[Illustration: HE WAVED HIS HAND]
The Rambler Club
with the
Northwest Mounted
BY W. CRISPIN SHEPPARD
AUTHOR OF
“THE RAMBLER CLUB AFLOAT”
“THE RAMBLER CLUB’S WINTER CAMP”
“THE RAMBLER CLUB IN THE MOUNTAINS”
“THE RAMBLER CLUB ON CIRCLE T RANCH”
“THE RAMBLER CLUB AMONG THE LUMBERJACKS”
“THE RAMBLER CLUB’S GOLD MINE”
“THE RAMBLER CLUB’S AEROPLANE”
“THE RAMBLER CLUB’S HOUSE-BOAT”
“THE RAMBLER CLUB’S MOTOR CAR”
“THE RAMBLER CLUB’S BALL NINE”
“THE RAMBLER CLUB’S FOOTBALL TEAM”
Illustrated by the Author
[Illustration]
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA
MCMXIV
COPYRIGHT
1914 BY
THE PENN
PUBLISHING
COMPANY
Introduction
When Bob Somers and his four friends, of Kingswood, Wisconsin, formed
the Rambler Club they probably had little idea of the numerous and
exciting adventures which were before them. These are related in: “The
Rambler Club Afloat,” “The Rambler Club’s Winter Camp,” “The Rambler
Club in the Mountains,” “The Rambler Club on Circle T Ranch,” “The
Rambler Club Among the Lumberjacks,” “The Rambler Club’s Gold Mine,”
“The Rambler Club’s Aeroplane,” “The Rambler Club’s House-boat,” “The
Rambler Club’s Motor Car,” and “The Rambler Club’s Ball Nine.”
The present book carries them to the great Northwest Territories,
patrolled by that famous body of men known as the Royal Northwest
Mounted Police. Their intention was to camp out, to see the country,
and to meet their old-time friend, Jed Warren, of Circle T Ranch,
Wyoming, who had become a member of the force. The lads’ plans,
however, are thoroughly disarranged at the start by an unwelcome
surprise, and their energies are immediately turned into other
channels. They do see a great deal of the country, and are also mixed
up with some of the affairs of the “riders of the plains.” In a great
measure this is brought about through the agency of big blond Larry
Burnham; and the astonishing events which follow an apparently trivial
occurrence surprise the lads as much as they do the Royal Northwest
Mounted.
In “The Rambler Club’s Football Eleven” is told the interesting
experiences of the club at the Wentworth Preparatory School. Here,
again, many unexpected things take place.
W. CRISPIN SHEPPARD.
Contents
I. AT THE BARRACKS 9
II. “WHERE IS JED WARREN?” 22
III. TEDDY BANES 39
IV. IN THE SADDLE 49
V. THE INDIAN VILLAGE 62
VI. BILLY ASHE 78
VII. THE FIRST CAMP 90
VIII. THE STAMPEDE 105
IX. LARRY HAS A PLAN 117
X. FOOL’S CASTLE 126
XI. THE RIDER 136
XII. TOM FOLLOWS 145
XIII. SMUGGLERS 157
XIV. LARRY’S COURAGE 167
XV. CAPTURED 178
XVI. THE LOADED WAGON 188
XVII. THE WHOLE CROWD 199
XVIII. ASKING QUESTIONS 209
XIX. BOB RIDES ALONE 219
XX. THE RANCH-HOUSE 235
XXI. LOST 251
XXII. A CRY FOR HELP 262
XXIII. BILLY ASHE IS DISAPPOINTED 270
XXIV. THE PRISONER 281
XXV. EVERYBODY HAPPY 299
XXVI. FACING THE SERGEANT 303
Illustrations
PAGE
“SORRY YOU’RE GOING SO SOON, BOYS” _Frontispiece_
“HOW DO YOU DO?” 67
“GOOD LUCK, OLD BOY” 147
THE WHOLE CROWD WAS THERE 203
HE LOOKED UP AT THE MAN 273
The Rambler Club Among the Northwest Mounted
CHAPTER I
AT THE BARRACKS
Sergeant Jarvis Erskine of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police,
stationed at a lonely outpost barracks, was hard at work on his
headquarters’ report. Occasionally the sergeant, a tall, spare man
with a military bearing, stopped to stroke his iron-gray moustache,
while a serious expression now and again seemed to creep into his keen,
deep-set eyes. He glanced toward his lone companion, Teddy Banes, a
half-breed, who sat so motionless in a shadowed corner of the room as
to give the impression that he was enjoying a doze.
Teddy Banes, often employed by the police as a trail-breaker and scout,
had on many occasions rendered valuable assistance to the “riders of
the plains.” And though his sullen, morose nature prevented him from
being a favorite, he possessed the confidence and esteem of the men at
the post.
“Banes,” exclaimed Sergeant Erskine, finally breaking the monotonous
silence which the ticking of the clock and the rustling of the breeze
had served to render oppressive, “I’m afraid this is bad business.”
With his pen half poised in the air, he turned once more to the
half-breed, his eyes running over the long, lean form huddled up in the
chair. “I say this is bad business,” repeated the sergeant, in a louder
key. “One of the most promising young men on the force! I don’t like to
think it, but----”
For the first time, Teddy Banes stirred, shifting his position so that
the light fell full across his swarthy, large-featured face and long
black hair.
“Yes, a bad business, sergeant,” he echoed. “He gone. No one ever see
him more. He--what you call him--deserter.”
The palm of the sergeant’s hand came down upon his desk with a bang.
“Aye! It looks that way, man. And a fine, well-built chap he was, too.”
“Bad man scare him, maybe,” said the half-breed, sinking back into his
former position.
“Jed Warren didn’t look like a chap who could be easily frightened,”
answered Erskine, with a negative shake of his head. “It’s a most
unfortunate affair--a mystery that the Northwest Mounted Police are
going to solve in mighty short order.”
The explosive force with which the sergeant uttered these words seemed
to have the effect of jerking Teddy Banes to his feet. He began to pace
slowly to and fro, his gaunt shadow trailing fantastically over the
floor and walls of the sturdy log cabin.
“He is not the first who has crossed the United States border and never
come back,” he exclaimed, “and----”
“Aye, that’s so,” agreed the military-looking sergeant, “but, somehow,
I can’t believe it of Warren. He should have reported here at least a
week ago.”
“For sure,” grunted Banes.
“Of course a good many things could happen to a trooper in a vast
country like this, but a man of his intelligence ought certainly to
have been able to get some word to the post.”
Teddy Banes came to a halt in front of one of the windows and gazed
reflectively out into the black, gloomy night. Borne over the air,
blending in with the sighing breeze and faint whisperings of grasses
and leaves, came the musical chirping of crickets, or the occasional
cry of some nocturnal bird.
“Guess we never know,” he said, laconically.
Sergeant Erskine made no reply, but an uplifting of his eyebrows and
a sudden tightening of his lips indicated that he did not agree with
Teddy Banes’ views.
For fully ten minutes neither man spoke. Then the sergeant looked
toward the half-breed, who had resumed his place in the chair. “Banes,”
he said, abruptly, “what in thunder is the matter with you?”
“Matter with me!” echoed Teddy. “What you mean?”
“Why don’t you say something, instead of sitting there like a bronze
statue?”
“Me?--I got nothings to say.”
“What are you thinking about, then?”
“What I think about?”
“Yes. I can’t stand a man sitting around looking into space. It gets on
my nerves. But if you’re trying to think out a solution of this little
affair I’ll forgive you.” The sergeant, having finished his report,
rose to his feet and strode across the floor, his tall, erect form
coming to a halt before the half-breed. “Teddy,” he said, “you’ve done
some pretty good work for the police, and in the job that’s ahead of us
you must do your share.”
“Why for you ask that, sergeant?” queried the other. The monotonous
tone of his voice rose slightly. “Always I work hard for the police. Me
the best frien’ they have; they the best frien’s I have.”
“Correct,” answered the sergeant, with a short laugh.
A strict disciplinarian, Sergeant Jarvis Erskine, a man whom all
his subordinates highly respected and liked, yet feared, had always
treated the scout with a consideration which often excited the envy and
wonder of the troopers at the post; and while his stern presence and
penetrating voice may have sometimes awed them it never seemed to have
that effect upon the imperturbable, sullen Teddy Banes.
The officer turned on his heel and opened the door, to let a flood of
light pour out for a short distance over the ground. To his left he saw
the men’s quarters, still illuminated, and faintly heard the sound of
their voices. A dim yellow beam shone from one of the stable windows,
but beyond and on all sides contours and forms were lost in the
darkness of the night. The pine-clad hill to the north might as well
have been a part of the sky for all that could be seen of its bold,
rugged sides, which dropped abruptly to the plain. Between the rifts of
cloud, now beginning to break away, a few stars beamed brightly upon
the earth.
To the grizzled and seasoned veteran of the Royal Mounted Police the
uninspiring sight made no impression, and the sudden and peculiar
manner with which he stepped outside the door was not caused by any
phenomenon of nature.
“Banes,” he called sharply, “come here!”
The lethargic movements of the scout seemed suddenly to desert him. A
few long strides took him to the officer’s side.
“Banes”--the sergeant spoke with curious intensity--“listen!”
“Ah, you have hear something, sergeant?”
“Yes--most assuredly,” answered Erskine. “All the men are at quarters,
yet that thick blackness out there hides either one man or several.
Perhaps Jed Warren is----”
“No, me think not,” interrupted Banes. “For sure he crossed the line.
No--never see him more.”
The half-breed paused, for his keen ears had suddenly detected the
sound of human voices. True they were so faint and partly swallowed
up in the breeze that only a man whose ears were trained by long
experience would have noticed them.
“They were louder than that before, Banes,” exclaimed the sergeant.
“Wonder who it be?”
“Evidently some one who isn’t afraid of traveling on a dark night.”
“They come this way, I think.”
“I only hope it’s Jed Warren, or some one with a message from him.
This is not quite the hour for receiving visitors.” Erskine chuckled
audibly. “Still, my suspicions are always roused when men pass by the
brightly-lighted barracks of the police without stopping in to say
howdy-do.”
“Yes; for they sure come this way,” said Teddy Banes. “One, two,
three--four, maybe.”
“Yes; and mounted, as every respectable man ought to be in a country
like this. I’ll stake my month’s pay I heard the neigh of a horse.”
“For sure. I hear him, too.”
Straining all their faculties the two stepped from the bright light
which issued from the open door and windows into the gloom beyond. For
some time neither uttered a sound. But, at length, as the voices which
had so aroused their curiosity were no longer heard, Sergeant Erskine
spoke up:
“I’ve a good mind to saddle my horse and take a run out on the prairie.”
The half-breed grunted a monosyllable.
“Since Jed Warren’s unaccountable disappearance,” went on the sergeant,
“I am more particular than ever to look over every one who passes this
way.”
“You take lantern then, I s’pose?” said Teddy Banes, a touch of sarcasm
in his tone.
The sergeant laughed dryly.
“Quite good, Banes,” he said. “Ah! Did you hear that?”
“Certain I hear him,” answered the half-breed.
“I reckon you are right, Banes. They seem to be headed this way. From
the prairie these barracks must shine like a constellation.”
“Nobody could miss him but one who wants to,” remarked Teddy, sagely.
“I’m still hoping Jed Warren may be among that party.”
“No--no!”
“What makes you so confounded sure about it, Banes? Why in thunder do
you always insist he’s a deserter?”
“Why?” echoed Teddy, sharply. “How many times you say same thing?”
“Well, suppose I have? I won’t believe it until it’s proved. Guess it
isn’t necessary to saddle up, Banes. That bunch out there is coming
nearer every minute.”
The sound of voices was certainly growing louder, while occasionally
the hoof-beats of horses easily overcame the whisperings and sighings
of nature.
For a long time no visitors had been at the post. Now and again a ranch
owner or some of his men stopped in to while away a few hours at the
barracks; and all received a generous welcome at the lonely outpost
station, where the police sometimes grew tired of always seeing only
one another’s faces.
Within a short time the noise made by the advancing riders grew to
such proportions that several troopers hurried out of the mess room
to join their commanding officer. And the rays of light which flashed
across their forms showed them to be strong, athletic-looking chaps who
carried themselves as erect as any soldiers in the Dominion.
It was quite evident that all were full of curiosity, even eagerness,
to let their eyes rest upon the newcomers; and the steady progress with
which the latter were now approaching made it quite certain that their
wishes would soon be gratified.
“It sounds like a pretty big crowd,” remarked Trooper Farr to Jack
Stanford.
“’Tain’t often around here that so many’s travelin’ together.”
“Maybe they’re from Cummin’s ranch, to tell us the cattle rustlers have
done a couple more jobs,” said Stanford.
“Or perhaps Jed Warren has rounded up that band of smugglers he was
after an’ is bringin’ ’em in single-handed,” laughed Phil Cole.
Several minutes passed while the men busily conjectured and theorized.
Then, from out of the shadows, there appeared a number of dusky patches
so blended and lost in the surrounding darkness that only the sharpest
eyes could have detected the forms of horses and riders.
“Stanford,” commanded Sergeant Erskine, “go back to the mess room, get
a lantern and hurry down to the gate. Those chaps are going to miss
it by more than a few yards; and we won’t ask ’em to hurdle over the
fence.”
“If Stanford isn’t quick they may ride into it and bump their noses,”
said Cole, pleasantly.
Stanford was quick, however. He almost immediately returned with a
lighted lantern, which sent curious streaks and dashes of yellow rays
darting in all directions, then, followed by Trooper Farr, walked
rapidly toward the gate.
Sergeant Erskine and the others waited and watched with the keenest
interest.
Suddenly they heard a loud hail from the distance and an answering
salutation from Stanford.
It was quite the most unusual event which had happened at the post for
several months; and those standing close to the barracks experienced a
feeling of satisfaction when they heard the gate beginning to creak.
And now from the direction of the swinging lantern came the sound
of clear, lusty voices, with the heavier tones of Stanford and Farr
joining in.
It soon became evident from bits of conversation which were carried
crisply over the air that the visitors had not stumbled accidentally
upon police headquarters. Even Sergeant Erskine, whose stern exterior
seldom reflected emotion of any sort, felt a rather curious thrill when
he heard Jed Warren’s name pronounced by various voices.
“Ah, Banes, I reckon we’re going to have some news from him after all,”
he remarked.
The half-breed made no answer. All the intensity of his small black
eyes was fixed in the direction of the gate, where the body of horsemen
were now filing in. On they came, galloping across the grounds with an
abandon that showed them to be skilful riders.
An instant later the friendly lights of the barracks plucked forms and
faces from the obscurity. And even Sergeant Erskine allowed a slight
gasp of surprise to escape him when he noted that the travelers,
instead of being the troop of hardy men he had expected to see, were
but a healthy-looking lot of lads.