Friends and Hunters
"My, now, you've given us quite a fright! Feel a bit queerish? Eh?"
As if in a dream, Jack heard the words and struggled to answer. But for
some reason or other, which his disordered mind could not fathom, and
which distressed him greatly, the words would not come to his lips.
Moreover, he could not concentrate his wandering thoughts on any one
matter. Now he was in court, under trial for robbery, and a moment later
he was on the stage with Amos, helping in some conjuring feat which drew
roars of applause from the assembled audience. His thoughts even swept
back to that eventful ride on the railway; but they never reached
finality. The train ran on and on, while he clung to the rail and the
footboard, immovable, desperate, unable to creep forward or back.
"Say, now, yer ain't feelin' quite so bad? A bit shook up and so on? But
better, ain't yer?"
Jack opened his eyes, and saw a bearded face leaning over him. He shut
them again promptly, as if the sight had been too much for him, as well
it might, for the individual who had stared so closely at our hero was
not prepossessing, to say the least of it. He was gently pushed aside
by another individual, and a woman's gentle voice spoke.
"Leave him to me a little," she said. "He is still very weak, and not
fully conscious. Leave him, please. In a little while he will be
better."
Jack felt a warm pressure on his hand, and sank once more into oblivion.
But it was a pleasant unconsciousness on this occasion. No longer was he
distressed with views of the court, with counsel for the prosecution
standing before the jury and encouraging them to find this young fellow
guilty. No longer did he cling desperately to the rail of the train. He
sank into a dreamless, comforting oblivion, which held him securely in
its tender grip for another half-hour. And then he suddenly opened his
eyes.
"Well, now," he exclaimed, somewhat feebly, for his tongue seemed to be
heavily loaded, "where on earth am I? And what has been happening?
Coming, sir, coming."
Back wandered his mind to Amos, and he fancied he heard the conjurer
calling to him.
"Lie still and you'll feel better. Sip this," said someone, and at once,
obedient to the command, too weak to be over curious as to why it was
given or by whom, our hero sipped at the glass placed to his lips. And
the spirit there revived him wonderfully. It was as if a spur were
needed to stimulate his flagging energies. The cordial given him seemed
to have acted as a strong fillip, and in a minute he was sitting up,
pushing aside an arm which endeavoured to hold him down.
"Here, what's this?" he asked indignantly. "I'm not a baby! I--halloo!
Where am I?"
"Still in the train, recovering from the wound you received," said the
same gentle voice. "Now lie down again."
But Jack was stubborn, and had a horror of illness or of any show of
weakness. He let his legs slide from the long seat on which he had been
lying, and sat bolt upright. He looked round in a dazed fashion, and
then gave a cry of recognition.
"Ah, the train!" he said. "Guess this is where that robber lay. What
happened?"
"A heap," said someone standing near at hand, and, looking at him, our
hero discovered the man who had stood with folded arms whilst the
robber's revolver was pointed at him. "Jest a heap, young sir. But there
ain't no further call to fear the robber. Guess he's rubbed out clean."
He pointed to the far end of the coach, where, under a piece of
sailcloth, rested something which had the form of a body. Jack shuddered
and turned away.
"And no need to blame yourself neither," came from the man. "It was done
in fair fight, and thar warn't no favour. 'Sides, he managed to wing
you. How's the arm?"
"I had forgotten it," answered Jack, looking down and discovering that
his arm rested in a sling made from a scarf. "It hurts just a little,
but nothing to what it did at first. Is the wound severe?"
"Enough to cripple yer for a time, I guess, but not so baddish. A young
chap like you'll be able to swing the arm within three weeks, and work
with it in six. The bullet jest went a bit high. Or low, was it, seeing
as you was kinder upside down? It clipped the bone, I reckon, but thar
ain't a break. Ye'll do nicely. Now, if yer feel up to it, jest tell us
how it all happened."
Jack felt wonderfully better already, though a little bashful, for the
coach was half-filled with passengers, all of whom were looking at him
and listening eagerly. He stared back at them for a time, for the men
here were in many cases of a different class to those he was accustomed
to. They were sunburned, with but a few exceptions, and these latter
were obviously commercial men, travelling for some trade. The others
looked more like settlers, or cowboys, or even miners. They wore rough,
highly coloured shirts, broad belts, and riding-boots and breeches. Each
one carried a revolver, and some a hunting-knife.
"Kinder surprised at the look of us, eh?" smiled the tall man with the
big moustaches. "Wall, we're ordinary enough out this way. Yer don't get
folks out in this part dressin' as if they was in New York, not much.
We're ranchers, or miners, almost to a man. Now fer that 'ere yarn."
Very quietly and modestly Jack told how he had boarded the train, and
recounted his subsequent actions.
"Reckon it was the only thing I could do," he wound up lamely. "They'd
have shot me as well as anyone else."
"I dunno," came hotly from one of the passengers. "I dunno so much.
Excuse me, young stranger, but I'll ax a question. Yer was right aft
thar, close to the truck, warn't you? And yer could have boarded that as
easy as possible? Eh?"
Jack nodded, colouring visibly, for he began to wonder whether he would
have to declare to all present that that was actually his intention.
"Then them skunks wouldn't have found you. They was huntin' for the car
what carries the gold. Yer hadn't no call to enter the conductor's crib,
none at all, siree, and yet yer did. Yer cut him loose, and then come
along the footboard. There war something else you could ha' done. Yer
could ha' layed there snug, and not cared a jot. Reckon ye've saved a
pile for the owners of that 'ere money."
There was a loud chorus of approval, and immediately afterwards the tall
man with the fine moustaches stepped forward.
"That isn't all," he said slowly. "Ladies and gentlemen, many of you
know me. I'm Tom Horsfall, from down Colorado way, and I've made this
trip many a time, and scores of others. I've been through the Indian
country, and have seen fighting. Then every mother's son of us has used
his gun to save the outfit we've been along with, and to keep our own
scalps. Reckon we hadn't a show here. Those varmint were on to us too
quick, and a man has to weaken sometimes when he hasn't had time to lift
his gun. This young stranger didn't save the gold alone. Guess he saved
a goodish few of us."
Once more there was a chorus of approval.
"Ye've put it neat and handy, Tom," sang out the one who had spoken
earlier. "He's saved lives as well as money."
"And as a mark of our appreciation the passengers on the train, as well
as the staff, have made a collection. I have much pleasure in handing
you three hundred dollars."
The big man smiled--a comprehensive smile, which took in all the
company present, and Jack in particular. He stepped up to our hero, and
handed him a skin purse which was heavy with dollars.
"Ye've earned it fair and handsome," he said. "Take it, my lad."
To say that Jack was delighted and somewhat overcome would be to
describe his condition incorrectly. Tears were in his eyes as he took
the money, and he attempted vainly to return thanks. But the big man
helped him out.
"Yer ain't no call to say a word," he said kindly. "We all understand,
and we don't want thanks. Now, stranger, jest yer lie down again and
sleep. We'll talk later on."
"But the conductor?" asked Jack, suddenly remembering the man he had
released, and who had fallen from the train.
"He's jest as comfortable as may be," came the reassuring answer. "The
bullet that ruffian fired went slick through his wrist and made him let
go. He's a bit shook, and no wonder; but thar ain't anything worse with
him than a hole in his wrist, and that'll mend as soon as your wound.
Now, git down and rest."
The order was peremptory now, and Jack obeyed it. A delicious sense of
comfort and security came over him, and, better than all, the feeling
that he had friends. A while ago he was a hunted criminal, with none to
look to for help. Now, in the pocket of his jacket, he had solid
evidence of good friendship; for the dollars chinked loudly when he
moved, while all who looked at him smiled or patted his hand. Meanwhile
the train was proceeding, and when in the course of seven hours Jack
awoke, he found houses about him, and lights flickering through the
morning mist. The passengers were descending from the cars, gripping
their luggage, and everything pointed to the fact that the end of the
journey was reached.
"The rails don't go any farther," said Tom Horsfall, coming and sitting
beside him. "From here those who live farther afield have to go by
caravan, and there they are, hurrying away, as if they hadn't a moment
to lose. Where are you going, lad?"
Jack sat up suddenly and looked at his questioner. From the very first
he had taken a liking to Tom, and knew intuitively that he was one who
could be trusted. Still, he reflected, he must not say too much. The
constable might even now be following.
"To California," he answered steadily.
"To dig?"
Jack nodded his head. "Partly that, partly to earn money at the forge.
I've done a course of smith's work, and am fairly handy."
An exclamation of pleasure escaped Tom promptly.
"Do yer want a job?" he asked swiftly. "'Cos I've one ter offer."
To do Jack full justice, he hesitated to accept the post, and felt
troubled. For common sense told him that the place was offered because
of what he had done. It was, in a measure, a reward for his services.
But there was another aspect of the matter. When he had accepted Amos's
offer it was at a moment when he was sorely pressed, and when, because
of his haste, he had little time to consider other matters. But Jack
was honest to the core, and he had made up his mind to work for himself
at his trade rather than to accept a post and leave his employer
ignorant of his past history. And here he was face to face with the
dilemma. He must either refuse what might turn out to be just the thing
for him, or he must declare himself and hold nothing back.
"Yer ain't got no cause to fret about the arm," said Tom, noticing his
hesitation, "'cos we've a long march before us. It'll be three months
before we reach Nevada, and another before we hit upon a spot at which
ter dig. Long before then ye'll be fit again, and it's when we're at the
diggin's that ye'll come in handy. We've been lookin' out fer a smith,
and, yer see, we're off to Californy like you, so the thing seems kinder
ter fit."
"It isn't that," exclaimed Jack quickly. "I want to say something. You
don't know anything about me. I might be anything at all."
"Now, look ye here," cried Tom hotly, "don't yer jest take me fer a
fool. No one out here knows what his mates are, nor cares either.
'Tain't no business of no one's. Reckon out thar at the diggin's and on
the plains yer kin meet men as was dukes in Europe, others that's
thieves, and crowds that has as shady a history as yer could well think
of. That ain't no one's concern. But you!--with that honest face and
frank look--don't yer try ter get telling me that you've got a history
marked up against yer. Yer may have met trouble, but I reckon it come
from someone else's fault; or it was a monkey trick that any lad'll get
up to. Don't tell me. I've been out these ways boy and man, and I ain't
easily took in."
"Listen a moment," said Jack quietly. "I am an escaped prisoner, under
trial quite recently for burglary, and under suspicion of having killed
a man."
If our hero expected Tom to give vent to a whistle of astonishment, and
to make some sort of demonstration, he was disappointed. Tom sat down
coolly, pulled out a cigar, and bit the end off.
"Jest you fire ahead with the yarn, young 'un," he said, between the
puffs, as he held a match to the weed. "Tell me jest as much as yer
like, and jest as little. I ain't no policeman, I'm a plain man; and
where I've worked, though thar's been a sheriff, he's mostly lived a
hundred or more miles away. Consequence is, we've jedged matters fer
ourselves. Reckon we don't make many mistakes, neither. If a man's a
horse thief or a train robber, or something of that sort, he has a fair
show to clear himself. Ef he can't, he's shot. What's the row been
about?"
Jack told him frankly what his trouble was, and how he had fled from the
prison. Then he described his work with Amos, and finally his dash for
the train. Tom listened coolly, taking deep pulls at his weed, and
filling the carriage with smoke. Not an observation escaped him. But his
brows were wrinkled, and his eyes almost closed, seeming to point to the
fact that he was thinking deeply. He rose and went to the window to toss
the ash from his weed, and sauntered back again.
"Do yer smoke, young 'un?" he asked curtly but not unkindly. Then, as
Jack shook his head, he went on. "Ah, more's the pity jest now, for a
smoke kinder helps a man. He gets something between his teeth, and grips
tight at it. Ef he's got a plaguey business on hand, somehow or other
the thing between his teeth, and the smoke bubbling up into the air,
lets him get down to the bottom of that 'ere business. Jest tell me.
Could you recognize that 'ere chap as came to the forge for the key?"
"Anywhere!" exclaimed Jack emphatically.
"Then yer ain't no cause ter worry. And I'll tell yer why. All the train
robbers and sich like that works out east has to make tracks sooner or
later. Things gets too hot for 'em, and they have to move or be nabbed.
Wall, this here fellow has made things hot. A murder's a murder, and it
don't help matters even if the papers tell him that someone else is
standing his trial for the crime. The truth will out some day, and that
some day may be sooner rather than later; so the chap clears from the
east. And whar does he make for?"
Tom looked steadily at Jack, and, seeing that he shook his head, went on
promptly. "I'll tell yer. He goes slick west, to the diggin's, whar
thar's miners to swindle, and gold trains ter hold up. That's whar the
ruffians get to; and seeing that that's the case, ye're like ter meet
this fellow out Californy way sooner than in New York direction. That's
a good solid reason for yer to come west yerself, and though yer may
have thought, and rightly too, to throw off pursuit quicker in that
direction, ye've chosen at the same time the one place in all the world
whar you're likely ter get evidence that'll clear yer. Do I believe you
did it?"
Tom looked at Jack as he asked the question, and then burst into a loud
guffaw.
"Shucks!" he cried; "thar ain't no sense in the noddles of them
stay-at-homes. Anyone could see with half an eye that sarcumstances was
dead against yer, and that before jedgment was given, your age, your
past life, everything should be taken into consideration. But that jedge
and jury seemed ter have made up their minds, without even setting to
work to learn if other men had been handy, if a cart had been hired, or
other burglaries committed in them parts by two men. Reckon that friend
of yours you call James did well ter advise yer ter skip. Once ye'd put
your nose into a prison, ye'd have been done. Ye'd never have cleared
yourself. Now ye've a goodish chance, and I'll help yer. That job's
still open, youngster. And, by the way, what's the name?"
"Jack Kingsley. Tom Starling when I boarded the train."
"Then Jack let it be. Thar ain't no call ter have a second name. One's
good enough, and heaps. Will yer come?"
"Rather! and ever so many thanks for helping me," cried Jack, his lip a
trifle tremulous, for such kindness moved him.
"I ain't done nothing," came the prompt answer, "nothing compared with
what you've managed fer me. Reckon that rascal near let lead into me.
Jest remember this, lad. Ye're as good as any hereabouts, and no call to
hang your head. And thar ain't no fear of arrest. Thar ain't a soul
as'll know yer, save the villain that did that burglary and left yer to
face the trial. Ef yer meet him ye'll have ter act, and afore yer get
to the diggin's ye'll have learned how. Now jest a word about myself.
I've been everything--cowboy, rancher with my own ranch, storekeeper,
and miner. I ain't no wife nor chicks, and so a wandering life suits me.
And I've been lucky. Two years ago come Christmas time I struck it rich
and plenty way west in Californy, and me and my mate cleared out with a
handsome banking account. We agreed to separate till this time, and then
ter go partners again ef both of us wished ter have another turn. Wall,
we're both for the diggin's again, and we're going to do it big this
time. We've each put three thousand dollars into the thing, and I've
with me on the train an outfit that'll wash gold of itself. It'll want a
bit of fixin', and now and again a little repair, without a doubt. A
smith's the man for that, and so you're jest rightly fitted. Yer ain't
got no tools, perhaps?"
"None," Jack admitted, and then with a smile, "you see, I left so
hurriedly. There wasn't time to bring much away, and an anvil is rather
heavy."
"And perlicemen have a way of skipping along precious quick," laughed
Tom. "But we'll fix the whole matter. My mate meets me here at the rail
head, and we buy a wagon and some mules or hosses. Then we set off
across the plains, choosing some convoy to go with, ef that's possible.
Ef not, we'll have to risk the Indians. In any case we shall have a long
trail before us, and ef you're fond of shootin' and huntin' thar'll be
heaps of both for yer. Why, ef that ain't Steve!"
A short, spare man entered the car at this moment, and stepped lightly
towards Tom. There was the merest smile of recognition on his face,
while the eyes lit up for a moment. They gripped hands for an instant,
and then Steve crossed to the window, and looked out sharply, craning
his head so as to see in either direction. Tom laughed heartily.
"Steve's the silentest man I ever chummed with," he said. "And he can't
get that 'ere backwoods trick out of his mind. Don't matter where he is,
he's lookin' round, p'raps for enemies, p'raps for somethin' ter eat.
Lookin' round's become a sorter habit with him. Howdy, Steve?" he
shouted out. "Jest come and larn to know our new hand. This here's Jack,
smith to our outfit."
The little man strode from the window, faced Jack openly, and gripped
his hand till our hero could have shouted. He liked the look of Steve.
He was the very image of those hunters and scouts he had so often read
about; the silent, lean hunter who went his way into the wilderness, and
whose every hour called for courage and determination.
"Howdy, stranger?" said Steve. "Kin yer shoot?"
"None," answered Jack promptly.
"Nor ride?"
"A very little."
"Then ye'll do. Most every tenderfoot that comes this way is clean off
the finest shot and the best ter sit a horse that was ever seen. They
git to teachin' the old hands. Ef yer ain't used to neither, reckon
ye'll shape mighty soon. I ain't one who holds with side. Deeds is worth
a hull wagon load of boastin'."
"And words ain't much in your line," laughed Tom. "I never heard Steve
make a longer speech. He's took well to yer, Jack. Now then, listen
here, mate. This Jack's begun his shootin' already. We got held up back
thar down the line, and he cleared us proper. Jest cast yer eye up there
at the roof."
Steve strode beneath the lantern, and rapidly surveyed the punctures
which the robber's bullets had made. In a flash his eye took in the
general disorder, the broken window, the stained carpet, and the long
form lying beneath the sailcloth.
"It war warm while it lasted," he said, returning. "Whar was you?"
Jack pointed aloft. "On the roof," he said quietly. "He'd have had me
there I expect. So I held on to a smokestack, and shot him through the
window."
Steve strode to the side of the car, and once more surveyed the
surroundings. He leaped to the ground, and they saw him clambering along
the footboard. Then he returned as suddenly as he had gone.
"Ever pulled a trigger afore?" he asked bluntly.
"Never."
"And yer was upside down, so ter speak?"
"That's so," admitted Jack.
"I'm glad ye're comin'."
Steve was a character. He was as taciturn and as silent as a man might
well be. But honest to the core. A stanch friend, a bitter enemy, for
his had been a rough life; and a man so sharp that nothing escaped him.
His last words were high commendation indeed, and Jack, realizing that,
reddened.
"We'll be startin' right away," said Steve, addressing Tom. "A town
ain't no fit place fer a scout. One can't kinder breathe, with all the
smoke and the houses. I've palled with six boys as is goin' west."
The news was excellent, especially when Tom had persuaded his partner to
be a little more explicit. The boys turned out to be old hunter friends
of Steve's, accustomed to the plains, and their addition to the party
would make it possible for Tom and Steve and Jack to push on promptly,
and not wait for a larger party. For in those days the wide tracts of
plain separating the east from California were infested by cut-throat
Indians, and many was the massacre for which they were responsible.
Indeed, hundreds of unfortunate men and women, making their way across
to the goldfields, fell foul of these red demons, and were slaughtered
and scalped unmercifully.
"Then to-morrow we'll move," said Tom. "It won't take more'n two hours
ter buy up an anvil and sich like things. Hosses ain't no difficulty.
Thar's always plenty of 'em. Now, Jack, let's be movin'. Ye'll come
right along with us to the camp, and start in as our man from this
moment."