TWO OLD ACQUAINTANCES
A happy and well-satisfied pair were we when, next day, after writing
voluminous letters home, we set about making preparations for our
projected expedition into the mountains.
First of all there were the animals to be seen to. Jack already had a
horse for himself,--Toby,--and he had besides a pair of stout little
mules for packing purposes, one of which was named Calliope, because,
under favourable atmospheric conditions, her voice might be heard at
a distance of a thousand miles (at least, so Jack said), while the
other, on account of his somnolent habits, and his proclivity for
eating everything that came in his way, especially things not intended
for him, had had bestowed upon him the name of Joe, in memory of the
Fat Boy in _Pickwick_. Besides these, Jack procured for Percy’s use a
smart little grey mare, and for me a big-boned, buckskin pony, which,
though no beauty to look at, had a great reputation as a stayer.
Last of the animals, though perhaps not least in importance, was Jack’s
big, rough-coated, nondescript dog, who had been named Ulysses after
the President of the United States, for the reason that, though of a
peace-loving nature, he did, when once he got into a squabble, evince a
determination to “fight it out on that line if it took all summer.”
Jack’s next care was to provide us each with a rifle and cartridges,
a suit of clothes adapted to a life in the wilds, and two pairs of
blankets. Then there was the purchase of provisions, consisting mainly
of flour and bacon, tea and sugar, and a sack of dried apples; and
lastly came the necessary utensils,--a few pots and pans, tin plates
and cups, a shovel, a pick, an axe, and the gold-pan; the last-named
being a large copper pan with “flaring” sides which Percy and I
supposed to be a dish-pan until Jack explained its use.
On the eventful morning that had been fixed upon for the start we were
roused from our slumbers by the voice of the ranchman booming up the
stairs,--“Roll out, roll out! Half-past five, and breakfast waiting!”
and after sundry groans and yawns we bounced out of bed, scrambled into
our clothes, and descended to the room below, where a good wash in cold
water soon freshened us up.
Breakfast over, the beasts were brought out and we proceeded to pack
the mules with our various belongings, or, to speak more correctly,
Jack and the ranchman proceeded to pack, while Percy and I looked on;
for, being as yet unacquainted with the mysteries of the “diamond
hitch,” and all the other arrangements of ropes necessary to the
securing of a pack upon a mule, we should only have delayed matters had
we attempted to assist.
Under the hands of these two experts, however, the work was
accomplished with great celerity. In the course of about half an hour
our two stout little mules were loaded with packs weighing something
like two hundred pounds apiece, the horses were saddled, and we were
ready to start, and after a cordial handshake from our host, the word
was given and away we went; Jack first, then the two mules, and Percy
and I bringing up the rear.
After riding across country, up hill and down, for a couple of hours,
we came upon a rough, little-used wood-road which ran generally in the
direction we were going, and taking this road we plodded on until about
two o’clock, when, happening to look back, I observed a cloud of dust,
in the midst of which was a horseman who appeared to be galloping to
overtake us. Our cavalcade came to a halt, and we watched the advancing
rider in silence until, much to our surprise, his near approach
disclosed the features of George Catlin, our late host.
“Well, boys,” said he, as he pulled up his smoking horse beside us,
“you didn’t expect to see me again quite so soon, did you? Phew! It’s
hot. We’re in for a thunder-storm directly. And a good thing, too:
it will cover up your tracks. Boys, I think there’s someone on your
trail,--someone you don’t want to meet.”
“What makes you think that, George?” asked Jack.
“Why,” replied the ranchman, “just before dinner two men came to the
house and asked a lot of questions about you: which way you had gone,
how long since you had started, whether you were alone, and so on.
They seemed to know a good deal about you, but they didn’t get much
additional information out of me, because, when I asked them what they
wanted to know for, they said that was their business; so I told them
that if they couldn’t answer a civil question they might get off the
ranch and conduct their business somewhere else--which they did; riding
off in the direction of Golconda.”
“But why should you think that we have any reason to be afraid of
them?” asked Percy. “What were they like?”
“One of them was a tall, dark-haired young fellow, English, I should
say, from his accent. The other was a squat, red-haired man with a
broken nose and a very remarkable voice. If he isn’t your train-wrecker
friend I’m much mistaken; and if he is, his asking after you bodes you
no good. He’s a bad one, if looks count for anything.”
This was disquieting news to Percy and me, for we had a lively dread of
the man with the squeaky voice. Instinctively we turned to our leader
for counsel.
“What are we to do, Jack?” I asked.
“Get off the road,” replied Jack, promptly. “And the sooner that
thunder-storm comes along the better, for our trail must be as plain as
daylight all the way. Is there a stream, George----?”
“Yes, right ahead. Let me go first, Jack; I know this country better
than you do; I’ve ridden all over it after cattle. You’d better lead
the mules.”
Soon we were strung out in line, and for half an hour we pegged along,
every now and then casting back an anxious glance to see which was
likely to overtake us first, Squeaky or the thunder-storm. Presently we
came to a shallow stream rippling merrily across the road, and having
advanced half-way across it, the ranchman turned short to the right
and proceeded to ride up its gravelly bed; the rest following behind
him. After splashing along in this manner for some distance, our guide
scrambled out at a point where the stony nature of the ground would
prevent the hoofs of the animals from leaving any trail, and thence
he conducted us to a secluded hollow between two hills, completely
concealed from the view of any traveller down upon the road.
“Now, Jack,” he began--and then stopped. “Hark!” he cried, holding up
his hand. “Do you hear that roaring noise? It’s hail. That will wipe
out your tracks. But we must get under the lee of this rocky ledge,
or it may stampede the stock. Here it comes!” as a blast of cold air
swept along the little valley. “Hurry up!”
We had hardly taken our positions under shelter of the rocks when the
light of the sun was suddenly cut off and the temperature went down, I
should think, fifty degrees in as many seconds; then came a rumble of
thunder; there was a _spat-spat_, as half-a-dozen big hailstones came
hopping along the hard ground; and then all at once, the storm seemed
to leap upon us, and for the next five minutes one could not hear
himself shout for the roaring of the thunder and the rattling of the
hail. The commotion ceased again as suddenly as it had begun; out came
the sun once more, and in another ten minutes the whole country was
steaming with the moisture of the melted hailstones.
“Now, Jack,” said the ranchman, continuing the speech he had begun when
interrupted by the storm, “what do you think of camping here? You have
made a very good distance for the first day’s march; this is a good
spot for a camp; and what I was thinking of mostly is that we can watch
the road from the top of this hill and see if that fellow goes by. What
do you think?”
We all agreed that this was a good idea, and accordingly, while we
three proceeded to unload the mules and make camp, George Catlin
ascended the hill with Jack’s field-glass in his hand, and lying down
among the rocks near the summit, kept watch upon the road, with little
danger of being seen himself. The grateful mules, relieved of their
burdens, were still rolling on their backs, kicking their heels in the
air, and grunting with satisfaction, when we observed that our sentinel
was making signs to us to come up the hill; we therefore hurried to his
side, when he informed us that he had caught sight of two men riding
along the road whom he believed to be the two who had called at the
ranch that morning.
“I shall know as soon as they come in sight again round that bend,”
said he.
After lying for a minute or two, peering through the glass, he backed
carefully down the hill a little way, and said in a low voice:
“Those are the men. Take a look at them, Jack. The one on the grey
horse is the man with the squeaky voice.”
Jack examined the men and handed the glass to Percy. No sooner had
the latter obtained the focus than he uttered an exclamation of
astonishment:
“Tom, Tom!” he ejaculated; “that other fellow, the one on the black
horse, is Bates!”
“Get out!” said I, incredulously, and seizing the glass I gazed long
and earnestly at the younger of the two riders.
It was Bates, sure enough.
Here was an astonishing thing. To us it was a fact absolutely
inexplicable that Bates, whom we had last seen peering through a hole
in the wall of Hengist’s Castle, should be down there, riding along a
disused road in the mountains of Utah, presumably looking for us. How
came he there? And why, of all people in the world, should he have
chosen that squeaky-voiced reprobate as his companion? There was no
telling. We were completely at sea.
It was evident that our tracks had been obliterated, for as we watched
them the riders splashed across the creek and continued on their way
at the same pace, quite unsuspicious of the fact that the farther
they went the farther they were leaving us behind. Presently they
disappeared again from our view, when, leaving the hilltop, we returned
to the camping-place and resumed our preparations for the night.
It was not until darkness settled down that we ventured to light a
fire, fearing that the smoke might betray our whereabouts, and it was
pretty late that night ere we retired to our beds upon the bare ground
after a prolonged and entirely unsatisfying discussion of the subject
of Bates’s mysterious appearance and of his and his companion’s object
in seeking for us.
Percy and I felt rather stiff and extremely sleepy when Jack aroused
us next morning while yet the stars were shining, and prodigious were
the yawns with which we greeted our companions and each other. A hot
and plentiful breakfast, however, soon put us to rights, and as soon
as it was despatched Jack and the ranchman set to work packing the
mules, while we two subordinates looked to the saddling of the horses.
Everything being ready, we climbed into the saddles, and bidding a
final adieu to our good friend, George, we set out over the hills on
our second day’s march, just as the first reddening of the eastern sky
proclaimed that the punctual sun was preparing to get up for his day’s
work.
As a matter of precaution Jack rode about half a mile ahead, in order
that he might signal us to get away and hide in case we should come
suddenly upon Bates and his companion; though, had those gentlemen been
awake and within hearing at the moment, they would undoubtedly have
discovered our presence at once, for as Jack galloped off to take up
his position in advance, our two mules raised a hideous cry, thinking
that their dear friend, Toby, was about to desert them. It is curious
how, in a small party like ours, one horse will usually assume the
position of “boss”; the others, and especially the mules, looking to
him for guidance, and feeling uneasy whenever he is out of sight.
We had been riding in this order for about an hour, when Jack, who had
just reached the brow of a gentle hill, suddenly wheeled around and
came galloping back, waving his hand to us to draw off to one side
behind some willows.
“There’s a camp-fire down the valley to the left,” said he,
dismounting, “and I saw two horses tethered there. I noticed that the
fire is built near a great pile of loose rocks, and I believe I can
crawl up close to it without being discovered, and if I can do so I may
be able to hear what they are after, and what they intend to do next. I
think it is worth trying, don’t you?”
“Let me go instead, Jack,” said Percy. “I should like to get up close
to them so that I may make sure it _is_ Bates. I only half believe it
yet.”
[Illustration: “HE LOOKED DOWN UPON THE TWO UNSUSPECTING CAMPERS.”]
“All right,” replied Jack. “You shall crawl up to their camp, and I’ll
stand guard a little way behind you. Tom shall stay here and take care
of the horses.”
This arrangement was followed out. The animals were driven in among the
willows, and I, who stayed to look after them, watched my companions as
they went dodging and stooping around the end of the hill, until they
disappeared from sight.
Percy, leaving Jack behind him to act as a guard, crawled cautiously
toward the little column of smoke until he had come within ten feet of
it, and then, lying flat between two big stones, his face concealed
by the long grass, he looked down upon the two unsuspecting campers,
who were sitting on either side of the fire cooking scraps of bacon
on sticks. One of them was Bates; there was no question of that. The
other, too, disclosed his identity the moment he spoke; it was, without
doubt, the squeaky-voiced train-wrecker.
Percy could not repress a tremor when he found himself once more so
close to that precious rascal.
“What did I leave Nebraska for?” Squeaky was saying. “Well, Nebraska
was getting unhealthy for me, and I thought I’d try a change of
climate. I was too much sought after there, and that’s a fact. But what
sent you out here? _You_ didn’t have to leave between two days, did
you?”
“No,” replied Bates. “I’m travelling for pleasure, you see,--at least,
I was,--and I ought to be well on my way to California now, but,
unfortunately, I tried my luck in a gambling hall one evening and lost
nearly everything I had. I never saw such a streak of bad luck.”
The red-headed man nodded. “I know all about that,” said he. “I was
standing behind you when you lost your money, and I guessed by your
actions that you was pretty well cleaned out. That’s what made me
speak to you, and propose we should work some scheme together to make
a raise. I knew that when a man loses all his money gambling he’s
generally ready to go into any kind of a scheme, no matter what, to get
a fresh supply, and when you told me about these two runaway schoolboys
I saw a chance to do it. How did you come to know about ’em, anyway?”
“I was at school with them,” replied Bates. “They got in to a poaching
scrape and ran away. The next thing I heard of them was finding
their names in the paper as having prevented the wrecking of a train
somewhere in Nebraska.”
“What!” exclaimed the other. “Was it them?”
Bates nodded; and Squeaky’s face assumed a very ugly expression as he
continued:
“Then that’s another reason for getting my hands on them. They owe me
something, and if ever I get hold of them they’ll have to pay.”
“Why? What do you mean? What have you to do with that business?”
“What have I--well, never mind that now. I’ll explain later, maybe. So
that’s the pair, is it?”--and he went on mumbling to himself, with his
mouth full of bacon.
“Look here, Morgan,” said Bates, presently. “This plan of yours” (Percy
wondered what the plan might be) “is all very fine and ingenious; but
before we can put it into practice we’ve got to find the boys; not such
an easy thing, it seems to me, in this wide-open country.”
“You’re right enough there,” replied Squeaky. “But if we don’t run
across them accidentally I know a way of catching them, sure.”
“How’s that?” inquired Bates.
“We know they’re bound for Montana, don’t we? Found that out in
Golconda. Just now they may be before us, or behind us, or on either
side of us, and if we waste time prospecting around this neighbourhood
after them they may get clean away from us. Now, as far as I’m
concerned, I’d just as soon go to Montana as anywhere else,--I’ve been
there before, and I know the country,--and my scheme is to go straight
ahead and ride along the stage-road until we come to the Snake River
bridge, and if they haven’t gone by, to sit down there and wait for
them. If they want to get to Montana they’ve got to cross the Snake,
and if they cross the Snake they’ve got to go by the bridge; it’s
too dangerous fording the river at this time of year when the snow
is melting in the mountains. She’s a pretty fierce old river, is the
Snake.”
“But,” Bates objected once more, “supposing they don’t come to the
bridge at all. Supposing they do manage to get across the river
somehow. What are we going to do then? The money I have left won’t last
very long.”
“We’ll wait for them at the bridge a week,” replied Squeaky, “and if
they don’t come we’ll go on to Montana. As to the money, there’s ways
of making money. There’s the cards. I know all the tricks in that line,
and I can teach you. Then there’s mining-deals,--that’s a good notion.
That’s got to be thought about. Here’s you, a rich young Englishman,
looking for an investment; and here’s me, the honest miner--yes,
that’s got to be thought about. Then there’s stage-coaches to be held
up,--that’s a bit risky; and so is running off horses. But a man must
live, and if we’ve got to do it, we’ve got to, and that’s all there is
about it.”
It did not seem to occur to this honest citizen, or to Bates either,
for that matter, that there was yet another way of getting money,--by
working for it.
By this time the pair had finished their breakfast, and having
collected their few belongings they saddled up--Percy making himself as
flat as possible during the operation--and rode away.
As soon as they were safely out of sight, our scout rose to his feet
and walked back to where Jack was stationed, and together they returned
to the spot where I stood impatiently awaiting them.
“Well,” said our captain, when he had heard Percy’s report, “your
friend Bates seems to have gotten into nice company. That is a smart
fellow, that squeaky-voiced scoundrel; he guessed our plans pretty
well. My original intention was to ride up the stage-road from Corinne
to the town of Bozeman, in Montana; but now that we know their scheme
we’ll just make a change in our own plan. They will wait for us a long
time before they catch us at the bridge; we won’t go near it; we’ll
go straight northward across country, leaving the road well away to
our left. That fellow is right in saying that the Snake is a difficult
river to cross; but we’ll find a way over somehow, never fear, even if
we have to go up-stream until we get around its little end. By taking
this course we shall give them the slip altogether; they will have no
means of knowing what has become of us. All the same,” Jack added,
impressively, “it will be well to keep our eyes open. Mr. Morgan, I
suspect, would not stick at shooting any or all of us if it suited his
purpose to do so. So, remember,--if you meet a short, square-built,
red-haired man, with a broken nose, cock your rifle, and don’t let him
get behind you. All aboard!”
[Illustration]