Westy only looked straight ahead of him, his abstracted gaze fixed upon the wild, lonesome mountains. A great bird was soaring over them and he watched it till it became a mere speck. And meanwhile, the locomotive steamed at steady intervals like an impatient beast. Then, suddenly, its voice changed, there was strain and effort in its steaming. “Guess we’re going to go,” said Warde. “Now for the little old Yellowstone, hey, Westy? Wake up, come out of that, you old grouch. Don’t you know a scout is supposed to smile and look pleasant? We should worry about Mr. Madison C. Wilde.” “If we never did anything _real_ and _big_ it’s because there weren’t any of those things to do,” said Warde. “Didn’t he say what you _have_ to do, you do? That’s just what he said.” Westy did not answer, only arose in a rather disgruntled way and stepped off the platform. He strolled forward alone along the outside of the car, kicking a stone as he went and watching it intently. When he raised his eyes he had almost reached the other end of the car. The car stood on a siding quite alone; the train was rushing away among the mountains. Westy Martin was at last face to face with something real and big. He and his companions were quite alone in the Rocky Mountains. The Boy Scouts of America and the heedless, cruel, monster Nature had come to an issue at last. How this issue was decided and what happened to Westy and his comrades before they reached their destination are told in the companion story which continues their adventures under the title of _Westy Martin in the Yellowstone_.