FRANK HAS HIS TURN
"Oh, humbug! There are other knives," remarked Frank cheerily.
"Not like that one," said Bluff dismally.
"No doubt Mr. Mabie will lend you a good one while you're here."
"Yes, he's awfully kind, but it wouldn't be that knife," groaned the
bereaved Bluff.
"When do you remember seeing it last?" demanded Frank, as a suspicion
darted into his brain that was connected with Jerry.
On one of their former camping trips Jerry had professed to entertain a
decided antipathy toward a repeating shotgun of modern make that Bluff
had bought. He declared that it was a shame for one who called himself a
sportsman to handle so destructive a weapon. When a chance came, he hid
the gun in a box that held some of their superfluous things. Later, upon
trying to find it, in order to give it back, he learned that it was
missing, and Bluff had to go without his gun until the hunt was nearly
over, when it was discovered in the woods, where the thief had dropped
it.
Frank wondered if Jerry was concerned in the mysterious vanishing of the
wonderful hunting-knife. He had laughed at its tremendous proportions
and ornate handle. Still, it did not seem reasonable to believe that
Jerry would be guilty of a second trick along those same lines.
"I was trying to remember. You know we were showing our things to the
girls?"
"Yes, I believe we were," smiled Frank; for he could still see Bluff
flourishing his precious knife, sheath and all, for the entertainment of
Nellie.
"Well, I can't remember for the life of me seeing it again after that.
You know we packed in a big hurry in the morning. I may have laid it
aside, intending that it would go in on top, and then overlooked it.
Such a fool play, too, when that was the prize of the whole collection!"
groaned Bluff.
"And you've looked over the whole outfit here, have you?" Frank
continued, surveying the piled-up mess of stuff.
"Yes; three separate times. Oh, there's no getting around it, I've made
a goose of myself, and you know how I wanted to use that trusty blade
so much. Of course, I won't think of moping in my tent. I'll borrow a
knife, and perhaps it will do me good service; but nothing can ever take
the place of that beautiful piece of steel."
"Well, let's get these things in something like order before the boys
come in. Sort out what belongs to you, and chuck the balance of your
extra clothes in your own bag, for I see that you've had most of them
out"
"Yes. I even wondered if I could have stuck that knife in among my other
shirts and underclothes, but it isn't there. I'll have to stand it, but
you fellows will never know what a loss this is to me. Coming all this
distance, too, just to get a chance to use it on an elk, or something
worth while."
Frank thought that if Bluff had his way his mates would at least never
have a chance to forget about his great loss, for he was apt to remind
them of it every little while.
Will now came bustling in, anxious to ascertain if his little developing
outfit came through safely, together with his packages of hypo and other
necessities.
It was decided to put in that day around the ranch seeing how Mr. Mabie
ran his business. Then on the following morning a party of them
intended to set out for a camp in the mountains, where game would
likely be found.
"We'll occupy three camps I have in view. From the first we can go to
the second by taking several bullboats that will be waiting for us, and
shooting the rapids in the river. That would be an experience you boys
might enjoy," remarked the stockman as they rode around the valley to
get a comprehensive grasp upon the way in which this enterprising
settler carried on a big cattle ranch.
Reddy seemed to have been picked out by the owner to keep with them.
Frank was glad of this, for somehow he had come to entertain a fancy for
the smiling young cowboy.
"Rapids, did you say?" exclaimed Jerry, his face lighting up with
rapture. "Why, that would tickle us from the ground up. I've always
wanted to run through some little Niagara. Frank, here, has done it up
in Maine, so he tells us. I hope what you have will beat his experience
all hollow."
"Well, they are some rapids, I understand," replied the other, smiling.
"And if I could only be on the shore, to see you shoot down, it would
afford me the greatest pleasure in the world. Not that I don't want to
go through, too, but my first duty is toward securing all these
wonderful events in an imperishable way by taking a picture. Some
scoffers may doubt a story, but pictures never lie."
"That shows your innocence, Will," remarked Jerry. "Why, I've seen
fellows standing beside the fish they caught, which I knew myself to be
only ten inches long, and yet the cunning photographer had arranged it
so that it looked all of two feet."
"I'm surprised that you, with all your experience, shouldn't know that,"
said Frank, pretending to frown.
"You mistook my meaning, that's all. What I intended to say was that
_my_ pictures would never lie," affirmed Will sturdily.
"Hear! hear! Somebody rub him on the back, please! But joking aside,
Will, I'm ready to back you up on that score. The only fault I find with
you is your ambition to take a fellow in every pickle he happens to drop
into," and Jerry made a wry face as he remembered a number of scenes in
which he had figured, that were wont to excite his chums to uproarious
laughter at such times as they looked at the faithful reproductions in
their album at the clubhouse.
In this pleasant way the day passed, and evening found them eager to
complete their preparations for the morrow. Mr. Mabie answered every
question fired at him by the anxious young sportsmen, especially Bluff,
who wanted to know everything connected with the game they expected to
hunt.
"He's trying to forget his great disappointment," said Frank as he and
Jerry watched the other plying Mr. Mabie with these queries; for Bluff
was the son of a lawyer, and would never take things for granted.
"What's that?" asked Jerry, for no one had been told about the loss that
had come to Bluff.
"Can't find that knife of his anywhere, it seems, and believes he must
have left it behind. He was looking mighty blue when I found him in the
room, with all our stuff tumbled, pell-mell, out of the trunk."
Frank eyed his chum as he spoke. Jerry turned a little red.
"Not guilty, Frank! I give you my word I never touched the measly old
knife. I'm sorry for him, too, for he seemed so bent on doing great
stunts with it. I'll take a look myself," he said hastily, and yet
meeting his chum's gaze in such a straightforward fashion that Frank
never doubted his word for an instant.
"No use doing that. He rooted the whole outfit over. The knife is gone,
and that's sure! I've been thinking some about it."
"And had a bright idea, I warrant. What's your solution of the
mystery?"
"Why, you see, Jerry, I can clearly recollect Nellie's startled look
when Bluff showed her that terribly large knife. She's afraid of such
things. I'm sure she must have worried some about it, and I was
thinking--"
"What?"
"That perhaps she may have considered it prudent to hide it away so that
he couldn't find it again. I believe she would in my case, anyhow. It
would be just like Nellie."
"Oh, well, it doesn't matter much, only Bluff is such a fellow to hang
on a thing he'll never give us any peace about it. Have you asked Will?"
said Jerry.
"No. I will, though; but I don't think he would bother his head about a
dozen knives. If it were a camera, now, or a rapid-action rectilinear
lens, you could depend on him to take notice."
Frank was as good as his word. Will denied having touched the article in
question, and said he was sorry to hear Bluff would be deprived of a
pleasure.
And so for the time being the mystery remained such, with Bluff
occasionally digging into that trunk in a vain search, and always
sighing mournfully because he failed to bring the lost treasure to
light.
The boys bunked in one big room. It was very much like a picnic for
them, and would often bring back pleasant memories whenever they looked
at the rather clever view Will managed to get of the interior, with his
chums and himself lolling there.
In the morning there was pretty much of a bustle around the ranch house.
"Ready, boys?" called Mr. Mabie, as he appeared with his gun strapped
across his back, as the easiest way of carrying it.
A chorus of affirmatives greeted his question.
"Then mount, and we'll be off. They've gone on ahead last night with the
tents and foodstuff, so that we'll find things in pretty much shipshape
when we get on the ground."
"Say, they do things right out in this big country, eh?" said Bluff to
Frank as the two of them galloped off in company.
The morning was fair and the air sharp enough to be bracing.
"Never saw anything to equal the atmosphere here," remarked Frank as
their host came alongside. "There seems to be a tonic in it that even we
do not have up in Maine or the Adirondacks. It makes you feel like
shouting all the time."
"Everybody says the same when they first come. Presently you will grow
accustomed to its invigorating tone, and quiet down. It is caused by the
dry air. We are a long way from the Atlantic, and these mighty mountains
to the west act as a buffer to the moisture-laden air from the Pacific."
Crossing the valley, they were soon penetrating among the foothills at
the base of the great uplifts, the tops of which bore eternal snow.
Wilder grew the scenery as they penetrated deeper into the wilderness.
Frank and his chums were almost awed by the grandeur of their
surroundings. At the same time, Jerry kept an eager eye on the watch for
signs of game. The sportsman spirit was strong in his nature, and
generally forged to the front.
It was Frank, however, who first chanced to spy something that excited
his attention.
"What is that moving up yonder, Mr. Mabie? There! Look! I declare if it
didn't jump straight across from that high rock to the other! Is that a
Rocky Mountain sheep, sir?" he asked.
"Just what it is, my lad; and if you feel inclined, there is a chance
for you to get a shot at it," came the quick reply.
"I would like it, first rate," declared Frank, immediately changing his
rifle from his back to his hands.
"All right, then. Listen, and I'll tell you how it may be done. We'll
rest our horses right here, for the last climb over this rough ridge to
the bank of the swift river lying between. You drop down here and make
your way along until you can get a chance to shoot. It will be a long
shot, remember, so make allowances; and the wind is with you, not
against you."
"I'll try my best, sir," said Frank, slipping off his horse.
"Be very careful as you crawl along, for a slip might cost you your
life," were the last words he heard the stockman say as he began to
descend the little declivity in order to make his way along its base, so
as to remain concealed from the quarry.
Frank was careful as well as quick in his movements. Again and again he
peeped out to see what the mountain sheep was doing. So far as he could
learn, the animal seemed to be centering its attention on the caravan
that had halted. Three times it moved its position, and once he was just
in time to see it make a most dazzling leap, which he hoped Will might
have caught with his quick-action lens.
Finally, having gained a place where he had a fine view of the animal
standing there across the gorge, Frank sank down so as to get a good
aim. Not quite satisfied, he crawled forward a little further, and then
proceeded to put his fortune to the test.
Never had he calculated more exactly just how he should aim in order to
bring the success he craved. When he pressed the trigger he was thrilled
to see the mountain sheep give a wild spring into the air and then fall
over the edge of the platform. This time its spring lacked the buoyancy
of life, and Frank knew that his bullet had reached its billet.
But he had no time to exult, for as he moved he felt the ground slipping
from under him, and realized that nothing could interpose to prevent his
falling into the deep gorge!