WESTY MARTIN ON THE SANTA FE TRAIL
[Illustration: LOLA, WESTY AND RIP WALKED AHEAD CHATTING GAYLY.]
WESTY MARTIN
ON THE SANTA FE TRAIL
BY
PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH
Author of
THE TOM SLADE BOOKS
THE ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS
THE PEE-WEE HARRIS BOOKS
ILLUSTRATED BY
RICHARD A. HOLBERG
Published with the approval of
THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS : : NEW YORK
Made in the United States of America
Copyright, 1926, by
GROSSET & DUNLAP
CONTENTS
I Westy Gets a Good Start
II Rip Isn’t Convinced
III A Dangerous Silence
IV A Hero by Chance
V A Step to Glory?
VI Discussion
VII Imagination
VIII A Real Find
IX Lola
X On the Edge of the World
XI Many Years Ago
XII Just a Few
XIII Pages
XIV Out
XV Of the Past
XVI Thoughts
XVII A Lake Bewitched
XVIII The Legend of Death River
XIX Rip Makes Himself Heard
XX Shadows of Doubt
XXI Growing Deeper
XXII To the Rescue
XXIII Westy Has a Struggle
XXIV A Thought for To-morrow
XXV Lost
XXVI They Meet a Lowly Stranger
XXVII A Little Hope
XXVIII Water
XXIX Despair
XXX A Scout with Wings
XXXI The Trail Once Again
XXXII Dreaming
XXXIII Just a Few Hours to Go
XXXIV When Ignorance Was Bliss
XXXV Westy Runs True to Form
XXXVI Billy Does Some Reminding
XXXVII Old Scout and the Legend
XXXVIII Some Light on the Subject
XXXIX Flames
XL A Heap of Embers
XLI Westy Has a Part to Play
XLII Setting Out to Do It
XLIII Paul Mitchell
XLIV On the Right Trail
XLV Voices
XLVI A Trust Well Kept
XLVII Homeward Bound
WESTY MARTIN ON THE SANTA FE TRAIL
CHAPTER I—WESTY GETS A GOOD START
Westy felt that he was in hard luck! In fact, he felt that Fate had
played the meanest kind of a trick on him, just when he needed all his
vision to live up to the plaudits of the multitude.
The truth of the matter was, some stray particles of dust had been
blowing around and at a most inopportune moment sought seclusion in his
eye, much to the annoyance of our hero.
Now, Westy Martin had every qualification needed to deserve the title of
hero. At least every scout in Bridgeboro was unanimous in this instance,
so, what right has a tenderfoot questioning the wisdom of the scout’s
decision!
Indeed, if one were to betray any tendency toward incredulity, by so
much as a slightly uplifted brow, they would descend en masse upon the
unbeliever and shout with loud derision. In short, you would be the
object of their amazement that your stupidity could be carried to the
point of not knowing who Westy Martin was.
They would then go on to tell you in stentorian voices (Pee-wee’s being
the nearest and loudest, thus forcing you to move a little out of its
range) that Westy Martin was now about to embark upon the motion picture
industry through the intervention of Mr. Madison C. Wilde, Field Manager
of Educational Films.
“Why, sure,” gasped Pee-wee, taking the center of the stage as usual,
“this Mr. Wilde has always been friendly with the Martins ever since
Westy did a good turn for him out in the Yellowstone. And now, this
summer, Mr. Wilde is going down through some parts of Texas and New
Mexico and take some pictures of the Santa Fe Trail. When it goes on the
screen the name of the picture will be, To-day and To-morrow.”
“You poor dumb-bell, it will not,” interposed Ed Carlysle. “It’s to be
titled, The Old Santa Fe Trail--Past and Present.”
“Well, what’s the difference anyhow? It all sounds the same to me.”
Whereupon Ed was at once silenced with a menacing stare from Pee-wee,
who continued to tell the interested onlooker of just what Westy’s
duties with Educational Films would consist of. Upon that point Pee-wee
did not make himself quite clear, as he didn’t know, nor had he the
faintest idea. Neither did any one else.
However, that did not detract one bit from the glamor that now encircled
Westy like a halo. Enough that Mr. Wilde had invited Westy upon the
trip. Who would want any more prestige than that? Pee-wee wanted to
know.
Lastly, Westy was none other than the boy of Rocky Mountain fame and the
protégée of Uncle Jeb Rushmore of Temple Camp, the best scout in America
since Buffalo Bill. Yes, sir, and he had taught Westy all there was to
know about real scouting in pioneer fashion.
After Pee-wee or any others got that explanation off their respective
chests and you had the audacity to confess ignorance of Uncle Jeb’s fame
also, why your case would be classed as hopeless. Hopeless, that is, so
far as the affairs of real he-men were concerned. A look of the most
profound pity would be cast in your direction and then, as if time was
too valuable to be wasted on one of second-rate intellect, you would be
dismissed from their minds.
Following the line of perspective, Westy presently came into view again
on the observation platform, bowing to his comrades with adolescent
indifference.
By this time, even the most incredulous bystander of the lot could not
help thinking, in view of all Westy’s gathering, seeing must be
believing. He did seem, by all the rules of the game, a veritable god
and hero as it were, standing there surrounded by such a galaxy of
admirers.
Yes, it could not be denied that he looked impressive with Mr. Wilde
sitting at his elbow and his family gathered around him with Billy, the
cameraman, also looking on.
Ripley Langley (Rip for short), the other junior member of the
expedition, was among those present and also a nephew of Mr. Wilde’s. He
was lolling about on the polished railing, watching the scene with
amused interest. He was that kind of a boy. Things always amused and
interested him simultaneously.
When the clang of steel platforms dropping and all the other last-minute
activities warned them that time was short, Mr. Wilde bid farewell to
Westy’s parents and went inside, leaving him alone for the moment before
the train started.
Mrs. Martin kissed her son fondly and wiped aside the stray tear. Mr.
Martin, with a brusque but kindly handclasp, ran true to form and
admonished him to steer clear of the Indians he should encounter. He
told Westy that they could not be trusted even in these civilized times;
there always being danger of reverting to the savage state. After a few
other warnings, Mr. Martin took his leave, thoroughly satisfied that his
duty was well done.
Thereupon, in wild acclaim Westy’s brother scouts emitted cheers loud
and long, led in a big voice by little Pee-wee.
“Bring me back an Indian souvenir, Wes!” Artie Van Arlen shouted.
“Yeh, me too!” came from Ed Carlysle and Warde Hollister in unison.
Then as the cries of All Aboard were heard and the train moved out
slowly, Pee-wee’s voice roared. He just couldn’t resist a parting shot.
“Say, Wes, bring me back a hunk of cactus in your hip pocket, will you?”
“Sure thing! ’By!”