WITH THE RANGERS.
From below, where Jack’s companions had witnessed his fall with
horrified eyes, it appeared almost impossible that he could escape
without serious injury. But as his pony struck the ground at the foot
of the cliff, amidst a regular landslide of twigs, rocks and earth,
Jack succeeded in extricating himself from under the animal, and
rolling a few yards he scrambled to his feet, unhurt except for a few
slight cuts and bruises.
Ralph and Walt Phelps left their ponies and came running up to where
Jack stood brushing the dirt from his garments.
“Hurt, Jack?” cried Ralph.
“No; never touched me,” laughed the boy; “and look at that cayuse of
mine, I guess he isn’t injured, either.”
As Jack spoke he nodded his head in the direction of his pony, which
had risen and was now galloping off to join its companions at the
watering place.
“How did it happen?” demanded Walt. “We saw you coming down the trail
quietly enough one moment, and at the next look, behold, you were
riding like Tam o’ Shanter.”
Jack looked about him before replying. But he and his companions were
alone, for the Rangers were too busy watering their mounts to bother
with the boys once it had been seen that Jack was not hurt.
“I guess you were right when you said that Shorty had it in for me,” he
remarked, turning to Walt Phelps.
“How do you mean?”
“Just this: Shorty was behind me on that trail. Suddenly his pony began
to bolt. It was to avoid being forced from the narrow path that I
spurred up my cayuse so as to keep ahead of him.”
“What do you think he meant to do?”
The question came from Ralph.
“It’s my opinion that he deliberately tried to get between me and the
wall of the cliff and force me off the trail.”
“Gracious! You might have been killed.”
“Not much doubt that I’d have been badly injured, anyway. But Shorty
miscalculated, and where I left the trail was further on and not so far
to fall.”
“Why don’t you tell Captain Atkinson?”
“Why, I have nothing to prove that Shorty’s pony really didn’t get
beyond his control.”
“Then you suspect that it was not really running away, but that he made
it appear that he was unable to manage it?”
“That’s it exactly. However, let’s join the men. If I get a chance I
want to examine Shorty’s horse.”
“What’s the idea in that?” asked Walt.
“You’ll see what my plan is if I get an opportunity to put it into
execution,” was the reply.
The three boys, arm in arm, sauntered up to the group of Rangers. Some
of them were now remounted, and two men had charge of the boys’ ponies,
including Jack’s, which had joined its comrades. Shorty was still
watering his animal, but when he saw the boys he came up to Jack with
an outstretched hand, and every appearance of great affability.
“Say, Pard’ner,” he exclaimed, as if genuinely remorseful, “I hope you
ain’t mad with me on ’count of that accident.”
“No; I never harbor a grudge,” responded Jack, with emphasis.
“That critter of mine jes’ nat’ly ran away from me,” pursued Shorty, in
the same tone.
“And so that’s the reason you had to spur him till he bled,” flashed
Jack, in a low tone. The boy had seized his opportunity to look over
Shorty’s pony and saw at once that it had been cruelly rowelled.
Shorty went pale under his tan. His mouth twitched nervously.
“Why—why, you ain’t goin’ for to say I done it a–purpose?” he demanded.
“I’m not saying anything about it,” responded Jack; “all that I know is
this, that I shall take care how I ride in front of you again.”
So saying the boy turned on his heel and walked toward his pony,
followed by Walt and Ralph, who had witnessed the whole scene. Shorty
gazed after them. His alarm had gone from his countenance now, and he
bore an expression of malignant rage.
“Dern young tenderfoot cubs,” he growled to himself, relieving his
feelings by giving his pony a kick in the stomach, “blamed interferin’
Mammy boys! I’ll l’arn ‘em a lesson yet. I’ll jes’ bet I will, and
it’ll be a hot one, too. One they won’t forget in a hurry.”
But of Shorty’s fury the boys were ignorant, for they quickly mounted
and clattered back up the trail with the rest of the Rangers. On
their return to the camp, as soon as each little pony had been given
his generous allowance of hay, they found that supper was ready, the
Chinaman announcing the fact by beating on a tin dishpan and shouting:
“Come getee! Come getee!”
None of the Rangers needed any second invitation; nor did the boys
need any pressing to make hearty meals. Bacon, salted beef, beans, hot
biscuits and strong coffee formed the bill of fare. After the meal had
been dispatched Captain Atkinson beckoned to Jack and his companions,
and they followed him a little apart from the rest of the Rangers who
were singing songs and telling stories around a big camp fire, for the
night was quite chilly.
“Since you lads have joined us to learn all you can of the life of a
Texas Ranger,” he said, “I think that you had better start in as soon
as possible.”
“Right away if necessary,” responded Jack enthusiastically.
“That’s my idea,” struck in Walt Phelps.
“Can’t make it too soon for me, captain,” added Ralph, not a whit less
eager than the others.
“Very well, then,” smiled the captain of the Rangers, “you will go on
sentry duty to–night, and to–morrow I shall see that you have some
other work assigned to you.”
“Do we—do we have to do sentry duty all night?” asked Ralph, in a
rather dubious tone.
“No, indeed. That would never do. You must get your sleep. For that
reason we divide the hours of darkness into regular watches. There are
four of these. I shall assign you to go out with the first guard,” said
Captain Atkinson to Jack, and then in turn he informed Walt Phelps and
Ralph Stetson that their assignments would come with the second and
third watches respectively.
Jack was all eagerness to begin, and when at eight o’clock he and six
of the Rangers rode out of the camp toward the river his heart throbbed
with anticipation of the duty before him. The men were in charge of one
of their number named “Baldy” Sears. This Baldy was quite a character
and had determined to give Jack a thorough testing out. As they rode
out, the boy questioned “Baldy” eagerly about his duties, but didn’t
get much satisfaction.
As a matter of fact, Baldy entertained quite a contempt for
“Tenderfeet,” as he called the boys, and was rather annoyed at having
to take Jack out and act as “school marm,” as he phrased it.
They reached the river by the same trail that they had descended to
water their ponies earlier that evening. As it was still dusk they
rode down it without accident. In fact, the Rangers hardly appeared to
notice its dangers. Jack, however, wondered how it would be possible
to descend it in the dark without mishap. But, then, he recollected
the sure–footedness and uncommon intelligence of the average western
pony, and realized that if given a loose rein, there probably was not a
cayuse in the outfit that could not negotiate it without difficulty.
“Now, then,” said Baldy, when they reached the bottom of the path,
“line up and I’ll give you your orders. You, Red Saunders, ride east
with Sam, and Ed. Ricky, you and Big Foot ride to the west and keep
patrolling. I’ll take the young maverick here with me. If any of you
gets in trouble or wants assistance fire three shots. I reckon that’s
all.”
The men rode off into the night, and then Baldy and Jack were left
alone.
“Got a shootin’ iron with you, young feller?” inquired Baldy.
“A what?” returned Jack.
“Waal, if you ain’t the tenderfootedest of tenderfeets,” scoffed Baldy;
“a shootin’ iron—a gun!”
“Why, no, I didn’t think it necessary to bring one,” rejoined Jack. “I
don’t like carrying firearms unless they are needful. Do you think that
anything will happen in which firearms would be useful?”
“Firearms is always useful along the Rio,” returned Baldy, “I dunno if
the cap told you, but we’re here on special duty to–night.”
“Dangerous duty?” asked Jack.
“You can’t most gen’ally sometimes allers tell,” vouchsafed Baldy,
examining the magazine of his rifle which he had taken from its saddle
holster for the purpose.