THE FOUR BOYS
"Hey, Jim, where are we going to make camp?" It was his brother Jo's
genial voice.
"Not until we can strike water," replied Jim. "No more dry camps for
me."
"I don't think much of the coast range, or the Sierras, either." It was
Juarez Hoskins' well-remembered voice, with its rather low, deep tones.
"Give me the Rockies every time."
Juarez was nothing if not loyal to his mountains.
"I don't think any of the mountains are much to brag of."
It is hardly necessary to say that it is Tom Darlington who is now
speaking, for the discerning reader is pretty well acquainted with his
style by this time.
"There's always something to look out for," continued Tom, "if it isn't
Indians it's rattlesnakes, and you have got to choose between a
cloudburst or no water at all. Give me the East every time."
"You make me exhausted talking about the East," said Jim. "Why didn't
you stay there when you were there? I had just as soon take a chance
with a rattlesnake as with an ice cream soda."
"Tom would like to _play_ Indian," cut in Jo, "with turkey feathers
sticking up from a red flannel band around his head. And creeping upon a
flock of sheep pretending that they are antelope and that cows are real
live bears."
"Yes," said Jim, "you have lined it out all right, Jo. Then when they
were tired of playing Injun, Tom and his little playmates could pretend
that they were Daniel Boone's men with wildskin panties on."
"Shut up, boys," said Juarez, coming to Tom's rescue. "What's the use in
rubbing it in? The East is all right for some folks and if the boys back
there can't have real adventures they have to do the best they can.
After all, Jim, you are an Eastern boy. You can't get away from that."
Jim writhed under the implication but replied good humoredly.
"You're right, Juarez, old chap, but I can't help stirring up Tom once
in a while. It is good for him too. It keeps his liver active, so he
won't get bilious."
"Juarez has got more sense than you two put together," said Tom.
"Forget all about it now, Tommy," urged Juarez good-naturedly, getting
the aforesaid Tommy by the nape of the neck with one vigorous brown hand
and giving him a shake.
Thus under Juarez's straightforward management the family quarrel was
abated.
"We might just as well ride now, boys," said Jim. "The horses are good
and rested and we will soon be going down grade instead of up."
The horses had been following in single file back of the four boys. They
were to be trusted not to cut up any shindigs or to wander from the
narrow mountain trail. The boys had had them a long time and together
they had gone through the numerous hardships and adventures. They were
as perfectly trained as Uncle Sam's cavalry horses.
The horses halted as the boys dropped back to their sides, and they
swung into the saddle simultaneously. Jim rode in the lead on a splendid
gray, with a powerful arching neck, strong shoulders and hindquarters
made for speed. Him, he called Caliente. Next rode Tom on a pretty bay.
Then Jo on a black of medium size but finely built for speed and
endurance. Juarez brought up the rear on his roan, a sinewy animal with
a broncho strain in him which was liable to crop out at unexpected
moments.
It is to be noticed that there was a certain formation in the way the
column rode. Jim, the strong and resourceful in front, and Tom, the less
experienced and capable, following, forming the first division. The
second division was composed of Jo and Juarez.
Juarez having an equally important position with the leader, for he was
rear guard, a more trying position sometimes than being in front for in
their travels through dangerous regions, it was the man in the rear who
was more apt to be cut off by the wily Indians. But the cool and crafty
Juarez was not likely to be caught napping.
Even now you notice as they ride along through the comparatively safe
region of the coast range that Jim and Juarez are ever on the alert,
glancing this way and that, halting to examine some peculiar mark on the
trail, and not a motion of tree or bush upon either mountain slope
escapes their attention. They had lived too long in the midst of
treacherous enemies, Indians and outlaws, to be taken off their guard.
They had been in Mexico on a venture the outcome of which was all their
fondest dreams could wish for. Their expedition over, Tom was for going
home, to at least deposit the treasure they had gained, but the others
had outvoted him, and now the long pleasure trip to Hawaii was their
object.
Now, if they but had known it, they were riding to meet the most deadly
danger that they had yet encountered. For as you know, Captain Broom and
his party were advancing to meet them. In an open or running fight, we
know perfectly well that the boys could take care of themselves, but in
the skipper of the Sea Eagle, they were to meet a far more dangerous
opponent than in Eagle Feather, described in "The Frontier Boys in
Colorado" or Cal Jenkins in Kansas and in Mexico as detailed in
"Overland Trail" and in "Mexico." In compliance with a determined plan,
they were now on their way to Hawaii.
Not only had Captain Broom the craftiness and cruelty of the Indian, but
the cool, hard judgment of the New England Yankee, coupled with a
knowledge of their possessions, supposedly limited to themselves alone.
The Mexican spy, who had reported the route the boys were going to take,
had given the game into his master's hands.
"I wonder what has become of our one-eyed greaser friend," said Jim, "we
haven't seen any sign of him since he gave us the shake a week ago at
the hunting camp. I kind of thought we might run across him again."
"It's good riddance to bad rubbish," said Juarez in a surly tone. "If I
had my way I'd hang him to the first oak tree on general principles and
on account of his personal appearance. I bet he is a treacherous little
rat."
"He isn't very pretty, that's a fact," admitted Jim, "but he is a useful
little beast about the camp and can do a lot of chores."
"I kind of like to hear him play his guitar," put in Jo, "and sing those
Mexican tunes. They certainly sound pretty."
"He's a picturesque beggar too," remarked Tom. "Just the kind that in
the old days would have been made a king's jester. They dressed 'em up
in a blazing bright style then. That hump would have made his fortune."
Tom, as you remember, was an authority on Romance, and as pertaining to
which he always carried two favorite volumes, much worn by hard travel
and frequent usage, but which no amount of ridicule by his brothers
could make him give up.
"Have it your own way," acceded Juarez, "but he is not the sort of
animal that I would recommend for a household pet."
"Well, he is gone," said Jim, "so we don't need to worry about him."
"I don't know but that I would a little rather have him in sight," said
Juarez. "Then you know where he is."
Jim laughed good-naturedly at the prejudice that Juarez showed against
the little greaser and put it down to his darkly suspicious nature
acquired by his life among the Indians. It would have been better if Jim
had taken more stock in his comrade's suspicions. Now, Jim was not to be
caught napping when once an enemy had declared himself, but it was his
nature to be open-minded and unsuspicious.
The four Frontier Boys were riding up a winding trail through a narrow
mountain valley, having reached a point almost level with the summits,
which rose several thousand feet above the eastern plain. It had been a
hard, all day climb, and the horses were tired and the gray dust was
caked upon their sweaty riders.
Let us take a look at our old acquaintances, Jim, Tom, Jo and Juarez, to
see if they have changed any since we saw them last. They are dressed
about as we have always known them. In gray flannel shirts and pants of
the same color, moccasins on their feet and on their heads battered
sombreros with the flaps turned back.
Their coats are tied back of the saddles, and their shirts open at the
throat for the air is hot and dry in that California mountain valley.
Their rifles are swung across their shoulders held by straps, revolvers
in the holsters at their hips.
Jim sits in the saddle tall and sinewy, grown somewhat thinner by
constant exercise and by the drying effect of the desert air. His skin
is baked to an absolute brown. Juarez, too, is black as an Indian and he
rather looks like one with his hair quite long and of a coarse black
fibre. The boys look a little fine-drawn but sinewy and strong and fit
for any adventure.