STRANDED
“Well, we know which direction to start in, and that’s something,” said
Westy.
“And we’re not hungry yet, and that’s something else,” said Warde. “We
ought to be able to walk fifteen miles to-day and the rest of the way
to-morrow. And if we can’t find enough to eat in Montana to keep us from
starving——”
“Then we ought to be ashamed to look Mr. Wilde in the face,” said Westy.
“I wish I knew something about herbs and roots,” said Ed. “The only kind
of root that I know anything about is cube root and I don’t like that;
I’d rather starve. I wonder if they have sassafras roots out this way.
I’ve got my return ticket pinned in my pocket with a safety-pin so we
ought to be able to catch some fish.”
“How about a line?” Warde asked.
“I can unravel some worsted from my sweater,” said Ed. “Oh, I’m a
regular Stove Polish. Maybe we can find some mushrooms; I’m not
worrying. I know one thing, I’d like to go up on Penelope’s Peak with
Mr. Wilde and those fellows.”
“Pelican Cone,” said Westy.
“My social error—Pelican Cone,” said Ed.
“He’d about as soon think of taking us as he would our grandmothers,”
said Westy. “That’s what gets me; they take an Indian boy who maybe
can’t even speak English, because he can do the things _we’re_ supposed
to be able to do. I don’t mean just you and I. But wouldn’t you think
there’d be some fellow in the scout organization—— Gee, I should think
out west here there ought to be some who could stalk and things like
that. You heard what he said about amateurs and professionals. He’s
right, that’s the worst of it.”
“He’s right and we’re wrong as he usually is,” said Ed. “Believe me, I’m
not worrying about what _he_ thinks. We have plenty of fun scouting.
What’s worrying me is whether we should follow the tracks or the road. I
believe in tracking and I’d say follow the tracks only suppose they go
over high bridges and places where we couldn’t walk. It’s not so easy to
track railroad tracks. But the trouble with the road is we don’t know
where it goes.”
“I don’t believe it knows itself,” said Warde, “by the looks of it.”
“We want to go south; we know that,” said Westy. “Gardiner is south from
here.”
“I thought we were on our way out west,” said Warde. “I wish we had a
compass, I know that.”
“Do you suppose Shining Sun has a compass?” Westy asked.
“Now listen,” said Ed. “I mean you, Westy. You’ve got the pathfinder’s
badge and the stalker’s badge and a lot of others; you’re a star scout.
You should worry about Dutch Cleanser or Stove Polish or whatever his
name is——”
“Shining Sun,” said Westy.
“All right, when the shining sun comes up a little higher we’ll find out
which is north and south and east and west and up and down and in and
out and all the other points of the compass including this and that. How
do you know we want to go south from here? Tell me that and I’ll find
out where south is.”
“Silver Cleaner, the Indian boy!” shouted Warde. “Grandson of the old
Sioux Chief Gold Dust Twins. I’ll tell you why we have to go south.
Livingston, where we ate our last meal on earth, is north of here. We
turned south at Livingston; this is a branch that goes down to the
Gardiner entrance of the Park. If we go south from here we’re sure to
strike the Park even if we don’t strike Gardiner. The Park is about
fifty miles wide. I don’t know whether there’s a fence around it or not.
Anyway, if we go south from here we’re sure to get into the Park.”
“Maybe we’ll land on Pelican’s Dome,” said Ed.
“Come face to face with Mr. Wilde, hey?” said Warde. “We’ll say to Stove
Polish, ‘Oh, we don’t know, when it comes to picking trails——’”
“Come on, let’s start,” said Westy.
“Sure,” said Warde, “maybe they’ll be naming canoes after us
yet—Hiawatha, Carlylus, Wesiobus, Martinibo——”
“I wonder what Indian they named Indian meal after?” said Ed.
“You’re worse than Roy Blakeley,” said Warde; “they named it after the
Indian motorcycle, didn’t they, Westy, old scout?”
“You say you think the road runs south?” Westy asked.