A CAMP IN THE CANYON
"Hold up, Lanky!"
Hearing these words shouted suddenly by Frank, Lanky Wallace turned
in his saddle. Seeing Paul's peril, he drew his unwilling pony's head
around, and commenced to gallop back again just as fast as he had taken
flight.
"Look lively, Paul!" shrilled Frank, fervently wishing he had his rifle
along, when he might trust everything to a shot, in the hope of at
least crippling the locoed buffalo bull.
"Hi! Paul!" bellowed Lanky. "The tree! Make for the tree! Only chance
to give him the grand laugh! Hey! Side-step it in a hurry! Good jump,
Paul, old boy! See him get over the ground for that tree, will you,
Frank? Talk to me about home-runs, Paul's got it all plastered over his
old mates on the Columbia High team. He's after you, Paul! Dodge those
shiny horns again! One more whirl like that, and you'll arrive! Got him
again, but he's on to your curves. Beat it!"
Paul did, and in great shape. He arrived at the lonesome tree in time
to scramble up amidst its low-hanging branches before the furious
buffalo came lumbering along, foam flecking each corner of his mouth.
"Hold up, Lanky!" cried Frank.
"What's the next thing on the program?" asked the impetuous one,
pulling in his rearing steed and holding the bridle as tight as he
could--one run-away pony was surely sufficient without having the
others take their leave.
"Chase Paul's nag and fetch him back." Frank had assumed charge of the
situation; for he was accustomed to being the captain in baseball and
football games, his companions gladly looking to him for leadership.
"You'll find a way to get Paul out of his fix, will you, Frank? All
right, here goes for a pony chase!"
With that Lanky was off on the jump. He never even bothered to ask
Frank how he meant to maneuver, in order to get Paul out of the bison's
reach.
When Frank next turned his attention to the strange scene before him he
found that Paul, having recovered his breath, was taking things in a
matter-of-fact way that rather amused his chum.
Leaning down from his safe perch he was talking to his guard. The
buffalo bull was staring up at his prisoner in the tree with those
small but wicked-looking eyes and at certain points in Paul's harangue
Frank was highly amused to see the animal scrape the ground violently
with a fore hoof, as if he did not agree with the argument at all.
"Looks as if the old scamp might be saying," chuckled Frank, "'you just
drop down here once, and I'll show you how I can polish you off slicker
than anything you ever saw. Try me, that's all.'"
"Hey! Frank!" called out the boy up in the tree, noticing for the first
time that his chum had drawn somewhat closer and was holding in his
prancing and snorting pony with a firm hand.
"All right, Paul. You sure did climb some that time!"
"Well, anybody would be apt to, with those black horns right behind
him," the other retorted in self-defense.
"They say a miss is as good as a mile, and you did have a close shave."
"But how'm I going to get out of this scrape? That's what's bothering
me!"
"Forget it, and trust to your Dutch uncle to hatch up a scheme to fool
old Woolly Head. Now listen, and I'll unfold the plan."
"Shoot!"
"Notice that Lanky's galloped after your run-away pony?"
"That's mighty fine of him," ventured Paul. "I'd begun to believe I'd
have to do considerable hiking before landing in camp again; or else
double-up with one of you fellows. Well, what's next?"
"I'm going to lure that bison of yours off by his lonesome, if I can
fix things right."
"Sounds good to me," came the reply. "But first of all, don't
denominate this _shaggy_ monster as _my_ property. I don't claim to own
a solitary share in him hair, hide, or horns. He belongs to Buffalo
Smith; though I'd like to convert him into tough steaks, if only I had
a rifle handy."
"I've managed to snatch up that offensive red handkerchief of yours,"
explained Frank, "from where you threw it when chasing for refuge.
It must have been the innocent cause of all your trouble and as
tit-for-tat I mean to make it help you out of this pickle."
"Oh! now I get you! You expect to coax the old lummix to chase after
you for a mile or so, and so give me a chance to climb down?"
"That's the little game, partner. When you see me wave my hat get a
move on, and drop."
"But if he sees me on the ground he's dead sure to come back with a
rush, and I'd have to take to the mountains to keep clear of those
shiny short horns!"
"Oh, I expect to keep him employed till I see that Lanky's shown up,
leading your pony. Get that, Paul?"
"A regular old booster of a scheme, Frank, if only everything works in
a groove. Get busy then, and flag him. I'll lie low, so he'll forget
all about poor little Paul up a tree!"
Frank delayed no longer, but started waving the red neckerchief
violently in the most insolent fashion he could devise. At the same
time he called out tantalizingly at the buffalo, daring him to come out
and have a nice little run for his money.
More pawing at the ground followed, accompanied with low, hollow sounds
that stood for bellows. Evidently the bull was thus engaged in working
himself up to a certain pitch of rage, when he would be unable to
resist the lure of that flaunting and much hated red flag.
"Whoop! he's off. Frank, get going before he takes a whack at you!"
shouted Paul, as the animal suddenly tore away with lowered head, eager
to give battle to the reckless enemy who thus dared him.
If Frank had possessed three hands to pull at the reins he could not
have held in that frantic cow pony when the little beast saw that
lumbering bull charging.
Whirling around, he went off like a shot, only desirous of placing
plenty of ground between himself and the mad creature. Accustomed to
cattle as he must be, nevertheless there was something terrifying about
the bunchy-headed buffalo that sent the pony into equine spasms.
Frank managed to pull him in a bit, so as not to outdistance the
charging bull, lest he go back to his prisoner again. He also continued
to flaunt that offensive red flag and send jeering whoops over his
shoulder that kept his pursuer spurred up to fever heat.
A full mile was covered in a short time. Then a distant shout was
borne to Frank's ears. On investigating he discovered that Lanky had
succeeded in capturing the run-away mount and was already close to the
tree, from which Paul could be seen descending in eager haste.
"Now then, get a move on you, Chestnut!" Frank called out to his pony,
at the same time kicking his heels into the animal's sides.
Gradually he began to gain on the bull, which after another mile lost
heart, and dropped out of the race. Frank, seeing his two chums coming
in a round-about way, waited for them to join him. Paul was grinning
amiably, as if he had rather enjoyed having been in the spotlight.
Things looked different to him, now that it was all over but the
shouting.
They again took up the search for the pony that was so badly needed to
carry the pack, and were fortunate enough to glimpse the animal feeding
on some luxuriant grass that had tempted him to forget his love of
freedom.
Having captured the run-away, the boys once more turned their faces
toward the south, and in due time reached camp. The others did not
return for another hour or more, and were of course pleased to learn of
the recovery of the pack animal.
It was now noon, so they had a bit of cold lunch, and after that a
start was made.
Jerry was in the lead, it being their intention to make for the canyon.
If this was followed up the face of the mountain range it would in due
time take them to the plateau where Gold Fork lay in its desolation.
The boys now had a chance to see a real Rocky Mountain canyon, where
ages ago a torrent used to come tearing down from the snow-capped peaks
above, gradually to wear away the earth lying between solid walls of
rock, until they loomed up a hundred feet or more on either hand.
It was now a dry defile, the lads noticed, although they fancied that
once in a great while, during some cloudburst, there might be a deluge
of water come roaring and tossing down the canyon, carrying everything
before it.
They found it hard work picking their way upward; but Jerry knew pretty
well how to avoid the worst of the difficulties.
"This means we're going to pitch camp in this channel of an old-time
torrent," remarked Frank, as the long afternoon wore away and their
hard-worked ponies gave signs of being very tired.
"It'll be a new experience," observed Lanky, looking around at the
lofty walls that rose on either side. "Gee whiz! but I'd hate to be
caught in this hole if a storm broke and the rain came down as it does
sometimes out here in the Rockies. We'd soon be swimming I reckon."
Paul Bird looked uneasy, but made no remark, for he rather suspected
that Lanky was saying what he did in anticipation of "getting a rise"
from him. As long as Paul had known Lanky, he had never learned to tell
with certainty when the tall fellow was joking and when he was serious.
As evening approached Jerry called a halt. He must have had reasons
for choosing that particular spot to pitch camp, Frank decided, after
noticing how the veteran puncher and prospector looked around him from
time to time, as if renewing old-time recollections of the place.
A fire was made, there being an abundance of dead wood at hand, coming
from the stunted trees that grew out of clefts in the surrounding
walls.
"What makes it seem so hot here?" asked Paul, wiping his reeking
forehead with the same red neckerchief that had excited the buffalo
bull.
"Oh, it's nearly always hot around these mountains," replied the artful
Lanky. "Folks say it's because some of them used to be volcanoes ages
and ages ago, and the fires must still be burning deep down."
But Paul scoffed at the fantastic idea, knowing full well Lanky was
only "drawing the long bow" for his especial benefit.
"If you look," remarked Frank quietly, "you'll notice that it's clouded
up; and with all this high temperature I wouldn't be surprised if we
had some rain before morning."
"Let's hope, then," added Lanky, and really meaning what he said, "that
it isn't to be one of those terrific cloudbursts Zander was telling us
about at supper. I like swimming, all right! But excuse me from being
swept on a boiling torrent down an old canyon half a mile long, to be
kicked out on the prairie like a knocked-about bag of meal."
"Well, Jerry knew what he was about when he picked out this particular
point for our camp," Frank went on to say confidently.
"We'll pin our faith on Jerry, then," said Paul, trying to appear
quite unconcerned, though his heart did beat faster than its wont as
he surveyed the myriad of sharp-pointed rocks and enormous boulders
marking the course of the crooked defile.
Another thing the watchful Frank noticed later on told him Jerry Brime
did not mean to be caught entirely unprepared, should any sort of
impending disaster break over their heads.
He himself took the trouble to do up their pack of stores after supper
was over, a most unusual thing, and arrange so that at a moment's
notice it could be secured on the back of the pony.
The animals, too, were kept saddled and bridled, as though in readiness
for sudden flight. Frank wondered what sort of time they could make
going down that dreadful gap in the face of the mountains in the dead
of night, and with a million obstacles lying in wait to bring about
trouble.
They needed no blaze that night to keep the chill away; it seemed
strangely suffocating, a fact that might account for the unusual
wakefulness on the part of the three boys.
"Don't know what ails me," grumbled Lanky who was stretched out in his
beloved checkered blanket close to Frank. "I keep turning from one side
to the other, and just can't get asleep, tired as I am. Guess mom would
say I'd got the 'fidgets,' while dad'd likely tell me I was too greedy
with that campfire-cooked venison. Shucks! something's going to happen,
I reckon."
"It sure will, if you don't quit that mumbling," chuckled Frank, "for I
can see Zander popping his head up and looking this way, as if he had
half a mind to make you go off and herd by yourself."
"You said it, Frank," came from Paul, on the other side of Lanky. "I'm
no knocker, but he keeps digging his elbows into my ribs every time he
turns over. Please quit it, Lanky, and settle down."
Somehow or other, the uneasy one did manage to control his
restlessness, and he soon lay sprawled out on his back and breathing
hard, which was a pretty good indication that he had passed over into
dream-land.
Frank did not have the slightest idea how long he was lost to the world
after Lanky quieted down. It may have been several hours, for there
was nothing to tell him what the time was when he was aroused by a
frightful crash of thunder that seemed to make the solid rocks under
him tremble with the vibration.
Then came a dash of rain that almost instantly deluged every one, so
that clothes and blankets were soaking wet.
When a flash of lightning lit up the canyon as by bright sunlight,
Lanky was seen threshing around in the endeavor to get free from his
blanket that had crept up about his ears as he slept. At the same came
his triumphant shout:
"What did I tell you? Something's happened all right, hasn't it?"
But Jerry Brime gave them no time to dispute.
"We got to git outen this right smart, 'case that looks like a
cloudburst to me. This hyah canyon she'll be ten feet deep in a flood
afore yuh knows what's comin' down on yuh. Everybody git yuh duffle,
an' foller old Jerry!"