SOME ONE TURNS UP
A cavalcade of horsemen was rapidly approaching the edge of the timber
in which the lumbermen's camp was situated, the thud of hoof-beats
alone breaking the silence of early morning.
With faces grim and determined, the six, at a word from Bob Somers,
reined up.
"Remember, fellows, we don't want to have any scrap with Pete," he
said, casting a significant look toward Jack Conroy. "Now that we know
he's trailing us, it ought to be easy to throw him off the track."
"Pete's camp must be close here," added Sam. "Gracious, but don't I
hope Dick is with him! Ready?"
Bob waved his hand. In a moment nine ponies crashed noisily between
the trees. There were now no signs of fire or smoke to guide them, but
the boys, having judged its position carefully, rode ahead without
hesitation.
Within a few minutes their ears were assailed by the sound of loud
voices, while a crashing of many feet jarred crisply through the air.
"Great Scott!" cried Bob Somers. "What does that mean?"
Uttering a whistle of amazement, he jerked his horse back almost upon
its haunches. The others followed his example.
Presently six silent and motionless horsemen confronted a crowd of
lumbermen.
The boys gazed at the familiar, bronzed faces before them as if their
minds could not grasp the reality of the scene, while the men, fully
as astounded as themselves, stared earnestly back. The heads of Pete
Colliver and Jimmy of Sellade were seemingly supported by a mass of
shrubbery.
"Gee! If we had only done a bit of reconnoitering first," flashed
through Bob Somers' brain. "What silly chumps to run blindly into a
thing like this!"
"Wal--wal!" It was Pete Colliver who broke the tense silence. His face
wore the most ludicrous expression of dismay. "Whar did you fellows
drop from, hey? Never expected ter see nuthin' like this."
"I guess that's right, Pete," answered Bob, dryly.
"Howdy, boys!" Big Jim Reynolds' manner betrayed his embarrassment.
"We've been a-campin' right here," he added, awkwardly, "an' if ye'd
like to have a bit o' grub, why--yer as welcome as the flowers in May,
eh, boys?"
"I reckon they be," came from Bart Reeder, while Tom Smull and Alf
Griffin nodded a surly assent.
"Thanks, Jim; we've had our breakfast," answered Bob.
"See here, Pete Colliver," exclaimed Jack, in his usual abrupt fashion,
"have you seen Dick Travers?"
"Have I saw Dick Travers, hey?" Pete assumed an attitude which had a
decided suggestion of belligerency, then whirled around on one foot,
nodding his head knowingly, and exchanging peculiar glances with some
of the men. "Wal, I ain't seen none o' yer Dick Travers," he said,
facing Jack again, "but--but--" Catching a warning look from Jim
Reynolds, he paused; a queer light had kindled in his eyes. "Has he
went an' lost hisself?" he finished.
"We don't know what he has went an' did," answered Jack, with
tremendous scorn.
"Come up to the clearin', boys," interposed Jim. "Ye ain't in no
all-fired hurry, are ye? 'Twon't cost nuthin' ter have a sociable chat."
"Mebbe they think as how we ain't good nuff fur 'em," growled Tom Smull
disagreeably, in an aside, to Griffin.
"We don't have a chance to pay many calls out here," said Bob; "eh,
Dave? What's that, Jimmy--did we fire those shots you heard?--Sure
thing. Whoa, boy!"
He sprang from the saddle and picketed his broncho, the others
following an instant later.
With gloomy feelings, more from their failure to find any trace of Dick
Travers than the knowledge that from now on a battle of wits would
have to be played, the boys trailed after their conductors. They had
recognized all but one, having seen them several times at Cap Slater's
lumber camp. The exception was a large, rotund person with flabby
cheeks, a snub nose, and a long, flowing mustache of a tawny yellow.
His attire was strikingly different from that of his companions. He
wore a loud, checkered suit, and a vest which had once been white
covered his capacious chest. A bright crimson tie fluttered in the
breeze, while a derby hat, looking ridiculously small, was perched on
the back of his head. The men addressed him as Buck James.
"Bet he never swung an axe in any lumber camp," whispered Sam to Bob.
"Looks like a horsy chap--a sport--to me. Cracky! Wonder what Jack
thinks now?"
"Judging by that awful scowl he's wearing, a whole lot," said Bob. "I
can't bother about anything but Dick. Look out, Jack."
The big boy's elbow had poked him sharply in the ribs.
"Can you beat it?" exclaimed Conroy, in a hoarse whisper. "Did you ever
hear of such nerve in your life? Are you going to put up with it, Bob
Somers?"
"Only providing we can't put it down. It's for us to show 'em what kind
of stuff we're made of."
"An' we'll do the trick, too," snapped Tim Lovell. "Jacky, can we break
your rule number one, now? An', say, Pete C-o-l-l-i-v-e-r!"
A friendly bush aided him to avoid the big boy's hand.
"Never mind, Smarty," warned Jack. "Hello! Look at this horse show!"
A number of mustangs, already saddled, were packed together in a bunch
on the edge of the clearing.
"Make yerselves to hum," said Big Jim, as they emerged from the timber.
"A purty big room, with a high ceilin', ain't it?" Reynolds chuckled
at his bit of humor. "Hello!" he straightened up, "thought you was all
here. Who's that a-comin'?"
The crowd of men and boys heard the sound of footsteps crashing through
the brush, and caught glimpses between the trees of a form pushing
steadily toward them.
"By the great horn spoon, I believe--I believe it's actually Dick
Travers!" cried Bob, with an earnest look.
"That's just who it is!" almost yelled Tim, delightedly. "Whoop! Hello,
you old scamp! Where in thunder--"
"Cut out any questions," advised Bob, in low tones.
Dick Travers, with easy unconcern, stepped out into the clearing,
nodding calmly toward the group.
"Morning, everybody!" he saluted, waving his hand.
"Wal, bust it, if thar he ain't!" Pete stood staring as though he had
never been quite so surprised in his life, then, with a couple of
strides, planted himself before the newcomer. "Look hyar, young feller,
what ye been doin'?"
"What I pleased, Pete Colliver," snapped Dick.
"Wal, mebbe it don't please me."
"Cut it out!" roared Jim, angrily. "Leave 'im alone!"
The young lumberjack folded a pair of muscular arms; a fierce scowl
wrinkled his forehead into a network of lines.
"D'ye think I'm skeered o' you, Big Jim?" he demanded, defiantly. "I'll
show yer how much I be. See hyar, young feller," his hand fell hard on
the Rambler's shoulder, "was you a-skulkin' 'round the camp 'arly this
mornin', hey?"
"You're a nice one to talk about skulking, Pete Colliver," retorted
Dick, hotly.
"That don't answer my question none, feller."
"Well, I was; and what have you to say about it?"
Pete's arm dropped to his side; his eyes sought those of Tom Smull's.
"Wal, wal! If that ain't the limit. Says as how he done it; that's
sumphin fur you, pard."
Smull, whose ill-favored visage was crisscrossed with scratches,
clenched a huge fist.
"D'ye know what ye done, boy?" he demanded, fiercely.
"If you'll tell me, I will," answered Dick.
"He carries his spunk with him, all right," remarked Buck James,
admiringly.
This frank opinion did not find favor with Tom Smull. Placing himself
before Dick Travers, and waving a stubby finger beneath his nose, he
snarled, angrily:
"D'ye see them scratches on me face, boy?"
"Guess I could see 'em a mile away," answered Dick, coolly.
"Ha, ha--ho, ho!" roared Mr. James, slapping his knees. "Ho, ho! Ye
ain't smart nuff for 'im, Tommy; ye'd best quit it."
Smull, taking no notice of the interruption, went on in louder, more
warlike tones:
"Wal, I was a-huntin' fur a painter when I fall'd, nigh head fust,
inter a hole all kivered up with vines an' sich truck--an' you was the
kind o' a painter it were, eh?"
"An' ye kin see how he's went an' scratched hisself," added Pete.
"Griffin said he seen some one 'arly this mornin' sneakin' 'bout; an'
now we know 'twas ye. Git ready, feller!"
"Ready for what?"
Pete dashed his slouch hat violently on the ground, and pushed Tom
Smull aside.
"Bust it! Ye've got ter wrastle with me fur that, feller," he yelled,
"an' thar ain't nobody here what's big nuff ter prewent it--see?"
His muscular arms were suddenly wrapped around Dick Travers' shoulders,
when:
"Let that boy alone, Colliver!" sounded a ringing voice.
Instantly the stocky lad's hand was stayed. Turning swiftly, he saw
Dave Brandon confronting him.