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THE BOY
LAND BOOMER
OR
DICK ARBUCKLE'S
ADVENTURES IN OKLAHOMA
BY
CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL
AUTHOR OF
"THREE YOUNG RANCHMEN,"
"A SAILOR BOY WITH DEWEY," ETC.
[Illustration: "The youth had to cling fast around his neck to save
himself a lot of broken bones"]
ILLUSTRATED BY W. H. FRY
H. M. CALDWELL COMPANY
NEW YORK Publishers BOSTON
COPYRIGHT, 1902,
BY
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
Made by
Robert Smith Printing Co.,
Lansing, Mich.
---------------
Transcriber's Note: Obvious printer errors have been corrected. All
other inconsistencies have been left as they were in the original.
---------------
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"The youth had to cling fast around his neck to save
himself a lot of broken bones" _Frontispiece_
"The next instant the boy was hurled headlong into
the boiling and foaming current" 62
"Dick had let fly the jagged stone, taking him directly
in the forehead and keeling him over like a tenpin" 179
"In a second more the two men were in a hand-to-hand
encounter" 220
PREFACE.
"The Boy Land Boomer" relates the adventures of a lad who, with his
father, joins a number of daring men in an attempt to occupy the rich
farming lands of Oklahoma before the time when that section of our
country was thrown open to settlement under the homestead act.
Oklahoma consists of a tract of land which formerly formed a portion of
the Indian Territory. This region was much in dispute as early as 1884
and 1885, when Captain "Oklahoma" Payne and Captain Couch did their best
to force an entrance for the boomers under them. Boomers remained in the
neighborhood for years, and another attempt was made to settle Oklahoma
in 1886, and up to 1889, when, on April 22, the land was thrown open to
settlement by a proclamation of the President. The mad rush to gain the
best claims followed, and some of these scenes are related in the
present volume.
The boomers, who numbered thousands, had among them several daring and
well-known leaders, but not one was better known or more daring than
the leader who is known in these pages as Pawnee Brown. This man was not
alone a great Indian scout and hunter, but also one who had lived much
among the Indians, could speak their language, and who had on several
occasions acted as interpreter for the Government. He was well beloved
by his followers, who relied upon his judgment in all things.
To some it may seem that the scenes in this book are overdrawn. Such,
however, is not the fact. There was much of roughness in those days, and
the author has continually found it necessary to tone down rather than
to exaggerate in penning these scenes from real life.
CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL.
THE BOY LAND BOOMER.
* * * * *
CHAPTER I.
DICK ARBUCKLE'S DISCOVERY.
"Father!"
The call came from a boy of sixteen, a bright, manly chap, who had just
awakened from an unusually sound sleep in the rear end of a monstrous
boomer's wagon.
The scene was upon the outskirts of Arkansas City, situated near the
southern boundary line of Kansas and not many miles from the Oklahoma
portion of the Indian Territory.
For weeks the city had been filling up with boomers on their way to
pre-empt land within the confines of Oklahoma as soon as it became
possible to do so.
The land in Oklahoma had for years been in dispute. Pioneers claimed the
right to go in and stake out homesteads, but the soldiers of our
government would not allow them to do so.
The secret of the matter was that the cattle kings of that section
controlled everything, and as the grazing land of the territory was
worth hundreds of thousands of dollars to them they fought desperately
to keep the pioneers out, delaying, in every manner possible,
legislation which tended to make the section an absolutely free one to
would-be settlers.
But now the pioneers, or boomers as they were commonly called, were
tired of waiting for the passage of a law which they knew must come
sooner or later, and they intended to go ahead without legal authority.
It was a dark, tempestuous night, with the wind blowing fiercely and the
rain coming down at irregular intervals. On the grassy plain were
huddled the wagons, animals and trappings of over two hundred boomers.
Here and there flared up the remains of a campfire, but the wind was
blowing too strongly for these to be replenished, and the men had
followed their wives and children into the big, canvas-covered wagons,
to make themselves as comfortable as the crowded space permitted.
It was the rattle of the rain on the canvas covering of the wagon which
had aroused the boy.
"I say father!" he repeated. "Father!"
Again there was no reply, and, kicking aside the blanket with which he
had been covered, Dick Arbuckle clambered over some boxes piled high in
the center of the vehicle to where he had left his parent resting less
than three hours before.
"Gone!" cried the lad in astonishment. "What can this mean? What could
take him outside in such a storm as this? Father!"
He now crawled to the opening at the front of the wagon and called at
the top of his voice. Only the shrieking of the wind answered him. A
dozen times he cried out, then paused to strike a somewhat damp match
and light a smoky lantern hanging to the front ashen bow of the
turn-out's covering. Holding the light over his head he peered forth into
the inky darkness surrounding the boomer's temporary camp.
"Not a soul in sight," he mused. "It must be about midnight. Can
something have happened to father? He said he felt rather strange in his
head when he went to bed. If only Jack Rasco would come back."
From the front end of the wagon Dick Arbuckle shifted back to the rear.
Here the same dreary outlook of storm, mud and flapping canvases
presented itself. Not so much as a stray dog was in sight, and the
nearest wagon was twenty feet away.
"I must find out where he is. Something is wrong, I feel certain of it."
Thus muttering to himself the youth hunted up his overcoat and hat, put
them on, and, lantern in hand, swung himself into the sea of
half-submerged prairie grass, and stalked over to the other wagon just
mentioned.
"Mike Delaney!" he cried, kicking on the wagon wheel with the toe of his
boot; "Mike Delaney, have you seen my father anywhere?"
"Sure, an' Moike Delaney is not here, Dick Arbuckle," came in a female
voice. "He's gone off wid Pawnee Brown, and there's no tellin' whin
he'll be back. Is yer father gone?"
"Yes, and I don't know where," and now Dick stepped closer, as the round
and freckled face of Rosy Delaney peered forth from a hole in the canvas
end. "He went to bed when I did, and now he's missing."
"Saints preserve us! Mebbe the Injuns scalped him now, Dick!" came in a
voice full of terror.
"There are no Indians around here, Mrs. Delaney," answered the youth,
half inclined to laugh. "But he's missing, and it's mighty strange, to
say the least."
"He was sick, too, wasn't he?"
"Father hasn't been real well for a year. He left New York very largely
in the hope that this climate would do him some good."
"Moike was sayin' his head throubles him a good bit."
"So it does, and that's why I am so worried. When he gets those awful
pains he is apt to walk away and keep right on without knowing where he
is going."
"Poor mon! Oi wisht Oi could help yez. Mebbe Moike will be back soon.
Ain't Jack Rasco about?"
"No, he is off with Pawnee Brown, too. Rasco and Brown have been looking
over the trails leading to Oklahoma. They are bound to outwit the United
States cavalry, for the boomers have more right to that land than the
cattle kings, and right is always might in the end."
"Especially wid Pawnee on the end o' it, Dick. He's a great mon, is
Pawnee, only it do be afther givin' me the shivers to hear him spake the
Pawnee language loike he was a rale Injun. Such a foine scout as he is
has no roight to spake such a dirthy tongue. How illegant it would be
now if he could spake rale Oirish."
"His knowledge of the Indian tongue has helped both him and our
government a good deal, Mrs. Delaney. But I mustn't stop here talking.
If my father----"
A wild, unearthly shriek cut short further talk upon Dick Arbuckle's
part. It came from the darkness back of the camp and caused Mrs. Delaney
to draw back and tumble to the bottom of her house on wheels in terror.
"It's the Banshee----" she began, when Dick interrupted her.
"It's Pumpkin Bill. I'd know his voice a mile off," he declared.
"Somebody ought to send him back to where he belongs. Creation, what a
racket!"
Nearer and nearer came the voice, rising and falling with the wind. The
shrill shrieking penetrated to every wagon, and head after head was
thrust out of the canvases to see what it meant. In another minute
Pumpkin Bill, the dunce of the boomer's camp, "a nobody from nowhar," to
use Cal Clemmer's words, came rushing along, hatless and with his wild
eyes fairly starting from their sockets.
"Save me! a ghost!" he yelled, swinging his hands over his head. "A
ghost full of blood! Oh, oh! I'm a dead boy! I know I am! Stop him from
following me!"
"Pumpkin!" ejaculated Dick, striding up and catching the fleeing lad by
the arm. "Hold on; what's this racket about?"
The dunce paused, then stood stock still, his mouth opening to its
widest extent. He was far from bright, and it took him several seconds
to put into words what was passing in his mind.
"About, about?" he repeated. "Dick Arbuckle! Oh, dear me! I've seen your
father's ghost!"
"Pumpkin!"
"Yes, I did. Hope to die if I didn't. I was just coming to camp from
town. Some men kept me, and made me sing and dance for them--you know
how I can sing--tra-la-la-da-do-da-bum! They promised me a dollar, but
didn't give it to me. I was running to get out of the wet when I plumped
into something fearful--a ghost! Your father, covered with blood, and
groaning and moaning, 'Robbed, robbed; almost murdered!' That's what the
ghost said, and he caught me by the hand. See, the blood is there yet,
even though I did try to wash it off in the rain. Oh, Dick, what does it
mean?"
"It means something awful has happened, Pumpkin, if your story is
true----"
"Hope to die if it ain't," and the dunce crossed his heart several
times. Suddenly, to keep up his courage, he burst into a wild snatch of
song:
"A big baboon
Glared at the moon,
And sang la-la-la-dum!
'Come down to me
And I will be
Your lardy-dardy----'"
"Stop it, Pumpkin," interrupted Dick. "Come along with me."
"To where?"
"To where you saw my father."
"Not for a million dollars--not for a million million!" cried the
half-witted boy. "It wasn't your father; it was a ghost, all covered
with blood!" and he shrank back under the Delaney wagon.
"It was my father, Pumpkin; I am sure of it. He is missing, and
something has happened to him. Perhaps he fell and hurt himself. Come
on."
The dunce stopped short and stared.
"Missing, is he? Then it wasn't a ghost. La-la-dum! What a joke. Will
you go along, too?"
"Of course."
"And take a pistol?"
"Yes."
"Poor mon, Oi thrust he is not very much hurted," broke in Rosy Delaney,
who had been a close listener to the foregoing. "If he is, Dick
Arbuckle, bring him here, an' it's Rosy Delaney will nurse him wid th'
best of care."
As has been said, many had heard Pumpkin Bill's wild cries, but now that
he had quieted down these boomers returned to their couches, grumbling
that the half-witted lad should thus be allowed to disturb their rest.
In a minute Dick Arbuckle and Pumpkin were hurrying along the road the
dunce had previously traveled. The rain was letting up a bit, and the
smoky lantern lit up the surroundings for a circle thirty feet in
diameter.
"Here is where I met him," said Pumpkin, coming to a halt near the edge
of a small stream. "There's the hat he knocked off my head." He picked
it up. "Oh, dear me! covered with blood! Did you ever see the like?"
Dick was more disturbed than ever.
"Which way did he go?"
"I don't know."
"Didn't you notice at all, Pumpkin? Try to think."
"Nary a notice. I ran, that's all. It looked like a bloody ghost. I'll
dream about it, I know I will."
To this Dick did not answer. Getting down on his knees in the wet he
examined the trail by the lantern's rays. The footsteps which he thought
must be those of his father led around a bend in the stream and up a
series of rocks covered with moss and dirt. With his heart thumping
violently under his jacket he followed the footprints until the very
summit of the rocks was gained. Then he let out a groan of anguish.
And not without cause. Beyond the summit was a dark opening fifteen feet
wide, a hundred or more feet long and of unfathomable depth. The
footprints ended at the very edge of this yawning abyss.