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.