A NARROW ESCAPE
“Run! Run!”
“He’s right behind us!”
“Maybe we’d better jump into the river!”
“Get behind the bushes,” suggested Jack. “He can’t get through as
quickly as we can! He’ll get himself all tangled up!”
One after another the Rover boys left the footpath and plunged into
the brushwood leading down to the stream. Then they came to a clump
of trees, several branches of which swung low, and Randy, who was in
advance, pulled himself up. The others, seeing the move, followed. On
and on came the bull, crashing through the brushwood with scarcely an
effort. Then, just as the last of the four lads had pulled himself up
into one of the trees, the enraged beast gave a bellow and a snort and
came to a stop just beneath them.
[Illustration: THE ENRAGED BEAST CAME TO A STOP BENEATH THEM.]
“Gee, but that was a narrow escape!” gasped Randy, when he could catch
his breath.
“I’ll tell the world it was,” panted Fred. “Gosh! did you ever see
such a savage beast?”
“He was certainly willing to horn all of us,” answered Jack.
“Yes, and he’s still willing,” came from Andy as he looked downward.
“Hi! Get out of there!” he yelled, shaking his fist at the bull. But
this only made the beast bellow louder than ever. He switched his tail
and shook his head from side to side and then glared viciously at the
four boys.
“We’re in a pickle, if you ask me,” declared Fred, after a pause during
which the boys tried to regain their breath. “If that bull doesn’t go
away, how are we going to get back to the train?”
“Is that a question or a riddle?” queried Andy. “If it’s a riddle, I
give it up. This is sure a new sort of Fourth of July celebration.”
“If we only had a few rocks to throw at the bull perhaps we could chase
him away,” suggested Fred.
“Not that bull!” answered Jack. “He’s a real dyed-in-the-wool monarch
of the pasture. Just look at him! Why, he looks as if he was thinking
he might butt down the tree and get at us that way!”
The boys were certainly in a quandary. They had not only to act, but to
act quickly. Any moment they expected to hear the whistle of the train
preparatory to continuing the journey westward.
“We’ll be in a fine pickle if that train goes off,” groaned Andy.
“Yes, and what will dad think when he finds us missing?” added his twin.
The tree the boys had climbed was a short, stocky affair, and some of
its branches intertwined with those of another tree standing directly
on the bank of the stream along which the lads had been walking.
“Come on! I think I see a way out of this!” cried Jack. “Anyway, it
won’t hurt to try it!”
“What do you propose to do?” questioned Fred quickly.
“See that big tree? It leans right over the river and some of the
branches touch one of the trees on the other side.”
“Hurrah! That’s the thing to do!” burst out Randy. “I don’t believe
that bull will follow us across the stream.”
“I don’t think so myself. Anyway, we can try getting over. We won’t be
any worse off on that side of the water than we are on this.”
Jack led the way with all possible speed, and one after another his
cousins followed him. It was not difficult to get into the next tree;
but climbing out on the sloping trunk and then out on the limbs which
brushed those from the tree on the other side of the stream was not so
easy. Jack made the first swing and Andy followed. Then came the other
twin.
“Be careful, Fred!” yelled Jack, as he saw his cousin swing downward.
He had scarcely spoken when there was a crack of wood as the limb upon
which the youngest Rover had depended snapped. But Fred swung himself
outward and then caught tight hold of a limb below those upon which the
others rested.
“Safe?” queried Jack eagerly.
“I――I guess so!” panted Fred. “Gee, but that was a close shave!”
“Listen!” called out Andy suddenly. “Isn’t that the locomotive whistle?”
All stopped short. They heard the bellow of the bull that had been
left behind them, and then, loud and clear, came the whistle from the
locomotive near the bridge.
“They’re going to leave us behind!” groaned Fred.
“Come on――all of you!” yelled Jack. “I’ll go ahead and see if I can’t
stop the train some way.”
When looking at the wreck the oldest of the Rover boys had noticed
that after leaving the bridge the track curved slightly northward in
the direction in which they had been walking. Now, forgetting the bull
entirely, Jack clambered to the trunk of the tree, slid down, and
rushed through the brushwood and then out across the field beyond to
where he could see the distant tracks and telegraph poles.
“I hope he makes it!” cried Andy, as he followed his cousin to the
ground.
“Look! Look! I think the bull is coming after us, after all!” yelled
his twin.
One after another the boys reached the ground. They glanced back, to
see that the bull had come down to the edge of the stream and had even
waded in up to his knees. But evidently the footing did not please him,
and there he remained, bellowing his defiance.
Jack had been in many cross-country runs and athletic contests, but
never had he sprinted faster than now. Over the prairie and through the
sage brush he tore, heading for the nearest point on the railroad. As
he went he pulled out his handkerchief and waved it wildly, yelling as
he did so.
The wreckage had been moved sufficiently to allow the limited to pass,
but the margin of safety was narrow, and the long line of Pullmans had
to proceed slowly. In the meantime the whistle and the bell were kept
going, so that the track might be kept clear of the wrecking crew and
any men who might be around belonging to the freight train.
At last Jack was less than a hundred yards from the track. The train
had been coming slowly, but now, as the wreck was left behind, the
engineer increased the speed. Then Jack bounded on the track, took off
his coat and waved it wildly.
On and on came the train. Would it stop? Jack was almost afraid his
signal would not be heeded, for the great locomotive glided past him,
thundering loudly. Then the brakes were applied, and with a jerk the
long train slowed up.
“Hurrah! She’s stopped!” came from Fred, and in a few seconds more the
three Rover boys came up alongside of the young major.
As soon as the train halted the conductor had a porter open one of the
vestibule doors so that he might ascertain the cause of the new delay.
The train official saw the boys and could not help but grin as they
came up to him all out of breath.
“Almost got left, eh?” he said genially. “Well, it might have served
you right. You had no business to leave the train.”
“Are you all there?” came a voice from over the conductor’s shoulder,
and Tom Rover appeared, his face full of anxiety. “I’ve been looking
all over for you. I thought you might be on some other part of the
train.”
“We’re all here safe and sound, Dad,” answered Randy. “But we’ve had
one experience, believe me!”
“What kind of an experience?” questioned the conductor. And then he
added quickly: “Any more to come aboard?”
“No.”
“All right then, we’ll go ahead,” and the vestibule door was closed
again and the long train proceeded on its way.
Not only Tom Rover and the conductor but the porter and a number of
passengers listened with interest to the story the boys had to tell.
Quite a few laughed when they related how the bull had wanted to horn
them.
“You were lucky to get off so easily,” said Tom Rover. “And doubly
lucky that you weren’t left behind.”
“It was clever to think of crossing the stream from tree to tree,”
commented the conductor. “Bright idea! Of course, the bull might have
waded over, but that would have taken time.”
The boys went back to their sections and were content for the rest of
that Fourth of July to take it easy.
“Well, we had a touch of Western life right at the start,” remarked
Randy. “I suppose we’ve got to look for all sorts of things to happen
when we get out on Sunset Trail.”
“Oh, you mustn’t think the West is as wild as all that,” answered Tom
Rover. “Most of the wild things that are happening to-day are in the
movies. You may find things no more exciting at Gold Hill Falls than in
any coal-mining town in Virginia or Pennsylvania. With the coming of
men to those places, the wild animals have taken themselves to the tall
timber.”
“Oh, don’t spoil the outing, Uncle Tom!” cried Fred. “Why, we expect
to see bears and mountain lions and everything like that before we go
back!”
“All right then, Fred, go to it,” laughed his uncle. “Only don’t let
the bears and mountain lions see you first.”
By noon of the next day they had left the prairies behind and were
slowly but surely climbing the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Now
the character of the scenery changed, and the boys were gradually
impressed with the beauties of nature as unfolded to their vision.
“Here’s a regular scene for a painter,” said Jack presently, and he
pointed down into a deep valley where a river wound its way among
numerous bowlders. There was a small stretch of pasture land on one
side of the stream, and beyond was a mountain covered with timber of
various kinds.
It was at the next stop, reached about an hour later, that the Rover
boys caught their first sight of Indians. There was a reservation not
a great distance away, and a number of the redmen, along with their
squaws, had come down to the station to sell trinkets and to obtain
tips for allowing their photographs to be taken.
“That’s one way of getting into the pictures,” remarked Jack. “That old
Indian yonder said I could take his photograph shaking hands with you
other fellows for fifty cents apiece. What do you know about that!”
“The old Indians don’t change much,” answered Tom Rover. “They are out
for any money they can get. Just the same, that old Indian may have a
son at college or on one of the big baseball teams.”
“I knew one of the Indian ball players,” said Fred proudly. “His name
was Big Knee, but they called him Joe Smith. He was a twirler for a
middle West team.”
It lacked but an hour to sunset when they arrived at Maporah. The
boys had expected to see quite a town, and were somewhat disappointed
when they saw only a dingy little station, a store and post-office
combined, and half a dozen tumbled-down dwellings.
“Hardly anybody lives around here,” explained Tom Rover. “It used to be
quite a center when the gold mines behind the town were in operation.
But as soon as they failed to pay, the town practically went broke. But
it’s the nearest station to Gold Hill Falls.”
Several days before Tom Rover had sent a telegraph to Lew Billings,
asking that individual to be on hand at the station with saddle horses
or some conveyance to take the whole party over to Sunset Trail. He was
therefore much disappointed when on alighting from the train with the
boys he saw nothing of the man from the mine.
“I don’t understand this,” he said, after a look around. “He certainly
should have received my message.”
There was only a handful of men around the little station, and no one
but the Rovers had left the train. While Tom Rover was deliberating
on what to do next a strange man, a miner wearing a flannel shirt,
broad-brimmed hat, and with his trousers tucked in his boots, strode up
hesitatingly.
“Are you Mr. Rover?” he asked in rather a low voice.
“I am,” answered Tom.
“My name is Butts――Hank Butts. I work over at the Rolling Thunder mine.”
“Is that so? Then, Butts, perhaps you can tell me where Lew Billings
is?”
For reply, and greatly to Tom Rover’s astonishment, the miner leaned
forward and whispered hoarsely:
“I can’t tell you that, partner. Lew disappeared two days ago, and
nobody seems to know what’s become of him.”