A CLOSE FINISH.
"Boys, you'll have to go and hunt those spare mules to-morrow; they
haven't been seen for a week." Thus Mr. Worth greeted the boys as they
came shuffling in after a long day of mingled work and play one evening
not long after the buffalo hunt.
The following morning the youngsters mounted their horses, after
completing their early chores, and started out. "Where shall we go?"
asked Ben.
"Let's look among the Indians' ponies; those mules are always following
their cayuses around." The plan was no sooner made than executed. They
trotted along the edge of the river for several miles, the crisp morning
air acting like a tonic on horse and rider. Baldy was too old and
dignified to be foolish, but his springy stride, wide-awake look, and
quick response to each word of urging betokened his good condition and
enjoyment. Ben's horse, a little bunchy cow pony with an occasional
wicked streak in him, danced about as if he were worked by electricity
and the current was being turned on and off.
The ford reached, the ponies waded in till the boys had to cross their
legs in front of the saddles to keep from getting wet.
On the other side they found a bunch of a couple of hundred horses, and
as they drew near the herders came charging down on them. They feared
horse thieves, but John explained matters, and after a long
sign-language talk learned that there were six of the long-eared
runaways tied at the camp. They had been put there for safe keeping,
since they had been killing colts and were in danger of being roughly
used by the horses in consequence. A grown "pony," though generally
smaller, will drive out a mule in short order, and these plucky little
animals are never afraid to tackle their vicious antagonists.
The boys went back on the opposite side of the river from which they had
come until the camp was reached.
They found the Indian village all agog with excitement, and for a time
could not get any of the braves to answer their inquiries about the
missing mules. A horse race was to be held, and the usually stoical
bucks could for the time being think of nothing else.
The whereabouts of the missing animals was learned before long, however,
and an Indian went with them to see that they really belonged to the
Worth outfit. On their way they had to pass straight through the village
of several hundred tepees, and many were the greetings of "How!" that
were shouted to them.
On the outskirts of the camp many braves were standing around, making
bets, grooming their horses, and comparing notes. Little redskins darted
everywhere in and out between their elders' legs and shouted shrilly to
each other. The boys found it hard to go on to attend to their errand,
and though neither said anything for a while, they looked appealingly at
each other. "If we find the mules belong to us," said John, finally, in
answer to Ben's questioning look, "we'll take 'em part way back, tie
'em, and then come here and see the races." So they went on reluctantly,
leaving the gesticulating, grunting crowd behind them.
The captive animals were, as they hoped, the ones they had been seeking,
and if the guide had any doubts of their ownership the big W branded on
the shoulder of each beast soon dispelled them. "Lucky there's a fort
near by," said John. "We'd never have seen those critters again if
there hadn't been." The mules were driven back to a point convenient of
access on the trip back to the mine and tied securely. Then both boys
rushed over to the course as fast as their ponies could go.
Nothing had changed; the men still talked excitedly, and on either side
of the level space where the horses were to run lay little heaps of
personal belongings that had been bet on this or that horse--saddles,
blankets, gay bead-embroidered moccasins, and belts, rifles, and
cartridges.
As the boys drew near, old Wolf Voice started toward them with greater
speed than befitted a chief of his dignity and years.
"You got white-faced horse?" he shouted as he came near. "You run race?
Me bet you now, me beat you." The grave old buck was almost childish at
the prospect of racing a running horse.
Before answering, John looked over the horses that were to compete, and
then consulted with his brother. "What do you think?" said he. "Wolf
Voice is crazy for a race, and I think Baldy can beat anything here."
"But we haven't any money," said Ben.
"Me bet you pony, you bet um pony," said the Indian, coming up at this
instant and speaking as if in answer to Ben's remark.
John would not put up Baldy as a stake for anything in the world, but he
took off his saddle. "I'll bet saddle against your ponies," he said,
pointing to two horses a boy was leading forward. The old brave demanded
more, so John added bridle and silver-mounted bit to the pile; still he
was not satisfied, but John refused to give anything more. Wolf Voice
haggled and demanded larger stakes on the boy's part and finally pointed
to his spurs; these were unbuckled and thrown on the ground, and at last
the bargain was completed.
At this juncture Big Hawk joined the group. He was eager to bet against
Baldy, but all John's possessions were already pledged. It was a trying
situation for the boy, for he wanted to get even with him, and he felt
sure that his horse would win. A happy thought struck him.
"Say, Ben," he called out. "Lend me your saddle to put up against Big
Hawk's pony. I haven't got anything left." The younger boy was also
eager to pay back the young brave for his work at the buffalo hunt, so
he complied with this request unhesitatingly.
The wagers arranged, John looked to his horse. Baldy was now without
saddle or bridle, but his owner speedily made a _hackamore_ or halter
out of a piece of rope and climbed on his back; he had decided to ride
bare-back.
A number of braves were clearing the course for the racers, who had
already lined up at the starting point, but old Wolf Voice rushed down
and asked them to wait a minute for the new entry. In the meantime John
was trotting up and down, warming up his mount. In a few minutes Baldy
was in his place with the others. The horses all knew what was to be
done, but Baldy did not become excited and tire himself as did some of
the others.
They all lined up a hundred feet from the starting place. The course,
which was merely a level, grassy place, stretched out invitingly before
them; the Indian spectators formed the boundaries on either side, their
usually impassive, dark-red faces working with excitement. At a word
from the starter the horses went forward at a trot, then changed to a
lope, and were breaking into a run when, a few yards from the scratch,
the boy riding Wolf Voice's bay shot out of the line and ahead. Of
course they had to be called back, and the boy was sharply reprimanded
for spoiling the start.
Then again the horses started and came down to the scratch steadily. At
the starter's yell of approval, they sprang ahead with a dash.
After the jolting scramble of the start, John began to plan his race. He
pulled his horse out of the bunch and ran on the outside. Baldy and he
were about the middle of the string as the fast ones led away. The
little bay, which was the old chief's pride, led, running beautifully;
at his heels was a big gray, fully holding his own. The distance of half
a mile was more than half covered and both bay and gray were ahead of
Baldy, who was third and well in advance of the bunch. The crowd was
yelling wildly, each man shouting encouragement to his favorite in a way
that would make an Eastern baseball "rooter" turn pale with envy.
John lay down closer upon his horse's neck and chirped gently in his
ear. There was a perfect understanding between them, and the old steed
stretched out his neck a little more, laid his ears hard against the
side of his head, and set out to overhaul the leaders, now running nose
and nose. Baldy's long stride told, and he gained steadily, but the race
was not yet over. If he could get abreast of the two leaders John knew
that he could win out on a twenty-foot spurt if need be--he had done it
before.
It was but fifty yards from the finish. The two Indian ponies were
tiring, but they kept up the pace gamely. The crowd was yelling
insanely, uttering threats, encouragements, entreaties in the Indian
dialect, which neither John nor Baldy understood; but just at the
critical moment a clear, shrill voice rose above the din: "Now, Baldy,
hit it up! Get a move on, John!"
Horse and rider braced. John set his lips tighter: they were gaining,
gaining perceptibly each second. The two leaders were whipping their
ponies spasmodically, but John and Baldy kept their heads. Now Baldy's
nose was on a line with the gray's hind quarter, now even with his
shoulder, and now all three horses were running as if harnessed in one
team. And still he gained. John was becoming excited and raised his
quirt. "Come, Baldy, do it!" he cried, and at the same moment brought
down the lash on him. The game old horse responded magnificently. A few
great jumps and they gained three-quarters of a length. Another instant
and they dashed past the finish line. Baldy had won!
John slipped from his back and patted his nose affectionately. "Good
work, old chap. I knew you could leave that lot of cayuses behind."
"Hurrah for you, John!" cried Ben as the victors drew near. "Baldy,
you're a trump, sure enough."
The boys were soon the centre of a circle of red faces, excited,
threatening, joyful, or merely interested, according to their bets. All
were anxious to race again, but John refused. Realizing that he and Ben
would be expected home, he broke through the ring, put his saddle and
bridle on one of the horses he had won from Wolf Voice, mounted, and
started off, leading the other two and Baldy. Ben managed as best he
could with the mules, and so they returned to the mine, the richer by
three ponies, several trinkets, moccasins, etc. It was not till a good
deal later in life that the boys learned how much better worth while it
is to race merely for the sake of the sport itself, and what a
surprising amount of trouble a man can bring on himself and other people
by forming a habit of betting. At present they unthinkingly followed the
examples of the rough men around them.
In the year and a half that was spent at this mine on the Yellowstone
many opportunities were offered for Baldy to show his speed, but the
redskins had learned caution and were never again so reckless as on this
memorable occasion.
The friendly feeling between the red and the white boys grew as time
went on, and many excursions were taken in company. The Indians told
John and Ben things about birds and beasts of which they never dreamed,
and showed them games that were a constant delight. They made a kind of
combination spear and skate from the curved rib of a buffalo to the end
of which were fastened three feathers; the highly polished convex
surface offered little resistance to the ice, so the whole could be
thrown a long distance on the glassy surface. The Worth boys grew to be
very expert throwers of this queer bone skate, and many were the
exciting matches they participated in.
Our boys in turn taught their coppery friends some civilized games.
Trials of strength and skill were frequent, and in most of them the
honors were about even. While the red boys could give points on the art
of wrestling, and never lost an opportunity to show their superiority,
the Worth youngsters got even by initiating them in the "noble art of
self-defence." John put in practice the points given him by Tom Malloy,
much to the discomfiture of the Indian boys and the corresponding
satisfaction of his teacher and the men of the mining camp.
The new sport did not become popular, however, in the redskins' camp;
John was too successful--his opponent was invariably worsted.
And so the days passed, with more work and less play, perhaps, than most
boys are accustomed to. Many pleasant evenings, after the day's work
was done, were spent by the men telling yarns. John and Ben slipped out
often, joined the group, and listened eagerly to the tales that were
told. It was on one of these nights that Charley Green told a tale that
entirely eclipsed Munchausen; a tale that would never have occurred to a
Westerner.
"You know Big Hawk?" he began, looking at the men around him and then
out of the corner of his eye at John. "Well, Big Hawk has seen the boys,
and especially John, box, and made up his mind that he could do
something in that line himself--at least that is my idea of his method
of reasoning." He interrupted himself to explain: "He challenged John
something in this fashion, 'You heap big fighter,' he said, 'me show
you.'"
The men in the circle began to grin; they were beginning to take in the
joke. John and his brother gazed in amazement; all this was new to them.
"Though he is a pretty big chap," Green continued, "the kid didn't seem
to be scared; he knew how to put up his hands and the big red duffer was
entirely ignorant of fistic tactics. Anyhow the boy called the bluff by
responding, 'Well, I don't know, I reckon I can do you up.' Ben was sent
for the gloves, those primitive, deerskin-stuffed-with-grass affairs. A
space was cleared on the dry grassy river bottom, and the spectators
marked the boundaries. The spectators were mostly red," added Green.
"Produce a spectator," shouted a listener.
"Proof, proof, we want proof of this."
"Never mind him," exclaimed another; "go on, Charley."
"I'm not making affidavits. I'm simply telling a story," Charley
explained. "Big Hawk, knowing it to be a kind of battle, had arrayed
himself in full war regalia, which consisted chiefly of a big, feathered
bonnet and a decorative effect in yellow, red, and green paint."
The group of interested listeners chuckled, but offered no remarks or
objections. John and Ben appeared to be dazed.
"Tom Malloy was the referee, and I acted as John's second. Wolf Voice
did the same service for Big Hawk.
"When the two stepped into the ring," Green continued, "the tall,
paint-decorated, feather-tufted Indian and the short, pink-skinned boy,
a smile appeared on the usually grave-faced red men. I said to myself,
Is this a Punch and Judy show or a scene from the Inferno come to the
surface? 'Time!' sang out Tom Malloy, watch in hand."
Green stopped to take breath, then continued:
"The two stepped to the centre, and the red man decided to settle
matters at once. A strong right-arm jab followed. John dodged, and the
force of the blow nearly jerked the Indian off his feet, and at the same
time pulled the war bonnet over his eyes. The boy took advantage of this
and thumped Big Hawk on the chest. The Indian cleared his eyes and came
at him like a wounded buffalo, head down, hands going like flails;
avoiding them, John hit out for the nose and landed square on his beak.
The buck tripped and fell on his back and the blood began to flow freely
from the bruised member, mingling with the yellow and green paint,
forming a very weird design. It was enough, Big Hawk was satisfied and
hastened to get off the gloves and bathe his nose at the river's edge."
From time to time during the recital of this tale Green glanced at the
boys to see the effect of his absurd story. That they were greatly
amused was evident. Cries of "Come off!" "What are you giving us?" and
the like followed the conclusion, and Charley Green subsided,
congratulating himself on his vivid imagination.
The feeling between the two camps, or rather the younger members of
them, was not always friendly, and the boys were glad when their father
came back after opening a new mine, told them that he had bought a sheep
ranch, and asked them if they wanted to go to work on it. The brothers
accepted eagerly, for they were possessed with the restless spirit of
the Westerner and were anxious for new scenes and new experiences.
Much had transpired during the long stay at the Yellowstone mine. The
railroad, with its busy construction gang and its noisy, short-breathed
engine, had reached and passed the little camp and had left behind its
steel trail. The tracks were not used for regular traffic as yet, but
the little dinky engine went by frequently, dragging flat cars loaded
with rails, ties, and other construction material. The boys became great
friends of the engineer, and he allowed them to ride with him in the cab
of the locomotive occasionally.
[Illustration: War-dance postures.]
It was with real regret, therefore, that one morning, as the iron horse
stood near the mine, hissing and grunting in impatience to be off, the
boys climbed up the step and into the cab to bid their friend Mr.
Jackson good-by.
"What! going to pull up stakes?" he inquired. "I've got three boys about
your size back in the East at school, where you ought to be," he added.
"Well," John replied, "mother has talked about school, but father says
he's going to teach us to work first."
"Father's great on work," interposed Ben.
In answer to Mr. Jackson's inquiry, John said that they were to start in
a day or two and would go alone, driving a buckboard; and that though
they did not know the road the horses had been over it, so with that aid
and the description given they would be able to find the way.
"Well, so long, boys," said the kindly engineer, after they had shaken
hands and thanked him for the many engine rides, "I shall miss you."
"Same here; so long!" called Ben and John in chorus.
The little engine began to cough, the steam puffed and hissed, and in a
few minutes it was out of sight around the turn.
[Illustration: A SHEPHERD ... ALONE WITH HIS FLOCKS. (_Page 151._)]
A day or two later the boys climbed into the buckboard, and, after
bidding a matter-of-fact farewell to all, started off: on a journey to a
place neither of them had been to before, over a road that was entirely
unfamiliar to both.
With their father's last instructions ringing in their ears, they set
out at a good pace.
The hundred-and-fifty-mile drive lasted five long wearisome days. Day
after day they travelled, sitting still on the bouncing, rattling
buckboard. The white-topped wagons that came into view occasionally were
hailed with relief, for they somewhat broke the monotony of the journey;
a word or two with these drivers and a question as to the location of
the best grass, wood, and water--camp necessaries--was all that passed,
but even that was a comfort after the desolation and loneliness through
which they had been passing.
On the fourth day the Big Horn River came into view and was crossed in
safety. The appearance of the country changed, and the boys for the
first time saw real mountains. Living, as they had been, on the flat
prairies, their surprise was as great as their interest and delight at
these massive hills uprearing themselves against the sky. The day
following they drove up to the door of the ranch house and were received
cordially by Abe Miller, the foreman in charge. In obedience to their
father's command they delivered a letter of instructions, and while Abe
was painfully studying this out, his hardened forefinger pointing to
each word as he went along, the boys had ample time to observe him as
well as their new surroundings. They saw that he was short and rather
fat and blessed with the face that is apt to go with that build: it was
decidedly cheerful, for the corners of his mouth turned up; even now
there was a half smile on his lips, though his brow bore a perplexed
frown from his literary struggle. The ranch buildings, which consisted
of half a dozen rough sheds and as many more corrals, beside the ranch
house or log shack, lay in a valley. On one side rose a high range of
mountains, wooded to the summit; on the other, a long, rolling,
grass-covered plain.
"I don't see any sheep," said John, after scanning; the country in every
direction.
Abe looked up, but held his stubby forefinger pressed firmly on the last
word he was deciphering, as if to make sure of its safety.
"Oh, they're twenty-five miles down the creek now," he answered. "We
only keep them here in the winter. We'll go there to-morrow; it's too
late now."
By the time the ranchman had finished the letter the sun was nearing the
mountain crest and the boys' appetites assured them it was time to eat.
In the shack a low fire was burning, which blazed cheerfully when John
added an armful of dry twigs and brush. While the boy was mending the
fire, Abe went to one corner of the cabin and from a tall pole which
stood there let down part of a sheep's quarter.
"Why do you keep it up there?" asked Ben, who now noticed it for the
first time.
"No flies up there," explained Abe. "Meat keeps in this climate till it
dries up if the flies don't get at it."
The boys went out and sat on the door-step to wait till the meal was
cooked, for though they were more tired than they realized, they had the
greatest curiosity to see everything connected with this new home.
After sitting silent a while, their heads resting on the door-jamb,
their eyes on the crest of the mountain where the sun shone with its
last departing glory, John turned toward his brother.
"Those mountains are great. We didn't have--Say, Mr. Miller, what's
this?" he asked excitedly, interrupting himself and pointing, first to
some bullet-holes in the logs and then at a blood stain on the block
below.