves and as he did so, he felt his foot sinking into swampy -water. He tried to lift it out but could not. Then, he felt the other -foot sinking too. He hardly knew how it happened, but in ten seconds he -was down to his knees in the swamp. Frantically he grasped the swampy -weeds but they gave way. He could not lift either foot now. He felt -himself going down, down....</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chVIII'>CHAPTER VIII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>BARRETT’S</span></h2> -<p>So this was to be the end; he would be swallowed up and no one would -know what had become of him. The silent, treacherous marsh would consume -him. He was in its jaws and it would devour him and the world would -never know. Nature, the quiet woods that he had loved, would do this -frightful thing.</p> -<p>Then he ceased to sink. He was in above his knees. One foot rested on -something hard. But it was not that which supported him. The marshy -growth below held him up. He was not in peril but he had suffered a -shocking fright. He managed to get hold of a crooked branch of scrub oak -which overhung the gully and drew himself up. It was hard to do this for -the suction kept him down. It was evidently a little marshy pool -concealed by undergrowth that he had stepped into.</p> -<p>For no particular reason, he purposely got one foot under the submerged -thing it had descended upon. He thought it was a stick. It came up -slantingways till with one hand he was able to get hold of it. It was -hard and cold. For this reason, he was curious about it and he kept hold -of it with one hand while he scrambled clear of the tiny morass. It was -dripping with mud and green slime. But he knew what he was holding long -before it was clear of its slimy, green disguise. <i>It was a rifle.</i></p> -<p>Then Westy knew the explanation of the wetness on the leaves. The rifle -had not been there long. It had probably been thrown there in panic -haste and the water had splashed up onto the low, dank growth which -concealed the frightful hole. The gun would never have been found but -for Westy’s observant eye and consequent mishap.</p> -<p>He wiped the dripping slime from the rifle and examined his find. The -gun was old and had evidently seen much service. On the smooth-worn butt -of it was something which interested him greatly and seemed likely to -prove more helpful than any footprints he might hope to find. This was -the name <i>Luke Meadows</i>, evidently burnt in with a pointed tool, -possibly a nail. Printed in another direction on the rifle butt, so that -it might or might not have borne relation to the name, were the letters -very crudely inscribed <i>Cody Wg</i>.</p> -<p>Even in his surprise, Westy recognized a certain appropriateness in the -word <i>Cody</i> burnt into a rifle butt; it seemed a fitting enough place on -which to perpetuate the true name of Buffalo Bill. At the time he could -not conjecture what the letters <i>Wg</i> stood for. But it seemed likely -enough that Luke Meadows was the name of the owner of the rifle.</p> -<p>The gun had certainly not been in the swamp long for no rust was upon -it. He believed that the owner of it, fearing to be overtaken with it in -his possession, had flung it into the little swamp before fleeing.</p> -<p>He was not so intent now on finding footprints. Surely the person who -had hidden the gun was the culprit, and it seemed a reasonable enough -inference that he belonged in the neighborhood. The quest seemed greatly -simplified; so simplified that Westy began formulating what he would say -to the marauder. Of one thing he was resolved, and that was that the man -should pay the penalty of his lawlessness.</p> -<p>Westy did not burden himself with two guns; he hid the one he had found -in the bushes, then bent his course eastward through the woods. If he -had been going straight to Chandler to catch the train, he would have -cut through the woods southeast, emerging at the edge of the town. But -he changed his course now and went directly east because he wanted to -reach the little settlement known as Barrett’s. This was on the road -which bordered the woods to the east and ran south into Chandler.</p> -<p>Westy would not exactly be going out of his way, he would simply be -losing the advantage of a short cut. Barrett’s was the nearest and -seemed the likeliest place from which one given to illicit hunting would -come. At Barrett’s he would inquire for Luke Meadows.</p> -<p>The name on the rifle saved him the difficulties and delays of tracking. -For with the culprit’s name, Westy felt that he could easily be found.</p> -<p>In about fifteen minutes, he emerged from the woods at Barrett’s. He had -been there before, but one sight of the place now made him glad that he -had not brought the telltale rifle with him. He felt that if he had, -Meadows or Meadows’ cronies might relieve him of it and put an end to -its availability as evidence. It was safe where it was....</p> -<p>Barrett’s was one of those places that grow up around a factory and -subsist on the factory. Sometimes quite pretentious little villages grow -up in this way and attain finally to the dignity of “GO SLOW” signs and -traffic cops. But in this case the factory having put Barrett’s on the -county map closed up its door and left Barrett’s sprawling. There was a -settlement and no factory to support it.</p> -<p>When the Barrett Leather Goods Company stopped making leather goods, a -couple of dozen men and as many more girls were thrown out of -employment. With the leather goods factory closed there was nothing for -the working people of Barrett’s to do but move away or subsist as best -they could by hook or crook. The better sort among the inhabitants moved -away. Those that remained soon became a dubious set whose professional -activities were, at the least, shady.</p> -<p>Barrett’s was a sort of hobo among villages, an ill-kept, prideless, -lawless place, having all the characteristics of a shiftless man who had -gone to the bad. The countryside shunned it. And it was not considered a -safe place for the youth of the surrounding villages, especially at -night. Every now and then, some one from Barrett’s was taken to Chandler -and thence sent to jail....</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chIX'>CHAPTER IX<br /> <span class='sub-head'>ON THE TRAIL</span></h2> -<p>Barrett’s was not accustomed to visits from nattily attired boy scouts -with rifles slung over their shoulders and the lolling youths of the -settlement stared at him and commented audibly as he passed.</p> -<p>“Hey, what’s that you got over your shoulder?” one of them called.</p> -<p>“That, oh, that’s a soup spoon,” said Westy, quite unperturbed. “Do you -know where Luke Meadows lives?”</p> -<p>“What d’yer want ’im fer?” one of the natives asked.</p> -<p>“Oh, I just wanted to see him,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“Whatcher want ter see ’im fer?”</p> -<p>“Oh, just for fun. Do you know where he lives?”</p> -<p>“He lives in that white house up the road,” said a rather more -accommodating boy. “Do you see the house with the winder broken? The one -with the chimney gone? He lives there, only he ain’t home.”</p> -<p>“He is too,” contradicted another informer. “I seen him go in his back -door half an hour ago; he come around through the fields from the -woods.”</p> -<p>“Thanks,” said Westy.</p> -<p>If Luke Meadows lived in the house indicated and had indeed returned -home through the fields, then he must have emerged from the woods at a -considerable distance from his home, an unnecessary thing to do except -upon the theory that he wished to throw some one off his track, or at -least avoid being seen. Westy thought he could sense the position in -which this man stood toward the game wardens of the county. He thought -it likely that there had been previous encounters between them. Hunting -game out of season is a pursuit which is pretty apt to be chronic.</p> -<p>Now that Westy was about to encounter this man, he felt just a little -trepidation. Perhaps it would have been better to go to Chandler first. -But then the matter would have been out of his hands. He wished first to -tell this man a thing or two which scouts know....</p> -<p>As he went along the narrow, dusty road, his uneasiness increased. He -was not exactly afraid but he was beginning to balk a little at the -prospect of denouncing a person who was probably many years his senior.</p> -<p>The little houses along the road, which must have been hopelessly -unsightly from the beginning, had fallen into a state of disrepair and -squalor which seemed in striking discord with the surrounding -countryside. A slum in the city is bad enough; in the fair country it is -shockingly grotesque.</p> -<p>These little houses were double, each holding two families, and some of -them were in blocks of three or four. They seemed to nestle under the -shadow of the big wooden factory back in the field. Every window of the -big factory was broken and a more forlorn picture of disuse and -dilapidation could scarcely be imagined. From this factory a rusty -railroad track disappeared into the woods; it had probably once joined -the main line at Chandler.</p> -<p>Beyond these little rows of cheap frame houses was one which stood by -itself. Its chimney was indeed gone and its window broken, but at least -it stood by itself, was of a different color and architecture from the -others, and had, in its shabby way, a character of its own. A little -girl was swinging on the fence gate, or would have been swinging if the -hinges had not been broken. A dried and curling woodchuck skin was -nailed to the clapboards beside the door, a dubious hint of the -predilections of the householder.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chX'>CHAPTER X<br /> <span class='sub-head'>LUKE MEADOWS</span></h2> -<p>“Does Luke Meadows live here?” Westy asked.</p> -<p>“Yes, sirrr,” said the little girl with a strong roll of her r’s.</p> -<p>“Could I see him?”</p> -<p>“I reckon you can,” said the little girl, then without going to the -trouble of entering the house, she called, “Dad, thar’s a boy wants to -see you.”</p> -<p>These were the first samples Westy had of that characteristic way of -saying <i>reckon</i> and <i>thar</i> which he had soon to associate with new -friends in a free, vast, far-off region. It occurred to him that if -Meadows wished to lie low, as the saying is, it might go hard with the -little girl who was so ready to admit his presence to a stranger.</p> -<p>The appearance and reputation of Barrett’s, as well as the unlawful -shooting, had conjured up a picture in Westy’s mind which had made him -apprehensive about his reception. And now he felt that the little girl -might also feel something of the hunter’s displeasure.</p> -<p>His kindly fear for her was quite superfluous, for presently there -appeared from within the house a youngish man who absently, as it -seemed, placed his arm around the child’s shoulder and drew her toward -him as he waited for Westy to make his business known.</p> -<p>The man was tall and raw-boned and wore nothing but queer-looking -moccasins, corduroy trousers and a gray flannel shirt. His cheek-bones -were high and he was as brown as a mulatto. What caught Westy and -somewhat disconcerted him, was the stranger’s eyes, which were gray and -of a clearness and keenness which he had never seen in the eyes of any -human being before. They were the eyes of the forest and the plains, the -eyes that see and read and understand where others see not. The eyes -that speak of silent and lonely places and bespeak a competence which -only rugged nature can impart. Such eyes Daniel Boone may have had.</p> -<p>At all events, they disconcerted Westy and knocked the beginning of his -fine speech clean out of his head. The man was calm and patient, the -little girl wriggled playfully in his strong hold, and Westy stood like -a fool and said nothing. Then he found himself.</p> -<p>“Are you Lu—— Are you Mr. Luke Meadows?” he asked.</p> -<p>“Reckon I am,” drawled the man.</p> -<p>“Well, then,” said Westy, gathering courage, “I came to tell you that I -know what you did in the woods because I—because I was the one that was -there—I was the one that shouted.”</p> -<p>“Yer seed me, youngster?” the man drawled, not angrily.</p> -<p>“No, I didn’t see you,” said Westy, “but gee, you don’t have to see a -person to find them out. You shot a deer and you know as well as I do it -isn’t the season. And then you hid your gun—I guess you thought I was a -game warden or something. But I found it, I’ll tell you that much and I -saw your name on it.</p> -<p>“Do you know what you made me do?” he added, becoming vehement as his -anger gave him courage. “You made me kill a deer, that’s what you made -me do! You made me kill a deer after I promised I’d never shoot at -anything but a target—that’s what you made me do,” he shouted in boyish -anger. “You didn’t even kill it, you didn’t! Now you see what you did, -sneaking and shooting game out of season! Now you see what you made me -do!”</p> -<p>There was something so naïve and boyish in putting the injury on -personal grounds that even Meadows could not repress a smile.</p> -<p>“I made a promise to my father, that’s what I did,” said Westy -indignantly.</p> -<p>The man neither confessed nor denied his guilt. It seemed strange to -Westy that he did not deny it since criminals always protest their -innocence. At the moment the man’s chief concern seemed to be a certain -interest in Westy. He just stood listening, the while holding the little -girl close to him and playfully ruffling her hair. Perhaps his dubious -standing with the authorities made him lukewarm about protestations of -innocence.</p> -<p>“Waal?” was all he said.</p> -<p>“And you’re not going to get away with it either,” said Westy.</p> -<p>Meadows drew a tinfoil package from his trousers pocket, took some -tobacco from it and replaced the package in his pocket. Westy saw that -the package was a new one and that it bore the MECHANICS DELIGHT label.</p> -<p>“You left the other package in the woods,” Westy said triumphantly, “and -that’s how I happened to find your gun.”</p> -<p>“Yer left the gun thar, youngster?”</p> -<p>“Yes, I did,” said Westy angrily, “and I know where it is all right.” -Then the true Westy Martin got in a few words. “The only reason I came -here first,” he said, “was because I didn’t want to seem sneaky. I -didn’t want you to think that I had to go and get the—the constables or -sheriffs—I didn’t want you to think I was afraid to face you alone. I -didn’t want to go and tell on you till I saw you first, that’s all.”</p> -<p>“Waal, naow yer see me,” drawled Meadows.</p> -<p>“And I’m going to do what I ought to do, no matter what,” Westy flared -up.</p> -<p>“S’posin’ yer run an’ play,” said Meadows to the little girl. Then, as -she moved away. “An’ what might yer ought ter do?” he asked quietly.</p> -<p>“You admit you shot that deer?” Westy asked. “Jiminies, you can’t deny -it,” he added boyishly.</p> -<p>“Waal?” said Meadows.</p> -<p>“Do you see this badge?” said Westy, pulling the sleeve of his scout -shirt around so as to display the several merit badges that were sewn -there. “That top one,” he said in a boyish tone of mingled pride and -anger, “is a conservation badge; it’s a scout badge.”</p> -<p>“Yer one of them scaouts, huh?”</p> -<p>“Yes, I am and I won that badge. It means if I know of anybody breaking -the game laws, I’ve got to report it, that’s what it means. I’ve got to -do it even if it seems mean——”</p> -<p>“Seems mean, huh?”</p> -<p>“No, it doesn’t,” Westy forced himself to say. “Because what right did -you have to do that? Gee, I don’t say you wanted to leave the deer -suffering, I don’t say that.” He had been fully prepared to charge the -offender with that but now that he was face to face with him, he found -it hard to do so. He put the whole responsibility for his purpose on his -conservation badge, in which Meadows seemed rather interested.</p> -<p>“What’s that thar next one?” he asked.</p> -<p>“That’s the pathfinder’s badge,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“Yer a pathfinder, huh?”</p> -<p>“Yes, I am,” said Westy, “but I guess maybe I’m not as good at it as you -are. But anyway, if you know all about those things—shooting and the -woods and all that—jiminies, you ought to know enough not to shoot game -out of season. Maybe that deer was a very young one, or maybe——”</p> -<p>“Haow ’baout my young un?” Meadows asked calmly. “How ’baout that li’l -gal yer seed?”</p> -<p>“Well, what about her?” demanded Westy angrily.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXI'>CHAPTER XI<br /> <span class='sub-head'>WESTY MARTIN, SCOUT</span></h2> -<p>“What makes yer say maybe I’m good at that sort of thing?” asked Luke -Meadows.</p> -<p>“I don’t know,” said Westy; “just sort of you seem that way. But anyway, -that hasn’t got anything to do with what <i>I</i> have to do, has it? I got -that merit badge by passing six tests, if anybody should ask you. And -the last one of those tests is doing something that helps enforce the -game laws, and you can bet I’m going to keep on doing that too. You’ll -have to pay a fine, that’s what you’ll have to do, and it serves you -right.”</p> -<p>“Yer goin’ ter tell ’em in Chandler haow yer found my gun near the -spot?”</p> -<p>“Yes, I am and it serves you right,” said Westy. “You broke the law and -you made me shoot—— Do you think it was fun for me to do that?” he -flared up angrily.</p> -<p>“Waal, I reckon that’ll be enough fer ’em,” said Meadows. “It’ll cook my -goose. They’ve got the knife in me, as you easterners say.”</p> -<p>He sat down on the top step of his miserable home and seemed to -meditate. “Mis Ellis over yonder, I reckon she’ll look out fer the kid,” -he said. “’Tain’t been nuthin but carnsarned trouble ever sence we come -from Cody. If I could get one—<i>jes one</i>—good aim—<i>jes—one—good—shot</i>—at -the man that told me ter come east and work in that thar busted up -factory! The wife, she worked in it till she got the flu last winter and -died. And here we are, me ’n’ the kid—stranded like play-actin’ folk. I -can’t shoot them factory people nor that thar loon I run into in Cody, -so I get off in the woods ’n’ shoot. Yer can get ten dollars fer a -deerskin if yer kin get through without them game sharks catchin’ yer. -Yer a pretty likely sort o’ youngster, yer are. Never had that thar flu, -did yer?”</p> -<p>He said no more, only sat with his hands on his knees, occasionally -spitting. And for a few moments there was silence.</p> -<p>“Is Cody a town?” Westy asked.</p> -<p>“In Wyoming,” Meadows answered.</p> -<p>And again there was silence.</p> -<p>“That’s where Yellowstone Park is,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“’Baout thirty or forty mile,” said Meadows.</p> -<p>“That’s where I’m going to go,” said Westy.</p> -<p>Still again there was silence, and Westy felt uncomfortable. He felt -that he would like to know a little more about this man. And that was -strange seeing that he was going to Chandler to report him. It seemed -odd that Meadows did not threaten or try to dissuade him.</p> -<p>Then, suddenly the whole matter was roughly taken out of Westy’s hands. -Two men, with a leashed dog, came diagonally across the road. They had -evidently come out of the woods and their importance and purpose were -manifested by the group representing Barrett’s younger set which -followed them in great excitement, running to keep up and be prompt upon -the scene. There was no mistaking the air of vigorous assurance which -the men bore. But if this were not enough the badge upon the shirt of -one of them left no doubt of his official character. It was this one who -held the dog and the tired beast was panting audibly.</p> -<p>“Well, Luke, at it again, hey?” said the game warden, in that -counterfeit tone of sociability which police officials acquire.</p> -<div class='figcenter' style='width:90%; max-width:700px;'> -<img src='images/img-001.jpg' alt='' style='width:100%;height:auto;' /> -<p class='caption'>“WELL, LUKE, AT IT AGAIN, HEY?” SAID THE GAME WARDEN.</p> -</div> -<p>“H’lo, Terry,” drawled Luke, not angrily.</p> -<p>Surrounding the two men stood the gaping throng of curious boys. One or -two slatternly women gave color to the scene. Somewhat apart from the -group, a frightened, pitiful little figure, stood the child, Luke’s -daughter.</p> -<p>“You run over to Mis Ellis’,” Luke said to her. But the little girl did -not run over to Mrs. Ellis. She just stood apart, staring with a kind of -instinctive apprehension.</p> -<p>“Well, Luke,” said the game warden, “seems like you got some explainin’ -to do this time. What was you doin’ in the woods? Killin’ another deer, -hey? When was you goin’ back to get him, Luke? Better get your hat, -Luke, and come along with us. Farmer Sands here seen you comin’ out -through the back fields——”</p> -<p>Then the little girl interrupted the game warden’s talk by rushing -pell-mell to her father. Luke put his big, brown hand about her and then -Westy noticed that his forearm was tattooed with the figure of a -buffalo.</p> -<p>“You run along over t’ Missie Ellis,” said Luke, “and she’ll show yer -them pictur’ books; you run like——”</p> -<p>Here he arose, slowly, deliberately, as if with the one action to -dismiss her and place himself in the hands of the law. Then, suddenly, -he lifted her up and kissed her. In all the long time that Westy was -destined to know Luke Meadows, this was the only occasion on which he -was ever to see him act on impulse.</p> -<p>But Westy Martin’s impulse was still quicker. Before the little child -was down upon the ground again he spoke, and his own voice sounded -strange to him as he saw the gaping loiterers all about, and the -astonished gaze of Terry, the game warden. In the boy’s trousers pocket -(which is the safe deposit vault pocket with boys) his sweaty palm -clutched the hundred and three dollars which he was taking home to save -for his trip to the Yellowstone He had kept one hand about it almost -ever since he left the farm, till his very hand smelled like the roll of -bills. But he clutched it even more tightly now. His voice was not as -sure as that unseen clutch.</p> -<p>“If you’re hunting for the fellow who killed the deer over in the -woods,” he said, “then here I am. I’m the one that killed the deer -and—and if—if you’re going to take—arrest—anybody you’d better arrest -me—because I’m the one that did it. I killed the deer—I admit it. So you -better arrest me.”</p> -<p>For a few seconds no one spoke. Then, and it seems odd when you come to -think of it, the dog pulled the leash clean out of Terry the game -warden’s hand, and began climbing up on Westy and licking his hand....</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXII'>CHAPTER XII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>GUILTY</span></h2> -<p>He took his stand upon the simple confession that it was he who had -killed the deer. He knew that he could not say more without saying too -much. And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men could not make -him say more. Fortunately, he did not have to say more, or much more, -because Farmer Sands availed himself of the occasion to preach a homily -on the evil of boys carrying firearms.</p> -<p>“Who you be, anyways?” he demanded shrewdly.</p> -<p>Westy’s one fear was that Luke would speak and spoil everything. For a -moment, he seemed on the point of speaking. Probably it was only the -sight of his little daughter that deterred him from doing so. It was a -moment fraught with peril to Westy’s act. Then, it was too late for Luke -to speak and Westy was glad of that.</p> -<p>He was on his way to Chandler between the game warden and the farmer.</p> -<p>“Well, who you be, anyways?” Farmer Sands repeated.</p> -<p>It was Terry, the game warden, who answered him across Westy’s shoulder.</p> -<p>“Why, Ezrie, he’s jus’ one of them wild west shootin’, Indian huntin’, -dime novel readin’ youngsters what oughter have some sense flogged inter -him. I’d as soon give a boy of mine rat poison to play with as one of -these here pesky rifles. It’s a wonder he hit him, but that’s the way -fools allus do. What’s your name, kid? You don’t b’long round here?”</p> -<p>Westy, albeit somewhat frightened, was self-possessed and shrewd enough -not to beguile his escort with an account of himself.</p> -<p>“I told you all I’m going to,” he added. “I was going through the woods -and I saw the deer and killed him. Then, I went through to Barrett’s and -I was going to come along this road to Chandler. If I have to be taken -to a judge, I’ll tell him more if he makes me. Please take your hand off -my shoulder because I’m not going to try to run away.”</p> -<p>“Yer been readin’ Diamond Dick?” asked Farmer Sands, squinting at him -with a look of diabolical sagacity.</p> -<p>“No, I haven’t been reading Diamond Dick,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“Wasn’t yer stayin’ up ter Nelson’s place?” the game warden asked.</p> -<p>“Yes, he’s my uncle,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“He know yer got a gun?”</p> -<p>“Sure, he does.”</p> -<p>“Well, you’d better ’phone him when you get to Chandler if you don’t -want ter spend the night in a cell.”</p> -<p>Westy balked at the sound of this talk, but he only tightened his sweaty -palm in his pocket and said, “He didn’t kill the deer. Why should I -’phone to him?”</p> -<p>Farmer Sands poked his billy-goat visage around in front of Westy’s face -and stared but said nothing.</p> -<p>In Chandler, the trio aroused some curiosity as they went through the -main street and Westy felt conscious and ashamed. He wished that Mr. -Terry would conceal his flaunting badge. As they approached the rather -pretentious County Court House, he began to feel nervous. The stone -building had a kind of dignity about it and seemed to frown on him. -Moreover in the brick wing he saw small, heavily barred windows, and -these were not a cheerful sight.</p> -<p>What he feared most of all was that once in the jaws of that unknown -monster, the law, he would spoil everything by saying more than he meant -to say. He was probably saved from this by the dignitary before whom he -was taken. The learned justice was so fond of talking himself that Westy -had no opportunity of saying anything and was not invited to enlarge -upon the simple fact that he had killed a deer. Probably if the local -dignitary had known Westy better he would have expressed some surprise -at the boy’s act but since, to him, Westy was only a boy with a gun -(always a dangerous combination) there was nothing so very extraordinary -in the fact of his shooting a deer. Fortunately, he did not ask -questions for Westy would not have gone to the extreme of actually -lying.</p> -<p>He stood before the desk of the justice, one sweaty palm encircled about -his precious fortune in his pocket, and felt frightened and ill at ease.</p> -<p>“Well, my young friend,” said the justice, “those who disregard the game -laws of this state must expect to pay the penalty.”</p> -<p>“Y-yes, sir,” said Westy nervously.</p> -<p>“It’s an expensive pastime,” said the justice, not unkindly.</p> -<p>“Yes, sir,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“I can’t understand why you did it, a straightforward, honest-looking -boy like you.”</p> -<p>Westy said nothing, only set his lips tightly as if to safeguard himself -against saying too much or giving way to his feelings.</p> -<p>“A boy that is honest enough to speak up and confess—to do such a -thing—I can’t understand it,” the justice mused aloud, observing Westy -keenly.</p> -<p>“It’s lettin’ ’em hev guns that’s to blame,” observed the game warden.</p> -<p>“It’s dressin’ ’em all up like hunters an’ callin’ ’em scaouts as duz -it,” said Farmer Sands. “They was wantin’ me ter contribute money fer -them scaouts, but I sez—I sez no, ’tain’t no good gon’ ter come of it, -dressin’ youngsters up ’an givin’ ’em firearms an’ sendin’ ’em out ter -vialate the laws.”</p> -<p>“They seem to know how to tell the truth,” said the justice, apparently -rather puzzled.</p> -<p>“He was gon’ ter hide in Luke Meadows’ place when we catched him -red-handed an’ he wuz sceered outer his seven senses an’ that’s why he -confessed,” said Farmer Sands vehemently.</p> -<p>“Nobody can scare me into doing anything,” said Westy, defiantly. “I -told because I wanted to tell and the reason you didn’t give money to -the boy scouts was because you’re too stingy.”</p> -<p>This was the second time on that fateful day that Westy had shot and hit -the mark. It seemed to amuse both the judge and the game warden.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXIII'>CHAPTER XIII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>THE PENALTY</span></h2> -<p>“Has your uncle a telephone?” the justice asked, not unkindly.</p> -<p>“No, sir,” said Westy. “Anyway, I wouldn’t want to telephone him.”</p> -<p>“Could you get your father in Bridgeboro by ’phone?”</p> -<p>“He’d be in New York, and anyway, I don’t want to ’phone him.”</p> -<p>“Hum,” mused the judge. “Well, I’m afraid I haven’ much choice then, my -boy. The fine for what you did is a hundred dollars. I’ll have to turn -you over to the sheriff, then perhaps I’ll get in communication——”</p> -<p>Westy’s sweaty, trembling hand came up out of his pocket bringing his -treasure with it. Boyishly, he did not even think to remove the elastic -band which was around the roll of bills, but laid the whole thing upon -the justice’s desk.</p> -<p>“Here—here it is,” he said nervously, “—to—to pay for what I did. -There’s more than what you said—there’s three dollars more.”</p> -<p>There was a touch of pathos in the innocence which was ready to pay the -fine with extra measure—and to throw in an elastic band as well. Farmer -Sands looked shrewdly suspicious as the justice removed the elastic band -and counted the money; he seemed on the point of hinting that Westy -might have stolen it.</p> -<p>“Where did you get this?” the justice asked, visibly touched at the -sight of the little roll that Westy had handed over.</p> -<p>“I had about twenty-five dollars when I came,” said Westy, “and the rest -my uncle paid me for working for him on his farm.”</p> -<p>“There seems to be three dollars too much,” the justice said, handing -that amount back to Westy. The boy took it nervously and said, “Thank -you.”</p> -<p>The crumpled bills and the elastic band lay in a disorderly little heap -on the justice’s desk, and the local official, who seemed very human, -contemplated them ruefully. Perhaps he felt a little twinge of meanness. -Then he rubbed his chin ruminatively and studied Westy.</p> -<p>The culprit moved from one foot to the other and nervously replaced the -trifling remainder of his fortune in his trousers pocket. He was afraid -that now something was going to happen to spoil his good turn. He hoped -that the justice would not ask him any more questions.</p> -<p>“Well, my young friend,” said that dignitary finally, “you’ve had a -lesson in what it means to defy the law. I blame it to that rifle you -have there more than to you. Does your father know you have that rifle?”</p> -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> -<p>“Approves of it, eh?”</p> -<p>“N-no, sir; I promised him I wouldn’t shoot at anything but a target.”</p> -<p>“And you broke your promise?”</p> -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> -<p>Still the judge studied him. “Well,” said he, after a pause, “I don’t -think you’re a bad sort of a boy. I think you just saw that deer and -couldn’t refrain from shooting him. I think you felt like Buffalo Bill, -now didn’t you?”</p> -<p>“I—yes—I—I don’t know how Buffalo Bill felt,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“And if Mr. Sands hadn’t got in touch with Mr. Terry and found that -deer, you would have gone back home thinking you’d done a fine, heroic -thing, eh?”</p> -<p>Westy did think he had done a good thing but he didn’t say so.</p> -<p>“But you had the honesty to confess when you saw that an innocent man -was about to be arrested. And that’s what makes me think that you’re a -not half-bad sort of a youngster.”</p> -<p>Westy shifted from one foot to the other but said nothing.</p> -<p>“You just forgot your promise when you saw that deer.”</p> -<p>“I didn’t forget it, I just broke it,” said Westy</p> -<p>“Well, now,” said the judge, “you’ve had your little fling at wild west -stuff, you’ve killed your deer and paid the penalty and you see it isn’t -so much fun after all. You see where it brings you. Now I want you to go -home and tell your father that you shot a deer out of season and that it -cost you a cold hundred dollars. See?”</p> -<p>“Yes, sir,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“You ask him if he thinks that pays. And you tell him I said for him to -take that infernal toy away from you before you shoot somebody or -other’s little brother or sister—or your own mother, maybe.”</p> -<p>Westy winced.</p> -<p>“If I were your father instead of justice of the peace here, I’d take -that gun away from you and give you a good trouncing and set you to -reading the right kind of books—that’s what I’d do.”</p> -<p>“I wouldn’ leave no young un of mine carry no hundred dollars in his -pockets, nuther,” volunteered Farmer Sands.</p> -<p>“Well, it’s good he had it,” said the justice, “or I’d have had to -commit him.” Then turning to Westy, he said, “Maybe that hundred dollars -is well spent if it taught you a lesson. You go along home now and tell -your father what I said. And you tell him I said that a rifle is not -only a dangerous thing but a pretty expensive thing to keep.”</p> -<p>“Yes, sir,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“Are you sorry for what you did?”</p> -<p>“As long as I paid the fine do I have to answer more questions?” asked -Westy.</p> -<p>“Well, you remember what I’ve said.”</p> -<p>“Yes, sir,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“Did you ever hear of Lord Chesterfield’s letters to his son?”</p> -<p>“N-no—yes, sir, in school.”</p> -<p>“Well, you get that book and read it.”</p> -<p>Westy said nothing. To lose his precious hundred dollars seemed bad -enough. To be sentenced to read Lord Chesterfield’s letters to his son -was nothing less than inhuman.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXIV'>CHAPTER XIV<br /> <span class='sub-head'>FOR BETTER OR WORSE</span></h2> -<p>It was now mid-afternoon. The boy who had gone to work on his uncle’s -farm so as to earn money to take him to Yellowstone Park, stood on the -main street of the little town of Chandler with three dollars and some -small change in his pocket. This was the final outcome of all his hoping -and working through the long summer. He had just about enough money to -get home to Bridgeboro.</p> -<p>And there only disgrace awaited him. For he would not tell the true -circumstances of his killing the deer. He had assured Luke Meadows of -his freedom; he would not imperil that freedom now by confiding in any -one. His father might not see it as he did and might make the facts of -the case known to these local authorities. Westy thought of the little, -motherless girl clinging to her father, and this picture, which had -aroused him to rash generosity, strengthened his resolution now. Westy -was no quitter; he had done this thing, and he would accept the -consequences.</p> -<p>What he most feared was that at home they would question him and that he -would be confronted with the alternative of telling all or of lying. He -thought only of Luke Meadows and of the little girl. And being in it -now, for better or worse, he was resolved that he would stand firm upon -the one simple, truthful admission that he had killed a deer.</p> -<p>Yet he was so essentially honest that he could not think of returning to -Bridgeboro without first going back to the farm to tell them what he had -done. He knew that this would mean questioning and might possibly, -through some inadvertence of his own, be the cause of the whole story -coming to light. But he could not think of going to Bridgeboro, leaving -these people who had been so kind to him to hear of his disgrace from -others. He would go back himself and tell his aunt; he would be in a -great hurry to catch the later train and that would save him from being -questioned. Yet it seemed a funny thing to do to go back and hurriedly -announce that he had killed a deer and as hurriedly depart. Poor Westy, -he was beginning to see the difficulties involved in his spectacular -good turn.</p> -<p>He wandered over to the railroad, worried and perplexed. Wherever he -might go there would be trouble. He would have to face his aunt and -uncle, then his father and mother. And he could not explain. How could -he hope to run the gauntlet of all these people with just the one little -technical truth that he had killed a deer?</p> -<p>It was just beginning to dawn on him that truth is not a technical thing -at all, that to stick to a technical truth may be very dishonest. Yet, -he had (so he told himself) killed the deer. And that one technical -little truth he had invoked to save Luke Meadows.</p> -<p>He would not, he <i>could</i> not turn back now.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXV'>CHAPTER XV<br /> <span class='sub-head'>RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL</span></h2> -<p>He could catch a train to Bridgeboro in half an hour and leave the -thunderbolt to break at the farm after he was safely away. Or he could -return to the farm and still catch a train from Chandler at -eight-twenty. He decided to do this.</p> -<p>He lingered weakly in the station for a few minutes, killing time and -trying to make up his mind just what he would say when he reached the -farm. The station was dim and musty and full of dust and aged posters. -One of these latter was a glaring advertisement of an excursion to -Yellowstone Park. It included a picture of Old Faithful Geyser, that -watery model of constancy which is to be seen on every folder and -booklet describing the Yellowstone. Westy looked at it wistfully. “See -the glories of your native land,” the poster proclaimed. He read it all, -then turned away.</p> -<p>The ticket office was closed, and in his troubled and disconsolate mood -it seemed to him as if even the railroad shut him out. Not a living soul -was there in the station except a queer-looking woman with spectacles -and a sunbonnet and an outlandish bag at her feet. Westy wondered -whether she were going to New York.</p> -<p>Then he wondered whether, when he reached Bridgeboro, he might not -properly say that he was very sleepy and let his confession go over till -morning. Then it occurred to him that he was just dilly-dallying, and he -strode out of the station and through the little main street where -farming implements were conspicuous among the displays. He paused to -glance at these and other things in which he had never before had an -interest. Never before had he found so many excuses for pausing along a -business thoroughfare.</p> -<p>He intended to return through the woods but a man in a buckboard with a -load of clanking milk cans gave him a lift and set him down at the -crossroads near the farm. He cut up through the orchard because he had a -queer feeling that he did not want any one to see him coming. It seemed -very quiet about the farm; he had an odd feeling that he was seeing it -during his own absence. It looked strange to see his aunt stringing -beans on the little porch outside the kitchen and Ira sitting with his -legs stretched along the lowest step. His back was against the house and -he was smoking his pipe. The homely, familiar scene made Westy homesick -for the farm.</p> -<p>“Mercy on us, what you doin’ here?” Aunt Mira gasped. “Westy! You near -skeered the life out of me!”</p> -<div class='figcenter' style='width:70%; max-width:481px;'> -<img src='images/img-003.jpg' alt='' style='width:100%;height:auto;' /> -<p class='caption'>“MERCY ON US, WHAT YOU DOIN’ HERE?” GASPED AUNT MIRA.</p> -</div> -<p>Ira removed his atrocious pipe from his mouth long enough to inquire -without the least sign of shock. “What’s the matter, kid? Get lost in -the woods and missed your train?”</p> -<p>“No, I didn’t get lost in the woods,” said Westy, with a touch of -testiness.</p> -<p>“Land’s sake, Iry, why can’t you never stop plaguin’ the boy,” said Aunt -Mira.</p> -<p>“I came back,” said Westy rather clumsily. “I came back to tell you -something. I’ve got something I want to tell you because I—because I -want to be the one to tell you——”</p> -<p>“You lost your money,” interrupted Aunt Mira. “I told your uncle he -should have made you a check.”</p> -<p>“Scouts and them kind don’t carry no checks,” said Ira.</p> -<p>“I came back,” said Westy, “because I want to tell you that I shot a -deer in the woods and killed him. It’s true so you needn’t ask me any -questions about it because—because I shot him because I had good -reasons—anyway, because I wanted to, so there’s no good talking about -it.”</p> -<p>Aunt Mira laid down her work and stared at Westy. Ira removed his pipe -and looked at him keenly yet somewhat amusedly. Aunt Mira’s look was one -of blank incredulity. Ira could not be so easily jarred out of his -accustomed calm.</p> -<p>“Where’d yer shoot ’im?” he asked.</p> -<p>“In the woods,” said Westy; “in—in—do you mean where—what part of him? -In his head.”</p> -<p>“Plunked ’im good, huh? Ye’ll have Terry after you, then you’ll have ter -give ’im ten bucks to hush the matter up. Just couldn’t resist, huh?”</p> -<p>“Ira, you keep still,” commanded Aunt Mira, concentrating her attention -on Westy. “What do you mean tellin’ such nonsense?” she questioned.</p> -<p>“I mean just that,” said Westy; “that I killed a deer and I did it -because I wanted to. Then I went through the woods to Barrett’s because -I decided to go to Chandler that way, and while I was talking to a man -there the game warden and another man came along because they must have -been—they must have known about it or something.</p> -<p>“Anyway, I told them I did it—killed the deer. So then I got arrested -and they took me to Chandler and the judge or justice of the peace or -whatever they call him, he said I had to pay a hundred dollars, so I -did. I’ve got enough left to get home with, all right. But anyway, I -didn’t want you to hear about it because I wanted to tell you myself. -I’ve got to stand the blame because I killed him and so that’s all there -is to it.”</p> -<p>It was fortunate for Westy that Aunt Mira was too dumfounded for words. -As for Ira, his face was a study during the boy’s recital. He watched -Westy shrewdly, now and then with a little glint of amusement in his eye -as the young sportsman stumbled along with his boyish confession. Only -once did he speak and that was when the boy had finished.</p> -<p>“Who was the man you was talkin’ with in Barrett’s, kid?”</p> -<p>“His name is Meadows,” Westy answered.</p> -<p>“Hmph,” was Ira’s only comment.</p> -<p>Indeed he had no opportunity for comment for Aunt Mira was presently -upon him and her incisive commentary on Ira’s qualities probably saved -Westy the discomfort of further questioning. He was such a thoroughly -good boy that now when he confessed to doing wrong, Aunt Mira felt -impelled to lay the blame to some one else. And Ira was the victim....</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXVI'>CHAPTER XVI<br /> <span class='sub-head'>AUNT MIRA AND IRA</span></h2> -<p>“Now you see, Iry Hasbrook, where your boastin’ and braggin’ and lyin’ -yarns has led to,” said Aunt Mira, after Westy had gone. It had proved -impossible to detain him, and he had marched off after his sensational -disclosure with a feeling of infinite relief that no complications had -occurred. But he might have seen danger of complications in Ira’s -shrewd, amused look if he had only taken the trouble to notice it.</p> -<p>“He’s a great kid,” said Ira.</p> -<p>“A pretty mess you’ve got him in,” said Aunt Mira, “with your <i>droppin’</i> -this and <i>droppin’</i> that. Now he’s <i>dropped</i> his deer and I hope you’re -satisfied. ’Twouldn’t be no wonder if he ran away to sea and you to -blame, Ira Hasbrook. It’s because he’s so good and trustin’ and makes -heroes out of every one, even fools like you with your kidnappin’ kings -and rum smugglin’ and what all.”</p> -<p>“How ’bout the book in the settin’ room?” Ira asked.</p> -<p>Aunt Mira made no answer to this but she at least paid Ira the -compliment of rising from her chair with such vigor of determination -that the dishpan full of beans which had been reposing in her lap was -precipitated upon the floor. She strode into the sitting room where the -“sumptuous, gorgeously illustrated volume” lay upon the innocent worsted -tidy which decorously covered the marble of the center table.</p> -<p>Laying hands upon it with such heroic determination as never one of its -flaunted hunters showed, she conveyed it to the kitchen and forthwith -cremated it in the huge cooking stove. Then she returned to the back -porch with an air that suggested that what she had just done to the book -was intended as an illustration of what she would like to do to Ira -himself. But Ira was not sufficiently sensitive to take note of this -ghastly implication.</p> -<p>“Yer recipe for makin’ currant wine was in that book,” was all he said.</p> -<p>For a moment, Aunt Mira paused aghast. It seemed as if, in spite of her -spectacular display, Ira had the better of her. He sat calmly smoking -his pipe.</p> -<p>“Why didn’t you call to me that it was there?” she demanded sharply.</p> -<p>“You wouldn’t of believed me, I’m such a liar,” said Ira quietly.</p> -<p>“I don’t want to hear no more of your talk, Iry,” said the distressed -and rather baffled lady. “I don’t know as I mind losin’ the recipe. What -I’m thinkin’ about is the hundred dollars that poor boy worked to -get—and you went and lost for him.”</p> -<p>She had subsided to the weeping stage now and she sat down in the old -wooden armchair and lifted her gingham apron to her eyes and all Ira -could see was her gray head shaking. Her anger and decisive action had -used up all her strength and she was a touching enough spectacle now, as -she sat there weeping silently, the string beans and the empty dishpan -scattered on the porch floor at her feet.</p> -<p>“He’s all right, aunty,” was all that Ira said.</p> -<p>“I thank heavens he told the truth ’bout it least-ways,” Aunt Mira -sobbed, pathetically groping for the dishpan. “I thank heavens he come -back here like a little man and told the truth. I couldn’t of beared it -if he’d just sneaked away and lied. He won’t lie to Henry—if he wouldn’t -lie to me he won’t lie to Henry. I do hope Henry won’t be hard with -him—I know he won’t lie to his father, ’tain’t him to do that. He was -just tempted, he saw the deer and his head was full of all what you told -him and that pesky book I hope the Lord will forgive me for ever buyin’. -I’m goin’ to write to Henry this very night and tell him I burned up the -book and prayed for forgiveness for you, Iry Hasbrook—I am.”</p> -<p>Ira puffed his horrible pipe in silence for a few moments, and in that -restful interval could be heard the sound of the bars being let down so -that the cows might return to their pasture. The bell on one wayward cow -sounded farther and farther off as Uncle Dick, all innocent of the -little tragedy, drove the patient beasts into the upper meadow.</p> -<p>The clanking bell reminded poor Aunt Mira to say, “You told him he -couldn’t even shoot a cow, you did, Iry.”</p> -<p>“He’s just about the best kid that ever was,” was all that Ira answered.</p> -<p>“I’m goin’ to write to Henry to-night and I’m goin’ to tell him, Iry, -just what you been doin’, I am. I’m goin’ to tell him that poor boy -isn’t to blame. I know Henry won’t be hard on him. I’m goin’ to tell him -about that book and ask him to forgive me my part in it,” the poor lady -wept.</p> -<p>“Ask him if he’s got a good recipe for currant wine,” drawled Ira.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXVII'>CHAPTER XVII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>THE HOMECOMING</span></h2> -<p>Aunt Mira’s tearful prayers were not fully answered, not immediately at -all events. Westy’s father <i>was</i> “hard on him.” His well advertised -prejudice against rifles as “toys” seemed justified in the light of his -son’s fall from grace. Westy did not have to incur the perils of a -detailed narrative.</p> -<p>Mr. Martin, notwithstanding his faith in his son, had always been rather -fanatical about this matter of “murderous weapons” even where Westy was -concerned. He was very pig-headed, as Westy’s mother often felt -constrained to declare, and the mere fact of the killing of the deer was -quite enough for a gentleman in his state of mind. Fortunately, he did -not prefer a kindly demand for particulars.</p> -<p>“I just did it and I’m not going to make any excuses,” said Westy -simply. “I told you I did it because I wouldn’t do a thing like that and -not tell you. You can’t say I didn’t come home and tell you the truth.”</p> -<p>The memorable scene occurred in the library of the Martin home, Westy -standing near the door ready to make his exit obediently each time his -father thundered, “That’s all I’ve got to say.” First and last Mr. -Martin said this as many as twenty times. But there seemed always more -to say and poor Westy lingered, fending the storm as best he could.</p> -<p>It was the night of his arrival home, his little trunk had been -delivered earlier in the day, and on the library table were several -rustic mementos of the country which the boy had thought to purchase for -his parents and his sister Doris. A plenitude of rosy apples (never -forgotten by the homecoming vacationist) were scattered on the sofa -where Doris sat sampling one of them. Mrs. Martin sat at the table, a -book inverted in her lap. Mr. Martin strode about the room while he -talked.</p> -<p>They had all been away and the furniture was still covered with ghostly -sheeting. About the only ornaments at large were the little birch bark -gewgaws and the imitation bronze ash receptacle which Westy had brought -with him. This latter, which seemed to mock the poor boy’s welcome home -had <span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Greetings From Chandler</span> printed on it and was for his father.</p> -<p>“And that’s all I’ve got to say,” said Mr. Martin.</p> -<p>“Anyway, I didn’t lie,” said Westy, his eyes brimming.</p> -<p>“I never accused you of lying and I’m not laying all the blame to you -either,” thundered his father. “Three and three and three make nine. A -boy, a gun, and a wild animal make a killing and that’s all there is to -it.”</p> -<p>“Well, then let’s talk of something else,” said Mrs. Martin gently. -“Don’t you think this ash tray is very pretty? Westy brought it to you, -dear.”</p> -<p>“For goodness’ sake, don’t use the word <i>dear</i> again, mother,” said -Doris, munching her apple. “I’ve heard so much about deers——”</p> -<p>“And the boy’s lost a hundred dollars!” thundered Mr. Martin, ignoring -his daughter. “When I was his age——”</p> -<p>“Well, he’s had his lesson,” said Doris sweetly. “A hundred dollars -isn’t so much for a good lesson.”</p> -<p>“No?” said her father. “It’s enough for you to make a big fuss about -when you want it. I said from the beginning that I was opposed to -firearms. I don’t want them around the house—look at Doctor Warren’s -boy.”</p> -<p>At this Doris sank into a limp attitude of utter despair, for the -accidental killing of the Warren boy had occurred before Westy was born -and it had been cited on an average of twice a day ever since Westy’s -rifle had been brought into the house under the frowning protest of his -father.</p> -<p>“Well, now, let’s settle this matter once and for all,” said Mr. Martin. -“And I don’t want to be interrupted either,” he added. “You’ve bought a -gun against my wishes,” he said, turning on Westy. “You had to have a -gun—nothing would do but a gun. Your mother saw no harm. Your sister -said there was—what did you say?—something heroic, was it, about a gun? -All right, you got the gun—repeater or whatever it is. I asked you not -to take it away with you but you must take it to shoot at targets. You -went up there to earn some money to go out to the Yellowstone. Now here -you are back again with hardly a cent in your pockets and you’ve broken -the law and the one thing I’m thankful for is that you haven’t shed the -blood of some other boy. Now this is the last word I’m going to say -about it——”</p> -<p>Doris groaned, Mrs. Martin looked sadly at her son who was listening -respectfully, shifting from one foot to the other, his straightforward -eyes brimming over.</p> -<p>“This is the last I’m going to say about it,” repeated Mr. Martin in a -way which did actually at last suggest something in the way of a -decisive end of the whole business. “Now, Westy,” he continued with a -note of feeling in his voice, “you’ve put an end to all my thoughts -about going to the Yellowstone with you.” Westy gulped, listening. -“You’ve paid the money you earned and saved to keep yourself out of -jail. Three and three and three make nine——”</p> -<p>“Just the same as they did before,” said Doris sweetly.</p> -<p>“—a boy, a gun, and a wild animal, those three things spell danger. Now, -my boy, I’m not going to go on blaming you and I’m not going to ask you -any questions because those three things answer the question good enough -for me. Boy—gun—— And you’ve lost a hundred dollars and had a good -scare. I don’t blame you that you don’t want to talk about it. The gun -spoke for itself; am I right?”</p> -<p>“Y-yes, sir,” Westy gulped.</p> -<p>“All right then, as they say, return the goods and no questions asked. -They say every dog is entitled to one bite and I suppose every boy that -has a gun gets one shot. Now you’ve had yours and paid a good price for -it. Now, Westy, you bring me that gun, here and now.” He clapped his -hands with an air of finality and there followed a tense silence.</p> -<p>“If—if I don’t—if I promise not to use—even take it outdoors——”</p> -<p>“No, sir, you bring me that gun here and now.”</p> -<p>Mr. Martin was grimly mandatory and neither his wife nor daughter -ventured a word, though Mrs. Martin looked the picture of misery. Westy -brought his precious rifle from his room and handed it to his father. -Mr. Martin held it as if it were a poisonous snake. The mirthful Doris -placed the apple she was eating upon her head as if to invite the modern -William Tell to shoot it off. But Mr. Martin was not tuned to this sort -of banter.</p> -<p>Unlocking the closet beside the fireplace he gingerly lay the rifle -inside it and locked the closet again, joggling the door to give himself -double assurance that it was securely locked. In his over-sensitive -state, Westy construed this last act as an implication by his father -that his son might later try to get the door open.</p> -<p>“You don’t have to lock it,” said Westy proudly.</p> -<p>“It isn’t you he’s thinking about, dearie,” said Mrs. Martin. “He’s -afraid about the gun.”</p> -<p>Very likely that was true. Mr. Martin had indeed lost some faith in -Westy’s ability to keep his promise where a gun was concerned, but his -confidence in his son had not diminished to a point where he believed -Westy would invade that forbidden closet. Probably Doris expressed her -father’s mental state accurately enough when she said later to her -mother, “He isn’t afraid that Westy will break in, he’s afraid that the -gun will break out. The rifle has got father’s goat as well as somebody -or other’s deer.”</p> -<p>“You shouldn’t use such slang, dear,” said Mrs. Martin gently.</p> -<p>The dungeon to which the rifle had been consigned was one of those holy -of holies to be found in every household. Mr. Martin had always been the -exclusive warden of this mysterious retreat.</p> -<p>As a little boy, Westy had supposed it contained a skeleton (he never -knew why he thought so) and that all his father’s worldly wealth was -there secreted in an iron chest of the kind which has always been in -vogue with pirates. Later, when he had learned of the existence of banks -he had abandoned this belief and had come to know (he knew not how) that -the closet contained books which had undergone parental censorship and -been banned from the library shelves. Doris had never regarded this -closet with the same reverential awe that Westy had shown for it; she -said it was full of moths and that its forbidden literature was easily -procurable through other sources.</p> -<p>But ever since Westy and Roy Blakeley had tried to peek in through the -keyhole of this closet to discover the skeleton there, the son of the -house had looked upon it as a place of mystery. And though it had lost -some of the glamor of romance as he had grown older, he knew that -whatever was in it never came out. It was a tomb.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXVIII'>CHAPTER XVIII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>A RAY OF SUNSHINE</span></h2> -<p>Mrs. Martin gave Westy about ten minutes to regain his poise and then -followed him to his room where his open trunk stood in the middle of the -floor. Westy was sitting on the bed and the oilcloth cover of his -departed rifle lay like a snake upon the pretty bedspread. It was -evident that when he had gone to his room to get the gun in obedience to -his father’s demand, he had removed the cover to gaze at his treasure -before handing it over. Mrs. Martin lifted the limp thing and hung it -over the foot-board.</p> -<p>“I’m going to ask him to put the gun in it,” Westy said wistfully.</p> -<p>“I don’t think I would, dearie,” said his mother, sitting down on the -bed beside him. “I think I just wouldn’t say any more about it; let the -matter drop. If you speak to him again he will only flare up. Doris says -she thinks some ancestor of his may have been killed by a rifle back in -the dark ages; some cave man, that’s what she says. And she thinks the -fear of guns is in your father’s blood. He’s very nervous about such -things, dearie.”</p> -<p>“They didn’t have rifles in the dark ages,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“I know, but it’s just the way Doris talks; she’s very modern and -independent. She shouldn’t say that a hundred dollars isn’t a great deal -of money, for it is. Maybe it isn’t a great deal for Charlie Westcott -and those friends of hers, but it’s a good deal for you, dear.”</p> -<p>Westy sat on the edge of the bed half listening, his eyes brimming. And -it is odd, when you come to think of it, that no one save a rough farm -hand with an exceedingly varied and checkered career, had ever taken -particular notice of a certain quality in those gray eyes.</p> -<p>“Oh, my dear,” said Mrs. Martin with deep sympathy and affection, “I’m -so sorry, so sorry for the whole thing. Your father should never have -suggested your going to work on the farm. Now he says he never wants to -hear the Yellowstone mentioned. Doris says she thinks we may have to -take the yellow vase from the parlor because it will remind him of the -Yellowstone——”</p> -<p>“I don’t mind,” said Westy, getting command enough of himself to speak. -“I had fun working and I don’t mind about the hundred dollars.”</p> -<p>“And it was so noble and straightforward of you to tell your father what -you had done. I told him if he had only given you a chance you might -have explained. I told him that perhaps the deer was chasing you and -intended to kill you.”</p> -<p>Westy smiled ruefully.</p> -<p>“Was it?” his mother ventured to ask.</p> -<p>“No, deers don’t run after people,” Westy said.</p> -<p>“Well, I don’t know anything about them,” said his mother resignedly.</p> -<p>“It’s all right, mom,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“I’m only sorry you ever went up there,” mused Mrs. Martin. “But I want -you to promise me, dearie, that you won’t say another word about it to -your father; don’t speak about Yellowstone Park either, because he feels -very strongly about the whole thing.”</p> -<p>“I won’t,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“You know, dear,” Mrs. Martin observed with undeniable truth, “I’ve -known your father longer than you have. We must just say nothing and let -the whole matter blow over. Very soon he’ll be angry about his income -tax and then he’ll forget about this summer. He thinks that your Uncle -Dick shouldn’t have such men about his place as that horrible Ira, as -you call him. He blames that man more than you. He says that farms are -hiding places for good-for-nothing scoundrels who can’t get employment -elsewhere.”</p> -<p>“Ira isn’t a scoundrel,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“Well, he stole a king, and I’m sure a man that steals a king isn’t a -gentleman.”</p> -<p>There seemed no answer to this. But Westy moved closer to his mother and -let her put her arm about him.</p> -<p>“Now, dearie, it’s all over,” she said, “and it was a horrible nightmare -and I’m proud of my boy because he was straightforward and honest—and -I’m sure your father is too. But he’s very queer and we mustn’t cross -him. So now we’ll forget all about it and I’ve something to tell you. -Pee-wee Harris——”</p> -<p>At the very mention of this name Westy laughed.</p> -<p>For Pee-wee Harris, present or absent, spread sunshine in the darkest -places. But never in a darker place than in Westy’s room that night of -his return from his summer’s vacation.</p> -<p>“They’re back from camp, then?” he asked.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXIX'>CHAPTER XIX<br /> <span class='sub-head'>PEE-WEE ON THE JOB</span></h2> -<p>“Yes, they’re back,” said Mrs. Martin, “and Pee-wee was here last -evening and talked steadily for two hours. He told me to tell you to -come to scout meeting to-morrow and vote——”</p> -<p>“Vote? What for?”</p> -<p>“I don’t know, it’s something about an award,” said Westy’s mother. “The -Rotary Club has offered some kind of an award for scouts, that’s all I -know. He told me to tell you to be sure to come and vote. He said it’s a -special meeting at Roy’s house and they’re going to have refreshments.”</p> -<p>“They won’t have any when he gets through,” said Westy wistfully.</p> -<p>“I’m so glad,” said his mother, rising, “that you can plunge right into -your scout work and forget all about this dreadful summer. At the -seashore we were very much disappointed, the gnats were terrible. I’m -glad we’re all home and that it’s over. Doris did nothing but dance and -she’s lost eight pounds instead of gaining.”</p> -<p>“All right, mom,” said Westy, letting his mother kiss him good night. -“I’m glad I’m home too; I’ll be glad to see the troop. It makes me feel -good just to hear you mention Pee-wee.”</p> -<p>“I’m sure he’ll cheer you up,” said Mrs. Martin. “I don’t know what to -think about what he says— I’m sure he always tells the truth.”</p> -<p>“Oh, yes, but sometimes he stands on his head and tells it so it’s -upside down,” laughed Westy; “that’s what Roy says.”</p> -<p>“He says that Warde Hollister found some sort of a job for a woman up -near camp so that the woman won’t have to send her little child to the -orphan asylum. He ran five miles through a swamp, Walter says. I hope to -goodness he had his rubbers on.”</p> -<p>“Was it a boy or a girl—the child, I mean?” Westy asked.</p> -<p>“I’m sure I don’t know, but I think the father is in jail. Anyway, the -boys want you to vote for Warde. Now will you promise me you’ll go to -sleep?”</p> -<p>Westy promised, and kept his promise that time at all events. If he had -known all there was to know about these matters perhaps he would not -have fallen asleep so easily.</p> -<p>He did not have to wait until the following evening, for the next -morning Pee-wee Harris (Raven and mascot) arrived like a thunder-storm -and opened fire at once upon Westy.</p> -<p>“Now you see what you get for going somewhere else and I’m glad I’m not -sorry for you, but anyway I’m sorry you weren’t there because we had -more fun at Temple Camp this summer than ever before and we’re going to -have the biggest hero scout in our troop and his picture is going to be -in <i>Boys’ Life</i> and his name is going to be in the newspapers and I bet -you don’t know who it is, I bet you don’t!”</p> -<p>“Is it you?”</p> -<p>“Why?”</p> -<p>“Because you said the <i>biggest</i>.”</p> -<p>“Listen, you have to be sure to come to scout meeting to-night—they’re -going to have refreshments, but that isn’t the reason, but anyway you -have to be sure to come and I’ll tell you why—listen. You know good -turns? Listen! The Rotary Club—my father’s a member of it—listen!—they -offered a prize to the scout that did the biggest good turn involving -resources and powers—I mean prowess, that’s what it said, during this -summer. Only the scout has to be in a troop in this county, that’s the -only rule.</p> -<p>“Every troop in the county has a right to vote who did the biggest good -turn in the troop and then they send the name of that scout to the -Rotary Club and those men have a committee to read the reports sent from -all the different troops and then they decide which scout out of all -those scouts did the biggest good turn. All the good turns are big ones -because if they’re not they don’t get to the league and they decide -which is the biggest of all the big ones and then—listen! <i>Listen! The -scout that gets elected by those men gets a free trip to Yellowstone -Park next summer and all his expenses are paid, candy and sodas and -everything.</i> And after they elect him they’re going to have a banquet. -And do you know who’s going to the Yellowstone? Warde Hollister.”</p> -<p>“You mean they’ve voted already?” Westy asked.</p> -<p>“No, not till next Saturday night, but anyway we’re going to elect him -and send his name in and when you hear what he did you’ll vote for him -all right and I bet you’ll be proud he’s in your patrol. You needn’t ask -me what he did because you have to come and find out and there’s going -to be ice cream, too. So will you be there?”</p> -<p>“You bet,” said Westy, smiling, “but how about other troops all over the -county? They haven’t been asleep all summer.”</p> -<p>“Gee whiz, what do we care?” said Pee-wee.</p> -<p>“You’d better not be too sure,” Westy laughed.</p> -<p>“I bet you—I bet you a soda Warde’s the one to go,” vociferated Pee-wee.</p> -<p>“All right,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“Do you bet he won’t?” Pee-wee demanded incredulously. “<i>A feller in -your own patrol?</i>”</p> -<p>“They’ve got some pretty good scouts over in Little Valley,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“What do we care? You just wait. Will you surely be there—up at Roy’s?”</p> -<p>“You bet,” said Westy.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXX'>CHAPTER XX<br /> <span class='sub-head'>SOME NOISE</span></h2> -<p>It was good to see the familiar faces once again, to hear Roy’s banter -and Pee-wee’s vociferous talk. And now that he was back among them, the -summer did indeed seem like a nightmare, a thing to be forgotten. It was -not hard for Westy to forget his disgrace (or at least to put it out of -his thoughts) in the merry, bustling troop atmosphere.</p> -<div class='figcenter' style='width:90%; max-width:700px;'> -<img src='images/img-002.jpg' alt='' style='width:100%;height:auto;' /> -<p class='caption'>NOW THAT HE WAS BACK AMONG THEM, THE SUMMER SEEMED LIKE A NIGHTMARE.</p> -</div> -<p>They met in the barn at Roy’s house up on Blakeley’s Hill, where a fine -troop meeting room had been fixed up, with electric lights and a radio -that never worked.</p> -<p>“Allow me to introduce the honorable Westy Martin,” shouted Roy, -standing on the old kitchen table which his mother had donated to the -cause of scouting; “Silver Fox in good standing except when he’s sitting -down. Hey, Westy, we’re going to have refreshments on account of all -being so fresh, that’s what my father says—I should worry. Hey, Westy, -Pee-wee says next summer you’re going to take your rifle to Coney Island -and shoot the chutes—he’s so dumb he thinks chutes are wild animals.”</p> -<p>“Next summer I’m going away with the troop,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“The pleasure is ours,” Roy shouted. “We can stand it if you can. Temple -Camp wasn’t like the same place without you—it was better. Did you hear -about Warde, how he’s going to get his head in the fly-paper, I mean his -face in the newspaper? He’s already rejected by an overwhelming -majority.”</p> -<p>“I don’t know anything but what Pee-wee told me,” said Westy, speaking -as much to Warde as to Roy, “but I’m for you all right.”</p> -<p>“And you ought to be proud of your patrol,” said the genial, familiar -voice of Mr. Ellsworth, their scoutmaster, trying to reach Westy with -his hand.</p> -<p>“Hurrah for the Silver-plated Foxes,” shouted Roy.</p> -<p>“If the leader of the Silver-plated Foxes will give me the floor for a -few minutes,” laughed Mr. Ellsworth, “we can get down to business and -then——”</p> -<p>“Have the refreshments,” shouted Pee-wee. “Everybody sit down.”</p> -<p>“Also shut up,” shouted Roy.</p> -<p>“Also listen,” said Mr. Ellsworth.</p> -<p>“Absolutely, positively,” said Roy. “First let’s give three cheers on -account of Westy being back, I mean three groans.”</p> -<p>“Then,” said Mr. Ellsworth, “as our sprightly leader of the Silver Foxes -would say, let’s have a large chunk of silence——”</p> -<p>“And very little of that,” shouted Roy.</p> -<p>“You’re crazy,” shouted Pee-wee.</p> -<p>“We’re proud of it,” shouted Roy.</p> -<p>“Shut up, everybody,” shouted Doc Carson.</p> -<p>“How can I shut up when I wasn’t saying anything?” thundered Pee-wee.</p> -<p>“Shut up, anyway,” shouted Roy. “Three cheers for Westy Martin down off -the farm. How are the pigs, Westy?”</p> -<p>“Pretty well, how are all <i>your</i> folks?” Westy was inspired to answer.</p> -<p>“No sooner said than stung,” said Roy. “If I said anything I’m sorry for -I’m glad of it.”</p> -<p>“Suppose you say nothing at all,” laughed Mr. Ellsworth.</p> -<p>“The pleasure is mine,” said Roy, subsiding.</p> -<p>“Scouts,” said Mr. Ellsworth, having gained the floor at last. “This is -a special meeting for a purpose which you all know about except Westy——”</p> -<p>“I told him!” shouted Pee-wee.</p> -<p>“And he will become familiar with the matter as we proceed,” Mr. -Ellsworth continued. “As all of us know, the Rotary Club of Bridgeboro -has done a very splendid and public-spirited thing. This organization -has offered a reward to the scout of Rockvale County who shall be -selected as the one who has done the most conspicuous good turn during -the summer. This award, as we know, is a free trip to the Yellowstone -National Park, where a national jamboree for Boy Scouts is to be held.</p> -<p>“Special stress was laid upon one or two requirements which would lift -the good turn out of the class of simple every-day kindness and -helpfulness to others. That is, as I understand it, the winning good -turn must have something in the way of heroism in it. I don’t mean -simply physical heroism, of course, but heroism of soul, if I might put -it so. Sacrifice, courage—I think we all know what is meant.</p> -<p>“According to the printed letter received by our troop (and by every -troop in the county, I suppose) it is our privilege to select by vote -the scout among us who has done the most conspicuous good turn. On last -Monday, Labor Day, the period for performance of such good turn closed. -In accordance with the printed letter received we had an informal vote -and decided that Warde Hollister of the Silver Fox Patrol is entitled to -the award, so far as our troop is concerned. There was only one absent -member and that was Westy Martin. This, of course, we all know and I’m -just running over the matter so that our action may be thoroughly -understood and deliberate.</p> -<p>“In accordance with requirements I, as scoutmaster of a contesting -troop, have written a report embodying the deed or exploit which Warde -did and which we purpose to present to these gentlemen for their -consideration. I am now going to read this for the approval of all of -you and when I have finished I shall ask all of you to sign it. Your -signatures will be your votes, and in this sense they will be -perfunctory, as we have already had an unanimous vote. If any of you -scouts want to criticize or add anything to my description of the -exploit, sing out and don’t hesitate.”</p> -<p>“I will,” shouted Pee-wee at the top of his voice.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXI'>CHAPTER XXI<br /> <span class='sub-head'>ONE GOOD TURN</span></h2> -<p>Mr. Ellsworth unfolded a typewritten paper and read. Westy listened with -the greatest attention, for he was the only one who did not already know -of his scout brother’s exploit.</p> -<p>“The First Bridgeboro New Jersey Troop, B. S. A. respectfully submits to -the Rotary Club of this town, the following report of an exploit -performed by one of its scouts, Warde Hollister, while at Temple Camp, -New York, on the ninth of August this year. This report is made under -supervision and guidance of William C. Ellsworth of Bridgeboro, who is -officially registered at National Headquarters as scoutmaster of said -troop. Conclusive corroborative evidence is readily available to -substantiate truthfulness of this report and will be procured and -transmitted if desired.</p> -<p>“Whatever may be the issue in this contest, this troop wishes to express -its appreciation of the interest and kindness which the Rotary Club has -shown to the whole scout membership of this county, and indirectly to -the whole great brotherhood of which this troop is a part.”</p> -<p>“Gee, but that’s dandy language,” shouted Pee-wee.</p> -<p>“Unfortunately the award is not for fine language,” said Mr. Ellsworth.</p> -<p>Mr. Ellsworth continued reading, “On the date mentioned, Warde -Hollister, a scout of the first class, was hiking in the neighborhood of -Temple Camp and stopped in a small and humble shack to ask directions——”</p> -<p>“Tell how they gave him a drink of milk,” shouted Pee-wee.</p> -<p>“The people were very poor,” Mr. Ellsworth read on, “and the mother, a -widow, was on the point of sending her little child, a boy of six, to an -orphanage, prior to seeking work for herself in the countryside. She -seemed broken-hearted at this prospect and was much overcome as she -talked with Scout Hollister. The woman’s name is Martha Corbett and her -home is, or was, on the road running past Temple Camp into Briarvale.”</p> -<p>“There’s an apple orchard near it,” shouted Pee-wee.</p> -<p>Mr. Ellsworth read on, “That night at Temple Camp, Scout Hollister heard -that a wealthy lady living at King’s Cove, about seven miles from Temple -Camp in a direct line, was leaving for New York by auto that night. This -information was imparted to him by the lady’s son who was a guest at -Temple Camp. The lady, Mrs. Horace E. Hartwell, whose husband is well -known in financial circles, intended, among other errands in the city, -to secure a female servant for her country home at King’s Cove.</p> -<p>“It was known that she would motor to New York late that evening and -Scout Hollister, hoping to secure employment for the Corbett woman, -tried to get her on the telephone. He had reason to believe from -conversation with her son that the Corbett woman might prove available -for service if communication could be had with Mrs. Hartwell before her -departure for New York.</p> -<p>“Unable to get the Hartwell place by telephone, Hollister decided to go -personally to King’s Cove by a short cut through the woods. To do this -it was necessary for him to cross a swamp causing much difficulty to the -traveler. Hollister covered the entire distance of six miles (including -this swamp) in less than two hours, a very remarkable exploit in the way -of speed and endurance, and did, in fact, reach King’s Cove in time to -intercept the Hartwell auto which had already started for New York. It -was only by taking the difficult short cut and traversing the dangerous -swamp that Hollister was able to do this.</p> -<p>“Hollister made himself known to Mrs. Hartwell as one of the scouts at -Temple Camp and was the means of suspending her efforts to obtain a -servant in New York until he should have an opportunity to bring Mrs. -Corbett to see her.</p> -<p>“The sequel of this exploit was that Mrs. Corbett and her young child -were taken into the Hartwell home which seems likely to be a permanent -refuge for both.</p> -<p>“It is respectfully submitted to the Rotary Club that this good turn -contains both of the elements required for the winning of the -Yellowstone award, viz., generosity of purpose and prowess in the -consequent exploit.”</p> -<p>“How about that, scouts, all right?” Mr. Ellsworth concluded. “Anybody -want to add anything?”</p> -<p>“Three cheers for Warde Hollister!” two or three scouts shouted -instinctively.</p> -<p>“Oh, boy, we’re going to have a trip to Yellowstone Park in our troop!” -vociferated Pee-wee. “Will you send me some post cards from there?”</p> -<p>“Three cheers for the Silver Foxes,” shouted Roy; “we thank you.”</p> -<p>“You make me tired, <i>you</i> didn’t do it!” shouted Pee-wee. “Any one would -think you were the one that did it, to hear you shout.”</p> -<p>“I’m the one that had the responsibility,” Roy shot back; “he’s in my -patrol.”</p> -<p>“How about <i>you</i>, Warde?” Mr. Ellsworth laughed. “All O. K.?”</p> -<p>“Sure it’s O. K.,” shouted Pee-wee; “it’s dandy language.”</p> -<p>“It sounds kind of too——” Warde began.</p> -<p>“No, it doesn’t,” Pee-wee shouted.</p> -<p>“Well, anyway,” Warde laughed, “I’d like to say this if I can have a -word——”</p> -<p>“Help yourself,” said Roy, “Pee-wee has plenty of them.”</p> -<p>“I don’t care anything about seeing my name in the papers,” said Warde. -“I never thought much about Yellowstone Park but I guess I’d like to go -there all right. I don’t think so much of that stunt now that it’s -written down. But if it wins out I’ll be glad; I’ll be glad mostly on -account of the troop——”</p> -<p>“Won’t you be glad on account of the grizzly bears?” thundered Pee-wee.</p> -<p>“Sure,” Warde laughed, “but I’ll be glad mostly because we have—you -know—an honor in our troop. I like this troop better than Yellowstone -Park. Anyhow this is all I want to say; I hope you fellows won’t be -disappointed if I—if we don’t get it.”</p> -<p>“What do you mean <i>don’t get it</i>?” Pee-wee roared.</p> -<p>“I mean just that,” Warde laughed, as he tousled Pee-wee’s curly hair. -“I hope we get it, but I’m not going to worry about it. And if we do get -it I’ll be glad on account of the troop. I always stuck to the troop; I -could have gone to Europe last summer but I wanted to go away with the -troop. And if I do—if I <i>should</i>—go out to the Yellowstone this is the -way it will be with me; I’ll feel as if I’m going for the troop.”</p> -<p>“That’s the way to talk,” said Mr. Ellsworth briskly.</p> -<p>“I was just going to talk that way,” thundered Pee-wee.</p> -<p>“Mr. Ellsworth saved us just in time,” said Roy. “Young Faithful was -going to spurt again. He’s got Old Faithful Geyser tearing its hair with -jealousy. Old Faithful spurts every hour, he spurts twice a minute.”</p> -<p>“Well,” laughed Mr. Ellsworth, “if this report strikes you all right, -suppose you all put your names to it.”</p> -<p>“I’ll put mine first,” shouted Pee-wee.</p> -<p>It was not until after Westy Martin had signed his name that he had an -opportunity of seeking out Warde and talking with him alone. How the -hero escaped Pee-wee would be difficult to explain; probably that -hero-maker was detained by a prolonged encounter with the refreshments. -Warde, always modest, was glad enough to get away from the clamorous -throng and walk part way home with Westy, whom he had not seen all -summer.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXII'>CHAPTER XXII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>WARDE AND WESTY</span></h2> -<p>“I said it was the troop I was thinking about,” Warde observed, “but I -guess it’s really that kid I’m thinking about as much as anything.”</p> -<p>“You mean Mrs. Corbett’s kid?” Westy asked.</p> -<p>“No, Pee-wee, Young Faithful. Huh, that’s a pretty good name for him, -hey?”</p> -<p>“He’s all there,” Westy said.</p> -<p>“<i>He’s</i> not going to Yellowstone,” said Warde. “Not even a member of his -patrol is. Yet, by golly, here he is standing on his head on account of -me.”</p> -<p>“Yop, that’s him all right,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“How’d you make out this summer?” Warde asked. “We got a couple of cards -from you up at camp. Who’s that fellow in the snap-shot you sent me?”</p> -<p>“Oh, he’s a farm hand at my uncle’s; he’s been all over, on whaling -cruises and everything. My father calls him a contemptible scoundrel -because he’s—I don’t know just why—because he’s been a sort of tramp—I -guess. He helped start a war in a South Sea island and they kidnapped -the king.”</p> -<p>“That sounds pretty good,” said Warde.</p> -<p>“Now that we’re all alone,” said Westy, purposely avoiding the subject -of his own summer, “I want to tell you that was some stunt you did. I -signed my name and I signed it good and black; I think I broke my -fountain pen.”</p> -<p>“I’ll bring you one from the Yellowstone,” Warde laughed; “if I go,” he -added.</p> -<p>“I think you’ll go all right,” said Westy. “You know how it is, Hollie, -when a fellow gets home after being away; everybody seems kind of -strange. That’s the way it seemed with me to-night; that’s why I didn’t -say much, I guess. But now that I’m seeing you all alone I’ll tell you -that that was one peach of a thing you did. I’m expecting to get post -cards from you next summer showing the petrified forests and Inspiration -Point and the Old Faithful Inn and all those places—you see.”</p> -<p>“You seem to know all about them,” said Warde.</p> -<p>“Sure,” said Westy, with a note of wistfulness in his voice. “I’ve read -a lot about it; I was—eh— There’s another thing I want to say to you -while we’re alone. You said you didn’t go to Europe last summer so you -could be with the troop. You said the troop always comes first with you. -I guess you didn’t mean that as a shot at me, did you? Because I went -away somewhere else this summer?”</p> -<p>“What are you talking about?” Warde laughed, as he rapped Westy on the -shoulder and then gave him a shove almost off the sidewalk. “That’s you -all over, everybody says so; you’re so gol blamed sensitive. I wouldn’t -answer such a crazy question.”</p> -<p>“Because I’ve got the same idea that you have,” said Westy. “I’m always -wishing I could do something for the troop; the troop comes first with -me, you can bet. But, gee, I never seem to be able to do anything. Look -at Roy, his father gave the barn——”</p> -<p>“Come out of that,” laughed Warde. “Tell me what you were doing all -summer. We had <i>some</i> summer at Temple Camp.”</p> -<p>“Oh, I don’t know,” said Westy, “nothing in particular. I went for a -special reason and I guess it didn’t pan out very well. I should worry -about it, because anyway it’s all over. I don’t want to talk about it.”</p> -<p>Warde glanced curiously at him but said nothing.</p> -<p>“You can bet I’m going to camp with you fellows next summer,” Westy -said. “Only probably <i>you</i> won’t be there.”</p> -<p>“Oh, don’t be too sure of that,” Warde laughed. “There are a few other -troops to be heard from, Westy, old boy.”</p> -<p>“Well, I’d like to see that award given to our troop,” Westy mused. “I -don’t suppose it makes much difference who goes. If I had to choose a -fellow to go it would be you, and I did vote for you, you can bet. But -as long as our troop gets the honor it doesn’t make much difference who -goes. I’m glad I got back in time to vote. Gee williger, I’m proud to -vote for a stunt like that—and I’m glad you’re in my patrol. That’s -about all I’m good for, I guess—to vote.”</p> -<p>“Who taught me to hit a bull’s eye?” Warde asked. “What are you doing -to-morrow?” he broke off suddenly. “Come ahead over to my house and -we’ll try a few cracks at the target; what do you say?”</p> -<p>“Huh,” Westy mused wistfully. “I guess I’ll have to be getting ready for -school to-morrow. I’ve got to unpack my trunk, too.”</p> -<p>“We’ll see you Saturday night then? At the Rotary Club?”</p> -<p>“Will they let people go?” Westy asked.</p> -<p>“Sure, the more the merrier,” said Warde; “it’s a public meeting.”</p> -<p>“I’ll come and shout for you when they announce the decision,” Westy -said.</p> -<p>“Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched,” laughed Warde.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXIII'>CHAPTER XXIII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>IRA GOES A-HUNTING</span></h2> -<p>When Westy strode away after making his sensational announcement at the -farm, Ira Hasbrook watched the departing figure through a dense cloud of -tobacco smoke. He was puzzled. For a while he smoked leisurely, -submitting with languid amiability to the tirade of Aunt Mira. And when -she finally withdrew to the sitting room to write to Bridgeboro he -continued smoking and thinking for fully half an hour. Only once in all -that time did he make any audible comment.</p> -<p>“Some kid,” he mused aloud.</p> -<p>It would be hard to say whether this comment was in approval of Westy’s -sudden inspiration to kill a deer or in perplexity as to what he -actually had done. Certainly Ira would not have held it to the boy’s -discredit if he had killed a deer. He rather liked Westy’s unexplained -decision to reform and kill a deer. With such a fine beginning he might -some day even go after an Indian or run away to sea. Ira was greatly -amused at the naïve way in which Westy had suddenly come out into the -open as a lawless adventurer....</p> -<p>But he was puzzled. For one thing it seemed odd to him that Westy, -directly after his bizarre exploit, should have chanced upon Luke -Meadows, the leading poacher of the neighborhood and the bane of farmers -and game wardens for miles around.</p> -<p>Ira’s attitude with respect to Westy’s sensational confession was not -the moral attitude.</p> -<p>“I’ll be gol darned, I don’t believe he did it,” he mused. His thought -seemed to be that it was too good to be true.</p> -<p>He slowly drew himself to his feet, pulled his outlandish felt hat from -its peg, refilled his pipe, and sauntered over into the woods where he -soon hit the trail which formed the short cut to Chandler. He had not -walked fifteen minutes when he heard voices and presently came upon a -little group of people gazing at the carcass of the deer. Terry, the -game warden, and Farmer Sands were very much in evidence.</p> -<p>“What cher goin’ to do with him; drag him out?” Ira inquired without -wasting any words in greeting.</p> -<p>“H’lo, Iry,” said the game warden. “Work of the boy scouts; pretty good -job, huh?”</p> -<p>“Yere, so he was tellin’ me,” drawled Ira. “Plunked him right in the -bean, huh?”</p> -<p>“Who was tellin’ yer?” inquired Farmer Sands with aggressive shrewdness.</p> -<p>“The kid,” drawled Ira.</p> -<p>“Yer don’t mean he come back and told yer?” Farmer Sands inquired -incredulously.</p> -<p>“Uh huh, work of the boy scouts,” said Ira. “I was thinkin’ he might ’a -been lyin’ only I don’t believe he knows how ter lie any more’n he knows -how to shoot. Got a match, Terry?”</p> -<p>Ira leisurely lighted his unwilling pipe and proceeded in his lazy way -to examine the carcass.</p> -<p>“Plunked him twice, huh—one under the belly there.”</p> -<p>Ira wandered about, kicking the bushes while the men fixed a rope about -the head of the carcass.</p> -<p>“I s’pose you know all ’bout what happened then, if the boy went back to -the farm?” Terry called to him.</p> -<p>“Me?” Ira answered. “Naah, I don’t know nuthin ’bout what happened. I -know the kid lost a hundred dollars he was savin’ up. This here tobaccy -package b’long to you, Terry?”</p> -<p>“Where’d you find that?” Terry called.</p> -<p>“Over here in the bushes. Me and you never smoked such mild tobaccy as -Mechanical Delights or whatever it is. Howling Bulldog Plug Cut for us, -hey? Do you need any help, you men? Prob’ly the kid was smokin’ -Mechanical Delights and didn’t know what he was doin’, that’s my theory. -He couldn’t see through the smoke.”</p> -<p>He stuffed the empty tinfoil package into his pocket and started ambling -through the woods toward Barrett’s.</p> -<p>“Thar’s the man ’at’s to blame fer this here vila-shun of the law,” said -Farmer Sands shrewdly. “Him’s the man ’at turned that thar youngster’s -head—I tell yer that, Terry.”</p> -<p>“Like enough,” said Terry. “Him and that scoutin’ craze.”</p> -<p>“Maybe it was the scouting craze that made him tell the truth,” said a -bystander, evidently a city boarder in the neighborhood. “It seems a -queer thing that a young boy should break the law and shoot big game and -then go and give himself up.”</p> -<p>“No, ’tain’t nuther,” said Farmer Sands. “He got sceered, that’s why he -confessed. He was sceered outer his skin soon as he clapped eyes on me -an’ Terry. You can’t fool me, by gum! I see jes haow it was the minute I -set eyes on the little varmint!”</p> -<p>But he hadn’t seen how it was at all. Nor had Terry seen how it was. For -the explanation of this whole business was locked up in that dungeon of -mysteries in Mr. Martin’s library. It had been under their very noses -and they had not so much as examined it. And now it was in that closet -of dark traditions away off in Bridgeboro, under the grim and autocratic -guard of Westy’s father. And there it remained until a stronger man than -Mr. Martin ordered him to bring it out.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXIV'>CHAPTER XXIV<br /> <span class='sub-head'>CLEWS</span></h2> -<p>Ira ambled along through the woods, emerging at Barrett’s where the -dubious rumors of his past career always assured him a ready welcome. He -had never been of the Barrett’s set, preferring the quiet of the farm, -and the adventurous game of quietly plaguing Aunt Mira. But they knew -him for a former sailor and soldier of fortune (or ill-fortune) and they -respected him for the dark traditions which were associated with his -name.</p> -<p>He sauntered along the shabby little street till he came to the house of -Luke Meadows. He had no better plan than just a quiet tour of -observation and inquiry. He intended to chat with Luke. But his -curiosity had been greatly enlivened since he had seen the deer.</p> -<p>But at Luke’s house he was doomed to surprise and disappointment. The -alien had gone away with his little girl. There had been no furniture -worth moving and the westerner’s few portable belongings (so the -loiterers said) had been taken in a shabby bag.</p> -<p>Luke had not vouchsafed his neighbors any information touching the cause -of his departure or his destination. There was a picture, unconsciously -and crudely drawn by “Missie Ellis,” the neighbor to whose care Meadows -had consigned his little daughter just before the scout had saved him -from arrest and jail. She seemed a motherly person, well chosen by the -man who, in his extremity, had thought only of his little daughter.</p> -<p>“I see them go,” said Mrs. Ellis, “and he was carryin’ her in one arm -and the bag in the other. They went up the road toward Dawson’s and I -says to my man, I says, sumpin is wrong and they’ve gone to git the -train. The county men was allus after him, houndin’ him and houndin’ -him; Lord knows, I never knew him to do no harm but shoot game. And the -little kiddie, she was the livin’ image of her mother. I nursed the poor -woman when she died of the flu and Luke he jes stood there by the bed -and lookin’ at her and sayin’ not a word. Even after she went not a word -did he say.</p> -<p>“She was out of her head, she was, and she was sayin’ how they were back -in Cody where they came from and he says, ‘Yes, mommy, we’ll go back; -soon as you can travel we’ll go back.’ They was strangers here; I guess -they was allus thinkin’ and frettin’ about their big wild west. He says -once how he could see miles of prairies, poor man. Sech eyes as he had! -Seemed as if he could see across miles of prairies.</p> -<p>“To-day he had some trouble with Terry again. I don’t know what it was -all about, but there was a youngster over here, a fine likely lookin’ -young lad and they took him away to Chandler. I says to my man, they’ve -gone to make the poor, frightened boy tell something and then come back -an’ arrest Luke. So I guess he goes away while it was yet time—Lord -knows what it was all about.”</p> -<p>Ira walked through the poor, little, deserted house and even he was -touched by its bareness. Curious, gossipy neighbors accompanied him, -commenting upon the brown, taciturn man who had gone and taken away with -him the one thing of value that he possessed, his little girl. If he had -gone for fear Westy might weaken, under some rustic third degree, and -incriminate him, he might have saved himself the slight inconvenience of -a hasty departure. The scout who had seen to it that the little -motherless girl and her father were not parted, was not likely to say -one word more than he intended to say to the authorities or to any one -else.</p> -<p>One thing Ira did find in the little house which interested him. This -was a collection of as many as a dozen empty tinfoil packages on the -wooden shelf above the cooking stove. According to the labels they had -contained Mechanic’s Delight Plug Cut tobacco.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXV'>CHAPTER XXV<br /> <span class='sub-head'>A BARGAIN</span></h2> -<p>Ira did not see anything remarkable in Westy’s having shot the deer -twice. He was surprised and amused at the boy, having shot it once; it -had caused him to regard Westy as a youthful hero of the true dime novel -brand. But he had not much respect for Westy’s skill as a marksman. And -he was quite ready to believe that two shots had been required to “drop” -the deer. Six or eight shots would not greatly have surprised him.</p> -<p>What puzzled him was the undoubted fact (established by the telltale -tobacco package) that Luke Meadows had very lately been in the -neighborhood of the killing. He had not attached any particular -significance to this package until he had seen similar packages in -Luke’s deserted home. Now he found himself wondering how Westy had -happened to be at Luke’s house, and why Luke had so suddenly gone away.</p> -<p>The true explanation of the whole business never occurred to Ira. That -anybody could voluntarily make the sacrifice that Westy had made was not -within the range of his conception. Probably he had never done a mean -thing in all his checkered career. But, on the other hand, he had -probably never done anything very self-sacrificing. To kidnap a -barbarous king was certainly not the act of a gentleman (as Westy’s -mother had observed) but it was not <i>mean</i>....</p> -<p>The nearest that Ira’s cogitations brought him to the truth was his -suspicion that somehow or other Westy and Luke Meadows had both been -involved in the lawless act of killing and that Westy (being the -financier of the pair) had been frightened into taking the blame. In -this case it seemed likely enough that Luke (aware of his dubious -reputation) would depart before Westy should have time to weaken and -incriminate him. This was about the best that he could do with the -rather puzzling circumstances, and several pipefuls of Howling Bulldog -Plug Cut were required to establish this theory.</p> -<p>He had no intention of reopening the unhappy subject with Aunt Mira. It -pleased him to have her believe that Westy was a daring and law-defying -huntsman. And the whole matter would probably have died out of his own -mind in the preoccupation of his farm duties, save for two incidents -which restored his curiosity and revived his interest. Both of these -happened the next day, Saturday.</p> -<p>On that afternoon, Ira took the milk cans to the little station at -Dawson’s and stopped in the post office on the way back. The postmaster, -Jeb Speyer, handed him a letter or two and a rolled up newspaper -addressed to Aunt Mira. On the wrapper of this newspaper were written -the words <i>marked copy</i> and Ira contemplated the address and the -postmark with that ludicrous air of one who seldom reads.</p> -<p>“Guess it’s from that youngster yer had daown t’h’ farm,” commented Mr. -Speyer; “Bridgeberry, hain’t it? That youngster oughter be walloped, and -by gol, I’d be th’ one ter do it, I tell yer; shootin’ up th’ woods -outer season.”</p> -<p>“Well, I d’no,” drawled Ira, ruefully. “I’d kinder think twice ’fore I’d -wallop that kid. He jes soon shoot yer down as look at yer; shot a -school teacher fer givin’ him a bad mark last winter, I heerd.”</p> -<p>“<i>I want ter know!</i>” ejaculated Mr. Speyer.</p> -<p>“Yer got ter handle that kid with gloves,” said Ira. “He expects to be a -train robber when he grows up. Let’s have a paper of tobaccy, Jeb.”</p> -<p>“What yer reckon’s become of Luke Meadows, Iry?” Jeb asked.</p> -<p>“Him? Oh, I s’pect the kid killed him and hid him away somewheres. The -whole truth o’ that business ain’t out yet, Jeb.”</p> -<p>“Think so, huh?” said Jeb shrewdly.</p> -<p>“There’s queer things ’bout it,” said Ira darkly.</p> -<p>On the way home he paused at the house of Terry, the game warden. He had -no object in doing this but Terry’s little house was on the way and the -game warden was nailing the deerskin to the barn door, so Ira stopped to -chat. Terry was the terror of game law violators the county over, but he -was a thrifty soul, and benefited so much by illegal killings as to sell -deer and fox skins to the market. Thus poor Luke Meadows put money in -the pocket of Terry, the game warden. Ira’s broad code of morals was not -opposed to this sort of thing and he stood by, chatting idly with Terry -about the value of the skin.</p> -<p>“I got the bullets, I got the bullets,” said Terry’s scrawny little -daughter, exhibiting them proudly in the palm of her outstretched hand. -“See? I got the bullets.”</p> -<p>Half-interested, and more to please the child than for any other reason, -Ira glanced at the bullets. Then, suddenly, he took them in his own hand -and examined them closely.</p> -<p>What interested him about them was that they were not alike.</p> -<p>“These outer the deer, Terry?” he asked.</p> -<p>“Yop, ’n’ don’t you put ’em in yer mouth nuther,” said Terry, addressing -the child instead of Ira. “Them’s poison, them is.”</p> -<p>“I tell yer what I’ll do,” said Ira, fumbling in his pockets. “You give -me them bullets and I’ll give you ten cents an’ yer can buy ice cream -and lolly-pops and them ain’t poison, are they, Terry?”</p> -<p>Terry was too engrossed to review this proposition, but the child -complied with alacrity.</p> -<p>“Now me an’ you is made a bargain,” said Ira. “An’ if I get hungry I can -chew up the bullets ’cause poison don’t hurt me. Once down in South -Americy when I deserted from a ship I et poison toads when I was hidin’ -from cannibals; you ask Auntie Miry if that ain’t so. Ain’t that so, -Terry?”</p> -<p>“Reckon it must be,” said Terry, preoccupied.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXVI'>CHAPTER XXVI<br /> <span class='sub-head'>THE MARKED ARTICLE</span></h2> -<p>Here then was one undoubted fact; the deer had been shot by two -different guns. Ira cogitated upon this fact and tried to make up his -mind what he would do next, or whether he would do anything. And -probably he would not have done anything if it had not been for the -newspaper which he delivered to Aunt Mira. She did not give him this to -read for she still maintained a demeanor of coldness toward this -arch-seducer. But he found the paper on the sitting room table and read -the marked article.</p> -<p>“BRIDGEBORO SCOUTS CONTEST FOR ROTARY CLUB AWARD,” the heading declared. -The article below ran:</p> -<p>“Great excitement prevails among our local scout troops as a result of -the splendid offer of the Rotary Club of our town to send a scout to -Yellowstone National Park next summer. This rare opportunity is offered -to the scout of Rockvale County who, in the opinion of the Club’s -Committee, performed the most conspicuous good turn during the past -summer. Each of the three troops in Bridgeboro has elected a scout for -this contest. All of the deeds presented for the league’s consideration -reflect great credit on the young heroes who performed them.</p> -<p>“The First Bridgeboro Troop, our oldest and largest local unit, presents -Warde Hollister as candidate for the rare treat of a trip to the -Yellowstone. Warde did a great stunt at Temple Camp during the summer -involving both prowess and generous spirit and the First Troop scouts -are moving heaven and earth to secure for him the award which will be a -reflected honor to their splendid organization.”</p> -<p>On the same page with this article was a blank area surrounding an -advertisement and availing himself of this space, Westy had written:</p> -<div style='margin:1em 10%;'> -<p style='text-indent:0'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Dear Aunt Mira</span>:—</p> -<p>Maybe you’ll be sorry I can’t go to Yellowstone Park because I had to do -something else with my money. Dad says for me to forget about going to -Yellowstone. This article shows you how, sort of, I will go anyway -probably. Because in a scout troop all the scouts are sort of like one -scout so if Hollie goes it will almost be the same as if I went, and -I’ll hear all about it anyway. So please don’t feel sorry because I -can’t go to the Yellowstone. I had a dandy time at the farm. Give my -regards to Ira.</p> -<div style='text-align:right; font-variant:small-caps'>Westy.</div> -</div> -<p>When Ira had finished his unauthorized perusal he lighted his pipe. Ira -could smoke and do anything else at the same time—except read. Reading -required all his effort and when he read, his pipe always took advantage -of his preoccupation to go out. When he had relighted it, he stuffed his -hands as far down as possible in his trousers pockets and went out and -gazed at the landscape. But he did not care anything about the -landscape.</p> -<p>“He’s—one—all round—little—prince,” he mused aloud. “<i>He’s jes one -nat’ral born little prince!</i> They don’t make ’em, that scout club, them -as is like that jes has ter be born that way. By gol, I’d like ter know -what the little rascal act’ally did do.”</p> -<p>He came to the conclusion that what the little rascal had actually done -was to collaborate with Luke Meadows in the adventurous exploit of -killing the deer and then allowed himself to be frightened into assuming -all the guilt and paying the fine. Ira was artless enough, and ignorant -enough of scouting, to believe that this in itself would constitute a -claim upon the Rotary Club of Bridgeboro.</p> -<p>“I ain’t gon to see no kid gon out to the Yellowstone without them gents -knowin’ ’bout this here,” mused Ira. “I’m a-gon ter look inter this mess -summat. I ain’t satisfied with the looks o’ things.”</p> -<p>For a few minutes longer he stood, his back against the house, smoking -and considering. Then, delving into the abysmal depths of his trousers -pocket he disinterred a formidable nickel watch which was innocent of -chain or cord. He had exchanged a carved whale’s tooth for it in some -oriental sea town and it was his pride and boast. If Ira himself had -always been as regular as this miniature town clock no one would have -complained.</p> -<p>“I got jes about enough time ter ketch the six-twenty from Dawson’s,” he -said. “I’m gone ter hev a look at this here Bridgeboro.”</p> -<p>This was as far as he was willing to commit himself. He would go in the -rôle of idle tourist. There remained only one thing to do and that was -to saunter out to the kitchen porch and reach his outlandish felt hat -down from the peg which had been intended for a milk pail. If he had -been going to South Africa, he would have done no more than this. But he -did pay Bridgeboro the tribute of banging his hat against a porch -stanchion to knock the loose dust out of it. Then he sauntered up the -road toward Dawson’s.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXVII'>CHAPTER XXVII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>ENTER THE CONTEMPTIBLE SCOUNDREL</span></h2> -<p>At eight o’clock that evening, an evening destined to be memorable in -the annals of local scouting, Ira Hasbrook stood upon the porch of the -Martin home and, having pushed the electric button, knocked out the -contents of his pipe against the rail preparatory to entering.</p> -<p>He wore khaki trousers which in some prehistoric era had been brown, a -blue flannel shirt and an old strap from a horse harness by way of a -belt. He was not in the least perturbed, but bore himself with an -easy-going demeanor which had a certain quality that suggested that -nothing less than an earthquake could ruffle it. He was not admitted to -the house by the correct man servant and seemed quite content to wait on -the porch until Mr. Martin (whom he purposed to honor with a call) -should make known his pleasure touching the scene of their interview.</p> -<p>“You want to see me; what is it?” that gentleman demanded curtly.</p> -<p>“You Mr. Martin, huh? Westy’s father?”</p> -<p>“Yes, sir, what can I do for you?”</p> -<p>“Well,” drawled Ira, “you can do a turn fer him, mebbe; and that’ll be -doin’ somethin’ fer me. I’m down off the farm up yonder—up by Dawson’s.”</p> -<p>“Oh, you mean you work for Mr. Nelson?”</p> -<p>“By turns, when I’m in the country. The kid happen to be home?”</p> -<p>“No, sir, he’s not,” said Mr. Martin curtly, “but I think I’ve heard of -you. What is your business here?”</p> -<p>“Well, I never was in no business exactly, as the feller says,” Ira -drawled out. “Kid’s gone ter the meetin’, huh?”</p> -<p>“I believe he has,” said Mr. Martin briskly. “Did Mr. Nelson send you -here? If there is anything you have to say to my son I think it would be -better for you to say it to me.”</p> -<p>“That’s as might be,” said Ira easily. “Would yer want that I should -talk to yer here?”</p> -<p>Mr. Martin stepped aside to let the caller pass within. Ira wiped his -feet but paid no other tribute, nor, indeed, paid the slightest heed to -the rather sumptuous surroundings in which he found himself. He followed -the lord of the establishment into the library and seated himself in one -of the big leather chairs. Mr. Martin did not trouble himself to present -Ira when his wife and daughter (fearful of some newly disclosed sequel -to Westy’s escapade) stole into the room and unobtrusively seated -themselves in a corner.</p> -<p>“Well, sir, what is it?” said Mr. Martin authoritatively.</p> -<p>“Well,” drawled Ira, “it’s ’bout yer son shootin’ a deer.”</p> -<p>“We know about that,” said Mr. Martin coldly.</p> -<p>“Yer don’t happen ter know if he used the rifle since, do you?”</p> -<p>At this there was an audible titter from Doris.</p> -<p>“Oh, yes, I know very well that he hasn’t,” said the official jailer, “I -have it under lock and key.”</p> -<p>“I’d like ter git a squint at that there gun.”</p> -<p>“That would be impossible,” said Mr. Martin.</p> -<p>“Yes?”</p> -<p>“Is there any claim that the gun doesn’t belong to my son? That he——”</p> -<p>“There’s a notion he ain’t been tellin’ the whole gol blamed truth ’bout -that there shootin’ an’ I’m here ter kinder look over the matter, as the -feller says.”</p> -<p>“Did you come here to charge my son with lying?”</p> -<p>“Well, as you might say, <i>no</i>.I come here ter charge him with bein’ a -little rascal of a prince. But <i>of</i> course if I thought he was a liar -I’d tell ’im so and I’d tell you so. Jes the same as if I thought you -was a fool or a liar I’d tell yer so.”</p> -<p>“Isn’t he perfectly splendid,” Doris whispered in her mother’s ear. -“Isn’t he picturesque? Oh, I think he’s just adorable.”</p> -<p>“Well, now, my man,” said Mr. Martin, considerably jarred by his -caller’s frank declaration, “what is it? I think I’ve heard of you and I -think if it wasn’t for you that murderous toy wouldn’t be locked up in -that closet there.” Ira glanced toward the family dungeon. “As I -understand it, from what Mrs. Nelson says, you got my boy’s head full of -nonsense and he ran amuck. He told the truth and confessed it and lost a -hundred dollars and his gun and a trip out west. And the gun’s locked up -in that closet where it will never do any more harm. It will never shoot -any more deer in season or out of season—I suppose you’ve shot them both -ways.”</p> -<p>“Yes, sir, I have,” drawled Ira, “but I never used more than one gun at -a time; I never dropped an animal with two different kinds of bullets -like your boy did——”</p> -<p>Mr. Martin looked surprised.</p> -<p>“I was thinkin’,” said Ira, not giving Mr. Martin a chance to comment -upon this mystery, “that maybe not knowin’ much ’bout guns and bein’ -sceered of ’em—I can always mostly spot folks that’s daffy ’bout -firearms—I was thinking maybe you was just crazy fool enough when you -was mad ter lock that murderous toy up while it was loaded. <i>Of</i> course -if you done that you can’t exactly say it won’t do no more harm.”</p> -<p>This was exactly what Mr. Martin had done and a titter from his daughter -reminded him that he was at a slight disadvantage.</p> -<p>“I’d like ter see whether both shots has been fired outer that gun,” Ira -drawled on. “I’d jes kind of sorter like to look it over. And while I’m -at it, I’ll take out the cartridge that I think is still in it. Then it -can’t bite. Maybe I’ll be able ter tell yer somethin’ or other when I -get through. Now you jes get that gun out without any more foolin’ -around or else yer don’t deserve ter be the father o’ that kid. Get it -out an’ don’t waste no more time; them gents is startin’ a meetin’ up -yonder.”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXVIII'>CHAPTER XXVIII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>PROOFS</span></h2> -<p>Ira Hasbrook took no notice of the tribute paid him by the mother and -daughter and father who clustered about him evidently not in the least -afraid of the gun now that it was in his hands. Even Mr. Martin -contemplated it without a quiver. Upon the library table lay one -cartridge. The other had done its good turn.</p> -<p>“Yer see this here is one of them repeaters,” said Ira. “’Tain’t goin’ -ter hurt yer. Yer see these here two cartridges I got in my pocket? They -come outer the deer. They ain’t the same size, yer see? Two guns. The -one I jes took out matches that there little one outer my pocket. This -here big one came outer another gun—that ain’t no repeater. Now looka -here, here’s what tells the story—the gol blamed little rascal of a -double barrel prince! Looka here—feel on the end of that barrel. Powder.</p> -<p>“Feel, mister, ’twon’t bite yer. Yer know what that means? That means -yer a proud father. I wasn’t gone ter shake hands with yer, but gol -blame it, I think I will! Feel it! Smell it! Powder, all right. That -means your boy was—about—gol, that toy o’ his wasn’t six inches from -that there deer when he shot it in the head.” He scrutinized and felt of -something near the end of the barrel. “Blood even! See that; that’s a -hair! I knowed I’d ketch the little rascal. <i>Mister, that boy o’ yours -shot that animal ter put it outer its suffering.</i>”</p> -<p>There was a moment’s pause as they clustered about Ira where he stood -near the library table squinting curiously at the end of the barrel and -gingerly examining it with one finger. And only one sound broke the -silence; that was when an almost inaudible “<i>oh</i>” of astonishment and -admiration escaped from Doris. “It’s wonderful,” she said more clearly -after a pause.</p> -<p>“Be sure yer sins’ll find yer out, as the feller says,” drawled Ira.</p> -<p>“If it hadn’t been for you——” Mrs. Martin began.</p> -<p>“All right, mister,” Ira laughed, “yer don’t need ter be scared of her, -she’s empty. The only thing’s goner do any damage now is me. I’m goner -shoot up th’ Rotary Club. Now where’s this here meetin’ anyway? I’m -a-goner look it over.”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXIX'>CHAPTER XXIX<br /> <span class='sub-head'>THE RALLY</span></h2> -<p>The assembly hall of the Bridgeboro High School presented a gala scene. -The whole thing had come about unexpectedly; it had been an -“inspiration” as Pee-wee would have said. The local newspaper at the -instigation of several public-spirited individuals and organizations of -town, had stirred up a festival spirit in the interest of the Boy Scouts -which must have surprised the kindly gentlemen of the Rotary Club who -had certainly never expected that the award they had offered would be -made the occasion of a public rally.</p> -<p>But Mrs. Gibson of the Woman’s Club had seen the opportunity for a “real -Scout night,” and the giving of the coveted award had been hooked up -with a well-planned rally. The Rotary Club was in it, the Woman’s Club -was in it, the Campfire Girls were in it, the Y.M.C.A. was in it, and -Pee-wee Harris was in it. He was not only in it, he was all over it. -Most of the troops in the county had lately returned from their summer -outings and they blew into Bridgeboro, tanned and enthusiastic. Not all -troops had elected candidates for the great award, but all were -interested. It was Scout Night in Bridgeboro.</p> -<p>“Our troop is going to sit in the front row,” shouted Pee-wee; “and -listen—everybody keep still—<i>listen</i>—when Warde gets called up on the -stage—that’s the way they’re going to do—when he—shut up and listen—when -he gets called up on the stage, don’t start shouting till I do. When I -shout——”</p> -<p>“I never heard you stop shouting,” said Roy.</p> -<p>“I have to start in order to stop, don’t I?” Pee-wee roared. “How can I -shout without being still first?”</p> -<p>“How are you going to get still?” Roy shot back.</p> -<p>“You leave it to me,” yelled Pee-wee. “Don’t anybody shout till I do. -Then when I start everybody shout—wait a minute—this is what you all -have to shout:</p> -<div style='text-align:center; margin-top:0.5em; margin-bottom:0.5em'> - <div style='display:inline-block; text-align:left;'> -<div class='cbline'>Yell, yell, yell,</div> -<div class='cbline'>Yell, yell, yell,</div> -<div class='cbline'>Yell, yell, yell,</div> -<div class='cbline' style='padding-left:2.8em'> Yellowstone!</div> - </div> -</div> -<p>I invented it because it’s got a lot of yells in it.”</p> -<p>“He thinks Yellowstone Park is named after a yell,” shouted Roy.</p> -<p>The First Bridgeboro Troop did sit in the front row and for a while -Pee-wee was silent—while he finished eating an apple. The first six or -eight rows were filled with scouts and their patrol pennants raised here -and there made an inspiring and festive show. Behind them was the -regular audience. On the stage a khaki tent had been pitched with logs -piled outside it and a huge iron pot hanging over them upon a rough -crane.</p> -<p>“Oh, boy, I wish that was filled with hunter’s stew,” Pee-wee whispered -to Dorry Benton who sat next to him. “Yum, yum, I wish I was on that -platform.”</p> -<p>“He’s so hungry he could eat an imitation meal,” Dorry whispered to Roy.</p> -<p>“Tell him to wait till the curtain comes down with a roll and he can eat -that,” whispered Roy.</p> -<p>There was singing, and a high scout official from National Headquarters -made a speech. The bronze cross was given to one proud scout, the Temple -life-saving medal to another. A patrol from Little Valley gave a skilful -demonstration of first aid. The Boy Scout Band from Northvale played -several pieces; they had a very snappy little band, the Northvale Troop.</p> -<p>Then, a scout was blindfolded and led to the tent. He promised to jump -up as soon as he heard the least sound of approach. Then a barefooted -scout stole up, while the audience waited in suspense, and had actually -started removing the bandage from the other boy’s eyes before the latter -knew he was near. This brought great applause. The Campfire Girls sang -in chorus and gave some interesting demonstrations. It was a pretty good -program.</p> -<p>It was after ten o’clock when Mr. Atwater, of the Rotary Club, arose -from among those seated on the stage and, drawing a batch of papers from -his pocket, started to address the audience.</p> -<p>“Three cheers for the Rotary Club of Bridgeboro!” some one called. And -three rousing cheers were given for that organization.</p> -<p>“Hurrah for Yellowstone Park!” one called.</p> -<p>“Hurrah for the scout that we don’t know who he is!” another shouted, -and there was much laughter.</p> -<p>“Yes, we do know, too!” arose the thunderous voice of Scout Harris.</p> -<p>“We’ll all know very soon,” laughed Mr. Atwater, “if you’ll give me a -chance to speak.”</p> -<p>A certain atmosphere of tenseness seemed to pervade the front rows of -the assembly hall. Scouts became restless, there were whispering and -demands for quiet. Mr. Atwater smilingly waited.</p> -<p>Then silence.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXX'>CHAPTER XXX<br /> <span class='sub-head'>OPEN TO THE PUBLIC</span></h2> -<p>“My good friends,” said Mr. Atwater, “Shakespeare tells us that some are -born great and some have greatness thrust upon them. The Rotary Club -seems to have greatness thrust upon it. In an evil moment, one of our -members suggested giving a trip to the Yellowstone Park as a reward for -the best scout good turn performed in this county during the past -summer. Through the press scout troops were invited to elect members -eligible, by reason of their deeds, to compete for this award. The -Rotary Club had no expectation of being dragged into the light of day -and fulfilling its promise before the multitude——”</p> -<p>“Don’t you be scared,” shouted Pee-wee.</p> -<p>“I think I can get through with it,” laughed Mr. Atwater, amid much -laughter. “I have seen much to-night and it is my pleasure and pride to -put one boy scout in the way of seeing more—that great, vast wonderland -of the west, the Yellowstone National Park! (Great applause.) To him -that hath shall be given, as the Bible tells us. The Rotary Club cannot -make a hero. But I think it can pick one. And that it has tried to do -impartially, fairly. (Applause.)</p> -<p>“The trouble with the Boy Scouts in Rockvale County is that they have -too many heroes; it isn’t a question of finding one, but more a question -of weeding them out. (Laughter.)</p> -<p>“When I was a boy I got a medal for washing my hands and face each day -(including under my ears) and twice on Sundays. I kept up with that -ordeal for a period of weeks and then I got the cleanliness medal—and -lost it. I have always been sorry that I washed my hands and face each -day—including under my ears. (Great laughter.) Because now I have -nothing to show for it. (Cheers and uproarious laughter.)</p> -<p>“So when this proposition of an award came up I said, ‘If we’re going to -give an award at all, let’s give something that can’t fall out of a -boy’s pocket. (Laughter.) Let’s give something that he can’t swap off -for a jack-knife—something that the teacher can’t take away from him.’”</p> -<p>“You said it!” shouted Pee-wee.</p> -<p>“When I was a kid (anticipatory laughter), a century or two ago, -everything I had sooner or later fell into the hands of my teacher. -(Broad smile from Principal Starky on the platform.) So I said let’s -give this young hero something he’ll always have! Let’s give him -mountains, and geysers and forests and grizzly bears, and lots to eat——”</p> -<p>“Oh, boy!” said Pee-wee.</p> -<p>“And if anybody can get those things away from him let them have them.”</p> -<p>If every laughing face in that audience had not been directed at the -genial speaker who had captivated all, perhaps some might have noticed -the boy who sat in silence looking wistfully at the speaker and -listening intently.</p> -<p>As Mr. Atwater passed on to more serious talk, that boy’s attention -seemed to concentrate and become tense. He saw neither Roy on his right -hand, nor Warde Hollister on his left, only the stage and the speaker, -and he seemed to be in a sort of trance. Only once did he speak and that -was when (under the spell of some alluring phrase of the speaker’s) he -said to Warde, “I hope you do get it, it’s our troop.” Then he said to -himself. “If it isn’t my trip it’s my troop.” Further than this, no one, -not even the restless and whispering Pee-wee, could draw his attention -from the speaker.</p> -<p>“The Yellowstone National Park,” Mr. Atwater continued, “is Uncle Sam’s -great playground. There you are welcome. The geysers jump up when they -see you coming; the grizzly bears hug you to death. (Laughter.) You can -shoot the rapids but you can’t shoot anything else. You can leave your -gun at home, young fellow, because that wonderland belongs to the deer -just as much as it belongs to you. You can’t kill deer in the -Yellowstone.”</p> -<p>Westy winced. Was the speaker looking at him? Of course not—foolish, -sensitive boy....</p> -<p>“Now, one of you scouts is going out to the Yellowstone next summer, on -the Rotary Club of Bridgeboro. The amount of money you will have to take -is just <i>not one cent</i>! You’re going to stay there for a month and bang -around—all expenses paid. You’re going to come back and say that old -Uncle Sam has some back-yard to play in. (Laughter.) You’re going to get -onto a friendly basis with forest rangers and bears, and deer, and trout -fishing and what all. No medal! No gewgaw to sew on your sleeve! No gold -piece to buy candy with! Just a trip to Uncle Sam’s Wonderland, the -Yellowstone National Park! (Great applause.)</p> -<p>“Now who is going to have this trip? Six gentlemen and four ladies have -decided and they’re all here on the platform. (Applause.) And they did -the best they could to decide. It becomes my duty now to announce the -winner of this award. Edwin Carlisle of the Second Westboro Troop will -please stand up.”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXXI'>CHAPTER XXXI<br /> <span class='sub-head'>SHOOTIN’ UP THE MEETIN’</span></h2> -<p>A tense silence prevailed. Pee-wee gasped, speechless. Even the -exuberant Roy stared. “<i>What do—you—know—about—that!</i>” Doc Carson -whispered to Artie Van Arlen. As Westy had been staring spellbound all -along, no turn in his thoughts was visible in his features. Warde -Hollister, of all the boys in the troop, seemed unperturbed. -Level-headed and sensible scout that he was, he had let the others do -the hoping, and the shouting.</p> -<p>“We don’t get it,” whispered Dorry Benton.</p> -<p>“Look!” whispered Wig Weigand to Warde.</p> -<p>But the figure that came sauntering down the aisle was not Edwin -Carlisle, the hero. A queer enough figure he looked in that -representative assemblage in his faded trousers and blue flannel shirt. -Rough, uncouth and unaccustomed to such environment, he still bore a -certain air of serene heedlessness to all this pomp and circumstance, as -if he were concerned only with that which was really significant and -vital. One could not say of him that he <i>seemed</i> at home, for that would -be paying the place an unconscious tribute. His calm assurance and easy -strength seemed to imply that the whole world was his home and that one -place was much like another to him.</p> -<p>He paused half-way down the aisle and then for the first time the boys -in the front row saw him, just as he began to speak. Westy Martin stared -aghast like one seeing a ghost and his heart thumped in his throat as he -listened.</p> -<p>“I d’no’s I oughter speak out ’n meetin’, as the feller says, but I got -somethin’ ter say in this here jamboree.”</p> -<p>A silence like the silence of the grave followed. One astonished girl -(it might have been Doris Martin) said something undistinguishable in an -amazed, audible whisper.</p> -<p>“I been in the Yallerstone,” drawled the speaker, “an’ I like what you -said—you gent. But I’m interested in somethin’ bigger ’n the Yallerstone -an’ that’s a kid yer got here. He’s big enough ter make the Yallerstone -look like one er them there city grass-plots I see. I’m talkin’ ter you, -mister, an’ before you go ter makin’ any plunge yer better listen. I was -goner speak out when you says somethin’ ’baout shootin’ deer, but I -didn’.</p> -<p>“I’m down off a farm up Dawson way owned by his uncle—this here kid I’m -talkin’ ’baout. And if he’s settin’ roun’ here anywheres an’ hears me -tell any lies ’baout him he can up an’ call me a liar. Then I’ll let him -have—jes—two—shots—that’ll shut ’im up.”</p> -<p>“Gracious!” Some lady said shuddering. “Is he a lunatic?”</p> -<p>“Two shots, one big and one little I got in my pocket and I’ll tell him -to his face that he’s a little rascal of a prince. Yer happen ter be -anywheres around, Westy?”</p> -<p>Silence, save for nervously fidgeting figures and people down in front -turning and craning to see this strange apparition.</p> -<p>“Stand up, Westy, cause yer got ter go through with it and I’m down off -the farm ter take care o’ that. Some o’ you youngsters make him stand -up, wherever he is.”</p> -<p>They made him stand up, and there he stood, nervous, ashamed, gulping. -He longed to be near Ira, to say “This is my friend,” yet he could not -bring himself even to look at him.</p> -<p>“There yer are—thanks, you boys. Now, mister, that there kid had a -hunderd dollars saved up ter go to Yallerstone Park; he worked fer it, -chorin’ roun’ on the farm, helpin’ me hayin’ an’ what all. He starts -home with his hunderd dollars an’ sees a deer in the woods what’s been -dropped but ain’t killed—don’t leave ’im sit down, you boys.</p> -<p>“Now, mister, he shoots that deer in the head and kills it ter end its -sufferings. He don’t know no more ’baout shootin’ than a drunken maniac -but at two or three inches he killed his deer. All right, mister. Then -he goes ter Barrett’s, a little settlement up our way. I d’no what he -goes fer. But I’m thinkin’ he goes ter see the man that shot that deer -first off. Leastways, when that man got the blame like he deserved, this -kid he up and says it was <i>him</i> killed the deer. So ’twas, the little -rascal, but you see <i>how</i> ’twas. Well, he gets arrested an’ he pays out -his precious hunderd dollars and comes home and says <i>he</i> killed a deer -and gets a good tongue lashin’ and loses his gun, but he sticks fast.</p> -<p>“Now all I come here fer now is ter let you folks in onter that stunt o’ -his an’ ask you if he gets his trip to the Yallerstone that he cheated -himself out of, or not. I don’t know nuthin’ ’baout kind turns ’cause I -ain’t never did none, but I wanter know if this here kid gets his trip -out Yallerstone way or not. Now, if I’m lyin’ he’ll tell yer so, ’cause -I understand these scout fellers don’t lie. I jes wanter know if he gets -his trip out Yallerstone way or not.”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXXII'>CHAPTER XXXII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>THE BOY EDWIN CARLISLE</span></h2> -<p>Consternation reigned. In the front row, where the First Bridgeboro -Troop sat, confusion prevailed. Pee-wee, in accordance with the old -precept of “Off with the old love, on with the new,” forgot for the -moment Warde’s chagrin and shouted uproariously for Westy.</p> -<p>“<i>It’s going to be in our troop anyway!</i>” he yelled. “<i>It’s just the -same only different!</i>”</p> -<p>And meanwhile, a trim-looking boy, Edwin Carlisle, was standing in the -audience waiting patiently and smiling, somewhat embarrassed.</p> -<p>Mr. Atwater turned and conferred with his colleagues on the platform. -Pee-wee, restrained by his nearest neighbors, subsided into silence. -Westy (probably more utterly wretched than any one in the hall) tried to -silence excited questioners. “Who is he?” “Is it true?” “Is he crazy?” -“Did you ever see him before?” “I bet it’s the truth!” These and similar -whispered comments were showered upon him and he could only keep looking -about sheepishly, as if he were ashamed to have the spectators behold -this fuss.</p> -<p>The boy, Edwin Carlisle, standing quietly among his sitting colleagues -some distance off, made a rather pathetic picture. His was not an easy -rôle but he bore himself with a demeanor of patience and good humor.</p> -<p>And meanwhile, the outlandish stranger who had “shot up” the meeting -remained like a statue half-way down the aisle calmly awaiting an answer -to his question. Once it seemed as if he were on the point of lighting -his pipe, but he did not do that.</p> -<p>It was Mr. Atwater who put an end to this rather embarrassing interval.</p> -<p>“Just be seated—a few moments—my boy,” he said, addressing the Carlisle -boy. Then to Ira he said, “Suppose you come up here on the platform, my -friend, if you don’t mind; we’d like to speak with you.”</p> -<p>Ira did not seem to mind. He ambled the rest of the way down the aisle, -turned to the left past a troop of scouts who stared at him as if he -were a trapper or a cowboy, and up the steps to the stage. Then for the -first time everybody saw him. Mrs. Ashly (conspicuous in the Woman’s -Club) arose as if on a sudden impulse and shook hands with him -cordially. He looked out of place but not ill at ease. He had walked -through the audience as a man might walk through a forest.</p> -<p>Scarcely was he on the platform when something happened. A rather large -man, with a big, round, rugged face stood up in the audience. He was an -elderly man and dangled a pair of glasses as he spoke.</p> -<p>“May I join you ladies and gentlemen on the platform?” he asked.</p> -<p>“You bet you may,” came the genial response from Mr. Atwater. “If we had -known you were there, Mr.——”</p> -<p>“<i>It’s Mr. Temple! It’s Mr. Temple!</i>” whispered Pee-wee excitedly. “Oh, -boy, it’s Mr. Temple! Now there’s going to be something doing—<i>shhh</i>!”</p> -<p>“Listen to who’s saying <i>shhh</i>!” whispered Roy.</p> -<p>“<i>Shhhh</i>, there’s going to be something doing, there’s going to be -something doing,” said Pee-wee.</p> -<p>“There is,” said Roy grimly. “You’re going to be thrown out if you don’t -shut up.”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXXIII'>CHAPTER XXXIII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>MR. TEMPLE’S LUCKY NUMBER</span></h2> -<p>Mr. John Temple, philanthropist, founder of Temple Camp and friend of -scouting, had evidently sensed a delicate and perhaps difficult -situation, and had gone to the rescue. He was given a fine welcome on -the stage and the burst of applause by the audience showed that his -public spirit and generosity were well known.</p> -<p>Every town has its wealthy and distinguished citizen; the good work of -such men lives after them in libraries and hospitals. Mr. Temple was -Bridgeboro’s most distinguished character—next to Pee-wee. And even -Pee-wee paid him the compliment of declaring, “He buys more railroads -every day than I do ice cream cones.” If he did, he must have owned -practically all the roads in the country.</p> -<p>After an interval of suspense, which was seen in an acute stage among -the scouts, Mr. Atwater turned to the audience and said, “Stand up -again, Edwin Carlisle.”</p> -<p>The demeanor of this Carlisle boy was scoutish in the highest degree. -Many were already wondering what he had done to warrant his selection as -the winner of the great award. He had been on the point of receiving it -when Ira had “shot up” the meeting. He had stood patiently and -cheerfully waiting while he saw the honor that was his slipping away -from him with every sentence of Ira’s drawling talk.</p> -<p>He had reseated himself with no sign of disappointment or resentment -when told to do so. And now he stood again among his comrades, cheerful, -willing, obedient. And there he stood with Yellowstone Park dangling -before his eyes and knew not what to think, but seemed content to abide -by the issue. Mr. Temple had seen him (shrewd man that he was he had -watched him amid the tumult when no one else had watched him) and Edwin -Carlisle, scout of Westboro, was safe.</p> -<p>After a little while (it seemed an hour) Mr. Atwater withdrew from an -earnestly whispered conference and stood up to address the audience -again. Mr. Temple took a seat in the row of chairs facing the audience. -He seemed purposely to choose a seat beside Ira who sat, one knee over -the other, bending forward with his arms about his knee. The hunched -attitude was familiar to Westy and took him back to the kitchen porch at -the farm where he had listened to Ira’s dubious reminiscences. Mr. -Temple spoke genially to him from time to time, and once laughed audibly -at something Ira said. It might possibly have been the kidnapping -episode.</p> -<p>“Westy Martin,” said Mr. Atwater, “stand up.”</p> -<p>Westy stood, all bewildered. He was so close to the stage that one -nervous hand rested upon the molding which bordered it. A curious -contrast he seemed to the boy standing in the darkness of the hall some -distance back. But Ira Hasbrook caught his eye and winked a kind of -lowering wink at him, and Westy smiled back.</p> -<p>“You heard what this man said, Martin; is it true?”</p> -<p>“Y-yes, sir.”</p> -<p>“All true?”</p> -<p>“Y-yes—yes, it is.”</p> -<p>“Well, then, my young friend, it becomes my privilege to inform you that -you have won the award of the Rotary Club of Bridgeboro of a trip to the -Yellowstone National Park (great applause) next summer. Your troop is -congratulated (process of gagging Pee-wee) and you have the unstinted -and unanimous commendation of this committee for your generous and -self-sacrificing act. (Applause.) Your friend Mr. Hasbrook wishes me to -say how fortunate it was that you had your rifle with you and were not -afraid to use it.</p> -<p>“You will be glad to know that Mr. John Temple (who delights in taking -glory away from other people) has made a proposition which somewhat -amplifies the Club’s award. Indeed it puts our poor Club somewhat in the -shadow. He says that three is his lucky number. (Laughter.) And he, -therefore, proposes that a scout in your troop of whose exploit -honorable mention was to have been made, Warde Hollister, accompany you -to the Yellowstone at his expense.</p> -<p>“The scout to whom the honor was to have been awarded, Edwin Carlisle of -Westboro, receives also honorable mention for his exploit in putting out -a forest fire. He too is to be a recipient of Mr. Temple’s munificence -and is likewise awarded the honor of accompanying you.</p> -<p>“You, Martin, go as the Rotary Club’s winning candidate. Carlisle and -Hollister go with you as the two winners of special mention for their -exploits and are sent by Mr. Temple. I have suggested to him that you be -called the Temple Trio, but he insists that the name of the Rotary Club -shall be used. Your friend Mr. Hasbrook suggests that since probably -none of you know how to shoot, you be called the Bungling Bunch.” (Great -laughter suddenly increased to uproar by the thunderous voice of Scout -Harris.)</p> -<p>“It’s just like I said it would be, only more so!” he shouted. -“It’s—it’s—it’s—it’s like two helpings of dessert! We’re going to have -two of them in our troop! That shows even when I’m mistaken I’m right!”</p> -<p>And amid the tumult of cheers and laughter, Edwin Carlisle, scout of -Westboro, stood smiling, silent, obedient, till Mr. Atwater called to -him that he might sit down.</p> -<p>So it happened that Westy Martin not only went to the Yellowstone, but -went in company of two companions the following summer. It was natural -that in the long interval of waiting these three scouts should strike up -a sort of special comradeship, and by spring they were inseparable.</p> -<p>At last the big day came, and they were speeding westward in a -comfortable Pullman car, beguiling the tedious hours of travel by -matching their wits against a rather amusing stranger, a traveling man, -whose acquaintance they had made on the train.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXXIV'>CHAPTER XXXIV<br /> <span class='sub-head'>WESTWARD HO</span></h2> -<p>“Grizzlies? Oh, hundreds of them! But they’re away back up in the -mountains; you won’t see them.”</p> -<p>“They’re about the fiercest animals there, aren’t they?” one of the boys -asked.</p> -<p>“Well,” drawled the traveling man, working his cigar over to the corner -of his mouth and contemplating the boys in the shrewd way he had. “I -don’t know about that. The wallerpagoes are pretty ructious. But they -don’t bother you unless you bother them. Now you take a skehinkum, one -of the big kind——”</p> -<p>“You mean the kind with the whitish black fur?” Warde Hollister laughed.</p> -<p>The traveling man worked his cigar over to the opposite corner of his -mouth and looked at Warde with an expression of humorous skepticism. -“Don’t you learn about them in the boy scouts?” he asked.</p> -<p>“Oh, positively,” said Warde. “They’re all right is long as you don’t -feed them on gum-drops.”</p> -<p>The traveling man was having the time of his life with the three boys. -They called him the traveling man because they thought he looked and -talked like one. They had ventured to ask him his business and he had -told them that it was starting revolutions in South America. He had even -hinted that he was in a plot to blow up the Panama Canal, and had asked -them not to mention this to their parents. He had said that if they kept -his secret he might later let them in on a scheme to restore North -America to its rightful owners, the Indians. “Wrap it up and we’ll take -it and deliver it to them,” Warde Hollister had said.</p> -<p>Throughout the long journey they had wondered and speculated as to what -and who this amusing stranger really was. And they had decided in -conference that he was a traveling salesman. He seemed to have a hearty -contempt for the boasted prowess of boy scouts, but the three boys did -not dislike him for that. In the pleasant art of jollying they had been -able to hold their own. And he seemed to like them for that. But he -would not take them seriously.</p> -<p>They had told him about tracking and signaling and outdoor -resourcefulness and woods lore and he had been pleased to poke fun at -them about their skill and knowledge. He had appeared to derive much -entertainment from this pastime. Pee-wee Harris (Raven and mascot) would -have been able to “handle” him, but unfortunately Pee-wee was not on -this trip. So the responsibility for defending the dignity of scouting -fell to Warde Hollister, Edwin Carlisle and Westy Martin.</p> -<p>“And bandits?” Westy asked.</p> -<p>“Bandits? Oceans of them! They spurt right up out of the geysers,” said -the stranger.</p> -<p>“What could be sweeter?” said Eddie Carlisle.</p> -<p>“Can’t you answer a civil question?” Westy asked, the least bit testily.</p> -<p>“Things have to be civil to suit you, hey?” the traveling man said. -“Anything uncivilized: and——”</p> -<p>“We’re asking you if it’s true that there are train robbers and men like -that in the park?” Westy said.</p> -<p>“Sure there are,” said the stranger. “Where do you suppose they buy -their post cards to send home?”</p> -<p>The three boys seemed on the point of giving him up as a hopeless case.</p> -<p>“Why? Do you want to go hunting them?” the stranger asked.</p> -<p>“We wouldn’t be the first boy scouts to help the authorities,” Warde -said.</p> -<p>This seemed to amuse the traveling man greatly. He contemplated the -three of them with a kind of good-humored, sneering skepticism. Then he -was moved to be serious.</p> -<p>“Well, I’ll tell you how it is,” he said. “The Yellowstone Park is -really two places; see? There’s the wild Yellowstone and the tame -Yellowstone. 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.</p> -<p>“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>I’ll</i> 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 geyser in the back yard—spurts once an hour, -Johnny on the spot. I suppose,” added the stranger 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.”</p> -<p>“We wouldn’t stop there,” said the Carlisle boy; “we’d be so scared that -we’d just take a running jump across the Atlantic Ocean and land in -Europe.”</p> -<p>“What would you really do now if you met a bandit?” the stranger asked. -“<i>Shoot him dead</i> I suppose, like Deadwood Dick in the dime novels.”</p> -<p>“We don’t read dime novels,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“But just the same,” said Warde, “it might be the worse for that bandit. -Didn’t you read——”</p> -<p>The traveling man laughed outright.</p> -<p>“All right, you can laugh,” said Westy, a trifle annoyed.</p> -<p>The stranger stuck his feet up between Warde and Westy, who sat in the -seat facing and put his arm on the farther shoulder of Eddie Carlisle -who sat beside him. Then he worked his unlighted cigar across his mouth -and tilted it at an angle which somehow seemed to bespeak a good-natured -contempt of the boy scouts.</p> -<p>“Just between ourselves,” said he, “who takes care of the publicity -stuff for the boy scouts anyway? Who puts all this stuff in the -newspapers about boy scouts finding lost people and saving lives and -putting out forest fires and plugging up holes in dams and saving towns -from floods and all that sort of thing? I read about one kid who found a -German wireless station during the war——”</p> -<p>“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——”</p> -<p>“You mean out <i>east</i> in Illinois,” laughed the stranger. “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.”</p> -<p>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?</p> -<p>The traveling man 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.”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXXV'>CHAPTER XXXV<br /> <span class='sub-head'>THE STRANGER</span></h2> -<p>Emigrant. The last stop on the long, long journey from New York. The -last stop till the thundering train would reach the Gardiner entrance of -the Yellowstone National Park. They were within thirty miles of that -wonderland.</p> -<p>Westy was glad that there was one more station to be reached before his -dream should be a reality. His nerves were so much on edge that the one, -poor, little station of Emigrant would act as a sort of valve to relieve -him of the tension that he felt. He was glad that they weren’t going to -reach their destination quite yet—he was too excited. Yes, he was glad -there was just one more station. Then, <i>then</i>——</p> -<p>As for the traveling man, he seemed to be about as excited and -anticipatory as if he were strolling across the street to buy another -cigar.</p> -<p>The train thundered along through the rugged Montana country, its -screeching whistle now and again echoing from the towering mountains. -On, on, on it rushed with a kind of disdainful preoccupation, going -straight about its business, circling the frowning heights, crossing -torrents, unhindered, invincible. Did anybody live or even venture in -those wild mountains, Westy wondered. Were there trails there? Could it -be that grizzly bears heard in their fastnesses the shriek of that steel -monster that was rushing straight to its end?</p> -<p>Only this roaring, swerving, thundering, rushing train stood between -Westy Martin and those uninhabited wilds. No smudge signal would save -him there. No approved device for helping the lost pilgrim in distress -would serve him in that endless, rugged wilderness. The leather seat of -the smoking car seemed good to him.</p> -<p>“Who’s going to look after you kids?” their traveling acquaintance -asked.</p> -<p>The boys, particularly Warde, did not like to hear it put that way but -he answered, “The auto is going to meet us at Gardiner; there’s a scout -official who’s going to be there and they’ll call our names out. They’re -going to take us to the hotel at Mammoth Hot Springs. After that we go -on a kind of a tour. It’s all planned out for us.”</p> -<p>“Well, I’ll be with you as far as the Springs,” said the stranger, “so -if you don’t make connections all right I’ll get things fixed up for -you. How the dickens did you three kids happen to beat it out here -anyway?”</p> -<p>“If we told you, you’d only laugh,” said Ed Carlisle. “We did some -stunts, that’s how. We——”</p> -<p>“Don’t you tell him unless he tells us what <i>he’s</i> doing out here,” -Warde said.</p> -<p>“All right, that’s a go,” laughed the stranger.</p> -<p>“I bet you’re just selling things to tourists,” said Westy. “I bet -you’re bringing a lot of souvenirs of Yellowstone Park from New York to -sell out here.”</p> -<p>“Yes, and how about you?” the stranger asked.</p> -<p>“We’re sent by the Rotary Club,” said Warde, “because we did three -things to win the award.” The traveling man cocked his head sideways and -listened in a humorously skeptical way which was very annoying. “You -found somebody who was lost in the woods?” he queried.</p> -<p>“No, we didn’t find somebody who was lost in the woods,” Warde said -somewhat testily.</p> -<p>“No? Well then they sent you because you’re the only three boy scouts -that haven’t done that. I congratulate you, here’s my hand.”</p> -<p>“This fellow, Westy Martin,” said Warde, “killed a deer that somebody -else had shot because he wanted to put it out of its suffering and he -let people think he was the one that shot it; he did that so they -wouldn’t punish the other person. But it was found out so they gave him -the good turn award. This other fellow put out a forest fire and I took -a long hike and got a job for somebody. So now what are you doing out -here? You didn’t even tell us your name.”</p> -<p>“Well, that’s very nice,” said their acquaintance; “my name is Madison -C. Wilde and I’m mixed up with the Educational Films——”</p> -<p>“You’re in the movies?” shouted Ed.</p> -<p>“Just at present,” said Mr. Madison C. Wilde. “I’m in the business of -getting snap-shots of wild animals to show you fellows when you happen -to have thirty cents to buy a ticket. Anything else you’d like to know?”</p> -<p>“I’d like to know if you’re really going up on that mountain, Pelican -Cove, like you said,” Westy asked.</p> -<p>“What do you suppose I’ve been hanging around Washington, D. C. for the -last two weeks for?” Mr. Wilde asked. “I’d rather stalk grizzlies on -Pelican Cone than stalk National Park Directors in Washington. I’d -rather go after pictures than permits, I can tell you that if anybody -should ask you. Grizzlies are bad enough, but park directors”—he shook -his head in despair—“that bunch in Washington,” and shook his head -again.</p> -<p>The boys stared at him. In their minds the pursuit of wild animals, for -whatever purpose, was associated with buckskin and cartridge-laden -belts. Yet here was a little man with a bristly mustache whose only -weapon was an unlighted cigar innocently pointing toward heaven. They -had already imbibed enough of the atmosphere of the legendary west to be -somewhat shocked at the thought of this brisk, little man, with all the -prosaic atmosphere of the city about him, going into the wilds to stalk -grizzlies. He did not seem at all like Buffalo Bill.</p> -<p>“Gee whiz!” ejaculated Westy. “I thought you were a salesman or -something like that.”</p> -<p>Mr. Madison C. Wilde gave him a whimsical look and proceeded to draw -forth from an inside pocket a mammoth wallet while the three boys stared -speechless. Could this man be just fooling them? The wallet was -formidable enough to stagger any grizzly. It was bulging with money, -which to the boys seemed to confirm the stranger’s connection with the -movies, where fabulous sums are possessed and handed about. Mr. Wilde -was as deliberate with his wallet as any hunter of the woolly west could -possibly have been with his gun. He screwed his cigar over to the end of -his mouth, tilted it to an almost vertical position, then closing one -eye he explored the caves and fastnesses of his wallet with the other.</p> -<p>His quest eventually resulted in the capture of a paper which he brought -forth out of a veritable jungle of bills and documents. “Here we are,” -said he, tenderly unfolding the document.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXXVI'>CHAPTER XXXVI<br /> <span class='sub-head'>AN IMPORTANT PAPER</span></h2> -<p>“With the exception of the Declaration of Independence,” said Mr. Wilde, -“this is the most valuable paper in the world.”</p> -<p>He handed it to Westy and the three boys, reading it together, saw that -it was a permit issued by the director of the National Park Service at -Washington to Mr. Alexander Creston, President of the Educational Film -Company of New York to “dispatch employees of said Educational Film -Company into such remote sections of the Yellowstone National Park as -should be designated by the local park authorities for the purpose of -securing photographs of the wild life, the use of traps and firearms -being strictly prohibited. This permit expires——” And so forth and so -forth. It concluded with the signature of the director of the National -Park Service.</p> -<p>“Gee williger!” said Westy.</p> -<p>“Talking about stalking!” said Ed.</p> -<p>“No wonder you laugh at us,” said Warde.</p> -<p>“Did you ever try stalking officials in Washington?” Mr. Wilde asked.</p> -<p>“We never stalked anything but robins and—and turtles and things like -that,” said Warde with a note of self-disgust in his voice.</p> -<p>“Never hit the red tape trail, hey? Well I guess turtles are pretty near -as slow as Washington officials. I’ve been just exactly three weeks in -Washington stalking this permit. Pretty good specimen, hey? That’s more -valuable than any grizzly, that is.” He gazed at it with a look of -whimsical affection and tucked it safely away in his wallet.</p> -<p>“It makes us feel kind of silly,” said Westy, “to think of the kind of -things you’re going to do. I guess it’s no wonder you make fun of us.”</p> -<p>“Well, I’ll tell you,” said Mr. Wilde not unkindly and with some -approach to seriousness in his voice and manner, “you scout kids are all -right. You get lots of fresh air and exercise and they’re the best -things for you. You go stalking June-bugs and caterpillars and it keeps -you out of mischief. It’s just the difference between the amateur and -the professional. Now you kids go in for these things as a pastime and -that’s all right. You’re having the time of your lives. I’m for the boy -scouts first, last and always. Stalking, tracking, etc., you make games -out of all those things, and they’re bully good games too. You’re a -pretty wide-awake bunch. But you’ll never do these things in a serious -way because you don’t <i>have to</i>. Get me?”</p> -<p>“We don’t get a chance,” said Westy.</p> -<p>“Now you take a kid born out in the wilds—like this kid I’ve got waiting -for me—Stove Polish or whatever his name is; he’s an Indian.”</p> -<p>“Who?” said Westy.</p> -<p>“What?” said Warde.</p> -<p>“<i>Stove Polish?</i>” gasped Ed.</p> -<p>“Shining Sun his name is,” said Mr. Wilde. “Sounds like some kind of -stove polish so I call him Stove Polish——”</p> -<p>“Where is he?” Westy asked, all excitement.</p> -<p>“He’s waiting out at the Mammoth Hotel at Hot Springs with Mr. Creston; -you’ll see him. He’s going up in the mountains with Clip and me. Now -that kid is what you’d call a scout, the little rascal. He had to be a -scout or starve. He didn’t read his little book and raise up his hand -and say he was going to be a scout. He just got to be a scout because he -had to.</p> -<p>“When you’re in the Rocky Mountains a couple of hundred miles from the -nearest town and the nearest town consists of one house, why, it’s a -case of you or the Rocky Mountains—which wins. See? If you stay lost you -starve. If you don’t know the signs you’re out of luck. If you don’t -know what herbs to eat you don’t get any dinner. If you can’t tell where -to look for a cave by the looks of the land, why then, you stay out in -the rain and snow. See? If you haven’t got a gun the only way you can -catch a bird is to fool him. So he knows how to fool them. You fellows -are scouts because you want to have a lot of fun. But Stove Polish is a -scout because he wants to live; he has to be one, or he did have to up -to a year or two ago. He knows how to run without making a sound because -if he made a sound it would be all up with him.”</p> -<p>“You said it,” enthused Warde.</p> -<p>“Why, a couple of years or more ago,” continued Mr. Wilde, “when that -little rascal escaped from the Cheyenne reservation right back here a -few miles, he got into the mountains and nobody heard a word from him -for a year and a half—never even sent a post card saying he was having a -nice time or anything. Beaver Pete found him up in the mountains and -brought him down to Yellowstone and Mr. Creston snapped him up like a -used Cadillac. Well now, that kid is a full-blooded Cheyenne Indian; -he’s a grandson of old Stick-in-the-mud who was in the Custer scrap. -You’ve heard of that old geezer, haven’t you?</p> -<p>“Well, sir, that kid could call like a hawk and bring the hawk near -enough so he could drop it with a stone—<i>absolutely</i>. Beaver Pete told -me that when he found that kid in the trapping season he was wearing a -bearskin from a bear he had caught and killed without so much as a -bean-shooter. Nature couldn’t freeze him or starve him. He could find -water by instinct same as an animal does. You see, boys, what you <i>have</i> -to do you can do. There is no such thing as scouting in the midst of -civilization or in neighbor Smith’s woods. Scouts are scouts because -they <i>have</i> to be scouts; it isn’t an outdoor sport. A scout is a fellow -who has fought <i>because he had to fight</i> with nature and has won out. -Scouts are silent people as a rule, I’ve met some of them. They’re -taciturn and silent. The boy scouts are the noisiest bunch I ever met in -my life.”</p> -<p>The door at the end of the car opened and the voice of a trainman put an -end to Mr. Wilde’s talk.</p> -<p>“Emigrant. The next stop is Emigrant.”</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXXVII'>CHAPTER XXXVII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>PARLOR SCOUTS</span></h2> -<p>The three winners of the Rotary Club award were not altogether cheered -by the talk of their traveling acquaintance. They felt a trifle ashamed -and dissatisfied with themselves. Here was a brisk, resourceful, -adventurous man whose vocation seemed a very dream of romance. And he -looked upon them as nice boys playing an interesting game. He did not -take them seriously.</p> -<p>He regarded Shining Sun (or Stove Polish as he preferred to call him) as -a rare discovery—a real, all around, dyed-in-the-wool, little scout, a -scout whose skill and lore could be used in adventurous undertakings. -Amateurs! Nice boys! And they were about to have their reward of merit -for three exploits, the recital of which had not exactly staggered Mr. -Wilde. They were going to drive around Yellowstone Park in autos and -stop at the hotels and visit modern, well-equipped camps, and see the -petrified forests and the geysers.</p> -<p>And meanwhile an Indian boy was going into the unfrequented depths of -the vast park to do for white men what they could not do for themselves. -Descendent of savages though he was, and with the primitive vein -persisting in him, they took him seriously, these men; he was a real -little scout. Not a boy scout.</p> -<p>These were the thoughts, the reflections, of Westy Martin as he arose -saying in a rather disheartened tone, “Come on, let’s go out on the -platform and watch the scenery.”</p> -<p>The three boys staggered through the aisle of the car holding to the -seat backs as the rushing train swerved in its winding course among the -mountains. They had been but visitors in the smoking car and now in the -one next it they came to their own seats, which at night had been -transformed into berths.</p> -<p>On one of the seats lay a duffel bag containing the few camping utensils -which they had brought against the unlikely prospect of a night’s -bivouac in the open. Westy was glad that they had not exposed these -up-to-date devices to their acquaintance in the next car. He might have -commented flippantly on the collapsible or the folding frying pan. In a -previous encounter with that Philistine of the smoking car he had -inquired about the meaning of Westy’s treasured pathfinder’s badge, and -had said that when he was a boy he had often played hares and hounds and -hide-and-seek.</p> -<p>“Come on out in back,” said Warde.</p> -<p>They staggered on through the train holding the backs of seats to steady -their progress. All the passengers seemed weary, the cars littered and -hot and stuffy. Discarded newspapers and magazines lay on the seats and -floor. The passengers sprawled lazily in postures far from elegant. Only -the train seemed wide-awake and bent upon some definite purpose. It -roared and rattled and whistled and now and again a faint answering -whistle was heard from the distant mountains as if the ghost of some -locomotive long dead were concealed there.</p> -<p>In one of the cars a litter of sticky bits of tissue paper filled the -aisle in company of an empty box which had contained somebody or other’s -fresh lemon-drops. Westy was not the scout to pass by such a litter, he -had cleared up the luncheon rubbish after too many motoring parties for -that. But he did not stoop to this worthy task of the scout now. He was -not in the mood to be a menial, a housemaid scout; not with the exploits -of Shining Sun so fresh in his mind. He was thoroughly dissatisfied with -himself and he passed the litter by in proud disdain of it.</p> -<p>“Don’t you be a lemon-drop scout,” he said sneeringly to Warde, who was -just behind him.</p> -<p>“How did you know I was going to stoop?” Warde asked.</p> -<p>Ah, that was the question. It was because Westy Martin was a better -scout than he knew and like the true woodsman had eyes in the back of -his head.</p> -<p>“I’m kind of sorry we didn’t ask him if he’d let us go up in the forest -with him,” Warde said.</p> -<p>“A tall chance,” said Westy disconsolately.</p> -</div> <!-- chapter --> -<div class='chapter'> -<h2 id='chXXXVIII'>CHAPTER XXXVIII<br /> <span class='sub-head'>SOMETHING “REAL”</span></h2> -<p>And so these three parlor scouts, winners of the Rotary Club award, -reached the rear platform of the last car and gazed upon the landscape -as it receded before their eyes. The whimsical Mr. Wilde had put them in -bad sorts and the great, vast, stupendous west seemed to confirm all -that their chance acquaintance had said.</p> -<p>How hopeless the lot of the lost wanderer here, how useless the good -scout handbook, how futile all the pleasantly primitive devices to find -one’s way home—when home is just around the corner. They were just boys -playing at scouting, nice boys, boy scouts. Well, at all events, it had -won them this trip to the Yellowstone where there would be much to -see....</p> -<p>There was certainly not much to see at Emigrant. If there had ever been -an Emigrant there it must have emigrated away, or been blown away as Mr. -Wilde had said of other western stopping places.</p> -<p>Certainly there was no sign of life there. Yet evidently the place was -useful to the railroad for the train stopped there, a visitation of life -and energy in a scene of desolation.</p> -<p>Not a living soul was there to welcome them. Even the companionable -noise of the train had ceased or died down to a slow pulsating sound of -the locomotive. It seemed an impatient sound as if the steel brute were -anxious to be on its way again. How lonesome, even forbidding the -landscape looked from the cozy, little refuge where they viewed it. Only -this little platform between them and the vast unknown.</p> -<p>Westy was a sensible, thoughtful boy and the bigness of the country -impressed him. It affected his mood. What Mr. Wilde had said would -probably not have been taken too seriously if Westy had been in the -east. It was not Mr. Wilde alone, but the whole environment as well, -which made all that Westy was and had accomplished paltry by comparison. -It all seemed to belittle his scouting and make it infantile and -ridiculous. Everything seemed to impart piquancy to Mr. Wilde’s home -truths. Here indeed was the land where men had fought with untamed -Nature and won out.</p> -<p>It seemed to Westy that he had been swimming with a life preserver. He -sat down on the car platform and rested his chin on his hands and gazed -about. It was not a propitious mood for a boy to be in who was about to -be shown the wonders of the Yellowstone National Park. He almost wished -that he had not met that disturbing person, Mr. Wilde. He could not get -Shining Sun out of his mind. To do anything on a <i>little</i> scale seemed -contemptible to Westy. Was scouting after all a toy?</p> -<p>His two companions caught his mood though they were not as -impressionable as he. They sat down on the platform beside him and the -three made a rather disconsolate trio, considering that they were within -a score or so of miles of their hearts’ desire.</p> -<p>“I remind myself of Pee-wee, tracking a hop-toad,” mused Westy.</p> -<p>Ed Carlisle took him up, “Just because Mr. Wilde says this and that——”</p> -<p>“Suppose he had gone to Scout Headquarters in New York for a scout to -help them in the mountains,” said Westy. “Would he have found one? When -it comes to dead serious business——”</p> -<p>“Look what Roosevelt said about scouts,” said Warde. “He said they were -a lot of help and that scouting was a great thing, that’s what he said.”</p> -<p>“Why didn’t you tell Mr. Wilde that?” Ed asked.</p> -<p>“Because I didn’t think of it,” said Warde.</p> -<p>“Just because I get the Astronomy badge that doesn’t prove I’m an -astronomer,” said Ed.</p> -<p>“Nobody says a scout’s a doctor because he has the first aid badge,” -encouraged Warde.</p> -<p>Westy only looked straight ahead of him, his abstracted gaze fixed upon -the wild, lonesome mountains. A great bird was soaring over 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 was strain and effort in its steaming.</p> -<p>“Guess we’re going to go,” said Warde. “Now for the little old -Yellowstone, hey, Westy? Wake up, come out of that, you old grouch. -Don’t you know a scout is supposed to smile and look pleasant? We should -worry about Mr. Madison C. Wilde.”</p> -<p>“If we never did anything <i>real</i> and <i>big</i> it’s because there weren’t -any of those things to do,” said Warde. “Didn’t he say what you <i>have</i> -to do, you do? That’s just what he said.”</p> -<p>Westy did not answer, only arose in a rather disgruntled way and stepped -off the platform. He strolled forward alone along the outside of the -car, kicking a stone as he went and watching it intently. When he raised -his eyes he had almost reached the other end of the car. The car stood -on a siding quite alone; the train was rushing away among the mountains.</p> -<p>Westy Martin was at last face to face with something real and big. He -and his companions were quite alone in the Rocky Mountains. The Boy -Scouts of America and the heedless, cruel, monster Nature had come to an -issue at last.</p> -<p>How this issue was decided and what happened to Westy and his comrades -before they reached their destination are told in the companion story -which continues their adventures under the title of <i>Westy Martin in the -Yellowstone</i>.</p> -<div style='text-align:center; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> -</div> -</div> <!-- chapter --> - -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<hr class="full" /> -<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WESTY MARTIN***</p> -<p>******* This file should be named 61118-h.htm or 61118-h.zip *******</p> -<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> -<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/1/1/1/61118">http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/1/1/61118</a></p> -<p> -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed.</p> - -<p>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. 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