OFF FOR THE GOLDEN WEST
As the eventful day approached when Whitey and his father were to
start, it seemed to Whitey as though Old Father Time had lost his habit
of flying, and had subsided into a very slow walk. Whitey's entire
equipment was purchased at Mr. Robertson's store where he and the boys
had made their selection at first, and Tom and George and Bobby had
been allowed to come along and assist in the buying and selection.
And, too, Mr. Sherwood made certain concessions. The apprehension of
the boys was so great at the thought of Whitey being in the wilds of
Montana without a gun, that, after some hesitation, Whitey's father
allowed a Winchester .22 calibre rifle, with a safety-lock, to be
added to the equipment. It was expressly agreed, however, that the
rifle must not be loaded until the boy had arrived at the ranch in
Montana.
Mr. Sherwood put Whitey through a sort of drill, instructing him in
the mechanical workings of the gun, and how to handle it under all
circumstances--walking, running, climbing a fence or a hill or a tree,
or on horse-back; and explaining that a different method must be used
when a companion is with you than if you are alone. Whitey was made to
understand that when not in use, the muzzle of a gun must point either
straight up into the air or straight down at the ground, _and never in
the direction of any other person nor in the direction of himself_.
"And," said Mr. Sherwood, "if you ever aim the gun at any one, I will
take it away from you and never let you have it again."
"But," said Whitey, "if the gun isn't loaded, what harm can it do?"
"That is exactly the trouble," said his father, impressively. "It
is the guns that '_are not loaded_' that kill somebody! Careless
boys--and men, too--often _think_ the gun isn't loaded, when it _is_,
and that is the time when the damage is done! So, the only rule is,
don't _ever_ point a gun at any one whether it is unloaded or not!"
Whitey readily agreed to all these conditions, for he could see the
wisdom of them. The corduroy suits were purchased and the wide-brimmed
hat as well as two pairs of heavy shoes and a pair of water-proof boots
that came high up on Whitey's legs above the knee. The compass--a small
pocket one--was added to allay Tom's fear that Whitey might get lost in
the wilderness of Butte! Then Mr. Sherwood added two things which the
boys had not thought of--a big strong jack-knife and a camera.
"You boys will find that hunting with a camera is just about as much
fun as hunting with a gun," said Mr. Sherwood. "It isn't necessary to
_kill_ every animal you run across. It is just as interesting and far
less cruel to take his picture, and the animal likes it a great deal
better--and you've got something to show afterward. And as for the
jack-knife, you'll find that to be one of the most useful things you
can have when you are in the wilds."
"Yes," said the excited Bobby, "an' if Whitey kills an Indian, he can
take his picture first, with the camera, and scalp him afterwards with
the knife!"
"You don't ever scalp an Indian--nobody does!" said Tom, reprovingly.
"Father says it ain't open season for Indians now--the sheriff won't
let any one kill 'em," said Whitey, a little disgustedly. "They put 'em
to work on the rock-pile if they get gay, like they used to. Besides,"
he added, with an air of superior wisdom, "the Indians are kind o'
dyin' out, anyway--just like buffaloes--and the ones that don't die go
to Carlisle College, or some place."
"Gee!" said George, "I saw the Carlisle football team play over at the
Polo Grounds last fall! They didn't look as though _they_ were 'dyin'
out!' They 'put it all over' some Eastern college! I wouldn't advise
Whitey to try to scalp one of those fellows!"
"Of course not!" said Whitey. "They're educated and civilized--just
like other folks. The kind you kill--in all the books--are the ones
that get drunk on fire-water and put paint and feathers on 'emselves
and go 'round murdering the white settlers and burning folks at the
stake. The Carlisle boys don't do any of those things!"
"Well," said Bobby, dubiously, reluctant to give up cherished
traditions, "I dunno. You can't tell--they might!"
Mr. Sherwood ended the discussion by saying that they better get home
and finish packing; and the boys were much put out when Mr. Sherwood
had the big package sent to his house. It would have looked so much
more like business if they could have carried the gun through the
streets!
It seemed to Whitey that the next morning would never come, but it did,
finally, and there was a large delegation at the Pennsylvania Station
to say good-by. While the farewells were being said, Bobby took Whitey
a little aside and with much secrecy slipped the little pearl-handled
.22 revolver into his hand and Whitey hastily transferred it to his
hip-pocket.
"I got it out of our car!" Bobby whispered. "Mother was always afraid
of it an' tried to make Daddy get rid of it--so I just took it! You
oughta have it on the train--you know, for train-robbers, or somethin'!
Jack Harkaway says 'a man oughta go heeled!' Mebbe," he added, a
little apprehensively, "it'd be jes' as well not to say anythin' about
it--till you get out there."
"Is she loaded?" asked Whitey, in an awed whisper.
"Sure!" said Bobby.
"I guess, mebbe, I better unload her," said Whitey, and he did.
Whitey thanked his loyal little pal, and agreed that the matter should
be kept entirely secret. And it must be confessed that Whitey felt
very much safer--now that he was "heeled," though it made sitting down
awkward and slightly uncomfortable.
Finally--it seemed an hour--the train pulled out, and, after kissing
his mother and sisters many times, and amid a hurrah from the boys and
a great waving of hands by everybody, Whitey was on his way into the
Boundless West.