CHAPTER VIII.
A CLOSE FINISH.
"Boys, you'll have to go and hunt those spare mules to-morrow; theyhaven't been seen for a week." Thus Mr. Worth greeted the boys as theycame shuffling in after a long day of mingled work and play one eveningnot long after the buffalo hunt.
The following morning the youngsters mounted their horses, aftercompleting their early chores, and started out. "Where shall we go?"asked Ben.
"Let's look among the Indians' ponies; those mules are always followingtheir cayuses around." The plan was no sooner made than executed. Theytrotted along the edge of the river for several miles, the crisp morningair acting like a tonic on horse and rider. Baldy was too old anddignified to be foolish, but his springy stride, wide-awake look, andquick response to each word of urging betokened his good condition andenjoyment. Ben's horse, a little bunchy cow pony with an occasionalwicked streak in him, danced about as if he were worked by electricityand the current was being turned on and off.
The ford reached, the ponies waded in till the boys had to cross theirlegs in front of the saddles to keep from getting wet.
On the other side they found a bunch of a couple of hundred horses, andas they drew near the herders came charging down on them. They fearedhorse thieves, but John explained matters, and after a longsign-language talk learned that there were six of the long-earedrunaways tied at the camp. They had been put there for safe keeping,since they had been killing colts and were in danger of being roughlyused by the horses in consequence. A grown "pony," though generallysmaller, will drive out a mule in short order, and these plucky littleanimals are never afraid to tackle their vicious antagonists.
The boys went back on the opposite side of the river from which they hadcome until the camp was reached.
They found the Indian village all agog with excitement, and for a timecould not get any of the braves to answer their inquiries about themissing mules. A horse race was to be held, and the usually stoicalbucks could for the time being think of nothing else.
The whereabouts of the missing animals was learned before long, however,and an Indian went with them to see that they really belonged to theWorth outfit. On their way they had to pass straight through the villageof several hundred tepees, and many were the greetings of "How!" thatwere shouted to them.
On the outskirts of the camp many braves were standing around, makingbets, grooming their horses, and comparing notes. Little redskins dartedeverywhere in and out between their elders' legs and shouted shrilly toeach other. The boys found it hard to go on to attend to their errand,and though neither said anything for a while, they looked appealingly ateach other. "If we find the mules belong to us," said John, finally, inanswer to Ben's questioning look, "we'll take 'em part way back, tie'em, and then come here and see the races." So they went on reluctantly,leaving the gesticulating, grunting crowd behind them.
The captive animals were, as they hoped, the ones they had been seeking,and if the guide had any doubts of their ownership the big W branded onthe shoulder of each beast soon dispelled them. "Lucky there's a fortnear by," said John. "We'd never have seen those critters again ifthere hadn't been." The mules were driven back to a point convenient ofaccess on the trip back to the mine and tied securely. Then both boysrushed over to the course as fast as their ponies could go.
Nothing had changed; the men still talked excitedly, and on either sideof the level space where the horses were to run lay little heaps ofpersonal belongings that had been bet on this or that horse--saddles,blankets, gay bead-embroidered moccasins, and belts, rifles, andcartridges.
As the boys drew near, old Wolf Voice started toward them with greaterspeed than befitted a chief of his dignity and years.
"You got white-faced horse?" he shouted as he came near. "You run race?Me bet you now, me beat you." The grave old buck was almost childish atthe prospect of racing a running horse.
Before answering, John looked over the horses that were to compete, andthen consulted with his brother. "What do you think?" said he. "WolfVoice is crazy for a race, and I think Baldy can beat anything here."
"But we haven't any money," said Ben.
"Me bet you pony, you bet um pony," said the Indian, coming up at thisinstant and speaking as if in answer to Ben's remark.
John would not put up Baldy as a stake for anything in the world, but hetook off his saddle. "I'll bet saddle against your ponies," he said,pointing to two horses a boy was leading forward. The old brave demandedmore, so John added bridle and silver-mounted bit to the pile; still hewas not satisfied, but John refused to give anything more. Wolf Voicehaggled and demanded larger stakes on the boy's part and finally pointedto his spurs; these were unbuckled and thrown on the ground, and at lastthe bargain was completed.
At this juncture Big Hawk joined the group. He was eager to bet againstBaldy, but all John's possessions were already pledged. It was a tryingsituation for the boy, for he wanted to get even with him, and he feltsure that his horse would win. A happy thought struck him.
"Say, Ben," he called out. "Lend me your saddle to put up against BigHawk's pony. I haven't got anything left." The younger boy was alsoeager to pay back the young brave for his work at the buffalo hunt, sohe complied with this request unhesitatingly.
The wagers arranged, John looked to his horse. Baldy was now withoutsaddle or bridle, but his owner speedily made a _hackamore_ or halterout of a piece of rope and climbed on his back; he had decided to ridebare-back.
A number of braves were clearing the course for the racers, who hadalready lined up at the starting point, but old Wolf Voice rushed downand asked them to wait a minute for the new entry. In the meantime Johnwas trotting up and down, warming up his mount. In a few minutes Baldywas in his place with the others. The horses all knew what was to bedone, but Baldy did not become excited and tire himself as did some ofthe others.
They all lined up a hundred feet from the starting place. The course,which was merely a level, grassy place, stretched out invitingly beforethem; the Indian spectators formed the boundaries on either side, theirusually impassive, dark-red faces working with excitement. At a wordfrom the starter the horses went forward at a trot, then changed to alope, and were breaking into a run when, a few yards from the scratch,the boy riding Wolf Voice's bay shot out of the line and ahead. Ofcourse they had to be called back, and the boy was sharply reprimandedfor spoiling the start.
Then again the horses started and came down to the scratch steadily. Atthe starter's yell of approval, they sprang ahead with a dash.
After the jolting scramble of the start, John began to plan his race. Hepulled his horse out of the bunch and ran on the outside. Baldy and hewere about the middle of the string as the fast ones led away. Thelittle bay, which was the old chief's pride, led, running beautifully;at his heels was a big gray, fully holding his own. The distance of halfa mile was more than half covered and both bay and gray were ahead ofBaldy, who was third and well in advance of the bunch. The crowd wasyelling wildly, each man shouting encouragement to his favorite in a waythat would make an Eastern baseball "rooter" turn pale with envy.
John lay down closer upon his horse's neck and chirped gently in hisear. There was a perfect understanding between them, and the old steedstretched out his neck a little more, laid his ears hard against theside of his head, and set out to overhaul the leaders, now running noseand nose. Baldy's long stride told, and he gained steadily, but the racewas not yet over. If he could get abreast of the two leaders John knewthat he could win out on a twenty-foot spurt if need be--he had done itbefore.
It was but fifty yards from the finish. The two Indian ponies weretiring, but they kept up the pace gamely. The crowd was yellinginsanely, uttering threats, encouragements, entreaties in the Indiandialect, which neither John nor Baldy understood; but just at thecritical moment a clear, shrill voice rose above the din: "Now, Baldy,hit it up! Get a move on, John!"
Horse and rider braced. John set his lips tighter: they were gaining,gaining perceptibly each s
econd. The two leaders were whipping theirponies spasmodically, but John and Baldy kept their heads. Now Baldy'snose was on a line with the gray's hind quarter, now even with hisshoulder, and now all three horses were running as if harnessed in oneteam. And still he gained. John was becoming excited and raised hisquirt. "Come, Baldy, do it!" he cried, and at the same moment broughtdown the lash on him. The game old horse responded magnificently. A fewgreat jumps and they gained three-quarters of a length. Another instantand they dashed past the finish line. Baldy had won!
John slipped from his back and patted his nose affectionately. "Goodwork, old chap. I knew you could leave that lot of cayuses behind."
"Hurrah for you, John!" cried Ben as the victors drew near. "Baldy,you're a trump, sure enough."
The boys were soon the centre of a circle of red faces, excited,threatening, joyful, or merely interested, according to their bets. Allwere anxious to race again, but John refused. Realizing that he and Benwould be expected home, he broke through the ring, put his saddle andbridle on one of the horses he had won from Wolf Voice, mounted, andstarted off, leading the other two and Baldy. Ben managed as best hecould with the mules, and so they returned to the mine, the richer bythree ponies, several trinkets, moccasins, etc. It was not till a gooddeal later in life that the boys learned how much better worth while itis to race merely for the sake of the sport itself, and what asurprising amount of trouble a man can bring on himself and other peopleby forming a habit of betting. At present they unthinkingly followed theexamples of the rough men around them.
In the year and a half that was spent at this mine on the Yellowstonemany opportunities were offered for Baldy to show his speed, but theredskins had learned caution and were never again so reckless as on thismemorable occasion.
The friendly feeling between the red and the white boys grew as timewent on, and many excursions were taken in company. The Indians toldJohn and Ben things about birds and beasts of which they never dreamed,and showed them games that were a constant delight. They made a kind ofcombination spear and skate from the curved rib of a buffalo to the endof which were fastened three feathers; the highly polished convexsurface offered little resistance to the ice, so the whole could bethrown a long distance on the glassy surface. The Worth boys grew to bevery expert throwers of this queer bone skate, and many were theexciting matches they participated in.
Our boys in turn taught their coppery friends some civilized games.Trials of strength and skill were frequent, and in most of them thehonors were about even. While the red boys could give points on the artof wrestling, and never lost an opportunity to show their superiority,the Worth youngsters got even by initiating them in the "noble art ofself-defence." John put in practice the points given him by Tom Malloy,much to the discomfiture of the Indian boys and the correspondingsatisfaction of his teacher and the men of the mining camp.
The new sport did not become popular, however, in the redskins' camp;John was too successful--his opponent was invariably worsted.
And so the days passed, with more work and less play, perhaps, than mostboys are accustomed to. Many pleasant evenings, after the day's workwas done, were spent by the men telling yarns. John and Ben slipped outoften, joined the group, and listened eagerly to the tales that weretold. It was on one of these nights that Charley Green told a tale thatentirely eclipsed Munchausen; a tale that would never have occurred to aWesterner.
"You know Big Hawk?" he began, looking at the men around him and thenout of the corner of his eye at John. "Well, Big Hawk has seen the boys,and especially John, box, and made up his mind that he could dosomething in that line himself--at least that is my idea of his methodof reasoning." He interrupted himself to explain: "He challenged Johnsomething in this fashion, 'You heap big fighter,' he said, 'me showyou.'"
The men in the circle began to grin; they were beginning to take in thejoke. John and his brother gazed in amazement; all this was new to them.
"Though he is a pretty big chap," Green continued, "the kid didn't seemto be scared; he knew how to put up his hands and the big red duffer wasentirely ignorant of fistic tactics. Anyhow the boy called the bluff byresponding, 'Well, I don't know, I reckon I can do you up.' Ben was sentfor the gloves, those primitive, deerskin-stuffed-with-grass affairs. Aspace was cleared on the dry grassy river bottom, and the spectatorsmarked the boundaries. The spectators were mostly red," added Green.
"Produce a spectator," shouted a listener.
"Proof, proof, we want proof of this."
"Never mind him," exclaimed another; "go on, Charley."
"I'm not making affidavits. I'm simply telling a story," Charleyexplained. "Big Hawk, knowing it to be a kind of battle, had arrayedhimself in full war regalia, which consisted chiefly of a big, featheredbonnet and a decorative effect in yellow, red, and green paint."
The group of interested listeners chuckled, but offered no remarks orobjections. John and Ben appeared to be dazed.
"Tom Malloy was the referee, and I acted as John's second. Wolf Voicedid the same service for Big Hawk.
"When the two stepped into the ring," Green continued, "the tall,paint-decorated, feather-tufted Indian and the short, pink-skinned boy,a smile appeared on the usually grave-faced red men. I said to myself,Is this a Punch and Judy show or a scene from the Inferno come to thesurface? 'Time!' sang out Tom Malloy, watch in hand."
Green stopped to take breath, then continued:
"The two stepped to the centre, and the red man decided to settlematters at once. A strong right-arm jab followed. John dodged, and theforce of the blow nearly jerked the Indian off his feet, and at the sametime pulled the war bonnet over his eyes. The boy took advantage of thisand thumped Big Hawk on the chest. The Indian cleared his eyes and cameat him like a wounded buffalo, head down, hands going like flails;avoiding them, John hit out for the nose and landed square on his beak.The buck tripped and fell on his back and the blood began to flow freelyfrom the bruised member, mingling with the yellow and green paint,forming a very weird design. It was enough, Big Hawk was satisfied andhastened to get off the gloves and bathe his nose at the river's edge."
From time to time during the recital of this tale Green glanced at theboys to see the effect of his absurd story. That they were greatlyamused was evident. Cries of "Come off!" "What are you giving us?" andthe like followed the conclusion, and Charley Green subsided,congratulating himself on his vivid imagination.
The feeling between the two camps, or rather the younger members ofthem, was not always friendly, and the boys were glad when their fathercame back after opening a new mine, told them that he had bought a sheepranch, and asked them if they wanted to go to work on it. The brothersaccepted eagerly, for they were possessed with the restless spirit ofthe Westerner and were anxious for new scenes and new experiences.
Much had transpired during the long stay at the Yellowstone mine. Therailroad, with its busy construction gang and its noisy, short-breathedengine, had reached and passed the little camp and had left behind itssteel trail. The tracks were not used for regular traffic as yet, butthe little dinky engine went by frequently, dragging flat cars loadedwith rails, ties, and other construction material. The boys became greatfriends of the engineer, and he allowed them to ride with him in the cabof the locomotive occasionally.
War-dance postures.]
It was with real regret, therefore, that one morning, as the iron horsestood near the mine, hissing and grunting in impatience to be off, theboys climbed up the step and into the cab to bid their friend Mr.Jackson good-by.
"What! going to pull up stakes?" he inquired. "I've got three boys aboutyour size back in the East at school, where you ought to be," he added.
"Well," John replied, "mother has talked about school, but father sayshe's going to teach us to work first."
"Father's great on work," interposed Ben.
In answer to Mr. Jackson's inquiry, John said that they were to start ina day or two and would go alone, driving a buckboard; and that thoughthey did not know the
road the horses had been over it, so with that aidand the description given they would be able to find the way.
"Well, so long, boys," said the kindly engineer, after they had shakenhands and thanked him for the many engine rides, "I shall miss you."
"Same here; so long!" called Ben and John in chorus.
The little engine began to cough, the steam puffed and hissed, and in afew minutes it was out of sight around the turn.
A SHEPHERD ... ALONE WITH HIS FLOCKS. (_Page 151._)]
A day or two later the boys climbed into the buckboard, and, afterbidding a matter-of-fact farewell to all, started off: on a journey to aplace neither of them had been to before, over a road that was entirelyunfamiliar to both.
With their father's last instructions ringing in their ears, they setout at a good pace.
The hundred-and-fifty-mile drive lasted five long wearisome days. Dayafter day they travelled, sitting still on the bouncing, rattlingbuckboard. The white-topped wagons that came into view occasionally werehailed with relief, for they somewhat broke the monotony of the journey;a word or two with these drivers and a question as to the location ofthe best grass, wood, and water--camp necessaries--was all that passed,but even that was a comfort after the desolation and loneliness throughwhich they had been passing.
On the fourth day the Big Horn River came into view and was crossed insafety. The appearance of the country changed, and the boys for thefirst time saw real mountains. Living, as they had been, on the flatprairies, their surprise was as great as their interest and delight atthese massive hills uprearing themselves against the sky. The dayfollowing they drove up to the door of the ranch house and were receivedcordially by Abe Miller, the foreman in charge. In obedience to theirfather's command they delivered a letter of instructions, and while Abewas painfully studying this out, his hardened forefinger pointing toeach word as he went along, the boys had ample time to observe him aswell as their new surroundings. They saw that he was short and ratherfat and blessed with the face that is apt to go with that build: it wasdecidedly cheerful, for the corners of his mouth turned up; even nowthere was a half smile on his lips, though his brow bore a perplexedfrown from his literary struggle. The ranch buildings, which consistedof half a dozen rough sheds and as many more corrals, beside the ranchhouse or log shack, lay in a valley. On one side rose a high range ofmountains, wooded to the summit; on the other, a long, rolling,grass-covered plain.
"I don't see any sheep," said John, after scanning; the country in everydirection.
Abe looked up, but held his stubby forefinger pressed firmly on the lastword he was deciphering, as if to make sure of its safety.
"Oh, they're twenty-five miles down the creek now," he answered. "Weonly keep them here in the winter. We'll go there to-morrow; it's toolate now."
By the time the ranchman had finished the letter the sun was nearing themountain crest and the boys' appetites assured them it was time to eat.In the shack a low fire was burning, which blazed cheerfully when Johnadded an armful of dry twigs and brush. While the boy was mending thefire, Abe went to one corner of the cabin and from a tall pole whichstood there let down part of a sheep's quarter.
"Why do you keep it up there?" asked Ben, who now noticed it for thefirst time.
"No flies up there," explained Abe. "Meat keeps in this climate till itdries up if the flies don't get at it."
The boys went out and sat on the door-step to wait till the meal wascooked, for though they were more tired than they realized, they had thegreatest curiosity to see everything connected with this new home.
After sitting silent a while, their heads resting on the door-jamb,their eyes on the crest of the mountain where the sun shone with itslast departing glory, John turned toward his brother.
"Those mountains are great. We didn't have--Say, Mr. Miller, what'sthis?" he asked excitedly, interrupting himself and pointing, first tosome bullet-holes in the logs and then at a blood stain on the blockbelow.