THE TWO STOOD WATCHING WITH WIDE EYES.
Saddle Boys on the Plains Page [21]

The Saddle Boys
on the Plains
Or
After a Treasure of Gold

BY
CAPTAIN JAMES CARSON
AUTHOR OF “THE SADDLE BOYS OF THE ROCKIES,” “THE SADDLE
BOYS IN THE GRAND CANYON,” “THE SADDLE BOYS
AT CIRCLE RANCH,” ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

BOOKS FOR BOYS

BY CAPTAIN JAMES CARSON

THE SADDLE BOYS SERIES

12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.

THE SADDLE BOYS OF THE ROCKIES
Or, Lost On Thunder Mountain
THE SADDLE BOYS IN THE GRAND CANYON
Or, The Hermit of the Cave
THE SADDLE BOYS ON THE PLAINS
Or, After a Treasure of Gold
THE SADDLE BOYS AT CIRCLE RANCH
Or, In At The Grand Round-Up

Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York.

Copyrighted 1913, by
Cupples & Leon Company

The Saddle Boys on the Plains

CONTENTS

THE SADDLE BOYS
ON THE PLAINS

CHAPTER I
STARTING FOR CHERRY BLOSSOM MINE

“So-long, boys! We’ll look for you back in ten days or two weeks, Frank!”

“Sure, dad; but don’t worry if we fail to show up by then. Something might happen to detain us at the mine, you know!”

“Send word, if you can, son. I suppose I ought to go with you myself; but that game leg still troubles me on a long ride. Besides, you and Bob have done so well lately, that I think it would be safe to trust anything in your hands.”

“We’re going to do the best we can to get the tangle ironed out at the mine, whatever it proves to be; and have matters running smooth again. Good-by, Bart Heminway! All kinds of good luck with you on the range while we’re away. So-long boys! Wish the whole bunch of you could gallop with us! Ready, Bob? Then we’re off!”

A series of parting salutes, such as only wide-awake cowboys know how to give, followed Frank and his chum as they galloped away from the Circle Ranch cattle corral.

Frank’s father, the owner of the place, sat stride his big roan, and surrounded by his dozen tried and true “punchers” watched his boy Frank, accompanied by his comrade, Bob Archer, from Kentucky, as they topped a slight rise of the prairie about half a mile away.

“One last shout, and then we lose sight of the old ranch house!” said Frank.

They turned in the saddle, and waved their hats three times, accompanying each movement with a clear call that brought an answering whoop from the little cluster of horsemen.

Then the word was given, and the eager, mettlesome horses sprang down the easy descent. The distant white-washed buildings, that constituted the heart of the famous Circle Ranch in Arizona, disappeared from sight. Before the two boys lay the great level plains, with the mountains in the distance.

Frank had been brought up amid such surroundings, and was fairly well versed in such things as went with life on a big cattle ranch. He was never so happy as when mounted on his sturdy and swift pony, “Buckskin,” and galloping over the country, either pursuing some of the duties of a cow puncher, or hunting such game as might be found within a radius of twenty miles.

Frank was a athletic fellow, as might be expected of one who spent so much time on horseback. His clear blue eyes gleamed fearlessly, and he had proved this trait of his character on numerous occasions.

Bob Archer, his chum, had until recently lived in Kentucky, where he attended a military academy at Frankfort. His father having entered into partnership with Colonel Haywood in several mining ventures, the old home had been left behind for a new life in Arizona.

These two lads had early taken a great fancy to one another. Of course when Bob first came to the cattle country he was a real “tenderfoot;” but experience was fast taking that title away. Indeed, the boys of Circle Ranch declared that it was seldom a “greenhorn” picked up so quickly a knowledge of the thousand-and-one things essential to the genuine cowboy.

He had brought a black horse from his Kentucky home; and this same Domino had often proved that he could run a mile faster than the smaller Buckskin; but when it came to an all-day gallop, the animal Frank bestrode was apt to show up better as a “stayer.”

Not a great while before this, the boys had passed through a series of stirring adventures while investigating a mystery that had awed the Indians for perhaps fully a century. A mountain within a day’s ride of the ranch often gave vent to strange sounds that were likened to the growl of heavy thunder. What it turned out to be, and how the boys solved the puzzle, is contained in the first volume of this series, called “The Saddle Boys in the Rockies; or, Lost On Thunder Mountain.”

It was shortly after their return to the ranch that a remarkable thing happened when a message that had been found in a sealed bottle floating in the current of the Lower Colorado River was brought to Colonel Haywood, at a time when he happened to be laid up with a broken leg.

If you think you would like to learn how Frank and Bob took the place of the ranchman, going on horseback to the world-famous Grand Canyon of the Colorado in answer to the call that had reached them, together with what remarkable things happened to them while there, read the second volume in this series, entitled, “The Saddle Boys in the Grand Canyon; or, The Hermit of Echo Cave.”

And now the lads were once again starting out on a long gallop that would take them far to the south, into the mining country within a day’s ride of the Mexican border. Here was located the most valuable of all the gold-producing properties controlled by Colonel Haywood and Mr. Archer, known as the Cherry Blossom Mine.

Word had been brought to the colonel that there seemed to be trouble brewing at the mine. The message had given no particulars, nor was it signed with any name. It simply stated that if he were wise, and wished to nip trouble in the bud, he would better take a horse and run down to investigate, before matters reached a crisis.

But as Mr. Archer was East, looking after the marketing of certain stock in Wall Street, and Colonel Haywood’s broken leg had hardly healed enough for him to attempt a ride of several days, the ranchman found himself once more compelled to throw the burden on the shoulders of his only son Frank, and the latter’s chum, Bob Archer.

Armed with all manner of instructions, and legal documents to prove their authority as the representatives of the parties holding a controlling interest in the wonderfully productive Cherry Blossom, the two chums were now heading into the hazy South. What lay beyond no one could even guess; but both seemed to “feel in their bones,” as Bob expressed it, that new and surprising adventures were in store for them among the plains and mountains of Southern Arizona.

And so they started out that fine morning, with high anticipations. In the bracing air the two horses vied with each other in covering the ground; though Frank constantly advised his comrade to hold Domino in.

“Out here, you see, Bob,” he would remark, “Where the horses are used to making a ten-hour run; and then going at it again after a little rest, when a stampede happens along, we learn the value of holding a willing pony in early in the day. It means better work later in the run. He gradually gets down to business; just as you’ve seen engines do in making a slow start.”

“Sure, I understand all that, Frank, because you’ve told me lots of times; but then Domino doesn’t seem to get on to it,” Bob replied, with a laugh. “He pulls as if he belonged to a fire engine, and had heard the alarm. Hold up there, you Blue-Grass exile; before the day is done you’ll have all the exercise you want, I reckon.”

“There’s a fine bunch of our cattle grazing down by the stream yonder,” remarked Frank, pointing with the quirt which was fastened to his left wrist, cowboy fashion.

“And this is about as far as they’re allowed to roam, isn’t it?” asked Bob.

“Yes, some of the boys have been keeping watch on this lot all night,” Frank replied. “See, there’s a fellow now, waving his hat, and whooping at us. That must be Chesty Lane. Say, you can just depend on it he’s feeling some bad that he can’t ride with us. Chesty is always hungry for something to happen. When things run too smooth he just has to get away, and look for excitement somehow.”

“It was down through that rocky coulie that last pack of wolves crept, when they played such hob with the calves, wasn’t it?” Bob inquired, after they had answered the wild cheers of the “puncher” who was serving as guardian to the herd.

“Yep!” said Frank. “But the chase was swift, and not a single one of the pack ever got away. I knocked over a hairy thief myself, and that’s the skin on the floor of my room. It’s nearly as big as the pelt you got, when we tracked old Sallie and her whelps to their den, and you shot her.”

“Wolves are getting scarce around here, Frank, what with the ranchmen offering bounties for every scalp, besides what the state pays!”

“Oh! there are always a few coming down from the mountains,” replied the other. “Up there they have breeding places where no man can ever find ’em. But we have no cause to complain about wolves nowadays. It’s the rustlers that bother us most.”

“That crowd under the Mexican, Pedro Mendoza, you mean,” Bob went on.

“Yes, they have some secret hiding place that as yet has never been discovered. Some believe they come all the way up from Mexico, but my dad never would take to that idea. And he declares that the next time any of the Circle cattle are driven off, he’s going to camp on the trail of the thieves, and keep on following them if it takes him down to Chihuahua.”

Frank himself looked quite grim as he said this. Evidently he was of the same mind as his father, the rancher.

When two hours had passed, and they had placed a good many miles between themselves and the ranch house that lay far to the north, Frank drew up his horse.

“Better let ’em take a breathing spell,” he remarked. “And you notice, now, that your black doesn’t seem quite so eager to rush things.”

“I knew he would get over it,” laughed Bob, as he patted the shiny flank of his mount. “But what lies away yonder toward the Southwest?”

“That’s the Arrowhead Ranch buildings, with a grove of timber about them,” Frank replied. “You know they’ve got a fine stream of water there, that comes down from the mountains. Father tried to buy that ranch, but some one else had the option. I’m afraid it’s going to drop into the hands of the Syndicate that is gobbling up all the good properties around here.”

“You mean the crowd of Eastern capitalists, headed by the father of Peg Grant, the fellow we had the trouble with on Thunder Mountain?” Bob went on.

“Yes, the same bunch,” Frank continued. “They have it in for dad, I’m afraid, just because he chooses to run his own business in his own way, and refuses to throw in with the Syndicate.”

“You won’t go over to the Arrowhead, then?” Bob asked.

“Not to-day. I’ve been there lots of time, though. One of our boys got in a peck of trouble with some of their punchers a short time ago; and just now there’s bad blood between us. Come on, and we’ll hit out for the hills some miles off.”

Frank gave Buckskin the signal with his heels, and away the two horses flew over the level.

On reaching the hilly country Frank struck into a trail leading through a district that was rapidly growing wilder as they advanced; though after a while they might again strike out on the open country.

There were times when the trail itself was so narrow that Bob fell in behind, and they moved along in single file, the horses climbing the rise gallantly.

Frank had his eyes ahead. He fancied that he had detected some slight movement at a turn about fifty yards beyond the spot they had now reached.

“Hold up a minute, Bob!” he exclaimed, holding out his hand in the manner understood by every rider of the plains.

Just as he spoke he heard a strange “swishing” sound close by. Involuntarily Frank ducked his head. Brought up amid such surroundings, his ear was in tune with all things connected with range life; and in this hissing sound he knew that he had caught the whirl of a lariat through the air. Just as he turned in his saddle, he heard from his chum a half-muffled cry that thrilled him.

CHAPTER II
THE SUDDEN ALARM

When he turned so hastily, the astonished Frank was just in time to see his chum topple from his saddle, and fall heavily to the ground.

Domino, the black Kentucky horse, began plunging wildly; but, fortunately, Bob’s feet were free from the stirrups, so there was no danger of his being dragged, should the mettlesome horse bolt.

A series of yells broke forth from the rocks and bushes just above the road. It was from that point that the rope had been thrown which had caught Bob so neatly, and unseated him.

Filled with the greatest alarm, and half fancying that they had been waylaid by some Indians off their reservation, Frank was trying to get hold of his rifle, which he carried fastened to his back.

Buckskin, too, was prancing as though excited; and it was no easy task to keep half a grip on the bridle, and at the same time manage the gun.

Frank saw that Bob had scrambled to his knees, and was holding on to the loop of the lariat which he had snatched from around his shoulders. There had been some resistance at first; but apparently those behind the bushes feared what was likely to happen once Frank succeeded in getting his rifle free, for abandoning the rope they fled with a new series of howls.

“Why don’t you shoot, Frank?” cried Bob, considerably ruffled by his hard fall, and unable to understand what it all meant.

“I’ve got half a mind to; the cowardly curs, to play such a mean trick on us, and then vamoose like snakes!” gritted Frank, raising his gun once or twice, and aiming in the direction where the shouts and wild laughter still continued, though gradually growing fainter.

He could see several figures jumping over obstacles, and trying to take advantage of every little bit of cover that cropped up. And they were neither Navajo Indians, as he had at first suspected, nor the rustlers who were in the mind of his chum.

“A trick, was it?” ejaculated Bob, feeling ruefully of his knees, where he had come in contact with the earth on falling. “Then they didn’t mean to steal our horses, Frank?”

“Not quite so bad as that,” returned the other; “but I wouldn’t put it past Peg Grant and his bullies to do even a job of horse stealing if they keep on the way they’re going.”

Bob uttered an angry snort.

“And was it that crowd pulled me off my horse with a bump?” he exclaimed, as his face turned a shade darker with indignation. “Then I’ll have it out with Peg the first time I happen to meet him.”

“There they go now, streaking it across that open place; so I reckon they must have their horses somewhere over in that region. Watch me give the cowards a little scare!”

As Frank spoke he leveled his rifle in the direction indicated. A shrill yelp of alarm must have told the four runners what was threatening, for instantly they threw themselves upon the ground, and commenced rolling over and over, as if in the hope of distracting the aim of the boy who sat astride his buckskin horse, and kept his weapon directed toward them.

Even Bob, who was engaged in rubbing his lame knees and elbows, could not refrain from indulging in a loud laugh, which must have reached the ears of the panic-stricken quartette. One succeeded in gaining the shelter of an outlying rock; but the others rolled, and turned head over heels in their desperate break for cover.

“All down in that alley!” sang out Bob, who was rapidly recovering his customary genial disposition, that had been sadly disturbed by the abruptness of his tumble, and the ridiculous nature of his adventure.

“And they bit off more than they could chew,” remarked Frank, as he once more slung his rifle over his shoulder. “They expected to have a heap of fun dragging you around; but I reckon Peg got cold feet just as soon as he made the cast, and saw me grabbing for my gun. When he lit out, the rest trailed behind. Oh! they’re a sweet bunch, all right.”

“Say, do you really think it was Peg who threw that rope?” asked Bob, as he picked up the article in question, and examined it.

“I sure do,” replied his chum. “It was as easy a throw as anybody could try for a starter. I heard how Peg was practicing early and late to use a rope. He had that Nick Jennings coaching him, too. Chances are they saw us coming, and Peg, he ups and declares that he could yank one of us off our saddles while we passed. So they hid right here, and made the try.”

“Well, it might have been worse,” grunted Bob, as he coiled the rope up again. “What if my foot had got caught in the stirrup, and Domino had bolted? Whew! that’s my first experience at being roped. I don’t like it even a little bit. There they go on their horses, Frank; and see how they act! That’s a fine way to slope like mad, isn’t it, and then pretend to be so bold? Bah!”

“We’re in a good rope, if you care to look at it that way; also some experience,” Frank remarked, with a suggestive smile at his chum.

“Likewise a few bruises, that will feel sore the whole week,” added Bob, ruefully.

By this time Domino had stopped prancing around, and allowed his master to once more secure hold of the bridle. They were soon riding along the trail again, just as though nothing out of the way had happened.

“What d’ye suppose Peg Grant and that bunch could have been doing over here?” Bob asked after a time, as though he himself might have been trying to figure things out, but without success.

“Oh! the country is free to anybody who cares to ride,” laughed Frank. “Some go in for hunting; others to taking long gallops; while a few like to hover around, and pick up points concerning rival ranches. You know we heard that the Syndicate has an eye on the Arrowhead Ranch. Perhaps Peg may have been sent out to get tabs on the cattle they control, so the count-in won’t be a fraud. Men who cheat are always expecting others to try and get them in a dicker.”

“They thought you would sure shoot,” chuckled Bob; “I never saw such ducking in all my life. And that looked like Peg himself, the one who smashed into that tree.”

“It was a sweet bump, and don’t you forget it, Bob. Chances are, Peg will be nursing a banged-up nose longer than your knees and elbows will hurt you.”

“Say, I wonder if this is a sample of what’s going to strike us on this new venture?” observed the Kentucky lad. “Because things are coming our way pretty swift, so far. On the go just a few hours, and I get yanked out of my saddle. I reckon I must have seen that rope sailing toward me, for I can remember throwing up my arm; and that kept the noose from tightening around my neck.”

“Just what happened,” nodded Frank; “those of us who have used the lariat a long time always do that sort of thing when we think a rope is whizzing in our direction—throw up a hand, and duck!”

So they rode on, talking about the recent little trouble, and making progress. When noon came a halt was made in order to take a bite, and rest the horses; for the blazing sun came down with a fierce directness that made traveling exhausting to man and beast.

Frank had picked out the place for the noonday rest. A clear little brooklet gurgled out of a split in the rock. Undoubtedly it came from the distant mountains, where snow melted on the peaks throughout the summer, forming many such little streams that eventually joined forces with the mighty Colorado.

“What are you laughing at, Frank?” demanded Bob, as they sat there, munching some of the sandwiches the Chinese cook at the ranch house had put up for them, while the two horses tried to find some stray bunches of grass near the water.

“Just happened to remember a time when I got snaked off the back of a horse, and as sudden as you did just now,” replied the prairie boy, still chuckling.

“It must have been funny, then, to make you act like that so long after it happened,” remarked Bob. “Tell me about it, Frank.”

“That’s why I can laugh at it now, because it was several years ago,” the other went on. “At the time, I tell you it was no joke. You see, I had jumped on a horse one of the boys was breaking in. The beast was a little ugly still, and I had a hackamore in place of a bridle. When he acted too mean I’d give that a twist, and the cruel rope caught his jaw in a way to bring him to his senses.”

“I know what you mean,” remarked Bob; “though I’ve never handled a hackamore myself. Go on, Frank.”

“Well, as we whooped along, it happened that the beast took a notion to turn sudden-like, and put into a bunch of trees. And Bob, before I could say Jack Robinson I found myself snatched right off that horse by a crotched limb that hung low down. The cayuse ran off with me kicking my heels in the air!”

“Just like Absalom was treated so long ago, eh, Frank?”

“Well, I wasn’t caught up by my hair, because I wear it short; but I did get caged in that crotch so it took me a long time to wiggle out. I never dared tell the boys about it. Say, they’d have joked me half to death over it. But the shock of being snatched right off the back of my mount was just as bad as what you just went through with. I’ve never forgotten my feelings as I swung up there, kicking to beat the band, and waving my arms, but unable to help myself for ten long minutes.”

“And I suppose I’ll remember that queer sensation I had as I felt myself being pulled out of my saddle; and in that flash reckoned it must be some of those reckless cattle rustlers after my good old Domino. Whew! excuse me from another experience along that line, Frank.”

“This is a fine place to spend an hour at noon,” remarked the other, as he lay back to stretch his legs; for there is always more or less of a cramped sensation during a long horseback ride.

“And with that warm sun it makes a fellow feel sleepy,” added Bob. “If I happen to drop off into a little doze, please don’t wake me up too sudden. I might think I was fast in the noose of another rope, and strike out, reckless like.”

“I’ll keep my hands off you for some little time,” declared Frank; “for I can see that you’re marked ‘dangerous,’ like a box of dynamite at the mines.”

When the hour had passed, both boys announced their readiness to make a fresh start; and although the heat was still quite severe, they threw the saddles on the horses, and were soon off.

Hours later the two found themselves considering the subject of a camp. The afternoon was wearing away, and, ere long, night would be at hand. The moon, past its first quarter, hung in the sky overhead, so that they need not anticipate darkness with the coming of sunset.

“Look away off yonder; that line of trees seems inviting a closer acquaintance,” declared Frank, pointing; “because, unless I’m greatly mistaken, there must be a stream of some sort there. Let’s wind up the day with a little race, Bob!”

The Kentucky boy was always willing for a trial dash; hence they allowed the two horses to have their heads across the level plains. And, as often happened, they arrived at their goal neck and neck.

“Call it a draw!” laughed Frank, as he threw himself to the ground.

“I’m willing,” replied his chum, proud because the black was able to keep on even terms with a horse born and brought up in that country.

First the boys attended to their faithful steeds; and, only after seeing them comfortable, did they think to take a drink from the stream, and begin to get a camp in readiness for the coming night.

Frank was putting up a little silk tent which he had brought along when he heard Buckskin snorting loudly. He knew that something strange must have startled the little beast. Many a time had he depended on Buckskin to warn him, during the night, of danger; now, leaving his work, he hastened to snatch up his rifle, after which he called to his chum.

“Bob! this way, quick!”

Young Archer had been dipping up some clear water for the coffee when he heard this sudden hail. It seemed to breathe of peril; and, quick to act, he started for the spot where his companion stood. Seeing that Frank was staring upward toward the sky Bob allowed his wondering gaze to travel in that direction. What he discovered filled him with mingled awe and bewilderment.

“Say, Frank!” he called out; “am I dreaming, or is that really a runaway balloon drifting this way, with a man hanging to the broken basket?”

CHAPTER III
A VISITOR FROM THE SKIES

“A balloon—yes, that’s what it must be, Bob!” exclaimed the prairie boy, who had doubtless never before set eyes on such an object as now dawned upon his startled vision.

“Sure it is, Frank; I’ve seen ’em lots of times at the country fairs in Kentucky,” Bob went on, almost breathlessly, as he reached the side of his chum.

The two stood watching with wide eyes the approach of the bulky, unwieldly object, that nearly dragged along the ground at times, since it was in a partly collapsed state.

“He seems to be waving his arms at us, Bob!” declared Frank, whose eyes were nearly as keen as those of a hawk.

“Yes, he is trying to tell us something, Frank,” replied the other.

“Perhaps he’s in a peck of trouble,” suggested the other.

“I’m most sure of that, for the old gas-bag is half empty; but the wind carries it along, you see,” Bob remarked, as the balloon continued to head directly for the spot where they stood.

“Perhaps he’s afraid it’ll hit the trees?” cried Frank.

“Huh! I’d rather think he’s afraid it won’t do that same!” Bob ventured. “For it looks to me as if that man would give just anything to be safe on the ground again. See how wild he is getting, Frank!”

“We must do something for him!” declared Bob’s chum.

With his eye he gauged the coming on the runaway balloon. Then he started to run rapidly forward, turning a little to the left.

“Think it’s going to come here?” questioned Bob, who had obediently trailed along at the heels of his chum; for Bob knew that as a rule Frank could be depended upon to do the right thing.

“Unless there’s a sudden shift of the wind he’s bound to; and I don’t expect that to happen,” came the reply.

Indeed, Bob could himself see that the chances were as ten to one that they now stood directly in the path of the coming balloon. It had considerable momentum, and there was a question as to whether two boys would be able to curb the rush of the big gas-bag.

When Bob thought this he failed to give his comrade full credit for his sagacity. Frank had anticipated just that thing. And more than that, he was prepared to meet the emergency.

Frank was so constituted that he could apply such practices as came into his daily life to the needs of the hour. For one thing, he had noticed that a long and apparently stout rope was trailing down on the ground. Perhaps it had once had an anchor of some sort attached; but if so, this had long since been torn away.

Bob was nerving himself for a tug of war when the two of them threw their combined weight on that rope. He was therefore greatly astonished to hear his chum suddenly exclaim:

“Leave it to me, Bob; but stand by to help, if I call on you!”

With the words Frank jumped forward. The balloon had bobbed up again in one of its queer movements, and passed over their heads. They could hear the bare-headed man in the broken basket shouting at the top of his voice:

“Grab that rope! Hold her, till I can drop out!”

Then Frank made a dive, and the rope was in his hands. Another quick movement that fairly dazzled Bob, and he saw the prairie boy whip the end three times around the butt of a small but fairly stout tree that lay within reach. The boy, who was accustomed to roping cattle had used the sapling as a “snubbing post.”

There was a shock, as the rope came taut. The tree bent far over, and Bob half expected to see it torn up by the roots, or else break in two. Neither of these catastrophes came to pass, for that sapling was made of stern stuff. It bent, but did not give way. And the mad journey of the runaway balloon seemed to have been brought to a successful termination, there, close to the little patch of timber that grew along the stream near which the saddle boys had started to make their lone camp.

It was almost ludicrous to see how quickly the man in the basket started to get over the edge, and slide down that rope to the ground.

“He’s badly hurt!” exclaimed Bob, seeing the air-voyager tumble in a heap, as though unable to stand upon his legs.

Both boys were at his side in another second. They had thought the aeronaut must have swooned because of his injuries, or the sudden sensation of relief after expecting the worst that could befall him; but on their arrival he made a movement as though trying to get up.

“I guess I’m in a bad way, boys,” he groaned. “Feels like one of my legs has been fractured. The balloon smashed against a rock as I came over the top of the ridge away over yonder. That was what broke the basket. It nearly sent me out, and ever since I seem to have lost my head.”

“Well, you’re safe on the ground now,” said Frank, as he bent over the injured man.

“We were just making camp when he sighted you,” said Bob. “And if you say the word we’ll get you over to the place, and do all we can to help you.”

“Oh! thank you, boys,” the other said, eagerly; “it’s very kind of you. Perhaps with your help I might hobble along in some fashion. But I can’t get to see a doctor any too soon to suit me.”

The two boys exchanged glances. How in the wide world they were going to get the wounded man to a town, where his broken leg could be attended before serious complications set in, neither of them could even guess.

But they helped him get on his feet, and foot by foot make for the spot on the bank of the small river where the tent was standing. He groaned frequently, as though suffering great pain; but in the end they managed to half carry him to the camp.

Here, on one of the blankets, he was made as comfortable as possible. While the daylight still lasted Frank took a look at his limb; leaving to his chum the task of preparing supper.

“It’s broken, you find?” asked the man, with great concern.

“Yes, sir, I’m afraid it is; and pretty badly fractured at that,” Frank answered. “We’ll try and make you as comfortable as we can to-night. In the morning perhaps some way for getting you to a doctor may be found.”

At the time Frank did not know in the slightest degree just how such a thing could be accomplished. But he was not one to cross a bridge before coming to it. There were a good many hours between supper time and morning; and surely one of them would be able to think of some remedy.

As they had been sent off on a very important errand to Cherry Blossom Mine, where it was suspected that strange things were in progress, it was hardly to be expected that they could spare the time needed to take this stranger to the nearest town, some twenty miles down the river.

Still, both boys were tender-hearted, and apt to strain a point rather than appear cruel toward a fellow human being.

“Is there any way to save the balloon?” asked Frank, wishing to divert the attention of the groaning aeronaut from his own pains, to some other object in which he might take an interest.

“Hang the balloon!” the man said, angrily. “I never want to set eyes on one again. I was a fool to believe I could play the part of an aeronaut. It’s nearly been the death of me; and all for nothing; all for nothing!”

Frank, of course, could not imagine what the man meant by those words. He seemed to be deeply moved, as though some pet scheme which he had been trying to carry out had proven a dead failure. Perhaps he was an explorer, and had hoped to investigate the secrets of those gaunt mountains which had never been climbed, and which might be rich in precious ores!

Frank bathed the injured limb as soon as he could get some warm water. There was really nothing else he could do, not being a surgeon. Of course many cowboys can perform rude operations, when stern necessity requires; and Frank had before now, set a broken bone fairly well. But in this case it was a compound fracture, and splinters of bone would have to be taken away before the process of healing could begin.

Bob, meanwhile, managed to get supper ready. He announced the meal even as Frank finished his labors in connection with the wounded aeronaut.

“Perhaps you might be able to eat a little; or at least have a cup of coffee,” Frank remarked, after he had propped the other up against a tree.

Somehow the man looked a little more cheerful. His leg did not hurt so badly, for the numb stage had set in; and so long as he could remain quiet it would not be so bad.

“This is mighty nice of you two boys,” he declared, showing that he felt he owed them more than common gratitude. “Yes, I haven’t eaten a bite for many hours, and that coffee certainly smells good. I will try a little. I’m beginning to pick up hopes that after all I may be able to pull through.”

So Bob poured out a cup of the fragrant Java, and brought it over to where the wounded aeronaut lay.

“How will you have it, Professor?” he asked, “with condensed milk, or plain black?”

“A little of the milk, please, my boy; and as I was just saying to your comrade, I owe you both a heavy debt. After all, a man’s life is worth more than anything else. But don’t call me Professor, for I’m not anything of the sort. Jared Scott is the name I answer to; and I’m from Iowa, though long out in the wild and woolly West. May I ask your name, and that of the fine fellow who made me so comfortable?”

“My name is Bob Archer,” readily responded the other; “and my home used to be in Kentucky. My chum has always lived here in the cow and mining country. His father owns a big ranch; and we’re right now on the way to the Cherry Blossom Mine on business. His name is Haywood—Frank Haywood.”

Bob heard the man give a low cry, and saw him staring, as though the mention of that name had given him a great shock!

CHAPTER IV
THE MYSTERY OF THE PACKET

Bob was not a suspicious boy by nature. Consequently, the first thought that occurred to him was that the wrecked balloonist must have been seized with a sudden acute twinge of pain.

“Does it hurt so bad as that?” he asked, tenderly.

The other shut his teeth hard together, winked a few times, and then seemed able to master his emotions.

“I never had such pain in all my life,” he said, in a voice that shook. “But it’s gone again now, and I feel easier. Bob, you said your name was, and his Frank Haywood. His father, then, must be the Colonel Haywood I’ve heard talked about as one of the richest men in this section.”

“That’s Frank’s father, all right, Mr. Scott,” Bob went on, adding enthusiastically, “and Frank’s the best chum I ever knew in all my life; as good-hearted as the day is long, loyal and brave. When he saw your trouble he would have risked his life, if necessary, to help you; but then, that’s Frank Haywood, every time.”

The balloonist shifted his glance toward Frank, who was just then pouring himself out a cup of coffee.

“And me a stranger, too!” he muttered, turning strangely red in the face, Bob thought, and also swallowing something that seemed to come up in his throat.

Then he put the tin cup to his mouth. Perhaps the coffee was hotter than Mr. Scott had expected, for when he lowered the cup again Bob thought he could see a trace of tears in his eyes. But then a renewal of the pain in his leg might account for that—or something else of which he, Bob, knew nothing.

“How is the coffee?” he asked, solicitously, for he disliked to see any one suffer, and felt for the wounded man.

“Splendid! and it somehow seems to cheer me up,” replied the other; though while speaking his eyes still continued to stray over to where Frank knelt, as if possibly the prairie boy had appealed to him especially.

“I’ll fetch you over a share of what we’ve got, Mr. Scott; and I hope you’ll have appetite enough to enjoy it,” Bob went on. “In a case like this, it’s necessary for the patient to keep up his strength, you know.”

“You are right, Bob,” replied the other, giving him a faint smile; “and it’s good of you and your chum to take such care of a stranger who’s dropped out of the clouds, and about whom neither of you know a thing.”

“But you’re hurt, you see,” remarked Bob, just as though that circumstance would account for almost anything they might do for him.

The wounded man did eat rather heartily, after all. He was also somewhat morose for a time after they had finished the meal; his dark brows knitting as if he might be deep in serious thought.

“Perhaps he’s wondering how under the sun we’re going to get him to town in the morning?” suggested Bob, who was just as eager to get a hint from Frank in that line as Mr. Scott could be, for he did not know a thing about it.

“Now, I was thinking,” Frank remarked, “that perhaps he’s bothered because some pet scheme of his has been knocked sky-high by the smash of the balloon. Who knows what sort of business brought him out here with that gas-bag? You know he kept saying ‘all for nothing, too; all for nothing!’”

“Frank,” said the other boy, in low tones, for he did not wish the balloonist to suspect that they were talking about him; “I reckon you’re right, after all. He is bothered over something that’s gone to smash, and it isn’t the balloon either.”

“But it’s none of our business, you know,” urged Frank; “and we don’t want to seem too curious.”

“But, Frank, we just can’t go off in the morning and leave the poor fellow here, you know; yet how under the sun can we get him to town? He couldn’t ride a horse, with that terribly broken leg, could he?”

“I’m afraid not,” answered the other, smiling. “But I was thinking, Bob, that if the worst came, we could make some sort of raft, and in that way I might drift with him down river, while you followed along the shore with the horses.”

“Well, if you don’t just beat the world thinking up things, Frank!” exclaimed the Kentucky boy; and then seeing the man looking at them curiously, he added in a louder voice: “What do you think of that for a scheme, Mr. Scott—my chum says that if you can’t ride a horse in the morning we might make a raft, and he’ll run you to town that way, while I bring the horses along the bank.”

“Could it be done?” asked the wounded man, as his black eyes sparkled with admiration, and perhaps pleasure.

“I think so,” replied Frank. “I’ve heard something about this river from our cow punchers. It’s swift, but deep, and without many rapids. Yes, given a little time, and we can make a raft that would be safe. And by night, or long before, we’d likely reach a doctor.”

“But in that way you’d lose a whole day, Frank,” remarked the balloonist.

“Oh! well, it just can’t be helped. Time is of value to us just now, I admit; but it would have to be something far more than the possible loss of money that could make me desert anyone in trouble. My dad would never forgive me, Mr. Scott, if I ran away, and left you here all alone!”

The balloonist tried to say something, but his voice failed him. He could only draw a long breath, and look steadily at Frank. Such sentiments evidently touched him even more than the able manner in which Frank had snubbed the runaway balloon, so that he could escape from the broken basket.

Nor did he attempt to join in the conversation of the two lads as they sat by the little fire later on and talked; though Frank imagined that Mr. Scott seemed considerably interested in what they were saying.

Sometimes the talk was about the ranch where they enjoyed such good times; and numerous allusions were made to the family, the cowboys, and the adventures that had already fallen to their lot.

Then again it might be Bob would ask questions concerning the possible cause of that hasty summons of Colonel Haywood to Cherry Blossom Mine; and what sort of new trouble might await them there.

Strikes were not unknown in that region; and somehow the boys seemed to imagine they would be called upon to face some such thing as that. Miners from Mexico sometimes fomented trouble, and a stern hand was needed to keep it down.

Finally the lads found themselves growing sleepy, and announced their intention of turning in. With the sagacious Buckskin hovering near by, and capable of giving warning should danger threaten, neither of the saddle boys felt called upon to lose any sleep by standing watch.

Frank fixed the injured balloonist as well as he was able, before seeking his blanket. They had even managed to convey their uninvited guest to the little tent, despite his protests. As for themselves, they could settle down outside; nor would they have any reason to regret it, because the night promised to be a calm one.

It passed away without any alarm. In the morning the boys were early astir, and making preparations for breakfast, for it looked as though they would have to put in this day doing an act of mercy.

“The old balloon’s gone to nothing during the night,” announced Bob, after he had gone out to investigate; but Mr. Scott shook his head as though it no longer appealed to him in the least.

If he had ever expected to become an aeronaut the desire had all been taken from him by his recent experience; and he vowed that if he lived through this trouble never again would he ever trust himself off the solid earth.

While the boys were engaged in getting the morning meal Mr. Scott seemed to be writing something on a sheet of paper which he had torn from a note book. This he slipped into a packet he had with him, and sealed up hastily.

“Hello! Frank, look what’s coming down the river!” called Bob, just as they were ready to sit down and eat.

It was a boat, and a fairly large one at that, loaded with all sorts of green vegetables. Frank could hardly believe his eyes.

“Here’s luck, Mr. Scott!” he exclaimed. “This man must have a little truck patch in some favored place above, where there’s rich ground, and plenty of water for irrigation. He’s on his way to town now, with a load that will fetch him a heap of money. We must hail him, and get him to take you along. Perhaps he’d agree to carry the balloon, too, if you wanted.”

“Don’t speak of the balloon; I hate the thought of it!” said the other; “but I’m glad there’s a chance for my getting to a doctor before long, and without taking you boys away from your work.”

Frank jumped up, and waved to the “trucker” in the boat, who quickly landed. He looked a little dubious at the suggestion of carrying a man with a broken leg all the way to town; but when Mr. Scott took out several large bills, and offered them to him, he quickly found that he could make room.

“Stop over a bit and have breakfast with us,” said Bob, with true Kentucky generosity; and the “trucker” agreed willingly enough, for he scented the fragrant coffee.

Then, a little later, they managed to carry the wounded man to the boat, where a bed had been prepared for him amid the green stuff.

“Good-by, Mr. Scott!” said Frank, after Bob had shaken hands with the wounded balloonist. “We sure hope you come out all right; and we’d have done what we said we would if this boat hadn’t come along in time.”

“I know you would, Frank,” said the other, with a queer look on his face; then he suddenly drew out the packet, and offered it to the boy. “Take it, please,” he insisted, seeing Frank hesitate. “Only promise me that you will not break the seal for seven days! By then things will have taken a turn for me, one way or the other. Give me your word, Frank!”

Mystified by this Frank could only promise. Then the boat pushed off, and the last they saw of Jared Scott was when he turned half-way around to wave a hand.

And Frank stood there, staring at the little packet the wounded balloonist had forced him to accept under conditions that only added to the puzzle.

CHAPTER V
IN SEARCH OF GAME

“What under the sun did he mean by that, Frank?” asked Bob, after the boat had swept around a bend on the swift river, and vanished from their view.

“I declare I can’t tell you,” chuckled his chum, looking at the envelope, which he was turning over in his hand.

“He was writing something, and then I saw him put it in that envelope, or packet, smiling all the time as if delighted; which I thought was rather queer for a man who was suffering from such a bad leg,” Bob went on.

“Well, we must let it go at guessing; because you heard me promise not to tear this envelope open for seven days,” Frank remarked.

“That was the queer part of it,” the other pursued, for anything touching on a mystery always excited Bob. “Now if, for instance, he had been making out a check, thinking to reward us for saving his life, he wouldn’t have gone about it that way, and make you give such a promise. Besides I saw that he just tore a blank page out of a note book, and scribbled on that.”

Frank calmly put the strange little packet safely away in an inside pocket of his jacket.

“Seven days from now we’ll take a peep, Bob,” he observed, drily; “just try and curb your curiosity till then; won’t you? And now, we’d better forget all about Mr. Jared Scott, and his balloon. It served to break up the monotony of our trip, and cost us little besides our time.”

“All right,” assented Bob; “but something tells me, Frank, that this isn’t the last we’ll hear from this Mr. Scott. The way he looked at you told me he sure had something on his mind. Shall we throw our saddles on right now, and get busy?”

Frank, instead of replying, began to gather things together. The tent came down in a “jiffy,” as Bob called it; the cooking things were soon placed in the blankets; and presently not a thing had been neglected.

Bob went over to where the pile of silk representing the abandoned balloon, lay. When he came back he was carrying quite a piece of the material, which he said he expected to keep, as a souvenir of the affair.

“Perhaps, now, you’re thinking of some day taking up the life of a balloonist?” suggested Frank, with a laugh.

“None of that for me,” Bob answered. “After seeing how Mr. Scott fared, I’d hate to think of an experience of that sort. And just imagine him being carried over the tops of those mountains at a tremendous whirl. He said he even banged into a rock that stuck up above the rest. And Frank, do you see, he came out of just the same quarter we are heading into!”

The two boys looked at each other. It was as if some thought had flashed into both of their minds, to the effect that, perhaps, the circumstances might prove to be more than just a mere coincidence. But farther than this they were not able to go; so nothing was said.

In a few minutes more both sprang into the saddle. Then the eager horses were off on the jump across the plains, heading toward the very mountains which the wounded aeronaut declared he had crossed while cruising in his runaway balloon.

“Oh! we forgot to ask Mr. Scott how he happened to get in trouble!” Bob suddenly cried, after he had been turning around to take a last look at the pile of silk which had once been a balloon.

“He told me while I was fixing his broken limb,” Frank mentioned. “That is, he said that in his hurry to get away, he was unlucky enough to break something about the balloon that controlled the valve. So he was really at the mercy of the wind. He said he had been knocking around for many hours—in fact that he had been high up in the air part of the day; until the gas began to escape, and then the balloon dropped until he just scraped over the mountains, as he mentioned. Later on he came close to the ground; but was going so fast he hated to jump.”

“Huh! I don’t blame him, what with that broken leg,” commented Bob, who was keeping alongside his galloping chum. “But if he was up all day, he must have come hundreds of miles. Wonder if he started at Los Angeles, in California?”

“No, I don’t believe that,” Frank went on, thoughtfully; “because I remember his saying that he seemed to go in circles, and that after being up all those hours, when he sank down again, he was within twenty miles of where he started.”

“Oh! well, perhaps some day we’ll know more about it,” Bob remarked, carelessly. “He must have come from some city where they had gas. Perhaps he was doing it on a wager. They do all sorts of queer things nowadays, with the idea of taking up a dare.”

“Seven days and we’ll know, I reckon,” laughed Frank, touching his breast, where in the recesses of a pocket that little packet lay with its mysterious contents.

“I’m glad, anyhow, that we didn’t have to make that raft,” declared Bob.

“Same here,” chuckled his comrade, “it would have been a tougher job than either of us thought, with only a little camp hatchet to cut logs. But I would have done it if that trucker hadn’t come along in his bull boat.”

“Which, I take it, means his craft was made from the tough skins of bulls; is that right, Frank?”

“Sure,” Frank replied. “They make fine boats, too, and I’m told are used even up in the Saskatchewan river country. Far better than dugouts, too. But our trail leads us through that far-away mountain range, you know. Hope we’re on the other side of it by to-night. All depends on how rough the traveling is, after we strike the rise.”

“Perhaps, if we look sharp, we may see the very rock at the peak that the balloon banged up against!” suggested Bob, with a grin.

“No telling,” Frank remarked. “But if he had been knocked out of the old basket on top of the ridge, he would have been a goner, sure enough. No help could reach him there.”

They galloped on for several hours. All the time the mountains seemed to rise up closer, though distances were very deceptive in that clear atmosphere.

But no stop was made until noon. Then they found themselves at the base of the high ridge, that loomed up far into the clouds.

“If we could only find a way around this, instead of climbing over,” observed the Kentucky lad, as he looked upward with a sigh of despair.

“Hold on, its bite isn’t as bad as its bark,” broke in Frank. “From dad’s directions I understand that to try and go around would mean three days’ ride, because the ridge runs quite a ways in both directions. Then there’s a canyon here, just as if Nature wanted to help a fellow cross over. It doesn’t go to near the top; and horses can easily tramp through it.”

“Glad to hear that,” declared Bob, with an air of relief. “I might climb up to the top yonder, on my hands and knees; but I’d hate the job of taking Domino there.”

“Well, let’s hold up, and take a breathing spell,” Frank suggested, as he reined in, and threw himself to the ground.

Presently the boys were stretching themselves, while the horses sought the water hole near by, to quench their thirst. A “snack” was eaten. Then Bob, remarking that he believed he would take a little look around, as the place had a promising air to an ambitious hunter, threw his rifle over his shoulder, and stalked off.

“Don’t go far, Bob,” said his chum; “and be back in half an hour or so; for if we hope to get across the range by nightfall we’ll have to be making a start inside of an hour or so.”

“All right, Frank, you can count on me,” was the reply Bob threw back, as he plunged into the chaparral, with his hunter’s instinct aroused.

Ten minutes had passed since he left Frank. As yet he had seen nothing more than a brace of long-eared jack rabbits; and Bob hated to fire at such ignoble game when his mind was set upon something better.

Still, jack rabbit stew was not bad, and if it came to it he supposed there was nothing else to be done but knock over a couple. But he would go on a little further before giving up. Frank had limited him to half an hour; and that would leave him just fifteen minutes in which to retrace his steps.

Ah! what was that he saw through the bushes ahead? Something moved, and as he looked closer Bob discovered that it was a deer. The wind was coming from the feeding animal, directly toward him, which would account for his having been able to approach as near as he had without being scented.

So Bob, dropping on his knees, crawled a little closer. Then, seeing uneasiness in the game, and knowing that he could hardly hope to get any closer, the boy raised himself cautiously, and took aim, resting one elbow on his knee for support.

With the report the deer sprang into the air. Bob knew that his aim must have been true, and that the timid animal had received its death wound.

But something that was entirely unexpected by Bob took place immediately after he had pulled the trigger. He heard what seemed to be a half suppressed snarl, and was even in the act of trying to turn, while in that awkward position, when he received a violent blow on the shoulder that sent him sprawling.

And, even as he fell, Bob had a glimpse of a terrifying beast with yellow eyes that had dropped from the trees upon his shoulders. He knew that it must be a panther that had been trying to stalk the feeding deer!

CHAPTER VI
SURPRISING FRANK

There are times when one simply acts from impulse rather than from design. And this was certainly one of those occasions.

Bob had been thrown aside by the stroke from the heavy paw of the descending beast. He simply kept on rolling, and thus avoided being pounced upon when the panther, like a domestic cat cheated out of its prey by the first jump, turned to make a second attempt.

Better still, Bob had been wise enough not to loosen his grip on his gun. Hence he was not unarmed when he threw himself behind a friendly tree, and fumbled at the mechanism of the repeating rifle, meaning to eject the useless empty brass shell, and bring another from the magazine into the firing chamber.

It seems a very simple act when attempted under ordinary conditions. But if a young hunter can manage to accomplish the same when an angry panther is within five feet of him, and ready for a renewal of its attack, he deserves much praise. Four out of five would make a mess of trying to work the “pump-gun,” with results not at all pleasant.

But Bob went through with the two movements necessary to attain this end without a hitch. This left his gun in condition for immediate use, with the hammer pushed back, ready for a discharge.

Just then he saw that the big cat was about to launch itself through the air again. It had crouched, with its head between its forepaws; and there was a “hunching” movement to the whole body. Bob had seen exactly the same when a pet Maltese cat was about to spring on an unsuspecting sparrow.

He knew that a second would count for a great deal under such circumstances. It would not do to even try and raise the gun to his shoulder to aim; for the panther might be in the air before he could glance along that shiny barrel.

Instinct again forced Bob to pull the trigger. How he did it he never could explain; but he fired the shot from his hip, and with his eyes glued upon the figure of his enemy.

Bob had all the instincts of a true hunter. When he heard a story told that had to do with an encounter with dangerous game he never failed to ask a multitude of questions. And in this way he had gained a pretty good idea of how successful big game hunters carry themselves under perilous conditions.

Hence he had no sooner fired than he hastened to fling himself behind another tree that happened to be within reach.

Something came slap against it. He heard a low growl, that seemed to change into short angry whines; and glancing around the tree, after he had made his gun serviceable again, he discovered the animal kicking its last, biting at every object within reach of its teeth, and evidently dying hard.

There was no longer any danger to be apprehended from this source; and it was only his desire not to allow needless pain that urged Bob to once more throw his rifle forward, and pull the trigger.

Then the panther lay very still, and the lad knew that the last spark of life had departed.

Bob stood there, looking around him. He was trembling violently, yet it was the result of excitement and action, rather than anything like fear.

In fact, one thing had followed so fast upon the heels of others, that thus far he had not found time to be afraid.

“Probably I would have been, if the beast had given me a chance,” he said afterward, when telling Frank about the happening.

He had done an amazing thing—killed a deer and a panther, both within the space of three minutes or less.

Of course Frank must have heard the several shots, and might be growing anxious about him. So Bob decided to return to camp. On the horses they could cover the intervening ground in a short time; and after that take as much of the venison along as Frank thought best.

After noting the spot so that he could easily locate it again, Bob hurried away. He found his chum looking anxiously for him; and noted the smile of relief that came upon Frank’s face as he broke cover close by.

“He got away after all that hammering, eh?” remarked the prairie lad; but in a good natured manner.

“After we start, suppose we run over that way a little,” said Bob. “It won’t take a long time; and there’s something I’d like to show you.”

“Sure,” replied Frank, as he prepared to mount. “No use asking what it is; for once you’ve made up your mind to keep a surprise, a mountain wouldn’t move you, Bob.”

First of all, Bob led him by a round-about way to where the deer lay, just as it had fallen, although Bob had stopped long enough to bleed his quarry.

“How’s that?” he asked a little proudly.

Frank jumped down, and bent over the animal. And, just as his comrade anticipated, he almost immediately exclaimed.

“Your bullet took him directly back of the foreshoulder, Bob; and must have cut into his heart. Then what in the wide world did you want to fire twice again for?”

“Oh! I had a little dispute with a rival hunter, and he thought I’d played him a mean trick to step in when he was creeping up on the game. So we had it out; and if you come this way, Frank, I’ll show you how it all ended.”

When the wondering Frank looked down on the sleek form of the mountain cat, he emitted a whistle that meant astonishment.

“Great governor! however did you do it; and come out of the scrape without even a single scratch, too?” he asked, turning on Bob.

“Well, hardly that,” replied the other, wincing when Frank unconsciously laid a hand on his left shoulder. “If you look where you touched me you’ll see that my jacket and flannel shirt are clawed some. I reckon there’s need of that wonderful permanganate of potash wash that you think so much of.”

“And you’ll have to let me look at that shoulder right away, son,” declared Frank. “I never take any chances when clawed by an animal that lives on flesh. If blood poisoning ever sets in, it’s bound to be a bad job. And while I’m working you just pitch in, and tell me all about it; d’ye hear?”

Of course Bob complied. He was just aching to tell the story anyhow, boy-like. And Frank could easily picture the exciting scene, as he looked around him, and noted where the beast had first clawed up the ground when he just missed the form of the human hunter who had invaded his private preserves.

“Whew! things seem to be coming your way right along, Bob,” he remarked after both the story, and his dressing of the trifling wounds, were finished.

“They say it’s better to be born lucky than rich,” his chum laughed. “And if I can keep on in this way I’ve no kick coming. But how about the deer meat, Frank? We ought to take some of that along with us, hadn’t we?”

“I should say yes,” declared Frank, as he pulled out his hunting knife, and once more moved toward the spot where the deer lay.

“But I’d like ever so much to have this nice pelt to remember the affair by,” Bob remarked, casting a regretful eye back toward the dead panther.