 Chapter one of the Boy Scouts in the Rockies. This is Orlea Robach's recording. All the Robach's recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit orlearobach.org Recording by Kenneth Sarge and Gagan. The Boy Scouts in the Rockies by Herbert Carter. Chapter one, Perils of the Mountain Trail. Well, how is the Cripple crowd coming on these days? Hello, Stefan. Any more sneak bites? Hope you're not limping with that other leg now. I should say not that, but I'm always going to believe you did a lot to keep the poison from getting into my system when you sucked that wound. And how about your game leg giraffe? Was it right or the left? You brewed so badly on the stones when you fell. Well, I went that, but thank goodness it's healing up just well. Now that magic salve did the business in great shape, I'll tell you. Alan, I noticed you still have a halt once in a while. That old bear trap sure took a nasty Cripple on your leg, didn't it, though? Oh, it gave me an ugly pinch, Mr. Scoutmaster. And only for the fact that the springs being so weak and rusty that the owners had abandoned the trap, I might have been lame for three months. Not which is a liniment you rubbed on helped a lot. Well, I'm glad to see you're all such a grateful lot considering the little I was able to do for you. It's your pleasure to be a patrol leader and assistant scoutmaster such a wide awake lot of boys as we have in the Silver Fox Patrol. Don't you think so, Toby, Spathers? That boosted a turn to smiling face upon this whole man of the party. A genuine woods ranger such as the government employs to look after the great forest reservations in the region of the Rocky Mountains and the coast away up in the northwest region. Wow, it strikes me there are pretty lively lot of scouts all right and lucky at that to have a leader as leads and holds the reins tight over them. And I'm glad myself to be guide to such a hefty bunch. That's what I'm saying, Mr. Scoutmaster. The party address replied outside of the guide. There were just eight lads in the party. And from the fact that various parts of their attire suggested the well known khaki uniform which all Boy Scouts wear the world around. It was evident that these young fellows belong to such an organization. That was the exact fact can say to come from far away. Grandford in an eastern state and we're known as the Silver Fox Patrol of Grandford troop. There being another patrol known as the Eagles musted in during the late winter that Brewster was a patrol leader. He was also a first class scout and it qualified for the position of assistant scout master receiving his certificate from headquarters many moons before. Second in charge came Alan Hollister, a main boy who had considerable actual experience in woods life and whom the rest of the patrol naturally turned whenever a naughty problem faced them during an outing. Exceedingly fat and good natured youth was Bumpas Hartree, bugler of the troop. Even though just now he was minus the instrument on which he was accustomed to sound, the various calls such as revelry, assemble, taps and so on. The most popular being second as it was usually associated with meals. Bumpas had been looked upon as the real tender foot scout up until recently, but having become lost in the big timber recently, he had acquitted himself so splendidly as recorded in a proceeding volume that his mates now regarded him as one who had been keeping his light under a bushel. Then there was Bob White, otherwise Robert White quail, a southern boy, warm of heart, a faithful friend and upon whom the leader could always depend in emergencies. Stephen Bingham, whose real name of course was Stephen, but upon appearing at school for the first time, he had insist that it was pronounced as though it was made up of two syllables. David Jones, an athletic lad, giraffe, Conrad Steadman would give this significant nickname because of a habit he had of stretching it in the exceedingly long neck, most outrageously. And last but far from least, a dutish looking boy who at home answered when they called him Edmund Maurice Travers Smith, but among his playmates he was known simply as Smithy. These boy scouts had seen some pretty lively times during the past year or so down in the Blue Ridge Mountains in North Carolina where they visited the former home of Bob White and found themselves mixed up with the moonshiners of that wild and hospitable region. And later on up in Maine where they had gone partly on business for Thads adopted father and guardian and to enjoy an outing with a little hunting thrown in. What had happened there among the pine woods of Maine, they were instrumental in recovering some valuable bonds and other papers that had been stolen from a bank and for which a large reward had been offered. With this money in the treasury of the troop, they were able to lay out a great trip to the Rocky Mountains region for the following summer. As the money really belonged to the eight lads individually, they felt justified in using it in this manner, but the second patrol had only formed after the cramped boys learned what glorious times the silver foxes were having right along. One guy who had been hired had gone off with a party of big horn hunters who lured him away with better pay and the other had been taken down sick. So it came that the boys actually started toward the mountains without a convoy. There tents and camp duffel being loaded on a couple of comical packed mules known as Mike and Molly which animals afforded more or less amusement and excitement from time to time. They had heard of Toby Smathers and only good words in coming to this particular region. They had hoped to run across the ranger and secure him for their service while in the valleys and mountains, for he was said to be patrolling the big timber country, of which some thieving lumbermen were suspected of having said NPSIs. And by great good luck, the boys had happened to meet up with Toby, passing through a great variety of thrilling experiences. Connected with the hunt for the tenderfoot who had gone out to find his bear as the rangers were able to engage with them for the balance of their stay in the mountains. That and his companions now felt they needed to hesitate no longer, but might strike boldly into the heart of the Rockies. They had very objects in wanting to come out of this far distant region. Several of whom had the hunting fever burning in their veins, outside for a glimpse of big game grizzlies and such. Then another, who was rapidly being taken with photographic craze, being David Jones, expressed to wish to snap off wild animals and birds in their native haunts. The famous big horned sheep, for instance, taking one of his amazing plungers over a precipice, Smithy was interested in wildflowers and had heard great stories concerning the pretty ones that would be found out here. And then there were several others who yearned for excitement in any shape or style, so long as they'd throw their pulses, which was the natural boy spirit always feeding on action. Some days had passed since the coming of the guide, and the breaking up of camp at the foot of the noisy ravage were three of the boys had remained while the other companions were off for days, tracking the wandering bumpers. They had started in the mountains for the time this conversation took place, surrounded by the wildest scenery that any of them had ever looked upon. The trail led along precipitous paths, open with a wall of rock on one side and a yawning abyss on the other, down which the boys could look and see trees growing that seemed to be dwarf, but which the guide assured them were a fairly respectable size. As a rule the scouts were a rollicking lot, full of jokes and even plain innocent little tricks upon each other, but somehow the grandeur of the scenery, as well as the dangers of the mountain trail, rather still their spirits. That had also taken pains to warn them that the practical pranks would be out of order during their stay in the mountains. He had heard of several that had turned out to be tragedies and wanted to carry no ill tidings home to dear old Grandford when the patrol said their faces that way. Steffen had one trait from which nothing ever seemed capable of breaking them. He was exceedingly careless by nature and forever misplacing things that belonged to him. And the fun of it was that he could never see how the fault lay with himself, but kept bewailing misfortune and always picked him out as a victim. Though as some invisible little imp were haunting his footsteps forever and watching for opportunities to hide his belongings in the most unheard of places, it did not matter that they were usually found just where Steffen had himself dropped them in a moment of absent mindedness. He would grumble to himself and observe his companions suspiciously as though he really believed they had been playing a little joke upon him after all. That even lain awake at night figuring out how the other might be radically cured of this failing, where Steffen had many admirable traits of character. And it seemed a great pity that his record as a scout should be marred by so tenacious a fault. But up to the present the scout master had not been able to build up a scheme that promised to affect the cure. And every once in a while complaining voice of Steffen might be heard in the land wondering where in the Sam Hill that knife of mine had disappeared to. Last time it was made careful to put it away in the sheaf and now it's gone like magic. Who sneaks it off me? Tell me that. It's only my thing that disappear all the time. That's it sticking up there in the tree giraffe. You say you saw me put it there? Well, I don't remember the last thing about that. Guess you must have been dreaming, but of course I'm glad to find it again. I wish people would use their own knives. Perhaps some time or other Steffen might be given a lesson that would make so lasting an impression on him that it would begin to see the absurdity of his carelessness. That often felt that he would like to help the good work along if ever the chance arrived. Smithy was more than a little curious in his way. He possessed a kindly nature too and had made friends with Mike on one of the pack mules. Often in the goodness of his heart the dude scout would walk alongside the burden bearer talking to him and patting the animal's nose. Sometimes Mike the mule resented his attention, but he was only a mule after all and all scouts look alike according to his manner of thinking. Smithy was walking near now having the lead rope that was connected with Mike in his hand. In fact he had it wrapped around his wrist absentmindedly and he talked confidently to the animal. He was also engaging in rubbing Mike's nose. Twice the mule had plainly given him to understand that he preferred to be let alone while staggering along these mountain trails, bearing at the big pack on his sturdy back. But Smithy was really thinking about some wonderful, beautiful wildflowers he had seen clinging to the face of a precipice further back and wishing he might be so lucky as to get of such a prize that he paid no attention to the impatient thrust from the mule's nose. It happened just then that that Alan and the guide were in the advance. Something grossed their attention. They were holding an earnest talk fest among themselves. Had it been otherwise, Toby Smathers, who knew mule nature like a book, must surely have warned the kindly Smithy that Mike was in the most irritable frame of mind and that he would do well to leave him severely alone for the present. Behind Smithy and Mike came David Jones carrying his little camera and looking for a new world to conquer. He had snapped off the procession several times and of course the mule's always occupied a post of honor in his picture. Like if in Bob White and Stefan were saundering along, telling stories and observing things in general, after them came Bumbus puffing and blowing with the exertion while giraffe brought up the rear, leading the other pack animal, known as Molly, and just about as full of tricks as Mike ever dreamed of being. Thad was in the act of pointing toward the valley, glimpses of which they could obtain from their lofty position, when he heard a tremendous outcry from the rear that gave him a bad shock. Turning like a flash, the scout master discovered that one of the patrol was missing. There was no need to ask who it was. For there he saw a Mike, the pack mule, with his feet pushed out to keep himself from being pulled over the ledge of the shelf of the rock, while that haunt rope told that poor Smithy must be dangling at the other end. With an ugly fall, threatening him if by chance the rope came loose from his wrist, or he had it wrapped. End of Chapter 1, Recording by Kenneth Sgt. Gagan Chapter 2 of The Boy Scouts and the Rockies This is a lever box recording. All lever box recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit leverbox.org. Recording by Kenneth Sgt. Gagan The Boy Scouts and the Rockies by Herbert Carter Chapter 2, Tidings of the Lost Mine Help, help, Smithy's tumbled over the edge of the precipice. That was Stefan shouting. He had happened to be the nearest one to the unfortunate scout. When Mike gave the other an impatient shove with his nose, that made Smithy lose his balance and topple over the brink. Thad never lost a second, but went on to the jump toward the spot where the stubborn jack stood, with his sturdy little legs braced like steel, as though determined not to be pulled over just because Smithy had stepped off the trail. Reaching the spot, Thad threw himself down on his face. He could peer over the ledge and see the dangling scout, Smithy, was squirming at a tremendous rate. Doubtless terrified at the sudden mishap that however were taking him, and which came when he was dreaming of other things. Stop wriggling like that way, Smithy, called his patrol leader, and wouldn't do any good and may shake the rope loose from your wrists here. Now try and get a hold with your other hand and grip it. Good and fast will have you up in a jiffy, never fear. Oh Thad gasped the poor fellow, whose face was as white as chalk when he turned it up appealingly upward. Nevertheless, Smithy had learned a quality of obedience and particularly when he heard the acting scout master speak, so that almost mechanically he groped around with his free hand until his fingers came in contact with the taunt rope. Where they closed upon it tenaciously just as a drowning man will cling to the near singing clutches that seems to hold out a single ray of hope. Here let me help you set a quiet voice to Thad's ear. He knew that it was Alan who spoke. Alan, always self-possessed and cool, even in the most drying conditions. Thad was only too glad to have an assistant where he could never have lifted the imperiled lad alone since Smithy was no lightweight and did not know enough to help himself by digging the toes of his boot into the crevices of the rock so as to ease the terrific strain on his arms. Hold on tight, Smithy, it's all right and you're not going to fall. Understand that. Now, so up you come, my boy. Another pull like that will surely have you on deck. Again, easy now with that rope back there, Stefan. Hold to the mule and keep him quiet, will you? Thad said all this in a reassuring matter of fact tone. That was better calculated to put confidence into the faint heart of Smithy than anything else could do. Stefan and Davy Jones caught hold of the honorary Mike, almost frantic because of the strange carrings on, and held him tight so he may not interfere with the critical work of the rescue. And so Smithy was finally pulled over the edge. Once Thad managed to secure a grip of the collar of his scout coat, he knew everything was serene for that khaki cloth was firm and sound and capable of burying almost any strain. The rescued scout sprawled on the shelf, panting hard. His face was still ghastly white for Smithy, back greatly in fortitude and needed building up as much as the other tent of what bumpers had before his adventure in the big timber that had gone so far as to raise him in the estimation of his chums. Well, that was a close shave exclaimed giraffe from the rear, where he had been holding on the other mule with more or less difficulty, because when Molly discovered that her mate was in some sort of panic, she also wanted to frisk around and cut up after the way mules acted in general. Stefan and Davy Jones were poking their heads over the edge, curious to know just what Smithy had been saved from. The former turned and grinned. Guess you might have been bruised some, Smithy, if you'd gone down, Reem remarked. But there's a big shelf that was waiting to grab you just five feet under your toes. But as you didn't know that and thought the drop was half a mile more or less, I don't blame you for feeling shaky about it. Smithy recovered sufficiently to insist on crawling to the edge and also peering over. And when he really found out what Stefan had said was the truth, it seemed to annoy him, strange to say. Now isn't that provoking, he declared in his precise way of talking, that he had learned from his maiden aunts? Why, have I only been aware of that circumstance? What an amount of mental suffering it would have saved me when a fellow gets such a fright as that. He likes to know that it was worthwhile. The journey was soon resumed, but that saw to it that someone else besides Smithy held the leading rope of the tricky mic. Perhaps a mule might never afterwards try the same game. And then again he was liable to break out in a new direction, where there was a little demon in that wicked eye of his, that thought. Already they were on the downward grade by the time night arrived. The guy had hoped they would have reached the lower canyons where a camp might be made. All the boys were really tired of climbing them out among so many dangerous narrow paths and would welcome the coming of time when they could move around without constant danger of being dashed to death over some precipice. None of them claimed to be born mountain climbers, they preferred to take their fun in some other way. When the route changed somewhat in its character so that a little party could gather more together, an animated conversation broke out. The guide was fairly flooded with questions concerning the country and what he knew about its past. I've been all through here many a time, Toby declared, waving a hand to cover the surroundings generally. And some other fellows, they'd just been fairly hot in these regions in years past between any years so they never could find that old mine again. What's that? demanded Stefan, sending an interesting item, for he was always on the lookout for such things that seemed to promise a touch of mystery. A mine? What kind was it, Toby? Who lost it? And why haven't them been able to find it anymore? Asked her after, eagerly, while Bump was crowded closer, for he had a little mercenary streak in his makeup. And a chance to lay by another store of hard cash that might ensure a succession of glorious outings for the silver foxes. The guide seemed nothing loath to tell what little he knew. While you see there was a man named Rawson, met him a lot of times myself, and one time after he'd been poking around in this section prospecting, he came to grilly with his pockets just pulled out with the richest silver ore ever seen. All he'd said was he struck a load that was as mighty nigh the purest stuff. Then he went away to try and get up a company to work his mind. He says, and he never came back. Nobody ever knew whatever became of Rawson. But heaps of folks had hunted high and low to find his rich mine. Why, though, where's an old miner? Colonel John Kraken. I just reckon he spent as much as four months several times up around here, poking in the most unlikely places you ever heard tell of. He says how he was so dead, soared on fine in that same lost mine, that he nearly went dippy over it. And nobody has ever managed to locate it again since that so many days years ago? Is that what you mean, Toby? Ask that. So she seems, Mr. Scoutmaster replied the other, who is always giving that his full address when addressing him. Bumpus, what in the wide world are you chucking at back there, demanded David Jones? Don't you know Bumpus enough? Laugh down. To guess that already he sees the wonderful silver foxes discovering that lost silver mine, and just grabbing handfuls of cash right out of it to pay the expenses of the next trip. Where's it going to be another time, Bumpus, down to the Gulf, cruising, or along the Mexican border, where you know a scout should never go outside the borders of their own country? Well, why not, demands a fat boy, defiantly, looking back at the stunts we've carried through so far, and tell me if it would be so very strange if we just happened to drop in on this whole hidden mind of the Rockies. And I'm ready to shake hands with anything that needs cleaning up. You just wait and see if I'm so far off, that's all. And just think of his name being John Cracker. Now, what boy could ever keep from twisting that around and calling him Cracker Jack, chuckle giraffe? That's a good one, all right, declared the guy, laughing heartily. And I'm some surprise I am that nobody ever thought to put that same on the Colonel for this. I wish you could have seen him, boys, while he's as fat as her. You needn't look at me that way, Toby, burst out, Bumpus, instantly. Or he was more or less touchy with respect to his size. I'm tapering down right along these days why I don't reckon I weigh within three pounds as much as I did when we said goodbye to Cranford. And you lost all that time when you walked and walked for days hunting for your bear, put in Davy Jones. Well, I got him all right. Didn't I? Tell me that, asked Bumpus proudly, as he patted the double barrel, ten gauge, moral and shotgun, which he insisted on carrying across his shoulder, while most of the others were satisfied to secure their guns to the back-packed saddle. He sure did reply, Davy, willing to give honor where honor was due. I was just going to say the Colonel, he's as fat as all get out. Toby went on, twinkling his eye, telling much he really enjoyed these little skirmishes between some of his charges. But all the same, he's the most energetic critter you've ever seen. And Temper says he's getting it right in the face of that turkey buzzard strutting around with a chip on his swing, ready for a fight. I expect someday the Colonel to just blow up and disappear in the cloud of steam. And perhaps, after all, you might get a chance to set his eyes on him yet, because I heard down a grilly last time I was our that he passed through with a couple of fellers and packs. So it looks like he meant to give that pesky lost mind another whirl. Make him perhaps the fourth time he's been up this ways. Glad to hear it spoke up Bumpus, makes it more interesting to know that he still got some faith in the story of the lost, lost and mine. But I'm really sorry for Colonel Cracker, because he's a back number since the foxes have come to town. And if he knows what's good for him, he'll go away back and sit down. It's refreshing just to hear you say that, Bumpus, declared Alan. He's just talking for the fun of hearing himself, that's what grumbled Stefan. What sort of chance would we have a lot of greenhorns who never yet saw a silver mine against an old timer like him? For one, I'm not going to take any sort of stock in the yarn. Like it's not just one of those thousands of lies that are circulated all through the mining regions. I've heard there are just about any amount of wonderful lost mines here that never existed. My dad says, except in the mind of some crank, my dad ought to know, because he owns stock and heaps of mines that were salted dreadfully just to sell the ends of people in the East. I'm not this Rostin who said to have found the silver load that was nearly pure, if that remark, pushing to pick up more information. What sort of man was he, Toby? You said you used to know him once, I believe. Pretty fair and square sort of prospector, and they says how he was that tickled over his rich fine, saying that now his family could enjoy some of the comfort of old life. It seemed like his first thought was about them, but I never know where he lived except that it was somewhere down in Utah among the Mormons. Thought to be sure he wasn't belonging to the plural wife colony. Not much seemed to think. All the world about the one wife and the children he got. Then it's too bad poor Rostin never lived to profit by a discovery went on the scout master. If he'd only been able to handle the key to his find over to his family, they might long ago have come in for a fair share of the profits of the load. Well bumpers, if as you seem to believe in that stubborn way of yours, that the foxes are just bound to tumble into the lost mine, we'll remember boys to hunt up the family of Rostin and let them share in our luck. And now as the afternoon is getting along, we'd better be thinking of hurrying if we want to camp in the valley this coming night. They made a little spurt, though it was always next to impossible to hurry those two independent pack animals, as contrary by nature as anything could be. Stefan indeed declared they would do well to turn the animals around and pretend to want to go in the other direction. But Mike and Molly would keep on backing up until they reached the valley below in a good style. The sun was of course out of sight behind the mountainous wall, standing like a great barrier in the west. When the little company of scouts finally reached the base of the eastern ridge. There was a hunky campsite just over beyond that bunch of trees boys, the guide announced. Funny good drinking water for a man and beast too. So let's head that way, I reckon you all must be tired with that long trip across the range. Five minutes later and they drew up at the spot which they had immediately so it was just a place for pilgrims to pass the night. Hello, there's been a fire here, exclaimed giraffe, always on the lookout for anything that pertained to a place, where he was the greatest fire worshiper ever known. The guide flung himself down beside the ashes and felt of them. While the scouts wanted to hear what his report would be. Well, somebody camped here just last night to clear the forest ranger quickly. And Mike and I tore that old kennel cracker and his party bound to Comene's mountains once more looking for the lost silver mine. End of Chapter 2, Recording by Kenneth Sgt. Gagan Chapter 3 of the Boy Scouts in the Rockies This is a lever box recording. All lever box recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit leverbox.org Recording by Kenneth Sgt. Gagan The Boy Scouts in the Rockies by Herbert Carter Chapter 3, The Letters of Fire on the Cliff Now, how do you know that, Alan? Do you reckon he tells the same way you would? Asked Stefan immediately interested. Some of the others had seen the main boy do various stunts along the line of woodcraft on previous occasions. And among others, he'd been able to tell just about how many hours previous a fire had been abandoned by the feel of the ashes. As giraffe always declared, pretty much the same, I suppose, Stefan, replied the other. Pleasantly, for Alan, being one of the officers of the patrol, was always glad to find any of the scouts interested in picking up information and never refused to assist to the best of his ability. Toby was examining the ground around the ashes with those snapping eyes of his. Small in point of size, but capable of taking in every point going. I suppose he did it, persisted Stefan, who was very determined once he had set his mind on anything. Severness, some of his campmates called it. Oh, there are ways easier to grasp in your mind than explain, Alan remark. You just seem to know a thing some hidden instinct tells you. I might say you feel a deadness in the ashes that's different from fresh ones. And then there's the looks that tell you whether the dew has fallen on them or not. In this case, Toby, I reckon, has found out that they might seem mighty fresh. And so no night has passed since the last spark of fire doubt out. There are other ways of telling about how many nights ago it might have been. If an old one, but you ought to make a practice of studying these things connected with fires, draft, instead of always being wanting to make fresh blazers, you should find the matter mighty interesting and worthwhile. I'll give you my word. See, that does give me an idea exploded the tall scout. Maybe I would just as you say, Alan, everybody's going sore on me for wanting to always both fires and fires and fires. I've been able to start him every which way from flint and steel to twirling a stick with a bow after the style of them in the South Sea Islanders. And like old Alexander, I'm crying for New World to conquer. Well, here they are, just like you say. And connected with fires, too, right up my line, so to speak. Thank you for giving me the tip, Alan. I'm sure going to think it over. Thank goodness, exclaimed Stefan. Now, what do you say that for, demanded draft, taking Umbridge at once? If you ever devote your colossal mind to the job of seeing how many ways fires can be put out, instead of started, the rest of us will have a chance to get some decent night's sleep. Because we won't always be afraid of the woods burning up with your crazy experiments. And Stefan moved a little further away from his job, as he said this, not knowing how draft might take it. But the tall scout, after meditating over the matter for part of a minute, only remarked indifferently, oh, that's all right, Stefan, you've got your faults, too, and big ones in the bargain, as bumpers here at my faculty for making fires didn't save us from a whole peck of trouble that time up in Maine when we found ourselves lost, a cold night coming on, and two partridges shot, and not a single match in the crowd to start a fire to cook the game, and keep us from freezing stiff, he knows. That's right, declared the fat scout, instantly in with a fond look toward draft. As memories of the occasion referred to came tubing into his mind, starting to almost smell the odor of those cooking birds trusted near the delightful fire on the point of long splinters of wood. Meanwhile, the guy had come back to where the little party began to make preparations for the night. The packs have been taken from the backs of Molly and Mike, and everybody finding something to do in the bustle. Get anything, ask that, as Toby Smathers came up, a grin decorating his sunburn, but on his face. Oh, where's the Colonel, all right, replied the guy, and I know the mark of his hoofs among the thousands, and he's got the two poisoned sharks along with him. Waffles and Dickie Bird, they've been kicking out every night camp in the silver region, but they just about suit the idea of the Colonel when he wants any dirty work done. And that's what you call finding a long lost silver mine, do you? Ask the scout master, smiling. Well, according to the IG of the most decent miners, that same Rostin had the first claim on that ear of mine, and any fellow that rediscovered it ought to turn a third of the proceeds over to the family of the man has got our first. But you don't see catch Colonel Cracker doing any such foolish business as that. He gobble the whole business down and snap his finger at the widow and orphans. But there's just one thing I don't exactly understand about the marks hereabouts. Seems to be a boy along with the gang now. Whenever could such an old seasoned prospector and miner as Cracker want with a half grown boy up in this part of the country when he's hunting for a mine that seems to have dropped out of sight. I guess fell through to China, that's what gets me. Perhaps I might be an Indian boy. We had a glimpse of such a half grown brave gulking along. One day he seemed to want to count noses in our crowd the worst kind, and we wondered if he meant to steal any. But after a while he just cut stick and cleared out, looking a lot disappointed over something. Graf here tried to get close enough to him to speak, but he was that shy he kept moving off all the time. We thought he might have expected to see somebody he knew among us, a boy perhaps, and when he found that we were a pack of strangers he didn't want anything more to do with us. This wasn't any red-skinned boy but a white, to be declared positively. An Indian would have towed in and wore moccasins. But he had on shoes and turned his toes out all right. Civilized way, but then, just as you say, perhaps, it doesn't matter a row of beans to us who he was, we may run across him again sooner or later, and again, maybe we won't. When the two tents were in position it began to look jolly much like a camp, as Stefan declared. The mules were allowed to graze on the little terse of grass that grew in spots around, where there was enough earth to allow such a thing. Close by was an occasional stunted tree from which the boys easily secured all the fire that was apt to be needed and how genial that place did look in the coming night as it shone upon the tents, smiling faces of the scouts and the general surroundings, so wild and lonely. Looks like we own the whole world, remarked Bumpus, when you just squint around and see the old rockies towering up to the right and to the left, behind and before. Say, this is what we've been looking for, for a long time, Indian fellas. Bumpus seemed to be happier with the situation than any of the others. Really, it was queer of how deep an interest of the youth had always taken in this trip to the wild northwest. It was he who first suggested the same, and on every occasion he had fostered the idea. Up in Maine, when they first heard about that rich reward offered for the recovery of the missing valuables that had been stolen from a bank, Bumpus had been the one to declare that they ought to recover them. There was that plenty of funds in the treasury to pay the expense of the grand trip to the backbone of the continent. There was the glorious mountains, which he saw so often in his daydreams and yearned so much to visit. Of course, by the time every one of his jumps had become filled with enthusiasm also. And there was no faint answer to this question on the part of Bumpus. Pretty soon supper was started, and that was a time when the Scouts began to be more or less restless. Tired as they might be, when the delicious odors permeated the outermost limits of the camp, no one seemed able to sit still. Back to the matter was that they were ravenously hungry, and it was tantalizing to get the smell of the cooking, with the knowledge that it would be at least half an hour before they could satisfy their appetites. Anyone who understands the makeup of average boys understands that. I wouldn't like to be caught in part of this valley in a cloudburst, Davey Jones remark. I've been looking around some, near signs that tell of floods long ago. I guess a fellow would have to hike some to get away if a wall of water came whirling down here. But to honey in order to be fine, don't you think, Toby asked Stefan who would be going to have aspirations to equal the records of several of his comrades, and more than once declared that nothing less than a big horn Rocky Mountain sheep would satisfy his ambitions. I kind of just think I see the jumpers playing leapfrog along some of the cliffs that stand out against the skies under. The sheep, soon or later all right, asserted the guide, who was engaged in cutting wood for the fire, and more than that he would not say being a man of words rather than big promises. Look at Giraffe, would you? remarked Stefan. He just can't quit playing with fire all the time. What's he doing now? asked Thad with a laugh, and not bothering to look up, for it happened that just when he was making some notes in his logbook, burying list they if he waited until after supper. Always got a fire brand, starting out there in the dark he's doing all sorts of queer stunts with it burling it around several times and moving it up and down, quick like after which he crosses his horizontally a few times. Why just look at him, you'd think he was sending a message like we do with the wigwag flags in a date time. Well that's just what Giraffe is pretending to do right now, said Thad after he had taken one quick look, only instead of using flags, he's taking a light to make the letters with. Giraffe is a pretty good hand at holographic work, and all kinds of wigwagging, you know I've talked with him by means of a piece of looking glass on a sun-shiny day more than a mile away, and we managed to understand each other's first rate. He's Giraffe alone Stefan, he's a nervous scout you understand, and he has to work off his steam some way there couldn't be any better than brushing up on his Morse code I think perhaps you're right, Grunter the other, but it does beat all how Giraffe always finds satisfaction in playing with fire. There's one good thing about it these days, venture Davy Jones, what might that be sir, asked a southern boy, Bob White looking up, where he was assisting to get supper ready, we don't have to be afraid of Giraffe setting the woods on fire anymore, it take a job bigger than he could manage to get a fire going in this rocky valley and Stefan laughed as he heard it, for indeed the sparse and stunted trees that grew at intervals along the sides of the mountains did not seem to offer much encouragement to a would-be incendiary. How much longer do we have to wait for Grubb, asked Bumpus, sighing dismally, what's that to you to manage Rav from the outside to the limits of the camp proper, having heard the playing, if you went without a bite for a week sure you can live on your fat, Bumpus, but think of me, why in two days time my backbone be rubbing up against my front ribs and another we would have a riot, I got a space to fill all the time, please hurry up fellas, somebody blow the fire and make a cook faster, won't you? He might be doing the same giraffes that are wasting all your surplus energy as swiping the empty air out there, all about Stefan disdainfully, and yet with a slight touch of envy in his voice, for true to tell, he aimed to equal the proficiency of the lanky scout in the signal line, so they went on exchanging remarks as the minister dragged slowly past each seeming more like an hour to the half star boys in vain did those who were doing the cooking tell them to keep their eyes anywhere but on the fire because a watch pot never boils, but by slow degrees the supper was nearing readiness, Bumpus was even making his mouth given signs of his zigginess to begin and some of the others had even taken up their tin platters, hoping to be helped first when giraffes suddenly came jumping into camp wildly excited. Bad looked up at his writing, half expecting to see him followed by a savage mountain wolf or possibly a full-grown grizzly bear, but to his astonishment the boy who carried the burning faggot of wood cried out as well as he could in his great excitement. Bad, Alan, look, look! Somebody's making wig-wag letters with a blaze like mine away up yonder on the face of that high cliff and I could read it. Sure I could. And then, oh, what do you think? It keeps on saying the same thing over and over all the time, spelling out the words, Help, help, help! Scoutmaster jumped to his feet instantly, ramming a notebook deep down into his pocket as he grasped giraffe eagerly by the arm, exclaiming, come on and show me what you mean. I hope you haven't mistaken a star for a torch. End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 4 of the Boy Scouts and the Rockies this is a Leaver Box recording All lever box recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit leverbox.org recording by Kenneth Sargent Gagan The Boy Scouts and the Rockies by Herbert Carter Chapter 4 The Torch Talk Everyone of the Boy Scouts by this time, even Fat Bumpus managed to struggle erect with the rest. And strange to say, the supper that was just about to be dished out was for the time being utterly swallowed up in this new and thrilling excitement. They trooped after Thad and Giraffe, the latter still hanging onto his blazing torch. Toby was left alone by the fire, but after making sure that the supper was in no danger of burning, the cool, level-headed guide follows his charges over to the spot where Giraffe happened to be standing, when he noticed the odd signals from up on the face of the cliff. Where is it right now Giraffe, the man of Davy Jones? Nothing doing as Stefan and discussed. Now, what do you think of that? The fella had his own eyes blinded by whirling of his own blaze around so much that he just thought he glimpsed another light up there. Perhaps Thad hit the nail on the head when he mentioned a star, like it is not now Giraffe had just peeping over the top of the mountain at him. And though it wanes well, this takes the cake, and all that fine supper getting cold while we're out gasping here. It's a burning shame, that's what it is to me, for the fire again. Wait, said Thad, and in that tone of authority, it had always found ready respect from the scouts under him. It was the scout master, not their chum who spoke, whenever Thad used that very stern voice. Give me your word for it, Thad. I saw it again and again Giraffe went on, as if he felt that his veracity as the scout was hanging in the balance. Point out the exact spot, said Thad promptly. I could do it all right, and don't you forget it, Stefan, declared a tall scout, eagerly and accordingly, raising his torch, he held the stationery at an angle of nearly 45 degrees. Right there she was Thad, and if you look close now, perhaps you can see a sort of glow like he went on, again showing excitement. I do believe I do, replied Thad. Here, give me that torch of your strap. What are you going to do, Thad, asked the other, even while he complied with the request, which was in the shape of a command. Try and see if I can get a raise again. As Thad said, he started to wave the torch in several ways. Now he lifted it up, and he lowered it rapidly, then it went out at an angle, and followed with several circles, or possibly a diagonal dash. And Daraf saw that he was spelling out the word hello. Utterly, they waited to see the result. As the last letter was formed, and a wind-up sign made to indicate the message had been completed, to the astonishment of most of the boys there, there was a sudden response, a way up on the face of what seemed to be a high cliff. A light appeared, and began to cut strange figures and lines in the air, as an arm swung it to and fro. And Thad, as he started to read the letters, realized that whoever might be trying to get in communication with those in the valley had certainly knew his Morse code all right. Indeed, a regular teleographer, and a wigwale artist belonging to the single corps of the United States Army, could hardly have shown more proficiency in the business. Regularly then, without a hitch, a fiery finger outlined against the dark background filled out the significant word help. Thad read each letter aloud, for the benefit of those among the scouts who, not being so well long in the work, find it by some difficulty in following those wizard flashers to and fro, up and down, and around. Just like I said, ain't it Thad, breathed to Daraf, as he felt that his reputation of sail by Stefan had been fully vindicated. But the scoutmaster did not bother answering his questions, since he had his mind wholly bent on solving the mystery of the mountains. Again, he started making erratic movements with the torch he gripped in his right hand, and then the staring Daraf read what the patrol leader was saying to the unknown party perched a lot. What is the matter? Then the light appeared again, and it seemed as though the other might purposely be keeping a conceal between messages, and back came this darling answer, which Thad spelled out aloud as it was sent. In trouble, come up, help me. Great Governor, what do you suppose all it means to him, exclaimed Daraf, tell them being able to keep a still tongue in his head, especially when very excited, and just then he was quivering all over with nervous energy to solve the mystery. Somebody bring me another stick from the fire, said Thad, this one is getting burnt out, Daraf, you go, because you know what kind of I want better than any others. Daraf might have felt a little rebellion because he hated the worst kind to lose a single word of the mighty interesting exchange of singles. But Thad, as usual, had been wise enough to coat the order with a little subtle flourity that served his oil to lubricate matters. As none of the other scouts could be trusted to select the right kind of torch necessary for signaling purposes, why, of course, Daraf must sacrifice all other personal desires for the common good. And so he walked toward the fire, though most of the time that long neck of his kept robbering backwards, so as to give him something of a chance to see what came next on the program. Who are you, Thad waved upward, each letter being clear and distinct, but the scout leader knew the father of running them into one another and confusing the receiving end of the battery, Alec Rostin. When Thad had spelled out the words, various exclamations arose from the boys. Rostin, why, that was the name of the man who found the silver mine up in this country. Wasn't it Toby, cried David Jones, voicing the thoughts that had flashed into the minds of every boy just then. Sure was, replied the guide. And this be him, then. He has been a prisoner all these years, Gasp Smithy, at which there was a scornful laugh from the others. His name wasn't Alec, near as I can remember it was Jerry, said Toby. Perhaps such, he had a son, suggested Bob White. That's what I was going to remark, added Allen, eagerly. Intelligence that had come to them in the last reply had created a sensation among the scouts. Indeed, even Thad was so astonished that for the moment he could not find words in which to continue the interesting conversation by fire. Then his torch expired. Hurry, Draft, and fetch me another light, he called, but there's hardly any need of saying this, because the party in question was already advancing by kangaroo-like leaps, covering ground in a manner simply miraculously. What was that last he said he demanded, and Stefan made haste to answer, partly because he wanted to stagger the tall scout, and then perhaps he realized that Draft would really give them no peace until he was told. That his name was Alec Rostin. Remember, would Toby tell us about the man who found the mine long years ago? Well, this might happen to be a son, we think. Keep still, Thad. Going to talk some more, grumbled bumpers. Again, the fire signaling went on, and the new torch selected by the expert Draft proved even better than the one that had burned out. Letter by letter did Thad send a long message, and Allen spelled it out as progressed, so there was time it was completely, everyone knew just what would have been flashing upward toward the unseen receiving party above. Can we get up to where you are? Now the fiery finger in the darkness began to write an answer. Every letter was plainly carried out, so that not in a single instance did Thad trip up as he could read it aloud. Yes, but come quick, bring a rope, might fall any minute. But he's hanging on to a little narrow shelf of rock, declared bumpers. But if he is, how in the Dickens could he get the fire to signal with? That's what bothers me, motor Draft. Where are you? Signaled the scout master promptly, thinking to get all the information possible when the chance remained. On a ledge partway down the cliff answered the one who had said he was Alec Boston. How did you get there? Went on Thad. Lowered here, left to die like a dog, came the stunning answer. Did you ever hear the equal of that, cried out bumpers, and what sort of people could ever be guilty of such a horrible thing as that? I'd like to know. Oh, remarked the guide. There's a heap of bad men around these parks. I'll tell you. But I got a notion I can see through a board that it's got a knot hole in it. Ask him who put him there, Mr. Scout Master, please. Thad would have done this, even though Toby had not spoken. Indeed, he was even about to start putting the question, who put you there? Colonel Knocker did. Will you come and get me? The old villain grass bumpers. He ought to be tarred in feather for such a wicked deed. What do you suppose he did for it? I wonder now if it's the same Alec Boston who'd know anything about the secret of that hidden mine, and cracker Jack John just wants to torture him till he tells. That sounds like it, bumpers. You're good at guessing things after all, remarked Stefan. Keep still back there, Thad, sending another message warrant draft. And in a steady way, the Scout Master went on to flash back the reassuring words. Yes, we will come to you. Hold on. It may take us some time. Start right away. Thank you, Kane, from above. And then the light that had moved back and forward, up and down and around, and eccentric circles vanished. And so with that last word, the torch, if that what it was, happened to be exhausted. But at least that it served long enough to bear a startling message to the boys of the Silver Fox Patrol camping there in the Valley of the Great Rockies. Now what, exclaimed the impatient draft? Somehow, not one of them gave the waiting supper a single thought just then. But this new and exciting diversion had made them utterly forget such a thing as being hungry. I want several of you to go along with me, said Thad. Don't be for one because of his strong arms. In case we have to do any lifting. Also, Draft and Allen, perhaps you'd like to be in the party also. I certainly would, declared the main boy instantly. If you think I can be spared from the camp. Oh, said Thad. They'll get on all right without you, because every fellow we've put on his honor, not to stray away from the fire while we're gone. Bumpus, please let me have that rope you carry with you. It's proven valuable several times already and may come in all right again. Bumpus had a very queer idea in that he persisted in carrying a thin, braided rope wrapped around his body. It was of this sash for its species. Slender, but extra strong. Bumpus had seen the great need of a rope one or twice and made up his mind that he would never be without one. And it had proven useful to him too. In fact, for its possession, Bumpus might not have been there. So blithe and happy at that very moment. Having unfortunately become mired in a slimy mud hole when lost in the big timber, he was slowly sinking on the account of his desperate efforts to get out. When he happened to notice a convenient limb of a tree just a couple of feet over his head. And remembering his rope, he had thrown it doubled over the same and by making a tremendous spurt managed to drag his feet out of the sucking mud, climbing to safety. And of course, after that nothing could ever induce the fat scout to think of abandoning that precious rope. So he started to unwind it now and as if might be a signal for some of the boys assisted. They seized hold of Bumpus pulling at the rope until they had him whirling around in a dizzy fashion for testing all the while, but without any avail. Finally, the rope was wholly unwound and Bumpus found himself sitting there on the ground with the stars waving all sorts of queer circles over his head. He felt as rocky as though he had been indulging in a strong drink. But be awful careful of that rope, weren't you, Thad? He managed to call out as the scout master started to coil it up for carrying. I certainly will bump his reply to the other. And thank you for the loan of it. Come on. Those who are going with me, take your guns along, even if we don't find any use for them. And say, you fellows in camp, save our share of the supper for us. End of chapter four, recording by Kenneth Sargent Gagan. Chapter five of The Boy Scouts and the Rockies. This is a lever box recording. All lever box recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit leverbox.org. Recording by Kenneth Sargent Gagan. The Boy Scouts and the Rockies by Herbert Carter. Chapter five, Taking Father's Place. Must be nearly up the top now, Thad. It was Giraffe who said this. The little party of four, Thad, Toby the guide, Giraffe and Allen, have been climbing upwards steadily for more than an hour now. And even now, the long-legged scout was beginning to pant more or less from the exertion. Having been through the valley more than once before, Toby Smithers had been able to take them along the trail that led up to the other side. Often they would have been at loss just how to proceed, only for his superior knowledge. And then the moon had risen too, which meant considerably in the way of light for topping the other range. It shed its bright illumination on the side of the elevation the scouts were now mounting, though bravely. How about it, Toby asked the patrol leader, wishing to satisfy his own curiosity, as well as pleased to rap. Right there now, an ardor that we are going to have much climbing. But you all want to be careful about going too close to the edge. That drop is all of 300 feet, I reckons, the guide made answer. And think of all those charts of leaving that boy partway down the face of that awful precipice that giraffe, gritting his teeth in a way he had of doing when he wished to let everybody know just how mad he was. Taking a whole hour for us to climb up here, remarked that, we can hardly count on getting back to the camp in less than another, even if things go right with us. Well, it wasn't I wise then, and saying we had to snatch up some grub, divide on on the way, declare giraffe triumphantly. I reckon now I had never been able to dump up this far, if I hadn't kept nibbling away at the stuff they handed us when we were starting. And there's more waiting for us after we get back, which I take as a lucky thing, because my appetite is growing all the time, while with this tough climb. On the way of the course, the three lads had indulged in all sorts of speculation, concerning the cause of Colonel Cracker treating the son of Jerry Rostin in such a scurvy way. And after the subject had been thoroughly discussed, it seemed to be the consensus of opinion that the boy must possess some map, or at least some knowledge concerning the location of the hidden mine, which the money-mad prospector, whose one idea in life nowadays seemed to be discovery of this rich silver load, was trying to force him to give up. Anyhow, Dr. Ive had to clear, with conviction in his voice, I give you my word now that Alec's been a Boy Scout some time or other, because he wouldn't know how to wigwag that clever way if he hadn't. That had came to the same conclusion some time before, and somehow the idea gave him, more or less, satisfaction how often it was being made. Patient that the very fact of a Boy taking up with the Scouts might prove one of the most valuable assets he could possess. As a Boy on the Ledge, where they insisted on believing that Alec Brosten must be a fellow of perhaps their own age, had not known how to communicate by means of a telegraphic code, he might have been considerably greater difficulty in letting them know of his predicament and asking for immediate assistance. Of course, there were plenty of naughty things that none of them pretended to be able to explain, but then they felt sure all would be made clear once they had drawn the other up from his dangerous position on the cliff, down along the face of the precipice that had been a cliff when they were below it. Now and then they would come to a pause, it being necessary that the guy had taken observation, in order to locate their position. He had several ways of doing this and that, as well as Alan, understood enough about them to know that Toby was making good. It was also much Greek, however, to draft, who fretted considerably because there was any delay, the need of which he could not understand. But in the end, the guy denounced that he believed they must now be at about over the identical spot from which the fire signals had come. A dark boy down below told where the Great Valley lay. The moon, about in full now, was hanging there just above the opposite range and lighting up their wild surroundings. Seems to me we ought to see him if he's still there, grumbledrap, just as though he meant to hint that if the imperial boy had lost his hold and fallen, it would be partly because they had been so slow in getting there. Perhaps we may, replied that, as Toby crawled to the edge of the pier over, but it wouldn't surprise me if we found that the face of the cliff backed in, and that would keep us from sighting the ledge or anyone on it. Look, look, there's Toby, beckoning us to come on, fellas, and the eager giraffe started to move toward the edge of the descent. Knowing the giraffe was inclined to be reckless in his haste, that kept close beside him, whispering words of warning. Slow now, giraffe, he said, be careful, because we wouldn't like to have you take a plunge down there. You'd never know what would hurt you if you did. Thus warned the others to slow down a little, but quickly they all reached a position where they could stretch their necks and look over. The moonlight fell in the face of the precipice, they could even see way down near the base, where the sharp rocks that had fallen during countless years in the past were piled up in ugly masses. Just as Thad remarked, if anyone did, a hard luck to fall over, he would never know what hurt him. It does slant in below, Thad, said giraffe, the first thing. Yes, and we got a call out to learn whether he's there or not, returned the scoutmaster. Then raising his voice a little, he said, Hello, Alec, are you there? Immediately they heard the echo of the light and came a reply. Yes, yes, I'm right underneath you too. I think, have you got a rope with you? Just what we have, and I hope it's going to be long enough, replied Thad. Then quick, tie a stone to the end and lower away, and when you've got it down opposite to me, give it a swing in and out, so I can take hold of it easy enough. In the eager tones of one in whose heart new hope had taken lodgement, Thad lost no time in fastening a piece of stone, after which he started to lower away, all the while listening, hoping to hear her cry, that the stone had gone down far enough, and so he was pairily close near the end of the rope, his heart began to misgive him, when suddenly came a hail, hold on there, that's far enough, now keep a tight grip up there. Get a hold of me, the rest of you said Thad, along the guide to be first, where he wished to take as much advantage of Toby's great strength as possible. When it came time for the hard pulling, Thad started to swing the rope inward and outward, as he had been directed. A minute later, the one below called again, there I've got it all right, and I find you were smart enough to make a loop for my foot. Tell me when you're ready, and I'll let loose down here. I'll be a heavy load, and I hope you won't let the ropes slip through. Looking down at the dim vacancy far below, Thad felt that the others had some reason for feeling a trifle worried over the possibility of an accident, so he hastened to reassure Alec. Four of us have hold here, and one is a strong man, so don't believe anything is going to happen to you, Alec. Tell us when you're ready, it's all right, up here with us. Then I'm off, said Alec. With the words, they felt a sudden heavy strain, and knew that the speaker had allowed himself to swing clear of the ledge, as he suggested he would do. Careful now, everybody warned cautious Thad. There's no hurry about it, and we don't want to knock him too hard against the face of the wall. Easy draft. Rome wasn't built in a day, and so make sure, sometimes this was one of them. While Thad was speaking in this manner, he lay close to the edge of the abyss, so he could guide the rope, and avoid letting it be cut by any sharp stone, and at the same time, watch out below. Foot by foot did the guide, assisted by the two scouts, draw the imperil one upward, presently. Thad could see him plainly below, swinging a little, turning around also, but always coming closer and closer. He was minded somewhat of Smithy's little adventure on the preceding day, only in his case there had been really very little danger, although at the time the poor fellow had not known that a thousand feet of space lay below him, rather than a beggarly five, as was later undiscovered. Now that Thad could stretch out a hand and touch the other, lower still, he's right here, boys, he cautioned. Then he got a grip himself, and held on. The draft came to his assistance, but Ireland and the guide continued to grip the rope, one supreme effort in which the one they were saving did his part, and then Alec Rostin climbed alongside his young rescuers, patting hard with the exertion he had been through. Brad felt like giving him a shout, but somehow he knew that would frown on any such demonstration, where scouts were in a region where danger of any kind might be expected to lurk. Discretion must take the part of valor, and noise be utterly prohibited, he could distinctly remember the patrol leader saying, just those very words and not so long ago either. So the explosive draft had to bottle up his enthusiasm for another occasion, when a cork might safely be removed. The scouts had already discovered that in one thing they guessed truly for Alec Rostin, did prove to be a boy about the size of that, and possibly in the neighborhood of 16 years of age. He was beginning to get back his breath now, and even moved a little further away from the edge of the precipice, as though it possessed only terrors for him. Nor could Thad blame him in the least, where it must have been frightful of torture to be left alone on a narrow shelf of rock, where he could not have any too good a foothold at best, and might slip off, overpowered by exhaustion. He dared allow himself to lose consciousness and sleep presently, when the others had recovered his wind. He might offer to tell them what it all meant, and just why the vindicated old prospector and minor Colonel Crocker had dared place a boy in such a position of peril, for it seemed a monstrous proceeding in the mind of the scoutmaster. Now the boy was moving, the first thing Thad knew. A hand clutched his in a warm, fierce clasp, and he heard Alex saying, oh, how can I ever thank you for getting me out of that scrape? I wouldn't try it then, replied Thad. Laughing softly, why, we were only too glad to have the chance. It's been an experience to remember, too, to talk with the torches, to climb up the face of the mountain, and hauling you up safe and sound. We're Boy Scouts out looking for adventure and doing a little hunting, and this has all been just great for us. But think what it's been for me, said the other, with a quiver in his voice, although he tried very hard to disguise it. My poor mother and little sister came nearer to losing their man of the house, than I liked them to know, because you see, I've just had to try and take my father's place ever since he died. Your father then was Jerry Rostin, I take it, said Thad. Yes, that was his name, answered the other, who had gone over and taken hands with the guide, with giraffe, and finally with Allen, in each instance, giving a convulsive squeeze to their hand, in a way that told more eloquently than words could have ever done. What intense gratitude fills his boyish heart. The original discoverer of the wonderful silver mine that has never been located since that time, so long ago, Thad went on. Then you do know about that, Alec remarked quickly. I was wondering, seeing that you must be strangers around these regions, whether you had heard, oh, our guide, Tony Smothers here, told us, he used to know your father, and he said there was a family located somewhere down in Utah. Scoutmaster continued. Yes, that's my mother and three small sisters, the youngest was a baby when he died, Alec went on to say, as though he realized that explanation for him must now be in order, since the boys had done so much for him. And besides, even though they were next door to strangers to him, some sort of free masonry within seemed to tell Alex that they were going to prove the best of friends he had ever known. Do you feel able to walk down with us into the valley to our camp? Thad asked. I should say I did, and be only too glad in the bargain, I claimed the other, his voice filled with light. And while we're going, I want to tell you just how it came that I was on that horrible little shelf of rock, placed there by Colonel Cracker, who said I would never leave it alive unless I gave up to him the secret of my father's hidden silver mine. And he promised to come up there, above me every day, to ask me if I was ready to throw up the sponge. But I'd have died there before I played the coward and told him what he wanted. How could I ever look my mother and sisters in the face again if I saved my useless life by selling out their mind to that cruel and hateful man? End of Chapter 5, Recording by Kenneth Sargent Gagan Chapter 6 of The Boy Scouts in the Rockies This is our Lever Box Recording All Lever Box Recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LeverBox.org Recording by Kenneth Sargent Gagan The Boy Scouts in the Rockies by Herbert Carter Chapter 6 Backed by the Silver Fox Patrol A raw for you, Alex, exclaimed giraffe unable to express his feelings any longer. That himself felt just as full of enthusiasm over the brave manner in which this son of Jerry Rostin had defied the man whose one desire in life now seemed to be the discovery and confiscation of the rich mind that had eluded his fingers so for many years. But that knew better how to repress his delight. They were starting along the top of the precipice now, no be leading the way, and every now and then turning his head to warn them of a particular risky place that Tad had made sure to coil up that precious rope belonging to generous bumpers, and which had so frequently proven to be worth its wage in gold. Never again would giraffe laugh at the queer conceit of the fat scout in connection with carrying out that window sash cord. As it going was so difficult and as a rule they were strung out in a single file, that thought it would be just as well to differ all explanations until they had arrived safely in camp. Besides that, of course, would say lalex from going over things twice, and those who were not present would naturally be anxious to hear the particulars as they were. So they spent all the time in making sure that they did not lose their footing and taking ugly tumbles. For the way it was very steep, and the moonlight, after all, rather treacherous to find unholy. Tad figured from the clock in the heavens, which he knew how to read so well, figuring on the position of the moon and the multiples of stars from Sirius and the blazing belt of Orion, the hunter, and the northeast, the bright Venus in the west, now just about vanished behind the mountain ridge. But they had been gone almost all of two hours. When once more they approached the burning fire. They could see some of the scouts around the blaze, and as they drew near, the voice of David Jones called out certainly, Halt! Who goes there? Friends replied that, carrying out the humor of the thing. Advance, friends, and give the counter-sign, the sentry demanded. Silver Fox patrol road applied to scout master continuing to stride forward, and closely followed by all the others of the returning party. Did you get him? That asked David instantly, allowing his boyish curiosity to override all soldierly qualities. That's what we did, and here he is with us, as hungry as they make him, replied the patrol leader. Oh, I only hope you kept lots of grub. I'm not hungry. I can hardly walk to Claire Durath, asking snatching up all you did, too, when you went off complaining, Stefan. But think of what we've done since, will you? Arguing the tall scout as he pushed into camp, and hastened to settle down in a good spot with the air of one who naturally anticipated being waited on by his chums. Well, we cooked a lot more, Smithy hastened to remark, because, you see, we just calculated that he would be barely ravenous after your exertions, and so this is Alec Grossman. Delighted to meet you. My name is... Cut that out. We all call him plain Smithy, broken Stefan. And I'm Stefan Bingham. The fat fella is Bumpus Hartree. This other one is Bob White, while the other one who gave you that challenge is Davy Jones. He'll shake hands with you by offering one of his feet, because he's standing on his head about as much as the other way. And Alec's went around, shaking hands heartily, claiming that he could see that he was more than delighted to meet such a hearty reception, and just when it seemed as though he needed friends the worst kind, so the newcomers were quickly waited on and found that a bountiful supply of supper had indeed been prepared against their coming, and by boys who knew what a mountain appetite meant too. By degrees, those who had been left in camp were told just how the rescue had been affected, and then Alec started to tell something about his experience. I live with my mother and sisters in a town called Logan, down in the northern part of Utah. My father died several years ago when I was a little shaver. He'd just come back home and told us he had struck it rich, and we would never want again when he was taken down with a fever, and after being sick a week, he died. The last thing he did in his delirium was to press a little pocket-looking glass with a cracked front into my hands and close my fingers on it like he wanted me to keep it, and we thought it was just imagination that made him do it, and that perhaps he believes he was giving me all the money he saw in his wild dreams. Well, as the years went along, I used often to look at that little mirror just a couple of inches across and think of my father. We never could find a heath among his traps to tell us where the mine had been discovered or was located. More than a few times this year, Colonel Cracker would visit us and tell my mother what a big thing it would be if only she could find some little chart or rude map along my father's things to be sort of a clue to the lost mine. But though she searched, and I looked again and again, we just couldn't. And one day, would you believe it, somebody broke into our cottage while we were all out and stole everything belonging to my father. From his six-shooter and gun to the old tattered knapsack that he used to carry when he was prospecting for pockets of ritual or paid to her anywhere along the creek. He'll snake-muttered Stefan for, of course, every one of them guests who must have been responsible for this robbery of the widow's home. Alex went on. And one day it was only a month ago, as I was sitting there, fiddling with that same little pocket mirror, the back came loose and I was starting to pinch the metal tight again. When I discovered there was a piece of paper between the glass and the back. The clue to the lost mine, gas wrap, nearly falling over into the fire and his extravagant delight. Yes, that's what it turned out to be, continued the rostrum boy, actually smiling to see how deep an interest his narrative seemed to have had for these splendid new friends. My father must have returned a reason of just before he passed away and not being able to say a single word. He had pressed the glass into my hands, thinking that would never be enough. But tell him how it never occurred to me that he knew what he was doing. And that's what brings you up here, right now, I reckon. You mean to find that hidden mine and claim it for your mother and the girls, I asked that. That is what I aim to do, replied the other, firmly. But I think that man must have kept a spy watch on our house. Actually, he failed to find any hint among the things that we were stolen where I since had reason to believe that every movement of mine was known to him. And when he learned that I was going to start north, he guessed that I had a clue of some sort of location of the mine. And so he captured you, perhaps right here where our camp is now. Because Toby told us there were footprints of a boy along with those of Colonel Cracker and his two cronies, Waffle and Dickeybird Draft, venture to say. They did drop in on me right here and taking me sort of, by surprise, made me a prisoner. Easy enough for Mark Dalek, somewhat shame-thesely, as though he considered it far from being to his credit. But there was something that happened before that ought to have warned me to be on the watch. What was I asked the impatient Draft as the others paused while trying to eat and talk at the same time? Well, you see, down below here, I thought I ought to employ some sort of guide because I wasn't altogether accustomed to being all alone in the wilderness, though I've always used a gun and hunted. And along about that time, I ran across a man who seemed to be friendly and knew the country. He said, like a book, his name was Matt Griggins. He said, and the upshot of it all was, he's engaged to pilot me around here as long as I wanted him. You see, my plan was to shake him just when I found my bearings and felt that I could go on alone, because of course I didn't want any outsider to be with me when I took possession of my father's mind. I was careful never to breathe a word of what I had in mind. Just told him I wanted to knock around for a few weeks, among the mountains up here. And unless I talked in my sleep, which I never knew myself to do, there wasn't any way Matt Griggins could learn from me the real reason for my wanting to come to this particular section. But one night I woke up and found the guy searching through my knapsack, and then all of a sudden it struck me. He was in a pay of that old scoundrel of Colonel Cracker. He meant to rob me of my secret and had thrown himself across my path on purpose. Just about the time it was supposed to be, I'd wanted to take a guide. Of course, I covered him with my gun and sent him away without a cartridge in his possession. He was ugly about it too, and vowed he'd get even with me yet. Well, he did. But my treacherous guide came in with Cracker on his second man. So I reckon he must be one of those who spoke up, perhaps Waffles, or I heard the other called Dickey once or twice. When they took you prisoner, they searched, you of course, hoping to find the valuable paper-ass trap, who could not wait for the natural unfolding of the plot, but must need hasten matters by means of a pointed question. They raked me over with a fine-tooth comb, replied the other, with a little chuckle, as though proud of what he had done. But of course, I had been too smart to carry that paper where it could be found, and so they had all their trouble for their pains. I think Cracker was as mad as a wet hen. He stormed and threatened and tried to fool me with a whole lot of silly promises. But it wasn't any use. I just told him that even if I knew this was good or the hidden mind, I'd die before I gave it up to him, or anyone like him. But you saw what he did in the end, took me up there and lowered me to that terrible lid, saying he was going to leave me there to starve. And that when the buzzards came flocking around me, and I was wild for a bite to eat, perhaps I'd feel a little like telling him what he was bound to know, for he promised to come and ask me every day. And this was when I asked that. I think it must have been at about noon when they lowered me at the end of the rope. Alex went on to explain. One of the men knew about that ledge, and the idea seemed to tickle Cracker more than a little. They just shoved me over it and kept a tight hold on that rope for me, or I dropped to the cruel rocks way down at the foot of the precipice. Then late in the afternoon, I saw you come into the valley far below. I wanted to shout at first, but was afraid you were only some of the other hard cases of silver mine hunters like Cracker. But I had found out in the meantime that in the crevices of the rocks, some small trees had once taken root. Several of them dying. So then I amused myself in breaking off pieces of wood and starting a little fire deep in the fissure I found. And which they didn't know anything about, I guess. And to my surprise, I saw one making all sorts of figures in the darkness with what seemed to be a torch. I used to belong to the Boy Scout Troop of Logan, you see. And for a little while, I even manipulated the telegraph key in the railroad stations a few miles out of there on the Oregon Southern Railroad, so that I saw he was practicing the Mord Coast. And then in a wild desire, came over me to get in touch with you. What I did. You all know, and I'm the happiest fellow in the whole Rocky Mountains to think that I found friends up here and friends who say they'll stand back of me and help me win out in my fight for my father's mind. They were tears in Alec Rosson's blue eyes, as he said this last. And somehow, every one of the scouts was deeply affected. Does not take much to arouse the boy's spirit of enthusiasm as a rule. And what they had already seen and heard of young Alec Rosson made the members of the Silver Fox Patrol ready to lend this heart and soul and his cause. There are nine of us here, said that quietly, but with the firmness that throw the newcomer in the camp. It's true that all, but one of us are boys, but then we've got guns and can use them too, if we have to. But let me tell you, Alex, we're the kind of friends that's sick. We've heard a lot about this hidden mind that your father discovered and believed that ought to belong to your mother and no one else. So Rascal of a Cracker is a regular pirate, a land shark that ought to be tied up to a stake and tarred and feathered the way he persecuted you, just because you refuse to give away your secret. Which means everything to your folks and Alex, we're going to stand by you through the thick and thin. We met up with you in about the queerest way ever heard of. And after getting you off that ledge up there, don't think we want to call it quits. You're a scout, a fellow scout in trouble. And we wouldn't deserve the name we bear if we didn't promise to back you up to the limit. How about that, boys? That's a talk, declared Daraf with a great whim. He can count on us every time, said Stefan. And so it went the entire round of the little circle. Every boy echoing the sentiments that had made that, as the patrol leader, promised the harassed lad all the assistance that lay in their power. After that, the camp quieted down and the boys went about their ordinary pursuits. Davey was filling with his little camera, if he were going stronger in his veins of his passing day, where some of his chums talked of shooting Rocky Mountain sheep, Grizzlies, Timberwolves, and Panthers, and the like. The Jones boy could be heard expressing his opinion that shooting the same in their native haunts with a snapshot camera was more to his taste. And then it was Stefan, as usual, loudly bemoaning the loss of something that he had just felt sure he had had five minutes before, which was now gone as completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed it up. Payne, as though it was the first time either, he said in a grumbling tone as one of the people injured while he eyed his chumps, especially always my stuff that's been so mysterious, he moves about, so that I never know where to put my hands on the same. Now, I reckon more or few of you saw my service out of my head just a little while ago. But tell me where it is now, will you? If one of you snatch it off your slick ways and it's just hiding the same, let me notify you right now, it's a mean joke that can you tell me where my hat is? Having the question just put directly at him, truly it felt compelled to make a reply. Well, Stefan, he said slowly and convincingly. I can't exactly do that, but I think it might be a pretty good guess. Knowing you so well, just five minutes ago, you showed up after having gone to get a drink of that little stream that runs through here. There's a regular place where we bend down to drink and I can just see you taking off that campaign out of yours, made it nicely on the bank, getting in your frill of water, and then deliberately coming back to camp, leaving your hat there, and then you kick up the greatest racket because you suddenly noticed it isn't on your head. Some of the other boys clapped their hands while Stefan looked foolish at the well-merited rebuke. Maybe I'll write that time that, he said meekly, as turning, he strode from the frisk-burning fire, heading towards the good spot alongside the little stream where they knelt to drink. It was for half a half a minute afterwards when he was heard to give a screech that brought every scout instantly to his feet, jumping for their guns, when they caught the meaning of his words. I gotta melt Stefan at the top of his voice. I'm holding him all right, but come, come and give me a hand somebody or I'll get away, engines, engines. And when did that excitement fill the camp of the Silver Fox Patrol? End of Chapter 6 Recording by Kenneth Sargent Gagan Chapter 7 of The Boy Scouts in the Rockies This is our lever box recording. All lever box recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit leverbox.org Recording by Kenneth Sargent Gagan The Boy Scouts in the Rockies by Herbert Carter Chapter 7 Stefan Makes a Capture Wow, it's a regular attack. Keep holding your guns, boys, and make every bullet count. Whoop, the excited giraffe. Don't anybody fire a single shot without orders, word thad, who could never tell what such a fly up the creek as the giraffe was capable of doing once he got started. The guide led the way toward the spot where Stefan still continued to shout. All of the boys had seen fit to arm themselves, even Smitty, who had no gun, had seized upon the camp hatchet and imagined himself looking exceedingly warlike as he trod it along in the wake of his comrades, making violent passes in the air, as though cutting down imaginary enemies by the score. They thus came upon Stefan and sure enough, he was clinging to the back of an Indian, both arms being twisted desperately around the latter's dusky neck in a way that threatened to choke the other. Stefan may have never read about the way the old man of the sea clung to the sin bed of the sailor, using both arms and legs to maintain his hold, but that had thought when he had his first glimpse of the picture that at any rate the scout was a good sticker. By then the Indian did not seem to be doing anything on his own part to ward off the attack. Indeed, he was standing there, burying his burden with that historical indifference peculiar to his race. There was no smile on his over face that could be seen but he imagined the Indian must surely appreciate the ridiculous nature of the situation. All right Stefan Thad called out when he could make himself heard above the tremendous racket the others were putting up. You can let go of your grip Stefan, but you won't let him get away will you Thad pleaded the other earnestly. He's my engine though you know I captured him all by myself. I just bet you now he was meaner to hook my hat as what brought him here to the creek but I jumped on him and took him by surprise. Surrounded him fellas well I let him lose. My he's a tricky one I tell you I pretended never to fight back but he was only watching his chance. He didn't know who had hold of him and then it was on to his game. All right stop talking and let him go you're half choking him. Stefan ordered the patrol leader and knowing that he had meant business when he uses his official tones Stefan suddenly released his clutch and jumped back just as he really expected to his late cap to whirl and attack him but nothing of the kind occurred in fact the Indian continued to show the utmost indifference to the fact that a ring of eager faces surrounded him and that the guns of various makes and kinds were thrust out at him until the circle seemed to fairly bristle with a warlike atmosphere. That's how the Indian race his right hand holding a palm toward them and keeping the thumb flat at the same time that's a peace sign but it'll be smothered see a look of a trouble I reckon this boy huh he better not go into graph who had been amusing himself meanwhile and raising and lowering the hammer of his heavy rifle and so he must have something going on in order to work off his nervousness why we could eat him alive and not have try tend to wander his mighty heavy odds let me tell you and no wonder he holds out the white flag it's easy to surrender when you ain't got a show but I go slow about trusting him pad these here engines I've heard are a treacherous lot take them as a whole keep still draft said the scout master sternly let me do the talking and the tall scout became mute for the time being at least so it was hard to keep him any length of time in that condition that had already made a discovery the moonlight fell upon the Indian who now stood there with his arms folded his whole attitude one who studied indifference and instructed patrol leader that there was something very familiar about him Alan isn't he the young brave we saw hovering around our camp before and who wouldn't stop to be questioned he asked turning to the main boy well I was just thinking that myself when you spoke that came the ready answer I wonder now on why he keeps on hanging after us the scout master remark and I'm going to ask him first of all without he turned to the prisoner and went on to say can you understand do you know what I'm saying yes can speak some same all right came the Indian a pretty fair English well we want to know why you are hanging about our cabin so much once before we saw you and tried to talk with you but you moved off now a way up here in the mountains you come again sneaking around and taking chances of being shot for a prowling wolf tell us why you did this I don't believe you meant to steal anything because you made no attempt to creep into the camp and we want to know just why you hang around this way may come back more two three times look at tipi seen fine picture there never seen like before my goodness prep sell same Bimby well when I go back what under the roof does he mean by that talk that sure we ain't in a picture selling business even if I'm taking some dandy snapshots I wonder now has he seen me at work does he think I'm a traveling photographer man and wants me to strike him off in his war paint and feathers baby Jones manages to say all this but no one's paying much attention to his remark tell you what fellas broken the irreplaceable giraffe just then he's taken a shine to our tanks and wants to buy one when we're done with it he knows a good thing when he sees he does just that we let him go for a song when they're cramped full of associations for us you're not on to it yet boys remark that quietly it's ahead of the facts which we had painted so cleverly on each tense that's caught his eye and you just can't help hanging around to keep on gazing at it for some reason or another for the first time they saw a sign of emotion lit across the face of the young Indian brave he struck himself violently on the chest me Foxy claim proudly soon me must have TP for self see picture on the same think and buy give much pulse the same well what would the white boys say well just to think of it here's another facts all right called out draft we're treading on teal so to speak boys when we take that name for our patrol back to meet up with you and by the way are you silver Fox red Fox or a Black Fox so I should be sure they're all belong to one family oh I thought I know him burst out Alex rosten pushing forward and now I'm dead sure of it hello Fox you sure must remember me Alec and the good times we used to have when I lived close to the reservation the young Indian extended his hand without hesitation no forget Alex not much but him not with other white boys down in big timber where might come by how do much glad to see again my coyote Pona flicker yet in the run uh he means a pony I gave him when he came away from that place explain Alex turning to that after gravely shaking hands with the Indian Fox is a crow and one of the smartest boys you'll ever saw he can do everything that a grown warrior could and someday they say he'll be a chief in his tribe we used to have great times racing our ponies and chasing coyotes over the prairie and I'm glad to see him once more so it puzzles me to know why he is up here so far away from the homes of his people and armed too well if he's an old friend of yours Alec and you come out for him why of course he's going to be welcomed at our fire and it tickles me to think that this bright painting of the fox had on each of our tents was what attracted his eye so that he just couldn't keep from hanging around at that other time but surely that didn't draw him up here he's got some other business in his head but he only discovered our camp just now it was coming in to see us I reckon when Stefan mounted his back and then called to us to help him anyway I had him grip and tight you all saw grumble Stefan when these good husky arms of mine get locked around anything it takes a heap to break me away if he had been a hostile engine I'd hung on like a grim death believe me who invented to take away any of his laurels he had certainly yelled for help in a way that could not be easily exiled they all thought that led the way to the fire after inviting the Indian to join them he confessed to having just a little curiosity himself as to what had caused the fox to desert the tepees of his tribe and to wonder so far from the reservation but of course that knew better than to ask about personal affairs of others if fox chose later on take them into his confidence well and good he meant to only stay with them for a night and then slip away but since he was Alec's friend it seemed to be connected with the great family of the foxes which they were a Boy Scout branch why he would be welcome as the Indian confessed that he had not broken his fast since noon when he had munched a handful of dried deer meat known as Pemmican some of the boys took it upon themselves to cook something for him he appeared to be very grateful and could be seen sniffing the air eagerly when the coffee was boiling showing that he appreciated the white man's drink at its true value for his people on the reservation enjoyed many of the comforts of civilization and some of the luxuries too even to pianos that played themselves and actors that sang songs and played the violin they gave all sorts of orchestral music to alex observed and as the boys talked on various subjects as they sat around that happened to be watching the face of the fox when one of the scouts casually mentioned the name of Colonel Cracker he actually saw the dark face grow stern and that the Indian grinded his teeth as if in anger seeing which that put things together and came to the conclusion whether right or wrong of course he could not say he knows Cracker for he started when Davey mentioned his name that was saying to himself and chances are that the prospector has done something to enter the fox or some member of his family these Indians hate savagely perhaps this young fellow hardly more than a boy has taken through the war path bent on a settlement with the big bully well it isn't any of our business but I know I hate to have the fox camping on my trail with hatred burning in his heart end of chapter seven recording by Kenneth Sargent Gagan chapter eight of the Boy Scouts in the Rockies this is a lead revox recording all lead revox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit leadrevox.org recording by Chuck Barges Bradenton, Florida the Boy Scouts in the Rockies by Herbert Carter chapter eight planning woe to the big horns if we get along in this way Giraffe was saying as he sat there watching the young Indian eat what had been set before him to it a pop not that they're just as welcome as the showers in April though we'll have to hustle some lively so as to provide grub keep an open house Giraffe saying out Davey Jones looking up from his job of placing another new film in a snapshot camera well we've got our sign out to the foxes that's right grin the other as he glanced proudly at the head that had been painted in really a clever fashion on the canvas of each tent they sat up a while longer in canvas the situation but the hour getting late and several of the boys showing signs of being sleepy he was finally decided that they had better turn in so Bumpus had to pretend to blow taps with his fist for a bugle and as usual he acquitted himself splendidly the young Indian's eyes sparkled when he heard that imitation of the real thing and that imagined the fox must at some time or other have rubbed up against the regular cavalry of the United States Army so that he understood what Bumpus was doing that and Allen had arranged matters with the guide so that there would be someone on guard at all hours of the night with those three men hovering near there could be no telling what might happen while they were not outlaws or anything of that sort still after learning how they had treated poor Alec just because he very rightly refused to give up the secret of the mine that was his mother's property and in which Cracker did not have the slightest claim that could give a pretty good guess as to the character of the man the guide had told him more than enough to stamp Cracker in his mind as a very unprincipled man that believed the prospector was so determined to discover the hidden silver mine that there was almost nothing he would not attempt in order to carry out his designs and since their camp now sheltered the boy against whom all his animosity seemed to be aroused it was at least possible that he might pay them a visit backed by his followers men quite as reckless as himself so it seemed to be the part of wisdom to keep on the watch for danger it is the principle of scouts to avoid trouble rather than seek it and that believed in the old saying that an ounce of prevention is always better than a pound of cure but the night passed and nothing happened none of the others were called upon to take a turn as centuries indeed more than one of the boys slept like a log all that night and never dreamed there was any watch being kept still when in the morning they ascertained this fact they reproached the scout master for not having called upon them to share the vigil since they always wished to do their share of the work that knew that the coming of Alec Rossin was bound to add to the excitement of their stay in the mountains but he had already taken a great liking for the boy and admired his sturdy independence as well as his grim determination to once more locate the long hidden mind for the benefit of his mother and sisters come what might that was not sorry the silver foxes had determined individually and collectively that they would back up Alec to the limit and even give over some of the time they had expected to put into hunting in order to help him take possession of his father's silver load that meant then sooner or later a visit from the bully of the mountains this arrogant colonel cracker whom so many men seemed to fear as a terror though that had already conceived the idea that the other must be a coward at heart he fancied that no really brave man would war on a widow like he was doing and torture a mere boy in order to force him to betray his mother's secret let him come then if he wants to that had said to Alan when they were discussing the subject for the tenth time while breakfast was being made ready we're able to take care of ourselves I should think eight husky fellows a brave man for a guy who will stand up for us then Alec and the fox besides it would be mighty queer now if we couldn't hold our own against three men no matter if they are tough characters oh I guess we've seen just as bad before we played Alan with a confident smile how about some of those moonshiders down in North Carolina and tell me about Charlie Barnes in his crowd the hobo yigs we ran across up in Maine then remember Psy Kedge and Ed Harkness the game poachers we met later on and how they were sorry they'd ever bothered with the silver foxes and to wind up that list that there were Hank Dodgen in his french-canadian half-breed part Pierre La Porte the hard-shelled timber cruisers who gave us all that bother when Bumpus lost himself down in the big timber how's that for a crowd tell me and didn't we come out on top every time that laughed I see you've got it all down pretty pat Alan he remarked and sure enough just as you say after getting the better of so many bad men in all our travels we had not to feel worried right now because three more bob up and think to throw a scare into us on the whole this cracker had better keep his hands off or he'll be sorry and how about our hunting Alan went on to say some of the boys are getting anxious to try for a big horn why there's Smithy a fellow we never expected would ever take the least interest in shooting because his nature has seemed so mild and sissy like I even heard him declare he wanted to take a try and see what he could do owned up that his father used to be a great hunter years ago but then he guessed he'd inherited his mother's gentle disposition was hobbledy hoy sister she wants to play baseball hockey tennis and those kinds of games all the while and that I think we ought to encourage that idea and Smithy it may be the making of him if once he gets waked up that thought the same he knew the boy possessed amiable traits but he had always been given too much to dress and the little things of life at which most fellows look with scorn and contempt he must have the edges roughened a little if he was ever going to hold his own when he went to college or out in the wide world where sissy boys are held up to derision nothing to hinder our hanging over here a bit and seeing what the next move of this canon cracker is going to be he remarked and the hunting asked Allen why a party could start out right from camp here leaving enough behind to defend the place of course and keep cracker from taking Alec away by sheer force if he did have the nerve enough to come here the scout master replied after thinking over the matter for a brief time of course we ought to let the guide go along with the boys for I wouldn't like to trust them alone in the mountains Allen suggested that's right at it bad some of them seem to have a weakness for getting into all sorts of trouble from the word go we can let one party start out and after they come back if they haven't had any luck and the air is cleared some around here why another might take a different direction you said Stephen was wild to get a big horn didn't you Allen never saw him so set on anything but then that's his way always when he gets a notion in that brain box it is you can't knock it out with a sledgehammer and just now it seems that a real rocky mountain sheep with the big horns beats any old grizzly all hollow with Stephen all right we'll have to let him be one of the first party he did so splendidly when he jumped on the back of the fox and captured him he thinks that some reward ought to be coming his way and they're smithy I'll see that he has his chance to try a shot giraffe could lend him his gun or bob whites would do because it's a much lighter weapon than the other and how about Davey Jones he says he's just bound to get some pictures of big horns on their native rocks or making some of those famous leaps he's heard so much about can he be one of that bunch that yes but that is the limit three frisky scouts will be about all that any one guide can keep tabs on I rather think replied the other smiling as he tried to picture Toby Smothers endeavoring to hold the ambitious photographer and the pair would be big horn hunters in check for he imagined the task might resemble a circus feet of trying to drive half a dozen steeds at the same time when the plan of campaign for the day was made known there was considerable rejoicing and a little grumbling of course a former came from those who had been lucky enough to draw prizes while the discontent sprang from giraffe who would also cherish certain aspirations looking to a pair of elegant big horns to decorate his den at home in Cranford but if giraffe did occasionally show a spirit like this the best thing about him was the rapidity with which he got over the grumbles a step and caught his little fits of the sulks in five minutes he had apparently forgotten his disappointment and was offering to loan smithy his rifle even before the scout master had mentioned anything about it however it was judged too heavy for a greenhorn to pack around all day and in order that your raft might not feel offended that smooth matters down as usual by administering a little dose of flattery he's only a new beginner giraffe and not used to toting a gun why his shoulder would be sore from carrying it all day with an old hand like you it's a different matter and I'd rather think that gun seems to fit into a notch on your shoulder like it grew there now bob's gun is much lighter and with those mushroom bullets small bore doesn't matter a bit so we'll let him take that besides if anything happened here that spelled trouble you'd feel pretty sore if you didn't have your faithful shooting iron in hand that's so sad reckon you're just about right said the tall scout instantly quite mollified and bob's gun will seem more like a play toward the smithy too I always said mine was a man's gun and when you pull the trigger that's bound to be something doing in this clever way then did that frequently stave off trouble and ill feeling among his followers it requires much tact to successfully manage a pack of boys representing all manner of dispositions and the scout master who is the most successful in his line of business is the one who knows boys best and has a happy faculty of entering into their ways of looking at things heart and soul during the progress of eating breakfast the talk was of course pretty much all about hunting the big horn the guide was called upon to narrate all he knew concerning the famous rocky mountain sheep often called goats by the hunters in which combine many of the traits of the notice shammy of the alps and alpinines with others that are peculiar to themselves anyone who has seen them leap boldly from a ledge and strike upon their great rounded horns far below is ready to declare that there is not a remarkable spectacle in all the world of wild sport that can equal the sight possibly the fox knew something concerning these queer mountain sheep but his giraffe said aside to step in it would need to be a monstrous lemon squeezer that could ever hope to extract any information from an indian alec on his part had often heard stories told about the animals now occupying so prominent a part in the conversation of the scouts and he did not hesitate to hand over any information he had it in his power to divulge hoping that it might serve a useful purpose to the intended hunters davie was thrusting several more roles of films in his haversack no telling what a feller may run up against once you start out he remarked the only trouble is davie commented giraffe you can't make a meal off in the things if you're hungry and game shy i think stephen did a wise thing when he stuffed all he could get of eatables into his bag and smithy too carries a lot oh you'll do now that says you'd better wait about half an hour till the mist clears off in the mountains it's real early anyhow and the sheep ain't a going to run away don't you worry about that there's nothing that bothers a boy more than having to wait when he's all ready to do something the minutes seem to drag as though they are led and waited if davie unfastened that knapsack of his wants to examine its contents and make sure it neglected nothing he did it half a dozen times until giraffe declared he would certainly wear the straps out if he kept that up those who expected to remain in camp were going about their usual vocations as for instance the cleaning up of the breakfast tin pans and cooking utensils when a company of 11 souls has been having a meal these amounts are considerable and it took bob white alan and bumpus some little time to accomplish the task of setting things to rights bumpus had gone to get some more water from the stream and when he came back he was grinning broadly why you see he explained there's an old rattlesnake coiled up over there and i've been making him as mad as hops poking at him with a pole you just ought to come and see him strike though i heard him rattle declared that but somehow i just thought it was a locus waking up come on boys and let's put such a dangerous customer out of the way end of chapter eight