TO THE RESCUE
“Well, well; if this isn’t the biggest surprise ever! My, but it was
perfectly great of you chaps to follow the racers.”
There wasn’t much chance for any one else to talk while Cranny kept
rattling on.
The two lads, after a great deal of shouting, had been able to locate
the searching party, which was riding in the direction taken by the
“Ogden II.”
“Yes, I can hardly believe it, even yet,” went on Cranny. “An’ good
old Dave here, too! Yes; it’s an honest fact, Tom; we have really seen
Major Carroll and the others.”
“The good news you bring, and this reunion in the poetic moonlight is
one of the most pleasant events in our whole experience,” murmured Dave.
“Ye sure done it ag’in, Bob!” Jed Warren spoke enthusiastically. “We’re
proud o’ you, eh, Pete?”
The grizzled features of the old cow-puncher relaxed.
“Ye’re positive wonders, lads,” he said. “Thar ain’t nobody on the hull
range with more grit’n you’ve got; an’ that’s sayin’ somethin’. Shake!”
They shook.
“But that don’t mean ter say, ye understand, that I believe in them
thar arioplanes; ’cause----”
“It isn’t natural to fly, and it wasn’t ever intended,” grinned Cranny.
“Now, fellows, let’s get over to your camp and talk about our plans. We
can leave the plane till morning, eh, Bob? What’s that, Jed?”
“I were sayin’ as how them balloon fellers is sure ketched up thar on
the old Eagle,” answered Jed. “That ledge ain’t j’ined as it had orter
be; I reckon as how the job weren’t ever finished.”
“Ye’re sure right, pard,” assented Pete. “I know’d a hunter onct--he
was after some mountain goats--he loses his footin’ an’ slips down onto
that spur. An’, d’ye know, the old Eagle keeps him up thar three hull
days afore his pards comes acrost him.”
“Have any trouble in getting out of his fix?” asked Tom, eagerly.
“None as I ever hears ’bout. That bald-headed old feller is a joker;
he says: ‘If yer friends is good ’nuff to come arter ye an’ shy ye a
rope, ye gits off easy; but ye can’t do nothin’ much by yer lonesome.’
Understan’? Inter the saddle, boys; an’ right after daybreak we starts
off, an’ the old Eagle will git fooled ag’in.”
“Oh ho; isn’t it great the way things have turned out, Bob?” murmured
Dave.
“Well, ra-ther,” answered Bob, springing up beside Jed Warren.
Tom Clifton’s sturdy little broncho was soon struggling along under the
combined weight of the “Doctor” and Cranny. Progress was necessarily
slow; but, at length, they were all gathered around the crackling
flames.
Although the summit of old Eagles’ Peak reared itself, solemn and
grand, against a star-studded sky, a high ridge shut from view the
signal fire built on its spur.
The boys were tired that night and soon turned in, sleeping soundly
until the first gray streaks in the eastern sky heralded the approach
of another day. They were aroused by the gruff voice of Pete Sanderson,
who was already up, and cooking breakfast over a pile of red-hot embers.
“Pitch in, younkers, an’ git yer grub,” he commanded. “Mebbe them thar
fellers ain’t got none, an’ the old Eagle has a chanct ter laugh ag’in.”
“Bob”--Dave Brandon yawned and rubbed his eyes--“really, it isn’t safe
to leave the ‘Ogden II’ unguarded; now, even though it is a great
sacrifice, you may borrow my pony, while I----”
“Ha, ha!” snickered Cranny. “And who will be obligin’ enough to lend me
his bronc’?”
“Maybe----” began Tom.
“It’s all settled,” announced Cranny, complacently. “Thanks, Tom, old
boy.”
Five minutes later, the departing horsemen waved an adieu to the two
volunteer guardians of the “Ogden II.”
“A jolly hard tug ahead of us,” remarked Sam Randall to Tim Lovell.
“You bet there is,” answered Tim. “It’s mighty lucky Pete and Jed
are along. They know all the trails and short cuts; so we won’t find
ourselves pocketed in some ravine or gorge.”
“We don’t let nature make sport of us like that,” grinned Sam. “Guess
‘Old Eagle’ isn’t the only joker around these parts.”
The cow-punchers, like generals in command, led the advance, while the
five boys, at times riding almost abreast, at others strung out in
single file, followed them over ridges, and around impenetrable masses
of vegetation, or through the aisles of whispering pine forests. The
early morning light sent a rosy glow climbing up the tree trunks or
trailing over the ground; insects chanted; the songs of birds sounded
above the trampling and crashing hoof-beats--all nature seemed to be
full of brightness and serenity.
“Cracky; isn’t this fine!” called out Dick.
“Corking!” said Cranny. “Maybe those chaps won’t be glad to see us, eh?”
“You bet! Guess they aren’t used to such high livin’,” chuckled Tim.
Old Eagles’ Peak was evidently a great deal further off than it
appeared. After an hour’s steady march, the rugged heights still
looked discouragingly distant.
“Oh, for the ‘Ogden II’ again, Cranny!” sang out Bob.
“It certainly does spoil a chap for traveling like a snail,” grumbled
the big lad, wiping his perspiring face.
The scenery was wild and impressive. Lofty peaks and gigantic crags
loomed up on every hand. Fallen tree trunks and other obstructions
seemed to challenge their efforts to advance. But the cowboys always
found a way to master all difficulties, and by noon the bronchos
clattered upon a slope which rose to a dizzy height above them.
Here they halted for lunch.
“It’s ’bout three hours more o’ tough work for the ponies, Bob,”
remarked Jed Warren.
“They are certainly chuck full of courage,” said Bob.
He looked toward the little animals, whose nostrils and shaggy sides
were sending up clouds of steam.
“Circle T Ranch has got the pick o’ the plains,” grunted Pete. “Fall
to, younkers.”
The boys promptly obeyed his instructions, and when the march was
resumed, a short time later, both they and the horses were considerably
refreshed.
It was, as Jed Warren had said, hard on the ponies; at times, it seemed
as if the obstacles which confronted them would prove insurmountable;
but men, boys or animals never wavered. Stones were sent rattling down
steep descents; ledges, with only a few yards between them and a plunge
of hundreds of feet, crossed.
Scarcely exchanging a word, they climbed higher and higher. The snow
on old Eagles’ Peak, in the full glare of the afternoon sun, fairly
dazzled their eyes with its brilliancy. Halts were made with increasing
frequency, and in the shadows of the pine forests they managed to find
some relief from the oppressive heat.
But gradually the torrid zone fell behind them, and when, an hour
later, Pete reined up, the atmosphere was cool and refreshing.
“We’ll hev ter picket the bronchos here,” he exclaimed.
The boys had been expecting this announcement for some time. They were
now at the edge of the timber. Above, they saw a steep, almost barren
area of glistening rocks.
Bronchos were tethered to the trees, and, after saddle-bags and lariats
had been slung over their shoulders, the party were ready for the final
stretch. It was arranged that Sam Randall should remain to guard the
animals.
“Close to the old spur now, younkers,” remarked Pete, encouragingly.
“Mighty tough work ahead of us, though,” said Bob.
Almost every instant one or another was obliged to drop on his hands
and knees, or climb laboriously to the top of some obstruction. It
seemed a long time before they scrambled around a bend, to see just
ahead, at about their own level, the end of the slope cutting sharply
against the tops of a dark forest of pines. Beyond, stretching out like
a huge arm, the spur reared itself from the blue, hazy depths of the
valley.
“Hooray!” shouted Cranny.
Three minutes later, the party was gazing upon the spur from a bold
elevation that rose to a considerable height above it.
[Illustration: AN ANSWER ALMOST IMMEDIATELY FLOATED BACK]
“Hello--there’s the old ‘Border City’!” cried Dick. “Isn’t it the
oddest-looking bundle you ever saw?”
“Yell, fellows, so as to let the Spurites know that the rescue
expedition has arrived,” burst out Cranny. He put his hand to his lips.
“Hello, Major Carroll! Whoop-e-e-e! Hello-o-o-o!”
The voices of the others joined in loudly.
An answer almost immediately floated back to their ears, and three
dusky figures in the distance were seen coming toward them, the
smallest and slightest keeping far in the lead.
“Wee Willie!” laughed Cranny, joyously.
Mr. Beaumont’s ward raced madly forward along the ledge.
“Goodness gracious, Cran, but maybe I’m not glad to see you!” he piped,
in a shrill voice. “Was I scared?--Oh, kinder. But everybody said I had
a whole lot of spunk--it’s an honest fact, Cran.”
“We thank you heartily,” the Major called up, his businesslike tones
almost drowning Willie Sloan’s excited flow of words. “You have
relieved us from a most embarrassing situation, and----”
“Oh, say, Cran, haven’t you brought a bite of somethin’ to eat an’ a
drop o’ water?”
There was something so unconsciously humorous in Willie Sloan’s
outburst that even Pete Sanderson guffawed loudly.
“We sartinly hev, lad,” said the latter, kindly.
While Jed Warren was lowering provisions by means of his lariat,
explanations were exchanged, until both parties had learned all the
particulars.
“Wal, this hyar ain’t doin’ nothin’,” broke in Pete Sanderson,
abruptly, at last. “Arter ye git some grub, Major, I s’picion as how
ye’d like ter hit the back trail with us?”
Major Carroll’s glance rested upon Bob Somers.
“I feel confident that, with a new set of batteries, the ‘Border City’
will fly as well as ever,” he said. “Now, Somers, I almost hesitate to
ask such a great favor, but the skill you have shown in handling the
‘Ogden II’ is my justification; could you----”
Bob understood, and nodded.
“Certainly, Major,” he answered. “I’ll skip over to Border City in the
biplane, and bring back whatever apparatus you may need.”
“You will place us under everlasting obligations,” said Major Carroll.
“I’m going, too, Bob Somers,” announced Cranny, decidedly. “Let’s
start right away.” He crooked his finger, and this significant motion
catching Willie Sloan’s eye, made the boy walk some distance away from
Major Carroll and Kindale.
The big lad followed him along the edge of the rocks.
“Well, Cran?”
“See here, Willie, did you really write to dad?”
It was an eager question, spoken in a low tone.
“I certainly did, Cran.”
Cranny’s eyes snapped; the aggressive tilt of his jaw became more in
evidence.
“And what did you say?”
“Oh,--an awful lot. But you’re a good chap, after all. I’m--I’m----”
“Sorry?” snapped Cranny, with a dreadful frown.
“No; going to see if there’s anything more to eat.”
Willie thereupon ended the unsatisfactory conversation by hurrying away.
After Major Carroll had disposed of his cold lunch, a brief council was
held. It was decided that the cow-punchers and boys should make a camp
and await the return of Bob Somers and Cranny Beaumont from Border City.
“We ought to be able to reach here early to-morrow morning,” said Bob.
“And if everything goes as I hope it will, the ‘Border City’ will soon
after set sail for the town,” remarked Major Carroll. “A thousand
thanks, boys.”
Good-byes were said; and Bob and Cranny, with many expressions of
appreciation and encouragement ringing in their ears, hurried away,
leaving their friends to scramble back to the woods at a more leisurely
pace.
The day passed; night came, with a brilliant moon shedding its luster
over the magnificent scenery, and, finally, morning dawned.
But it was not until after one o’clock that a shout in Cranny’s
familiar voice announced the near approach of the aviators.
The Ramblers and Jed Warren, uttering loud whoops of delight, plunged
through the timber to meet them. They saw the two boys urging their
weary ponies toward the camp.
“Had a bully trip!” yelled Bob.
“Rah, rah!” cried Dick. “Did you get all the stuff?”
“Everything.”
Their arrival created considerable excitement at “Eagle Camp.” Major
Carroll and Kindale received the batteries with profuse thanks.
By means of lariats, which Pete had attached to heavy stakes driven
into the ground, the boys lowered themselves one by one to the spur.
The Major strode toward the balloon, with the others almost at his
heels.
Climbing up through the network of branches wasn’t an easy task, and
the interested boys watched them with some trepidation, all uttering
sighs of relief when a hail told them that the men had reached the
“Border City” in safety.
During the next hour, there was a great deal of tinkering done by the
two above the tree tops, and every sound excited an immense amount of
curiosity on the part of those below. Encouraging reports, however,
kept coming at intervals. Kindale finally stated his belief that the
engine would work as well as ever.
“Here comes bulletin number fifteen,” said Tim Lovell, as the Major’s
voice was heard again.
“We’re ready to free the propeller now, boys,” he shouted; “so let
Willie come along.”
The crowd grew enthusiastic.
Willie, boosted up on Cranny’s sturdy shoulders, seized a low branch
and began his climb. The big lad followed him from limb to limb. Mr.
Beaumont’s ward soon reached the rope ladder, and presently Cranny had
the satisfaction of seeing him peer downward from over the rail of the
“Border City.”
Cranny, obeying instructions from Major Carroll, emptied the bag of
sand, and released the ladder, which was promptly drawn up. Then,
sitting astride a convenient limb, he watched the men clearing away the
branches with hatchets and saws.
Cranny restrained his desire to give a rousing yell with difficulty,
for he saw that the tugging captive was almost dragging itself free
from the limbs, branches and masses of foliage that encompassed the
car. Its great, long hull was considerably misshapen, but, apparently,
had suffered no serious damage, and now swayed gently from a position
almost vertically above the car.
Suddenly the tree tops were agitated, as if by a gale of wind; the dark
object above Cranny’s head seemed magically lifted away; the guide rope
reared itself from amidst the timber, and the “Border City” was free.
The boys dashed and leaped through the pine woods as if a pack of
howling coyotes was after them. At the first clearing they stopped,
and, although almost breathless, managed to give another shout when
they saw the “Border City” high in the air, with the cable dipping down
in a long curve.
“Well, they’re going some now,” remarked Cranny.
“And I’m real glad ter see it,” said Jed.
“Me, too--fur the first time,” added Pete Sanderson, with a sort of
grunt, “though it don’t look no naturaler than it ever did.”
Bronchos were quickly saddled, and the descent begun.
After several hours of, at times, difficult and dangerous traveling,
they finally came within sight of the “Ogden II” and Dave and Tom’s
camp close beside it.
Of course the latter were delighted to see them, and, as they found a
great deal to talk about, it was not until late in the afternoon that a
start was made for Lone Pine.
The “Ogden II” carried Bob and his passenger high over the mountains,
and, cutting swiftly through the air, reached the grim old ranch-house
almost before the riders, following the lead of Pete and Jed, had left
the last difficult pass behind them.
That evening they had a jolly reunion, in which the cow-punchers took
a prominent part. The telephone between Lone Pine, Circle T and Border
City was used very often, and many voices were sent over the wire. It
had the pleasing effect of seeming to bring them and their friends, so
far separated by the lonely, darkened prairie, close together.
The dirigible got back to town safe and sound.
“Isn’t it fine!” cried Bob. The receiver was against his ear. “Willie’s
at the ’phone.”
“Say, Somers,” he heard, “the Major thinks a whole lot of you fellows.
Wasn’t it awful odd how that little red book changed things for me? But
for it I might be at Lone Pine now, scrapping with old Doc Cliffy. He’s
a good chap, all right. But, look here, air-skimmers are certainly not
in it with balloons.”