THE MESSAGE FROM CROSS-EYED PETE
The shells shot by the rifles belonging to the two chums
were .44-.50, while those of the Wilder boys were .30, so that
it would only be possible to tell whether the boys from Ohio
had proved better marksmen than the Westerners. Yet the boys
were eager to settle the question.
Chaffing each other good naturedly, they tramped along, and when
they saw the size of the antlers and body of the second buck they
forgot all rivalry.
"He's a beauty!" cried Horace. "I'm glad it wasn't he that made a
jump for me. His prongs stick out a yard."
Though this was an exaggeration, the branches of the antlers were,
indeed, surprisingly long.
"And there are fourteen of the prongs," ejaculated Tom, who had
been counting the sharp points.
"Which makes him fifteen years old," asserted Bill. "Just look at
their spread; they must be all of four feet."
"Easily," said his father. "He's the biggest buck I ever saw. Ah,
here's the bullet-hole, right back of the shoulder. It certainly
was a splendid shot." And as he bent closer to examine it, the
others awaited his decision as to which party the trophy belonged.
"Ohio wins!" he declared at last.
"Then Tom probably got him. He's a better marksman that I am,"
asserted Larry.
Though the Wilder boys were naturally disappointed, they made the
best of it, and Bill exclaimed:
"Come on, Larry. Let's go into the woods and search. I'm positive
I hit a deer the first time I fired. Can we go, father?"
"Surely, only don't get lost. It will take me some time to dress
the two bucks. If you are not back by the time I am finished, come
to the plateau. We'll wait for you there."
Promising not to wander far, the elder boys entered the woods while
the others assisted in dressing the monster buck.
After skinning the animal, the ranchman cut out the most savory
parts and placed them in the pelt.
"Shall we take the antlers?" asked Horace.
"They'd be fine to have mounted, but they'll be awfully in the way
while we're hunting. What do you think, Mr. Wilder?" And Tom
appealed to him as to their proper disposal.
"They will be awkward to carry, that's a fact," assented the
ranchman. "If you want them very much, though, we can leave them
here and then stop on our way home. They'll be safe enough till we
get back."
Readily Tom agreed, and he and Horace were just stooping to pick up
one end of the hide, containing the deer meat, when Horace let out
a cry.
"Oh, what's that thing up by my buck?"
"It looks like a tiger," exclaimed Tom, and then added: "But you
don't have tigers out here, do you?"
"No. That's a mountain lion, which is almost the same thing,
though," answered Mr. Wilder. "Now's your chance to show your
marksmanship, Horace. Take a good aim and see if you can't knock
him over."
No urging did his son need. Raising his rifle to position, the lad
squinted along the barrel carefully and then fired.
Above the report of the shot rang out an ear-splitting howl, and
the mountain Hon turned to face the direction of the sound.
"Give him another, son. You hit him, but not in a vital spot,"
said his father.
Again Horace aimed and fired, this time with better success, for
the lion dropped in its tracks.
"Good work," praised Tom heartily. "That was a mighty long shot to
make. Now if Bill and Larry only get something, we'll have bagged
a trophy."
Elated at his success, Horace was starting toward his prize when
his father called him back to help carry the pelt.
"My, but he's a beauty!" declared the younger of the chums when
they reached the carcass. "I should hate to come across one
suddenly."
"They are not pleasant customers to meet," smiled Mr. Wilder. "I'm
glad this fellow didn't visit us last night. Though why he passed
the horses by I don't know. Mountain lions are great ones for
horse or cattle flesh. While I am dressing the buck you boys had
better climb up to the plateau and see that our ponies are all
right. Take some of the meat with you and then we won't be obliged
to make so many trips."
With a piece of meat in one hand and a rifle in the other, the lads
started up the trail and, though they went bravely enough, each in
his heart was a bit frightened.
"Pete says mountain lions usually travel in pairs, so keep your
eyes peeled," advised Horace.
But though they imagined several times they heard the purr of one
of the prowlers, they reached the plateau without adventure.
The ponies were huddled together, tails to the rocks, and were
sniffing the air in obvious uneasiness.
"Steady, boys, steady," called Horace soothingly. And setting down
his meat, he patted each reassuringly.
The presence of the boys was an evident relief to the ponies, and
after a few minutes they began to champ grass again.
"That lion must have come quite near, to scare 'em so," asserted
the young rancher. "Pete says ponies are almost as good as dogs
for watching, and I believe him. They can smell things, oh, way
off." And sitting down, Horace entertained his companion with
stories of the keen scent of horses, which lost none of their color
because of his lively imagination. Indeed, he succeeded in getting
them both so worked up that when Mr. Wilder's hat appeared above
the edge of the plateau each boy seized his rifle and aimed at it.
"What are you going to do, hold me up?" laughed the ranchman as he
saw the barrels leveled at him, and then, as he noted the alarm on
their faces, he added: "Steady! Put your guns down carefully."
Laughing nervously, the boys obeyed.
"You are a fine lot, you are," he chided, "to leave me to bring up
all the meat alone. Why didn't you come back?"
In explanation Horace told how they had found the ponies and said
they had stayed to quiet them.
"And I'll wager you've been relating some wonderful yarns for Tom's
benefit, judging from the way you received me. Now, boys," he
continued seriously, "when you are in the mountains you must never
talk about things that will excite you. There are so many things
that can happen. A man always needs to be cool and collected, so
that if emergency does arise he can think quickly and well."
This bit of advice made a deep impression on the lads and they
promised to remember it.
The sun was high in the heavens and its heat was becoming terrific.
"Fetch the horses and come into the woods," commanded Mr. Wilder.
"We'll get dinner ready and wait for Bill and Larry where it's
cool."
"Why it's a quarter of twelve," said Tom, looking at his watch. "I
had no idea it was so late."
"Time flies when you are hunting," returned the ranchman, "a fact
that you should remember, and with it that darkness falls quickly
in the mountains."
The ponies were nothing loath to move from the broiling plateau to
the cooler woods and stood contentedly, now and then nibbling the
leaves and tender twigs from the trees near them.
Lighting a fire, Mr. Wilder soon had a choice slice of venison
broiling In the saucepan, and the aroma was so good that the boys
could hardly wait to taste the meat.
At last it was ready, and they ate it ravenously. "How much better
it tastes when you've shot it yourself," declared Tom. "I've had
venison before, but it wasn't nearly so good as this."
"A keen appetite and the mountain air certainly do give a zest to
your food," smiled the ranchman.
"I reckon I'll put another slice on the fire so it will be ready
for the boys when they come."
But it was fully an hour later before they heard the others hail.
"Up here in the woods," called back Tom and Horace, running to the
edge of the forest to guide them to the camp.
It was several minutes before Larry and Bill came in sight, and
before they did the others had learned that they had found the deer
Bill thought he had hit.
"I ran across it," explained Larry. "It's hind leg was broken and
it was lying down when I came upon it. The poor thing tried to
jump up, but it couldn't very well."
"But I didn't hear any shot," interrupted Tom. "I've been
listening, too."
"Good reason why, because it was way over in another basin,"
answered his brother. "It must have been all of three miles from
here, don't you think so, Bill?"
"Easily."
"Then how did you follow it?" demanded Horace.
"By its blood and where its leg dragged."
"Well, I'm glad you found the poor creature and put it out of
misery," declared his father. "That's the only objection I have to
deer hunting--the animals have such wonderful vitality that they
travel miles and miles after being crippled and then drop from
exhaustion, like this one. As a usual thing, I don't allow any one
to fire at a deer unless at short range. I made an exception this
morning, but I never will again."
"We didn't bring much of the meat back, it was too long a haul,"
said Bill after he had partially satisfied his hunger.
"We have plenty," returned his father. "In fact, we have so much
that we won't fire at any more deer."
"Then what can we hunt?" protested Horace.
"Bear," returned his father.
"Oh, goody! and mountain lions! Say, you deer slayers, you may
have knocked over some bucks, but it took me to stop a mountain
lion."
"So you were the one who got him, eh?" asked Bill. "He must have
been asleep. You can't hit a deer, and yet you got a mountain
lion, which is smaller."
"He wasn't asleep, and I made a dandy long shot. Tom said so,"
declared his brother hotly.
"You certainly did well, son," interposed his father.
"Then we've all bagged something, if you can call my getting the
deer Bill wounded a hit," said Larry. "This is sure Jim dandy
hunting. Back home you can tramp all day without even seeing a
woodchuck."
Heartily the others laughed at this statement of the difference in
hunting grounds, and for an hour or so they talked and joked.
"Are we going to camp here for the night?" inquired Horace at last
of his father.
"No. I reckon we'll go farther into the mountains. We'll have a
better chance for bear there. This is a little too near the
plains."
Well rested, the boys were eager to be on the move and gladly they
made ready to advance.
In and out among the hills the trail wound, and sundown found them
entering a basin similar to that where they had captured their
deer. On two sides walls of rocks towered and dense forests formed
the others.
Lonesome, indeed, was the spot, and this effect was heightened by
the rapidly descending darkness.
"Commander, I think we'll hobble the horses right here," said Mr.
Wilder, dismounting in the center of the vale. "It would also be a
good idea to have our camp fire close beside them. Then, if any
prowler smells the deer meat or the horses, it can't reach either
without our knowing it. And, because we must keep a fire all
night, we shall need a lot of wood."
Recalled to the fact that he was in charge of the camp, Tom said:
"You fellows come with me and get the wood. I guess Mr. Wilder
will attend to the horses, and we four can gather enough before it
gets real dark."
Quickly the boys dismounted and ran to get dry limbs and branches,
making a monster pile.
"I reckon that's enough, commander," said the ranchman at last,
"and, besides, supper is ready or will be when the coffee is
poured."
"Coffee! Where did you get the water to boil it?" queried Larry.
"From the canteens. I filled them this morning."
"And here I've been wondering where we could look for water. I was
surprised you didn't tell Tom to send some of us."
Being less tired than the night before, the boys sat round the camp
fire after supper, talking and listening to the stories the
ranchman told about his life as a soldier.
When at length they were ready to turn in, they rolled themselves
up in their blankets and formed a circle about the fire.
Without adventure they passed the night, sleeping till long after
sunrise, there being no occasion for getting an early start.
Indeed as they ate breakfast they were debating whether to push on
or stay where they were and set a bear trap when they were
surprised to hear Mr. Wilder's name called.
Shouting in return, they jumped to their feet, trying to see who
had hailed them.
"It's some one on horseback. I can hear the click of horseshoes on
the stones," declared Larry.
"Some one from the ranch probably," asserted Mr. Wilder, and the
next moment his opinion was confirmed by Horace, who had run to the
trail and was returning, yelling:
"It's Nails! It's Nails!"
"He's one of our boys," explained Bill to the chums. "What do you
suppose he can want, father?"
"Wait till he tells us. There are so many possibilities, it's no
use trying to guess."
Their suspense was short-lived, for in a few moments the cowboy
called Nails dashed into the basin, his pony in a lather.
Realizing from this condition of his mount that something serious
was amiss, Mr. Wilder asked:
"What's wrong, Nails?"
"Cattle thieves!" gasped the cowboy. "Cross-eyed Pete said to get
everybody you could and meet him at the Witches' Pool to-morrow
morning. He's driving up the herds from the Long Creek bottoms."