“Suppose he had gone to Scout Headquarters in New York for a scout to help them in the mountains,” said Westy. “Would he have found one? When it comes to dead serious business——”
“Look what Roosevelt said about scouts,” said Warde. “He said they were a lot of help and that scouting was a great thing, that’s what he said.”
“Why didn’t you tell Mr. Wilde that?” Ed asked.
“Because I didn’t think of it,” said Warde.
“Just because I get the Astronomy badge that doesn’t prove I’m an astronomer,” said Ed.
“Nobody says a scout’s a doctor because he has the first aid badge,” encouraged Warde.
Westy only looked straight ahead of him, his abstracted gaze fixed upon the wild, lonesome mountains. A great bird was soaring over them and he watched it till it became a mere speck. And meanwhile, the locomotive steamed at steady intervals like an impatient beast. Then, suddenly, its voice changed, there was strain and effort in its steaming.
“Guess we’re going to go,” said Warde. “Now for the little old Yellowstone, hey, Westy? Wake up, come out of that, you old grouch. Don’t you know a scout is supposed to smile and look pleasant? We should worry about Mr. Madison C. Wilde.”
“If we never did anything real and big it’s because there weren’t any of those things to do,” said Warde. “Didn’t he say what you have to do, you do? That’s just what he said.”
Westy did not answer, only arose in a rather disgruntled way and stepped off the platform. He strolled forward alone along the outside of the car, kicking a stone as he went and watching it intently. When he raised his eyes he had almost reached the other end of the car. The car stood on a siding quite alone; the train was rushing away among the mountains.