Digby was strongly disgusted with himself. He felt that, to a degree, he
was to be blamed for both raids upon their camp.
“The first time I fell plumb asleep,” he said. “And now I went away from
the fire for a foolish reason. Just for a drink! But I declare, Chet, I
don’t believe I would have done it if I’d known there was any reason to
suspect a return of those thieves.”
“I blame myself, Dig. I should have told you,” admitted Chet.
“Just the same, maybe I wouldn’t have believed you. To think of a man’s
coming right into the camp and taking those papers out of your shirt!”
“I reckon I sleep mighty hard,” said Chet thoughtfully. “I know mother
has hard work to wake me up in the morning, sometimes. A good hunter
ought to sleep lightly.”
“There are no medals on either of us,” commented Dig. “Those follows
must be laughing at us.”
“We’ll make them laugh on the other side of their mouths if we catch
them!” declared Chet, with anger.
“How?”
“I’m very sure they are not so well mounted as we are. Poke and Hero are
two of the best horses owned in Silver Run—you know that.”
“Sure!”
“And it stands to reason the thieves are not so well armed as we are.”
“Whew! you don’t mean to chase them and shoot them, Chet?” demanded the
startled Digby.
“Of course not! But I’m glad to know that we’ve got rifles that will
probably shoot a good deal farther than any weapons they may carry.”
“Huh!” said Dig, scarcely understanding. Then he inquired: “Do you
suppose, Chet, that these were the chaps that startled that wolf
yesterday, and spoiled our buffalo hunt?”
“I shouldn’t be at all surprised,” said Chet.
“Ho! then let’s catch and hang ’em,” grinned Digby. “No punishment is
too bad for them.”
But neither boy could extract many smiles from the situation. As it
chanced, the thieves had overlooked their remaining piece of deer meat.
Their pocket drinking-cups were left them, too. They toasted the meat
over the fire and washed it down with water, thus making an early and
frugal breakfast.
It was growing faintly light in the east by this time, foretelling an
early summer dawn. Dig brought in the horses and watered them, while
Chet filled the canteens.
There was not much remaining of their outfit to make ready for
departure. The thieves had not left them a single cooking utensil; but
they had coffee, condensed milk, pepper and salt.
“That blamed Tony Traddles is just mean enough to do a thing like this,”
Dig declared. “But we’ll get square yet!”
The boys had an idea as to which direction the two midnight raiders had
headed. It was at the western end of the pool that Dig had seen the one
in the saddle waiting for his comrade.
“If they intend to make any use of those deeds father intrusted to me,”
Chet said, “they will hike out for Grub Stake.”
“Good-bye to the buffaloes, then,” sighed Dig. “We won’t see them
again.”
“I don’t suppose so,” returned his chum. “But getting those deeds to Mr.
John Morrisy is of more importance than shooting the big bull. Father
trusted us to do his errand, and we’ve got to do it.”
“How’ll you make those fellows give up the deeds, Chet?” queried Dig, in
wonder.
“I don’t know; but I’ll find a way when we catch up with them, don’t you
fret.”
When the horses were saddled and ready, Chet went ahead, leading Hero,
and found the place where the second man had mounted and the two riders
had wheeled and galloped away from the camp they had robbed.
Chet Havens was quite a sensible lad for his age, and he secretly
wondered why the thieves had been so afraid of two boys. It scarcely
seemed reasonable that they should be so fearful.
“Unless it was Dig’s rifle shot that scared them off,” he thought.
“Perhaps the men are not prepared to face rifles. Yet, I am quite sure
they were stalking the buffaloes as well as we. They could not expect to
shoot such beasts with pop-guns.”
It was easy to follow the trail left by the riders for some miles. The
hoofs of their horses cut the sod sharply, and threw up bits of turf as
the animals scurried over the ground.
The route the thieves had followed was across a range quite unfamiliar
to the chums from Silver Run. It led almost due west, and the trail was
possibly parallel with the trace leading to Grub Stake.
It puzzled Chet at first why the men had not struck out immediately for
the Grub Stake trail. But after riding for about five miles, and finding
that the trail was very plain, he suddenly discovered the meaning of it.
The thieves had ridden down the sloping bank of a wide but easily forded
stream, in the shallows of which the trace disappeared.
“They’ve taken to the water, but we don’t know which way they’ve gone,”
cried Dig, in disgust.
“It’s a fact that we don’t know for sure,” Chet returned thoughtfully.
“But I think it’s a trick.”
“Of course it’s a trick—and one meant to throw us off the track. We’ll
have a nice time searching along these banks to find the place where
they came out of the water.”
“That’s right—if we searched,” answered Chet, as Hero drank his fill.
“What do you mean? You going to give up?”
“Not much!” exclaimed the other young trail hunter.
“What you going to do, then?” demanded the puzzled Dig.
“I’m going to fool them. I don’t know where they left the stream, and I
don’t care. There is one thing I am sure of.”
“Huh?”
“They’re going to Grub Stake. I bet they want to get there before we do.
That man—whoever he is—is planning to make some use of those deeds he
stole from me. So, take it from me, boy, they are not going far out of
the straight way to Grub Stake.”
“Whew! that’s reasonable, old man.”
“Then we’ll cross here and keep right on. We’ll bear off gradually
toward the regular trail to Grub Stake. I bet we pick up the trace of
these two rascals before long.”
“Long head! Long head!” declared Dig admiringly. “Come on! these horses
will drink so much water they’ll be water-logged and can’t travel. Hike
out o’ there, Poke, you villain!”
The boys cantered through the shoals and out upon the other bank. When
they reached the upper edge of the river bank Chet rose in his stirrups
and swept the plain all about for some sign of moving objects. The
thieves had not taken his field-glasses, for they had been in the pocket
of his saddle.
A little to the northwest, but far, far away, the boy saw two black
specks. They did not look bigger than buzzards, but Chet Havens thought
they were the mounted men. He passed the glasses to Dig.
“Look at them, old man,” he said. “We don’t want to chase way over there
for nothing.”
“Whew!” quoth Dig. “We couldn’t go for nothing, Chet. Either they are
the men we are after, or it’s game that we need. Don’t overlook the fact
that we’ve got to eat. Chewing dry coffee, nor yet drinking condensed
milk, doesn’t appeal to me.”
“I don’t know but you’re right,” agreed Chet. “Much as I want to
overtake those miserable thieves, we must not overlook the fact that we
have to eat to live.”
“That sounds good,” grinned Dig. “Mother says I just live to eat. There
is a difference.”
The boys rode on, but the two objects they had seen disappeared in a
coulie. Later they saw them and identified them as two grazing animals.
“Of course, not the buffaloes,” said Chet doubtfully.
“Why! they went the other way!” Dig declared. “Isn’t that so?”
“We suppose so. Hard to tell what a frightened bunch of animals will do,
though I supposed they would continue to graze northeast.”
“Never mind. We’ll see what those things are if they’ll let us get near
enough.”
It wasn’t long before the boys identified the moving objects (of which
they caught sight now and then as they cantered over the rolling
prairie) as a pair of elks. The spreading horns of the male were quite
easily seen.
“If we get one of those, boy, it’s going to be no cinch,” declared Digby
Fordham. “That’s a big buck.”
“We’ll try, at least,” said his chum. “If you don’t at first succeed,
you know—”
“Oh, yes! I know,” returned Dig. “Suck eggs! But I’m not fond of ’em in
that way. Take it from me, I don’t care to ‘try, try again’ for those
elks. We’re soon going to be just as hungry as ever Robinson Crusoe was.
Fix it so I get a shot at one of ’em from a rest, Chet.”
“Well! don’t rest the butt of your rifle against your forehead again,”
advised Chet, glancing at the smear of blood that had oozed through the
handkerchief Dig had bound about his brow.
“Watch me!” growled Dig. “I won’t shoot this old gun again without being
mighty sure that she isn’t going to kick me.”
When they came to the next water-hole he dismounted and bathed the wound
on his forehead. It was a bad gash, and the forehead was sore and
bruised all about the wound.
“Talk about being wounded in the war,” said Dig grimly, as Chet tied the
handkerchief again. “I ought to get a pension. My uncle carried this old
rifle for three years in the war, and I bet I’m the only one that’s ever
been wounded with it.”
“And that at the wrong end,” chuckled Chet. “But didn’t your uncle ever
shoot at the enemy?”
“I don’t believe so. He was too tender-hearted. It’s a family trait,”
said Dig gravely.
“I bet you don’t show any of that tenderness of heart if we come within
shooting distance of those elks,” said Chet, climbing back into the
saddle.
“Now, aren’t you just right?” proclaimed Digby.
They galloped on, seeing the elks from the next rise not more than three
miles away. How the graceful creatures had come out here on the plain
was something of a mystery—especially without more of their tribe.
Now Chet took the lead and governed the approach to the feeding place of
the elks. There were no thickets, but there were several mounds behind
which the young hunters could screen themselves.
Yet none of these shelters was near enough to enable the boys to get
within easy rifle shot. They tried one mound, dismounting and lying
flat, to rest the barrels of their guns over the top of the rise.
But the distance was too great. Dig wanted to try it, but Chet forbade
him to shoot.
“The elks are travelling away from us. If you wounded one, it would
gallop farther and farther away. Then we’d likely lose the game
entirely. If we could get around ahead of them it would do to risk a
long shot. But of course they are feeding up wind.”
“What will we do, Chet? Don’t forget that starvation stares us in the
face.”
“Pull in your belt a little more,” grinned Chet.
“Whew! if I pull it in much tighter,” declared Dig, “I’ll cut myself in
two. I’ve got a waist like a wasp already. My stomach thinks my throat’s
cut. I tell you, boy, we’ve got to eat!”
Dig was much in earnest. It was pressing close to noon and their
breakfast—and the previous evening’s meal—had not been very
satisfactory. Chet was just as earnest in his desire to kill game; yet,
he would not have started this way had he not at first thought that the
elks were mounted men.
Being on the ground, however, he set his wits to winning out against the
cunning of the game. He and Dig rode around several mounds and finally
came to a shallow valley between two of the small eminences, and through
which they might ride right out upon the little prairie on which the
elks grazed.
“And that’s the best we can do, Dig, I believe,” Chet declared. “We
couldn’t possibly steal up within sure rifle shot, afoot. Got to trust
to our horses being quicker on their feet than the elks for the first
few jumps. And don’t let your rifle smash your face again!”
“Let’s get down and cinch up,” said Dig nervously. “If our saddles
should slip—”
“Hold on! hold on, boy!” advised Chet, under his breath. “Don’t you have
an attack of elk fever at the critical moment.”
“Stop talking, and come on,” urged Dig, pulling up on Poke’s straps
until the black mustang squealed. “Do hush, you black abomination! Don’t
you give us away.”
Into the saddles again, and the boys looked at each other. It was to be
a race of a quarter of a mile or more before they came within rifle
range of the feeding elks. Chet nodded and Dig returned it. Then they
gave their mounts free rein, and Hero and Poke dashed forward.
They went through the cut between the hills with a rush, their quick
feet padding lightly on the sod. Out upon the prairie they debouched,
gradually separating so as to have a better chance at the elks.
The latter kept their heads down, feeding. The patter of the horses’
hoofs upon the sod was almost soundless. The boys were coming up behind
the elks and in another minute—
Dig began to raise his rifle slowly; Poke was running with free bridle,
for his master could guide him by the pressure of his knees as well as
by pulling on the bit.
But Dig was too early. They were not to come so easily upon the elks. Of
a sudden the grazing animals jerked up their heads and glanced around.
It did not seem as though they could have seen the hunters; but they
caught the vibration of the pounding hoofs.
They were off like darts, swerving from the direction the boys came,
stretching out to reach the swell of the nearest hillock.
“Come on!” yelled Chet, and pounded Hero in the flank with his heels.
The horses seemed to enter into the spirit of the chase. They thundered
up the rise at the heels of the elks. Dig wanted to shoot at once; but
Chet begged him not to.
“You’ll be shooting right into the air as we go up hill!” he shouted.
“You’ll shoot clean over their heads, Dig.”
“I don’t want to lose my chance as I did with those buffaloes,” returned
Dig, much worried.
“Wait till we’re over the rise. Then we can shoot down on them—”
But Chet was mistaken. The elks flew over the rise. It would have been a
long shot had they tried it then. On rushed the bay and the black, both
as eager in the chase as their young masters.
Chet fairly rose in his stirrups to see over the round top of the mound.
He saw the tossing horns of the bigger elk; and then—he saw something
else!
“Dig! Dig! they’re here!” he gasped, and almost fell out of his saddle,
he was so amazed.