The saddle boys on the plains

“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!