A RUSH OF GOLD SEEKERS.
"Help! help!" screamed Bob.
The bear made a dive for him and the boy cast himself forward on his
face.
"What's the matter? What is it?" cried Hank Broswick, springing to his
feet.
"Indians! Indians!" exclaimed Professor Snodgrass, rolling himself
tightly up in his blanket.
"It isn't Indians! It's a bear killing Bob!" cried Jerry.
The animal, with savage growls, had pounced on the unfortunate boy and
was trying to get hold of him with the powerful claws. Bob, after his
first wild screams, became quiet, digging his fingers into the earth to
hold himself down.
"Wait a minute! I'll kill the brute!" cried the hunter.
He had seized his ever-ready rifle and rushed over toward the bear.
But the fierce beast was so close to Bob that Broswick could not fire
without danger of hitting the lad.
"Here, boy, take the gun!" yelled the hunter to Jerry. "If you see me
getting the worst of it, fire!"
"What are you going to do?" exclaimed Jerry.
"I'm going to kill that brute with my knife!" cried Broswick.
Drawing a keen blade from the sheath at his belt, he jumped straight
on the bear's back. The beast, with a fierce growl of rage, turned and
tried to bite the legs of the strange enemy that was plunging something
terrible and sharp into his shoulders.
Ned threw some wood on the fire. It blazed up brightly and, by the light
of it, the boys and Nestor saw the bear rear on his haunches, with
Broswick still clinging to his back.
The hunter had one hand clasped in the shaggy fur of the brute, and
the other was sending the knife, again and again, into the thick skin,
trying to reach a vital spot.
Bob had rolled to one side, out of harm's way, and suffered no more than
a rough mauling by the brute. But Broswick was not to escape so easily.
With a sudden movement the bear turned, shook the hunter loose, and
then, before the brave fellow could defend himself, the savage animal
had clasped him in the terrible and powerful claws.
"Help! He's squeezing me to death!" Broswick cried.
His arms were pinned to his sides and he could not get a chance to use
his knife, which he still held.
Jerry saw his chance. Approaching close to the bear from behind, the boy
placed the muzzle of the gun against the brute's head.
There was a loud report, a last fierce growl, and the animal, with a
convulsive hug of the hunter, dropped over, dead. Jerry had shot just in
time.
Broswick, too, fell to the earth and at first the boys thought he was
killed. But in a little while he arose and felt of his arms and legs.
"I'm all here," he said. "Guess there ain't much harm done, but it was a
pretty tight squeeze!"
"I thought you were a goner," spoke Jerry.
"That ain't nothin'," answered the hunter. "You ought to hev seen me
fight a grizzly once!"
In the light of the fire, which was now blazing brightly, it was seen
that the bear was a big specimen. As he lay stretched out on the ground
he measured eight feet from his nose to his short tail.
"You know I tole ye there was a few bears now an' agin'," remarked the
hunter, as he gave his former foe a kick. "Waal, I reckon some of 'em
must 'a' heard me an' wanted to show I was tellin' the truth," he added,
with a drawl.
No one felt much like sleep after this excitement, so they sat around
the camp-fire until it began to get light. Then coffee was made, and
the hunter proceeded to skin his prize. He cut off some choice steaks,
which were broiled over the coals. The boys thought they had never
tasted anything so good.
After breakfast the tires were pumped up, the baggage was packed into
the auto and preparations made for the start.
"Where's Professor Snodgrass?" asked Ned, noticing the absence of the
naturalist. Then they all remembered that they had not seen him since
the morning meal.
"He's probably off gathering some bugs or stones," said Jerry. "Let's
give a yell to call him in."
In a chorus they gave a loud hallo, and in reply received a faint call
from a small ravine.
"He's over there," said Broswick, pointing in the direction the voice
had come from. "But hark! Sounds like he was in trouble!"
Faintly the wind bore to the adventurers the sound of the professor's
voice pleading with some one.
"Now, please don't!" he was saying, or rather calling aloud. "You know
you shouldn't do that! Let me alone, I say! Get out of my way or I'll
throw a stone at you!"
"The Indians are after him!" exclaimed Bob.
"There are no Indians around here, Chunky," spoke Jerry. "You must have
redskins on the brain."
Broswick and Nestor hurried over to the ravine. As they reached it they
could be heard laughing long and heartily. Soon a small, wild goat was
seen to run from the cut, leaping away over the plain. Out of the defile
came the professor, Nestor and Broswick.
"The wild goat had him treed," spoke Nestor.
"Truly that was a savage brute," said the professor. "I was gathering
some specimens, and had my arms full, when along comes this beast, with
lowered horns, and nearly knocked me over. I had barely time to run for
my life and climb a tree before he was after me again. His sharp horns
scraped my shoe as I climbed. There I was, treed. I didn't dare come
down, for fear he would eat me, or horn me to death. I don't know what I
should have done if you gentlemen hadn't come along."
"Oh, we only scared him away!" said Broswick.
"Pardon me, just a moment," interrupted the professor, making a quick
motion toward Nestor and picking something from his shoulder. "There, I
have it. I am very much obliged to you."
"What sort of game did ye git this trip?" asked the hunter, somewhat
amused at the naturalist.
"A rare specimen of the fly that lives in the wool of wild goats,"
replied the professor. "The insect is very valuable. It must have jumped
from the goat to you."
After a little consultation the party started off, the auto making a
pace slow enough so the hunter's horse could easily keep up. For several
days the journey was continued, with no accidents to mar the way. The
adventurers had reached well down into New Mexico by this time and had
about one hundred miles farther to go before they could make the spur of
the mountain and avoid going over the range.
One afternoon, following a good day's run, Ned brought the machine to a
stop below a little hill, where it was decided to spend the night, as
the place was sheltered.
Jerry happened to glance to the rear, over the back trail, as he was
getting out the supper utensils, and uttered a cry.
"What's that?" he asked, pointing to a long line of men that were filing
along a road that joined the main one about where the camp was to be
made.
"Looks like a procession," observed Broswick.
"They're miners, that's what they are!" cried Nestor, after a long look.
"Every one has his pack on his back, his washing-pan and his pick and
shovel."
"What are they coming this way for?" asked Ned.
"They are on the rush, seeking gold," explained the miner. "Word has
come to the camp where they were that rich pay-dirt has been struck in
some locality. They all want to get at it, so they pack up and leave
for the new field. Many's the time I've done it."
In a little while the foremost of the miners reached the auto camp. They
seemed surprised to see the machine, but did not stop.
"What's your hurry, mate?" asked Nestor, of one big, brawny chap who was
walking fast.
"Want to make as many miles as I can before sundown," was the reply.
"There's rich diggin's ahead, an' I want to stake a good claim."
"Where might they be located?" asked Nestor.
"Why, ain't you heard? I thought every one had," answered the other.
"They're in the lower part of Arizona, in what they call the Hop Toad
District."
Nestor gave a start. The miner passed on, fearful lest even his brief
stop would cost him his place in the cavalcade.
"The Hop Toad District!" muttered Nestor. "That's the district where my
lost mine is located! I hope that hasn't been discovered. If it has it
means all our work has gone for nothin'!"