“Well, all I wanted to say was,” said Warde, “I’d like to let you know that I think you’re about as good an all-round scout as any there ever was, Indians, or I don’t care what. Understanding everything in nature is all right, but understanding all about people is something, too. Isn’t it?” “I suppose it must be if you say so,” said Ed. “This pin’s only good for the little ones——” “I mean you understand Westy, you know just how to handle him,” said Warde. “Scouts have to deal with men, maybe wild men, just the same as they have to deal with nature, I guess. You can read Westy like a—a—like a trail. Gee, in the beginning I was hoping Westy and I could come out here alone. Now I just can’t think of the trip without you along. Do you _ever_ get mad?” “I get mad every time this blamed worsted breaks,” said Ed. “I know Westy’s kind of—you know—he’s kind of sensitive. He’s awful serious about scouting. That Mr. Wilde just got him. Now he’ll do something big if it kills him. And what good will it do him? That’s what I say. Mr. Wilde will never see him again. You can’t make Indians out of civilized white people, can you? Now he thinks none of us are regular scouts. And that’s just what I want to tell you now while we’re alone. I want to tell you that you’re my idea of a scout; he is too, but so are you. What’s your idea of a scout, anyway? I was kind of wondering; you’re all the time joking and never say anything about it.” “I guess you might as well start the fire now,” said Ed. “Thank goodness, he isn’t here to see you using matches; he’s mad at matches. Get the fire started good and then we’ll give him a war-whoop. I’ll clean the fish.” CHAPTER XIV THE MASTER Westy knew that he was in great peril. He knew that these two men were desperadoes, probably train robbers, and that they would not suffer any one to know of their mountain refuge and go free. He believed that the odds and ends of conversation he had overheard related to one of those bizarre exploits of the Far West, a two-man train robbery; or rather a one-man train robbery, for it seemed likely that one of the men had not been an expert or even a professional. For the leader of this desperate pair Westy could not repress a certain measure of respect; respect at least for his courage and skill. The other one seemed utterly contemptible. There is always a glamour about the romantic bad man of the West, dead shot and master of every situation, which has an abiding appeal to every lover of adventure. Here was a man, long, lanky, and of a drawling speech, whose eye, Westy could believe, was piercing and inscrutable like the renowned Two Pistol Bill of the movies. This man had said that no one could trail him and that no trail was so difficult that he could not follow it. Truly a most undesirable pursuer. One of those invincible outlaws whose skill and resource and scouting lore seems almost to redeem his villainy.