Percy Keese Fitzhugh

“ With lantern in hand, Artie descended into the gulley walking along cautiously, anxiously looking for some sign or footprint of Uncle Jeb. Coming to the spot where Westy had left him, he found him lying there, burning with fever and delirious.
How he ever succeeded in getting Uncle Jeb back to the cabin, Artie could never quite say. It was nothing more than superhuman effort that came to his aid in getting the sick man up out of the gulley without adding to his discomfort any more than he could help. ”

“ At times when the eagle was stalking on the very edge of the cliff, the sun would reflect the bird’s shadow upon the jagged rock in front of him, worn smooth and glass-like with age. Then, poor Artie would sit in a state of nervous terror until the shadow had passed. ”

“ He should never have eaten a meal without his trusty rifle by his side and without a keen eye on the lookout for stealthy Indians. He should certainly never have been waited on by a smiling negro connected with the cooking shack of a great modern camp. He should have dined in remote fastnesses, mountain passes, and in sound of the appalling voices of savage beasts. Everything about Uncle Jeb suggested not the covered table, but the covered wagon. ”

“ Martin who had previously come home from business and was divesting himself of his topcoat and hat in the front hall. “Were you speaking to me, son?”
“No, Father,” Westy respectfully answered. “I was just thinking of something.”
“Well, my boy,” he said firmly, “you must always do your thinking in the proper places. I noticed as I came along in the bus from the station that you barely escaped being run over. One of those foolhardy speeders came rushing along without any regard to the privacy of your thoughts. There isn’t any room in the world for dreamers, especially the business world. ”

“ Artie Van Arlen lay with a raging fever in the little camp hospital while the doctors considered whether the amputation of his foot would be necessary, and whether even that would save his life. But the danger which they feared as the sequel of his accident passed and in a week or two his parents, who had waited anxiously, took him home to Bridgeboro. Westy saw him lifted into Mr. John Temple’s big car and saw the white face smiling wanly down at him, humorously, ruefully, as they lifted the bandaged foot up onto one of the small folding seats. ”

“ Our friends won’t be much longer in digging out their progeny. Not only that but it’s imperative we get back to Uncle Jeb as quick as possible, if you feel up to it!”
There were many questions and remarks that Artie would have liked to voice at that moment, but he realized that the seriousness of Westy’s tone forbade it. He told him to go ahead and tie the rope to the tree and when he felt the tug he’d start.
It was like witnessing some one arising from the dead for Westy to see the familiar form of his friend come safely over the edge of the precipice. ”

“ Martin was not a bad sort of man, he was just (as Doris said) impossible.
The first summer that Westy went to Temple Camp a solemn promise had been extorted from him that he would not go on the water. Adventure, particularly big adventure with moderate risks, did not fit into Mr. Martin’s scheme of life. He called Tom Slade a daredevil. He was certainly not opposed to the moral side of scouting, he subscribed to all the scout virtues. But the adventurous side he could not contemplate calmly. He did not believe in boys going away from home. ”

“ Artie agreed to this most heartily. He also expressed his contempt of our present-day civilization in a few words that did not leave any doubt as to his feelings in the matter.
“Anyhow,” remarked Artie with a ring of enthusiasm more pronounced in the darkness, “we can do as we like all summer and that’s something. That is—we can do as Uncle Jeb does, I mean.”
“Bet your life,” said Westy. “Gee, I can hardly believe we’re here, Artie, can you? Pinch yourself and see if it’s true.” ”

“ That bowlder has never been seen since. Its murderous escapade ended, it became a submerged and lesser peril in the concealing waters of the lake. You had better not chug around there in the camp launch except in the company of a scout who knows where that rock lies hidden. Once it ripped open the bottom of the little sailboat. And when the wind sweeps the water you may see, even from the camp across the lake, a little spray which marks the grave of Artie’s rock, as they call it. They call that spray the dancing tenderfoot though some will point it out to you as the white devil. ”

“ The hole in his head was what worried Artie most, and he figured that Uncle Jeb, after catching his foot in the bear trap under the elm tree, probably tried with much exertion, to extricate it from the vise that held it, and in his excitement had stepped back further than he was aware. In his fall into the gulley he must have struck his head on a sharp rock. The only thing to do was to keep the wound clean and wait until Westy had awakened. ”

“ Now here is Mr. John Temple filling boys’ minds with all such nonsense and sending them off with some old fire-eater to the frontier of nowhere. The man’s philanthropy has gone to his head. Here you are all home again, not three hours in the house, and Wes talking about going to some cabin or other out West next summer when he ought to be thinking about school to-morrow morning. What boy is he going to take with him, I’d like to know?”
“I made up my mind. It’s Artie,” said Westy timidly.
“Oh, I’m so glad,” said Doris; “he deserves it, for his heroism.” ”

“ But Westy Martin stuck and became Uncle Jeb’s right-hand man. A score of enthusiastic scouts would help in the starting of a new cabin. But only Westy would remain till it was finished. A clamorous throng would start blazing a trail back into the mountains and for the first mile or two there would be more scouts to do the blazing than there were trees to be blazed. But at the point of destination it often happened that Uncle Jeb and Westy were the only survivors. ”

“ Van Arlen called, hearing Westy’s voice.
“Getting on fine,” Westy answered with gladness in his voice. “Where’s Art?”
“You’re a fine boy, Westy,” Mr. Van Arlen now remarked, as though he hadn’t heard Westy’s question. “I hear the bus company are going to reward you for your bravery and no doubt you’ll get a medal from your troop for such heroism.”
“Yeh? Has Art gone to bed?” he queried, indifferent as to what rewards or medals he might get and intent only on bearing the glad tidings to his friend.
“Here I am, Wes,” Artie shouted from the living-room. “What’s all the excitement?” ”

“ CHAPTER XX—WESTY MAKES A DISCOVERY
It was well along toward mid-morning, when they came in sight of Uncle Jeb’s picturesque cabin almost hidden among the giant pine trees. It stood there solitary and imposing, bespeaking character, such as only one like he himself could give it.
It has often been said that a man’s house is but a reproduction of his life, and nothing more true could be said of Uncle Jeb’s wilderness cabin. ”

“ The fact was that Westy had not in his letters depicted the affair of the rock in all its seriousness. Every opportunity for adventure that he had ever had had been wrenched from his father after a struggle in which Doris had boldly championed her brother and poor Mrs. Martin had been his gentler ally.
Mr. Martin believed in people, even young people, being “steady and sane” and he seemed forever haunted by the thought that scouting was something in which boys broke their necks and that camps were places where they contracted typhoid fever. ”

“ Westy could well believe this, for the gurgling water, plashing down the rock-ribbed mountainside on its journey to Eagle Lake, was heard quite distinctly above the chirping birds and the screeching of little forest folk even at noonday. ”

“ John Temple, the beneficent founder of Temple Camp in the Catskills. And so Westy Martin, scout, became identified with a series of adventures which I shall chronicle for you; adventures in the wildest region of the Wild West. Such adventures as boys do not even read of in these days of football and baseball and boarding schools and Saturday hikes. It is odd, when you come to think of it, how things happen. That Westy Martin should participate in adventures which in these days are commonly thought too extravagant even for boy’s stories! ”

“ Westy continued, as if to explain. “I’m perfectly sure of it, Uncle Jeb; that is where it is. And I saw something else in the Pass too⸺”
Before Westy could finish his story, Uncle Jeb had nudged his arm and pointed above them to the hollow. They all looked and could not repress the chills that ran up and down their spines.
There in the bright light of the moon was the ghost-like figure of a man descending from the precipice into the hollow on a rope! ”

“ One of the trunks stood open with part of its contents pulled out and Westy sniffed the pleasing odor of apples, those souvenirs of vacation time which nestle coyly in the corners of homecoming trunks. The disused living room, bereft of all its familiar bric-a-brac, had a musty odor. ”

“ He worshiped at the shrine of Uncle Jeb and was a model of devotion to his hero. Dogs of certain breeds are said to recognize but one master and companion. Westy was of that exclusive and devoted type. He renounced the camp life to be with this keen-eyed old hickory nut of the plains and the Rockies. Uncle Jeb could hardly have thought of any one else to make the trip to Montana with him.
It was a day or two after Mr. Temple’s bombshell at the big “feed” in his honor that Artie rowed across the lake at noontime with some bean soup and hot muffins for the trail makers. ”

“ The more you study the quicker you’ll get through and get to business like Mr. Captroop,” Mr. Martin reminded him.
“Come now,” Mrs. Martin interposed, “dinner is about ready.”
Westy looked upon his mother at that moment as one might look on an angel of mercy, for she had saved him from listening to a prolonged discourse on the safe and sane business career for all young men and the many admirable qualities of the Hon. Archie Captroop.
But to Westy’s dismay, the estimable Mr. Martin took up the conversation at the dinner table, where he had left off. ”

“ Artie and Uncle Jeb got down by the porch railing first with waiting arms outstretched, Westy handed him into their care. As he turned to slide down the pillar, he could see the darting flames leaping out of the window behind him.
They carried the unconscious man a distance away from the intense heat and, laying him down on the soft grass, tried to revive him. Uncle Jeb had found a couple of pails and fetched some water from the spring which had been the source of supply to the Inn. ”

“ He thought that Tom Slade, assistant at Temple Camp, might take a lesson from this steady young commuter. Mr. Martin could not believe that helping to manage a camp was really a business. The idea that a man could be a scout and guide in the silent places and call it a business was preposterous. To him old Uncle Jeb was a dubious character who had carried a gun, but never really had a business.
On his way home from school the next day Westy stopped up at the Van Arlen place. Artie was limping about, but getting better, though he was not to return to school for a week or so. ”

“ At that moment, Ol’ Pop Burrows was relating all the events and happenings that had taken place around while Uncle Jeb was East at Temple Camp. He remarked quite casually that he had done a “fair to middlin’” business in the little Inn that previous summer.
“Gets better every year,” he said. “Expect to take in more’n ever this year; yes, sir; it gets better every year,” he repeated more to himself than to his listeners.
Artie was gazing with rapt attention at this old timer, but Westy’s gaze was centered on Ollie. ”

“ You grab that bird and beat it as quick as you can. There’ll be something doing if they find the bird lying there hurt and you too! Two of us can’t fit in here and besides there isn’t time. You run and wait by the lake until they go away again, then you can help me get out. Oh, hurry, Wes, please, they’re almost here!”
Not having any other choice, Westy was spurred into action by Artie’s pleading voice. He took the bird up carefully and started on a run, skillfully dodging in and out of the trees and bushes down along the trail. ”

“ Here and there they would catch a glimpse of some pretentious looking ranch-owner’s home, until gradually civilization was left behind and became no more than a speck on the horizon.
They were in the foothills now, with the towering Rockies on all four sides. It seemed to Westy, who was dexterously trying to keep his seat with the others, that they would surely run clean into the mountainside whichever way the driver might turn. ”

“ But late as it was in the season something was yet to happen at Temple Camp destined to have an important bearing on Westy’s future adventures. There was one boy in his troop, who occasionally accompanied him and Uncle Jeb in their work of carving out this long-needed and circuitous trail. This was Artie Van Arlen, leader of the Raven Patrol in his own troop. He was tall and likable and intelligent, a real patrol leader. ”

“ Captroop takes me somewhere this evening instead of sitting around buzzing like a stock ticker!”
“You ought to be thankful,” said Mr. Martin, “that he saves his money instead of throwing it away on some senseless movie that doesn’t teach you anything. My motto is never to spend your money on something that doesn’t bring you a full return.”
“Horrors, Father!” exclaimed Doris. “You talk like a confirmed moralist.”
The door bell rang its warning of Archie’s arrival, so she hurried to the door.
“Do not speak about it to-night,” Mr. Martin warned Westy. ”

“ Artie retorted. “Believe me, I’m no believer in this Captain Kidd stuff anyway. It always causes a lot of trouble; people even killing one another trying to find it. You always read that in books and in the end no one finds it after all.”
“Who can tell but what Ol’ Pop will die some day without having the chance to tell any one where it is,” Westy cheerfully added.
“’Tain’t likely Ol’ Pop will die for a long time yit,” Uncle Jeb said, touched with the evident concern of the boys for his old friend. “Barrin’ accident he’s good fer twenty year at least, so thar’s no need to worry. ”

“ Indeed, he was an unusual looking man; swarthy skin with “the smallest eyes.” As Artie remarked, “You’d almost wonder how he could see out of them.”
“Evidently, no one could say they were the windows of his soul,” said Westy. “They’re not big enough for a fellow to tell whether he’s looking your way or not.”
“Maybe he hasn’t any soul,” put in Artie, who afterward had good cause to remember this jesting remark.
“Now, boys,” drawled Uncle Jeb, who had been eating in silent contemplation while Westy and Artie were talking, “you hain’t doin’ Ollie Baxter justice when yuh talk ’bout him thet way. ”

“ Temple as a trail left by an airplane. The founder of the camp had spent a night in Rushmore’s lonely cabin in Montana and had heard the voice of a grizzly in the distance.
A year later when land had been bought for the big camp in the Catskills, Mr. Temple recalled that his old guide had told him that he expected soon to give up his cabin in the Rockies and end his days at Fort Benton in his beloved Montana. “Reckon I’m gettin’ old,” he had told Mr. Temple. “That’s one thing yer can’t shoot,” he had added. Indeed old age was the only foe that had a ghost of a chance of stealing up on him. ”

“ Everybody liked Artie.
On this occasion he tied the boat (it was impossible to draw it up because the shore was so precipitous) and started scrambling up with the pail of soup to where the trail was being cut along the lower reaches of the mountain. A narrow and irregular shelf of land was being utilized to carry the trail through this precipitous area.
“How’s she coming?” Artie asked. “Here’s some soup; I nearly spilled it. There’s a boxful of muffins down in the boat—hot ones.”
“I’ll go down and get them,” Westy said; “you sit down and rest. What you been doing all morning? ”