"I suppose it does seem funny for some other fellow to be broke
in a desolate land," said another voice, "but it isn't so funny
right there on the spot. Little Old New York looked a long way
off when we were in Nashville!"
The speaker, a boy of sixteen, short, and heavily built, left a
window from which he had been looking out on a wild March night
and joined the group before the fire. This was Frank Shaw,
familiarly known to his friends of the Black Bear Patrol, Boy
Scouts of America, as "Fatty" Shaw. He was the only son of a
wealthy newspaper owner of the big city, and in training to
succeed his father in the editorial chair.
"So, 'Fatty' was there!" exclaimed one of the group. "How did
you ever get him into a houseboat? Must have been a big one!"
"Yes, Frank was there," Fremont replied, with a friendly glance at
young Shaw. "His father sent him along to report the expedition."
"I haven't seen any book about it!" broke in another.
"Frank wrote four postal cards and nine letters," laughed Fremont.
"The cards were descriptive of the scenery, and the letters asked
for more money."
"Why can't we get up a trip down the Rio Grande this spring?" was
asked. "The soldiers are on the border, and it would be sporty.
We can stand guard with Uncle Sam."
"I want to know how Fremont got his houseboat," said one of the
lads. "Perhaps we can get one in the same way. It would be fun
to build a boat. Anyhow, I'm for the Rio Grande trip this spring.
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