CHAPTER IX--ON THE TRAIL TO GRUB STAKE
But it was not all settled in a minute. The affair was of a much tooserious nature. First of all the boys were sent away while the fathersprivately discussed the journey and what had to be done when once themessengers reached the town of Grub Stake, which was fully two hundredmiles from Silver Run.
Banished from the front of the house, Chet and Digby had an eagerdiscussion of their own, while the former carefully skinned the hawk sothat it could be mounted.
"Oh, Chet! we'll have just the Jim-dandiest kind of a time if they onlylet us go," sighed Digby Fordham.
"And we'll get a shot at those buffaloes," said Chet, his eyessparkling.
"Oh, shucks, boy!" drawled Dig. "You've that big buffalo on the brain. Istill declare that I don't believe there is any such animal."
"Just you take your heavy rifle along. It takes a sizable bullet to killa bull buffalo. I am going to borrow father's big rifle."
"Say! they haven't said we could go yet!"
"Who else can go?" returned Chet. "If you'll only promise to behave--"
"Whew! how about you?"
"Well," answered Chet, "they didn't speak about me beingscatter-brained," and he laughed.
"I vow," said Dig, "by _all_ the hoptoads that were chased out ofIreland--"
"John Peep rather doubted if the toads went with the other reptilianspecies," chuckled Chet.
"Oh--hum! Well, anyway, I vow not to let my brains be scattered," Digremarked. Then he added complainingly, "I think my father is rather hardon me."
"By the way," Chet said suddenly, "queer why John Peep left town to liveup there in that shack."
"Give it up," said Dig. "Perhaps he wanted to be 'heap big Injun.' Ireckon all redskins are queer."
"Now, Dig! Don't you talk that way. John made us hustle in school tokeep anywhere near him in classes. You know it."
"Well! Tell us the news. Never mind about ancient history."
"I found out that John wanted to play on the school nine. You know, theclub's going to play all this summer; some of the storekeepers have putup money to back it. And the captain and coach wouldn't let John play."
"What? By the last hoptoad that was chased out of Ireland! I've seen himpitch--"
"I know. He's a great little pitcher," Chet interrupted. "He's asouthpaw and he can puzzle most of 'em, you bet! It's a mean shame. JohnPeep got sore and left town. Maybe he was sick of his family, too.They're a lazy and dirty lot."
"Whew! Can't blame him for that," said Dig. "They're an unhealthylooking crowd. Old Scarface whitewashes fences for a nickel an hour andthey live in a dirty hole of a cabin down in Hardpan."
"John always looked neat and clean when he came to school."
"But see how he looked up there in the woods--like a reg'lar savage!"sniffed Dig. "Not half dressed--and living in that old shack. I wonderwhat he's doing now that his outfit is burned."
"I believe that stranger burned it--the one we saw talking with him whenwe rode by," declared Chet earnestly. "And I never saw that man before--Oh, Dig!" and he suddenly made an excited grab for his chum's arm.
"Well, goodness! Don't scare a fellow to death. What's got you now?"demanded Digby Fordham.
"That fellow is the one we saw with the lame Indian."
"What fellow?"
"The man who butted in just now when I shot the hawk."
"Whew! you don't mean it?" said Dig.
"Yes, I do. I remember him now. I remember his hat. Now, who can he be?"
"Give it up! Hello! there's father calling for us. Oh, Chet! I hope theylet us go to Grub Stake," said Dig, longingly.
Serious as was the errand to Grub Stake, Mr. Havens and Mr. Fordham wereinclined to trust their sons more than ever before, and that because ofone uncontrovertible fact.
When nobody else had thought of any way to rescue the entombed minersfrom the Silent Sue, Chet and Dig had remembered about the old Craytonshaft and the possibility of getting into the closed mine through itsold tunnel.
"It showed a surprising amount of thought and initiative for boys oftheir age," Mr. Havens said. "I don't know whether it was my boy oryours who took the lead, Fordham. At any rate, the two in conjunctionhunted us out."
"Something is due the boys," admitted Mr. Fordham, "and the trip will bea great lark for them."
"It's more than a lark. I shall impress that on Chet's mind," said hispartner, shaking his head.
"Oh! your boy's got a head on him," agreed Mr. Fordham.
"I hope so," concluded Mr. Havens, and it was then the chums wererecalled to receive permission and instructions for the journey over thetrail to Grub Stake.
Neither Chet nor Digby gave vent to any exuberance of joy at theprospect--not then, at least. They listened earnestly to what they weretold, and then at once set about the preparations they had to make, forthey were to start the very next morning.
Dig, who never went anywhere on foot if he could help it, brought hisblack horse, Poke, and all his outfit over to the Havens corral thatevening. The boys proposed to camp in the open, there being no ranchesat that date along the Grub Stake trail. So they were obliged to pack agood deal of camp equipment.
"We'd better hire one of Mexican Joe's burros," said Dig, "and then wecan take our piano and your mother's sewing machine and washtubs."
"Don't begin to kick," Chet said calmly. "You'll be glad to have allthis stuff before we're half-way to Grub Stake."
"And we'll sound like a procession of junkmen when we pass by," grumbledhis chum. "Talk about shooting game! Why, unless all the game is stonedeaf, we won't get within shot of a crippled mine rat!"
"No. I'll pack this outfit so the tinware won't rattle," laughed Chet."And we couldn't take a burro. That would delay us. We want to becomfortable when we camp. After a long day's ride, you'll be the firstone to call for a square meal."
"Say! how long's the trip going to take?" demanded Dig. "We'll be backby the time school opens next fall, I suppose?"
"Don't be so ridiculous," responded Chet. "It's a rough trail, and if wego right on with no delays, but for sleep and meals, it will take all ofthree days."
"Whew! my Poke can do it in a day and a half."
"But why rush like that?" cried Chet. "We want some fun, don't we? Thisis no horse-race, I hope! And father says we can take our owntime--especially coming back."
"I know what you're thinking about, Chet Havens!" cried his chum, inresponse. "You're thinking of those buffaloes."
"Well! and if I am?"
"Huh!" grunted Dig. "If any buffaloes ever see us with all this tinwareand stuff aboard they'll hike out for the north and never stop runningtill they reach the Arctic Circle!"
Chet only laughed at him. He showed Dig how to pack the cooking utensilsand the like in his blanket-roll so that they would not rattle. Whenthey set out right after breakfast the next morning the compass of theiroutfit did not seem so great as Digby supposed it would.
Chet carried in an inside pocket of his woollen outing shirt the deedsin duplicate which he was to get Mr. John Morrisy to sign. The oldprospector who had never sold his interest in the Crayton claim was aqueer, illiterate character, well known about Grub Stake.
Mr. Havens had instructed Chet just how to proceed with the business inhand, and the boy was quite sure he could do it all without a hitch. Themoney to be passed in exchange for Mr. Morrisy's signature was alreadyon deposit with the Wells Fargo Company in Grub Stake; and of courseChet had no expectation of losing the deeds.
The horses were in fine fettle, and so were the boys, when they rode outof Silver Run. Each of the chums carried a heavy rifle slung over hisshoulder and under his arm, the muzzle pointing down his bootleg. Andyou may be sure they were not loaded so that the hammer rested on acartridge. The boys had long before been instructed as to the danger ofthat piece of carelessness.
They were well supplied with loaded shells, for the day of themuzzle-loading rifles, with the cumbersome shot-pouch and po
wder-hornwas long past. Their revolvers were loaded, too, and each boy wore akeen hunting-knife in a sheath.
They expected to kill most of the meat they ate on the trail. Cannedbeans did not greatly appeal to the trail boys; especially when theywere sure there must be plenty of small game along the way.
They aimed to take a trail which wound through the hills to the west ofthe town and would lead then by mid-afternoon to the open plains. Ingoing this way they passed through the poor suburb known as Hardpan. Itwas here the family of Lame John, the Cheyenne Indian, lived.
On one side of a littered lane were grouped a dozen lean cabins, withbarren yards divided from one another by pickets, eked out with hogsheadhoops, gate-bars of old wagons, hoopskirts, and like rubbish. Here andthere an attempt had been made by some of the Hardpan women or girls tomake flowers grow; but they were sorry gardens.
Across the lane the ground was open--part of it a dump for the refuse ofthe neighborhood. As Chet and Dig rode into the head of the drivewaythey heard a shrill chorus of cheers, intermixed with which was the"E-i! e-i! e-i!" of the Indian yell and the "Yee-ee-yip!" favoured bythe cowpunchers of the ranges.
"Something doing, boy!" cried Dig to his chum, at once interested.
"Must be that attack on Silver Run by the Comanches you were tellingyour Cousin Tom about," said Chet, chuckling.
"I reckon it's a Cheyenne attack. Whew! Look at that! It's a ball game."
"No," said Chet. "It's Lame John pitching to his grandfather. Oh, lookat that! Old Scarface has put on a glove and John is trying out his fastone."
"Whew!" blew Dig. "I must take a peep at that. Some little old southpaw,John is. He can show 'em!"
It was a spectacle worth watching. The inhabitants of Hardpan were outin force to see it.
There was a level diamond and surrounding "garden" cleared in the openlot. The spectators were gathered back of the foul lines, and among themwere the boys who had recently been playing.
Now John Peep had stepped into the box to throw a few exhibition balls.The governors of the school nine had refused to accept the lame Indianboy as one of their pitching staff; to the Hardpanites he was,nevertheless, something of a hero. He was winding up for another drivejust as Chet and Dig appeared, and the spectators held their breath.
Behind the plate stood a gnarled, lean old man in ragged, fringedleggings and a miner's cast-off shirt, with moccasins on his feet. Hishair was as white as could be; but he was as alert and his eyes asbright as though he were a young man. Old Scarface, once a brave of theCheyenne tribe, was over eighty years of age. When the ball smashed intohis glove he threw it back to his grandson as smartly as any boy. Hismuscles were still supple and his eye true.
Although Chet and Dig did not know it, ball playing was not a strangesport to the American Indian. Most of the tribes were playing ballbefore Columbus discovered the New World. Only, of course, the rules ofthe game were entirely different from those of our own baseball.
"Say! the old man is great," declared Chet, reining in Hero.
"But look at that ball whiz!" murmured Dig, as John Peep sent in anotherone. "Why didn't the other fellows want him to play on the team? Hecould have somebody run for him; and he can bat, even if he has a shortleg."
"Just didn't want him, that's all," said Chet. "But I notice that ournine has got licked in almost every game they've played. And it'sparticularly weak in the pitching--Say! look at that one, will you?"
"E-i! e-i! e-i!"
"Yee-ee-yip! Yee-ee-yip!"
The crowd went wild. A boy had stepped up to the plate and tried to hitthe ball. John Peep's curve seemed fairly to dodge the bat as the boyswung at it.
Old Scarface--as serious as a deacon--slammed the ball back to hisgrandson and squatted for the next one. The old Indian took the matteras seriously as he took everything else in life. Nobody ever saw theancient Cheyenne "crack a smile," as Dig expressed it.
Two more balls followed the first in quick succession, and the battertossed away his stick in disgust. He had only fanned.
Then John saw the two boys on horseback, and he tossed the ball toanother boy. Scarface stepped out of the catcher's place and stood withfolded arms beside the field. It was beneath his dignity to play ballsave when his grandson wanted to pitch. Nobody in Hardpan but Scarfacecould "hold" the young Cheyenne's delivery.
The Indian lad ran over to the horsepath and asked Chet:
"You going to take trail?"
"Yes," said Chet. "We're hiking for Grub Stake."
"A-i! So I hear. You're not going near that shaft I showed you--that wayinto the old mine?"
"No," replied Chet. "We're not taking that trail."
"All right. You much better keep away from there," said John, and turnedaway.
"Say!" cried the too curious Digby, "who burned out your shack, John?"
"Never you mind," returned the Indian lad, and he showed anger in theexpression of his face at this reminder of his loss. "I'll get my payfor that."
"I hope you do," commented Chet soothingly, and preparing to ride on."We're all very thankful to you, John. My father would like to see you,if you'll go up to the house. You know, he's laid up for a while."
John Peep looked back at him sharply. "Ugh!" he grunted, in what Digcalled his "red Indian style." "Ugh! Your father give Indian cast-offsuit of clothes. Your mother give Indian meal of victuals. Then shakehand, say, 'Good-bye, Injun!' I don't need those things, Chet Havens."
"Well! by all the hoptoads that were chased out of Ireland!" murmuredDig.
But Chet said calmly: "That isn't the way my parents will treat you,John."
The Indian boy was still flushed and angry. "That isn't even my name!"he exclaimed. "'John' is white boy's name. They make me give it when Igo to school. But it does not belong to me."
"Say! what is your name?" demanded Dig, his curiosity getting the betterof his courtesy.
"Never you mind," responded the Indian boy sharply, and turned awayagain.
But Chet called after him: "Do think better of it, and go to see myfather." Then he let Hero have his impatient head and he and his chumwent on their way.
That which rose out of this advice of Chet's to the Indian lad couldscarcely be foreseen by either of the boys; but it was of muchimportance.
The chums rode on, soon leaving the last of the scattered cabins behindthem. They met timber wagons from the hills, but nothing else for thenext hour. The lumbermen looked curiously at the chums' weapons, fortheir guns were too heavy for an ordinary hunting expedition.
"What you goin' out after?" one timberman drawled. "Grizzlies--or isthere an Injun uprisin'?"
"We expect to bag a brace of humming-birds," Dig told him gravely. "Haveyou seen any?"
"No; but I've heard 'em snorin', sound asleep, in the tops of some ofthem cottonwoods," was the reply. "But, say! They ain't been a trace ofOle Ephraim in these hills, since Methuselah was put inter trousers.""Ole Ephraim" was the nickname the old-time hunters and trappers gave tothe grizzly bear.
"Nor I didn't know of any redskins goin' on the warpath. HasBlacksnake's band of dog soldiers broke loose from the reservation?"pursued the man cheerfully. "Say! 'tain't old Scarface and his fam'blybegun crow-hoppin'--has they? If so, we sure will have a tumblemas-a-cree."
"That's all right," laughed Chet. "We're going to bag all the game inthe territory--you see."
"Leave me a mess o' Molly Cottontails," said the timberman, driving on."I ain't had a rabbit with fixin's yet this season."
"And I shouldn't think he'd want it," grumbled Dig, as they left the manbehind. "Who wants to eat rabbit this time o' year? I told you how itwould be if we took these heavy guns, Chet. Folks will rig us to death.Huh! Buffalo! A fat chance!"
Chet only laughed at him. He had a deal more faith in the existence ofthe buffalo band that had been reported as roaming upon the plains,across which the trail to Grub Stake lay.