THE BITE FROM THE BUSH
From the time that they parted in the morning, until they started
to go back to camp in the afternoon, Tom and Harry did not meet
the next day. Each, with his chainmen, was served from Bob’s
burro train at noon.
“Did you see Bad Pete today?” was Harry’s greeting, as they Started
back over the trail.
“No.”
“Did you hear from him or of him in any way?” pressed Hazelton.
“Not a sign of any sort from Peter,” Tom went on. “I’ve a theory
as to what’s keeping him away. He’s on a journey.”
“Journey?”
“Yes; between you and me, I believe that Peter has gone in search
of someone who can sell him, or give him, a few forty-five cartridges.”
“He’d better apply to you, then, Tom,” grinned Harry.
“Why, I couldn’t sell him any,” Tom replied.
“What did you do with those you had last night?”
“You remember the unfordable pond that came in one of my courses
yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“To-day I threw all of Peter’s .45’s into the middle of the pond.
They must have sunk a foot into the mud by this time.”
“Seriously, Tom, don’t you believe that you’d better take one
of the revolvers that I bought and wear it on a belt?”
“Not I,” retorted Reade. “Harry, I wish you could get that sort
of foolishness out of your head. A revolver is of no possible
use to a man who hasn’t any killing to do. I’m trying to learn
to be a civil engineer, not a man-killer.”
“Then I believe that Bad Pete will ‘get’ you one of these days,”
sighed Hazelton.
“Wait until he does,” smiled Tom. “Then you can have the fun
of coming around and saying ‘I told you so.’”
Their chainmen were ahead of the “cub” engineers on the trail.
Tom and Harry were talking earnestly when they heard a pony’s
hoofs behind them. Hazelton turned with a start.
“Oh, it’s Rutter mounted,” Hazelton said, with a sigh of relief.
“I was afraid it was Bad Pete.”
“Take my word for it, Harry. Peter is a good deal of a coward.
He won’t dare to show up until he has some real cartridges.
The temperance kind do not give a man like Peter any real sense
of security in the world.”
Rutter rode along on his sure-footed mountain pony at a rapid
jog. When he came close, Tom and Harry stepped aside into the
brush to let him go by on the narrow trail.
“Don’t get off into the brush that way,” yelled Rutter from the
distance.
“We’re trying to give you room,” Tom called.
“I don’t need the room yet. I won’t run over you, anyway. Stand out
of the brush, I tell you.”
Tom good-humoredly obeyed, Harry moving, too, though starting
an instant later.
Prompt as he was, however, Tom Reade was a fraction of a second
too late.
Behind them there was a half-whirring, half-clicking sound.
Then Reade felt a stinging sensation in his left leg three or
four inches from the heel.
“Look out!” yelled Rutter, more excitedly than before. “Get away
from there!”
Tom ran some distance down the trail. Then he halted, laughing.
“I wonder what’s on Rut’s mind,” he smiled, as Hazelton joined
him.
Jack Rutter came at a gallop, reining up hard as he reached where
Tom had stood.
Again that whirring, clicking sound. Rutter’s pony reared.
“Still, you brute!” commanded Rutter sternly. Then, without waiting
to see whether his mount would stand alone, Rutter leaped from
saddle, going forward with his quirt---a rawhide riding whip---uplifted.
Into the brush from which Tom had stepped Rutter went cautiously,
though he did not lose much time about it.
Swish! swish! swish! sounded the quirt, as Rutter laid it on
the ground ahead of him. Then he stepped out. The pony had drawn
back thirty or forty feet and now stood trembling, nostrils distended.
“Is that the way you take your exercise?” Reade demanded.
Rutter, however, came running along the trail, his face white
as though from worry.
“Reade,” he demanded, “Did that thing strike you?”
“What thing,” asked Tom in wonderment.
“The rattler that I killed!”
“Rattler?” gasped both cub engineers.
“Yes. From the distance I thought I saw it strike out at you.
There’s a nest of the reptiles at some point near that brush.
That’s why I warned you to get away from there. Never stand
in brush, in the Rockies, unless you’ve looked before stepping.
Were you struck?”
“I believe something did sting me,” Reade admitted, remembering
that smarting sensation in his left leg.
“Which leg was it? demanded Rutter, halting beside the cub.
“Left---a little above the ankle,” replied Tom.
“Take off your legging. I must have a look. Hazelton, call to
one of your chainmen and send him back to make sure of my pony.”
Harry hastened to obey, then came back breathless. Rutter, in
the meantime, had turned up enough of Tom’s left trousers’ leg
to bare a spot on the flesh that was red. There were fang marks
in the centre of this reddened surface.
“You got it, boy,” spoke Rutter huskily. “Now we’ll have to go
to work like lightning to save you.”
“How are you going to do it?” asked Tom coolly, though he felt
decidedly queer over the startling news.
“Hazelton,” demanded Rutter, turning upon the other cub engineer,
“have you nerve enough to put your lips to that wound, and draw,
draw draw as hard as you can, and keep on until you’ve drawn all
the poison out?”
“I have,” nodded Harry, sinking to his knees beside his chum.
“I’ll draw all the poison out if I have to swallow enough to
kill me.”
“You won’t poison yourself, Hazelton,” replied Rutter quickly,
as one of the chainmen came near with the recaptured pony. “Snake
venom isn’t deadly in the stomach---only when it gets into the
blood direct. There’s no danger unless you’ve a cut or a deep
scratch in your mouth. Spit the stuff out as you draw.”
Having given these directions, Jack Rutter turned, with the help
of one of the chainmen to fasten a blanket behind the saddle to
make a sort of extra saddle. The blanket had been lying rolled
at the back of the saddle.
Harry, in the meantime, without flinching, performed his task
well. Had he but known it, Rutter’s explanation of the lack of
danger was true; but in that moment, with his chum’s life at stake,
Harry didn’t care a fig whether the explanation were true or not.
All he thought of was saving Tom.
“I reckon that part of the job has been done well,” nodded Rutter,
turning back from the horse. “Now, Reade, I want you to mount
behind me and hold on tightly, for we’re going to do some hard,
swift riding. The sooner we get you to camp the surer you will
be of coming out of this scrape all right.”
“I’ve never had much experience in horsemanship, and I may out
a sorry figure at it,” laughed Reade, as, with Harry’s help he
got up behind Rutter.
“Horsemanship doesn’t count---speed does,” replied Rutter tersely.
“Hold on tightly, and we’ll make as good time as possible. I’m
going to start now.”
Away they went, at a hard gallop, Tom doing his best to hold on,
but feeling like a jumping-jack.
“It won’t take us more than twenty minutes,” promised Jack Rutter.