Chet was taller than his chum and he had risen in his stirrups, while
Dig lay out on the black’s neck and cheered him on. So the first named
lad saw over the rise and out upon the plain.
The two elks were hammering down the slope, their slender legs doubling
under their round bodies, and stretching out again with almost
bewildering swiftness—like the driving-rods of fast-turning engines.
But they were a good shot, if not an easy one, for the boys were not
directly behind them. A ball, directed properly, would have raked either
beast from forward of the hip into, and through, the heart. This was not
to be, however, Chet and Dig were destined never to knock over those
elks.
What arrested Chet’s hand was the sight of a herd of animals grazing on
the plain, and almost as close to him as the elks. The sight of them
brought the cry to his lips:
“Dig! Dig! they’re here!”
“Who are here? Those rascals?” Dig yelled, thinking first of the thieves
who had robbed them the night before.
But the next moment he saw the grazing herd-_the sixteen buffaloes_!
“After them! Quick!” shrieked Dig, and spurred his black.
He almost seemed to lift Poke off his feet when he struck the tiny spurs
into him. Poke shot ahead of the bay and Dig rose in his stirrups.
He was not as good a shot as Chet; but he could not miss that brown body
which was squarely in front of him. It was not the big bull Dig aimed
at; that animal, in fact, he did not see. But the creature in line with
his rifle barrel was big enough.
It was a well grown bull, and when it raised its head and swung the huge
bulk of it to see the charging boys, it looked formidable. The chums
were tearing down upon the buffaloes, losing sight of the elks entirely.
The nobler game made them ignore the other.
Naturally, the elks charging down into the herd startled the buffaloes
before the boys themselves were seen. Most of the buffaloes sprang away
on a gallop.
But the young bull for which Dig aimed was too late. The boy fitted the
heavy rifle-stock snugly into his shoulder—no chance for it to kick him
this time—and fired almost over Poke’s ears at the huge brown body.
He made a bull’s-eye. The thud of the bullet could be heard plainly by
both furiously riding boys. But he did not hit a vital spot, having
aimed too far back of the foreleg.
Chet had checked Hero, riding to give to his chum all the room he
needed. The other buffaloes scuttled across the plain so rapidly that
the bay—heavily loaded as he was—could scarcely have caught them and
so given his master a shot. The stricken bull did not follow his mates,
but wheeled on Poke and, head down, charged him and his rider.
“Look out, Dig!” shouted Chet in superfluous warning.
The buffalo moved with surprising swiftness; but even at that Dig could
have easily got in a second shot had the mechanism of his rifle not
fouled for a second.
That second was long enough to put the boy in danger. For the charge of
the wounded buffalo meant peril.
Chet yelled and urged Hero after the angry animal. The bull buffalo was
not blind with rage, whatever else he was. He turned as nimbly as a cat,
in spite of his bulk, and was fairly upon the black horse as the latter
wheeled to escape.
“Shoot him, Chet!” begged Dig, dropping his rifle to save himself from a
fall as Poke whirled. The mustang leaped away, but the maddened bull was
right at his heels. Of course, given a few moments, Poke could have
distanced the buffalo; but at the time, the situation was serious.
Chet, on Hero, came thundering along upon the buffalo’s off side. The
boy had not raised his rifle to his shoulder, but he was alert.
“Shoot!” again begged Dig, in alarm.
Chet forced the snorting bay up beside the charging buffalo. He leaned
over suddenly, clapping the rifle-butt to his shoulder, and looked over
the sights directly at a patch behind the fore-shoulder.
When the rifle spoke the huge head of the buffalo was almost under
Poke’s belly. The buffalo ran with his nose barely clearing the ground.
Now his head dropped, struck into the sod, and so swiftly was he going
that the momentum caused the bull to turn a complete somersault.
The ball had gone through the buffalo’s heart, and he was instantly
dead. The boys pulled in their horses to blow, and to look at their
wonderful quarry.
“Whew!” wheezed Dig, rather shakily, “that was great, old man. I believe
he’d have had me and Poke.”
“Oh, Dig! isn’t it a great kill?” gasped Chet, just as excited as he
could be. “To think of us killing a big buffalo like this!”
“Lots I had to do with it,” grumbled his chum. “It was your shot brought
him down.”
“But if it hadn’t been for your wounding him, I don’t think he’d be
lying here at all. They’re pretty tough creatures to kill, boy.”
“Cricky! I should say they were. And as wicked as lions or bears. Whew!
I feel as though I’d had a narrow escape, Chet.”
“I reckon you have!”
“And that confounded old rifle! It fouled just as I tried to work the
lever.”
“Well! let’s be glad it was no worse. And, Dig! we’ve got the
buffalo—the first buffalo we ever shot.”
“You’re a wonder, Chet,” declared his generous chum. “You put that ball
right where it would do the most good. I lost my head completely—I own
up to that. Talk about elk fever! that creature looked as big as a house
to me,” and Dig laughed.
“It is a mystery to me how such a big creature could be killed by only
two bullets,” said Chet. They had dismounted now and stood beside the
inert body of the buffalo bull. “I read, though, that some Indians when
riding to kill a buffalo would force their ponies close up to the
running beast and drive an arrow clear through his body. What do you
know about that?”
“Don’t know anything about it,” returned Dig, with a whimsical look,
“but I think that the fellow that told that ought to be woke up—he was
lying on his back!”
“I don’t know about its being a dream. Before they got to fooling with
the cast-off firearms of the white man, the Indian must have done a lot
of killing with arrows and spears.”
“That’s all right. You can have such hardware if you want,” returned
Dig. “Give me a rifle every time.”
“Even if it fouls in the breach?” chuckled Chet.
Every creature but themselves and their mounts had disappeared from the
plain by this time. They straightened the dead beast out and then rolled
it on its back.
Much as he deplored any delay at this time, Chet could not think of
going on and leaving the hide of the buffalo. Butchering the huge
creature would be hard work for two boys with their little experience in
such work; but they needed a part of the animal for food.
Dig vowed he could eat it all—horns and hide—he was so hungry!
They picketed the horses, removed their own coats, and whetted their
knives. It was difficult work to get the hide off the buffalo, for the
carcass weighed all of six hundred pounds—all the weight the two boys
could possibly roll on the clean sward. They were more than an hour in
getting the hide clear; Dig was satisfied to give up the idea of saving
the head for mounting, although Chet managed it so that the horns came
with the hide.
“Say! that’ll be something to show ’em back home!” panted Dig, holding
up the fore part of the hide. “Cricky, Chet! we ought to have been
photographed beside of this beast. Whew! he looks bigger now he’s
skinned than he did before. Wish somebody that needed it had all this
meat.”
“I wish he did,” agreed Chet.
“But never mind,” said Dig, the next minute. “We need some of it right
now. Wish we had something to boil the tongue in.”
But they opened the carcass to drain it (as well as it could be drained
on the ground) and cut out several ribs for their own supper.
“Two meals together!” Dig declared. “I’ve got to catch up on my rations,
Chet.”
There was a thicket near, and the boys gathered fuel and made a hot
fire. They broiled the ribs on green withes, and, still having
seasoning, they made a hearty repast, while the horses cropped the
buffalo grass eagerly.
It was late afternoon when this was over and Chet said they must move
on. They cut out the tidbits and several good steaks; but were forced to
leave the rest of the meat for the coyotes, who were already hovering on
the tops of the hillocks.
“Good-bye, first buffalo!” exclaimed Dig, looking back at the red
carcass. “It’s the greatest kill we ever had, Chet, old boy! Won’t your
folks and mine be surprised when they see this robe?”
“I hope we can cure the robe in time, so that it will be a nice one,”
Chet said, with some anxiety. “We must spread it out carefully every
place we camp.”
“And, say! where will we camp next?” cried Dig. “We’re a long way off
the Grub Stake trail.”
“It’s still south of us, somewhere,” said his chum. “We’ll find it. But
I hope we’ll pick up the trail of those two robbers first.”
“By the last hoptoad that was chased out of Ireland!” exclaimed Dig. “I
had forgotten all about them.”
“I hadn’t,” returned Chet grimly. “We must find them, boy.”
“Do you suppose they came this way after the buffaloes?”
“I don’t believe they knew any more about the course the buffaloes took
than we did. They are aiming for Grub Stake, just the same.”
“So are the buffaloes,” said Dig. “At least, they were when they went
out of sight.”
“In that general direction—yes.”
“Whew! Suppose we overtake them again, Chet?”
“Then maybe we’ll get a second robe. Otherwise we’ll have to cast lots
for the one you’re sitting on right now, Dig,” and young Havens laughed.
Nevertheless, excited as the boys were over the buffalo herd, Chet
insisted in slanting at a sharper angle south than the big game had
taken. It was the trail of the two men who had robbed them that Chet was
the more anxious to pick up.
He was a brave boy—and a determined. His father had entrusted him with
the papers relating to John Morrisy’s share in the Crayton claim. Mr.
Havens’ lawyer in Silver Run had prepared the documents. For all Chet
knew, the names might be changed in the body of the documents and then,
if Mr. Morrisy signed them, they would give somebody besides Mr. Havens
title to the old mine.
The loss of the documents worried Chet greatly. He felt, somehow, that
he had been to blame in allowing the thieves to get the deeds. He should
have been more watchful, especially after the warning he had had of
threatening danger.
The horses were still fresh, although they had travelled some distance
that day. They kept on at a fast pace for several hours—until, indeed,
the sun was down. There was then a strip of timber ahead, which seemed
to extend clear across the plain, as far as the eye could see, from
north to south.
“And no sign of those rascals yet,” grumbled Dig. “Could we have crossed
their trail without knowing it?”
“Sure!” admitted Chet promptly. “I’ve been looking sharply for signs,
and so have you. But everything or anything is possible on the trail. We
aren’t the smartest fellows who ever lived, Dig. If we were only a
little bit smarter we wouldn’t have been robbed at all.”
“Don’t rub it in,” grumbled Digby. “I hold myself responsible for all
this trouble.”
“I don’t hold you responsible. Just bad luck and bad figuring. I am
fully as much to blame as you are. I had reason to believe we were being
followed, and you hadn’t. Humph! No use crying over spilled milk.”
“That’s all right,” said Dig. “But where are we going to camp to-night?
In the open, or shall we push on to that timber?”
“We’ll be more sheltered there,” Chet said, gazing ahead at the distant
line of trees. “There is water between here and there. We can let the
horses drink, refill our canteens, and push on for the woods.”
“Just as you say. Get up, Poke!”
The timber was much farther away than it seemed, however. The boys did
find water; rather, they let the horses find it for them. But it was an
open water-hole and the sun had evaporated the water until it was very
low.
“Maybe there will be a running stream in the woods. This is as flat as
dishwater,” declared Dig, tasting it. “’Tisn’t fit to drink straight.
Wish we could boil some of our coffee.”
“Let’s keep on to the timber and make a regular camp,” Chet advised.
“Then I’ll rig something to hold a canteen over the fire and make
coffee.”
“You can’t do it.”
“Well, I can try,” returned Chet. “Anyway, we’ll take shelter in the
woods. Our camp won’t be spotted so far.”
“Waugh!” ejaculated Dig, with disgust. “No use in locking the stable
after the horse has been swiped. Those fellows don’t want anything more
of us, that’s sure. They’ll let us alone after this, I reckon.”
But he did not oppose his chum’s suggestion. They got into the saddle
again and pushed for the timber line. The sun had sunk altogether behind
the mountains and darkness on the plain gathered quickly. The timber was
tall and thick and they were in the shadow of it for some time before
they reached the first line of trees.
It was Chet who observed the light first. It twinkled at a stationary
point some distance back in the forest.
He drew in Hero quickly and put out a hand to warn Dig back. “There’s a
campfire,” he said quietly.
“Whew! Who’s that, do you suppose?”
“That’s what we want to find out,” Chet said, with decision. “And we
want to find it out before we get into any trouble. Look out, Dig! that
black scamp is going to whinny.”
Dig swiftly stifled that desire on Poke’s part by pinching his nostrils
between thumb and finger.
“There are other horses here, you may be sure. We’d better take our
horses back farther and tether them before we do anything else.”
“No,” said Chet, thoughtfully. “We’ll put on their hobbles. We might
need our ropes,” he added, which made Dig look at him curiously.