LEFT IN THE SAGE-BRUSH.
The opening in the bushes was so small that Oscar was able to obtain but
a momentary glimpse of the passing horseman, but that momentary glimpse
was enough to satisfy him on two points. It was not the lieutenant,
after all, but Lish, the Wolfer, and he had not been to the village for
the purpose of getting drunk, as the colonel had intimated, but to lay
in some necessary supplies in the way of provisions. The well-filled
bags that were slung across his pony’s neck, and the side of bacon which
hung from the muzzle of the long rifle he carried over his shoulder
testified to this fact.
Oscar drew a long breath of relief when he saw the man ride down the
path, and told himself that one thing was certain: If Tom was determined
to go with the wolfer he would have something to eat during the journey
to his hunting-grounds, and if he went hungry after that, it would be
because his partner was too lazy to keep the larder supplied with meat.
As soon as the wolfer had passed out of hearing Oscar mounted his pony
and rode down into the path. He made his way around the brow of the
hill; and, when he had put a safe distance between himself and the mouth
of the ravine, he checked his pony and proceeded to load his gun.
“Tom has got the matter in his own hands,” said he, as he rested the
butt of the weapon on the toe of his boot and poured a charge of powder
into each barrel. “If he had nothing to do with that ‘affair’ that
happened last summer—I wish to goodness I knew what it was—and has any
desire to turn over a new leaf and to go to work in earnest, he will
come up to the fort as soon as he has read that note. If he does not
come I shall have to look upon his absence either as a confession of
guilt, or as a declaration that he prefers the companionship of such men
as that wolfer to the society of honest folks. In either case I have
done all I can, and the business ends right here so far as I am
concerned.”
Oscar would have been very much surprised if anyone had told him that he
had not seen the end of the business after all; that, in fact, he had
seen only the beginning of it.
The note he had written, as well as the clothing he had purchased to
keep Tom from freezing, were destined at no distant day to be produced
as evidence against him.
Was it a dread of impending evil that prompted him to say, as he placed
the caps on his gun and started his pony forward again:
“Mr. Chamberlain was always right, and he shot close to the mark when he
told me that I would not find plain sailing before me, simply because I
was about to engage in a congenial occupation. I have been at the fort
but a few hours, and yet I have wished myself back in Eaton more than a
dozen times. Why didn’t I keep away from that ravine? Thoughts of Tom
will force themselves upon me continually, and all my pleasure will be
knocked in the head. How can I enjoy myself when I know that he is in
such a situation? Hold on there! I am ready for you now!”
Although he was deeply engrossed in his meditations, Oscar could still
keep an eye out for game; and when that flock of sage-hens arose from
the bushes almost at his pony’s feet, they did not catch him napping.
Being accustomed to the noise made by the grouse of his native hills
when it suddenly bursts from its cover, the sound of their wings did not
startle him as it startles the tyro.
He was so excited that he did not think to stop his pony, but still he
was cool enough to make his selections before he fired; and when he saw,
through the thick cloud of smoke that poured from each barrel, two
little patches of feathers floating in the air, and marking the spot
where a brace of the finest members of the flock had been neatly stopped
in their rapid flight, he knew that his ammunition had not been expended
in vain.
There was another thing Oscar did not think of, and that was whether or
not his pony would stand fire. But it was now too late to debate that
question, and besides, it had been settled to his entire satisfaction.
Almost simultaneously with the quick reports of the fowling-piece there
arose other sounds of an entirely different character—a crashing in the
bushes, followed by muffled exclamations of astonishment and anger.
These sounds were made by Oscar, who had been very neatly unhorsed.
The pony would no doubt stand fire well enough to suit his half-savage,
rough-riding Indian master, but he was not steady enough to suit the
young taxidermist.
When the double-barrel roared almost between his ears, his head went
down, his hind feet came up, and Oscar, being taken off his guard, went
whirling through the air as if he had been thrown from a catapult.
He lost no time in scrambling to his feet, but he was too late to catch
his pony. All he saw of him was the end of his tail, which was
flourishing triumphantly in the breeze as the tricky little beast went
out of sight over the brow of the hill.
“Well, go if you want to!” shouted Oscar, holding one hand to his head,
and rubbing his shoulder with the other. “You’ll never come that on me
again, I tell you. I can hunt just as well on foot. Now, where’s my
gun?”
The weapon had been pitched into a thick bush, a short distance in
advance of the one in which Oscar had brought up, and fortunately it had
sustained no injury beyond a few deep scratches in the stock, which
Oscar tried to rub out with the sleeve of his coat.
The boy’s first care was to put fresh loads into each barrel, and his
second to hunt up his specimens, which he found to be perfect in every
way.
After examining them to his satisfaction, he placed them in a couple of
paper cones which he had taken the precaution to put into his game-bag
before leaving the fort, and then set out in search of the jack-rabbit
he had seen a few hours before.
He did not waste any time in looking for his pony, for he knew that all
efforts to recapture him would be unavailing. The animal would no doubt
make the best of his way back to the corral from which he had been taken
in the morning, and Oscar would find him there when he returned to the
fort.
If he ever got on his back again, he would teach him that he was
expected to halt the instant he saw his rider raise a gun to his face,
and give him to understand, besides, that any and every attempt to throw
that rider would be sure to bring a certain and speedy punishment.
The young hunter walked up and down the ridge several times, carefully
beating the cover on each side of the path, but he could not make the
jack-rabbit, or any member of his family, show himself.
Probably there were plenty of his species running about in the brush,
within easy range, or hiding away in secure retreats, listening to the
sound of his footsteps; but he had no dog to drive them out into the
open so that he could get a shot at them. How Bugle would have enjoyed
an hour’s run in that thicket!
Becoming weary of the hunt at last, Oscar looked at his watch, felt of
his head—which must have been pretty severely bumped, judging by the way
it ached—and drew a bee-line for the post.
Tom had been allowed ample time to read the note and put on the clothes
that had been provided for him; and, if he thought it best to come up to
the fort, Oscar wanted to be on hand to meet him. It was near the hour
of dress-parade, too.
As soon as that was over, and supper had been served, the officers who
were to compose the hunting expedition were to be ready for the start.
Oscar knew that the hunt had been planned solely for his own benefit,
and since the colonel had shown him so much courtesy, it would not do
for him to be a minute behind time.
There was a vast difference, Oscar found, in traveling over two miles
and a half of prairie on a swift and willing horse, and walking the same
distance when one has an aching head on his shoulders and a
fowling-piece to carry, even though it does weigh but little over seven
pounds.
It seemed a long way from the sage-brush to the fort, but he reached his
journey’s end at last, and just in time to see the companies fall in for
dress-parade.
From the top of the hill on which the fort was located, Oscar witnessed,
for the first time, this imposing ceremony, which took place on a level
plain a short distance away.
It consisted principally of a short exercise in the manual of arms, the
reception of the reports of the first sergeants, and the publication of
the latest orders.
There were eight companies in line, and every one of them was composed
entirely of well-dressed veterans. There was not a man in the ranks who
had not heard the warwhoop, and joined in headlong charges against the
hostile Sioux.
They presented a fine appearance as they sat there in their saddles, the
rays of the declining sun glancing from their bright weapons and
burnished accoutrements, every man’s arm and body moving as one, in
obedience to the sharp words of command. As Oscar looked at them his
heart thrilled, and he wished that he was a soldier himself.
This wish he communicated to a young second lieutenant, Joel Warwick by
name, who was to be one of the hunting party, and who joined him as soon
as the parade was dismissed.
The officer stared at Oscar a moment, as if to assure himself that he
was really in earnest, and then astonished him by saying:
“I would change places with you to-day, if I could, and give you boot
into the bargain. You see us now in our Sunday clothes, and you think we
look nice. So we do; for there’s not a finer sight to be seen in this
world than a battalion of cavalry drawn up in line, unless it be that
same battalion making a charge. But you ought to see us and our clothes
after a hard scout!”
“Well, you don’t go on scout every day,” said Oscar. “Besides, you have
a life position; you get good pay for what you do, and there are your
chances for promotion. You’ll be a colonel yourself some day.”
“Not much. We go by the seniority rule in peace times, and there are a
good many on the list above me, I tell you. Nothing but a war that will
kill off some of my seniors will advance me.”