“BEARS!”
Dinner finished—and it tasted all the better because the boys cooked it
themselves, upon what was to be their new home—they washed the dishes,
wet down the fire, and were picking up their saddles, preparatory to
putting them on their ponies, when Andy stopped them.
“Hold on there, not so fast! A horse can’t eat as rapidly as a man, and
when there is no pressing need, you never should use one directly after
feeding.”
“But we want to ride over our claim,” declared Phil.
“Can’t you walk?”
“Why, yes,” flushed the boy, “I suppose so, but I thought no one walked
out West.”
The answer drew a hearty laugh from their companion. “You’re not on a
ranch, but a farm,” he replied, finally. “Besides, we can examine the
land much better on foot. At the Land Office they’ll ask you if you are
familiar with the land on which you wish to file, and I want you to be
able to say ‘yes’ truthfully.”
“Will our things be safe here?” inquired Phil. “No; probably the
neighbour’s children will run off with them,” smiled their companion.
“Seriously, though, they will. You don’t need locks in this part of the
world. If any one does come along, he’ll eat what he needs, if he is out
of grub himself, but he won’t harm or steal anything. Of course, there
may be an occasional ‘bad man,’ but he is soon run out of the region.
And another thing, don’t refuse a meal to any one or to help any one.
You never know when you may need one or both.”
“There, Phil, you see the trees aren’t very thick,” observed his
brother, as their guide concluded. “And over to the right there are none
at all. We’ll plow that up first.”
“Better keep it to graze your stock on; cattle and horses like this
natural grass,” advised Andy.
“What we shall do when you leave us, I don’t know,” said Phil.
“I don’t mean to be ‘bossy.’ I’m just trying to give you all the
pointers I can.”
“I realize that, Andy. It’s only that we don’t seem to hit anything
right. Hey, Ted, what are you digging for—gold?”
“No, angleworms. I read somewhere that you should never buy land for a
farm where there were no angleworms, the soil wouldn’t be productive.”
“I’m afraid you won’t find any, there’s too much duff,” said the agent.
“What is duff?” asked both boys.
“The—well—blanket formed by the leaves, rotted limbs, and logs that
always covers the ground in forests.”
“Well, you’re wrong for once,” cried Ted, gleefully, as he held up a
squirming worm.
“Glad I am,” smiled Andy. “Now it won’t be necessary for you to take my
word that this land is fertile.
“There’s another thing I must tell you about. At the Land Office they’ll
ask you a lot of questions, and one will be about whether there’s enough
rainfall to serve your crops. As to that, I can’t inform you. You are
surrounded by hills.”
“Mountains, we call them,” interrupted Phil.
“Well, mountains, then, so they may cut off your rain.”
“But we have the brook, so we can irrigate,” put in Ted.
“Say, who is telling this—you or me?”
“Go on, we won’t interrupt again,” promised the boys.
“What I am trying to say to you is that the eastern side of hills and
mountains always receives more rain and moisture than the western. No, I
can’t tell you why it is, but it’s true; at least, so the irrigation and
dry-farming experts say. Now you have both an eastern and a western
slope on your land, and if you don’t get rain enough, you can irrigate.”
“But one part of a hundred and sixty acres wouldn’t receive any rain
when another didn’t, would it?” Phil asked.
“You just wait and see. Wind currents and hills do queer things with
rain.”
“How about minerals or coal? They’ll ask if there are any here, won’t
they?” queried Ted.
“Tell them ‘no.’ Si had this flat examined for coal; that’s how I happen
to know about it.” At the words, confirming as they did the younger
boy’s opinion that the agent was other than he pretended to be, they
both glanced at one another.
“Then you can tell us about the subsoil, I suppose,” flashed Ted.
“That’s for you to find out. Si said he told you how it was done.”
“But we haven’t any bore.”
“Just try this;” and Andy unslung a long leather case, which had caused
the young homesteaders much curiosity, from his shoulder, opened it, and
took out several pieces of augur. “It’s a sectional bore,” he said,
fitting the parts together. “More convenient to carry than a single
six-foot length.”
There were marks, every twelve inches, just as Mr. Hopkins had described
to them in the train, and, when the handle had been adjusted, Ted took
it.
“You watch for the footmarks, Phil, and notice the moisture while I turn
the bore,” he ordered.
“One foot, fairly moist. Go on! Stop! Two feet, real damp. Try again!
Three feet, wet. Any use of going deeper, Andy? Mr. Hopkins said the
natural reservoir was usually three or four feet down.”
“What do you think, Ted?” asked their companion.
“That we’ve gone far enough. If the soil is moist at one foot, damp at
two, and wet at three, the crop roots won’t lack water the first season,
anyway.”
“Right you are. Let’s go over to the west slope and try.”
To the boys’ surprise, when the test was repeated, the soil was
practically dry until the four-foot level was reached and then it was
only moist.
“Guess you are right about the rainfall,” admitted Phil. “We’ll be
obliged to irrigate this side.”
“I am glad you boys appreciate the necessity and value of irrigation,”
commented the agent. “If more entrymen were aware of its importance and
possibilities, they would use greater care in selecting their homestead
lands—and there wouldn’t be so many abandoned. How’d you come to know
about it, Si tell you?”
“He did—but we’ve read up on it ourselves,” replied Ted.
“You mean _you_ have,” returned his brother. “I’m not much on such
matters, Andy, but Ted is daffy over building things. I believe he has
already decided on his system.”
“How about it, Ted?” smiled the agent.
“I have one in mind. After I have examined the water supply I shall know
whether or not it will work.”
“Good! Now we’ll turn some more soil.”
At the north and south ends of the quarter section other tests were made
which gave results almost similar to the first, though the soil was not
quite so moist.
“See that tree with the cross blazed in the bark?” Andy asked, as he
pointed to a tree a rod away.
“Yes,” answered the boys.
“That’s your corner mark. If you go close, you will see an E 1, N.E. cut
below the blaze. That means that your section is mapped as E 1 and that
this is the northeast boundary. You’ll find marks at the three other
corners. Don’t cut those trees down or deface the marks; there’s a fine
of two hundred and fifty dollars or six months’ imprisonment, or both,
for destroying a corner mark placed by the government. Where there are
no trees, stone posts are set up.”
“Do you mean that all this region has been surveyed?” asked Phil.
“It has, and mapped as well. At the Land Office you can buy maps of all
the lands open for homestead entry, marked even into forty-acre lots,
with a list of all the people who have filed entries and the locations
of their claims.”
“That’s some job, surveying and running lines,” commented Ted.
“It sure is, especially when the land must be examined for coal and
mineral deposits, and the work is carried on, or has been completed, in
all the prairie and Rocky Mountain States. You Easterners have no idea
of the importance of the Department of the Interior, which has charge of
the public lands.”
“The only time we ever hear of it is when some land-grabbing scandal
breaks out,” Phil declared.
“And the worst ones never have leaked out. But it’s getting harder for
the rich syndicates to gobble up square mile after square mile of
valuable land. Some day it will be impossible, and no more priceless
water rights will be given away.”
“But how can the syndicates get the land, when a homesteader is only
allowed to file for a hundred and sixty or, under certain conditions,
three hundred and twenty acres at the most?” queried Ted.
“By getting individuals to file entries, and when they have received the
land, turn it over to the syndicates.”
The fervour with which their companion spoke surprised his hearers, and
Phil asked, guilelessly:
“You have been in the reclamation service, haven’t you?”
Casting a swift glance at his questioner, Andy flushed and snapped a
curt “Yes.”
“Why did you leave it?”
Again their companion flushed, but this time angrily.
“They didn’t want an honest man on my job—but I spoiled their game, just
the same. Please not ask any more about my service. The business isn’t
ended yet.”
“I hope you’ll win!” exclaimed Ted, impulsively.
“It isn’t myself I care about. I hate to see a few rich thieves, in and
out of office—and when any one tells you that land can be stolen without
the knowledge of the high officials, don’t you believe them—get for
nothing rights that are too valuable even to sell.”
With this outburst Andy grew silent, and it was not until they had
inspected the brook, where Ted found conditions favourable for the
installation of his system, that he recovered his cheeriness.
“Think you can sleep in such a place?” he asked, as he fixed the fire
after returning to the bough hut.
“I don’t mind the place. It’s the sleeping on my guns that will bother
me,” Ted replied. “I don’t think they will be very comfortable.”
“That only means to have them under your pillows.”
“But we haven’t any pillows.”
“Use your saddles.” And Andy quickly showed the boys how to build a bed
of boughs, and cover it with their blankets in such a way that the
hardness of their saddles was relieved.
When they had gathered a big pile of firewood for the night, Andy
suggested target practice.
With a shout the boys welcomed the suggestion, and while the agent set
up a tin can some thirty paces from the bough hut, they broke out their
rifles.
“You’re oldest, you shoot first,” said Ted to his brother.
“All right!” And throwing his rifle to his shoulder, Phil sighted it a
moment, then fired.
To the surprise of the former member of the reclamation service, the can
was torn from the branch which held it.
“Good boy, Phil! Do it again!” cried his brother, when he had replaced
the target.
Three more times the boy fired, standing at different distances, and
three more times the can went spinning.
“Thought you hadn’t shot much?” exclaimed Andy.
“Nor have I. Only four or five times, before today, all told.”
“H’m! Try it with your 44.”
The results with the revolver were as good, and their agent was both
surprised and delighted.
“No fluke about those bulls-eyes,” he declared. “You are a natural-born
marksman. You’ve the quick, sure eye.”
“It’s his pitching that does it,” enthused Ted, as happy at his
brother’s remarkable showing as though it had been himself. “Phil was
the star pitcher of the Interscholastic League, you know.”
“That may have developed his eye, but he’s a natural-born marksman just
the same. Now let’s see what you can do, Ted. Are you a pitcher, too?”
“No, I’m not,” replied the boy, as he squinted along the rifle barrel.
“He’s going to build an airship when we get E 1 cleared,” laughed Phil.
The younger boy made a sorry showing, however, not scoring a hit though
he emptied his magazine, and he had no better success with his 44.
“Never mind, practice will develop your eye,” consoled Andy. “And now
we’ll get supper.”
As night advanced, the woods seemed to awaken. Owls hooted, twigs
snapped as night-prowling animals travelled about, and now and then the
cry of a mountain lion sounded in the distance.
“I shan’t dare shut my eyes tonight,” exclaimed the younger boy.
“Nonsense!” returned their companion. “The fire will keep everything
away. Don’t think about the noises, just put your mind on the
pleasantest thing you can conceive and forget that you are in the real
woods.”
More tired than they cared to admit, the young homesteaders lost no time
in wrapping up in their blankets, after everything had been made
shipshape for the night. But scarcely had they worked themselves into
comfortable positions than a terrified whinneying and snorting burst
from the horses.
Hastily throwing aside their covering, the boys snatched their revolvers
from under their saddles and sprang to their feet.
“What is it, Andy?” they asked, excitedly, as they caught a glimpse,
across the campfire, of their companion as he ran to the ponies.
“Bears, I reckon. I haven’t heard a lion cry. But I don’t know.”
A frenzied thrashing and tramping, in addition to the snorting, put an
end to any further exchange of opinions, and with one accord the three
rushed toward the terrified animals.
“Steady! Steady!” soothed Andy, stepping among them.
But the horses refused to be quieted.
“We’ve got our hands full this time, sure enough! Quick, put your
bridles on! You can manage your ponies better. No, don’t unhobble—and
hang on for dear life. If one of them gets away, there’ll be no catching
him.”
So thoroughly frightened were the animals, however, that it was all Phil
and Ted could do to bridle them, but at last they succeeded. Yet they
found it no easy task to hold them even then, for they persisted in
facing north, whirling back so rapidly whenever the boys turned them as
nearly to break away.
“What makes them do that?” gasped Ted, out of breath from his exertions.
“Because that is the direction from which the danger lies,” Andy
replied.
“But I can’t hear anything out there,” said Phil.
“The ponies can smell it, though. That’s what makes me think it’s a
bear. Horses can smell a bear farther than anything else. You brought
your rifles, didn’t you?”
“No, the 44s.”
“Then get your rifles, quick! You don’t want to use a revolver at night.
Besides, it wouldn’t stop a bear any time.”
“But we can’t leave our ponies,” protested Ted.
“Here, I’ll hold Daisy while you hustle back and bring the rifles,”
ordered Andy.
Scarcely had the boy started than the horses whirled in the direction of
the campfire, snorting and jerking back frantically, unable to rear
because of their hobbles.
“Wow! they’re on all sides of us!” cried Phil, but Andy was too busy
trying to manage his two animals to reply.
“Hurry, Ted, hurry!” yelled his brother, as he saw that their companion
had more than his hands full, all his own strength being required to
hold Pat.
“Never mind the rifles! Come back!” added Andy.
But instead of seeing the boy return, they heard a wild shriek, then the
crack of a rifle, quickly followed by four others, fired to the
accompaniment of fiendish roars.
“What is it?” shouted Phil.
But no answer did he receive.
“Quick! bind your reins around that sapling and give me the ends, then
go see. Take my rifle. It’s slung across my back,” commanded Andy.
Trembling so at the thought of injury to his brother that he could
hardly do what he was told, Phil finally managed to unsling the rifle
and rushed toward the campfire, throwing the gun to his shoulder as he
came within its light.
Just beyond the burning pile lay Ted, motionless, while scant fifteen
feet from him a bear wallowed in his death throes.