It is not necessary to tell you that this greatly harassed little man was none other than our traveling acquaintance, Mr. Madison C. Wilde, who had cast such a gloomy shadow in the young life of Westy Martin. He had emerged from one of the most harrowing experiences a traveler may have, without discredit to his pluck, but with a very heavy strain upon his temper. His cigar, which was a sort of barometer of his mood, stood in an almost vertical position as he sat upon his back in the chair, his face (what could be seen of it under his tilted hat) lost in a brown study. His companion was Mr. Alexander Creston, owner of Educational Films. Wild life as it is, upon the screen.
Mr. Wilde attracted a good deal of attention for two reasons, and several boys among the resting tourists hovered as near as they dared and gazed at him. For one thing, he was connected with the movies. Also he was the victim of a daring hold-up, had been face to face with a desperate character, a man crowned with a halo of mystery, a famed outlaw whom no awestruck boy had ever seen. These boys could not see this fabled terror, so they stood about gazing at the man who had been one of his victims. Mr. Wilde shone by the reflected light of Bloodhound Pete.
The other victims of the hold-up had gone upon their sightseeing tours very much shaken by their experience of the previous morning. Of all that hapless company only Mr. Wilde remained, stranded in the Mammoth Hotel at Mammoth Hot Springs, with nothing to do but wait for the machinery at Washington to grind him out another permit. Mr. Creston, who likewise waited, had wired for money to replace the very considerable sum which the bandits had taken. Billy, the camera man, who with Mr. Creston had awaited the arrival of Mr. Wilde, also rested at the Mammoth Hotel in enforced idleness.
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