were powerful.

“My name’s Stony,” the old man volunteered. “I’ll show you where to park.”

Shuffling out of the office, he directed them to the rear of the deep lot.

Old Stony loitered to watch as the Scouts efficiently set about unloading equipment and setting up their tents.

“Nested cooking pans and sleeping bags!” he cackled. “In my day, we used a lard pail and our own backs for a mattress. Anything you’ll be wanting?”

“Nothing, thank you,” Jack assured him.

Old Stony started to leave. Then he halted, hesitated, and said: “See that little cabin yonder? That’s where I flop. It gets kind o’ lonesome sittin’ there alone at night, so if you boys have nothing to do later on, drop by and we can chin.”

“Fine!” Jack agreed.

“I’ll bet you could spin some real tales of the Old West,” War interposed eagerly. “Were you a cow-puncher?”

“You wouldn’t catch me herding beef,” Old Stony said in disgust. “I was a prospector. If it hadn’t been for a bad run o’ luck, I’d own this joint instead o’ taking orders from Walz.”

“You nearly struck it rich?” War prodded.

“Dang it!” Old Stony snorted. “I hit gold—enough to put me on Easy Street for the rest o’ my days. Only—”

A melancholy, dreamy look crept over the old fellow’s leathery face, and his gaze became fixed upon the faraway mountains. For a long moment he seemed lost in the memory of a colorful past. Then, with a shake of his head, he broke up his reverie.

“Maybe I’ll tell you about it tonight,” he hinted. “Then again, maybe I won’t. Anyway, drop around.”

After Old Stony had gone, the Explorers got a fire started and made supper. Over the bacon and eggs, they discussed him and his invitation to drop around later at his cabin. Willie was sure it would be a waste of time, but the other Explorers wanted to go, especially War.

“That old boy will tell us about his prospecting days if we prime him right,” he insisted, stirring the camp fire.

“Sure, he’ll spin a wild tale of finding gold,” jeered Willie, “and you’ll fall for it!”

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