IN SEARCH OF GAME
“What under the sun did he mean by that, Frank?” asked Bob, after the
boat had swept around a bend on the swift river, and vanished from
their view.
“I declare I can’t tell you,” chuckled his chum, looking at the
envelope, which he was turning over in his hand.
“He was writing something, and then I saw him put it in that
envelope, or packet, smiling all the time as if delighted; which I
thought was rather queer for a man who was suffering from such a bad
leg,” Bob went on.
“Well, we must let it go at guessing; because you heard me promise
not to tear this envelope open for seven days,” Frank remarked.
“That was the queer part of it,” the other pursued, for anything
touching on a mystery always excited Bob. “Now if, for instance, he
had been making out a check, thinking to reward us for saving his
life, he wouldn’t have gone about it that way, and make you give such
a promise. Besides I saw that he just tore a blank page out of a
note book, and scribbled on that.”
Frank calmly put the strange little packet safely away in an inside
pocket of his jacket.
“Seven days from now we’ll take a peep, Bob,” he observed, drily;
“just try and curb your curiosity till then; won’t you? And now, we’d
better forget all about Mr. Jared Scott, and his balloon. It served
to break up the monotony of our trip, and cost us little besides our
time.”
“All right,” assented Bob; “but something tells me, Frank, that this
isn’t the last we’ll hear from this Mr. Scott. The way he looked at
you told me he sure had something on his mind. Shall we throw our
saddles on right now, and get busy?”
Frank, instead of replying, began to gather things together. The
tent came down in a “jiffy,” as Bob called it; the cooking things
were soon placed in the blankets; and presently not a thing had been
neglected.
Bob went over to where the pile of silk representing the abandoned
balloon, lay. When he came back he was carrying quite a piece of the
material, which he said he expected to keep, as a souvenir of the
affair.
“Perhaps, now, you’re thinking of some day taking up the life of a
balloonist?” suggested Frank, with a laugh.
“None of that for me,” Bob answered. “After seeing how Mr. Scott
fared, I’d hate to think of an experience of that sort. And just
imagine him being carried over the tops of those mountains at a
tremendous whirl. He said he even banged into a rock that stuck up
above the rest. And Frank, do you see, he came out of just the same
quarter we are heading into!”
The two boys looked at each other. It was as if some thought had
flashed into both of their minds, to the effect that, perhaps, the
circumstances might prove to be more than just a mere coincidence.
But farther than this they were not able to go; so nothing was said.
In a few minutes more both sprang into the saddle. Then the eager
horses were off on the jump across the plains, heading toward the
very mountains which the wounded aeronaut declared he had crossed
while cruising in his runaway balloon.
“Oh! we forgot to ask Mr. Scott how he happened to get in trouble!”
Bob suddenly cried, after he had been turning around to take a last
look at the pile of silk which had once been a balloon.
“He told me while I was fixing his broken limb,” Frank mentioned.
“That is, he said that in his hurry to get away, he was unlucky
enough to break something about the balloon that controlled the
valve. So he was really at the mercy of the wind. He said he had
been knocking around for many hours—in fact that he had been high up
in the air part of the day; until the gas began to escape, and then
the balloon dropped until he just scraped over the mountains, as he
mentioned. Later on he came close to the ground; but was going so
fast he hated to jump.”
“Huh! I don’t blame him, what with that broken leg,” commented Bob,
who was keeping alongside his galloping chum. “But if he was up all
day, he must have come hundreds of miles. Wonder if he started at Los
Angeles, in California?”
“No, I don’t believe that,” Frank went on, thoughtfully; “because I
remember his saying that he seemed to go in circles, and that after
being up all those hours, when he sank down again, he was within
twenty miles of where he started.”
“Oh! well, perhaps some day we’ll know more about it,” Bob remarked,
carelessly. “He must have come from some city where they had gas.
Perhaps he was doing it on a wager. They do all sorts of queer things
nowadays, with the idea of taking up a dare.”
“Seven days and we’ll know, I reckon,” laughed Frank, touching his
breast, where in the recesses of a pocket that little packet lay with
its mysterious contents.
“I’m glad, anyhow, that we didn’t have to make that raft,” declared
Bob.
“Same here,” chuckled his comrade, “it would have been a tougher job
than either of us thought, with only a little camp hatchet to cut
logs. But I would have done it if that trucker hadn’t come along in
his bull boat.”
“Which, I take it, means his craft was made from the tough skins of
bulls; is that right, Frank?”
“Sure,” Frank replied. “They make fine boats, too, and I’m told are
used even up in the Saskatchewan river country. Far better than
dugouts, too. But our trail leads us through that far-away mountain
range, you know. Hope we’re on the other side of it by to-night. All
depends on how rough the traveling is, after we strike the rise.”
“Perhaps, if we look sharp, we may see the very rock at the peak that
the balloon banged up against!” suggested Bob, with a grin.
“No telling,” Frank remarked. “But if he had been knocked out of the
old basket on top of the ridge, he would have been a goner, sure
enough. No help could reach him there.”
They galloped on for several hours. All the time the mountains seemed
to rise up closer, though distances were very deceptive in that clear
atmosphere.
But no stop was made until noon. Then they found themselves at the
base of the high ridge, that loomed up far into the clouds.
“If we could only find a way around this, instead of climbing over,”
observed the Kentucky lad, as he looked upward with a sigh of despair.
“Hold on, its bite isn’t as bad as its bark,” broke in Frank. “From
dad’s directions I understand that to try and go around would mean
three days’ ride, because the ridge runs quite a ways in both
directions. Then there’s a canyon here, just as if Nature wanted to
help a fellow cross over. It doesn’t go to near the top; and horses
can easily tramp through it.”
“Glad to hear that,” declared Bob, with an air of relief. “I might
climb up to the top yonder, on my hands and knees; but I’d hate the
job of taking Domino there.”
“Well, let’s hold up, and take a breathing spell,” Frank suggested,
as he reined in, and threw himself to the ground.
Presently the boys were stretching themselves, while the horses
sought the water hole near by, to quench their thirst. A “snack” was
eaten. Then Bob, remarking that he believed he would take a little
look around, as the place had a promising air to an ambitious hunter,
threw his rifle over his shoulder, and stalked off.
“Don’t go far, Bob,” said his chum; “and be back in half an hour or
so; for if we hope to get across the range by nightfall we’ll have to
be making a start inside of an hour or so.”
“All right, Frank, you can count on me,” was the reply Bob threw
back, as he plunged into the chaparral, with his hunter’s instinct
aroused.
Ten minutes had passed since he left Frank. As yet he had seen
nothing more than a brace of long-eared jack rabbits; and Bob hated
to fire at such ignoble game when his mind was set upon something
better.
Still, jack rabbit stew was not bad, and if it came to it he supposed
there was nothing else to be done but knock over a couple. But he
would go on a little further before giving up. Frank had limited him
to half an hour; and that would leave him just fifteen minutes in
which to retrace his steps.
Ah! what was that he saw through the bushes ahead? Something moved,
and as he looked closer Bob discovered that it was a deer. The wind
was coming from the feeding animal, directly toward him, which would
account for his having been able to approach as near as he had
without being scented.
So Bob, dropping on his knees, crawled a little closer. Then, seeing
uneasiness in the game, and knowing that he could hardly hope to get
any closer, the boy raised himself cautiously, and took aim, resting
one elbow on his knee for support.
With the report the deer sprang into the air. Bob knew that his aim
must have been true, and that the timid animal had received its death
wound.
But something that was entirely unexpected by Bob took place
immediately after he had pulled the trigger. He heard what seemed
to be a half suppressed snarl, and was even in the act of trying to
turn, while in that awkward position, when he received a violent blow
on the shoulder that sent him sprawling.
And, even as he fell, Bob had a glimpse of a terrifying beast with
yellow eyes that had dropped from the trees upon his shoulders. He
knew that it must be a panther that had been trying to stalk the
feeding deer!