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WESTY MARTIN
[Illustration: HE MANAGED TO GET HOLD OF A BRANCH OF A SCRUB OAK.]
WESTY MARTIN
by
PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH
Author of
the Tom Slade Books
the Roy Blakeley Books
the Pee-Wee Harris Books
Illustrated
Published with the Approval of
The Boy Scouts of America
Grosset & Dunlap
Publishers :: New York
Made in the United States of America
Copyright, 1924, by
Grosset & Dunlap, Inc.
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO
THE ROTARY CLUB OF AMERICA
WHOSE MEMBERS HAVE SHOWN THEIR VITAL INTEREST
IN THE FUTURE CITIZENSHIP OF OUR COUNTRY BY
THEIR SPLENDID WORK AMONG THE BOYS OE AMERICA
CONTENTS
I A Shot
II A Promise
III The Parting
IV The Sufferer
V A Plain Duty
VI First Aid—Last Aid
VII Little Drops of Water
VIII Barrett’s
IX On the Trail
X Luke Meadows
XI Westy Martin, Scout
XII Guilty
XIII The Penalty
XIV For Better or Worse
XV Return of the Prodigal
XVI Aunt Mira and Ira
XVII The Homecoming
XVIII A Ray of Sunshine
XIX Pee-Wee on the Job
XX Some Noise
XXI One Good Turn
XXII Warde and Westy
XXIII Ira Goes A-Hunting
XXIV Clews
XXV A Bargain
XXVI The Marked Article
XXVII Enter the Contemptible Scoundrel
XXVIII Proofs
XXIX The Rally
XXX Open to the Public
XXXI Shootin’ Up the Meetin’
XXXII The Boy Edwin Carlisle
XXXIII Mrs. Temple’s Lucky Number
XXXIV Westward Ho
XXXV The Stranger
XXXVI An Important Paper
XXXVII Parlor Scouts
XXXVIII Something “Real”
WESTY MARTIN
CHAPTER I
A SHOT
A quick, sharp report rent the air. Followed several seconds of
deathlike silence. Then the lesser sound of a twig falling in the still
forest. Again silence. A silence, tense, portentous. Then the sound of
foliage being disturbed and of some one running.
Westy Martin paused, every nerve on edge. It was odd that a boy who
carried his own rifle slung over his shoulder should experience a kind
of panic fear after the first shocking sound of a gunshot. He had many
times heard the report of his own gun, but never where it could do harm.
Never in the solemn depths of the forest. He did not reach for his gun
now to be ready for danger; strangely enough he feared to touch it.
Instead, he stood stark still and looked about. Whatever had happened
must have been very near to him. Without moving, for indeed he could not
for the moment move a step, he saw a large leaf with a hole through the
middle of it. And this hung not ten feet distant. He shuddered at the
realization that the whizzing bullet which had made that little hole
might as easily have blotted out his young life.
He paused, listening, his heart in his throat. Some one had run away.
Had the fugitive seen him? And what had the fugitive done that he should
flee at the sight or sound of a human presence?
Suddenly it occurred to Westy that a second shot might lay him low. What
if the fugitive, a murderer, had sought concealment at a distance and
should try to conceal the one murder with another?
Westy called and his voice sounded strange to him in the silent forest.
“Don’t shoot!”
That would warn the unseen gunman unless, indeed, it was his purpose to
shoot—to kill.
There was no sound, no answering voice, no patter of distant footfalls;
nothing but the cheery song of a cricket near at hand.
Westy advanced a few steps in the dim, solemn woods, looking to right
and left....