At length Mr. Wilde spoke. “Mr. Creston thinks that you kids should be suitably rewarded. Do you want to fix a price or do you want to leave it to me? You did a big thing—he thinks we ought to consider the three of you as one.”

“That suits me all right,” said Ed, swinging his legs; “then any one of us can answer for the whole three. What is it? I’ll answer.”

“Righto,” said Warde.

“I was thinking,” said Mr. Wilde, “that two hundred and fifty dollars——”

Then Westy spoke up, kicking his foot nervously and gulping, while tears appeared in his sober, clear eyes.

“If—if you’re going to talk about money,” he said, “I’d—I wish you’d let me go out of the room first. The Rotary Club, they didn’t give us money; they sent us out here. Any—any fun that we have out here it’s on them—it is—it’s on those men that sent us. Now—now you’ll—you’re trying to spoil it all for us—that’s what you’re doing. Just when we’re going to turn in because we’re good and tired, you come up here and try to spoil everything for us—you do! Just when everything’s going all right—now you—you have to—if you’re going to talk about money, I want to go out of the room—why can’t you let us—just be scouts—even if we’re not really—if you’re going to start about rewards I don’t want to stay here! Just because I’m an award fellow you needn’t think that means the same as reward, because it doesn’t!”

Mr. Madison C. Wilde methodically folded his wallet, placed it in his pocket, and was on his feet quick enough to get between Westy and the door. There he held him fixed, a hand on either of the boy’s sore shoulders. “You didn’t get away that time, did you?” he said. “You’re not stealing a march on Bloodhound Pete now, you’re dealing with M. C. Wilde, Educational Films, Savage Life for Each and All. You said something about good turns on the train. I don’t know whether you meant it, you talked a heap of nonsense. But if you did, now’s the time to prove it. Will you help us out up in the woods or not—you and your side partners? You talked about good turns and not taking rewards, now, by golly, I’ll call your bluff! Will you hit the trail for Pelican Cone after grizzlies and things—or no? There’s not a cent in it! What do you say?”

“Mr. Willison——” began Westy, utterly flabbergasted.

“You leave Mr. Willison to me,” said Mr. Wilde. “I’ll take care of him all right! Didn’t I take care of Stove Polish, all right? He went way back and sat down when I got through with him. Now how long is it going to take these kids to see the spouting forests and the petrified geysers and things?”

“About four days,” laughed Mr. Willison.

“All right,” said Mr. Wilde, “get busy and make it snappy. Billy and I want to hit the trail in four or five days. Go on to bed now, you kids; Mr. Willison and I will plan things out for you. Don’t be scared if you hear the bears roaring in the night.”

“Who’s Billy?” Warde asked.

“He’s camera man,” said Mr. Wilde.

As the men opened the door to depart, the strains of dance music could be heard louder in the big hall below. Weary as he was, Westy lay awake after his companions (a hopeless pair in the matter of slumber) were dead to the world. And when he did fall asleep he dreamed that he was doing a toe dance on the very apex of Pelican Cone, when suddenly a grizzly bear approached and asked him to dance the Three O’Clock in the Morning Waltz. He accepted the invitation and fell off the mountain into the Devil’s Kitchen, where they were serving sandwiches and chicken salad in the intervals of the dancing.