It was impossible to debate such a matter with Mr. Wilde. There was a certain finality to everything he said. And his buoyant air of banter quite silenced poor Westy. But the boy did wonder, he could not help wondering, why Ed Carlyle, in this great scout adventure of their young lives, should have failed to don his regular scouting apparel.
“Trouble with you,” said Mr. Wilde, patting Westy on the shoulder, “you’re all for fuss and feathers. You want to tell the world you’re a scout instead of proving it. You and Warde are all dolled up like Christmas trees—parlor scouts. Am I right, Billy? Now, are you all ready or do you want to go upstairs and brush your hair? All right then, let’s go. We seem to be creating quite a disturbance here. If we don’t beat it we’ll have Old Faithful Geyser, the Petrified Forests, and the Devil’s Kitchenette tearing their hair with jealousy.”
An automobile was waiting outside the hotel to take the party as far as Yellowstone Falls beyond which point there was no regular road to their remote and lonely destination. It was a ride of about twenty-five miles down around Norris Geyser Basin and eastward to the vicinity of the Grand Canyon. The award boys had seen this in all its colorful glory only two days before, and had descended into its depths. Eastward from this point was a tract of wild Rocky Mountain country where no tourists ever went and rising out of this rugged region some twelve or fifteen miles distant was Pelican Cone rearing its head nine thousand five hundred feet above the surrounding country.
There was a trail to the mountain, a trail which could have told many thrilling tales if it could have spoken to the passerby. Along its winding way famous scouts of old had passed in their quest of grizzlies, and the solemn depths of the neighboring forests had once resounded with the appalling war-cry of the Indians.
It was with a thrill of high anticipation that Westy Martin, taking a last look at the frontier of tourist travel (wild enough indeed), turned his gaze toward the forbidding and unpeopled region which they were about to enter. As he did so the familiar honk of the automobiles which had brought them to the stepping-off place could be heard as the car sped northward along the road toward Tower Falls.
CHAPTER XXXIII
HERMITAGE REST
For three hours they tramped along this obscure trail which ran through such wildness as our scouts had never seen before. Then suddenly and to their great surprise they came upon quite a sizable permanent camp. It was on the lower reaches of the mountain and was called Hermitage Rest, a very good name for it, considering its remoteness and isolation. It was conducted by an old Rocky Mountain guide named Buck Whitley, and was the refuge of a dozen or more tired business men who found relaxation in the soothing companionship and hospitality of their host, who boasted that he had never seen a locomotive!
Buck Whitley was a true Rocky Mountain character, a holdover from the good old school of Kit Carson with whom he had many times been on the trail. The camp consisted of some twenty rough cabins, and the pastime of the guests was mostly fishing. The only jarring note in this primitive outfit was a telephone carried from the main line at the Hotel on Yellowstone Lake. This was the only suggestion of civilization. It was Buck Whitley’s only concession to his tired business men and he professed not only ignorance but scorn of the talk which went over the wire.
Our travelers paused at this romantic and sequestered spot for lunch and ate such trout as there is no word in the English language to describe. It was from old Buck Whitley that Mr. Wilde derived some information about the neighboring mountain which, evidently, he had not been able to derive at Mammoth Hot Springs. The boys listened intently and with mounting expectancy to the talk between the old scout and Mr. Wilde and Billy, the camera man. This talk involved a series of considerations from which our young heroes seemed to be excluded. It was Mr. Wilde’s way to amuse himself with the three scouts, to jolly them, but he had not made them cognizant of his plans in detail.
Their first real knowledge of the business in hand was now gleaned in this indirect fashion, and they were appalled at the hazardous nature of the work to be undertaken.