THE SHERIFF GETS HIS SHOCK, TOO.
“Throw up yer hands thar, Charlie Bunch!” Eli had said in a stern voice;
and from the fact of his mentioning another name besides that of Barnes,
Giraffe realized the old Maine guide must have recognized the yegg bank
burglar as one he had known in long days gone by.
The big fellow looked ugly for a few seconds, and Giraffe felt a shiver
run up and down his spine, as he wondered whether he were about to
witness a real desperate battle. But then Charlie, for all his fierce
looks, had a grain of common sense besides. Doubtless he also knew what
kind of man he had to deal with in old Eli Crookes. And then, it must
have been somewhat discouraging for even the most daring and reckless of
souls to see that grim array of seven guns, all covering his person, even
if five of the lot were held by boys.
So Charlie gave a sort of make-believe careless laugh, and obeyed the
order of the guide. He even thrust his hands up higher than there was any
real necessity for doing, as though he believed in going to the limit.
“Caught at last, and with the goods on, too!” he remarked, in his booming
bass voice. “How are you, Eli? So, arter all I’m goin’ to owe my bein’
passed over to a feller I used to chum with. But we never did git on
together, did we, Eli? Say, Kimball, show yourself here. Come out an’
jine in the dance. Thet’s the way it allers goes; when you think things
are breaking your way, kerflop she goes into the soup. Tie me up, Eli, so
I can’t do any damage when my mad comes on, like it will when I gets to
thinkin’ o’ how near I was to bein’ fixed for life.”
A face was seen in the doorway just then, a frightened face too. Thad
swung his gun around, and covered Kimball, who immediately showed new
signs of alarm.
“Don’t fire, there!” he called out; “I’m all shot up as ’tis, an’ losin’
pints of blood at a two-forty rate. I surrender, all right! If Charlie,
he gives in, there ain’t no show for a wounded man like me holding out.”
“Keep him covered, all the same, Thad, until we get this other one tied
up,” advised Allan, who possibly knew more about the type of rascal they
were dealing with than any other among the scouts.
Eli did the job himself. And that he knew how to go about it in the right
way Charlie himself testified in no uncertain tones.
“Reckon thet settles my hash, all right,” he declared, as he surveyed the
manner in which the stout cord was passed around his arms, so as to hold
them behind his back when the guide wanted to complete the tying. “You’d
do fur a sheriff, Eli Crookes. I s’pose this is jest what I ought to
expect, after playin’ the kind o’ game I hev all these years; but I don’t
give up the ship while there’s life. Mebbe so I kin git away yet.”
That was possibly the only thing that had kept Charlie from putting up a
desperate resistance when he found himself cornered. So long as there was
life there was hope; whereas, if he tried to fight, and was shot to
death, that ended it.
Then Thad had a chance to pay attention to Kimball. He saw that there was
not the slightest chance for the wounded man to try and escape. He was
really too weak to go far; and besides, that open cut did seem to be
bleeding seriously.
“Here, you just sit down and let me look at that leg,” Thad ordered,
after he had searched the man, and taken from him an ugly looking bulldog
revolver that was an exact contrast with the up-to-date automatic weapon
they had found in Charlie’s pocket, but which he had not dared attempt to
reach when faced by the seven foes.
“Are you a surgeon, boy?” demanded Kimball, a note of eagerness in his
voice. “I hope you are, because I’m feeling in a desperate way. Unless
something’s done to stop that flow of blood, why, I’ll be a goner before
to-morrow morning.”
“Oh! I’ll fix that, all right,” said Thad, reassuringly. “No, I’m not a
surgeon, or only a bungling one at that; but I do know how to stop a
wound from bleeding. That’s one of the things a Boy Scout learns when he
makes up his mind he wants to get a medal, and reach out for the first
class rank. You watch me, and see.”
There was quite an interested audience, for Giraffe, Davy, Step Hen,
Allan, and even the two guides hovered around, keeping tabs on all that
the patrol leader did.
Thad first closely examined the mark where the bullet of Sebattis had cut
across Kimball’s lower limb. Then he took a big red bandanna handkerchief
and tied it tightly around the leg, just below the knee, making sure that
the large knot came exactly on the artery which ran back of the joint.
After that Thad took a stick he had provided, and inserting this in the
handkerchief, he began to calmly twist it around several times. Of course
this immediately tightened the binding, and the knot being pressed in
against the artery, prevented the blood from coming to any extent at all.
The man had shut his teeth hard together, but he groaned once or twice
under the operation; though Thad believed this must be on account of the
strain he was laboring under, rather than because of any particular
bodily agony.
“Now, this is only temporary,” the scout advised, after he had washed the
wound with some tepid water, for, acting under his directions, Giraffe
had hastily placed an old pan with some water in it, on the fire, which
evidently Charlie had revived after finding his bundle intact under the
stone.
“We’re going to make a litter, and carry you up to the place we expect to
camp to-night,” he remarked a little later, when he had bound the man’s
leg up nicely. “And to-night I’ll see if I can do something about that
partly severed artery. It’s hardly a job for a boy, and I wouldn’t try it
only the case is desperate. And it happens that I used to go around with
an uncle of mine who was an old doctor, and he let me help him lots of
times.”
With that Kimball had to rest content. But the boy had done so splendidly
as far as he went, that the wounded hobo began to hope he might even go
further, and fix the artery, so that the benumbing bandage could be eased
up.
At one time Thad thought of sending one of the guides up and having the
canoes brought back to the cabin; but for some reason this plan was
abandoned.
Giraffe and Davy manufactured the rude litter, acting under the orders of
Allan, who had seen one used in the past. It would easily hold Kimball,
who was not a heavy weight.
Believing that they might as well make use of the strapping big hobo,
Charlie, as a burden bearer, Eli unfastened his hands, and made him take
the front end of the litter, while he himself would look after the rear,
with some of the scouts to keep guard over the prisoner.
Of course in searching the two yeggmen there had been found the proceeds
of their recent robbery, in the shape of packages of bills, and some
gold. But when the little procession was ready to leave the cabin, and
Thad took up the bundle of old clothes, which he tossed into the fire,
Charlie let out a yell.
“Hey! thet’s a crazy thing to do, bub; don’t you know what’s wrapped up
inside them same ole clothes?” he called, evidently greatly excited at
the idea of a fortune burning up.
“I ought to know, because I put it in there myself,” replied Thad,
smiling at the big man’s excitement. “You see, Charlie, we began to
figure on why you wanted to get into this same old cabin so much, and
guessed that you had something hid away here. So we looked around a bit,
found the hole under the stone, took out the boodle you had put away,
fixed up a dummy to fool you; and there you are. So, let the old stuff go
up in smoke. It’s just as well to get rid of the duds that nobody wants.”
“Well, I swan!” muttered Charlie, staring hard at Thad, as though he had
begun to suspect that after all these Boy Scouts were worth considering,
if many of them could do the things this leader seemed to be capable of,
from managing a surprise party on a poor hobo innocent, to fixing up a
wounded leg that threatened to do for Kimball.
So they went off, taking the back trail; and Giraffe, who was observing
all these things now, noticed that they passed over exactly the same
route as when heading for the cabin. And he gave Sebattis credit for a
wonderful amount of ingenuity, which he feared must ever be beyond the
capacity of a tenderfoot scout.
Of course it was the intention of Thad to take the litter later on, and
acting on the directions which Charlie promised to give, seek the gully
where, under a shelf of rock, they would find the sick hobo, Dick, who
could also be brought to the camp.
“I rather guess we’ll have to break up our trip for a while,” Thad
remarked to Allan, as they walked along in company.
“Yes, I can see that plain enough,” replied the other; “because we’ve had
these sick and wounded hoboes shoved on us, whether we would or not, and
we just can’t do anything else. But some of our crowd can go down the
river in a big hurry, and after handing them over to the authorities in
the first town, come back to you and Sebattis here.”
“I’d want you to stay with me up here, too, Allan,” remarked Thad,
warmly.
In due time they reached the place where the boats lay, and hearing them
approaching, Bumpus and Jim came ashore. A camp was next in order, for
the boys really wanted to find themselves under canvas once more. Giraffe
exerted himself to get a fire going, while the tents were being erected,
and Thad with Allan had gone off to bring in the sick man.
This they had little trouble in doing. Dick was in a bad way, being
feverish; and while Thad gave him some medicine, he declared that they
had better get the man to a doctor as soon as possible.
So it was determined to make an early start. They would be up long before
sunrise, the tents stowed, and the boats packed. One more in each would
crowd a whole lot, but the guides thought it could be done by careful
management.
Supper was cooked, and the prisoners given their share. The wounded man
declared he was feeling considerably better; and Dick too showed signs of
having his high fever broken.
The scouts were lying around in any way they considered comfortable,
while Charlie and Kimball, with their hands tied behind their backs, and
a rope holding them to a tree, sat there, listening to the conversation,
though not in any too happy a mood themselves, when there was heard the
crash of approaching footsteps.
Then several figures loomed up, entering the camp. Sebattis had merely
glanced up, but made no move to reach for his gun; so Giraffe felt that
the danger could not be acute.
Well, of course it was no other than Sheriff Green, with his posse; and
as they advanced they were holding their guns in such fashion that they
had Charlie and Kimball covered; for evidently they had not discovered
that the pair were tied up.
“Run you down at last, have we, Charlie Barnes?” the sheriff was saying,
as he strode forward, and there was a vein of curiosity as well as
triumph in his voice. “Don’t bother getting up; we can put the irons on
just as well where you sit. But hello! if here ain’t our young friends
the scouts! What does this mean, I wonder?”