CHAPTER III—GOOD MAN FRIDAY

The scouts liked to be with Uncle Jeb and help him, but they shared

these enjoyments with other diversions, rowing, swimming, and visits to

Leeds and Catskills where they conducted masterly assaults upon

ice-cream parlors and frankfurter stands, and satiated themselves with

movies.

But Westy Martin stuck and became Uncle Jeb’s right-hand man. A score of

enthusiastic scouts would help in the starting of a new cabin. But only

Westy would remain till it was finished. A clamorous throng would start

blazing a trail back into the mountains and for the first mile or two

there would be more scouts to do the blazing than there were trees to be

blazed. But at the point of destination it often happened that Uncle Jeb

and Westy were the only survivors.

During this very summer, of which we have witnessed almost the final

scene, Uncle Jeb was engaged in making a continuous trail around the

lake. This involved the building of log fords across inlets and a rough

bridge at one point. The mountainside across the lake from camp was

dense and precipitous and here the making of a real path was laborious.

The gang of volunteer workers soon petered out, leaving only Westy and

Uncle Jeb to fell the trees and pry up rocks. All the camp idolized

Uncle Jeb, but Westy was his good man Friday.

So it was natural enough that Uncle Jeb should select Westy to accompany

him on his visit to the old cabin in the Rockies, which had been his

home, or rather headquarters, for so many years. And it was natural

enough, too, that Westy (being the boy he was) had never dreamed of

being chosen for this great adventure. Mr. Temple’s announcement struck

him dumb.

It is significant, I think, that the first thought which entered Westy’s

mind upon hearing Mr. Temple’s sensational announcement, was the thought

of how his father would react to these tidings of great joy. He hoped

that Mr. John Temple, who could do all things, would carry his interest

to the point of interceding in the Martin stronghold in Bridgeboro.

Sunshine had burst upon Westy and dazzled him. And then there was a

shadow, a shadow of misgiving and apprehension.

But late as it was in the season something was yet to happen at Temple

Camp destined to have an important bearing on Westy’s future adventures.

There was one boy in his troop, who occasionally accompanied him and

Uncle Jeb in their work of carving out this long-needed and circuitous

trail. This was Artie Van Arlen, leader of the Raven Patrol in his own

troop. He was tall and likable and intelligent, a real patrol leader.

His patrol was more than a group, it was a well-conducted organization.

And he had made it so.

Unlike many of the camp group, Artie had not set out to help and then

grown tired of it and plunged into other diversions. Sometimes, when he

felt like it, he would go across the lake and spend a day on the steep

mountainside helping Uncle Jeb and Westy. He never said that he would

surely be there the following day. He did not seem to consider his

status as that of a helper, though he did help. He frequently rowed or

paddled across at noontime with hot lunch for the two steady toilers,

and often on such occasions he would remain, clearing away brush and

prying rocks out of the projected path. Uncle Jeb liked him and found it

pleasant when he took it into his head to hike around or row across.

Artie was rather amused at Westy’s constancy to this arduous labor. But

that was the kind of boy Westy was. He worshiped at the shrine of Uncle

Jeb and was a model of devotion to his hero. Dogs of certain breeds are

said to recognize but one master and companion. Westy was of that

exclusive and devoted type. He renounced the camp life to be with this

keen-eyed old hickory nut of the plains and the Rockies. Uncle Jeb could

hardly have thought of any one else to make the trip to Montana with

him.

It was a day or two after Mr. Temple’s bombshell at the big “feed” in

his honor that Artie rowed across the lake at noontime with some bean

soup and hot muffins for the trail makers. They always took a snack with

them and these luscious supplements to their cold lunch came as pleasant

surprises.

Westy Martin in the Rockies · 第 3 / 42 章