IN THE SADDLE
Once out of sight of the police barracks Larry Burnham began to
question the wisdom of his course in accompanying the Ramblers to the
Northwest Territories. It was a very different matter, he reflected, to
sit in an easy chair and read about the kind of experiences they were
having than it was to be an actual participant in them. Every bone and
muscle in his big frame voiced a protest to the strain he had put on
them the day before. Then, too, they had had so many difficulties in
finding the way that the warnings of Teddy Banes began to be forced
unpleasantly on his mind.
Suppose they did get lost? Suppose their canteens were emptied while
they were in the midst of a wild and trackless country far from any
streams or lakes?--what then? And, worst of all, suppose ill-fortune
did throw them in the path of smugglers or other dangerous characters?
The big blond football player didn’t like to think about these things.
But, in spite of his efforts, he often found his mind going over and
over such unpleasant possibilities.
“It strikes me as foolish business,” he murmured. “Then, Tom Clifton
always jumping on me is a trifle more’n I care to stand.”
The sound of a horse’s hoofs rising above the steady patter of the
cavalcade caused him to look around.
Teddy Banes was rapidly overtaking them. With a six-shooter at his
belt, a rifle resting across the pommel of his saddle, and the fringe
of his buckskin coat flapping about, he seemed, in Larry Burnham’s eyes
at least, to typify the country.
His gaze followed the half-breed as he swung toward the head of the
column, and he could not help admiring the superb horsemanship which
every movement of his lithe body expressed.
Although it was still early the day gave an indication of the heat that
was yet to come. Not a cloud flecked the surface of the sky, which
at the horizon became enveloped in a scintillating whitish haze that
almost dazzled the eye.
“It certainly is a vast country,” thought Larry. He raised himself in
his stirrups to gaze in all directions.
On every side it wore the same appearance--waving yellow bunch grass
covering an undulating prairie, with here and there a low line of hills
to break its monotonous uniformity.
And as he gazed upon this immensity of space it seemed to forcibly
impress upon his mind the insignificance of all living things. How
small the horsemen just ahead appeared!
“Great Scott!” he remarked, half aloud. “And yet Tom Clifton has an
idea we may be able to strike that policeman’s trail.”
It all seemed so preposterous--so utterly without reason--that Larry
burst into a peal of laughter, somewhat to the astonishment of Dick
Travers who was cantering several yards in advance. Larry, however,
without offering an explanation, spurred up his horse, soon overtaking
Bob Somers and the half-breed at the head of the column.
“We’re forging ahead, Bob,” he said. “And gee, I certainly do hope
we find some sort of shade by the time the mercury climbs up in the
hundreds.”
“It’s going to be a scorcher, all right,” said Bob, cheerfully.
“What time ought we to reach this Cree village?”
“Late in the afternoon.”
Larry groaned.
“Gee whiz, Bob, I call this pretty hard work,” he groaned. “Yet I
s’pose Tom Clifton’s thinkin’ he’s having the grandest time of his
life.”
“You bet I am,” sang out Tom, who had overheard. “There’s nothing like
having a good horse under you and plenty of space to gallop in, eh,
Bob? Besides, there’s always a chance for adventure.”
“And if we really don’t run into a lot I’ll be surprised,” said Dave
Brandon.
“So will I,” laughed Sam Randall.
“Most likely there are some ranch-houses not so very far from here,”
said Tom; “and if so it means we’re likely to see big bunches of
longhorns roaming over the prairie before very long. Then, perhaps, a
smuggler or two may bob up to help make things interesting.”
Tom glared sternly toward the half-breed, who seemed to be totally
oblivious of their presence.
This remark, however, had the effect of bringing his head sharply
around, to reveal a curious light in his black, snappy eyes.
“Ah, you make fun of Teddy Banes,” he growled. “But you see! How long
you been here?--few days, eh? Me lived here always; yet you know more
already.”
“How could you expect it otherwise?” grinned Larry Burnham. “I sort o’
think it’s Tom Clifton’s privilege to know more’n anybody else.”
A long, low line of hills was looming up before the travelers. Here and
there a dark, scraggly tree spotted their surface, while mingling in
with the soft billowing folds of grass, which, under the effects of the
faint breeze, seemed to ripple like waves of the sea, were stretches of
purplish earth.
“An’ beyond them I suppose it looks just like this; an’ beyond some
other hills just like this again,” grumbled Larry. “Whew, but it’s
gettin’ hot! If there’s any shade on the other side, for goodness’ sake
let’s take a rest. How do you know we’re goin’ in the right direction,
Bob Somers?”
“By the aid of map and compass,” answered Bob. “Of course, though,
Teddy Banes knows the easiest route; so I’m leaving it to him.”
“How far is he going with us?”
“To the Cree village.”
“Then me leave,” grunted the half-breed.
As the seven horsemen cantered swiftly through the tall grass, beating
it under foot, the crest of the hills rose higher and sharper against
the sky. Instead of making directly toward them, as Larry expected,
Teddy Banes soon swerved to the left, and the blond lad finally
discovered that he was leading them toward a point where gray masses of
shadow indicated a deep cleft in the slopes.
Eagerly he kept his eyes on the grateful shade, watching it growing
stronger with a feeling of intense satisfaction; and when at last his
sorrel picked its way into a pass cluttered with underbrush and stones
he gave a shout of approval.
By the side of an overhanging slope the half-breed drew rein.
“Much hot,” he said, using a gorgeously red handkerchief to mop his
perspiring face. “But this is nothings. In a few days you see.”
“Well, I don’t think I’ll wait to see,” growled Larry.
“This isn’t anything,” said Tom Clifton. “And I’ll bet it isn’t going
to be a bit hotter. Besides, when a chap’s on a roughing-it expedition
he’s got to expect all sorts of things.”
“Another lecture from the scout-master,” grinned Larry.
“And if he can’t stand ’em, and gets grumpy and sour-faced he ought to
stay at his own cozy little home.”
“Mercy! I suppose a broadside like that ought to bowl me right over,”
said Larry. “When you get to be a doctor, Tom, you’re likely to scare
your patients into recovering fast.”
Tom, with a shrug of his shoulders, turned toward Dave Brandon, the
first to tether his horse and find a comfortable resting place. “Why so
quiet, Dave? What are you thinking about?” he inquired.
The chronicler of the Rambler Club’s adventures made no reply until the
others were sprawling in various attitudes in the most inviting places
they could find. Then he said, slowly:
“Thinking about something serious, Tom.”
“Do let your musings find expression in words,” grinned Clifton.
“Well, you know, we graduated at the Kingswood High School last
term----”
“Gracious sakes, I’ve been trying to forget school,” interrupted the
tall boy.
“I can’t,” said Dave, solemnly. “Every once in a while it persists in
bobbing up in my mind with fearful force.”
“Poor chap--but what’s the use of it now?”
“Well, isn’t the crowd going to enter the Wentworth Preparatory School
next fall?”
“Of course.”
“And that means more hard study--athletics, perhaps, and----”
“Athletics! That’s so!” broke in Tom, his expression undergoing a
wonderful change. “If I don’t become a candidate for a freshman team
Larry isn’t a tenderfoot.”
“My foot isn’t very tender when it comes to kicking a pigskin,”
laughed Larry. “By the way, fellows, I haven’t thought much about it,
but I’d like to enter that school myself.”
“Bully idea! Why don’t you?” asked Sam Randall.
“Well, the fact is, my people aren’t very well fixed.”
“Work your way through school, then. Lots of chaps do it.”
“By George, I sort o’ think it would be a good plan,” said Larry,
forgetting for an instant his usual drawl. “Honest--I’m just aching to
tumble into football togs.”
“And with twelve feet of Clifton and Burnham any eleven ought to be a
winner,” laughed Bob.
Larry was so pleased with the idea that he very nearly forgot the heat
and clouds of insects which persisted in buzzing around his head.
All the discomforts, however, which nature held in store for him were
forcibly recalled to his mind when the half-breed, with a sullen grunt,
commanded them to mount.
The shade did not extend far. Soon, leaving the miniature canyon, they
came out upon the yellow plain once more, to see shimmering heat waves
between them and a hazy distance. The only living object was a flock of
birds, but so far off that none could recognize their species.
Then followed a ride which Larry Burnham never forgot, and which, for
the time being, completely effaced from his mind any pleasing thoughts
of Freshfield Prep School or football.
At his home near Kingswood, Wisconsin, he had considered himself a
pretty good rider. But an occasional jog to town or about the farm was
not at all like spending entire days in the saddle. He looked curiously
at his companions to see if they seemed to be affected in any way by
the ordeal. But all appeared exasperatingly fresh and unconcerned.
Tom Clifton, indeed, wore such an air of joy that Larry felt positively
aggrieved.
“This isn’t quite the thing I bargained for,” he reflected, grimly.
“I imagined a nice camp in a patch of woods, an’ a bit of huntin’
an’ fishin’--not a crazy search after a policeman who has done the
disappearin’ act. Of course he deserted--the chump! Everything points
that way. Gee whiz! Another day o’ this, an’ I think I’ll get out.”
An hour later they reached the bed of a dried up creek fringed on
either side by bushes and scrawny willows. And here Teddy Banes forgot
his usual surly manner long enough to show them many evidences of
ancient buffalo trails.
“Too bad they nearly wiped the poor creatures out,” said Tom.
“I guess you mean it’s too bad they didn’t let a few herds remain to be
targets for the rifles of the Rambler Club,” said Larry, sourly. “How
much further have we to go, Banes?”
“Many miles,” responded the half-breed. “We have just begin.”
“This is certainly the country of long distances,” said Sam Randall,
smiling in spite of himself as he noticed the unhappy expression which
flitted across Larry’s face.
The creek bottom, often overgrown with sage-brush, wound its tortuous
course in a westerly direction toward another line of hills. From the
nostrils and shaggy coats of the horses rose clouds of steam; and,
as they did not wish to push the animals too hard, the aspect of the
ridges changed with exasperating slowness.
Finally, however, they entered another gap, through which the former
water route became strewn with rocks, decaying branches and other
obstructions. All this necessitated slow traveling--a slowness which
sorely taxed Larry Burnham’s patience. And every now and then a rather
indiscreet remark of Tom’s served to further add to his troubled
feelings.
“Yes, sir, I’ve had enough of this,” he muttered, disgustedly. “The
first chance I get I’ll clear out an’ leave this bunch to keep up the
chase all by themselves.”
And Bob, who surmised from Larry’s expression the state of his
feelings, thought to console him.
“It isn’t going to be as bad as this always,” he said.
“I’m quite certain of that,” responded Larry, meaningly.
And nothing occurred during the afternoon’s ride to change a resolution
he had made on a certain point.
It was decided not to halt for lunch, the travelers contenting
themselves with crackers, dried beef, and a drink of water from their
canteens.
At last the half-breed leader left the creek bottom and struck off once
more through the bunch grass toward a third range of thickly-timbered
hills.
On reaching them the boys this time found no convenient pass through
which they might file. The odor of the fragrant balsam and fir filling
the air, with other sweet scents from leaves and grass, was very
delightful to inhale, and the cool bluish shadows trailing over the
ground an agreeable change from the glare of the open spaces.
For the last hour the boys had carried on very little conversation.
Larry himself felt too hot and miserable to utter a word. He was,
therefore, totally unprepared for the view which met his eye upon
reaching the top of the hills.
Down in a basin, or, rather, amphitheater, enclosed on three sides by
the tree-grown slopes, he saw a large collection of Indian teepees. It
was a sight which almost made him join in the exultant shout which came
from Tom Clifton’s lips.