Westy Martin

Aunt Mira’s tearful prayers were not fully answered, not immediately at all events. Westy’s father _was_ “hard on him.” His well advertised prejudice against rifles as “toys” se...

“Well,” drawled the traveling man, working his cigar over to the corner of his mouth and contemplating the boys in the shrewd way he had. “I don’t know about that. The wallerpag...

Mr. Ellsworth unfolded a typewritten paper and read. Westy listened with the greatest attention, for he was the only one who did not already know of his scout brother’s exploit.

The farm on which Westy spent one of the pleasantest summers of his life was about seventy miles from his New Jersey home and the grizzlies in Yellowstone Park were safe. But he...

These were the first samples Westy had of that characteristic way of saying _reckon_ and _thar_ which he had soon to associate with new friends in a free, vast, far-off region....

Emigrant. The last stop on the long, long journey from New York. The last stop till the thundering train would reach the Gardiner entrance of the Yellowstone National Park. They...

The feeling now uppermost in Westy’s mind was that of anger at the unknown person who had made it necessary for him to do what he had done. He felt that he had been cheated out...

“I don’t know,” said Westy; “just sort of you seem that way. But anyway, that hasn’t got anything to do with what _I_ have to do, has it? I got that merit badge by passing six t...

He could catch a train to Bridgeboro in half an hour and leave the thunderbolt to break at the farm after he was safely away. Or he could return to the farm and still catch a tr...

He handed it to Westy and the three boys, reading it together, saw that it was a permit issued by the director of the National Park Service at Washington to Mr. Alexander Cresto...

So this was to be the end; he would be swallowed up and no one would know what had become of him. The silent, treacherous marsh would consume him. He was in its jaws and it woul...

At eight o’clock that evening, an evening destined to be memorable in the annals of local scouting, Ira Hasbrook stood upon the porch of the Martin home and, having pushed the e...

He took his stand upon the simple confession that it was he who had killed the deer. He knew that he could not say more without saying too much. And all the king’s horses and al...

Mr. John Temple, philanthropist, founder of Temple Camp and friend of scouting, had evidently sensed a delicate and perhaps difficult situation, and had gone to the rescue. He w...

Westy Martin was a scout of the first class. He was a member of the First Bridgeboro Troop of Bridgeboro, New Jersey. Notwithstanding that he was a serious boy, he belonged to t...

Ira did not see anything remarkable in Westy’s having shot the deer twice. He was surprised and amused at the boy, having shot it once; it had caused him to regard Westy as a yo...

“Hum,” mused the judge. “Well, I’m afraid I haven’ much choice then, my boy. The fine for what you did is a hundred dollars. I’ll have to turn you over to the sheriff, then perh...

It was good to see the familiar faces once again, to hear Roy’s banter and Pee-wee’s vociferous talk. And now that he was back among them, the summer did indeed seem like a nigh...

And so these three parlor scouts, winners of the Rotary Club award, reached the rear platform of the last car and gazed upon the landscape as it receded before their eyes. The w...

“Yes, they’re back,” said Mrs. Martin, “and Pee-wee was here last evening and talked steadily for two hours. He told me to tell you to come to scout meeting to-morrow and vote——”

When Westy strode away after making his sensational announcement at the farm, Ira Hasbrook watched the departing figure through a dense cloud of tobacco smoke. He was puzzled. F...

“My good friends,” said Mr. Atwater, “Shakespeare tells us that some are born great and some have greatness thrust upon them. The Rotary Club seems to have greatness thrust upon...

A tense silence prevailed. Pee-wee gasped, speechless. Even the exuberant Roy stared. “_What do—you—know—about—that!_” Doc Carson whispered to Artie Van Arlen. As Westy had been...

Here then was one undoubted fact; the deer had been shot by two different guns. Ira cogitated upon this fact and tried to make up his mind what he would do next, or whether he w...

“Now you see, Iry Hasbrook, where your boastin’ and braggin’ and lyin’ yarns has led to,” said Aunt Mira, after Westy had gone. It had proved impossible to detain him, and he ha...

“Oh, he’s a farm hand at my uncle’s; he’s been all over, on whaling cruises and everything. My father calls him a contemptible scoundrel because he’s—I don’t know just why—becau...

In truth, if this were a narrative of Ira Hasbrook’s adventures, it might be thought lively reading of the dime novel variety. He had not, as he had confided to Westy, limited h...

The assembly hall of the Bridgeboro High School presented a gala scene. The whole thing had come about unexpectedly; it had been an “inspiration” as Pee-wee would have said. The...

Mrs. Martin gave Westy about ten minutes to regain his poise and then followed him to his room where his open trunk stood in the middle of the floor. Westy was sitting on the be...

The three winners of the Rotary Club award were not altogether cheered by the talk of their traveling acquaintance. They felt a trifle ashamed and dissatisfied with themselves....

Ira ambled along through the woods, emerging at Barrett’s where the dubious rumors of his past career always assured him a ready welcome. He had never been of the Barrett’s set,...

He never in all his life felt so nervous, and so much like a criminal, as when he reached with trembling hand for the innocent rifle with which he was to shed more crimson blood...

Westy recalled these words in the mammoth volume on the sitting room table at the farm. He had admired, even been thrilled at the heroic picture of the great hunter whose exploi...

Barrett’s was not accustomed to visits from nattily attired boy scouts with rifles slung over their shoulders and the lolling youths of the settlement stared at him and commente...

Consternation reigned. In the front row, where the First Bridgeboro Troop sat, confusion prevailed. Pee-wee, in accordance with the old precept of “Off with the old love, on wit...

It was now mid-afternoon. The boy who had gone to work on his uncle’s farm so as to earn money to take him to Yellowstone Park, stood on the main street of the little town of Ch...

Ira Hasbrook took no notice of the tribute paid him by the mother and daughter and father who clustered about him evidently not in the least afraid of the gun now that it was in...

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,...