ED CARLYLE, SCOUT
Ed lost no time in making most of the daylight still remaining to get a
good start around the mountain toward Hermitage Rest. For a time this
was easy, as the setting sun gave an easy guide to the points of the
compass, but before he had gone far down the slope the sun had dropped
out of sight behind a mountain top, and as there was only the vaguest
trail in these wild parts, Ed soon realized it would take all his scout
knowledge to find his way at all. He crashed along through the
undergrowth often scaring up wild rabbits and other small animals which
on another occasion he would have delighted to stalk, but now his heart
was so heavy he hardly noticed them as he hastened on.
Ed had been tramping the woods since morning, with only a light snack at
noon, as both he and Westy had looked forward to a good dinner with
plenty of fish that night, but now their fish lay abandoned on the
rocks, no doubt making a meal for the vultures, and Ed had no time, even
if he had brought along his tackle, to stop and catch fish for his own
supper. He could not help wondering what Mr. Wilde and the camera man
would think when they returned to camp and found not only no supper but
no scouts. A broken piece of sweet chocolate, which he remembered he had
in his hip pocket, was the only supper Ed had, and he was hungry enough
to feel uncomfortable, but anxiety for Warde and Westy made him forget
himself and hurry along.
He took the precaution to fill his canteen with water, then hastened on
with no other refreshment. By this time he had retraced the steps over
which he and Westy had lingered fishing all day and struck the trail
leading down toward the Hermitage.
As he got farther and farther down, the sky grew overcast obscuring all
chance of a moon, the trees became denser and Ed found himself in such
darkness as to make him feel perilously confused along this unfamiliar
trail. Before this he had encountered landmarks which he remembered
passing on their way up—a lightning-blasted pine; the big loose rock
where Warde had complained of turning his ankle, an abandoned squirrel
nest, a fallen tree and such marks as a trained scout would observe and
remember for future guidance. These had made him confident that he had
been going the right way, but now it was so dark that Ed could see
little before him, and he began to fear that he had lost the trail. For
a moment the mountains seemed so vast, the woods so dense, that poor
hungry Ed felt like a very small atom alone in the wilderness, and
indeed he is not the only boy who would have quailed a little at the
task ahead of him! Miles of introdden nightfall, and that grim need for
haste, might well dismay a man as well as a boy! However, Ed was
stout-hearted and even when alone kept up that humorous spirit of his
which so often saved the day.
“Alone in the great city,” he muttered, as he stumbled over a log, “I
better ask my way of the next policeman.” Cheering up a little at this,
he plunged on, but was brought to a standstill by a thicket through
which he could not pass, and this made him realize he was off the trail.
Knowing that every minute’s delay might mean life or death to Warde, Ed
found himself choking up with fear lest he get lost in the woods and
fail to get a doctor in time. Just as he had often restored the other
boy’s spirits in moments of trial by his unquenchable humor, Ed now
bolstered up his own waning courage by comic comments to himself. “Gosh,
these street lights are bum,” he complained, and blundered around,
beating at twigs until he pushed through to a clearer stretch beyond.
He began to be thankful that he had not worn his scout uniform after
all, for the thicket had torn his shirt, scraped off his cap and
scratched his face, and the corduroy knickers he wore protected his legs
and knees far more comfortably than his loose khaki shorts would have
done. Ed had been forcing his way along, now running against logs, now
falling over rocks—into gullies until he felt that he must surely have
progressed miles, when something soft slapped him in the face. He ducked
down, startled, and saw that he had run into a bush on which what was
hanging but his own cap! It was this cap lost in the thicket that had
struck him in the face! Now, indeed, Ed was discouraged. After supposing
he had made a long advance toward Hermitage Rest he only found that he
had done the usual tenderfoot trick of traveling in a circle!
“Spats, cane and all, I ought to have old Stove Polish leading me by the
hand,” was his disgusted thought.
But now, however, Ed’s eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark and he
was able to make out his way more distinctly.
Fortunately at this time the moon came out through clouds that had
obscured it. As good luck would have it, the moon was nearly full and
promised to shed a helpful light if more clouds did not gather. Ed
remembered that the moon, when large and red as it was then, rose in the
east, for he could remember often making a wish on a little new moon,
seen first in the western sky at sunset. Assuring himself once more of
the points of the compass by the moon and the direction of the hillside,
Ed gritted his teeth and pushed on, determined to make no further
tenderfoot blunders that night. His chagrin was almost as deep as
Westy’s would have been at the thought of how Mr. Wilde would have
jeered at him for being a parlor scout who got lost in the woods! His
progress was now more successful, but he had every reason to fear that
he might lose himself again, and therefore proceeded with far less
confidence than he had set out. As if with the coming of the moon the
little people of the woods were stirred to the business of their night
life, the trees seemed noisy now with insects and night birds. The
grewsome hoot of an owl sent the gooseflesh crawling up to Ed’s scalp,
but he made fun of himself and pushed on, whistling to keep up his
spirits. He had really advanced a long way when he was brought to a
standstill by a sound that made his blood run cold. It was a moaning
that had such a human quality that for a moment Ed thought some one must
be lying hurt near by. Then he remembered having read that the voice of
the mountain lion sounds like a woman crying. The moaning recommenced
and Ed stood paralyzed in his tracks. Of all creatures, the mountain
lion, he knew, was the most ferocious wild beast in all the wild
Rockies. Even a seasoned old hunter like Buck Whitley did not scorn to
run away from one of these creatures. Ed besides was of course unarmed
save for a broken-bladed scout knife and his trusty safety-pin.
The moaning continued and Ed located it as coming from a clump of bushes
near the trail right by which he must pass. It must be admitted that Ed
was thoroughly frightened, but he took some comfort in recalling the
story of an officer who had been chided because on the eve of battle his
knees shook and this officer had replied, “They would shake more if they
knew where I was going to take them.” Ed took his shaking knees back up
the path, determined to detour and make a run for it. Just then,
however, the moaning broke into a call. “Hey, there! Help!” cried a
man’s voice.