When I woke the next time it was morning and the bear had not come back, for Apache was standing fast asleep in the first rays of the sun, at the edge of the camp.
We could catch no fish for breakfast. They paid no attention to any bait. So we had the last of the meat, and some condensed sausage that the Red Fox Scouts contributed to the pot. During breakfast we held a council; old Pilot Peak stuck up so near and inviting.
"I've been thinking, boys, that maybe we ought to climb Pilot, for a record, now we've got a good chance," proposed Major Henry. "What do you say. Shall we vote on it?"
"How high is it?" asked Red Fox Scout Ward.
Major Henry looked at the map of the state. "Fourteen thousand, two hundred and ten feet."
"Whew!" Scout Ward eyed it. "We'd certainly like to make it. That would be a chance for an honor, eh, Van?"
"You bet," agreed Van Sant.
"He's sure some mountain," we said.
"We haven't any time to spare from the trail," went on Major Henry, "and it would kill a day, to the top and back. So we ought to double up by traveling by night, some. But that wouldn't hurt any; it would be fun, by moonlight. Now, if you're ready, all who vote to take the Red Fox Scouts and climb old Pilot Peak for a record hold up their right hands."
"We won't vote. Don't make the climb on our account," cried the Red Fox Scouts.