ALL ACCOUNTS SQUARED
That very day we started on our tramp into the unknown wilderness,
trusting that the stream would, as Percy had said, “bring us out
somewhere.”
Heavily laden with a week’s provisions, our rifles, two blankets each,
the axe, and last, though by no means least in importance, the little
bags of gold-washings, and leaving all the rest of our camping outfit
behind, we bade adieu to our late residence and set out, full of hope
that now indeed we were homeward bound.
Having passed over the snow bridge without accident--though Jack made
us tie ourselves together with a long rope, like Alpine climbers,
before he would venture--we found ourselves in a crooked valley of
considerable width, walled in by high mountains down whose sides came
many streams, which, uniting with the one we were following, formed a
respectable little river. Our spirits rose at the sight.
“This looks well,” said Jack. “This is a stream of some importance,
either the Gallatin, I should guess, or else one of its main branches.
If we meet with no insurmountable obstacles we shall certainly get down
to the settlements by following it.”
It was getting on for sunset, and we were beginning to look out for a
suitable camping-place, when our ears caught the sound of a dolorous
howling going on somewhere farther down the river. Ulysses did not
approve of it, for he stepped to the front, his bristles erect,
growling to himself, and walking in that stiff-legged manner dogs
assume when they see an enemy approaching.
“Wolves,” said Jack, cocking his rifle; “keep your eyes open.”
Picking our way carefully and silently, we soon came in view of a
little clearing in the woods, and there in the midst of it--a most
unexpected and most welcome sight--stood a log-cabin about the size of
the one we had that morning deserted. The door was shut, and before it
sat three grey wolves, howling in concert, as if they were serenading
the inmate of the house. At the sight of them Ulysses could contain
himself no longer. He exploded with one great bark which had been
accumulating in his chest for the past ten minutes, and instantly the
three serenaders vanished like grey shadows into the woods.
Advancing to the house, we knocked at the door.
“Who’s there?” came a shaky voice from inside.
“Three travellers,” replied Jack. “We’d like shelter for the night.”
We heard the inmate shuffle across the floor and fumble at the
fastenings of the door, which fell open on its leathern hinges,
disclosing to our view a miserable-looking specimen of humanity who
stood leaning against the door-post for support, being, seemingly, too
weak to stand upright. He was tall, hollow-cheeked, and red-eyed. His
face, which to all appearances had not been washed for a week or two,
was begrimed with dirt and “blacks” from his fire. A thin, dark beard
covered his cheeks and chin, and his hair hung down below his collar.
Added to all this, his clothes were so ragged it was a wonder he could
keep them on at all.
I did not recognize who it was until Percy, stepping forward, tapped
the spectre on the chest with his finger, and said, “Where’s your
partner, Bates?”
It _was_ Bates! The wretched, half-starved, unkempt vagabond who
staggered back, throwing up his hands before him as if to ward off an
attack, was our sometime neat and well-dressed schoolfellow.
“Don’t be afraid,” said Jack. “We don’t want to hurt you. Where’s your
partner?”
“I don’t know,” Bates began, and then, remembering himself: “Partner!
What do you mean?”
“Oh, come,” said Jack. “You might as well give up that farce. We know
all about you and your partner. We knew who you were when you captured
us the other day, though we pretended we didn’t. Where’s Morgan?”
“I don’t know,” replied Bates, as he sank down upon the ground in the
corner. “I haven’t seen him for a week or more; not since the big
storm.”
As he spoke he pressed his hand over his eyes as though he were giddy,
and then for the first time we noticed how thin his hand was; it was
like a bird’s foot.
“Why, Bates,” cried Percy, “you look half starved. Are you hungry?”
“Not very,” replied Bates. “I was yesterday and the day before, but I
seem to have got over it.”
“Why, how long since you had anything to eat?”
“Three days, I think. I lived for some days on one of those grey
wolves, but since that was finished up I’ve lived on snow, which I got
from the roof through that hole up there.”
On hearing this Percy and I bustled about to get supper ready, while
Jack, spreading our blankets upon the floor, ordered Bates to lie down
upon them, and not to say another word until he had been fed; an order
which Bates, not being able to help himself, obeyed.
The supper of bread and meat being ready, Bates was given a goodly
portion, which, with a self-control I had not expected of him, he ate
with great deliberation; and very much better he looked for it.
“Feel better, don’t you?” said Jack, seeing how the colour had come
back to his face. “Now, if you feel strong enough, I’d like to hear
how you came here, and what you have been doing since you escaped from
us in the dust-storm near Bozeman a month ago. But first of all we’ll
make a bargain with you:-- If you’ll do what you can to help us get
back our horses, we’ll say nothing about your part in the business.”
“Will you promise?” asked Bates, looking eagerly from one to the other
of us.
“Yes; we’ll promise,” we all three replied; not knowing that by so
doing we were compounding a felony--though I doubt if it would have
made any difference if we had known.
“Well, then,” said he, brightening up wonderfully, “I’ll promise
too, and I’ll tell you all about it. When we escaped from you in the
dust-storm----”
“Hold up a bit,” Jack interrupted. “I just wanted to tell you that we
had no intention of turning you over to the sheriff that time; we had
agreed to let you escape.”
“Had you?” exclaimed Bates. “I wish I’d known it; I never would have
run away, for I should have been only too glad to part company with
Morgan. Well, when we escaped that day, we rode for twenty miles
without stopping, and camped in a secluded place not far from a ranch.
In the morning Morgan watched until the people went out to the fields,
and then he slipped down to the house, and came back presently with a
bridle for his horse, a rifle and cartridges, and a piece of beef, all
of which, of course, he had stolen. Then we mounted again and rode off.
We were afraid to go back to the thieves’ den for the stolen horses,
so, at Morgan’s suggestion, we went straight up the Yellowstone River,
in the hope of being able to run off the stock of the Survey-party. We
came across a party, but whether of the Survey or not I don’t know,
and made an attempt to steal their horses; but they were too sharp for
us, and chased us up into the high mountains, where the country was so
terribly rough that we had to abandon our own horses and go afoot. We
did not know where we were, until we found ourselves one morning upon
the top of the wall, looking down into the valley of the Mushroom Rock.
Almost as soon as we recognised the place we saw two of you walk up
the valley, climb a ladder, and disappear up the mountain. As Swayne
did not appear we concluded that he--and the dog as well, perhaps--was
on guard somewhere; so, by Morgan’s advice, we descended the ladder
and took up a station among the trees whence we could watch your camp;
our idea, or, rather, Morgan’s idea being that if the sentinel should
leave his post for any reason we would slip across the valley and
escape.”
“I see,” said Jack, “and you got your chance when Tom Swayne and the
dog ran off down the valley to help Goodall.”
“Yes, that was our chance. We cut across the valley, and as your
animals were feeding near your camp we drove them in front of us up the
cañon, and there I held them against the bars while Morgan slipped back
to get a couple of saddles and bridles; and as soon as we were ready I
let down the bars, pulled aside the brush, and off we went.”
“Did Morgan upset that big rock into the gully?” asked Jack.
“Yes,” replied Bates. “His intention was to keep you down there until
he should get money for your release from the people at home. But
though I pretended to agree to this plan, my intention was to desert
Morgan at the first opportunity, give information of where you were,
and get you out. I was afraid you would starve to death if you had to
spend the winter down in that hole.”
“That was good of you,” said Jack. “What did you do next?”
“We were afraid to go near Bozeman, so we turned to the left over the
range, intending to keep clear of all towns and ride back to Utah, but
as we rode along next day, the snow coming down like a blanket,--Morgan
leading and I bringing up the rear,--my horse fell, throwing me off
upon my head. How long I lay there I don’t know, but when I recovered
I was buried completely in the snow, and Morgan and the horses were
gone. I have never seen them since. I came very near to freezing to
death, for the wind was blowing terribly, and after wandering about
for some time I came upon this cabin, and here I spent the night. Next
morning when the storm ceased I went out to collect fire-wood; for my
teeth were rattling in my head from the prolonged exposure to the cold.
I had gathered a good deal and was going out for more, when four grey
wolves made a rush at me, and I had to retreat hastily and shut the
door. They have been besieging me ever since--at least three of them
have. I couldn’t open the door an inch but one of them would make a
dash for it. That gave me an idea--after my wits had been sharpened by
going a whole day without food. I drove a stake into the ground behind
the door, so that the door would open only about eight inches. Then,
with a stout club ready in my hand, I let the door fall back against
the stake. One of the wolves jumped for the opening directly, but
his shoulders stuck, and before he could get back again I hit him a
tremendous crack upon the top of his head and killed him. He was mostly
bones, but he lasted me four days. Since then I have had nothing. The
other wolves have sat outside, waiting for me to come out, so all I
could do was to sit in here and starve.”
“Well,” said Jack, “you certainly have had a hard time of it, but you
are all right now. We’ll stay here to-morrow and give you a chance
to pick up a bit, and then you shall come on with us to Bozeman, or
wherever else we come out.”
“Thank you,” said Bates, “you are very kind.” Then, in an embarrassed,
hesitating manner, he went on: “I sha’n’t forget your kindness. I’ll
do anything I can to help you to recover your stock. And I beg your
pardons, all of you, for my part in this horse-stealing business. The
beginning of it all was my losing my money in a gambling-place. There’s
another thing I should like to mention,” he went on, after a short
pause, “though it is no concern of yours and may not interest you.
While I have been sitting here starving and thinking, I have made a
resolution. I will never bet or play cards for money again as long as I
live.”
“Good for you!” exclaimed Jack, reaching out and shaking hands with
him. “It is a pretty rough cure for gambling, but if you stick to that
resolution you will look back at this experience of yours as the most
fortunate thing that ever happened to you.”
“I’ll stick to it,” said Bates, with a very earnest countenance. “Never
fear.”
I may add that Bates did stick to it; and as Jack had prophesied, he
came to regard that hard experience as the most fortunate episode of
his life.
Our patient was so much recovered next morning that we were able to
make a short march of about ten miles, camping in a sheltered curve
of the woods which the wind had swept bare of snow, and passing a
tolerably comfortable night in spite of the cold. On the third day
after this, climbing over a high ridge, we were rejoiced to see, far
away in the distance, a wide-spreading plain, over one point of which
hung a cloud of smoke. It was the smoke made by the housewives of
Bozeman, getting dinner ready.
We were naturally much encouraged by the sight, and went into camp that
evening with the expectation that one more march would bring us to the
desired haven. As a matter of fact, it did so, but with a change in our
mode of progression we could hardly have anticipated.
When, next morning, we crawled out of our blankets, we were surprised
to find that the fire was blazing high, having been renewed, seemingly,
a couple of hours before. But this surprise was small in comparison
with the astonishment we felt when we discovered that Bates had gone;
and not only had he gone, but he had taken Ulysses with him!
It was most unaccountable. Had he gone off to explore the road? Had
he----? We hastily felt at our sides for our bags of gold-washings. No;
that was an unjust suspicion; the bags were all right. What then was
the meaning of it?
Having shouted and whistled without effect, we were proceeding to cook
our breakfast, when Ulysses bounced into camp and starting up we saw
Bates running down the hill towards us.
As soon as he could get breath enough to speak, he gasped out: “I’ve
found them! I’ve found the horses!”
“Where? How?” we all exclaimed together.
“Over the hills in that direction,” replied Bates, pointing off to the
south-west, “in a little valley about two miles away. Why Morgan has
not gone farther I don’t know; but there he is, I’m sure.”
“How came you to go over there?” inquired Jack.
“The cold woke me up this morning while it was still dark,” replied
Bates, speaking quickly and eagerly, “so I got up and put some more
logs on the fire. Just as I was going to lie down again I thought I
heard a mule bray, somewhere a long way off. Ulysses heard it, too,
for he pricked up his ears, went over to that side of the fire, and
began sniffing the breeze which blew from that direction. The sound
came again. Ulysses appeared to be much interested--though why, I could
not guess. He began to whine, and running a short distance towards the
point from which the sound came, he looked back at me as if to invite
me to go with him. As soon as I took a step forward he turned and
trotted on, looking back over his shoulder now and then to see that I
was following, and in that manner on we went, Ulysses leading, and I,
wondering where he was going, hurrying after him. It never occurred
to me that he might have recognised the mule’s voice, but I believe he
must have done so.”
“He must,” replied Jack. “And it must have been Calliope who brayed;
she is the only mule I know of whose voice will carry two miles. Go on.”
“Ulysses kept going on and I kept following, up hill and down, until we
came to a point overlooking a little valley, and there in the middle
of it were all the horses and mules, one picketed and the rest loose.
There was a shed of brush down by the stream, and the remains of a fire
smoking before it; and I have no doubt Morgan was lying asleep in the
shed.”
“I’m going over there at once,” cried Jack, full of eagerness at the
prospect of recovering his friend Toby. “I must have a try for the
horses. Will you come back and show me the place, Bates? I don’t ask
you two fellows to come--it’s dangerous.”
“Well, we’re coming, whether you ask us or not,” remarked Percy, calmly.
“All right,” assented Jack, laughing. “Come on, then. We must eat our
breakfast as we go. Bring your rifles; we’ll leave everything else
here.”
We set off at once, single file, Bates a hundred yards in the lead, and
after a tramp of about half an hour’s duration our guide stopped and
came stooping back towards us.
“He’s there all right,” said he softly, “cooking his breakfast. How are
we going to get at him? He’s right out in the middle of the valley; no
cover nearer than two hundred yards.”
“Let’s have a look,” said Jack.
Silently we crept forward, and lying flat upon the ground on the brow
of the hill, looked down into the little valley. In the middle of it
were a few scattered willows, and among them we could distinguish the
figure of a man stooping over a fire. Near him were the horses and
mules quietly feeding; one of them, which we recognised as Toby, being
picketed.
That the man was Squeaky we had no doubt, but there being no cover, as
Bates had said, we did not see how we were to come upon him unawares
and make him surrender, which was what we had hoped to do. We might
shoot him in the back, without doubt, but such a course was out of the
question, nor did it, I believe, occur to any of us.
“I’ll tell you a way of doing it,” whispered Bates. “You three go
round through the trees until you get behind him, and wait there. I’ll
walk straight down to him from here. He won’t shoot at me. I’ll get
into conversation with him, and if I can find the opportunity I’ll
capture his rifle and run off with it in your direction. If I can’t get
his rifle I’ll tackle him, and then you must run down as fast as you
can to my assistance. It is rather a mean, under-hand way of doing it,
and so, if you will, I should be glad if you would let him go again
after we have got back the horses. What do you say?”
Jack thought a little, and then shook his head.
“No, no,” said he. “It’s too dangerous. You can’t trust a fellow like
that. He thinks he has got these horses all to himself, and if you
appear he’ll suppose you have come to claim your share, and he is just
as likely as not to shoot you. It’s too risky. I won’t agree to that.”
“But, look here,” Bates argued. “I promised to do my best to help you
get your horses back, and here’s my chance. Besides, I don’t believe
he’ll shoot. At any rate I’m willing to try it.”
But Jack would not consent, and Percy and I backing up his opinion,
Bates was obliged to give in.
“You are a good fellow, Bates,” said Jack, “to be willing to take the
risk, but, you see, we are all against it. I’ll tell you another way
that I think may work; a way by which, if there is any shooting to be
done, we’ll do it--though I hope there’ll be no occasion. We will all
go round through the trees until we get behind him, and then we’ll step
out of cover and walk straight down upon him as quietly as possible.
When we get pretty close we will call upon him to surrender. If he
shows fight--why, then, I suppose we shall have to shoot. I’ll fire
first, as I’m responsible for this whole business, but if I miss you
must fire. What do you think? Would you rather keep out of the business
altogether? I sha’n’t blame you if you would.”
Though Percy and I--and Jack, too, for that matter--had the strongest
disinclination to shoot at a man, we could not leave our captain to
“go it alone,” as he plainly intended to do, and after an instant’s
hesitation we both agreed to his plan.
“All right, then,” whispered Jack. “Let us go ahead at once. Mind your
footing. Don’t make a noise. Rifles loaded? Cock ’em, then, and come
on.”
Keeping well within the trees, we started off, Jack in the lead this
time, and walking round the valley until we thought we had reached the
proper point, we halted again.
“Take your places ten feet apart,” Jack whispered. “Let me get a little
ahead.”
Creeping to the edge of the wood, he peered out, and then, beckoning to
us to follow, stepped softly into the open.
We had chosen our point well. Squeaky, sitting by the stream with his
back toward us, was perfectly unconscious of our presence. Softly we
advanced until we had covered half the intervening distance, when,
just as we began to feel confident that the enemy had been delivered
into our hands, that marplot, Toby, betrayed us. He lifted his head,
recognised Jack instantly, and greeted him with a neigh of welcome.
Up sprang Squeaky, cast one glance behind him, and bolted in among the
animals. With one jerk he pulled up the picket-pin, sprang upon Toby’s
back, and clapping his heels into the horse’s sides rode off at full
gallop.
“Stop!” shouted Jack. “I’ll fire!”
But before Jack could even take aim the matter was brought to a sudden
climax in a most unexpected manner.
Squeaky had hardly got under way when the mule, Calliope, thinking
she was about to be deserted by her beloved friend Toby, started off
at full speed in chase. She was pretty quick on her feet for a short
distance, and being unencumbered by a rider she quickly caught up
with him. The fugitive was leaning forward beside the horse’s neck,
gathering up the trailing rope with both hands, when Calliope, coming
up behind, stepped upon the picket-pin. The sudden jerk flung Squeaky
to the ground, head first,--and broke his neck!
It was with a feeling of awe that we gathered round the dead man, and
stood looking down at him; thankful that it was not by our hands he had
fallen. We were glad that we need fear him no longer, but we were far
more glad that his death--to which he had been directly led by his own
misdeeds--was due to an irresponsible mule, and not to any one of us.
Though, doubtless, we should have been fully justified, both legally
and morally, in shooting him if he had shown a disposition to shoot
at us, it would have been a grievous burden to bear through life--the
thought that we had had a hand in the killing of a human being.
[Illustration: “IT WAS WITH A FEELING OF AWE THAT WE GATHERED AROUND
THE DEAD MAN.”]
Rascal though he might have been, we felt that we could not leave
him there to the mercy of the wolves and coyotes, and after a long
pause, Jack, who had been kneeling beside the body, rose up, and said:
“We must cover him up. We can’t dig a grave, having no tools, so the
best thing we can do is to build a cairn over him. Tom, you and Percy
go up into the timber and bring down some dead poles, the biggest you
can carry, while Bates and I collect rocks.”
In the course of an hour of hard work we built a frame of timber around
and over our dead enemy, covering it with such a great pile of heavy
stones that we felt satisfied no wild animal could get at him. Then,
feeling that we had done all that lay in our power, we saddled the
horses--for we found the saddles and bridles piled near the fire--and
rode back to our own camp, whence we made all haste to Bozeman,
arriving there safely after dark that evening.
Our wanderings were ended. At last our faces were fairly turned toward
home!
It was four weeks after this that we two stood upon the deck of a great
steamship in the harbour of New York, shaking hands with Jack who had
come across the continent with us to see us safely out of the country,
as he said.
The value of our gold-washings, which Jack had sold to the smelter at
Golconda, had proved to be considerably in excess of the calculation he
had made on the waggon-sheet with the burnt stick. The sum he received
was enough not only to start up the mine again, but enough to pay all
the expenses of the trip, to buy our tickets back to England, and even
to refund the money spent by our parents for the services of Mr. Hiram
Jenkins. In fact, there was sufficient left over to buy a handsome,
brass-mounted collar for our most respected friend Ulysses; that being,
in our opinion, a more suitable present for him than the gold medal
Percy had once promised him.
“Good-bye, you fellows!” cried Jack, shaking hands with us for the last
time, as the bell rang for strangers to leave the ship. “Good-bye!
You won’t forget me, I know; and you may be very sure I’ll never
forget you. Next time you run away from home mind you run straight to
Golconda. I’ll take charge of you. Good-bye!”
With that he turned and ran across the gang-plank. The big boat moved
slowly out into the river, one last “Good-bye!” was shouted to and fro,
and Jack’s kind, brown face was lost to sight.
We had experienced many hardships since the night when Percy climbed
out of the window at Moseley’s, but the greatest of them all was the
parting with Jack.
The night was drawing in, when, some twelve days later, a dog-cart
rattled out of Southampton toward Moseley’s, and the old church clock
in the village was striking eight as the cart pulled up at the vicarage
gate. Percy and I descended from it, and having paid the driver, walked
up the pathway to the house and entered without knocking.
At the sitting-room door we paused to listen. We could distinguish
several voices inside.
“My father is here,” whispered Percy, excitedly, at the same time
digging me in the ribs with his elbow so violently that I could not
have contradicted him had I wished to do so. “And so is Sir Anthony.
Hark! He is talking now.”
He gently opened the door. As we walked in we heard Sir Anthony say,
“You may depend upon it they will bounce in upon us suddenly.” Then, as
his ear caught the click of the latch,--“And here they are!”
Dear, dear! To think that we foolish, foolish youngsters had ever run
away from such kind people as these! We were fairly smothered with
welcomes. If anything had been needed to convince us that Home was
the finest place in the world--! But what is the use of talking about
that? Every sensible boy knows that for himself; or else he is a very
unfortunate boy.
It was half-past twelve ere Sir Anthony rose to go home.
“Well, you young scapegraces,” said he, with a kindly twinkle in his
eye, as he shook hands with both of us at once, “I’m very glad to see
you safely back again. I won’t prosecute you for poaching this time--on
one condition, though. Next time you make up your minds to run away
from home, go and ask advice of your parents first. Remember, boys,”
he went on, abandoning his joking tone, and laying a hand upon the
shoulder of each of us--“Remember: Whenever you get into trouble, go
and ask advice in the right quarter. And remember, each of you, that
you never will have, and never can have, such perfect friends as your
own parents.”
“We have found that out for ourselves, sir,” said Percy.
“You have! I congratulate you. If your escapade had had no other
result it would have been worth all the hardships you have suffered
yourselves, and all the anxiety you have caused your elders to have
made such a grand discovery. You are a very fortunate pair. So,
good-night, my boys; and welcome home!”
Sir Anthony was a wise old man. I acknowledge readily and thankfully
that he was perfectly right when he said I never could have such good
friends as my own parents. At the same time, I must not omit to state
that there is a certain American--one Percy Goodall--who will always
come treading very close upon their heels.
THE END.
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“It is pleasure to open a juvenile book and find in it live
people--characters that are neither impossible paragons of goodness
nor chimerical examples of success. Such a book is ‘Under Orders.’
Boys who want to know what a reporter’s life is will get a fair idea
of it from this very interesting book.”--_Buffalo Courier._
“No one can tell a better story, or tell it in a more interesting
manner. The book is an excellent one for boys.”--_Christian at Work._
II.--Prince Dusty. A Story of the Oil Regions.
“This is the prince of writers for boys. He always has something
fresh and interesting to tell them, and reaches their hearts every
time. His books are full of adventure, yet free from exaggeration and
sensationalism.”
[Illustration]
III.--Cab and Caboose. A Story of Railroad Life.
“From the time Rod Blake wins the bicycle race and becomes the proud
possessor of the Railroad Cup, all through the narrative, with its
thrilling adventures and escapes from wreck, fire, robbers, tramps,
and, worse than all, from an attempt to fasten a crime upon him, the
boy readers (and surely girls too) will not find a dull page.”
IV.--The Coral Ship. A Story of the Florida Reef.
“No one need have any hesitancy in regard to buying a book by Mr.
Kirk Munroe, who has been justly styled ‘the prince of writers of
books for boys,’ for he has the happiest possible faculty of being
able to interest young people. He knows what they like to be told,
and his books have a decided charm. The adventures narrated, while
exciting, are real, and are not calculated to produce any unhealthy
effect upon their readers.”
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, NEW YORK AND LONDON
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Superscripted characters are preceded by a carat character: 8^o.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
public domain.