Percy Keese Fitzhugh

“ He had once read a boys’ book of that title, and now he reflected with a thrill that he, Westy Martin, was, in a sense, alone in the Rockies. Not in the perilous depths, perhaps, but just the same, in the Rockies. He wondered if there might be a grizzly within a mile, or two or three miles of him. The Rockies!
He ascended to the next branch, and the next. Slowly he climbed and wriggled upward to a point beyond which he hesitated to trust the weight of his body. And here he sat in a fork of the tree and looked southward and eastward where a vast panorama was open before him. ”

“ These had made him confident that he had been going the right way, but now it was so dark that Ed could see little before him, and he began to fear that he had lost the trail. For a moment the mountains seemed so vast, the woods so dense, that poor hungry Ed felt like a very small atom alone in the wilderness, and indeed he is not the only boy who would have quailed a little at the task ahead of him! Miles of introdden nightfall, and that grim need for haste, might well dismay a man as well as a boy! ”

“ Imitation ones would be better than nothing, hey, Westy?”
“Imitation scouts are better than no kind,” said Warde. “We’re pretty good imitations.”
“I wouldn’t admit it if I were you,” said Westy with the least suggestion of a sneer.
“A scout that gives imitations is an imitation scout,” said Ed. “Dutch Cleanser is an imitation scout; he imitates animals, Mr. Wilde West said so. That proves everybody’s wrong. What’s the use of quarreling? None whatever. Correct the first time. You can be a scout without knowing it, that’s what I am.” ”

“ And under a network of root was a dark little cave created by the position of the rock.
Westy poked his head between the network of roots and peered into this dank little cell. It smelled very damp and earthy. Some tiny creature of the mountains scampered frantically out and the stir it caused seemed multiplied into a tumult by the darkness and the smallness of the place. Westy weakened long enough to wish he had a match so that he might make a momentary exploration of this freakish little hole.
His first impulse was to throw off his jacket before climbing the tree, but he did not do this. ”

“ Is there any triumph in escape? Can any one who is running from peril ever think of himself in a heroic light? Skillful such a thing might be. But after all is it a thing to tell about with pride?
Certainly, Westy bethought him, it was not a thing to tell with pride to Mr. Madison C. Wilde, if he should ever meet that Philistine again. To tell Mr. Wilde that he, Westy Martin, Boy Scout of America, had been within a dozen feet of that portly wallet, had even heard it spoken of! ”

“ Hasn’t he got any sense?”
“Haven’t you heard,” said Westy, “of people who lose their senses when they get up on something high and want to jump off? What if——”
“What if——” echoed Ed and both felt too horrified to say more. Instinctively they crouched low as if the very sight of Warde so near the dizzy edge made them cling closer to solid rock themselves, not only for their own peace of mind but as if their act might hold Warde back, too.
But now another horror threatened. It was plain that the vultures resented this stranger in their midst. ”

“ He looked suitable to be in the Rockies. No one would have known him for a “parlor scout,” playing the little outdoor game. . . .
Again he listened. There was no sound but the wailing far off. He was in the shadow of the tree, the trunk between him and the little cave, and he dreaded to move. Well, there was nothing left to do but take a chance and steal away.
Silence. A silence welcome, but fraught with terror. Surely these blackguards must be sleeping. But the sleeper who guards a treasure and fears pursuit enjoys not a peaceful slumber. Westy moved one leg preparatory to taking a step. ”

“ Wilde had a rather more adventurous purpose in view than merely the photographing of wild life. He was after thrills. It seemed as if he had dug up somewhere references to the habit and diabolical skill of vultures in procuring the death of their victims.
Westy had read of mortal combats on the edge of precipitous heights. He had seen one man push another from a precipice in the movies. Also he had the usual indifferent knowledge about vultures. He knew that they were of great size and strength but were far from being heroic. ”

“ And it might be observed that if you should happen to have escaped from train robbers in the Rocky Mountains and have walked a dozen miles more or less in the night, a mess of fish cooked loose upon a wood fire is not half bad. You will find them charred and tasting of smoke (which is well) and elusive when subjected to the rules of table etiquette. They crumble and fall apart and have to be sought for in the glowing fastnesses of consuming wood and extracted like the kernels of hickory nuts. They have to be caught all over again. ”

“ For the leader of this desperate pair Westy could not repress a certain measure of respect; respect at least for his courage and skill. The other one seemed utterly contemptible. There is always a glamour about the romantic bad man of the West, dead shot and master of every situation, which has an abiding appeal to every lover of adventure.
Here was a man, long, lanky, and of a drawling speech, whose eye, Westy could believe, was piercing and inscrutable like the renowned Two Pistol Bill of the movies. ”

“ Westy gazed at this sophisticated youngster in chilled disillusionment. Shining Sun had indeed been shining while he, the parlor woodsman, the back-yard scout, had been getting away from the most notorious bandit west of the Mississippi. If Westy had beheld Bloodhound Pete in a dress suit and stove-pipe hat he could hardly have received a greater shock. That the Indian boy had real skill and woods lore did not save him in the eyes of this sturdy little hero of the Silver Fox Patrol, who had found money the only false note in his memorable adventure. ”

“ STRANDED
“Well, we know which direction to start in, and that’s something,” said Westy.
“And we’re not hungry yet, and that’s something else,” said Warde. “We ought to be able to walk fifteen miles to-day and the rest of the way to-morrow. And if we can’t find enough to eat in Montana to keep us from starving——”
“Then we ought to be ashamed to look Mr. Wilde in the face,” said Westy.
“I wish I knew something about herbs and roots,” said Ed. “The only kind of root that I know anything about is cube root and I don’t like that; I’d rather starve. ”

“ Warde and Ed had followed Westy through the several cars, not fully sharing his mood, but obedient to him as leader. They made a doleful little trio, these fine boys who had been given a trip to the Yellowstone Park by the Rotary Club of America in recognition of a heroic good turn which each had done. Alas, that this glib stranger, Mr. Wilde, and that other unknown hero, Shining Sun, the Indian boy, should have destroyed, as it were with one fell blow, their wholesome enjoyment of scouting and their happy anticipations. Poor Westy. ”

“ Understanding everything in nature is all right, but understanding all about people is something, too. Isn’t it?”
“I suppose it must be if you say so,” said Ed.
“This pin’s only good for the little ones——”
“I mean you understand Westy, you know just how to handle him,” said Warde. “Scouts have to deal with men, maybe wild men, just the same as they have to deal with nature, I guess. You can read Westy like a—a—like a trail. Gee, in the beginning I was hoping Westy and I could come out here alone. Now I just can’t think of the trip without you along. Do you ever get mad?” ”

“ Westy’s good sense became his ally now. His success so far gave him poise. He bethought him that bad men of the West, albeit they do big things, have also the habit of talking big. However it might have been with the taciturn pioneers of old, the bad men of the West (if the movies know anything about it) are incorrigible boasters.
This comforting thought did not mitigate Westy’s fear of Bloodhound Pete. But it afforded him the solacing reflection that after all, in plain fact, no man can sleep with one eye open. This robber, and murderer if need be, was either asleep or not asleep. ”

“ After a hearty camp supper, devoured with appetites whetted by the keen mountain air, the boys found themselves only too glad to roll in for a good night’s sleep. “Have the bell-boy call me in the morning,” called Ed airily from his blanket, but before either the drowsy Warde or tired Westy could come back at him with a reply, sleep overpowered all three. They only waked next morning when the brisk stirring about of Mr. Wilde and Billy disturbed them.
“Come on now, you fellows,” jeered Mr. Wilde. “Scouts ought to be up and dressed ahead of an old business man like me.” ”

“ He was glad that Ed was not exactly what you would call a real—no, he didn’t mean that either. He was glad that Ed had not been scout enough—had not been able to catch any fish. There are times when not being such a marvelous super-scout is a very good thing.
Silence. Darkness. And the minutes passed by. He was jeopardizing his life and his companions’ lives, and he knew it. If he waited till they shouted all three of them would be—— He could not bear to think of it. Would be killed! Shot down! He, Westy Martin, and his two pals. ”

“ WESTY’S JOB
Again Westy paused in frightful suspense. He knew that these men would not give him the advantage by calling, “Who’s there?” In another second he might be dead. Would he hear the shot, he wondered. Does a person who is shot hear the shot that lays him low? Would he know if he were shot—in the head?
He paused, unable to move a muscle, haunted by these ghastly thoughts. Some one was evidently awake and listening. Should he risk it and take another step? Suppose a twig should crackle. If he took a long stride he might possibly lose his balance. ”

“ No touch of human contamination was there, no gray streak imaginable as a road, no steeple, no green area of farm-land, with thin lines scarce discernible as fences. So it might have been a hundred thousand years ago. If man were there with all his claptrap he was swallowed up in the distance and vastness and all unseen by the scratched and tattered boy who stood barefooted in his wild refuge and gazed and gazed. ”

“ He thought how after all Ed’s safety-pin and braided worsted had probably not made good. This aroused again his morbid reflections about boy scouting. Shining Sun, without so much as a safety-pin, would have been able to catch fish, probably with his dexterous hands.
Westy was disgusted with himself and all his claptrap of scouting, when he thought of this primitive little master of the woods and water. Frightened as he was, he was reflective enough to be indignant at Mr. Wilde for that skeptic’s irreverent use of the name of Stove Polish. Shining Sun was all but sacred to serious Westy. ”

“ Wilde, loomed up before him now and took the edge off a very credible achievement in scouting—escaping from train robbers in the Rockies.
Achievement! Westy had read about masterly retreats. They were conducted by military strategists, but not by heroes. They were skillful but not brave. To be a scout you must have the stuff that heroes are made of. And to be a hero you must do something, you must be brave. What you have to do, you do. Westy Martin knew in his heart what his job was. ”

“ It was a moaning that had such a human quality that for a moment Ed thought some one must be lying hurt near by. Then he remembered having read that the voice of the mountain lion sounds like a woman crying. The moaning recommenced and Ed stood paralyzed in his tracks. Of all creatures, the mountain lion, he knew, was the most ferocious wild beast in all the wild Rockies. Even a seasoned old hunter like Buck Whitley did not scorn to run away from one of these creatures. Ed besides was of course unarmed save for a broken-bladed scout knife and his trusty safety-pin. ”

“ Then, suddenly, its voice changed, there were strain and effort in its steaming.
“Guess we’re going to go,” said Warde, winking at Ed in silent comment on Westy’s mood. “Now for the little old Yellowstone, hey, Westy, old scout?”
“Scout!” sneered Westy.
“Wake up, come out of that, you old grouch,” laughed Ed. “Don’t you know a scout is supposed to smile and look pleasant? Who cares about Stove Polish, or Shining Sun, or whatever his name is? I should bother my young life about Mr. Madison C. Wilde.” ”

“ I must relate for you the conversation of these three as they sat in disgruntled retirement on the rear platform of the last car nursing their envy of Shining Sun.
“I remind myself of Pee-wee Harris tracking a hop-toad,” grouched Westy.
“Just the same we’ve had a lot of fun since we’ve been in the scouts,” said Warde. “If we hadn’t been scouts we wouldn’t be here.”
“We’ll be looking at geysers and hot springs and things while they’re tracking grizzlies,” said Westy. “We’re boy scouts all right! Gee whiz, I’d like to do something big.” ”

“ Westy knew that he was in great peril. He knew that these two men were desperadoes, probably train robbers, and that they would not suffer any one to know of their mountain refuge and go free. He believed that the odds and ends of conversation he had overheard related to one of those bizarre exploits of the Far West, a two-man train robbery; or rather a one-man train robbery, for it seemed likely that one of the men had not been an expert or even a professional. ”

“ Wilde and Billy set off, Warde sulked. Westy said, “I don’t think it’s fair, and it’s just our luck to be kept out of big things.”
But Ed said, “Poot! What do you care! I’d just as lieves have a good day’s fishing as monkey around up there on the top of the world trying to get movies of the angels. That ole cliff is too high for this baby! It’s worse than the Woolworth Tower and that always makes me seasick. Come on, let’s go fishing. Maybe we’ll meet a grizzly.” ”