“CLIMB DOWN, PARD!”
It was a merry party that assembled around the camp-fire that night as
well as a tired one. Oscar sought his blanket at an early hour, and fell
asleep listening to the hunting stories that were told, of which each
officer, and especially the colonel, seemed to have an inexhaustible
stock; but he was up in the morning with the rest, and fully as eager as
they were to engage in the day’s sport, which was to consist in shooting
wolves with the bow and arrow, and coursing them with the hounds after
the horses became weary.
He had no sympathy for the wolves, and tried as hard as he could to send
his arrow into one; but the missiles all went wide of the mark, and,
after he had emptied his quiver without bringing one of the animals to
bag, he had recourse to his revolver, with which he succeeded in
knocking over a specimen.
Oscar had always been of the opinion that nobody but an Indian could use
the bow and arrow, and that even he was glad to lay it aside as soon as
he had secured possession of a rifle; but in this he was mistaken.
An Indian certainly does long for a rifle above everything else in the
way of a weapon, but he never gives up his bow and arrow, not even at
this day, when Winchester rifles that shoot sixteen times without
reloading can be had with comparatively little exertion.
The bow is more effective at close quarters than a muzzle-loading rifle,
because it can be used with much greater rapidity; and ammunition is
costly, and must be purchased of the trader, while the bow and arrow are
implements the Indian can make for himself.
And as for skill in shooting—that was something that even a white man
could acquire by practice.
Oscar was astonished to see what an adept the lieutenant had become
during his short experience on the plains. He rarely missed pinning a
wolf to the ground while his horse was going at full speed; and, with
the colonel’s strong elk-horn bow, he could draw an arrow to the head
with the greatest ease, while Oscar found it a task of no little
difficulty to string it.
Some of the incidents of the day were amusing as well as exciting; and,
although Oscar thoroughly enjoyed himself, and won praise for his
perseverance and horsemanship, if not for his skill, he was glad when
the late dinner was over, and the order was given to catch up.
He had nothing of which to complain, having secured with his own weapons
as many specimens as he could use; but he thought he had lingered long
enough in the vicinity of the fort, and was impatient to be off for the
hills.
He had found out, through the colonel, that it was a wild and lonely
region to which Big Thompson intended to guide him, and that more than
one hunter had gone there who had never been heard of afterward; but
everybody said that game of all kind was abundant, and that was just
what he had been sent out there to find.
The night ride to the fort was accomplished without any incident worthy
of note, and at twelve o’clock the hunters were all in their beds,
sleeping soundly.
Sunday was emphatically a day of rest with Oscar, and he needed it, for
his hard riding had set every bone in his body to aching.
The others did not mind it in the least, for it was no uncommon thing
for them to spend whole weeks in the saddle; but with Oscar it was an
unusual experience, and it was a long time before he could pass a day on
horseback without feeling the effects of it afterward.
On Monday morning he was up long before daylight, and in an hour’s time
he was ready for the start.
His luggage and the chest containing his tools were put into the wagon;
the skins of the specimens he had already secured were packed in cotton
and stowed away in one of the warehouses for safe keeping, and the
captive fawn was given into the charge of the lieutenant, who promised
to take the best possible care of it.
The pony the quartermaster had selected for him, and which had never
been heard of since he threw his rider in the sage-brush, was duly paid
for; and the rest of his money was placed in the hands of the colonel,
all except a small sum which he kept out to pay for any little articles
of luxury—such as milk, butter, and eggs—he might wish to purchase at
the ranches along the route.
No one had been inquiring for him at the fort during his absence; and
this proved that Tom had either done something which made him afraid, or
ashamed, to show himself, or else that he was entirely satisfied with
his present companion, and had no desire to better his condition in
life.
Such reflections as these, which constantly forced themselves upon
Oscar’s mind, did much to mar his pleasure.
By the time Oscar had eaten breakfast Big Thompson and his pony were on
hand.
The guide looked dubiously at his employer’s outfit, and then glanced
down at the saddle-bags that contained his own, but he had no fault to
find.
He waited patiently until the boy had taken leave of all the officers,
who wished him every success in his undertaking; and, when he saw Oscar
climb to his seat in the wagon, he turned his pony about and led the way
from the fort.
Our hero had decided to take the lieutenant’s advice, and make his mule
do duty as a hunting-horse. That would be taking a long step backward,
Oscar thought; for, judging by the actions of his long-eared friend,
there was about as much speed in him as there was in a cow. His gait in
the wagon was a lumbering trot, which he was obliged to assume in order
to keep pace with the fast-walking little beast on which the guide was
mounted.
He scraped his hind feet on the ground as he went along, allowed his
ears to bob back and forth in the laziest kind of a way, and if by
chance the pony increased his lead by a few yards, the mule, instead of
quickening his own pace in order to overtake him, would utter a mournful
bray, as if begging him to slacken up a little.
Oscar was not at all pleased with him, but he could not afford to pay
fifty dollars for another mustang; and, as the mule would not be
required to draw the wagon after the foot-hills were reached, it was
nothing more than fair that he should earn his living and pay for
himself, by carrying his master in pursuit of game.
He was not satisfied with his guide, either. The latter kept just far
enough ahead of the wagon to make conversation impossible, and Oscar was
left to the companionship of his own thoughts, which were not of the
most agreeable nature.
The officers of the post, having taken a deep interest in him and his
business, had tried hard to make his sojourn with them an occasion long
to be remembered; and to give up his familiar intercourse with them for
the society of this uncongenial man was by no means a pleasant thing to
do.
The prospect before him was gloomy enough, Oscar thought; but,
fortunately, things did not turn out as badly as he anticipated.
The guide misunderstood him, just as Oscar misunderstood the guide and
the mule. They were both better than they seemed to be. It needed
trouble to bring out their good qualities; and that came soon enough.
Shortly after noon, by Oscar’s watch, the guide halted on the banks of a
small stream; and, after removing the saddle and bridle from his pony,
turned the animal loose to graze.
He said nothing to Oscar; and the boy, who now began to feel provoked at
his studied neglect, said nothing to him.
“I can hold my tongue as long as he can hold his,” was Oscar’s mental
reflection. “If I must depend upon myself for companionship I can do it;
but he’ll attend to all the camp-work, I tell you, because that was what
he was hired for.”
Stopping the wagon near the place where the guide was starting a fire,
Oscar unhitched the mule, turned him loose without removing any part of
the harness except the bridle, and throwing himself down between the
roots of a convenient tree, watched the motions of his guide, who now
began preparations for dinner.
He filled the frying-pan with bacon for Oscar, the slices he intended
for himself being impaled upon a stick, which was thrust into the ground
in such a way that the meat hung over the flames.
Then he placed the coffee-pot on the coals, and brought from the wagon
tin cups and a tin plate, on which he had deposited a few hard crackers.
When the bacon was cooked to his satisfaction he placed the frying-pan
on the ground in front of his employer, and set a cup filled with coffee
beside it, after which he seized a handful of crackers and sat down on
the other side of the fire to eat his bacon, using as a fork the stick
on which it had been roasted.
“This is about the worst dinner I ever had set before me,” thought
Oscar. “If Thompson can’t do better than this I’ll cook for myself.
There are plenty of other things in the wagon, and he might take a
little pains to get up something a fellow can relish. I am not used to
having my grub shoved at me as one would shove a bone to a hungry dog.”
As soon as the guide bad satisfied his own appetite he began gathering
up the dishes, which he packed away in the wagon, after giving them a
hasty dip in the stream.
He did not ask Oscar if he were ready to start; and, in fact, he did not
seem to care. He hitched the mule to the wagon (that was an act of
condescension that Oscar did not look for); and, having saddled his
pony, rode off, leaving the boy to do as he pleased about following him.
He acted the same way when they went into camp that night; and, during
the whole of the next day, he never spoke a word to Oscar.
He was sociable enough with the stockmen whose ranches they passed along
the road, but not a syllable did he utter for his employer’s benefit
until he was ready to make another halt for the night. Then he reined up
in front of a dug-out, and turned in his saddle to say:
“Pilgrim, if ye’d like to sleep under a white man’s roof onct more afore
ye git to the hills, here’s yer chance. I reckon mebbe ye’d best do it,
kase why, we leave the trail fur good bright an’ arly to-morrer
mornin’.”
Then, without waiting to hear what the boy had to say to his
proposition, he raised his voice and called out:
“Halloo, thar, Ike! Have ye went into yer den, like a prairie-dog in
winter, an’ pulled the hole in arter ye? If ye aint, come outen that.
I’ve brought ye a tenderfoot fur a lodger.”
The dug-out looked like a mound of earth, about thirty feet long and
half as wide; but that it was a dwelling was evident, from the fact that
a piece of stovepipe projected from the roof, the thick cloud of smoke
that rose from it indicating that a fire had just been started in the
stove below.
A flight of rude steps, not made of boards, but dug out of the hard
earth, led down to the entrance, in which hung an army blanket that did
duty as a door. Taken altogether, it was a very forlorn-looking place.
There was not another human habitation in sight.
As the guide ceased speaking, an answering whoop, uttered in a
stentorian voice, came from the inside; and presently the blanket was
raised and the owner of the voice appeared in the doorway.
He was a tall, brawny man, roughly dressed, but still rather neater in
appearance than the other dwellers in dug-outs whom Oscar had seen along
the trail.
His hair and whiskers looked as though they were combed occasionally,
and it was plain that he had sometimes washed his face, for when he came
to the door he brought with him a towel, which he was using vigorously.
If he recognized an old acquaintance in the guide, there was nothing in
his actions to indicate the fact. Indeed, he did not appear to see him.
His gaze was fixed upon Oscar, at whom he stared with every indication
of astonishment. He looked very hard at him for a moment; and, uttering
an exclamation under his breath, stepped back into his house, dropping
the blanket to its place.
Before the boy—who was somewhat surprised at these actions—could look
toward his guide for an explanation, the man again appeared at the door,
and this time he carried something besides a towel in his hands. It was
a double-barrel shot-gun.
Oscar heard the hammers click as they were drawn back, and a moment
later the weapon was looking him squarely in the face, while the
ranchman’s eye was glancing along the clean brown tubes, and his finger
was resting on one of the triggers.
“Climb down, pard,” said he in savage tones. “I have been waiting for
you.”