THE EMIGRANT TRAIN.
“Hurrah for you, Archie!” shouted Eugene, as he and Fred came galloping
up. “You’ve made sure work this time, haven’t you?”
“I told you that if I got another fair chance at him he was mine,”
replied Archie. “You had a suspicion that I was shooting with a long
bow, last night, when I told you that I had seen a horse help his
master catch cattle, didn’t you, Fred?”
“No,” returned Featherweight, quickly. “I only thought it something
wonderful.”
“I told you I had seen a horse hold a steer down while his owner
butchered him, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” answered Fred.
“Well, now you will see my horse hold this fellow down while I put
a bit in his mouth. Look out, there,” he added, as the boys, having
dismounted, ran up to watch his movements; “don’t come too near his
heels, for he can out-kick a mule. Keep a good hold of your own horses
too, or they’ll go off to join the drove.”
Archie’s nag, as his owner afterward declared, had shown himself to
be a “perfect trump.” He seemed to know what the boy intended to do
as well as the boy knew it himself. When the lariat settled down over
the bay’s head and the latter was about to run off, he planted his
fore-feet firmly on the ground to stop him, and the bay was thrown on
his side, as we have described. Archie’s horse, without waiting for
the word from his rider, quickly backed up until the lariat was drawn
tight, and thus the bay was held as securely as if he had been tied to
the ground.
Archie, finding that his horse could be depended on, quickly
dismounted, slipped the bridle off his head, and when Fred and Eugene
came up he was kneeling on the bay’s neck, trying to force the bits
into his mouth.
“You’re not going to ride him now, are you?” exclaimed Fred, amazed at
Archie’s apparent recklessness.
“Certainly I am,” was the reply. “He’s got to be backed some time, and
it might as well be now as to-morrow.”
“How are you going to get a saddle on him? You can’t put the girth
around him while he is lying down.”
“I don’t want any saddle!”
“Why, he’ll throw you and break your neck!”
“If he does it shan’t cost him anything,” answered Archie, as he
buckled the throat-latch about the bay’s neck. “Now, Fred, slack up
on that lariat, please, and give us room according to our size and
importance. We shall need plenty of space to spread ourselves in!”
Fred, in compliance with the request, unfastened the rawhide rope from
Archie’s saddle, and then he and Eugene, still holding fast to their
horses and leading Archie’s, retreated quickly to the foot of the
cliffs. As soon as Archie saw that they were out of the way, he removed
his weight from the bay’s neck, and in an instant the captured horse
was on his feet. How Archie managed to get upon his back as he was
rising was a great mystery to the two boys who were looking on—it was
done so quickly. But he was there, and he had secured a firm seat, too.
The bay was no sooner on his feet than he began to make the most
desperate attempts to shake off his rider, but all to no purpose.
When he reared, Archie pounded him between the ears with his clenched
hand; and when he kicked, he used his spurs with such hearty good-will
that the horse was glad to desist. During all the terrific struggle
Archie was as cool as a cucumber and was never once moved from his
seat. Failing in his efforts to throw his rider, the bay tried to run,
and this Archie not only permitted, but encouraged. There were two
well-beaten paths at this point, one running to the right and the other
to the left around the valley, and when the bay showed a desire to try
his speed his rider turned him into one of these paths and touched him
gently with the lariat, which he had managed to gather up, and now
held in a coil in his right hand. The horse responded on the instant,
and with a few rapid bounds carried Archie out of sight behind the
trees. The boys stood listening to the sound of his hoofs for a moment,
and then turned and looked at each other.
“That is something I never saw done before,” said Eugene, at length.
“And if anybody had told me that it could be done, I wouldn’t have
believed him,” added Fred. “He will probably go on around the valley,
and as that is a good ten-mile ride, we shall have plenty of time to
make the camp and get something to eat before he returns.”
The boys watered the horses at the little brook that ran from the
spring, staked out their own animals (having no lasso with which
to picket Archie’s horse they hobbled him with a halter so that he
could not stray far away) and then went to work to prepare breakfast.
From one of the bundles Fred brought to light a small sheet-iron
camp-kettle, a coffee-pot and a hatchet. While he was undoing another,
which contained the small supply of bacon and hard-tack they had
remaining, Eugene picked up the hatchet, and in a few minutes had split
up dry wood enough to start a roaring fire. The camp-kettle was filled
with water from the spring, several slices of bacon placed around the
fire on spits to roast, and then the two boys threw themselves on their
blankets to take a few minutes’ rest after their twenty-four hours in
the saddle, and to await Archie’s return.
He came much sooner than they expected, and they saw at a glance that
that ten-mile gallop had taken considerable of the wild spirit out of
the bay. He looked as if he had been driven through a stream of water;
his breast was flecked with foam, and, although he still kept his ears
laid back close to his head and showed a good deal of the white of his
eye, he did not kick and plunge as he had done at starting, and seemed
quite willing to stop when his rider gave him the word.
“Well?” said both the boys at once.
There was a good deal of meaning in that little word, and Archie
rightly interpreted it. Fred and Eugene were anxious to know if their
new horse was swift enough to beat the black.
“I don’t know,” replied Archie, drawing his shirt-sleeve across his
forehead; “I am not yet prepared to say. The horse was tired when he
got here, and as the path around the valley is rocky and full of logs
and brush, he didn’t have a chance to show himself. But he moves as if
he were set on springs and clears a good stretch of country at a jump,
and there is no telling what he may do after he has had a good rest.
Want to try him, either of you?”
“Well, n—no,” replied Fred, with so comical an expression that Archie
and Eugene laughed outright. “I believe I’ve ridden far enough for one
day.”
“Then I’ll walk him up and down till he gets cooled off a little,”
said Archie. “After that we’ll tie him to a tree and blanket him. In
the meantime, if you don’t know what else to do, you might cook some
breakfast.”
“We’ve cooked one breakfast and eaten it,” said Eugene. “We were too
hungry to wait for you.”
“We’ll have to send somebody out on a foraging expedition pretty soon,”
said Fred, holding up all that was left of the bacon. “To-morrow will
see the last of our provisions, unless we put ourselves on short
rations.”
Fred set about his cooking operations again, while Eugene reclined
on his blanket and watched Archie as he rode the bay slowly back and
forth. Having once been thoroughly broken to saddle, the animal was
still “bridle-wise,” but, although he understood every command of
his rider, he did not like to yield obedience. He preferred freedom
to slavery and needed constant watching, for he was ready to take
advantage of the smallest chance that was given him for escape. He was
a very handsome, stylish animal, and it was no wonder that Colonel
Gaylord did not like to give him up. When the bacon and coffee were
ready, Archie hitched his horse in a thicket of evergreens, where he
was effectually protected from the cold wind that was blowing, threw a
blanket over him and went to breakfast.
The boys spent one day and night in their camp in the valley, during
which the bay received the best of care and fully recovered from his
fatigue, although he did not appear to become reconciled to captivity.
He was a vicious brute, and so quick with his heels that it was a
matter of some difficulty to handle him, and Archie was the only one
who cared to attempt it. The wild horses seemed to miss him. They
frequently came about the camp and called to him, and at such times he
struggled so desperately to escape that the boys were alarmed lest he
should injure himself.
Early on the morning following their arrival in the valley, they
packed their bundles and took to their saddles for the return journey,
Eugene leading Archie’s old horse, and Archie himself riding the
bay. They now had a good view of the gorge, and it was so full of
obstructions—tangled thickets, fallen trees and boulders that had
tumbled from the cliffs above—and the path was so narrow and winding,
that it was a mystery to them how the horses could have found their
way through there in the dark. They stopped once for a short rest and
lunch, and about three o’clock in the afternoon arrived within sight of
the prairie. They thought of the wild man, but saw no signs of him.
The way was now clear, and being impatient to reach the Fort and
exhibit their prize, they put their horses into a lope, and by the
time the sun began to dip behind the mountains they had made fifteen
miles farther on their journey. They followed a course a few miles to
the eastward of the route they had first travelled, in order to find
water. They knew just where to look for it, for the trapper had been
very explicit in his instructions, and Eugene had communicated them to
his companions while they were yet fresh in his memory, so that there
might be no chance for any mistakes. The willows, which pointed out the
position of the stream, came in sight at last, and then the boys halted
and held a consultation. A thin cloud of smoke slowly rising above the
tops of the trees showed them that their camping-ground was already
occupied.
“Ask me something hard,” said Archie, when his companions, after looking
at the smoke through their field-glasses, turned to him as if to inquire
what he thought about it. “I am sure I don’t know who they are.”
“What shall we do?” asked Fred. “I don’t like the idea of going into a
stranger’s camp, for I have not forgotten Frank’s experience with Black
Bill and his party.”
“But Dick assured me that we had nothing to fear from any one we
might meet,” said Eugene. “He told me, too, that if we got into any
difficulty he and old Bob would be around.”
“Perhaps Dick and Bob are there now,” said Archie.
“That’s so. We can go down and see, and if they are strangers we need
not intrude upon them. We can go a mile or two farther up the stream.”
The boys rode down the swell, and in a few minutes reached the willows
that lined both banks of the stream. No sooner had they entered them
than a chorus of angry yelps and growls arose in advance, and three or
four gaunt, savage-looking hounds came toward them with open mouths.
“Begone, you brutes!” shouted a voice. “Begone, I say! Come on,
strangers, whoever you be. They won’t pester you.”
The boys kept on, and when they reached the other side of the willows,
came in sight of the camp. Two covered wagons were drawn up, one on
each side of the fire, and a span of small, shaggy mules and a yoke of
very poor oxen were grazing close by on the prairie. About the fire
were gathered a party of men, women and children, half a score in
number, all but two of whom the boys at once put down as emigrants.
Three of these emigrants were men—one an old gray-headed patriarch,
and the others sturdy young fellows, one of whom must have been some
relation to the old man, if there was any faith to be put in the
resemblance they bore to each other.
The two who were not emigrants reminded the boys of that brace of
worthies who had ridden into their camp on the night Walter was
spirited away—Parks and Reed—who were now safe in irons in the Fort.
The dress and accoutrements of these men proclaimed them to be hunters,
but their faces told a different story. They did not seem at all
pleased to see the boys, but the old man welcomed him cordially.
“How do, strangers?” said he. “Alight and hitch.”
“We’re obliged to you,” said Archie, “but we have no wish to intrude.
We thought, when we saw the smoke of your fire, that perhaps we should
find some of our friends here. We’ll make our camp a little farther up
the stream.”
“No intrusion at all,” said the old man. “You are almost the only white
folks we’ve seen for weeks till we fell in with our friends here——”
nodding his head toward the two hunters—“and we’d like to talk to you.”
Archie hesitated. If the old man wanted him and his companions to camp
with him, it was plain that the hunters did not, and he was well
enough acquainted with men of their class to know that it was sometimes
a dangerous proceeding to act in opposition to their wishes. But then
these men did not belong to the train. Archie judged by what the old
man said that he and his company had fallen in with them accidentally
during their journey across the prairie, and if that was the case, they
had nothing to say.
“Better get down,” urged the emigrant. “We’ve got grub enough to feed
you. We’re on our way to Fort Bolton; where might you be a travellin’
to?”
“We’re bound for the same place.”
“Then camp with us to-night and to-morrow we’ll travel in company.”
The promise of a good supper was a very tempting one to the hungry
boys, whose commissary would have been exhausted long ago if they had
given their appetites full swing, and they knew that if they accepted
the emigrant’s invitation their wants would be abundantly supplied.
There was a coffee-pot on the coals, something that looked like
biscuits in a pan beside the fire, and from one of the trees hung a
joint of fresh meat, from which had been cut a sufficient number of
steaks to fill a large frying-pan. The fact that the tin plates and
cups that were scattered around were not as clean as some they had
seen, and that the emigrant’s wife went about her domestic duties with
a pipe in her mouth, did not take the sharp edge off their appetites,
as it might have done a few months before. So they decided to remain.
The old man took their bundles, accompanied them when they went out to
picket their horses, asked them more questions than he would give them
time to answer, and finally went back to camp to make sure that his wife
had obeyed orders and added more steaks to those already in the pan.
Fred and Eugene, having picketed their own horses, went to assist
Archie, the bay having suddenly taken it into his head that he would
not allow himself to be staked out. The boys had a lively battle with
him, and while it was going on, one of the hunters came out.
“Look a yer! who be you an’ what brought you yer?” he demanded.
Archie, who had quite as much on his hands as he could attend to, was
not in just the right mood to answer such questions, especially when
propounded, as this one was, with all the insolence the man could throw
into his tones. He paid no attention to it until the man said, pointing
his finger at him:
“You heard me, I reckon! What’s your name, an’ what brought you yer?”
“There, he’s safe enough,” said Fred, when he had driven down the iron
picket-pin with the hatchet.
“We’ll not trust to that alone,” said Archie. “We’ll hobble him, too.
Now, my friend, in reply to your question I have to say that I left
all my cards at Fr’isco; but when I return there, as I expect to do in
the course of a month or so, I will send you one, if you will be kind
enough to give me your address.”
The man stared, and then looked down at the ground in a brown study. He
could not make head or tail of what Archie said; but when Eugene spoke,
he began to have a vague idea that the boys were making game of him.
“We’ll send it by special train, too,” said Eugene, who was highly
indignant over the man’s insulting manner.
“I don’t want no sass,” said the latter. “I axed you a fair question.”
“But you didn’t ask it in a fair way,” said Archie. “Now, then, stand
clear of his heels and I will let him go,” he added, as Eugene buckled
the halter-strap around the bay’s leg below his knee. “I think we shall
find him here when we want him.”
The horse was doubly secured now. He was fastened by a lariat to an
iron pin, which was driven as deeply into the ground as repeated
blows from the hatchet could send it, and his head was tied down to
his feet, so that even if he succeeded in pulling the pin out he
could not run away. The boys had found that these precautions were
absolutely necessary. They had been so long about this work that the
fresh steaks had had plenty of time to cook, and when they went back
to camp the host told them that supper was ready, and backed up his
welcome announcement by grasping the frying-pan by its long handle and
passing it to each of his guests in succession, who helped themselves
by using their hunting-knives in lieu of forks. The host, not being
so particular, fished his share out with his fingers. The emigrant’s
wife passed them each a biscuit with a hand which looked as though
it had never seen water; a tin cup, with which one of the youngsters
had been amusing himself, was filled with coffee and handed over with
the remark: “I reckon you three haint afeared of one another;” and
everything being thus satisfactorily arranged and everybody provided
for, the host found a seat and applied himself to the task of learning
a full history of everything our heroes had done since they were born.
After asking a few questions he suddenly paused, having thought of
something.
“I declare, I’m losin’ all my manners since I left the settlements,”
said he. “I’m Reuben Holmes, gentle_men_, all the way from Pike,
Missouri. That chap there,” he added, pointing to one of the young men,
“he’s Reuben Holmes, junior. He’s my son. Know him, strangers.”
The boys, with great difficulty controlling their desire to laugh,
bowed to Reuben Holmes, junior, who did not know enough to acknowledge
it in any way, and the old man went on.
“This ’yer’s my old woman; that big gal is my darter, and them’s my
young children. That chap is Simon Cool, my hired help. He’s going out
to the mines to run a quartz-mill for me. Them two,” waving a biscuit
toward the two hunters, “are Zack and Sile. I don’t know their other
names, but they’re friends of our’n. They met us on the prairie, and
finding that we were a trifle out of our reckoning, they took us in tow
and are going to show us the way to where we want to go. We’re bound
for the mines, and I am going to set up a quartz-mill there.”
Having thus, as he imagined, placed our heroes quite at their ease,
the old man took a bite out of his biscuit, first dipping it into the
frying-pan, and went on with his questioning. The boys good-naturedly
replied, paying no heed to the winks, nods and grunts of disbelief
which the two hunters constantly exchanged with Simon Cool, and finally
the emigrant came down to their recent exploits.
“Where you been lately and what a doing?” he asked.
“We have just come from the mountains,” was the reply of Archie, who
acted as spokesman.
“Humph!” grunted Zack.
“What were you doing there?”
“Hunting wild horses.”
“Did you ever hear tell of the like of that, Zack?” asked Silas.
“I never did,” was the answer. “They’re nice lookin’ chaps to go a
huntin’ wild hosses, haint they now?”
“An’ the mountains is a likely place to find ’em, too,” added Silas.
“Is that frisky critter of your’n out there a wild hoss?” asked the old
man.
“He is.”
“Well, I do think in my soul! And you did ketch him, didn’t you? You
say you’re going to Bolton to-morrow?”
“Yes.”
“How far is it from here?”
“About three days’ journey, the way you will travel. We, on horseback,
could accomplish it in less time.”
“Which way is it from here?”
“Off there.”
“Why how does that come?” said the emigrant, with some surprise. “We’ve
been travelling _that_ way for the last two days,” pointing in just the
opposite direction.
“Then you have lost your course, or else somebody has been misleading
you.”
“Don’t listen to ’em, old man,” said Zack. “Tain’t noways likely that
me an’ Sile could get lost.”
“We don’t suppose you could,” said Eugene, who had been made so angry
by the hunters’ sly winks and nods that he could scarcely restrain
himself. “You know where the Fort is as well as we do.”
“I reckon we do, an’ better,” said Zack.
Simon Cool, for some reason or other, had been making persevering, but
unavailable, efforts to turn the conversation into another channel, and
Archie, seeing that Eugene was treading on dangerous ground, joined
in with Simon, and finally succeeded in getting the old man started
on the subject of mining, on which he could talk like a book. Archie
listened until he had finished his supper, and then went out to look at
his horse. He glanced over his shoulder as he went, and saw that Simon
and the two hunters were sitting with their heads close together, as if
engaged in consultation.
“There’s something afoot,” thought Archie, “and I have half a mind to
saddle up and clear out. Here comes Eugene. I’ll see what he thinks
about it.”