ALL TOGETHER
Never before had Mountain Village experienced such a sensation. The
news of their arrival spread like lightning. All had been given up for
lost, their thrilling accident had been discussed and rediscussed, and
was still the principal topic of conversation.
But the boys paid little attention to the questions hurled at them by
the excited people, until assured of the safety of Dick Travers and Tom
Clifton. They were rejoiced to hear of their rescue by Jim Havens and
Phil Levins.
They also learned that "Little Bill" Dugan and "Surly Joe" Tomlin had
been arrested and taken to the town of Penton, some ten miles distant,
to await the action of the authorities.
The Ramblers soon tore themselves away from their interested auditors,
and hurried toward Rickham House.
On the porch they saw Dick Travers and Tommy Clifton, who stood for
an instant motionless, then, with loud shouts of joy, rushed down the
steps.
Two sad, dejected-looking boys were suddenly transformed into the
happiest of mortals. They danced around, hugged their chums who had so
fortunately escaped the perils of Canyon River, and, altogether, acted
as if they had taken leave of their senses.
Little Tommy Clifton, in his joy, actually broke down and began to cry,
but the others pretended to take no notice.
"By all that's wonderful!" gasped Dick, wringing Bob's hand for the
tenth time, "somehow or other, I felt in my bones that it must come out
all right. And Fenton here, too? Great Cæsar, but I'm happy--hurrah,
hurrah!" and Dick began another wild jig.
"This is the best thing that ever happened," laughed Tom Clifton,
excitedly. "Whoop la!" and he slapped Dave Brandon so energetically on
the back that the "poet" declared it was almost a case of assault and
battery.
And just as they were about to step on the porch, another yell nearly
startled them out of their senses.
Sam Bins, with wildly rolling eyes, stood at the doorway.
"Good land--golly! Mr. Somers an' gemmen!" he cried. "Oh, dis chile can
hardly believe it. You hain't never been in dat awful gorge, nohow. It
was all a joke, eh?" and Sam's eyes rolled alarmingly. Then he began to
laugh, and go through the same kind of antics in which Dick and Tommy
had indulged a few moments before.
"Not much joke about it, Sam Bins," said Bob, with a smile, "but come
out on the porch and hear the whole story. Hello--people coming, eh?"
"Christopher, a regular mob," chimed in Sam Randall. "Guess we've made
some stir in Mountain Village."
For that afternoon, the Resort House was deserted. All who habitually
settled affairs of state to their own satisfaction, discussed crops
and weather, and speculated about new arrivals, betook themselves to
Rickham.
Even old Sile Stringer had hobbled over, when Bob Somers began to
graphically relate the story of their trip. Many gasps of astonishment
came from his listeners, as he told of first one thrilling experience
and then another.
"I always know'd a feller could git through that gorge," quavered old
Sile; "always--said so many a time."
Howard Fenton finally had a chance to speak of his own adventures, and
it was dark when the last of their visitors departed.
In this happy way was ended an experience which none of the boys would
ever forget. And there were a couple of others, too, who were likely to
remember the part they had taken in it.
"Little Bill" and "Surly Joe" were a badly frightened pair. Fairly
stunned by the catastrophe, and fearful of the consequences of their
act, they passed several very unpleasant days.
Their astonishment and relief were, therefore, unbounded at the good
news, and soon after came the welcome intelligence that the Ramblers
would not press any charges against them.
Even gratitude had a part in the make-up of "Little Bill" and "Surly
Joe." When the boys next saw them, they looked very different from the
bold spirits who had so defiantly sailed away on the "Spray."
"Surly Joe" in particular seemed ill at ease, and a worried look had
replaced the scowl which usually rested upon his countenance.
After having, in his awkward fashion, thanked the boys, he motioned Bob
to one side.
"Pardner," he began, in a husky whisper, "I've got somphin' partic'lar
ter say."
"All right, Joe," said Bob. "Fire away."
The trapper scratched his head, looked down on the ground, and
hesitated.
"Fact is, pardner, I 'most hates ter tell ye," he said, "but speakin'
frankly--meanin' no offense, yer understands,--I--I----"
"Go ahead, Joe," encouraged Bob.
"Wal, I didn't like you fellers--kinder struck me as bein' a bit too
perky, an' when you scares them ducks away, an' that leetle feller
hollers--wal, pardner, I ain't got the best disposition in the world,
an' it riled me more'n I was able ter stand."
"That's all right, Joe. You didn't know us," laughed Bob.
"'Tain't all right, pardner--not by a long shot, it ain't."
"Surly Joe" paused, his eyes shifting uneasily.
"Wal, I may as well out with it," he said, desperately. "You fellers
killed a b'ar?"
"Sure we did," cried Bob, in surprise. "How did you know?"
"'Cause I seen yer a-luggin' ther hide in the cave," was the surprising
answer.
"Well, well," said Bob. "This is a surprise, all right. Where in the
dickens were you, Joe?"
"Pretty close by, pardner. But that ain't all--honest, pardner, I hates
ter tell yer. I says, says I, 'A hard workin' trapper needs the b'ar's
pelt more'n a parcel of sassy young snipes; an' they ain't treated me
right, nuther; an'--wal, I ups and takes it. Thar, it's out now," and
Joe wiped his perspiring face, and shifted uneasily from one foot to
the other.
"Jiminy crickets--another surprise," murmured Bob.
"I never done nuthin' like it afore," confessed the unhappy Joe.
"And if you never do again, Joe, it's all right," said Bob. "Maybe Dave
Brandon won't be glad to hear about this."
"As sure as me name's Joe Tomlin, I'll fetch it to yer; an'--an'--say,
pardner, is it all right?"
"Sure thing," cried Bob. "Hello, Dave!"
"Oh, ho, but I am glad!" exclaimed the latter, when he had heard the
news. "It's simply great! I know just where I'm going to put that rug,
Bob. Sure, it's all right," and he slapped the trapper good-naturedly
on the back.
For once, Joe Tomlin's face wore a pleased expression, and when he
turned away, Dave murmured, sotto voce, "No longer 'Surly Joe,' but
happy Tomlin."
A few days later Dave Brandon was in possession of Old Ephraim's pelt.
After Sam Randall and Tom Clifton, accompanied by Jim Havens, had
paid their visit to the mountains, and returned to tell of wonderful
exploits, a grand dinner was given in the old Rickham House. The guests
were Howard Fenton, his father, Stuart Wells, Jim Havens, Hank Merwin
and Neil Prescott.
Sam Bins, in honor of the occasion, did himself proud, as Dick Travers
expressed it. After the meal the trapper and Neil Prescott told
several stories; Bob Somers sang a popular song, while Dave Brandon,
after a great deal of urging, delivered a recitation.
It was Dick Travers, however, who provided the sensation of the
evening. The day before, he had received a package from Portland, but
jealously guarded its contents. Now they were exposed to view.
Delighted exclamations came from all. The official photographer's
snap-shots had turned out remarkably well.
First in interest was that woodland tragedy, the buck fight. One
animal had sunk to its knees in the water, while over him stood his
antagonist, with lowered head.
"Truly extraordinary, Dick," said Mr. Fenton. "Allow me to congratulate
you. Such a rare picture ought to make a sensation."
"Perfectly bully," cried Sam Randall, enthusiastically.
Next in interest was Old Ephraim in the rôle of a fisherman, while the
third showed the group with Hank Merwin in front of the dugout. It was
a proud and happy night for the "official photographer."
Hank Merwin's delight knew no bounds when three nicely mounted prints
were placed in his hands.
At Mr. Fenton's special request Dick also made him a similar present.
"I suppose," said the gentleman, smilingly, "that I am at liberty to do
what I please with these pictures, and if I decide to present them to
any one, I may say that it is in your behalf?"
"Yes, indeed," answered Dick, wondering at the request.
One afternoon, while they were sitting on the porch of the Resort House
"Big Bill" Dugan's "rattleboard" and a cloud of dust appeared in view.
In a few minutes the coach came to a stop, and the stage-driver climbed
down.
"Hope there's some letters for us," said Bob. "Got much mail, Dugan?"
"Ain't it easy ter wait an' see?" growled Bill, as he flung the bag on
the counter.
"One for Somers," said the postmaster, presently; "you too, Travers."
Dick glanced at his curiously.
"Wonder what the dickens this can be, fellows?" he said, as he saw
on the outside of the envelope the name of a famous natural history
museum in the East.
"One way to find out is to open it," suggested Dave.
Dick did so, and spread out a formidable-looking letter.
"Great Scott! Look at this, fellows," he cried.
His interested chums read the following:
"_Mountain Village, Oregon._
"MR. RICHARD TRAVERS:
"_Dear Sir_:--Some days ago we received from Mr. George Fenton, in
your behalf, two photographs taken by you in the mountains of
Oregon.
"The Natural History Society wishes to express its appreciation of
your gift, and to say that, as far as we know, the picture of
fighting bucks stands unrivaled.
"Enlargements of both prints have been made and are hung in a
prominent place, with your name attached.
"Should you at any time come East, the society would be glad to
have you pay them a visit."
"Great Scott! What do you think of that?" gasped the delighted Dick.
"It's simply immense," cried Bob, enthusiastically. "Fellows, three
cheers for Mr. Fenton and the official photographer of the Rambler
Club!" And they were given with a will.
And Mr. "Big Bill" Dugan, about ready to crack his long whip, was heard
to remark, "Huh! Canyon River an' the gorge didn't seem to take no
spirit out of that lively crowd."
* * * * *
Other books in this Series are:
THE RAMBLER CLUB AFLOAT
THE RAMBLER CLUB'S WINTER CAMP
THE RAMBLER CLUB ON CIRCLE T RANCH