THE MYSTERY OF THE PACKET
Bob was not a suspicious boy by nature. Consequently, the first
thought that occurred to him was that the wrecked balloonist must
have been seized with a sudden acute twinge of pain.
“Does it hurt so bad as that?” he asked, tenderly.
The other shut his teeth hard together, winked a few times, and then
seemed able to master his emotions.
“I never had such pain in all my life,” he said, in a voice that
shook. “But it’s gone again now, and I feel easier. Bob, you said
your name was, and his Frank Haywood. His father, then, must be the
Colonel Haywood I’ve heard talked about as one of the richest men in
this section.”
“That’s Frank’s father, all right, Mr. Scott,” Bob went on, adding
enthusiastically, “and Frank’s the best chum I ever knew in all my
life; as good-hearted as the day is long, loyal and brave. When he
saw your trouble he would have risked his life, if necessary, to help
you; but then, that’s Frank Haywood, every time.”
The balloonist shifted his glance toward Frank, who was just then
pouring himself out a cup of coffee.
“And me a stranger, too!” he muttered, turning strangely red in the
face, Bob thought, and also swallowing something that seemed to come
up in his throat.
Then he put the tin cup to his mouth. Perhaps the coffee was hotter
than Mr. Scott had expected, for when he lowered the cup again Bob
thought he could see a trace of tears in his eyes. But then a renewal
of the pain in his leg might account for that—or something else of
which he, Bob, knew nothing.
“How is the coffee?” he asked, solicitously, for he disliked to see
any one suffer, and felt for the wounded man.
“Splendid! and it somehow seems to cheer me up,” replied the other;
though while speaking his eyes still continued to stray over to where
Frank knelt, as if possibly the prairie boy had appealed to him
especially.
“I’ll fetch you over a share of what we’ve got, Mr. Scott; and I hope
you’ll have appetite enough to enjoy it,” Bob went on. “In a case
like this, it’s necessary for the patient to keep up his strength,
you know.”
“You are right, Bob,” replied the other, giving him a faint smile;
“and it’s good of you and your chum to take such care of a stranger
who’s dropped out of the clouds, and about whom neither of you know a
thing.”
“But you’re hurt, you see,” remarked Bob, just as though that
circumstance would account for almost anything they might do for him.
The wounded man did eat rather heartily, after all. He was also
somewhat morose for a time after they had finished the meal; his dark
brows knitting as if he might be deep in serious thought.
“Perhaps he’s wondering how under the sun we’re going to get him to
town in the morning?” suggested Bob, who was just as eager to get a
hint from Frank in that line as Mr. Scott could be, for he did not
know a thing about it.
“Now, I was thinking,” Frank remarked, “that perhaps he’s bothered
because some pet scheme of his has been knocked sky-high by the smash
of the balloon. Who knows what sort of business brought him out here
with that gas-bag? You know he kept saying ‘all for nothing, too; all
for nothing!’”
“Frank,” said the other boy, in low tones, for he did not wish the
balloonist to suspect that they were talking about him; “I reckon
you’re right, after all. He is bothered over something that’s gone to
smash, and it isn’t the balloon either.”
“But it’s none of our business, you know,” urged Frank; “and we
don’t want to seem too curious.”
“But, Frank, we just can’t go off in the morning and leave the poor
fellow here, you know; yet how under the sun can we get him to town?
He couldn’t ride a horse, with that terribly broken leg, could he?”
“I’m afraid not,” answered the other, smiling. “But I was thinking,
Bob, that if the worst came, we could make some sort of raft, and in
that way I might drift with him down river, while you followed along
the shore with the horses.”
“Well, if you don’t just beat the world thinking up things, Frank!”
exclaimed the Kentucky boy; and then seeing the man looking at them
curiously, he added in a louder voice: “What do you think of that for
a scheme, Mr. Scott—my chum says that if you can’t ride a horse in
the morning we might make a raft, and he’ll run you to town that way,
while I bring the horses along the bank.”
“Could it be done?” asked the wounded man, as his black eyes sparkled
with admiration, and perhaps pleasure.
“I think so,” replied Frank. “I’ve heard something about this river
from our cow punchers. It’s swift, but deep, and without many rapids.
Yes, given a little time, and we can make a raft that would be safe.
And by night, or long before, we’d likely reach a doctor.”
“But in that way you’d lose a whole day, Frank,” remarked the
balloonist.
“Oh! well, it just can’t be helped. Time is of value to us just now,
I admit; but it would have to be something far more than the possible
loss of money that could make me desert anyone in trouble. My dad
would never forgive me, Mr. Scott, if I ran away, and left you here
all alone!”
The balloonist tried to say something, but his voice failed him.
He could only draw a long breath, and look steadily at Frank. Such
sentiments evidently touched him even more than the able manner in
which Frank had snubbed the runaway balloon, so that he could escape
from the broken basket.
Nor did he attempt to join in the conversation of the two lads
as they sat by the little fire later on and talked; though Frank
imagined that Mr. Scott seemed considerably interested in what they
were saying.
Sometimes the talk was about the ranch where they enjoyed such good
times; and numerous allusions were made to the family, the cowboys,
and the adventures that had already fallen to their lot.
Then again it might be Bob would ask questions concerning the
possible cause of that hasty summons of Colonel Haywood to Cherry
Blossom Mine; and what sort of new trouble might await them there.
Strikes were not unknown in that region; and somehow the boys seemed
to imagine they would be called upon to face some such thing as that.
Miners from Mexico sometimes fomented trouble, and a stern hand was
needed to keep it down.
Finally the lads found themselves growing sleepy, and announced their
intention of turning in. With the sagacious Buckskin hovering near
by, and capable of giving warning should danger threaten, neither of
the saddle boys felt called upon to lose any sleep by standing watch.
Frank fixed the injured balloonist as well as he was able, before
seeking his blanket. They had even managed to convey their uninvited
guest to the little tent, despite his protests. As for themselves,
they could settle down outside; nor would they have any reason to
regret it, because the night promised to be a calm one.
It passed away without any alarm. In the morning the boys were early
astir, and making preparations for breakfast, for it looked as though
they would have to put in this day doing an act of mercy.
“The old balloon’s gone to nothing during the night,” announced Bob,
after he had gone out to investigate; but Mr. Scott shook his head as
though it no longer appealed to him in the least.
If he had ever expected to become an aeronaut the desire had all been
taken from him by his recent experience; and he vowed that if he
lived through this trouble never again would he ever trust himself
off the solid earth.
While the boys were engaged in getting the morning meal Mr. Scott
seemed to be writing something on a sheet of paper which he had torn
from a note book. This he slipped into a packet he had with him, and
sealed up hastily.
“Hello! Frank, look what’s coming down the river!” called Bob, just
as they were ready to sit down and eat.
It was a boat, and a fairly large one at that, loaded with all sorts
of green vegetables. Frank could hardly believe his eyes.
“Here’s luck, Mr. Scott!” he exclaimed. “This man must have a little
truck patch in some favored place above, where there’s rich ground,
and plenty of water for irrigation. He’s on his way to town now, with
a load that will fetch him a heap of money. We must hail him, and get
him to take you along. Perhaps he’d agree to carry the balloon, too,
if you wanted.”
“Don’t speak of the balloon; I hate the thought of it!” said the
other; “but I’m glad there’s a chance for my getting to a doctor
before long, and without taking you boys away from your work.”
Frank jumped up, and waved to the “trucker” in the boat, who quickly
landed. He looked a little dubious at the suggestion of carrying a
man with a broken leg all the way to town; but when Mr. Scott took
out several large bills, and offered them to him, he quickly found
that he could make room.
“Stop over a bit and have breakfast with us,” said Bob, with true
Kentucky generosity; and the “trucker” agreed willingly enough, for
he scented the fragrant coffee.
Then, a little later, they managed to carry the wounded man to the
boat, where a bed had been prepared for him amid the green stuff.
“Good-by, Mr. Scott!” said Frank, after Bob had shaken hands with the
wounded balloonist. “We sure hope you come out all right; and we’d
have done what we said we would if this boat hadn’t come along in
time.”
“I know you would, Frank,” said the other, with a queer look on his
face; then he suddenly drew out the packet, and offered it to the
boy. “Take it, please,” he insisted, seeing Frank hesitate. “Only
promise me that you will not break the seal for seven days! By then
things will have taken a turn for me, one way or the other. Give me
your word, Frank!”
Mystified by this Frank could only promise. Then the boat pushed off,
and the last they saw of Jared Scott was when he turned half-way
around to wave a hand.
And Frank stood there, staring at the little packet the wounded
balloonist had forced him to accept under conditions that only added
to the puzzle.