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THE BOY SCOUTS ON THE RANGE
BY LIEUT. HOWARD PAYSON
NEW YORK HURST & COMPANY PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1911, BY HURST & COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ROB SURPRISES A COW-PUNCHER 5
II. NEWS OF THE MOQUIS 23
III. THE DESERT WATER HOLE 38
IV. SILVER TIP APPEARS 54
V. AT THE HARKNESS RANCH 65
VI. A BOY SCOUT "BRONCHO BUSTER" 75
VII. THE STAMPEDE AT THE FAR PASTURE 87
VIII. HEMMED IN BY THE HERD 100
IX. THE HOME OF A VANISHED RACE 112
X. THE GHOST OF THE CAVE DWELLING 125
XI. CAPTURED BY MOQUIS 137
XII. TUBBY'S PERIL 148
XIII. A FRIEND IN NEED 161
XIV. A TOBOGGAN TO DISASTER 172
XV. WHAT BECAME OF THE SCOUT? 185
XVI. BLINKY SPOILS A SOMBRERO 195
XVII. IN THE CLUTCHES OF THE GRIZZLY 205
XVIII. THE INDIAN AGENT 220
XIX. BLACK CLOUD'S VISIT 233
XX. THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL 246
XXI. THE MAVERICK RAID 257
XXII. CLARK JENNINGS GETS A SURPRISE 269
XXIII. THE WORSHIPPERS OF THE SNAKE 280
XXIV. BOY SCOUTS TO THE RESCUE 291
The Boy Scouts on the Range.
CHAPTER I.
ROB SURPRISES A COW-PUNCHER.
Northward from Truxton, Arizona, the desert stretches a red-hot, sandyarm, the elbow of which crooks about several arid ranges of baked hillsclothed with a scanty growth of chaparral. Across this sun-bittensolitude of sand and sage brush extend two parallel steel lines--thebranch of the Southern Pacific which at Truxton takes a bold plunge intothe white solitudes of the dry country.
Scattered few and far between on the monotonous level are desert towns,overtopped by lofty water tanks, perched on steel towers, in the placeof trees, and sun-baked like everything else in the "great sandy."These isolated communities, the railroad serves. Twice a day, with thedeliberate pace of the Gila Monster, a dusty train of three cars, drawnby a locomotive of obsolete pattern,--which has been not inaptlycompared to a tailor's goose with a fire in it--makes its slow way.
Rumbling through a gloomy, rock-walled cut traversing the barren rangeof the Sierra Tortilla, the railroad emerges--after much bumping throughscorched foothills and rattling over straddle-legged trestles above dryarroyos--at Mesaville. Mesaville stands on the south bank of the SanPedro, a scanty branch of the Gila River. To the south of this littledesert community, across the quivering stretches of glaring sand andmesquite, there hangs always a blue cloud--the Santa Catapina Range.
The blazing noonday sun lay smitingly over Mesaville and the inhabitantsof that town, when on a September day the dust-powdered train beforereferred to drew up groaningly at the depot, and from one of its forwardcars there emerged three boys of a type strange to the primitivesettlement.
The eldest of the three, a boy of about seventeen, whom his two friendsaddressed as Rob, was Rob Blake, whom readers of the Boy Scouts of theEagle Patrol--the first volume of this series--have met before. Hiscompanions were Corporal Merritt Crawford of the same patrol, and therotund Tubby Hopkins, the son of widow Hopkins of Hampton, Long Island,from which village all three, in fact, came.
"Well, here we are at Mesaville."
Rob Blake gazed across the hot tracks at the row of raw buildingsopposite as he spoke, and the town gazed back in frank curiosity at him.Opposite the depot was a small hotel, on the porch of which severalfigures had been seated with their chairs tilted back, and their feet onthe rail, as the train rolled in.
As it pulled out again, leaving the boys and an imposing pile of baggageexposed to the view of the Mesavillians, six pairs of feet were removedfrom the porch-rails as if by machinery, and their several owners bentforward in a frank stare at the newcomers.
"Must think a circus has come to town," commented Tubby.
"Well, they know where to look for the elephant," teased Merrittmischievously.
"And for the laughing hyena, too, I guess," parried the fat youth, asthe corporal went off into a paroxysm of suddenly checked laughter.
The boys had bought sombreros at Truxton, and in their baggage wasclothing of the kind which Harry Harkness--at whose invitation they hadcome to this part of the country--had advised them to buy. But as theystill wore their light summer suits of Eastern cut and make, theirgenerally "different" look from the members of the Mesaville HotelLoungers' Association was quite sufficient to excite the attention ofthe latter.
Readers of the Boy Scouts of the Eagle Patrol will recall that in thatbook was related the formation of the patrol at Hampton Harbor, L. I.,and how it had been effected. How the boys of the patrol had manyopportunities to show that they were true scouts was also told. Notablywas this so in the incident of the stolen uniforms, in which the boys'enemies, Jack Curtiss, Bill Bender and Hank Handcraft, a disreputableold town character, were implicated.
It will also be remembered that while encamped on an island near theirhome village, the Boy Scouts put off in a motor dory to the rescue of astranded cattle ship on which Mr. Harkness, a cattle rancher, and hisson Harry, a lad of the boys' own age, were returning from London,whither they had just taken a big consignment of stock. In return fortheir services, including the summoning of aid by wireless, Mr. Harknessinvited the boys to spend some time on his cattle range. Whatadventurous boys would not have leaped at the invitation? But for a timeit appeared as if it would be impossible for Rob and his chums to acceptit, owing to the fact that the Hampton Academy, which they all attended,resumed its school term early in the fall.
Just at this time, however, something happened which was very welcometo all three of the Scouts. Serious defects had been discovered in thefoundation of the Academy, and it had been decided that it would beunsafe for the scholars to reassemble till these had been remedied. Itwas estimated that the work would take two months or more. Thus it hadcome about that the invitation of Mr. Harkness was accepted. To theboys' regret, however, only the members of the Patrol who stood that dayon the platform at Mesaville had been able to obtain the consent oftheir parents to take the long, and to Eastern eyes, hazardous, trip.
Arrangements had been made by letter for Harry Harkness, the rancher'sson, to meet the boys at Mesaville, but the train had rolled in androlled out again without his putting in an appearance.
"Maybe Harry fell in that river and was drowned," suggested Tubby,pointing ahead down the tracks to the trestle crossing the San PedroRiver. At this time of the year the so-called river was a mere trickleof mud-colored water, threading its way between high, sandy banks. Theboys burst into a laugh at the idea of any one's drowning in it.
"He'll be here before long," said Rob confidently. "It's a drive of morethan fifty miles to the ranch, remember, and we can't start out tillto-morrow morning, anyhow."
Just then a white-aproned Chinaman appeared on the porch of the
hoteland vigorously rang a bell. At the signal the lounging cow-punchers andplainsmen rose languidly from their chairs and bolted into thedining-room. From the few stores also appeared the merchants ofMesaville, most of whom lived at the hotel.
"Sounds like dinner," remarked Tubby hopefully, sniffing the air onwhich an odor of food was wafted across the tracks. "Smells like it,too."
"Trust Tubby to detect grub," laughed Rob.
"He's a culinary Sherlock Holmes," declared Merritt, but his remark wasmade to Rob alone, for Tubby was beyond the reach of his sarcasm. Hehad started at once to cross the tracks and find the dining-room.
"I guess it wouldn't be a bad idea to have something to eat while we'rewaiting," said Rob. "Let's go over."
Tubby was already installed in a seat at the long table when his chumsentered. He had in front of him a plate of soup, on the top of whichfloated a sort of upper crust of grease. From time to time aninvestigating fly ventured too near the edge and was miserably drowned.It was Tubby's initiation into desert hotel life, and he didn't look asif he was enjoying it.
On both sides of the table, however, the cow-punchers, teamsters, andMesaville commercial lights, were shoveling away their food without theflicker of an eyelash. Opposite to Tubby were seated two young fellowsin cowboy garb, who seemed to extract much noisy amusement from watchingthe stout youth eat. They didn't seem to care if he overheard theirsomewhat personal remarks.
"Ah, there's a lad who'll be a help to his folks when he grows up,"grinned one of the stout boy's tormentors, as Rob and Merritt took theirseats.
"Which will be before you do," placidly murmured Tubby, continuing toeat his soup.
A shout of laughter went up at this, and it wasn't at Tubby's expense,either.
The two youths who had been so anxious to display their wit reddened,and one of them angrily said something about "the fresh tenderfoot."
"Here's two more of 'em," tittered the other, as Merritt and Rob camein. Rob wore on his breast, but pinned on his waistcoat and out ofsight, the Red Honor for lifesaving, which had been presented to him forheroism at the time of the waterlogging of the hydroplane, as narratedin the Boy Scouts of the Eagle Patrol. Merritt also wore the decorationin the same inconspicuous place.
As the leader of the Eagle Patrol sat down, however, his coat caughtagainst Tubby's shoulder and was thrown back, exposing the decoration.
"Oh! ho! Look at the tenderfoot's medal," chuckled one of the youngcattlemen; "wonder what it's for?"
"The championship of the bread and milk eaters of New York State, Ireckon," grinned the other, and another shout of laughter bore witnessto the table's approval of this primitive humor.
Rob flushed angrily, but said nothing. He did not wish to stir uptrouble with two such ill-mannered young boors as the cattle-puncherswere showing themselves to be. Encouraged by his silence, the badgeringwent on. One by one the other guests had been served by the Chineseattendant, with raisin pie and half-melted cheese, and had arisen andleft the room. The two young cow-punchers and the Boy Scouts wereshortly left alone in the fly-infested apartment. Rob and Merritt, whofound the surroundings little to their liking, hurried through theirmeal, but Tubby ate conscientiously through everything that was broughthim.
It now grew plain, even if it had not been so before, that the twosun-burned young plainsmen sitting opposite the boys were deliberatelytrying to aggravate them.
Interpreting the boys' silence as fear, they grew bolder and bolder intheir remarks.
"Have to catch up a real cow, I reckon," dreamily went on one of theboys' tormentors, gazing at the ceiling abstractedly, but fingering thecondensed milk can.
"What for?" inquired the other, playing into his hand.
"Why, the tin cow might disagree with mama's boys."
"Ho-ho-ho! Say, Clark."
"What, Jess?"
"Reckon they must be overstocked with yearlings East."
"Looks that way. Do you suppose Easterners are born or jest grow?"
The youth addressed by his companion as Jess looked straight at Rob ashe spoke, and the insult was unmistakable. Rob's self-control suddenlydeserted him with a rush.
"I'll answer for your friend," he snapped out. "Theygrow-and-they-grow-right."
Tubby looked up in surprise from his raisin pie, and Merritt's eyesopened wide at Rob's tone. It foreboded trouble as sure as a hurricanesignal foretells a storm.
"My! my!" grinned Jess, but it was an uncomfortable sort of a grin,"hear the little boy with the medal talk. Come on, Clark, let's go seeto the ponies while the tenderfeet wait for their nurse to come and taketheir bibs off."
They rose from the table, but Rob, still inwardly raging but outwardlycool as ice, stopped them.
"Say," he said, "are you fellows cattlemen?"
"You bet, stranger, from the ground up," rejoined Clark, with a vast airof self-importance.
"Well, then we've been misinformed in the East," said Rob, coollybrushing a few stray crumbs from his knees.
"How's that?"
"Why, we'd been told that cattlemen were natural gentlemen; but whoevertold us that was dead wrong. Judging by you fellows, they're notnatural, and certainly not the other thing."
Clark's face grew crimson and he muttered something about "fixing thefresh kid," but his companion drew him away.
"We'll have plenty of time to rope and brand these young mavericks," hesaid, as they left the room.
As they vanished Rob burst into a shout of laughter.
"Score one for the Boy Scouts," he said. "If ever there were twodiscomfited cow-punchers, those fellows are it."
The landlord, who had entered the room a few moments before, cameforward as the boys arose from the table. He was a tall, lanky man, witha look of perpetual gloom on his face. A drooping, straw-coloredmustache did not help to enliven his funereal features.
"Say, strangers," he said, in a dismal voice, "you've started in bad."
"How's that?" inquired Rob, in a somewhat peppery tone.
"Why, riling up Clark Jennings and Jess Randell; they's two of thetoughest boys in the country."
"Think so, I guess," snorted Tubby.
"Well, wait and see," said the landlord, with a melancholy shrug of hissloping shoulders. "Three dinners, please."
He extended a yellow palm.
"How much?" asked Rob, putting his hand in his pocket.
"Three dollars and six bits."
"What! three dollars and seventy-five cents for that fly-ridden stuff?"
"That's the charge, stranger."
Rob, seeing there was no use arguing, paid over the money, in exchangefor which they had received three greasy plates of soup, three portionsof ragged, overdone bull beef, and three slabs of raisin pie, togetherwith three cups of muddy, inky coffee. But a sudden impulse ofcuriosity gripped him.
"Say, what's the twenty-five cents extra all round for?" he asked.
"Fer your ponies," rejoined the landlord, more miserably than ever. Heseemed to be on the point of bursting into tears.
"Ponies!" gasped Rob. "We haven't got any."
"Never mind, it's a rule of the house," said the landlord, as if thatsettled the matter; "and if you ain't got any ponies it ain't my fault,is it?"
There was no answering this sort of logic, and the boys strolled out tothe porch to see if they could sight any trace of Harry Harkness. Therewas no sign of him, however, and after a prolonged period of gazingacross the blazing desert, the boys sank back in three of the bigrockers that stood in a row on the porch. It was dull, sitting there inthe intense heat and drowsy silence, broken only at long intervals bythe clatter of a pony's hoofs as some cow-puncher ambled by at an easylope. A loud snore from Tubby soon proclaimed that he was off, andMerritt and Rob were about to follow him into the land of dreams, whenthere came a sudden interruption.
Rob felt his shoulder roughly seized from behind, and a harsh, mandatoryvoice addressed him:
"Say, that's my chair you're sitting in. You'll have to get out."
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The boy turned and saw Clark Jennings glaring at him. Close beside him,with a grin on his face, was Jess Randell.
"Even supposing it is your chair," said Rob, "you can ask me for it likea gentleman,--then," he added to himself, "I'll think over giving it toyou."
"Oh, I guess you think you're a mighty fine gentleman?"
"I hope I am one, yes."
"Well, out here gentlemen have to fight for their title. Are you goingto give me that chair?"
"As you are no more a guest of this hotel than I am, I shall sit heretill I get ready to get up."
"Then I'll have to help you out----Ouch!"
The remark and the exclamation came close together. Clark Jennings hadbent forward as he spoke, and roughly laid hold of Rob to pull him fromthe chair by main force. As he did so, however, Rob had suddenly changedfrom a passive, rather sleepy boy, to a bundle of steel springs full offight. Clark Jennings, as he laid hold of Rob, had felt himself hurledbackward. Unable to check his impetus, he had landed against the wall ofthe hotel with a force which caused him to give vent to the exclamationrecorded.
"Look out, tenderfoot, he'll kill yer," warned the melancholy landlordfrom the window of the office, where he had been entering in a greasybook the extortion practiced on the boys.
Several cow-punchers awoke to interest at the same time as Tubby andMerritt began to realize what was happening.
His eyes blazing with fury, Clark Jennings crouched low, and thenreaching back drew a revolver from his hip. He aimed it full at Rob,but simultaneously a strange thing happened. Rob was seen to dartforward, diving right under the leveled pistol. The next instant theweapon was spinning through the air. It landed with a thump in themiddle of the dusty road. But Clark Jennings didn't see it, for theexcellent reason that at that precise moment he was lying flat on hisback on the hotel veranda. Before his eyes swam a whole galaxy ofconstellations. Over him stood Rob, with flushed face and clinchedfists.