Some Boy Scout expeditions go wonderfully. It's almost a pre- fabricated plan- you rode your horse to town to meet with the other boys, then you all rode to the campsite, laughing and joking all the way. Then, you set up camp, cooked your food, ate it, and went to bed. Every day of a Boy Scout trip was full of exploring and playing, and if something went wrong, your scoutmaster would figure something out.

I guess that this trip started like that. My troop and I were prepared for whatever we might have to endure a whole eight miles from home- we had all the food we needed and then some, a Bowie knife to share, and our bedrolls. I was excited to go- I hadn't been able to go on the last one. It seemed to have taken forever for them to have organized another campout.

"Ready, Dwayne?" asked my brother LeRoy. My mother had said that he had to go with me into town, which I guess I didn't mind.

I finished bridling my horse. "Yup." I grabbed my bundled- up supplies and mounted.

With a grin I spurred on the appaloosa mare. She rode out of the barn and into the bright Alberta day.

"Wait!" cried LeRoy, and when I turned around, my older brother was trying to get himself on the saddle. His horse wasn't cooperating very well, but I didn't stop moving. "Dwayne, we gotta tell Mum that we're on our way!"

He was right, but I didn't want to admit that. I had been trying to leave without the lecture about being a good boy and not shaming the Rasmussen name. "I was headed for the house to tell her."

"The house is west of here," he sighed, pointing the opposite way. I'd been caught. Nudging the horse's muzzle towards the house, I followed LeRoy and gave my mother a hug goodbye. It was a brief adieu, but I wanted to go, and I wanted to go now.

After an eternity we were on our way towards Del Bonita, our supplies in our saddlebags and our excitement building by the minute.

Del Bonita isn't really much more than a border crossing, a post office, a lone church, a couple of farmhouses, and a general store. It never really was anything more than that, but it sure does live up to its name. 'Del Bonita' means 'of beauty' in Spanish. Dad always says Spanish is a language for the Americans, but I kind of like it, and it fits the town. Our little hamlet is entirely surrounded by hills, cows, and canola fields on every side- with emphasis on the cows. Every family around here owns at least three. The hulking animals dot the green hills as they meander around, chewing their cud and lazily watching their calves. Tall, green grasses seem to create an endless, rolling green sea to the mist- shrouded mountains out past Cardston, miles and miles away. Most days the sky is an eye- piercing blue, any clouds blown out to Waterton and Vancouver by the fierce, fast, furious winds.

LeRoy and I rode into town a few minutes after we left the farm. Only a few people milled around on the rough dirt roads, the women stepping daintily around the puddles left by last night's rainstorm. They carry whatever items they don't grow- one woman carries a bolt of cloth, another has a box of soap. The old general store's windows sparkle with treasures- a model airplane, pocketknives, pots and pans, fountain pens, paper, and one hundred other things. I wish I had a nickel for candy, I think as we ride past it to the chapel. But I don't have a nickel, so I content myself with dreaming of camping by a river, sung to sleep by its gurgling lullaby. Last time we had gone on an expedition, we'd only stayed two nights, and it had rained the whole time anyways. I didn't worry about it raining now. It had rained last night, after all, and rain in torrents didn't often carry on long.

The tiny chapel, in all of its rustic glory, sat beside the road we had come on, and a few boys waited outside. All three of them had a horse, but I noticed that the Scoutmaster's old car didn't sit in the minute parking lot.

"You alright from here?" asked my brother, handing me a sack lunch. I turned to him and nodded, smiling. "You're sure?"

"I'm twelve."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Bye, LeRoy," I said to end the argument, and with that I nudged my horse, Dixie, forwards, towards the church. He was just jealous that Dad had said he had to stay home. He didn't need to watch over me all the time. I wasn't a Cub Scout anymore.

"Where're the leaders?" I asked when I had ridden into the group.

"Hi to you too, Dwayne," said the oldest boy there, Will. "He couldn't come. Came down with a cold last night."

"Mr. Miller or Mr. O'Riley?"

"Mr. O'Riley. We're not sure about Mr. Miller," pitched in Charlie. He was a small, wiry boy with a taste for the dramatic. His brown eyes widened and took on a haunted look. "Bet he's dead."

"He ain't dead, Charlie," scoffed Will. "He's just not able to come. Didn't say why when I asked."

"Oh." No scoutmasters? Part of me was confused at why neither Mr. O'Riley or Mr. Miller would be there, but most of me was excited. We'd be able to have almost a full week without any adult supervision. Nobody would yell at us for rolling in mud, or trying to catch frogs. Of course, if Mum found out... well, to put it simply, my scoutmasters would get an earful.

"Isn't LeRoy coming?" asked James, my brother's best friend, as he watched LeRoy and his horse ride back home.

"Nope," I replied, dismounting and tying up my horse. "Dad said he had to stay home."

"That's too bad." James looked disappointed. There was a slight, awkward pause.

Will looked at his wristwatch, then at the hills. "I think only Robert has to show up now," he stated. "It's noon, and if we want to get there and have time to set up and eat before dark, we'd best go in a few minutes."

Almost as a direct answer to his statement, Robert came tearing down the road, the frantic clip- clop of his brown stallion's hooves loud on the packed dirt. "Sorry," he said, gasping as he ran into the churchyard. "I was hoping you hadn't left me! I couldn't find my bedroll."

Will untied and jumped onto his horse. "Well, glad you're here, Bob. Let's go- I don't want to be eating my supper in the dark."

I jumped on my horse, eager to be off camping at last- and for the second time that day, I looked at the bright azure sky and the rolling green hills, and gave thanks that it had rained last night.

"Dwayne?"

"Yeah, Will?" Was I doing something wrong?

"Don't you want to untie your horse?"

My face burned a little. Great, I thought. Second- youngest Scout on the trip, and I forgot to untie my horse.

I hopped down from the saddle and untied the mare. The boys didn't wait for me to finish, but they didn't go fast, either. Soon I clopped beside them, laughing at their jokes and telling a few of my own, as we rode leisurely southward, the group of us, with James driving a wagon loaded with our supplies, and the rest of us trotting happily in front of him.