Jack Ranger's Gun Club; Or, From Schoolroom to Camp and Trail

CHAPTER XV
JACK MEETS A GIRL

“Yes, I know, but you can’t always believe what these railroad men tell you. They’d say anything to keep a passenger quiet. I’m nervous riding in these cars. There may be a collision when we’re on the wrong track. Don’t you think so?” he asked, turning to Jack.

“Why, no. I don’t believe we’re in any danger,” replied our hero, and his heart beat faster at the grateful look which the pretty girl flashed at him from her brown eyes. “There is a flagman ahead of us, and we’ll soon be on the right track. There is no danger.”

“I’m sure I hope so,” went on the aged man. “I’m not used to this way of traveling. A wagon, a horse, or hitting the trail for mine. I came out of the front car, because I thought it would be safer here in case of a collision. Don’t you think so?” he asked anxiously.

“Of course,” answered Jack reassuringly, and again the girl looked gratefully at him.

“My name’s Pierce,” went on the timid man. “Dan Pierce. What’s yours?”

“Oh, daddy!” exclaimed the girl. “Perhaps the young gentleman doesn’t want to tell his name.”

“Why shouldn’t he?” asked Mr. Pierce quickly. “Every one ought to be proud of his name. I’m proud of mine. Dan Pierce it is. I’m an old Western hunter, and this is my daughter Mabel. We’ve been East on a visit, and we’re going back. I’m glad of it, too. What’s your name?” he went on.

“Father,” expostulated the girl, “perhaps he doesn’t wish to tell.”

“Oh, I haven’t the least objection,” answered our hero. “I’m Jack Ranger, and these are some friends of mine.”

“I’d like to know ’em,” said Mr. Pierce quickly, and Jack introduced the boys, the old hunter, in turn, presenting his daughter Mabel, who blushed more than ever. But Jack thought her ever so much prettier when the color surged up into her brown, olive-tinted cheeks.

“Going far?” asked Mr. Pierce.

“We’re taking a hunting trip to the Shoshone Mountains,” replied Jack.

“You don’t say so? Why, that’s where I lived and hunted for forty years!” exclaimed Mr. Pierce. “That’s where me and my daughter live. About ten miles from Pryor’s Gap. But my hunting days are over,” he said a bit sadly. “I have to settle down now and live in a house with Mabel here.”

Jack thought that was not at all a bad arrangement, and he stole a glance at the girl. He caught her looking at him, and he felt the blood mounting to his face, while he saw the blush spread again over her cheeks.

“How long are you going to stay?” asked Mr. Pierce.

Then Jack told of the formation of the gun club, and how it happened that they had a chance to come West on a late fall hunting trip.

“It makes me feel young again,” declared Mr. Pierce as his eyes lighted up. “I declare, I’ve a good notion to hit the trail again.”

“Oh, you mustn’t think of that, daddy!” exclaimed Mabel. “Remember, you promised me you would stay home now and rest.”

“Rest? I guess you mean rust,” said Mr. Pierce, his deep-set eyes sparkling with fun. “I sure would like to hit the trail again.”

“We would be very glad to have you come along with us,” said Jack. “We have plenty of shelter tents, and lots of grub.”

“I’d like it—I’d like it,” said Mr. Pierce musingly.

“Daddy!” expostulated his daughter.

She shot a somewhat indignant glance at Jack for proposing such a thing, but she was not angry.

“There, there, Mabel, of course I won’t go,” said her father. “I’ll stay home. My hunting days are over, I reckon, but I sure would like a chance to wrassle with a bear or draw a bead on a mule deer or a fine big-horn sheep. Say, if you boys ever get near Pryor’s Gap I’ll feel mortal offended if you don’t stop off and see us.”

“We’ll stop,” promised Jack heartily, and he looked into Mabel’s eyes, whereat she blushed again, and Jack felt his heart strangely beating.

“Masquerading mud-turtles! but that’s a fine view!” suddenly exclaimed Nat, who was looking from a window. “You can see fifty miles, I’ll wager.”

Mabel laughed heartily.

“What a funny expression!” she said. “Where did you get it?”

“Oh, he makes them up as he goes along,” explained Jack, while Nat was in some confusion.

“It must be some tiresome,” observed Mr. Pierce, while his eyes twinkled humorously. “But we sure do have fine views out here. You needn’t be in a hurry to look at ’em. There’s plenty where you’re going. But I meant to ask you boys how do you calculate to travel after you get to Fort Custer? I believe you said you were going there first.”

“We are,” replied Jack, “and from there we have arranged to go in wagons to Sage Creek and across Forty-mile Desert.”

“That’s a good route,” observed Mr. Pierce. “Who was you depending on to tote your stuff across the desert?”

“Why, a man named Isaac Blender,” answered Jack. “I wrote to him on the advice of my father, who heard of him through some Western friends he has.”

“Oh, you mean Tanker Ike,” said Mr. Pierce.

“Tanker Ike?” repeated Jack.

“Yes. You see, we call him that because he used to drive a water tank across the desert to the mining camps. So you’re going with Tanker Ike, eh? Well, that’s middlin’ curious.”

“Why so?” asked Sam.

“Because me and my daughter are going to take a short trip with him. I’ve got a sister I want to visit before I go back to Pryor’s Gap, and Mabel and I are going in one of Tanker Ike’s wagons.”

“Maybe we can go together,” spoke Jack quickly, and he glanced at Mabel, who suddenly found something of interest in the scenery that was rushing by.

“That’s just what I was thinking,” went on Mr. Pierce. “I’ll give you a proper introduction to Ike. Are you going to have a guide?”

“Yes,” answered Jack. “I wrote to Mr. Blender about it, and he promised to get an Indian guide for us. Do you think he can?”

“Oh, yes. There are plenty of Crow Indians that can be hired. I’ll see that he gets you a good one.”

“Thank you,” said Jack, secretly delighted that he could travel for some time longer in Mabel’s company.

The rest of the railroad journey seemed very short to Jack, and to his chums also, for Mr. Pierce proved an interesting talker, and told them many stories of camp and trail.

Finally they reached Fort Custer, found their camping outfit on hand, with their guns, tents and other necessaries, and there was Tanker Ike on hand to meet them.

“Hello, Ike!” called Mr. Pierce as he descended from the car.

“Well, bust my off wheel! If it ain’t Dan Pierce!” exclaimed the other. “Where did you drift in from?”

They greeted each other heartily, and then Mr. Blender approached Jack and his chums, Mr. Pierce doing the introducing, which was hardly necessary, as the man who was to pilot the boys across the desert was a hearty, genial Westerner, whom to meet once was to feel well acquainted with.

“And I want you to get these boys a good Indian guide,” said Mr. Pierce. “None of those lazy, shiftless beggars.”

“I’ve got Long Gun for them,” said Mr. Blender.

“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Pierce. “Long Gun is as good a Crow Indian as there is. You’ll be safe with him, boys.”

“Sanctimonious scalplocks!” exclaimed Nat. “Are we going to travel with a real live Indian?”

“That’s what, son,” replied Tanker Ike softly. “But don’t let off any more of them curious expressions than you can help. They might scare Long Gun, and he’s sort of timid—for an Indian,” and Mr. Pierce joined the wagon driver in a laugh.

“Well, if we’re going to start we’d better be going,” remarked Mr. Blender at length. “Let’s see. I guess I can get you all in one wagon, and pack the grub and camp truck in another.”

“Where will the Indian guide meet us?” asked Jack.

“The other side of the desert.”

“Do you think he’ll be there?”

“When Long Gun says a thing, it’s as good as done,” commented Mr. Pierce. “Well, Mabel, climb up, and I’ll get aboard in a few minutes.”

Jack made a start for the wagon.

“Where you going?” asked Nat quickly.

“I’m going to get in, of course.”

“But what about our stuff?”

“Oh, Mr. Blender will look after that, I guess.”

Jack kept on, following close after Mabel, and he took a seat beside her in the big wagon.

“Say, fellows,” remarked Nat in a low voice to the other lads, “what do you think of Jack?”

“He’s got ’em bad,” commented Sam. “But I don’t know as I blame him. She’s awful nice.”

“Cut it out! You’re getting sentimental in your old age, Sam,” objected Bony, as he cracked a couple of knuckles for practice.

CHAPTER XVI
A DANGEROUS DESCENT

“’SwatIsaid,” added Budge, rapidly chewing gum in his excitement.

“No, I don’t cal’alate we’ll meet up with any bandits,” answered Mabel’s father with a smile. “If we do—well, Tanker Ike and I are pretty well heeled, I guess,” and he lifted from his side coat pocket, where he carried it as if it was a pound of sugar, a revolver of large size.

“Oh, daddy! Don’t bring out that horrid gun!” exclaimed Mabel.

“I thought Western girls were used to guns and such things,” remarked Jack.

“So she is,” said her father. “Mabel is as good a shot with the rifle as I am, but somehow she don’t exactly seem to cotton to these pocket pistols.”

“I think they’re dangerous,” explained the girl with a glance at Jack that set his heart to beating faster again. “I don’t mind a rifle, but for all daddy says so, I’m not as good a shot as he is.”

“I’d like to see you shoot,” said Jack.

“Maybe you will—if you come to see me—I mean us,” she corrected herself quickly, with a blush.

“I’ll come,” said Jack.

Meanwhile, Mr. Blender and some men from the railroad freight office were loading the other wagon. This was one with a canvas top, something like the prairie schooners of the early Western days, and was drawn by a team of four mules. The passenger vehicle was hauled by four horses.

“Well, I guess I’ve got everything in,” commented Tanker Ike. “Now it’s up to you boys to get the game. There’s plenty of it, and I expect when you come back here to take a train East you’ll have a great collection.”

“We’ll try,” answered Jack.

“All aboard!” sung out Mr. Blender, and Sam, Bony and Budge, together with Nat, who had been wandering about, looking at the view, started to climb up into the big wagon. Jack had not relinquished his seat by Mabel’s side, and he was oblivious to the winks and grins of his chums.

“Have you got a good seat, Jack?” asked Sam, giving Nat a nudge in the ribs.

“I’ve got the best seat in the wagon,” replied Jack boldly, and Mabel seemed to find something very interesting on the opposite side of the vehicle from where Jack sat at her elbow.

Mr. Pierce and Mr. Blender took their places on the front seat, the four other boys distributing themselves in the rear, while a teamster in charge of the freight wagon drove the mules that were to haul the camping outfit over the desert and mountains.

It was fine, clear weather, not cold, in spite of the lateness of the season, and the boys, as well as all the others in the party, were in fine spirits.

“Hurrah for Jack Ranger’s gun club!” cried Nat, when they started off, the horses and mules plunging forward in response to pistol-like cracks of the long whips.

“That’s right!” sung out Sam.

“Is it your gun club?” asked Mabel.

“Well, they call it that,” explained Jack, as he told how it came to be formed.

“Cæsar’s side saddles!” suddenly exclaimed Nat, when they had gone a little farther. “Did you see that rabbit? It was as big as a dog!”

“That’s a jack-rabbit,” explained Mr. Pierce.

“Why didn’t I keep out my gun?” asked Sam with regret in his voice. “I’d like a shot at it. That’s the biggest game I’ve seen in some time.”

“Wait until you see a mule deer, or a big-horn sheep,” said Mr. Blender. “Then you can talk.”

They continued on slowly for several miles, the view changing every moment, and bringing forth exclamations of astonishment and delight from the boys. To Jack and Nat, who had been West before, there was not so much novelty in it, but Sam, Budge and Bony said they had never seen such beautiful aspects of mountain and valley.

They stopped at noon to get dinner at a stage station, and though the place was of the “rough and ready” style, the meal was good.

“’Sanycowboys?” asked Budge of Jack, as they came out to resume their journey.

“I suppose you mean where are any cowboys,” said Jack, and Budge nodded, being too busily engaged in preparing a fresh wad of gum at that moment to answer in words.

“There aren’t many around here,” explained Mr. Pierce, who had heard Jack’s interpretation of the question. “Oh, the West isn’t half so wild and woolly as some book writers make it out to be.”

“Are you boys pretty good at going dry?” asked Tanker Ike, turning to Jack, when they had accomplished several miles more of their journey.

“Going dry?” repeated our hero.

“Yes. Can you go without a drink if you have to?”

“Why?”

“Well, you see, we’ll start to cross the desert to-morrow, and though we’ll take plenty of water along, you never can tell what will happen. It usually takes two days to make it, but sometimes an accident happens to a wagon, or a horse or a mule may go lame, and then you’re longer on the trip. When you are, your water doesn’t always last, and many a time I’ve finished the journey with my tongue hanging out of my mouth, and the poor beasts as dry as powder-horns. So I just thought I’d ask you if you were pretty good at going dry.”

“Well, Nat and I were shipwrecked once,” answered Jack, “and if it hadn’t rained we’d have been in a bad way, eh, Nat?”

“That’s what. Sanctified sand-fleas! but that was a tough time,” he added, as he thought of the cruise of the Polly Ann.

“Well, it never rains on this desert,” commented Mr. Pierce.

“Can’t you carry enough water so that if you’re four days instead of two crossing the desert you’ll have plenty?” asked Bony.

“You can only carry just so much,” replied Tanker Ike. “But don’t worry. I was only asking just for fun. I reckon we’ll make out all right.”

“Were you really shipwrecked?” asked Mabel, interestedly turning to Jack.

“Well, yes,” he admitted, for he disliked to talk about himself.

“Oh, do tell me about it, please. I love to hear real stories of adventure.”

“And tell her how you knocked out Jerry Chowden,” put in Sam. “Say, maybe we’ll meet him out here. He went West, you know.”

“I hope not,” responded Jack, and then he told Mabel of his ocean cruise.

“Everybody hold on tight now,” cautioned Mr. Blender about an hour later, as he set the brake of the wagon and called back a warning to the driver of the freight vehicle.

“Why?” asked Jack.

“There’s a bad hill just ahead, and I’ve got more of a load on than I usually carry. But I guess we’ll make it all right,” and he gathered the reins in a firmer grip and braced himself on the seat.

A few minutes later they came to a turn in the road, and started down a dangerous descent of the bluff that bordered the valley of the desert.

The brake began to screech on the wheels, and the horses threw themselves almost on their haunches to hold back the heavy wagon, which, in spite of the fact that two wheels were almost locked, was sliding down the declivity at a dangerous speed.

“I’d oughter chained the wheels,” said Tanker Ike grimly, as he tried to force the brake lever forward another notch.

“Can’t you do it now?” asked Mr. Pierce.

“Nope!” spoke the driver between his clenched teeth. “We’ve got to go on.”

More and more rapidly the vehicle slid down the hill. The horses were slipping, but they managed to keep their feet, and the brake was more shrilly screeching on the wheels.

All at once, as they made a turn and came to yet a steeper part of the trail, there was a sudden chill to the air, and some white flecks, as if some one had scattered tiny feathers, swirled in front of those in the wagon.

“Snow!” exclaimed Tanker Ike. “I thought it was coming.”

A moment later there was a sharp squall, and the air was filled with white crystals, which came down so thick that it was impossible to see twenty feet ahead.

“Steady, boys—steady!” called the driver to the horses, which seemed frightened by the storm and the weight of the wagon pushing them from behind.

The speed was faster now, though Tanker Ike was doing his best to have the animals hold back the wagon. The horses were almost “sitting down,” and were fairly sliding along.

Suddenly there sounded a sharp snap, and the wagon seemed to plunge forward.

“What’s that?” cried Mr. Pierce.

“Brake’s busted!” shouted Mr. Blender. “Now we’re in for it!”

He loosened his hold on the reins slightly, and swung his long whip over the heads of the astonished horses with a crack like that of a rifle.

“Go on!” he yelled. “Go on! Run!”

The steeds began to gallop, just in time to prevent the wagon, so unexpectedly released from the hold of the brake, from striking them, and they dashed down the mountain-side, dragging the vehicle after them.

CHAPTER XVII
THIRSTY ON THE DESERT

Then followed a sound as of something breaking, and the next moment Jack felt the seat, on which he and the girl were, sliding forward. It had broken loose from its fastenings. Another jolt of the wagon threw the end on which Mabel sat down into the bottom of the vehicle, and she pitched sideways over the edge of the wagon, which at that moment was on a narrow part of the road, skirting a big cliff. On one side the rock rose sheer like a wall. On the other there was a precipice, dropping away for a hundred feet or more.

Mabel could not repress a scream as she felt herself tossed out of the wagon, and she threw her hands upward, vainly clutching for something to cling to. Her father turned and saw her. He prepared to leap backward to her aid, but he could not have done it.

But Jack saw what had happened. His end of the seat was elevated, as the other was depressed, and, taking in the situation at a glance, he made a spring toward the girl, and clasped her about the waist just in time to prevent her falling out.

He braced himself against the edge of the wagon, and held on with all his strength, for the girl was no lightweight, and the swaying of the vehicle threatened to toss them both out.

By this time Mr. Pierce had left his seat beside Tanker Ike, who was doing his best to safely guide the horses down the winding, steep road in the storm, and Mabel’s father came to the aid of her and Jack.

“I’ve got her!” Jack managed to gasp.

“So I see!” cried Mr. Pierce, and then, lending his strength to that of our hero, he pulled Mabel safely within the wagon.

“That—that was a narrow squeak,” commented Mr. Pierce, when Mabel, pale and gasping from fright, had been assisted to the seat, which was replaced and braced up after a fashion.

“Rather,” admitted Jack with a smile.

“You saved her life, Ranger,” went on Mr. Pierce, and there was a husky note in his voice. “She’s—she’s all I’ve got, and—and—I don’t know how to thank you. If she’d gone over the edge there—well, I don’t like to talk about it.”

“Oh, if I hadn’t grabbed her some one else would,” said Jack modestly.

Mabel did not say much, but the glance she gave Jack from her brown eyes more than repaid him.

The excitement caused by the second accident calmed down, and then the occupants of the wagon had time to notice that the progress of the vehicle was slower. The road was not so steep, and a little later Tanker Ike guided his horses to a comparatively level stretch. The snow squall, too, suddenly ceased.

“Well,” remarked the driver slowly as he halted the team and got out to repair the broken brake, “I don’t want a thing like that to happen again. I wanted to help you, Mabel, but I didn’t dare leave the horses.”

“I—I was helped in time,” answered the girl with a little blush.

“Guess we’ll wait for the freight wagon,” went on Tanker Ike. “Then I’ll fix things up and we’ll go on. There’s no more danger, though. We’re over the worst part of the road.”

Mexican Pete, who drove the freighter, soon came up, he having had no mishap on the trip down. The three men soon mended the broken brake, and the journey was resumed. That night they arrived at the stage station, which marked the beginning of the two days’ trip over the desert. It was here that Mr. Pierce and his daughter were to leave the boys, to go on a different route.

“Now don’t you young fellows forget to come to Pryor’s Gap if you get a chance,” commanded Mr. Pierce. “My daughter and I will be there in a few weeks, after I do a little more visiting. You can get there from where you are going to hunt without crossing this desert, though it’s rather a long, roundabout way. But I hope I’ll see you again.”

“Yes, try to come,” added Mabel as she shook hands with the boys, Jack last of all.

Was it fancy, or did she leave her hand in his a little longer than was absolutely necessary? I rather think she did, or perhaps Jack held it.

“I hope you’ll come to see me—I mean us,” she said.

“I’ll come,” was Jack’s answer.

Mr. Pierce and his pretty daughter went to stay with a friend that night, while the boys, Tanker Ike and Mexican Pete put up at the stage hotel.

“We’ll start early in the morning,” said Mr. Blender as the boys were getting ready to retire. “I’ll see to filling the water tanks, and the grub you ordered in advance is here. I’ll stack it in the wagon, and we’ll start off as soon as it’s daylight. I’ve got good horses for us all.”

“Horses? Are we going to ride horses?” asked Sam.

“Of course, from now on,” replied Jack. “Didn’t I tell you?”

“There’s so much about this trip, I guess if you did tell us we’d forget some of it,” said Bony. “But traveling on horses will be sport. I wish it was morning. Don’t you, Budge?”

“I’mungry,” was the queer lad’s reply.

“Hungry?” remarked Jack. “Didn’t you eat enough supper?”

“I guess it must be this Western air,” put in Nat. “Salubrious centipedes! but I could eat a bit myself. I wish we had some of that last spread you gave, Jack.”

Then, though it was almost bedtime, the boys went to the dining-room, where they bribed the only waiter to set them out some pie, cheese and glasses of milk, on which they regaled themselves.

Meanwhile, Mr. Blender and Mexican Pete had loaded the freight wagon, which was to start off ahead of the travelers, who were to go on horseback. They would catch up with the vehicle at noon, and have dinner in the shade of it.

Jack aroused his companions next morning, when there was only a faint light in the east.

“It’s time to start,” he said.

“How is it you’re dressed?” asked Sam suspiciously.

“Oh, I—er—I was up a little earlier,” replied Jack.

“Say, I know where he was,” commented Bony, cracking his knuckles in the semi-darkness. “He was off to bid Mabel good-by again. I heard him say last night he’d come over before the start of the stage she was to take.”

“Masticated mushrooms!” exclaimed Nat. “I wouldn’t have thought it of you, Jack!”

“Come on, get up!” was all Jack replied as he hurried from the room to see if Tanker Ike had everything prepared.

The boys, after a hasty breakfast, found the horses in readiness for them. They had taken out the night before their guns and some clothes from the bundles shipped from the East, and now were equipped to take the trail and begin hunting.

They started off some time before the sun shone above the horizon, and almost immediately found themselves upon a bare and partly sandy waste.

“This is Forty-mile desert,” explained Ike. “If you have any trouble at all, it’ll be here. But I hope we won’t have any.”

It was warm, in spite of the lateness of the season, and as they jogged along on their horses they began to feel the discomfiture of the journey. But no one minded it.

“We ought to come up with Mexican Pete soon,” remarked Ike, when they had trotted along for several miles. “That looks like the wagon over there,” he added, pointing ahead. Jack and his chums could make out a white speck on the trackless waste. As they approached it grew larger, until it evolved itself into the freight wagon.

They halted at it for a meal, and, resting the horses, gave Pete a chance to get some distance ahead of them. Then they resumed their jaunt. It was the middle of the afternoon when Ike, who was in the lead, made a sudden exclamation.

“What’s the matter?” asked Jack.

“Mexican Pete’s just ahead,” replied the old plainsman with a worried accent in his voice. “I wonder what he’s stopping for? I told him not to halt until we reached Stinking Spring, where we are to camp for the night.”

“Maybe something’s happened,” suggested Bony.

“I hope not, but it looks so.”

A moment later Tanker Ike had leaped from his horse, and was examining something on the ground. It looked like a small streak of darker sand than any which surrounded it.

“His water tank has sprung a leak!” he exclaimed. “You can see where it’s been running out. That’s why he’s halted to wait for us. Come on, boys; let’s hurry up. I can see trouble ahead.”

They soon reached the driver of the freight wagon. He met them with a rueful face.

“Water mos’ gone,” he said.

Tanker Ike made a hasty examination. There was only a small quantity left in the second tank, the full one, which had not yet been drawn upon, being completely empty, from a leak that had sprung in the bottom.

“Well, this is tough luck, boys,” commented the plainsman. “I don’t know what to do. We’re bound to be up against it bad whatever we do. We haven’t hardly enough water to last us going back for a fresh supply, and if we keep on we’ll be awful dry by to-morrow night. I don’t like to waste time going back, either.”

“Didn’t you say something about Stinking Spring?” asked Jack. “Can’t we get water there?”

“Yes, but neither man nor beast can drink it. It’s filled with some kind of vile-smelling chemical, and it gives off a gas so deadly that at times it will kill animals that come too close. I’ve even seen a big bear killed by it. No, we can’t get water there.”

“Then what can we do?” asked Sam.

He and the other boys were alarmed by the accident, the most serious that had yet befallen them.

“Well, the only thing I see is for us to keep on,” replied Ike. “If we travel all to-night and keep up a pretty good pace to-morrow, we may strike the Shoshone River in time to—well, in time to wet our whistles. But it’s going to be a hard pull, and I don’t know whether the horses will stand it.”

“Let’s try,” suggested Jack, who never believed in giving up in the face of difficulties.

“That’s the way to talk!” commented Ike. “Maybe we can do it.”

They halted for a short rest, then resumed the journey again. But this time they kept with the freight wagon, and they had to travel more slowly to accommodate the pace of the horses to the slower gait of the mules drawing the heavy vehicle.

They made a light supper, and drank sparingly of the little water that remained, doling out the smallest possible quantity to the horses and mules, which greedily thrust their tongues even against the wet sides of the pails, after all the fluid was sucked up.

“Now for the night journey,” said Tanker Ike, and they started off, with the moon shining from a clear sky.

It was a trip that would have been wonderfully interesting to the boys had there not been the worry about the water. As it was, they enjoyed it at first, for in the cool, moon-lit darkness they did not suffer from thirst. But when daylight came, and the sun began to mount into the heavens, pouring down considerable heat on them, their tortures began.

Tanker Ike served out the water with sparing hand. The animals were given barely enough to wet their parched mouths, and the boys and two men got but little more. They made all the speed they could, which was not much, for the wagon held them back.

“Don’t eat much,” cautioned Ike as they stopped for a mid-day lunch. “You’ll not be so thirsty then.”

But even refraining from food did not seem to make much difference, and as the day wore on and the supply of water became lower and lower, with a consequent reduction of the ration, the sufferings of the boys grew acute.

“Oh, for a good glass of ice water,” sighed Bony.

“Dry up!” commanded Nat.

“I can’t be any drier than I am now,” responded the bony lad.

Meanwhile, Tanker Ike had been anxiously scanning the horizon. He appeared worried, and Jack, seeing this, asked him:

“Do you think we ought to be at the river now?”

“We ought to, yes, but we’re not,” was his answer. “I’m afraid I’ve gotten off the trail. I don’t see any familiar landmarks, yet I was sure I took the right route.”

He called a halt and consulted with Mexican Pete. That individual was of the same opinion as Ike—that they were on the wrong trail.

“Well, there’s no help for it,” said the plainsman. “We’ll have to go back a ways. I’m sorry, boys. It’s my fault. It’s the first time I ever did a thing like that.”

“Oh, mistakes will happen,” said Jack, and he tried to speak cheerfully, but his voice was husky and his throat was parched.

They turned around, the horses seeming unwilling to retrace their steps, and they were beginning to get restive, as were the mules.

“The last of the water,” announced Tanker Ike at dusk that evening, when they halted for a short meal. “We’ll have to push on with all speed to-night. If we don’t find water in the morning——”

He did not finish, but they all knew what he meant.

That night was one of fearful length, it seemed. As it wore on, and the parched throats of the travelers called for water where there was none, it became a torture.

Morning came, and the sun blazed down hotter than ever. The horses and mules acted as if crazed, but they were urged on relentlessly. The tongues of Jack and his comrades began to get thick in their mouths. Those of the animals were hanging out, and foam was falling from their lips where the bits chafed.

At noon, though Tanker Ike strained his eyes for a sight of the Shoshone River or for some water hole, there was no sign of either. On and on they pushed, trying to swallow to relieve their terrible thirst.

Suddenly the horse which Sam rode gave a leap forward, and then began to go around in a circle.

“That’s bad,” murmured Ike in a low voice. “He’s beginning to get locoed from want of water.”

He urged his own beast up to Sam’s, and gave the whirling animal a cut with the quirt. That stopped it for a while, and they went on.

Mexican Pete and Tanker Ike said little. They were men used to the hardships of the West, and it was not the first time they had suffered in crossing the desert. But it was hard for Jack and his chums. Nevertheless, they did not complain, but taking an example from the men, silently rode their horses. The poor beasts must have suffered dreadfully.

Tanker Ike, who was riding ahead, suddenly leaped off his horse. At first the boys thought he had seen a water hole, but he merely picked up some pebbles from the sand.

“Put some of these in your mouth and roll them around,” he said. “It will help to make the saliva come and keep down your thirst some.”

Mexican Pete followed his example, and the boys were about to do likewise, when Budge Rankin, reaching into his pocket, called out:

“What’smatterwithis?”

And he held out several packages.

CHAPTER XVIII
LOST IN THE BAD LANDS

The little diversion caused by the production of the gum and the relief it brought, helped them to pass over several miles in a comfortable fashion. But the terrible thirst did not leave them, and as for the horses and mules, they were half crazed, or “locoed,” as Tanker Ike expressed it.

How they traveled the remainder of that day none of them could tell exactly afterward. But they managed to keep on, and just as it was beginning to get dusk there was a sudden movement among the animals.

“They smell water,” cried Ike as the mules, drawing the heavy wagon, broke into a run. “They smell water! They do, for sure!”

And he was right. Half an hour later they came to a small water hole, and here they slaked their thirst, drinking slowly at first, and keeping the animals back from it by main force, until they had each been given a pailful, which they drank greedily. Then, after the life-giving fluid had had a chance to take off the first pangs of thirst, boys, men and horses drank more freely.

“Petrified persimmons!” exclaimed Nat. “I used to think ice-cream sodas were the best ever, but now I think a cupful of water from a mud hole is the finest thing that ever came over the pike. Let’s have another, boys!”

Their sufferings were at an end, and, their thirsts having been slaked, they ate a good meal and rested that night beside the water hole.

The next day they reached the Shoshone River and the end of the desert.

“Well, boys, now I’m going to leave you,” said Tanker Ike. “Long Gun will be here pretty soon, and he’ll show you where to get some big game. Then you’ll have to sort of shift for yourselves. Mexican Pete will take your camp stuff wherever you tell him to, and the rest depends on you.”

“Oh, I guess we’ll make out all right,” replied Jack.

“But what about that Indian, Long Gun?” asked Sam. “I thought he was to meet us here.”

“He will,” replied Tanker Ike confidently, and, sure enough, about an hour later there sauntered into the camp a tall, silent Indian guide, who, as he advanced to the fire, uttered but one word:

“How?”

“How?” responded the plainsman, and then he introduced the boys.

Long Gun merely grunted his salutations, and then seating himself near the fire, he took out his pipe and began to smoke.

“I wonder why he doesn’t pass it around,” whispered Nat to Jack.

“Pass what around?”

“His pipe? Isn’t that a peace pipe? I thought Indians always smoked the pipe of peace with their friends.”

Long Gun must have had good ears, for he looked up at Nat’s words. Then he smiled grimly.

“No peace pipe. Corn-cob pipe—plenty bad, too,” he said. “Yo’ got better one?”

“No, Long Gun, they don’t use pipes,” said Tanker Ike with a smile.

“Say, he understands English,” remarked Sam.

“That’s what,” put in Bony.

“Pity he wouldn’t,” remarked Ike. “He’s been guiding hunting parties of white men for the last ten years.”

Early the next morning Tanker Ike started back, taking a longer trail, that would not make it necessary for him to cross the desert. On the advice of Long Gun the boys and Mexican Pete started off up into the mountains, where they were to make a camp, and begin to hunt.

“Here good place,” remarked Long Gun that afternoon, as they came to a level clearing on the shoulder of the mountain. “Plenty much mule deer and sheep here. Like um jack-rabbits, or um bear? Plenty git here. We camp.”

“Hu! Good!” grunted Mexican Pete, and he began to unload the wagon. In a short time all the things Jack and the other boys had brought were on the ground, beside the two tents that formed part of their outfit.

“At last it begins to look like camping,” remarked Bony.

“It’ll look a good deal more like it if you’ll give us a correct imitation of a fellow helping put up a tent,” said Jack. “Every one get busy, now.”

Mexican Pete started back with the freight wagon, agreeing to come and get the camp stuff whenever word was sent to Tanker Ike or him.

They pitched in with a will, Budge helping to good advantage, and soon the canvas shelters were up, a fire built, and, under Jack’s direction, a meal was in progress, Long Gun volunteering to oversee this.

It was no novelty for the boys to sleep in a tent at camp, but as the night advanced they found that it was far from being summer, in spite of the hot days, and they were glad of heavy clothing and the blankets which they had brought along.

“Now for a hunt!” cried Jack the next morning, after a fine, hot breakfast. “Long Gun, I want to get a big mule deer.”

“I want a bear!” cried Sam.

“A big-horn sheep for mine!” was Nat’s stipulation.

“I’d like a mountain lion,” remarked Bony.

“How about you, Budge?” asked Jack.

“’FIkillanelkI’llbesatisfied,” was the answer.

“An elk!” exclaimed Jack. “I guess so! Why, I’d like that myself.”

“Well, I thought I might as well wish for something big while I was at it,” said Budge calmly, as he stowed away some fresh gum.

Under the guidance of Long Gun they mounted their horses and started out for their first hunt in that region. The Indian gave them some good advice about how to shoot, for going after big game was something new to them.

“If git lost, fire gun,” was the Indian’s final word of caution.

They rode on together for a mile or more, but got no sight of any game.

“I think we’d better separate,” suggested Jack. “We’ll never get anything if we stick together. Let’s try it alone. We can meet at some central point. Eh, Long Gun?”

“Hu!” grunted the Indian. “Git lost, maybe.”

“That’s right,” assented Bony. “I don’t want to go off alone.”

“Well, Nat and I will strike off to the left,” went on Jack. “You, Sam and Budge can keep with Long Gun and go to the right. We’ll meet by that big peak over there,” and he pointed to one that could easily be seen.

This was agreed to, the Indian giving his consent with a grunt, and then Jack and Nat started off alone.

“I hope we get something,” remarked Jack when they had traveled for a mile or more.

“Same here,” added Nat. “Let’s go closer to that bad lands section Long Gun told us of.”

“I’m afraid we’ll get lost,” objected Jack.

The bad lands, as they are called, are a peculiar tract covered with ten thousand little sawtooth peaks and cones of earth and sandstone, rising abruptly from the plain, and so closely set together, and so lacking in any distinctive objects to mark them, that one can wander about in them as in a maze. The two lads had been hunting on the edge of them, but had not ventured in.

“Oh, I guess we can find our way back, if we don’t go in too far,” said Nat.

“Well,” began Jack a little doubtfully, “I don’t know——” And then he saw something that made him change his mind.

“Look!” he whispered to Nat, and his chum, looking where Jack pointed, saw a big deer, just on the edge of the bad lands, and about to enter them.

“It’s a buck!” exclaimed Nat, bringing his rifle around.

“We’ll follow him and get a shot,” decided Jack, and they left their horses and began to stalk the big buck. Fortunately the wind was blowing from him to them, or the animal might have taken fright. As it was, they were not far behind him when he entered the maze of little peaks.

Several times they thought they were in a position to get a good shot, but each time the deer moved just as one or the other of the lads was drawing a bead on him.

Finally Jack got just the chance he wanted. Kneeling down he took quick aim and pulled the trigger. The report that followed nearly deafened him and Nat, so many were the echoes, but when the smoke cleared away they saw the big deer lying on the ground not far away.