THE LOCOED BUFFALO
The loud talking of the two boys and the flight of the flock of
scavengers--of all but that lone captive--soon attracted the attention
of the other members of the party.
Mr. Wallace gaped in wonder and annoyance at seeing his son being
dragged along, frantically clutching at every object in sight, in the
hope of anchoring, and thus staying, his progress. Jerry Brime stared,
hardly believing his eyes at witnessing such a curious happening. But
Zander Forbes, who had been made Lanky's confidant in the matter,
stopped laughing and jumped toward the spot where his rifle lay, the
gravity of the situation coming to him like a sudden blow.
Lanky had fortunately succeeded in laying hold of what looked like a
sturdy tuft of wiry buffalo grass, and to this he was clinging with
might and main. At the same time with his other hand he was stretching
down, trying to release his leg from the binding coil of rope.
As long as the strong wings of the frightened and now angry vulture
continued to beat the air so wildly, this was rendered utterly out of
the question; for the rope was kept taut, and all Lanky's desperate
efforts to unfasten it failed.
"The bird's got tired of trying to yank him up into the air, Frank!"
called out Paul. "See, he's dropped back to the ground again, and, as
sure as you live, he's hopping straight at Lanky as if he meant to give
him a licking for his meanness! Wow! I'm glad it isn't me out there."
"Lanky doesn't seem able to get clear of that loop of the rope!"
snapped Frank, "and unless something happens to prevent it he's going
to be in danger of having that terrible bird pecking at his eyes!"
"What can we do, Frank, to stop that?" gasped the aroused and now
alarmed Paul.
"Let's run, and shout to try and scare the bird off!" suggested the
other loyal chum of the reckless Lanky.
"Wait! There's Zander with his gun, Frank. I guess he's got the number
of that bird's mess, all right."
Paul had hardly spoken when there came the sharp report of a rifle.
Frank, to his great joy, saw the angry vulture fall over and kick
as though its finish had indeed come with the pressure of Zander's
fore-finger on the trigger.
"Bully! Bully!" shouted the relieved Paul. "He cooked that old
fighter's goose for him all right! Now Lanky's managed to get his leg
free, and is coming back to camp, carrying the rope and the antelope
hide. His little game worked all to the good, but took a turn he didn't
count on. See him limp, will you? That left leg feels sore, I bet you!"
"I reckon it serves him about right, as his dad will tell him,"
observed Frank. "Of all the fool tricks I've ever known that boy to try
out, this wanting to lasso a live vulture takes the cake! Most people
wouldn't want to touch the horrible things with a ten-foot pole."
Lanky looked foolish as he reached the place where Jerry had a little
cooking fire burning, although he grinned, and tried to pass the whole
thing off as a mere incident.
His father said nothing to him just then. But Frank and Paul knew that
in the end Mr. Wallace would have a confidential talk with his son, in
which Lanky would "eat humble pie," admitting that his had been a silly
scheme that gave him only what he deserved.
Jerry managed to broil enough of the antelope meat for all, even though
the three boys did come back repeatedly for further portions, things
tasted so good to them.
Mr. Wallace understood, for he had eaten in the open many times
himself.
"Food always does taste different when the surroundings are Nature's,"
he said, as they still sat around and "stoked up," as Lanky termed it.
"It does to me, for one," admitted Frank. "Chances are that if we had
this spread at home, with a white tablecloth and china to serve it on,
none of us would care a great deal for this venison. It might seem
tough and dry unless cooked with bacon slices between. But out here,
with appetites like woodchoppers in the cold North, it's a whole lot
different."
Lanky was unusually quiet that evening, Frank noticed. Undoubtedly he
realized that sometimes what are meant to be pranks turn out to border
perilously close to tragedies.
When morning came the boys noticed that no haste was made to get
started, and presently the reason for this was made known.
"Would you believe it," said Frank, coming over to where the other two
boys were sitting after breakfast was over, "that miserable pack pony
has wandered off during the night. It's going to bother us a heap, I
reckon."
"Do you mean we'll be held up here in this little valley while a hunt
is made for the pony?" demanded Lanky, looking anything but pleased
over the possibility of further delay.
"All of us are to start out and search," admitted Frank. "Your father's
given us the job of combing the valley to the north, while the others
head south. We are to get back to camp by noon, and if the beast hasn't
been found by that time we'll have to divide the stores among the
bunch, for your dad says he can't be delayed any longer."
"I know what he's thinking about," said Lanky. "He's expecting a mighty
important letter from New York that means a whole lot to him in the way
of money. It may not arrive before we get back to Rockspur; but if it
does I heard him telling Lige to send along one of the other boys to
find us at Gold Fork."
According to the plan resolved on, the three boys left camp, going to
the north in search of the pack pony, just as Zander and Jerry started
toward the south.
"It'll be a nice little gallop for us, anyway," said Frank, who always
looked at the bright side of things.
Paul, however, shrugged his shoulders and he called out:
"I'm not quite so keen about a side gallop as you fellows. Fact is, I'm
getting pretty well filled up on pony riding. Three days straight is
going some for a greenhorn like me. But I'm game to stick it out to a
finish. Only I do hope we run across that Wandering Willie of a pony
inside of an hour or two, so as to strike back to camp again."
For some time the boys rode along, keeping a lookout on every side.
It kept growing warmer all the while, for the mountains shut off any
breeze from the west, while a ridge called foothills did the same in
the opposite quarter.
An hour passed, and not a single glimpse did the boys get of the
missing pack pony.
"Looks as if he had gone south instead of this way," commented Frank.
"Though it's possible the beast had intelligence enough to head over
the rise and start back home."
"Homesick, you mean, Frank?" laughed Paul.
"Some horses are affected that way, I'm told."
Lanky was unusually quiet all this while. Frank wondered whether the
ludicrous adventure with the lassoed vulture had given him a lesson in
prudence he would not soon forget.
He looked toward the towering peaks to the immediate west, as though
aggrieved because things had happened in such a fashion as to prevent
their ascent of those rugged slopes by way of the friendly canyon.
That was what Frank was thinking, but after all it appeared that he did
Lanky an injustice, for presently the other broke his silence to say:
"Once or twice last evening, just before dark set in, boys, I had a
sort of hunch I could faintly glimpse smoke rising up on the side of
the mountains."
"But you didn't mention a word about it to us, Lanky!" Frank put it to
him reproachfully.
"I didn't, for a fact," admitted the lad. "To tell the truth, I was
feeling kind of punk over the fool game I set out to pull off, and so I
just concluded to keep mum and not jump out of the frying pan into the
fire. But the more I think about it, the stronger is my belief that it
was an occasional wreath of blue smoke I glimpsed."
"That would mean a campfire," said Frank. "And of course you feel dead
certain you could say who'd be sitting near that same blaze, having
supper?"
"Just what I could!" Lanky chuckled. "For one, Nash Yesson. Then, close
by, you'd see a slinking sort of chap known in Columbia as a bully, and
chock full of meanness. Lef Seller, who robbed his own father. Yes, and
just as like as not you'd set eyes on a queer little runt with a head
three sizes too big for his body, name unknown to us, but particularly
fond of trying to find hidden things on moonlight nights."
"Well, I agree with you, Lanky," admitted Frank. "If there was a fire,
those were the three chaps who'd be sitting beside it and talking about
their chances for finding Kinney's secret cave where the gold nuggets
were cached."
"Frank," said Paul just then, "did you hear what Zander was saying
about the report brought to Rockspur one day last week?"
"What was that?"
"That Buffalo Smith's herd of bison had broken from their range and
gone back to the free life of their kind. They skedaddled in a night."
"Yes, I heard about that," came the reply. "And Zander told me as his
own private opinion that Captain Smith would have trouble rounding
up the run-aways, because they'd separated in every direction, each
seeming to want to look out for himself."
"Wasn't that a queer way for buffaloes to act?" queried Lanky. "I
always understood they kept together in a bunch, just as our cattle do
unless they've been stampeded and badly frightened, when they go into a
panic."
"Zander, who seems to know lots about the animals, told me," commented
Frank, "that you never can tell what a buffalo will do. He says they
often seem to get wild and crazy, as if they'd been eating the loco
weed that's found sometimes on the plains. But what made you bring up
that subject, if it's a fair question, Paul?"
"Oh, just because we're pretty close to one of that same run-away herd
right now," came the cool and astonishing reply.
"What's that?" exclaimed Lanky, perking up instantly.
"Where do you see a buffalo?" asked Frank, also interested, although
believing the other must have deceived himself.
Paul pulled in his pony and pointed toward the foot of the mountain
chain.
"Right alongside that patch of trees growing in front of the big
boulder. There, he's raised his shaggy head and is staring straight at
us!"
The others took one good look, and then while Lanky whistled to mark
his surprise, also delight, Frank hastened to give his opinion.
"Good eyes you've certainly got, Paul, for I looked that way myself,
and if I noticed anything at all I must have believed that object was
only a shadow. But it's as plain as print to me now. That's a buffalo
bull--his bulk tells us that."
"Shall we ride over and take a squint at the beast?" asked Lanky.
"For one," Paul told him, "I'd like to say I'd seen a genuine wild
buffalo on his native ground, and me astride a cow pony."
"Let's go!" was Frank's terse way of saying he found himself of the
same mind as the others. No one had to ask Lanky what he wanted to do,
since he invariably proved ready for action of any kind.
Accordingly they turned to the left and cantered forward. Already did
the cow ponies scent the presence of the lumbering beast near by. This
was made evident by the way in which they snorted and took brisk,
chopping steps, indicating their extreme excitement.
"They're not used to coming so close to buffaloes," explained Frank.
"Fact is, I hardly think any one of the three has ever before glimpsed
such a sight as this."
"But their noses have caught the wild animal scent, you can see," Lanky
ventured, he being much at home in the doings of four-footed creatures.
"Why doesn't the silly thing start running off?" cried Paul. "I thought
they were always reckoned a timid bunch in spite of their bulk and
savage-looking mop of hair about their heads."
"Slow up, fellows!" called out Frank just then.
"Why, what's the matter?" demanded Paul, turning toward Frank.
Lanky kept going on, as if to say:
"Shucks! who's afraid of a lonely lost buffalo? Not me!"
"I don't quite like the way old Boss acts," continued Frank. "See him
shake his head and lower his ugly black horns. You've both seen a bull
in the pasture do that many a time, boys, when he was getting primed
for a charge."
"Yes; and I don't like the looks of it!" asserted Paul emphatically.
"Say, do you think he's got the same objection to my red handkerchief
that a tame Jersey bull shows?" and Paul threw up his hand, ready to
tear the offending fiery cowboy neck-piece loose, so he might cram it
into his pocket.
"It might be that," Frank told him. "Then again, wasn't there something
said about the herd of bison having made a meal off that terrible loco
weed that grows in places and affects cows and sends 'em off like mad
dogs?"
Even Lanky pulled up when Frank said that. His recent experience in the
realm of adventure was too fresh for him to forget the humiliation that
followed close on its heels; and prudence, as his father had counseled
him, began to urge that from now on he go a bit slow.
The ponies seemed to understand intuitively that the buffalo was not
the ordinary docile domestic beast, accustomed to the presence of man.
They snorted worse than ever, acting as though eager to whirl about and
leave that part of the valley as fast as four legs could carry them.
"Whoop! here he comes licketty-split!" yelled Lanky. "I've got a
date somewhere else, believe me! I sure haven't lost any buffalo!
Tra-la-la! Old Boss, here's giving you the grand bounce! It's not me
you want!"
He let his frantic pony turn as on a pivot, and shoot away, with Frank
a good second.
Paul, never a good rider, tried to do likewise. He had the ill-fortune
to lose his seat, and be thrown to the ground. He looked back to see
that black-horned and shaggy-headed beast charging wildly toward him!