THE LAME PILGRIM ON THE TRAIL.
"There's a cowboy riding this way, and seems like he might have come
from your place, too, Adrian!" Donald called out, soon after they had
let the rustler depart.
"It must be some messenger Uncle Fred's sending to town, perhaps with a
letter to me, telling about this new outrage, and that he'll just have
to throw up his job here, and clear out, since he's powerless to help
things," the other suggested; as he watched the lone rider drawing near,
evidently more than curious at discovering the lately stampeded bunch of
cattle heading back toward the ranch house.
Upon being signalled he headed for them, and soon came riding up, his
eyes round with wonder as he surveyed the six who constituted the
drivers of the cattle.
"Hello! Frank," called out George Hess, who seemed to know the other;
"reckon as how you're struck next door to dumb awonderin' what all this
means; but I'll leave it to the boss here to explain. This same is Frank
Bowker, Adrian, and about as decent a puncher as the ole man's got left
on the place. Reckon that's why he's asendin' of him to town right now
on business."
"Is that where you're bound, Frank?" asked Adrian; "perhaps you'll think
I've got no right to ask, but you see, I'm the owner of the Bar-S Ranch,
and my name's Sherwood."
The puncher's puzzled face was quickly wreathed in a grin, and as
rapidly as he could speak he declared that he was mighty glad to meet up
with Mr. Sherwood; and that it sure looked as though he had got busy the
very first thing he arrived, in recovering the bunch of cattle that the
rustlers had run off in a stampede.
Of course Adrian quickly gave him such facts as he deemed the other
should know.
"And we're going to clean up things here, Frank, remember that," the boy
wound up by saying in a quiet but positive way that made the others
smile again, and act as though they would like to shake hands all
around. "Are you really going to town for Uncle Fred; and if so would
you take a written message to the new sheriff for me?"
"Will I?" burst out the other, excitedly; "say, you just try me, that's
all. And I'll see that he gets the same as sure as I live. And I'll tell
him the time's come at last for something to be done to round up that
Walker crowd. We've stood for it too long already; and say, I'm just
tickled to death to know there's a real change acomin'. Wisht I could go
back with you; mebbe I wouldn't give my best pair of boots to be on hand
when _she_ larns who you are, and sees them steers adrivin' right home
to the Bar-S corrals. Wow! it'll be some sight, believe me."
But Adrian soon convinced Frank that it was his duty to get along to
town as speedily as possible, so as to find the new sheriff, and place
the letter he, Adrian would write, in his hands.
It took only a short time to prepare the communication, though the boy
tried to explain the situation, and impress on the peace officer how
necessary it was for him to lose no time in summoning a reliable posse,
and riding out to the ranch house of the Bar-S outfit; for there was
likely to be war around that section shortly, since the Walkers must
fight before they would acknowledge defeat.
When Frank started away, waving his hat above his head, and shouting as
only an excited range rider can, Adrian declared he felt a thousand per
cent better.
"It's all going to come out right in the end, Donald," he told his chum.
"But before we get there it's likely we'll see some rocky times,"
admitted the other, though his manner gave no evidence that the fact was
causing him any particular uneasiness; for Donald had been brought up on
a ranch, and often found himself confronted by difficulties that would
have daunted any ordinary lad, but which he took boldly by the horns,
and usually succeeded in getting the better of.
Once more they were on the way, and the boys began to look forward to
the noisy greeting they might expect when they drove the herd up to the
ranch house. Adrian had not forgotten how things looked around there,
even though he had been absent for years; and he could picture Uncle
Fred, his new wife, and the punchers connected with the place gathered
in a big group, and staring at them while they rounded-up their charges,
and drove them to the stock corral for safely, until things had simmered
down somewhat.
"There's another fellow on foot ahead of us, and he seems to be
staggering along like he might be hurt some, Adrian," Donald remarked,
as he dashed over to where the other chum was riding along with Billie,
content to leave much of the driving to the three punchers.
"Well, let's strike off, and see who he is, and what's happened to him,"
suggested Adrian, when he had located the object mentioned by Donald,
and saw that if they kept directly on after the cattle they would not
come within half a mile of the foot traveler.
Accordingly the three started on a gallop. The man saw them coming, and
halted in his limping manner of locomotion to watch them, even waving a
hand as if wanting to show by this salute that he was friendly, and
hoped they were the same.
As they bore down upon him they saw that he was a rather forlorn looking
chap. He might be called middle-aged, but his face was thin, and seemed
to have a perpetual look of alarm and dread stamped upon it. When he got
to talking the least thing would cause him to give a jump, and look
hastily around as though he feared lest the heavy hand of the law was
about to descend on his bony shoulder.
Still, he did not look at all like a bad man, and Adrian really felt
more or less pity for the wretch, who was evidently footsore and weary,
perhaps hungry in the bargain.
"What brings you away off here without a mount?" he asked, as the three
of them sat in their saddles, and surveyed the old fellow.
"Oh! I had a hoss, all right, but he was that old and played-out that he
just laid down on me, and gave up the ghost some miles back," the man
told them; "I've been hoofing it ever since; and as I'm lame it's been a
hard job for me. Never got over a little trouble I had two years back
further south, a shooting scrape, though it was forced on me, gents, I
assure you. Could you help me get to some ranch, where I might strike a
job? I'm a master-hand at figures, and could keep the books for my
board. If you leave me here I'm about ready to lie down, and give up the
hull business. I'm that played out."
Adrian did not altogether know that he was doing right, but he could not
bear to see a wretched being suffer. And there was Billie, ready to
chime in and add his entreaties to those of the foot traveler. Besides,
as has been said before, the fellow looked absolutely harmless; and had
evidently been his own worst enemy in the past, having a weakness for
strong drink, Adrian suspected.
"Well, it would be hard to leave you here," he said; "and perhaps my
horse wouldn't mind carrying double. It's only for a short distance,
anyway; and perhaps, who knows but what Uncle Fred might be glad to get
some one to keep his books, when his board is all he asks. What's your
name?"
"Thomas," the other started to say, and then paused for some reason; so
that very naturally Adrian supposed he meant this was his last name.
"Well, see if you can climb up here then, Mr. Thomas; and hold on to me.
We don't expect to make fast time, and it'll be better than walking,
anyway."
The dilapidated scarecrow hastened to avail himself of this opportunity.
Already the forlorn look on his emaciated face was beginning to give way
to one of hope.
"This is right kind of you, sir," he said as he managed to get seated,
with the assistance of the rider, though Ten Spot pranced more or less,
as though to let them know he did not wholly approve of this double
burden business; "and later on, if you could only manage to give me a
few bites of food I'd be so thankful, because to tell you the honest
truth I haven't eaten a bite since noon yesterday."
At that Billie was heard to give vent to a groan. Whether this was
forced from his lips at the prospect of another hungry mouth to feed, or
because he could sympathize with any one who was compelled to go without
breaking his fast for such a length of time, it might be hard to say;
though the latter seemed to be nearer the truth, judging from the way he
began to search through his pockets until he had found a package wrapped
in paper, which he thrust into the hand of Adrian's passenger with the
remark:
"That's a piece of dried venison I've been carryin' all the while, to
keep body and soul together in case I ever got lost again on the desert
or the prairie. But you're welcome to it, Mr. Thomas. Don't swallow it
in lumps, because you had ought to grind your food first, and that
pemmican is tough stuff. But it'll keep you busy, and p'raps I'll find a
chance to cook something when that's gone."
"Bless your kind heart, my boy!" muttered the man, who was already
tearing the paper off, so as to get busy with the piece of dried meat,
upon which Billie had been secretly nibbling between meals, to "stay his
stomach," as he would say.
The herd had gotten some distance away, but the boys experienced no
trouble in catching up again. As the three cow-punchers had their hands
full keeping the cattle from breaking away, now that they were once more
on familiar fields, they paid no attention to the newcomer. And Thomas
was so savagely munching the tough dried meat that he did not seem to
notice them.
A short time later the boys announced that they would stop alongside of
a stream, let the cattle graze for a while, and get something to eat
themselves. In spite of Billie's vivid fears there was plenty of
provisions left for all hands, even including the latest edition to the
force.
Adrian noticed that Thomas hesitated when the three punchers came in
after Billie had called to them that lunch was ready. He seemed to scan
each face as if he feared lest there might be some one who would know
him; and the boy fancied it was a look of relief that swept over the
wrinkled countenance of the lame man when he made sure that he had
nothing to fear in that line.
"There's something queer about this Thomas," Adrian told himself; "he's
been in a peck of trouble somewhere, and is afraid of somebody; because
he's forever looking around, and starts every time any one speaks. But
he isn't the kind to be afraid of, and he sure does need helping along.
I'll take him as far as the ranch house, anyway, and see what Uncle Fred
can do for him."
And with that he forgot all about the man for the time being, because
there were so many other important things that came crowding into his
mind.
After lunch they again mounted, Donald now taking the lame pilgrim up
behind him for a change; and when the punchers had started the herd
along, the journey toward Bar-S Ranch was resumed, with a prospect that
another hour might see them bringing up at their destination.