THE LOST PACKHORSE
A monster black bear had collided with Conroy's horse, sending the
runaway to its knees.
The astounded leader of the Ramblers saw Jack catapulted into the air
and bruin knocked flat on his back.
Then his own broncho, with a snort of terror, swerved abruptly, dashing
off at right angles.
The riderless horse had turned, and was now thundering diagonally
across the turf. Bob Somers' quick eye saw that nothing could prevent
his own broncho and the terrified animal from crashing together. With
lightning speed, he threw one leg over the pommel and jumped.
Jack Conroy lay stunned by the force of his impact with the ground. But
the fresh breeze, together with his strong recuperative powers, almost
instantly began to restore him to his senses.
Presently, scarcely realizing what had happened, his thoughts all oddly
jumbled together, he half opened his eyes.
A low, rumbling growl brought the light of understanding back to his
face. With a strong effort, he struggled to a sitting position, and
stared in open-mouthed wonder at a remarkable sight.
"Great Cæsar!"
A black bear but several yards away was just clumsily regaining an
upright position. Its little eyes were snapping with fear and anger.
The big chap had been so jarred and shaken that only a realization of
great danger could have induced him to move.
[Illustration: ITS LITTLE EYES WERE SNAPPING]
For a moment, Jack and the bear studied each other attentively. It was
a wonderfully short moment, however. Jack, uttering an exclamation,
managed to turn and shoot a glance over his shoulder. To his amazement,
he saw Bob Somers approaching on foot at top speed and five horsemen
fighting to control their bronchos.
"Thunderation!"
The black bear, having evidently come to the conclusion that Jack was
responsible for all his misfortunes, gave an angry snarl, opened his
mouth to show a row of perfect teeth, and began to lumber forward.
Jack wasn't quite sure whether he had been badly injured or not, but
decided that the time to find out hadn't come. Pains and aches seemed
to drop away as easily as the dust from his shoulders when he scrambled
to his feet with a lusty yell and fled.
The enemy, apparently satisfied at this tribute to his power, came to a
halt, raised his shaggy head and gazed curiously at the horsemen; then,
uttering a grunt of extreme disapproval, plunged away.
"Hurt, Jack?" called Bob, breathlessly.
"Hurt?" yelled the others.
Jack stopped his flight abruptly.
Now that all danger, as well as suspense, was over, shooting pains in
various parts of his anatomy began to make themselves felt with a force
that caused him to wince.
"Hurt, Jack?" cried Bob again, as, with flying leaps, he reached the
big boy's side.
Conroy felt his side and shoulder, then his arms.
"I've been dented in about a hundred places, Somers," he grinned,
weakly. "Gee, but my shoulder hurts; that crash when I landed was a
corker--no bones broken, though. What happened to you, Bob? Had to
jump, eh? Just what I was about to do when the bronc-saver came out to
say 'Good-day!'"
The other riders, who by this time had succeeded in controlling their
horses, cantered rapidly up, and Jack was kept busy for a few moments
answering their excited questions.
The relief of the crowd was voiced in a joyous cheer when all presently
realized that, in spite of his terrific shaking up and fall, Jack
Conroy had escaped serious injury.
"An' don't forget a little 'tiger' for the bear, fellows," laughed
Jack. "As a bronc-saver, he was a daisy. No, I wasn't scared, Tommy;
never would have let that silly dub of a sorrel chuck me over five
hundred an' eighty feet through the air--no, sir. Ouch! Wow! Another
wireless!"
"We'd better not do any more traveling to-day, fellows," suggested Bob.
"Some mighty good places to camp right around here; what do you say?"
"Suits me," said Jack, ruefully rubbing his shoulder. "I don't feel
quite fit, yet. Say, Dave, where'd your packhorse an' the other broncs
get to?"
"He broke away just as I overtook the crowd," answered Dave,
apologetically. "You see, I hadn't tied the rope very tight, and one
glance at the bear was enough."
"Oh!" Jack stared hard at the landscape. "Bet the silly dub's 'bout
five miles away by this time, Dave," he drawled. "Don't see 'im
anywhere."
"We oughtn't to kick, after your having such great luck," laughed Bob.
"A mighty narrow escape, Jack!"
"For the bronc, you mean," corrected the big lad, dryly. "Shucks! This
ridin' business is pie for me, if nothin' rises off the earth to hit
the little brute. Let's see what it's like at the edge o' the bluff.
Then we'd better hustle an' chase after those runaways."
Limping slightly, Jack, with Bob at his side, walked toward the fringe
of bushes. Both kept a sharp lookout for bears or other foes, but
discovered nothing alarming.
Skirting around the vegetation, they soon came to an open space and
peered cautiously over the edge. The sight fairly took their breath
away.
A wall of barren rock dropped almost vertically for fully two hundred
feet, and from that point sloped abruptly to the valley below. Here
and there, on dizzy-looking ledges, patches of stunted vegetation had
gained a foothold, and, struggling hard for life, added a touch of
contrasting color to the grim reddish rock. At the base, far beneath
them, the two looked upon the tops of a dense growth of timber, huge
slabs of bare rock and great boulders. The cliff sent a clear, purplish
shadow over the rolling valley, to cut sharply against the glittering
sunlight beyond.
Jack gave a shrill whistle.
"Great Scott, isn't that awful?" He shivered and drew back.
"You bet; and but for bruin your bronc might be lying dead at the base."
"That's right, Somers! After this, let's be kind to bears. Come on!"
Bob assisted Jack to mount behind Dick, then sprang astride Tom
Clifton's broncho, and the cavalcade was in motion again.
Reaching the point where the mad race had begun, they looked earnestly
about for any signs of their horses. Those belonging to Bob and Jack
Conroy were soon discovered peacefully browsing in the direction of a
heavily-timbered section on the west, but the packhorse had disappeared.
"Oh, ginger!" groaned Dick. "Isn't that about the limit? Hello--he went
right down into the valley."
"How do you know?" asked Tommy, quickly.
"It's easy; the little dub has jolted off some of the stuff. See that
shiny thing on the ground?"
"Oh, yes!"
"That's one of our canteens, sure; and--why--say, there's the
commissary department now, away off, just coming up on that rise; eh,
fellows?"
"Yes; that must be the little brute," agreed Tim, shading his eyes.
"Havin' the time o' his life, too."
"An' somebody'll have the time o' his life bringin' him back," remarked
Jack, with a glance toward his own broncho near the timber line.
"It'll take about an hour an' eighty minutes, Dave."
"Correct," sighed Dave. "It was my fault; so the job is up to me."
"Not on your life," chirped Tim. "You'd be back 'bout the time the moon
dragged itself up over the hills. Say, Dave, that's a great expression
for your book--'dragged itself up'--eh?"
"I'll make a note of it," laughed Dave.
"Whoever is goin' after the commissary department had better drag
himself down the hill," remarked Jack, as he slipped from his seat
behind Dick Travers.
"I'll go with Tim," announced the latter.
"You chaps almost deserve near-hero medals," chuckled Dave, an
expression of intense relief crossing his round face. "Look out for
yourselves. Yes; we'll have a fire going by the time you get back.
So-long!"
"Or longer," murmured Tim. "Whoop! We may have a fine chase."
"Git up!" shouted Dick.
The two cantered swiftly off. Dick stopped an instant to pick up the
canteen.
For a long distance the way led through high, bunchy grass which
seemed to undulate like waves of the sea as the breeze swept up from
the valley. Gradually the descent grew steeper and more difficult.
Ridges, innocent-looking from above, became on closer inspection
difficult passes choked with vegetation and rocks.
The cliff's frowning heights rose higher and higher above them. In the
shadow of its gigantic crags they reined up for a moment to rest their
tired bronchos.
"Great sight!" said Tim, looking up.
"I should say so," answered Dick, shivering as he recalled Jack's
recent danger.
"Gee! In all that excitement, I most forgot our first glimpse o'
Wanna's mountain--that must be it. In a few days, Dick, if our good
luck keeps up, we'll be prospectin' on its slopes. Honest, it gives me
a sort o' funny feelin'."
"If we don't find anything, Tim, I'll have all kinds of the same
brand," grinned Dick, softly. "Wouldn't it be fierce? Hello! There's
the packhorse now--third ridge."
"Yes! Gee! Let's whoop it up a bit, or he'll reach the Jabberwock
first."
In obedience to a touch of the quirt, the sturdy little bronchos
bounded off, and were soon treading in single file a wide expanse
of soft, marshy ground. On the east they could see a dense forest
extending off for a considerable distance.
Presently they were obliged to dismount in a wild little gorge, and
force their way through tangled briars to the brink of a stream which
tinkled its way merrily between a fringe of tall vegetation.
"Bet the bronc was smart enough to find an easier way than this,"
grumbled Tim.
"Well, if we're not smart, we're smarting, all right," said Dick, with
a faint smile, as he looked at his scratched-up hands. "We'll have a
nice, cool drink, fill our canteens, and let the broncs indulge."
The animals quaffed the clear water eagerly; so did the boys. Then,
after a short rest, they sprang into the saddle again, crossed the
stream, and urged the bronchos up a steep slope.
At the top, Dick turned.
"Hello! One of the fellows is out near the end of the cliff!" he
exclaimed, in surprise. "Look, Tim!"
The other cast a glance over his shoulder at the rugged heights, deep
in shadow. He saw the figure of a horseman silhouetted clearly against
the blue sky, the animal and its rider having more the appearance of a
bronze statue than of life.
"Wonder which one o' 'em it is?" murmured Tim, interestedly.
Dick stared hard and shook his head.
The horseman stood for an instant longer; then they saw him whip
quickly about and disappear.
"It's Bob Somers--that's my guess," remarked Dick. "We'll soon know.
Come on, Tim."
After a hard struggle, the two finally reached the ridge where the
packhorse had last been seen; but the animal was nowhere in sight.
"Isn't this the dickens of a note?" growled Dick, in puzzled tones.
"The idiotic little brute can't be very far off, though." Tim spoke
consolingly.
There was silence for several moments while each lad stood up in his
stirrups to take a searching look in all directions. Between them and
the woods was another rise, and beyond this stretched a broad rolling
valley encircled by high wooded hills.
The cold, glittering sunlight was fast losing its strength; somber
hues were stealing over fields of waving brown and yellow grasses,
and, as shadows deepened and lengthened, the dampness and feeling of
night crept into the air. A dense silence enveloped the vast expanse of
wilderness; even the breeze which gently touched their faces seemed to
be dying away.
"If that bronc doesn't turn up mighty soon we'll have to hike back
without him," growled Dick, glancing at the sky.
"Oh, ginger! That's only too true," sighed Tim. "Before the moon comes
up it'll be black as pitch."
"And if night falls while we're down here, we may do some falling in
going up," grinned Dick.
"The prize is yours, son," laughed Tim.
For over an hour the boys kept up their search, finally reaching a
dense forest. They ventured only a short distance within its shadowed,
mysterious depths, for both realized that to delay any longer would
mean a difficult, as well as dangerous, struggle back to camp through
the darkness.
"An' we can't do a bit o' good stayin' here," wailed Tim.
"Anyway, it's mighty lucky the grub was divided up between the two
packhorses."
"Their ways are beyond understanding."
"And suppose we lose this one altogether; wouldn't that be awful? All
of our prospector's tools snugly tucked away on his back, too."
"For goodness' sake, don't let's even think of such a thing," said Tim,
shrugging his shoulders. "Can't imagine where on earth the brute has
gone."
"It means getting up mighty early to-morrow morning to look for him
again."
"And maybe every morning for a solid month," added Tim, ominously; "an'
by that time he'll have scattered the stuff about till the ground looks
like the counter of a five an' ten cent store."
Disconsolately, they rode between the great tree trunks toward the
light again. By following a route much further to the east the two
found traveling easier, and pushed ahead at a fast clip. A sunset glow
was rapidly fading; valley and plains became a cold, cheerless gray;
undulating ridges cut sharply against the sky, and the gigantic crags
towering above them began to assume an air of grim majesty.
A sprinkling of stars was faintly showing in the fast-deepening blue
when Dick and Tim at length came in sight of a camp-fire surrounded by
a group of shadowy figures.
As the two cantered up, a volley of questions was flung toward them.
"What! You couldn't find the packhorse!" cried Bob, in astonishment.
"Great Scott!" howled Jack Conroy. "This is about the limit."
"And all my fault, too," sighed Dave.
"Bet you're tryin' to spring some kind o' a silly joke on us, Tim,"
said Jack, suspiciously.
"Not a bit of it, Jack."
"Well, by gum!" The big boy spitefully kicked a glowing ember back into
the flames. "We're in a pretty fix now--but I knew it."
"Knew what?"
"That we were goin' to run up against somethin' hard pretty soon."
"Well, Dick and I ran up against a heapin'-over measure o' hard things
down there," said Tim, solemnly, holding up his scratched hands for
inspection. "Say, is there a bite to eat?"
Bob Somers pointed to a brace of quail lying on a piece of bark.
"Dave and I went back into the woods," he explained. "Seems to be all
kinds of game about; it didn't take us long to get these."
"Which one of you chaps rode out on the end of the cliff?" asked Dick
Travers, casually.
"On the end of the cliff!" echoed Bob. "Neither Dave nor I was anywhere
near it."
"Well, then, whoever it was looked just too cute for words; you, Sam?"
"We didn't stir from this spot while Bob and Dave were away," answered
Sam, earnestly.
"What!" cried Tim, amazed.
"But we saw some one up there," persisted Dick, staring with wide-open
eyes at the group, "and if it wasn't any of you, who in the dickens
could it have been?"
"Is that another silly joke?" demanded Jack, fiercely.
"Do you think we've just joined the United Order of Funny Men?"
snorted Tim, as he sprang to the ground. "It's the unvarnished, bona
fide truth; eh, Travers?"
Dick, holding his impatient broncho by the bridle, drew a long breath,
and nodded.
"Gee! Here's a nice mystery: first, we hear shots; then, on the same
day, a horseman rides up and takes a good long squint at us. Mighty odd
you chaps didn't run across him."
"Goodness gracious, this place just seems full of people," murmured
Tommy, turning to stare anxiously in all directions.
"And I don't like it a little bit, either," confided Dick. "Do you
think--that is--suppose--"
"Say anythin' 'bout Pete Colliver, an' it means a whole lot o'
trouble--remember!" howled Jack. He held up a warning finger. "That's
settled--or somebody around here will be."
"Oh, get out," growled Dick, leading his broncho to where the others
were tethered.
The boys had selected for their camp an inviting spot on a level,
grassy stretch. Close by, a growth of scrubby trees and underbrush
supplied them with plenty of fuel. On the west was a wide, deep gully
filled with a profusion of vines and weeds, between which, here and
there, could be seen moss-covered rocks.
"All hands pitch in and get those birds prepared," laughed Bob.
The quail were soon toasting over a bed of red-hot embers and sending
forth a savory odor. Even the loss of the packhorse did not seem to
affect their appetites in the least.
"Oh, ho," sighed Dave, as he finished his last mouthful, "isn't that
Egyptian blackness out there?"
"Looks to me more like good old Washington blackness," grinned Bob.
Outside of a dancing circle of firelight, everything was lost in
impenetrable gloom.
The boys wondered if the mysterious horseman knew of their presence,
and, if so, why he had not come forward. Then, discussing the prospect
of finding their missing beast of burden, Jack Conroy cheerfully
insisted that its innocent young life had probably already paid a
forfeit to a pack of hungry coyotes.
Leaving Dick Travers to stand first guard, the others finally rolled
themselves up in their blankets and turned in, hugging the fire
closely, for the air had a decidedly wintry feeling.
Dick began to pace to and fro, the soft pat, pat of his footfalls
mingling with the sound of bronchos munching the grass or occasionally
stamping. It seemed very lonely and desolate, but he speculated
whether, in that mysterious gloom beyond the firelight, there might not
be other human beings wandering about; and every unusually loud sound
of snapping twig or rustle borne on the wind made him keenly alert.
A long time passed; yawns came with steadily increasing frequency, and
on several occasions only heroic efforts saved him from falling over
into a doze.
"Hello," he murmured, suddenly, "there's the moon coming up; isn't that
dandy?"
In the east, a faint glow was beginning to show. It slowly increased,
edging masses of low-lying clouds with lines of silvery white. Dick
almost forgot his sleepy feelings as he watched them growing stronger
and stronger. Presently the rim of the moon appeared in view over the
hills.
"Gee! That's a corking fine sight," muttered Dick. "Wouldn't Dave
like--"
His sentence came to an abrupt close.
With a suddenness that made him almost jump, the bronchos began
snorting and neighing loudly, evidently in the grip of frantic fear.