As Chet surmised, the timber was open, with a good sod and little
rubbish or shrubbery. None of the bushes was big enough to hide the
buffaloes even at a distance.
Not an object moved under the trees as the boys pressed on their tired
mounts. If the herd of buffaloes had come this way it had not stopped to
graze in the shelter of the timber.
And that fact puzzled Chet Havens and caused much disappointment to his
chum, Dig Fordham.
“It gets me!” grumbled the latter. “You figured the thing out all right,
Chet. We sneaked around and came up behind them all according to
programme. But plague it all; somebody’s removed the buffaloes. They
_ought_ to have stopped here.”
“Maybe they kept on to water,” said Chet ruminatively.
“Whew! That wouldn’t be a bad idea for us! Where do you suppose water
is? The last drop dribbled out of my canteen two hours ago.”
“Water’s right under our feet, I suppose. See how thrifty these trees
are. But we can’t stop to dig for it,” said Chet. “We’d better let the
horses find it.”
“And give up hunting the buffaloes?”
“For to-night. We don’t know how far away our camping place is—and
night is coming fast. The horses have travelled hard.”
“Right!” agreed Dig. “But I hate to give over the hunt.”
“We’ll see what the morning brings forth,” Chet said cheerfully. “Let’s
give the nags a free rein. Get on, Hero!”
The bay and the black horse were both thirsty. The boys could see no
stream; but their mounts unerringly knew the direction of the nearest
water. Both horses were range born and had run wild as colts. The
instinct of their ancestors, the pure-blooded mustangs, was strong in
them.
They struck almost directly northward through the timber and came out
into the darkening plain on the other side. Night was coming fast and
the boys naturally grew anxious.
They were not exactly lost. Chet had his compass, and, moreover, they
could tell the general direction easily enough by the setting sun. But
the Grub Stake trail was a long way behind them and all this country to
the west, north, and east was entirely strange to the trail boys.
“Those buffaloes have plenty of country to hide in,” complained Dig, as
the horses plodded on. “No wonder we didn’t find them. Whew! this is a
big state, Chet.”
“We can pick up their trail in the morning if we want to,” returned his
chum, smiling.
“How?” demanded Dig, interested.
“Why, all we need do,” Chet explained, “is to go back to those mounds,
find the trail of the buffaloes, and follow it. They left a trace that a
blind man could scarcely miss to the point where we turned west. It’s
easy.”
“Whew!” blew Dig. “Of course! What a thickhead I am! We’ll get those
buffaloes yet.”
“I don’t know,” Chet returned thoughtfully. “Ought we to go so far from
the Grub Stake trail? Father did not tell me to hasten; but I am sure he
expected us not to delay much on the road. I’ll feel a whole lot better,
too, when I’ve attended to these deeds,” and he patted his breast to
make sure of the packet he carried.
“Surely you wouldn’t drop the chase when we’re so near those beasts?”
cried Dig.
“We don’t know how near they are. Maybe they’re running yet,” returned
Chet grimly.
Their mounts quickened their pace and the boys fell silent. Twilight had
fallen, and the immensity of the plains and their loneliness impressed
the lads. Suddenly Chet started upright in his saddle and pointed ahead.
“Look!” he cried.
It was the gleam of water. There was no mistaking it. The horses snorted
and broke into a trot. It was a fair-sized sheet of water, lying in a
little saucer scooped in the plain—a “water-hole” in the West, but what
would have been called a “frog-pond” in the East.
Rushes and willows grew about it. There were several stunted trees, too,
offering plenty of firewood if not much shelter. The stars were already
appearing in the arch of the sky overhead, and that would be their
tent-roof.
The two chums became cheerful, however, as soon as they saw water and
fuel. An open camp on a fair night like this had no terrors for them.
They unsaddled their mounts, let them drink their fill, and then hobbled
them on a flat piece of prairie next to the camp. The fire was built and
the strips of venison toasted. They were ravenously hungry and the
remainder of the haunch the robber had left for them now looked very
small. There was no more hard-bread.
“Whew!” sighed Digby, “I reckon we’ll have to start for Grub Stake
bright and early in the morning, for we haven’t anything to eat!”
“We still have coffee, and milk for it, and all these cooking things,”
chuckled Chet. “Lots better off than many hunters. Lost all your desire
to shoot a buffalo, Dig?”
“Shooting a buffalo is all right, I don’t doubt,” returned his chum
scornfully, “but chasing all over this country hunting the creatures
isn’t much fun. Say, Chet!”
“Put a name to it.”
“What do you suppose ever scared that wolf so?”
“The wolf that stampeded the buffaloes?”
“Yes.”
“You may have three guesses. But that’s why we’re going to keep watch
and watch to-night,” Chet said grimly.
“You don’t think it was another hunting party?” cried Dig.
“I believe nothing but human beings would have so scared that grey
rascal. My! how he ran! I didn’t think of it at the time. I was too
excited,” Chet said reflectively. “But take it from me, boy, that wolf
was running from man.”
“I don’t understand it,” declared Dig. “If there had been another party
besides us stalking that herd, why didn’t we see them?”
“They wouldn’t have been very good hunters if we had seen them,” laughed
Chet.
“I mean after the buffaloes were stampeded. They must have been in that
thicket out of which the wolf came.”
“Sure. And the very fact we didn’t see them after the stampede, makes me
suspicious,” Chet returned. “I tell you, Dig, that party that stopped on
the trail and robbed us last night puzzles me greatly.”
“How so?”
“They left the trail somewhere this side of our last camp; but I
couldn’t see where. They were careful to hide their tracks.”
“I reckon, considering that they had robbed us.”
“Well, that might be so, too,” ruminated Chet. He did not want to
frighten his chum regarding Tony Traddles and the strange man whom
Amoshee had said were on the trail behind them. Yet the thought of the
pair of rascals stuck in Chet’s mind and dove-tailed into the mystery of
the two who had stopped to rob their camp.
“Well,” Dig said finally, “I suppose we’ll have to do as you say—keep
watch. But we haven’t seen anything of any prowlers and it is likely
those fellows who troubled us before are a long way from here.”
“Hope so,” agreed Chet. “But we’d better be sure than sorry.”
The boys were tired after the activities of the day; but Dig insisted
upon standing the first watch. “And believe me!” he said, “I shall march
up and down all the time. No sleeping on post this trick!”
Thus dividing the vigil, Chet bade him good-night and rolled up in his
blanket. It was a warm night, however, and later, after he was dead
asleep, the boy kicked the blanket off.
Dig kept away from him, however. There was no sound of roaming animals
of any kind at first, and the watchman did not consider it necessary to
feed the dying fire. The stars rendered a faint light and he could see
objects in outline quite plainly.
The horses fed near the camp, and the ripping sound of the grass as
their strong teeth severed it from the roots was the only sound Dig
apprehended for some time.
It was as quiet here at this water-hole in the great plain as it would
have been in Dig’s back yard. There was not even the rustle of a breeze
in the brakes.
Dig tramped back and forth along the edge of the pool, occasionally
stooping down to peer through the dusk at the horses. He could see them
better that way. He kept away from his sleeping chum and their outfit
purposely. He did not propose to rouse Chet until it was full midnight.
He grew thirsty and started to kneel down by the side of the pool to
drink. Then he remembered that the horses had quenched their thirst on
this side of the water-hole, and the water was likely to be roiled and
muddy. So he started around toward the other side.
The water-hole was twenty yards across and its edge was screened by
bushes and brakes for most of the way. Dig looked for an opening where
he could kneel and reach the water, intending to fill his canteen and
bring it back with him to the camp.
Poke stamped and whinnied; but Dig did not hear his mount. He kept on
until he was fully half way around the water-hole. The plain seemed
quite as silent and deserted as before. He could not see the spot where
his chum lay nor even the gleam of the firelight now.
Chet was quite given up to sleep. He lay on his back with the neck of
his shirt open.
He did not hear the restlessness of the horses, nor any other sound
about the camp. Not at first, at least. But when a rifle exploded
somewhere near, Chet Havens awoke with a start.
“Hi! what’s that?” he ejaculated, and sat up suddenly, throwing off the
final restraining folds of the blanket.
“Dig! where are you?” he added and, getting no answer, he scrambled to
his feet and picked up his own rifle that had been lying partly under
him.
His chum was nowhere to be seen. He shouted again: “Dig! Dig!” and then
strained his ear to catch the reply. But there was no immediate answer
and Chet found himself shaking with apprehension. What had become of his
chum?