THE DEADLY GAS
Long Gun's example and his fright were contagious, to a certain degree.
Seeing him run, Bony and Sam turned also, for they thought the Indian
heard or recognized some danger. Then, as the noise ceased, they stopped
in their progress toward the tent.
"What in the world do you suppose that was?" asked Sam.
"You've got me," was Bony's answer, while, in his excitement, he cracked
his knuckles on the double-quick. "What do you think it was, Jack?"
"Blessed if I know. It sounded like a big bird, or, maybe, a whole lot
of them. But Long Gun wouldn't be frightened of some birds, even if they
were eagles."
"Let's ask him," suggested Nat.
They went into the tent, which was illuminated by a couple of lanterns,
and found Long Gun groveling among his blankets.
"What was that, Long Gun?" asked Jack.
The Indian murmured something in his own tongue.
"Were they birds?" went on Jack. "What's the matter with you?"
"Long Gun 'fraid," was the reply. "No like sound in dark night. Long Gun
'fraid."
"But what sound was it?" persisted Jack.
"Dunno. Great Spirit, mebby. Bad sound. Trouble come."
"That's all nonsense," said Jack, as he saw that his chums looked
worried. "It was probably the wind."
"But there isn't any wind," declared Nat. "It's as still as can be."
"Maybe there is a wind in the upper currents of air," suggested Jack.
"You must remember we're among the mountains, and the air is different
here."
"It isn't different enough to make a noise like that," was Sam's
opinion.
"That's right," agreed Bony.
"Juthinkitwasacyclone?" asked Budge, all in one word.
"A cyclone?" repeated Jack. "They don't have cyclones in the mountains.
No, I think it was birds."
"No birds," declared Long Gun suddenly. "Birds not got wings go that
way."
"That's right, it didn't sound like birds' wings," said Nat.
They discussed the mysterious happening for some time further, but could
arrive at no solution of it. Jack and Nat went out to look and listen,
but they could see nothing, of course, and the night seemed very silent.
As for Long Gun, he could not be induced to come outside the tent.
The boys passed rather an uneasy night, but fatigue finally made them
sleep, in spite of their alarm, and they slumbered so soundly toward
morning that no one awoke to replenish the camp fire, which went out.
"Well, we're all here and alive, at any rate," remarked Jack as he
looked around on coming out of the tent for a wash.
"Snapping sand-bars! but it's cold!" cried Nat, rubbing his benumbed
fingers and threshing his arms about. "Hi! Long Gun, are you so afraid
of the mysterious noise that you can't build a fire?"
"Hu!" grunted the Indian as he came from the tent, but he speedily had a
genial blaze going, and breakfast in preparation.
"Well, now for some more hunting," said Jack when the camp had been put
in order. "Nat and I want to get that ram we missed yesterday."
"And I want to land a big buck mule deer that I think I hit, but not
hard enough," said Sam.
They started off, and were gone all day, sometimes hunting together,
and, again, separating for a few miles. But they had no luck, though
Jack got an opportunity for a couple of fine shots, missing both of
them. However, they did not much mind, as they had plenty of food in
camp.
A day or so later, however, when Jack and Sam were out together, Jack
got the very chance he wanted. They were walking along a rocky ridge,
and, coming to the edge of a deep ravine, were debating whether to cross
it or travel back, as they had seen no signs of game, and it looked as
if a storm was brewing.
"I guess we'll go back," Sam remarked. "There doesn't seem to be
any----"
He looked around to see what Jack was doing, and beheld his chum down on
one knee, aiming at something on a distant rock. Sam looked and saw,
outlined in the clear light, a big ram. He did not speak, fearing to
disconcert Jack's aim, and the next instant the rifle of his chum
cracked.
The ram gave a convulsive leap into the air, turned partly around, and
then plunged over the rock, and went rolling down the steep side of the
mountain.
"You got him, Jack! You got him!" cried Sam.
"It looks so," admitted Jack with a smile of triumph.
"And he's a beaut!" went on Sam. "But how will we get him?"
"Oh, he's just where we want him," said Jack. "Come on down."
It was no easy task scrambling down the slope, at the bottom of which
they had left their horses, but they managed it, and then rode to the
spot where the ram had fallen. They found the body in the bushes, and
Sam saw that he had not misstated it when he called it a "beaut." The
ram's head was graced with a fine pair of horns, which Jack at once
announced he would take back East as a trophy.
"Put 'em in your room at Washington Hall," suggested Sam.
"Sure," replied his chum.
It was difficult to get the ram back to camp, but they managed it by
constructing a sort of litter from saplings, and having the horses pull
it with ropes, dragging it along behind them. They found on their
arrival that the others had not yet reached camp, and sat down to wait
for them.
Presently Long Gun, Nat and Bony came in.
"Where's Budge?" asked Jack.
"Why, he went off shooting jack-rabbits," explained Nat. "He said he'd
be over near the river, down by the tall pine. He seems to like to pop
over those rabbits better than going after big game."
"I'll take a walk down there and tell him to come in to supper," said
Jack. "Come on, Nat. I guess we had all the luck to-day, Sam."
This was true, for Long Gun and the others had not been able to shoot
anything.
As Jack and Nat advanced toward the river, which was about half a mile
from camp, Nat suddenly called out:
"What's that smell?"
"Whew! It isn't very nice," declared Jack as he took a long sniff. "No
wonder they used to call this place Stinking Water before they named it
the Shoshone."
"What makes it smell so?" asked Nat.
"Well, I understand there are springs around here, the water of which is
impregnated with sulphureted hydrogen."
"That's it. Sulphureted hydrogen! Humpty-doodle's hydrangeas! I thought
it smelled like the chemical laboratory at Washington Hall. Is it the
river?"
"No, only some small springs, and some of them give off gases that kill
animals. But there's the tree where Budge ought to be. I s'pose he's
asleep."
As they approached nearer the unpleasant odor became more pronounced.
Then, as they topped a little mound, they looked down and saw their
friend reclining on the ground near a dead cottonwood tree.
"Sure enough, he's asleep," remarked Jack. "Come on, we'll wake him up.
Get close, and then we'll yell like wild Indians and scare him."
They crept softly closer to the outstretched Budge. He did not stir.
Then they united their voices in a terrorizing yell.
But instead of Budge sitting up suddenly he remained in the same
position, his gun by his side, and a couple of dead rabbits at his feet.
"That's queer," remarked Jack. "He's certainly sleeping sound."
He tiptoed up to his chum, and bending over looked closely at him. He
was struck by the paleness of his face and the fact that Budge did not
seem to breathe.
"Nat!" called Jack quickly, "he's dead! He's fallen asleep and been
killed by those poisonous gases!"
Nat ran up. It did seem as if Budge was dead.
"We must carry him away from here," said Jack sadly.
"I--I begin to feel rather faint myself," said Nat as he sat down on the
ground.