CHAPTER IX.
MIKE AND THE MULES.
"We move in an hour!"
This was the word which was whispered about the boomers' camp shortlyafter Pawnee Brown's arrival.
The great scout had found it out of the question to attempt to enter theIndian Territory in a direct route from Arkansas City. The governmenttroops were watching the trail, and the soldiers were backed up by thecattle kings' helpers, who would do all in their power to harass thepioneers and make them turn back.
Many a man would have gone ahead with a rush, but Pawnee Brown knewbetter than to do this. If he was brave, he was also cautious.
"A rush now would mean people killed, horses shot down or poisoned,wagons ditched, harnesses cut up and a thousand and one otherdisasters," he said. "We must beat the cattle kings at their own game.We will move westward to Honnewell either this afternoon or tonight.Get ready to go on whenever the signal is passed."
"But vot goot vill it do to vait by Honnvell?" questioned CarlHumpendinck, a German boomer.
"We'll not wait very long there," answered Pawnee Brown.
So the word went around that the boomers would move in an hour. This wasnot actually true, but it was necessary to spread some report of thiskind in order to make the slow ones hustle. If left to themselves thesefew would not have gotten ready in two days.
"It's a move we are afther makin' at last, is it?" burst out RosyDelaney when Mike brought the news. "Sure, an' Oi'm ready, MoikeDelaney, but how are ye to git this wagon out av thet bog hole, Oidunno."
"Oi'll borry a horse," answered Mike. "It's Jack Rasco will lind me thesame."
Mike ran around to where Jack Rasco was in earnest conversation with astranger who had just come in from town. The stranger had brought aletter from Nellie Winthrop, posted two days before, and saying when shewould arrive. The letter caused Rasco not a little worry, as so far thegirl had failed to appear.
"I haven't any horse to spare just now, Mike," he said; "but hold on,you can have Billy, the mule, if you wish."
There was a little twinkle in his eyes as he spoke, but Mike didn't seethe twinkle and readily accepted the mule and led him over to where hisown turn-out stood.
"Moike Delaney, phot kind av a horse do yez call that?" demanded Rosy.
"It's a mule, ye ignoramus," he answered. "An' a good puller, I'll betme whiskers. Just wait till Oi hitch him beside the tame."
Billy was soon hitched up as Mike desired, and the Irishman proceeded tourge him forward with his short whip.
It was then the fun began. Billy did not appreciate being called upon todo extra work. Instead of pulling, he simply turned around, tangling upand breaking the harness, and began to kick up the black prairie dirtwith both hind hoofs.
"Oh, the villain!" spluttered Rosy Delaney, who received the firstinstallment of dirt full in her eyes and mouth. "Moike Delaney, ye madehim do that a-purpose!" and she shook her fist at her husband. "Yebould, bad mon!"
"Oi did not," he ejaculated. "Git back there, ye baste!" he added, andtried to hit Billy with his whip. The knowing mule dodged and, turningswiftly, planted a hoof in Mike's stomach so slickly that the Irishmanwent heels over head into a nearby puddle.
A shout arose from those standing near.
"Score one round for the mule!"
"Mike, thet summersault war good enough fer a show. Better jine thecircus!"
"Oi'll show the mule!" yelled Mike, and rushed in again. But once moreBilly turned and got out of the way, and this time he caught the seat ofMike's trousers between his teeth and lifted the frightened man six feetfrom the ground.
"Don't! Let me down! Somebody save me!" yelled the terrorized son ofErin. "Rosy! Clemmer! Rasco! Hit him! Shoot him! Make him let go av me!Oi'll be kilt entoirely!"
Outsiders were too much amused to help Mike, but Rosy came to the rescuewith a woman's best weapon--a rolling-pin, one she occasionally used inmaking pies for the family when in camp. Whizz! came the rolling-pinthrough the air, hitting Billy on the ear. The mule gave a short snort,broke what remained of the harness and scampered off to make a completecircuit of the camp and then fall into his regular place near JackRasco's turn-out.
"Want him some more?" asked Jack, who had seen the fun, and wascompelled to laugh, in spite of his worry.
"Want him some more, is it?" growled Mike. "Not fer a thousand dollars,Rasco! Yez kin kape the mule, an' be hanged to yez!" and he stalked offto borrow a horse that was warranted to be gentle under the most tryingof circumstances.
In the meantime Pawnee Brown was completing his arrangements for movingto Honnewell and then to enter the promised land by way of Bitter Creekand the Secaspie River. Scouts sent out to watch had reported that thecavalry were watching every movement closely, but Pawnee Brown did notdream that Louis Vorlange had overheard what was said at a meeting inthe woods, or that this scoundrel had hired Tucker, the cavalryman, toshoot down both himself and Dick Arbuckle.
Presently Jack Rasco found his way to the scout's side.
"Pawnee, if you can spare a little time I would like your advice," hesaid, and mentioned the letter from Nellie Winthrop. "It's mightystrange the gal don't turn up, ain't it?"
"Perhaps so; but she may have been detained," answered the scout.
At this Rasco shook his head. The bearer of the letter had seen Nellie'sname on the hotel register. Something was wrong, he felt sure of it. Theletter had contained Nellie's photograph, and he showed it to PawneeBrown as he asked for permission to leave his work of assisting theboomers to be prepared for a moving in order to pay Arkansas Cityanother visit.
"Go on, Jack. You're my right-hand man, but I'll manage somehow withoutyou," answered the great scout. "A pretty niece for any man to have,"and he handed back the photograph, after a somewhat close inspection.Two minutes later found Jack Rasco on his way, to encounter adventuresof which he had never imagined.
"A note for you, Pawnee." It was one of the scouts sent out that morningwho spoke as he rode up. Pawnee Brown read the communication withinterest.
"Come up to the ravine back of Honnewell as soon as possible," ran the note. "I think the cavalry are up to some new dodge, or else the cattle men are going to play us foul. Urgent. DAN GILBERT."
"I must away, boys!" cried Pawnee Brown, tearing up the note. "Be readyto move, but don't stir until you hear from me," and, giving a few moreinstructions, he borrowed a fresh horse from Carl Humpendinck and setoff on a gallop of twelve miles across the country.
As he covered mile after mile, through woods and over stretches of broadprairie, he could not help but think of his racing mare, Bonnie Bird.How she would have enjoyed this outing, and how she would have coveredthis ground with her twinkling feet.
"I must find her and find the rascal who stole her!" he muttered. "Iwouldn't take twenty thousand dollars for Bonnie," and he meant what hesaid. The little mare and the great scout were almost inseparable.
The afternoon sun was sinking low when Pawnee Brown struck the outskirtsof Honnewell (spelled by some writers, Honeywell). Not caring to be seenin that town by the government agents, who might inform the cavalry thatthe boomers were moving in that direction, the scout took to a sidetrail, leading directly for the ravine mentioned in the letter.
Soon he was picking his way down a path covered with brush and loosestones. Upon either side were woods, and so thick no sunlightpenetrated, making the spot gloomy and forbidding.
"Now, I suppose I'll have no picnic in finding Dan," he mused. "I'llgive the signal."
The shrill cry of a night bird rang out upon the air, and Pawnee Brownlistened attentively for a reply. None came, and he repeated the cry,with the same result.
"I'll have to push on a bit further," he thought, and was just about tourge forward his horse when a crashing on the opposite side of theravine caught his ear. Instinctively he withdrew to the shelter of somebrush to learn who the newcomer might be.
He was not kept long in waiting. The sounds came closer and closer, an
dpresently a tall Indian came into view, astride a horse, and carrying anodd-looking burden in his arms.
"Yellow Elk!" almost burst from Pawnee Brown's lips. The Indian hementioned was a well-known chief, a warrior noted for his many crimes,and a redskin whom the government agent had tried in vain to subdue.
The scout crouched back still further and drew his pistol, for he feltthat Yellow Elk was on no lawful errand, and a meeting would most likelymean a fight. Then he made a discovery of still greater importance--tohim.
"Bonnie Bird, as sure as shooting! So Yellow Elk is the horse thief. Therascal! I've a good mind to shoot him down where he sits!" He handledhis pistol nervously. "What is that he is carrying, wrapped up in hisblanket? Ha!"
A murmur of amazement could not now be suppressed. In shifting hisburden from one shoulder to the other the Indian had allowed theblanket to fall partly back, and there was now revealed to Pawnee Brownthe head and shoulders of a beautiful, but unconscious white girl. Norwas that all. The girl was--Nellie Winthrop!