CHAPTER XXIV
JIMMY GETS BACK
“Really, fellows, I’m beginning to feel as though I belonged to the Ranger Force of Texas myself,” exclaimed Don Stratton.
Dave Brandon, lolling in the grass close by, nodded. “I have that policeman feeling, too,” he drawled. “It’s becoming a settled habit with me to be on the constant lookout for cattle rustlers and other kinds of outlaws.”
“Same here,” declared Sam Randall, who was also reclining on the ground in a position of the greatest ease. “Order on the prairie must be kept at any cost. Say—it seems lonely without the Ranger bunch around, eh?”
“Yes,” said Dave, “we haven’t been on very many trips alone.”
Some hours earlier, the three lads had left the Ranger encampment for a ride across the prairie. The day was hot and in the field of deep blue sky a few long strips of hazy clouds seemed to be resting almost motionless.
Discovering a thick growth of timber which bordered a narrow, twisting stream, the boys had headed for it and dismounting in the shadowy depths tethered their mustangs. Then, lured on by the musical tinkle of running water, they had penetrated still deeper into the dense brake, finally reaching the shelving shore of the creek.
It was a delightfully cool and pleasant retreat after the heat and glare of the open prairie, and when their thirst was quenched with the clear, cool water, the lads found a little open space that, Dave declared, seemed to fairly invite them to seek repose.
Between the leafy masses overhead came streaks of brilliant sunshine which, by contrast, made the greenish depths about them all the more mysterious and inviting. From their position they could see the water bubbling and rippling past the moss-covered rocks that jutted above the surface, its never ceasing melody occasionally broken by the chattering of birds. Over the air, like incense, floated the fragrant perfumes of the thicket and the faint odor of the fresh cool water.
“How delightful,” mused Dave, in dreamy tones.
“I wonder if it’s safe to leave our mustangs over yonder,” remarked Sam, reflectively.
“I wonder if Bob and Tom will have any trouble in finding that young pianist again,” said Don.
“And I wonder if the mosquitoes will allow me to take a short siesta,” murmured Dave. “This is certainly a capital place to study insects at first hand, eh, fellows? Really, since seeing so many of varied kinds, I’m becoming interested in the creatures.”
“And I know that a good many of varied kinds have paid such keen attention to my face and hands that they must have been greatly interested in me,” chuckled Sam. “Gracious—I can’t keep my eyes from blinking!”
“Lazy thing,” drawled Don, in muffled tones.
Under the influence of the heat, the soft lulling notes of the running water, and fatigue, due to several hours in the saddle, the three lads were soon in a pleasantly somnolent state which made the things about them assume a curiously vague and unreal appearance. Probably but for the mosquitoes and the occasional visitation of other six-legged creatures, all would have quickly dropped off into a deep slumber, though, as it was, none lost consciousness for more than a few minutes at a time.
It was the usually active and alert Sam Randall who finally became aware of the fact that a series of sounds in the underbrush might mean something worth investigating.
“Hello! What’s that?” he murmured.
Sitting up the lad listened attentively, while his companions, their faces partly covered with handkerchiefs, lay drowsily regarding him.
“It’s mighty queer,” mused the Rambler. “Some wild inhabitants of the woods are evidently bound in this direction—the sounds are growing louder,—Dave—I say, Dave!” he reached over and touched the stout lad’s shoulder. “Wake up.”
“Lemme be,” protested the historian.
“If I do, something else may not,” returned Sam, rather grimly. “Visitors are on the way—don’t you hear them coming?”
Dave did, and he rose to a sitting posture so abruptly that Don at once followed his example, at the same time demanding in a startled tone: “For goodness’ sakes, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing just now, but there may be soon,” responded Sam cheerfully. “Dave, I guess Tom would be horrified at the thought of our being guilty of such an amateurish proceeding—all of us almost going to sleep at the switch.”
“Say, that sounds like a big bunch of something!” broke in Don, peering eagerly in the direction from whence the sounds of snapping twigs and loud rustling were coming. “What—what can it be—oh—Great Scott—look there!”
Several animals, resembling hogs, had suddenly emerged into view from behind a tangled mass of vegetation, and behind these were evidently a great number of others.
“Peccaries!” remarked Dave, briefly. “Fellows, I think we’d better be on the move.”
“Peccaries!” echoed Don, with a little tremor of alarm. He gazed at the animals with fascinated attention. Never before in his life had he seen any wild animal larger or more dangerous than a jack-rabbit, and, somehow, he felt thrilled at the sight of these savage denizens of the woods. He rather wondered, too, at the calmness of both Dave and Sam.
The peccary, with its big head, long snout and small ears, is not a handsome animal, and the actions of these particular specimens made them look still less attractive to the New Orleans lad.
“By George, fellows!” he blurted out suddenly, “they’re coming this way!”
As he spoke the leader of the advancing horde, a large, vicious-looking beast, uttered a peculiar, challenging grunt and increased his pace, whereupon the three began a hasty retreat.
“We’ll give ’em all the room they want!” panted Don.
The peccaries were now pouring into view in great numbers, pushing through and scrambling over obstructions with an apparent ease that the lad for the moment heartily envied.
“Ugh! what ugly looking customers!” he exclaimed, casting a quick glance over his shoulder. “And they actually have the nerve to follow us. Can you beat it?”
“I’m doing my best!” grinned Sam.
By this time the peccaries, probably emboldened by the precipitous flight of the boys, were pursuing them, and with an earnestness that caused Don to experience feelings of great uneasiness.
In a few minutes the three found themselves separated, and the New Orleans boy, to his great disgust and alarm, made the unpleasant discovery that the leader and several others had singled him out for special attention. Paying not the slightest heed to the branches and twigs which continually lashed his face and shoulders with stinging force he made progress at a rate of speed which a short time before he would have considered impossible. And every glance that the lad gave toward the solid, stocky wild Mexican hogs, and their eyes, which seemed to express a most disturbing degree of savageness, acted as an incentive for him to make still greater efforts.
“Gee whiz!” he breathed. “Maybe I won’t be jolly glad to get out of this!” He shuddered at the thought of coming in closer contact with the animals, though the revolver at his Belt served to bolster up his courage.
Meanwhile both Dave and Sam were having a similar experience. The Ramblers, however, more accustomed to situations in which courage and resourcefulness played a most important part, did not feel any of the thrills of alarm which assailed their companion. To them there was an element of grim humor in this retreat before the advancing horde of wild hogs.
“We might lead ’em right over to the Ranger encampment,” chuckled Sam, “and—— Great Scott!”
A loud shout coming from Don Stratton abruptly brought his sentence to a close. The lad had been succeeding admirably in keeping his lead, when a projecting root unfortunately caught his foot and sent him sprawling into the midst of a mass of bushes. It began to look as though the foremost of the peccaries would be upon the lad before he could extricate himself from his unpleasant position.
“Keep cool, old chap!” yelled Dave. “We’ll be over there in another moment!”
Both lads began struggling toward him with an energy and determination that sent the perspiration streaming over their faces.
“I guess this thing has gone far enough!” panted Dave. “We’ll give them a jolly good scare!”
“It doesn’t pay to be too good-natured to peccaries,” said Sam.
Don Stratton passed through some decidedly unpleasant moments before he was once more on his feet, and by this time Dave and Sam were not far away, and neither were the wild hogs.
“Just leave them to us, Don!” cried Dave. “We’ve declared war—no—don’t shoot—keep on moving!” Before he ceased speaking the stout lad had drawn out his revolver. Don saw the weapon, its muzzle pointed upward, flashing in the gray half-light of the woods. Then came a spurt of vivid flame and a loud startling report which echoed weirdly, while a thin wisp of bluish smoke floated lazily off among the bushes.
“Hooray! hooray!” yelled Don.
The advance was instantly halted. Frightened squeals and grunts came from the animals, some of which in their wild efforts to escape scrambled over one another’s backs.
“Let ’em hear a few more!” shouted Don. Disregarding Dave’s shake of the head he pulled out his own revolver and, with a newly-awakened enthusiasm for sport, began blazing away. Crack! crack! In rapid succession the shots rang out until every chamber was emptied and a cloud of smoke hovered in the air.
Sam, with a broad smile, for good measure fired a single shot, though it was not at all necessary, for the peccaries in full flight were tearing and crashing through the underbrush, the noise of their passage rapidly becoming fainter.
The boys watched until the last form was lost to view and then burst out into a roar of laughter.
“Ha, ha!” gurgled Sam. “That fusillade sounded like a pretty good imitation of a Mexican Revolution, didn’t it?”
“Well, rather!” cried Don. “Awful forward things, aren’t they? Gee! but for that confounded root I’d have been all right.” His face wore a vastly relieved expression.
“We have had another proof that naturalists speak the truth,” remarked Dave. “They tell us that peccaries are often very bold, and attack people without provocation—they do!”
“Yes,” grinned Don, “for we never said a single word to them.”
The three began forcing their way through the thicket, soon reaching their mustangs. Leading the animals toward the edge of the woods they were presently about to mount when Sam’s loud exclamation: “Hello—look, fellows!” made his companions pause.
A distant horseman, riding at a speed which seemed to indicate that he was in the greatest hurry, was riding over the plain.
The rider evidently observed the boys at about the same time for he immediately changed his course, heading toward them.
“He doesn’t look like a bandit,” remarked Dave, with a smile.
“Nor a cowboy either,” said Sam.
“Nor a Texas Ranger,” supplemented Don. “Wonder why he’s in such an all-fired rush—I don’t see any peccaries chasing him!”
Quite interested the three stared hard toward the approaching horseman, uttering a hearty salutation when a short time later he reined up in their midst.
He was a tall, stern-looking man, though the lines on his face were relaxed by a curious smile as his eyes traveled over the group.
“’Pon my word!” he exclaimed, in bluff, hearty tones—“it must be—yes, I’m sure of it—some of the Ramblers young Clifton told me about.”
“Good-afternoon, Colonel Sylvester,” said Dave.
A twinkle came into the colonel’s eyes; then with a sudden change of tone he said: “Yes, that’s my name. Boys, you must have heard some pistol shots a short time ago. Have you any idea where——”
“Yes, sir, we have,” spoke up Don with a chuckle.
“Peccaries!” explained Dave.
A broad smile illuminated the ranchman’s face as he listened to a description of their experience.
“I was on my way to the Rangers’ quarters when a series of very faint reports reached my ears,” he explained. “I judged they came from this direction and hurried over, thinking that perhaps the Rangers were having a scrimmage with a band of outlaws. Boys! I have a bit of news for you”—the colonel’s face was beaming—“your friends are returning to the encampment this afternoon bringing my nephew, Jimmy Raymond, with them.”
“Fine, splendid!” cried Dave. “Ever since the boys told me about Jimmy I’ve wanted to meet him.”
“And I’ll be jolly glad to see the pianist, too!” exclaimed Sam. “Yes, sir—we’re going right over to the Rangers’ quarters now.”
“And I’ll bet Tom will have a whole lot to tell us,” grinned Don.
The lads sprang into the saddle, and followed the ranchman, who was already cantering off.
The eight miles which lay between them and the Rangers’ hut was covered at a good rate of speed.
Policemen Cole and Cooper were quite surprised to see Colonel Sylvester swinging down upon their quarters and so expressed themselves.
“Too bad the Sarge isn’t here,” said Fred Cole. “What’s the latest news, Colonel?”
“That Jimmy Raymond will be here shortly,” answered the ranchman.
Both of the Rangers were greatly pleased at this piece of news.
“It’s a mighty good thing,” declared Cole. “That country across the river is surely no place for him.”
“No, indeed,” said the colonel. “And I owe Tom Clifton and the other lad a big debt of gratitude for getting him safely away.”
“This is certainly some crowd of boys, all right,” laughed Cooper, taking charge of the visitor’s horse.
As a rule Colonel Sylvester was not a man to show his feelings, but on this occasion he made little effort to conceal his growing impatience. Restlessly he paced to and fro while the men and boys busied themselves in the preparation of the evening meal.
When the after-glow still lingered, touching up the landscape with mellow notes of color, they all took their places around a crackling bed of red-hot coals and began to partake of a meal, which, to appetites sharpened by outdoor life, tasted wonderfully good.
The colonel was as much pleased with the boys as they were with him, and he asked them many questions regarding their various trips.
“It’s a capital idea!” he declared. “Traveling broadens the mind, and, besides this, through life you will always have pleasant memories to look back upon.”
The light slowly faded from the sky; cooler shades began stealing over the prairie, and dusk was fast approaching when over the air came a sound which brought the ranchmen and the others instantly to their feet—the faint clatter of horses’ hoofs.
“At last!” murmured Colonel Sylvester.
“Yes, I reckon they’re coming all right,” declared Roy Cooper.
Walking quickly to a point beyond the thick grove of cottonwoods the entire party peered earnestly over the great stretch of plain, now growing dim and mysterious in the rapidly waning light.
“Hooray! There they come!” cried Don.
Three horsemen, mere patches of dark against the somber background, were seen approaching. On they came uttering lusty shouts, which, leaving no room for doubt as to their identity, made the colonel give vent to a few words expressive of the greatest satisfaction.
When the tired and dusty travelers at last clattered up, Jimmy Raymond was the first to dismount. With a whoop of joy he sprang toward his uncle and man and boy clasped hands.
“My! but I am glad to see you, Jimmy!” exclaimed the ranchman.
“Not any gladder than I am to see you!” cried the lad.
Yes, the meeting between uncle and nephew was a most cordial one. If Jimmy Raymond had learned some valuable lessons by hard experience the ranchman had too. The fact was brought forcibly to his mind that sternness and unyielding insistence on obedience by elders over those in their charge sometimes approach pretty close to the line of tyranny. He was beginning to realize that Jimmy, like most boys, could be led, but not driven.
He enthusiastically praised the Ramblers and told them he could never thank them enough for the great work they had performed. Tom’s face continually glowed with pride and pleasure.
Of course Dave and the others were astonished to learn about Cranny Beaumont’s remarkable exhibition of self-denial and speculated upon it with the greatest interest.
After a refreshing wash in the cool water of the creek the lads gathered about the fire to enjoy a well-earned meal and tell their stories. Naturally Jimmy Raymond’s came first, and when Colonel Sylvester could think of no more questions to ask him, Tom launched forth. And his graphic description of the events through which they had recently passed brought many and varied comments from his intensely interested auditors.
The colonel was highly delighted at the change which had come over his nephew, and to hear of his resolution to return to Brownsville and work hard at his studies.
“One good thing, anyway,” he remarked as they sat around the cheerful blaze, now a little oasis of light amid the deep, somber shadows of the night, “in taking you to be a boy, Jimmy, I discovered you to be a man.”
Jimmy laughed heartily.
“Thanks, uncle,” he said. “And in thinking myself a man I discovered myself to be a boy.”
“Say, if them two sayin’s ain’t pretty good, them there rustlers didn’t turn another trick the other day,” remarked Roy Cooper.
Tom Clifton’s eyes instantly sought the colonel’s. His interrogative glance brought a quick response.
“Yes, what you saw, Tom, was the work of those bandits. Quite a big haul they made, too. My cattle? No! Some belonging to a live-stock company.”
“And look here, Tom,” broke in Ranger Cole, “when are you going to join Sergeant Howell’s detail over by the river?”
“We’ll start off the very first thing to-morrow morning,” cried Tom. “Eh, fellows?”
And even Dave Brandon joined in the chorus of hearty assents that followed.