“How are we going to ...” Mike began.

They looked at each other and grinned.

“After you, my dear Alphonse.” Mike bowed solemnly. “You’re the guest.”

“Go ahead, Sandy,” Mr. Cook invited.

Sandy leaned forward in his chair. “I was going to ask if I should send for my rifle. I have a .22 at home.”

Mr. Cook laughed and put down his pipe. “I don’t think you’d use it once, Sandy,” he said. “This is big-game country we’re going into. We’ll see mule deer and elk, pronghorn antelope and mountain goats. If we’re lucky we may even spot a grizzly or a bighorn sheep. And we’re almost certain to run into a mountain lion or two.”

“A mountain lion,” Sandy breathed. “What a trophy that would make. I bet Pepper March never even saw a mountain lion!”

“Who’s Pepper March?” Mr. Cook asked.

Sandy scowled. “Somebody I know back home,” he said.

Mr. Cook smiled. “You don’t seem to like him much.”

“Oh, he’s all right,” Sandy explained. “It’s just that he gets under my skin sometimes.”

“What would you do with a mountain-lion trophy?” Mr. Cook asked. “Do you have room for him at home?”

Sandy thought a moment. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “But I know what I could do.”

“What?”

“Start a trophy room at Valley View High. Jerry and I could build some cases, and Quiz—he’s our brainy friend—could write up descriptions of all the animals—like they have in natural-history museums.”

Mr. Cook nodded approvingly. “Good idea. A museum’s the perfect place for a lion. But over a fireplace, I’d rather have a six-point buck any day.”

“How do you rate big-game trophies, Dad?” Mike asked.

“That varies with the animal,” Mr. Cook replied. “An elk, for example, is measured for spread between antlers, and the number of points—or 

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