WILL RUNS AWAY
The boys gathered about the warm fire, crowding close around Jack to
hear more details of the proposed trip of the gun club.
"I've been reading up about hunting big game," went on Jack, "and I
asked my father if I could go the first chance I got. He said I could,
and now I've got the chance."
"What are those bad lands?" asked Fred Kaler. "Any Indians out there?"
"Some, I guess. A few Sioux, Crows and some Shoshones. But they're
mostly guides. You see, bad lands are what the Westerners call a region
that isn't very good for anything but hunting. They consist of a lot of
sandstone peaks, with deserts here and there."
"And what can you hunt there?" asked Nat.
"Oh, lots of things. Big-horn sheep, bears, elk, deer, jack-rabbits and
birds. It will be lots of sport."
"Wyoming, eh?" mused Sam. "That's quite a way off."
"Yes, it is, but we've got lots of time. I've been making some
inquiries, and they say the best spot to aim for is around the town of
Cody, which is named after Buffalo Bill. You see, we can go to Fort
Custer, and from there we have to travel in wagons or on horses. I've
got a route all mapped out. We'll go along a small stream, called Sage
Creek, across the Forty-mile Desert, and hunt along the Shoshone River,
near Heart Mountain. It's a fine hunting ground, and we'll have no end
of fun camping out."
"But it'll be cold," objected Bony. "There'll be snow."
"What of it?" asked Jack. "It'll do you good. We'll have warm tents,
warm clothing, and we can build big camp fires that will make the ones
here look like a baby bonfire."
"Galloping gasmeters!" exclaimed Nat. "When can we start, Jack?"
"Oh, it'll take some time to get ready. We've got to get the guns and
camping outfit together."
The boys talked for some considerable time about the prospective trip.
Socker, meanwhile, came in to replenish the fire. In some of the rooms
there were stoves and gas heaters, and these were soon in operation to
take the chill off the apartments, for the big building, being without
steam heat, was like a barn. Budge Rankin came in once with some logs
for the fire.
"Goinome?" he said to Jack.
"Going home?" repeated our hero. "That's what I am, Budge. Are you?"
"SoonsIkin."
"As soon as you can, eh? Well, it will be this afternoon for mine," went
on Jack. "Can't stay here and freeze."
Dr. Mead and his assistants were busy arranging for the departure of the
pupils, while the head of the school also telegraphed for new parts of
the damaged boiler.
Jack and Nat packed their belongings, and prepared to start for Denton.
"Say, who all are going camping and hunting?" asked Nat, pausing in the
act of thrusting his clothes into his trunk.
"Why, I was thinking if we could take the same crowd we had before you
and I were captured and taken aboard the _Polly Ann_ this summer, it
would be nice," replied Jack. "There's you and Bony and Sam and me."
"And Budge."
"Oh, yes, Budge. I'll take him along if he'll go. He likes to putter
around camp, but he doesn't care much about hunting. He'd rather chew
gum."
Though Budge worked as assistant janitor at Washington Hall, Jack and
his chums did not consider that his position was at all degrading. Jack
felt that Budge was one of his best friends, and though the lad was
poor he was independent, which quality Jack liked in him.
"And I tell you some one else I'm going to take, if I can manage it,"
went on our hero.
"Who?"
"Bill Williams. I like that fellow, and he's had it pretty hard. I'd
like to do something for him, and I'm going to ask him to come hunting
with us."
"S'pose he'll go?"
"I don't know. Guess I'll go ask him now. Say, you finish crowding my
stuff into my trunk, will you? We want to catch the twelve o'clock train
for Denton."
"Sure," agreed Nat, ending his packing by the simple process of crowding
all that remained of his clothes into the trunk and then jumping on them
with both feet, so that they would collapse sufficiently to allow the
lid to fasten.
Jack found the new boy sitting in his room beside his trunk and valise.
"All ready to go home?" asked Jack.
"Yes," was the answer in a sad sort of voice.
"Why, you don't seem to be very glad that school has closed, giving you
an additional vacation," remarked Jack.
"I'm not."
"Why?"
"Because I've got to go and live with my guardian. He hates me. He'll
be twitting me of how I robbed him, when I had no more to do with the
loss of his money than--than you did. I was beginning to like it here,
but now I've got to go back. It's tough!"
"Say, how would you like to come with me?"
"Come with you? Where?"
"Hunting in the Shoshone Mountains."
"Do you mean it?" asked Will eagerly, his eyes brightening. He sprang to
his feet, all his sadness gone.
"Of course I mean it," went on Jack. "Some of my chums are going to form
a sort of gun club, and I'd like to include you in it. Will you come?"
"Will I come? Say, I----"
Then the lad paused. The light faded from his eyes. He sank back into
his chair.
"No--no," he said slowly. "I'm much obliged, but I--I guess I can't go."
"Why not?"
Will hesitated.
"Well--er--you see--er--the fact is, I haven't any money. My guardian
pays all the bills, and, as I told you, he doesn't give me any spending
money. Not even enough for a postage stamp."
"That's tough," said Jack, "but I guess you didn't quite understand me.
I didn't ask you to spend any money."
"How can I go camping and hunting, away off in Wyoming, without money?"
"You'll go as my guest," said Jack simply. "I'm inviting you to go with
me. The other fellows are coming on their own hook, as members of the
gun club, but I'd like to have you come just as my guest. Will you do
that?"
"Will I?" Once more the lad's eyes sparkled. "Of course I will," he
said, "only it doesn't seem right to have you pay my way. If my uncle
only knew of my plight he'd give me some money, I'm sure, but I can't
even write to him. It's quite mysterious the way he hides himself. I
can't understand it."
"Then you'll come?"
"Yes--but I don't like to feel that it is costing you money."
"Don't let that worry you," said Jack quickly. "I'm pretty well off, and
my dad has all the money he can use. I guess you didn't hear about the
gold mine Nat and I helped discover when we were out West looking for my
father."
"No, I never did."
"Well, that will keep the wolf from howling around the door for a while.
I'm real glad you're coming, Bill. I hope you'll enjoy it."
"I know I will. I'm fond of hunting and camping."
"All right. Now I'm going back to Denton. I s'pose you're going home,
too?"
"Well, it isn't much of a home. I live in Hickville with my guardian."
"Hickville, eh? That's about a hundred miles from Denton. Well, I was
going to say that I'll write you a few days before we start, and you can
come on to Denton."
"All right. I'll do it."
"Then I'll go and finish packing. I left Nat Anderson to do it, and he's
just as likely to put things upside down as right side up. I'll see you
at Denton, then."
"Yes," replied Will. But Jack did not see the new boy at Denton, and not
until some time after their parting at the school; and when he did see
him, it was under strange circumstances.
Good-bys were said among the pupils and teachers of Washington Hall, and
Jack and his chums separated, he and Nat journeying to Denton, which
they reached that night, much to the surprise of Mr. Ranger, Jack's
three aunts, and Nat's folks.
Jack lost no time in beginning his preparations for the camping trip,
his father consenting that the gun club might be formed. Our hero wrote
many letters, arranged for transportation to the West, got into
communication with a guide near Cody, Wyoming, and invited Budge to go
along.
"Sure I'll go," said the gum-chewing lad as he placed into his mouth a
fresh wad of the sticky substance. "When'll it be?"
"In about two weeks," said Jack. "There are quite a few things to do
yet."
In the meanwhile, Nat Anderson, Sam Chalmers and Bony Balmore had
secured permission from their parents to go with Jack, and they were
busy at their respective homes, making up their kits. Sam and Bony lived
about a day's journey from Denton.
"Now I'll write to Bill, and invite him to come on," said Jack one
night, and then he waited for a reply from the lad with whom he had so
recently become friends.
"Here's Bill's answer," said Jack to Nat one afternoon a few days later,
when they went down to the post-office, and Jack received a letter
marked "Hickville."
As Jack read it he uttered a low whistle.
"What's the matter? Can't he come?" asked Nat.
"No. This is from his rascally guardian. It's to me. Bill's run away."