Chet’s second thought was, naturally, for the horses. If anything happened to their mounts out here on the plains, they would be in a bad way indeed. They were all of thirty miles from the Grub Stake trail, and if that trail were intersected with a line running directly south from this camp, such intersection would be about midway of the distance between Silver Run and Grub Stake.
In other words, once back upon the trail the boys would have a choice of something like a hundred mile ride to either town. And if they had to walk it!
With his rifle at “ready” Chet stumbled away from the edge of the water-hole until he could get a free sight of the plain on this side. He made out the horses almost immediately. They were feeding contentedly and nothing seemed to have happened to them.
Chet raised his voice again and shouted for his chum. There was no reply, and the boy became more and more anxious as the moments passed. Where could Dig have gone?
It was just then that Chet heard a strange sound. It must have been going on ever since he was aroused; only his senses had been too dulled with sleep to notice it.
A throbbing sound, that was steadily growing fainter. The boy suddenly came to a sensible conclusion regarding it, and he dropped to his knees and put an ear to the ground.
Horses’ hoofs! No doubt of it. The thud of them over the sodded prairies was rapidly decreasing. The horses were now some miles away from the water-hole.
What did it mean? Had an attempt been made to raid the camp again, and had Dig driven the raiders away? Was it he who had fired the shot that awakened Chet? The latter turned back again with a terrible sinking feeling at his heart.
Perhaps there had been a fight and his chum was shot!
Chet Havens was much exercised. He ran to and fro in the camp, trying to find some trace of his chum. There were the saddles—he had used his own for a pillow; and at this time he did not notice anything else missing.
He shouted again and again, but got no reply. Then he bethought him of the rifle, and he put the heavy weapon to his shoulder and fired three times in the air.
There sounded a squeal from the other side of the water-hole. The horses had snorted, too; but Chet paid them no further attention. He started around the piece of water, yelling for his chum at the top of his voice.
He heard Dig calling after a minute. Then Chet saw him standing by the water’s edge and leaning on his gun.
“For goodness’ sake! what’s the matter with you?” gasped Chet, reaching the other lad. And then he uttered a second startled exclamation. Dig’s face was bloody.
“What have you been doing?” demanded Chet again.
“That’s this blamed old rifle,” snarled Dig. “See what it did?” and he removed the handkerchief with which he was swabbing his brow and showed a deep cut. “That’s what it did to me!”
“How?” gasped Chet.
“Kicked!”
“But for goodness’ sake! did you try to put the butt against your forehead when you fired?”
“I don’t know what I did. I was excited. I saw that man on horseback leading the other horse—”
“What man?” interrupted his chum.
“Oh, be still!” exclaimed Dig, with great disgust. “Do you s’pose I stopped to ask him his name and where he came from? I up with the gun to fire a shot to warn you—”
“That must have been what woke me,” said Chet.
“And it’s what put me to sleep,” said Dig, grimly. “I don’t know what happened after this old cannon tried to knock my head off.”
“Tell me what happened before,” urged Chet anxiously.
Dig explained how he had come to start around the pool. He had heard a noise while on this side and, stooping down, he had seen a horseman between him and the background of the sky. The rider was leading a second horse, and was moving quietly toward their encampment.
At first Dig had not known what to do—whether to return and awaken Chet softly or to keep watch of the man on horseback. And then Dig had seen a man afoot running up from the camp.
“The scoundrel was carrying something. We’ve been robbed, Chet. Is my saddle all right?”
“Yes. But he might have taken something—”
He clapped his hand to his breast as he spoke. Dig did not notice his agitation and went on with his story.
“Then’s when I let go with old Betsy here. And whew! can’t she kick some? She knocked me cold, and I just woke up.” Then he turned to peer into Chet’s face, demanding: “Say, boy! what’s the matter with you?”
Chet was absolutely pallid. He lips parted, but were so dry that for a moment he could not speak. Finally he blurted out:
“They—they’ve got ’em!”
“Got what?” gasped Dig. “Who’s got ’em?”
“The deeds.”
“Are you crazy, Chet? Nobody’s got those deeds. They’re in your pocket—”
“No!” cried Chet wildly. “They’re gone!”
“Nonsense!”
Chet had drawn open his shirt and turned it so that Dig could easily feel the empty pocket inside. He could only mutter:
“Whew! what bad luck! what bad luck! Don’t you think mebbe you’ve lost ’em, Chet? Dropped ’em out, maybe?”
“I am afraid not,” returned his chum, getting control of himself again. “If you saw one of those men coming from the direction of our camp—”
“Well, he had something besides papers in his hands,” grunted Dig. “Come on! let’s go back and see just how bad things are.”
“No matter what other damage they did,” Chet declared, “the loss of the deeds father entrusted to my care is the only really serious loss. I feel dreadfully, Dig. He trusted us, and I let ’em get away from me. And after having had one warning, too!
“Yes! two warnings. Amoshee—John Peep—told me they were on the trail after us.”
“Who were after us? What are you talking about?” demanded the puzzled Digby.
Chet told him as they hastened around the pool to the camp and the horses.
“Well! of all the stingy guys!” exclaimed Dig. “By all the hoptoads that were chased out of Ireland! you’re the meanest fellow, to keep this all to yourself. Hadn’t the first idea that we were being trailed by two villains. Cricky!”
“You talk as if it were fun,” said Chet in disgust. “What shall I say to father? He’ll blame me—but that doesn’t so much matter. I tell you, Dig, I’ve got to get those deeds back. This fellow is after the old Crayton claim and he’ll get the deeds changed, somehow, and get Mr. Morrisy to sign them, and then father will lose what he’s already invested in the claim. I tell you, I must get them back!” he repeated, almost in tears.
“Huh!” grunted Digby, “you’ve got it wrong.”
“Have what wrong?” asked Chet, surprised.
“You say you have to get the papers back. Wrong. We have to get ’em back. I’m with you, Chet, no matter how big the job is.”
“Oh, thank you, Dig! I know you’ll stand by me,” Chet declared. “We’ll have to start as soon as possible after these thieves. We must pick up their trail and chase them.”
The boys reached the camp at this moment. There were a few live coals in the bed of the fire, and Dig stirred them with his foot and then threw on some light fuel. Soon the blaze sprang up and the light flickered over the spot.
Their saddles had not been touched. Chet had already made sure of that. His own blanket was on the ground where he had flung it off when he arose, awakened by the rifle shot; but Dig’s had disappeared.
“By the last hoptoad that was chased out of Ireland!” yelled Dig. “The dirty rascals have swiped my blanket—And the skillet! Holy mackerel, Chet! they’ve taken the coffee-pot, too, and all the tinware. That would be just like that Tony Traddles! The great, hulking, no-account brute!”
“No use calling him names,” said Chet grimly. “They’ve pretty well cleaned us out. But the worst is the deeds,” and he sighed.
“I wonder they didn’t take the horses,” exclaimed Dig.
“Your seeing them and firing the gun probably saved our mounts for us,” his chum said.
“But if I’d stayed in the camp they wouldn’t have cleaned us out,” said Dig thoughtfully.
“Not so sure. They might have crept up on you and knocked you on the head.”
“Instead of which that old Betsy gun had to knock me over. Just as bad. It knocked me out for the time being, and those scoundrels got away.”
“They must have been close in, watching you and me, when you started around the pond,” Chet explained. “We know what Tony is—a bad man. The fellow with him is probably worse. They wouldn’t think anything of knocking us both out if they hadn’t got what they wanted without.”
“Well, what’s done is done,” Dig said mournfully. “Now what shall we do?”
“We can’t do much till daylight. It’s no fun following a horse trail in the night—and those horses started on the gallop. They will be tiring their mounts out while ours are resting. We’ll lose nothing by waiting till dawn,” Chet said, with confidence.
Digby was strongly disgusted with himself. He felt that, to a degree, he was to be blamed for both raids upon their camp.
“The first time I fell plumb asleep,” he said. “And now I went away from the fire for a foolish reason. Just for a drink! But I declare, Chet, I don’t believe I would have done it if I’d known there was any reason to suspect a return of those thieves.”
“I blame myself, Dig. I should have told you,” admitted Chet.
“Just the same, maybe I wouldn’t have believed you. To think of a man’s coming right into the camp and taking those papers out of your shirt!”
“I reckon I sleep mighty hard,” said Chet thoughtfully. “I know mother has hard work to wake me up in the morning, sometimes. A good hunter ought to sleep lightly.”
“There are no medals on either of us,” commented Dig. “Those follows must be laughing at us.”
“We’ll make them laugh on the other side of their mouths if we catch them!” declared Chet, with anger.
“How?”
“I’m very sure they are not so well mounted as we are. Poke and Hero are two of the best horses owned in Silver Run—you know that.”
“Sure!”
“And it stands to reason the thieves are not so well armed as we are.”
“Whew! you don’t mean to chase them and shoot them, Chet?” demanded the startled Digby.
“Of course not! But I’m glad to know that we’ve got rifles that will probably shoot a good deal farther than any weapons they may carry.”
“Huh!” said Dig, scarcely understanding. Then he inquired: “Do you suppose, Chet, that these were the chaps that startled that wolf yesterday, and spoiled our buffalo hunt?”
“I shouldn’t be at all surprised,” said Chet.
“Ho! then let’s catch and hang ’em,” grinned Digby. “No punishment is too bad for them.”
But neither boy could extract many smiles from the situation. As it chanced, the thieves had overlooked their remaining piece of deer meat. Their pocket drinking-cups were left them, too. They toasted the meat over the fire and washed it down with water, thus making an early and frugal breakfast.
It was growing faintly light in the east by this time, foretelling an early summer dawn. Dig brought in the horses and watered them, while Chet filled the canteens.
There was not much remaining of their outfit to make ready for departure. The thieves had not left them a single cooking utensil; but they had coffee, condensed milk, pepper and salt.
“That blamed Tony Traddles is just mean enough to do a thing like this,” Dig declared. “But we’ll get square yet!”
The boys had an idea as to which direction the two midnight raiders had headed. It was at the western end of the pool that Dig had seen the one in the saddle waiting for his comrade.
“If they intend to make any use of those deeds father intrusted to me,” Chet said, “they will hike out for Grub Stake.”
“Good-bye to the buffaloes, then,” sighed Dig. “We won’t see them again.”
“I don’t suppose so,” returned his chum. “But getting those deeds to Mr. John Morrisy is of more importance than shooting the big bull. Father trusted us to do his errand, and we’ve got to do it.”
“How’ll you make those fellows give up the deeds, Chet?” queried Dig, in wonder.
“I don’t know; but I’ll find a way when we catch up with them, don’t you fret.”
When the horses were saddled and ready, Chet went ahead, leading Hero, and found the place where the second man had mounted and the two riders had wheeled and galloped away from the camp they had robbed.
Chet Havens was quite a sensible lad for his age, and he secretly wondered why the thieves had been so afraid of two boys. It scarcely seemed reasonable that they should be so fearful.
“Unless it was Dig’s rifle shot that scared them off,” he thought. “Perhaps the men are not prepared to face rifles. Yet, I am quite sure they were stalking the buffaloes as well as we. They could not expect to shoot such beasts with pop-guns.”
It was easy to follow the trail left by the riders for some miles. The hoofs of their horses cut the sod sharply, and threw up bits of turf as the animals scurried over the ground.
The route the thieves had followed was across a range quite unfamiliar to the chums from Silver Run. It led almost due west, and the trail was possibly parallel with the trace leading to Grub Stake.
It puzzled Chet at first why the men had not struck out immediately for the Grub Stake trail. But after riding for about five miles, and finding that the trail was very plain, he suddenly discovered the meaning of it.
The thieves had ridden down the sloping bank of a wide but easily forded stream, in the shallows of which the trace disappeared.
“They’ve taken to the water, but we don’t know which way they’ve gone,” cried Dig, in disgust.
“It’s a fact that we don’t know for sure,” Chet returned thoughtfully. “But I think it’s a trick.”
“Of course it’s a trick—and one meant to throw us off the track. We’ll have a nice time searching along these banks to find the place where they came out of the water.”
“That’s right—if we searched,” answered Chet, as Hero drank his fill.
“What do you mean? You going to give up?”
“Not much!” exclaimed the other young trail hunter.
“What you going to do, then?” demanded the puzzled Dig.
“I’m going to fool them. I don’t know where they left the stream, and I don’t care. There is one thing I am sure of.”
“Huh?”
“They’re going to Grub Stake. I bet they want to get there before we do. That man—whoever he is—is planning to make some use of those deeds he stole from me. So, take it from me, boy, they are not going far out of the straight way to Grub Stake.”
“Whew! that’s reasonable, old man.”
“Then we’ll cross here and keep right on. We’ll bear off gradually toward the regular trail to Grub Stake. I bet we pick up the trace of these two rascals before long.”
“Long head! Long head!” declared Dig admiringly. “Come on! these horses will drink so much water they’ll be water-logged and can’t travel. Hike out o’ there, Poke, you villain!”
The boys cantered through the shoals and out upon the other bank. When they reached the upper edge of the river bank Chet rose in his stirrups and swept the plain all about for some sign of moving objects. The thieves had not taken his field-glasses, for they had been in the pocket of his saddle.
A little to the northwest, but far, far away, the boy saw two black specks. They did not look bigger than buzzards, but Chet Havens thought they were the mounted men. He passed the glasses to Dig.
“Look at them, old man,” he said. “We don’t want to chase way over there for nothing.”
“Whew!” quoth Dig. “We couldn’t go for nothing, Chet. Either they are the men we are after, or it’s game that we need. Don’t overlook the fact that we’ve got to eat. Chewing dry coffee, nor yet drinking condensed milk, doesn’t appeal to me.”
“I don’t know but you’re right,” agreed Chet. “Much as I want to overtake those miserable thieves, we must not overlook the fact that we have to eat to live.”
“That sounds good,” grinned Dig. “Mother says I just live to eat. There is a difference.”
The boys rode on, but the two objects they had seen disappeared in a coulie. Later they saw them and identified them as two grazing animals.
“Of course, not the buffaloes,” said Chet doubtfully.
“Why! they went the other way!” Dig declared. “Isn’t that so?”
“We suppose so. Hard to tell what a frightened bunch of animals will do, though I supposed they would continue to graze northeast.”
“Never mind. We’ll see what those things are if they’ll let us get near enough.”
It wasn’t long before the boys identified the moving objects (of which they caught sight now and then as they cantered over the rolling prairie) as a pair of elks. The spreading horns of the male were quite easily seen.
“If we get one of those, boy, it’s going to be no cinch,” declared Digby Fordham. “That’s a big buck.”
“We’ll try, at least,” said his chum. “If you don’t at first succeed, you know—”
“Oh, yes! I know,” returned Dig. “Suck eggs! But I’m not fond of ’em in that way. Take it from me, I don’t care to ‘try, try again’ for those elks. We’re soon going to be just as hungry as ever Robinson Crusoe was. Fix it so I get a shot at one of ’em from a rest, Chet.”
“Well! don’t rest the butt of your rifle against your forehead again,” advised Chet, glancing at the smear of blood that had oozed through the handkerchief Dig had bound about his brow.
“Watch me!” growled Dig. “I won’t shoot this old gun again without being mighty sure that she isn’t going to kick me.”
When they came to the next water-hole he dismounted and bathed the wound on his forehead. It was a bad gash, and the forehead was sore and bruised all about the wound.
“Talk about being wounded in the war,” said Dig grimly, as Chet tied the handkerchief again. “I ought to get a pension. My uncle carried this old rifle for three years in the war, and I bet I’m the only one that’s ever been wounded with it.”
“And that at the wrong end,” chuckled Chet. “But didn’t your uncle ever shoot at the enemy?”
“I don’t believe so. He was too tender-hearted. It’s a family trait,” said Dig gravely.
“I bet you don’t show any of that tenderness of heart if we come within shooting distance of those elks,” said Chet, climbing back into the saddle.
“Now, aren’t you just right?” proclaimed Digby.
They galloped on, seeing the elks from the next rise not more than three miles away. How the graceful creatures had come out here on the plain was something of a mystery—especially without more of their tribe.
Now Chet took the lead and governed the approach to the feeding place of the elks. There were no thickets, but there were several mounds behind which the young hunters could screen themselves.
Yet none of these shelters was near enough to enable the boys to get within easy rifle shot. They tried one mound, dismounting and lying flat, to rest the barrels of their guns over the top of the rise.
But the distance was too great. Dig wanted to try it, but Chet forbade him to shoot.
“The elks are travelling away from us. If you wounded one, it would gallop farther and farther away. Then we’d likely lose the game entirely. If we could get around ahead of them it would do to risk a long shot. But of course they are feeding up wind.”
“What will we do, Chet? Don’t forget that starvation stares us in the face.”
“Pull in your belt a little more,” grinned Chet.
“Whew! if I pull it in much tighter,” declared Dig, “I’ll cut myself in two. I’ve got a waist like a wasp already. My stomach thinks my throat’s cut. I tell you, boy, we’ve got to eat!”
Dig was much in earnest. It was pressing close to noon and their breakfast—and the previous evening’s meal—had not been very satisfactory. Chet was just as earnest in his desire to kill game; yet, he would not have started this way had he not at first thought that the elks were mounted men.
Being on the ground, however, he set his wits to winning out against the cunning of the game. He and Dig rode around several mounds and finally came to a shallow valley between two of the small eminences, and through which they might ride right out upon the little prairie on which the elks grazed.
“And that’s the best we can do, Dig, I believe,” Chet declared. “We couldn’t possibly steal up within sure rifle shot, afoot. Got to trust to our horses being quicker on their feet than the elks for the first few jumps. And don’t let your rifle smash your face again!”
“Let’s get down and cinch up,” said Dig nervously. “If our saddles should slip—”
“Hold on! hold on, boy!” advised Chet, under his breath. “Don’t you have an attack of elk fever at the critical moment.”
“Stop talking, and come on,” urged Dig, pulling up on Poke’s straps until the black mustang squealed. “Do hush, you black abomination! Don’t you give us away.”
Into the saddles again, and the boys looked at each other. It was to be a race of a quarter of a mile or more before they came within rifle range of the feeding elks. Chet nodded and Dig returned it. Then they gave their mounts free rein, and Hero and Poke dashed forward.
They went through the cut between the hills with a rush, their quick feet padding lightly on the sod. Out upon the prairie they debouched, gradually separating so as to have a better chance at the elks.
The latter kept their heads down, feeding. The patter of the horses’ hoofs upon the sod was almost soundless. The boys were coming up behind the elks and in another minute—
Dig began to raise his rifle slowly; Poke was running with free bridle, for his master could guide him by the pressure of his knees as well as by pulling on the bit.
But Dig was too early. They were not to come so easily upon the elks. Of a sudden the grazing animals jerked up their heads and glanced around. It did not seem as though they could have seen the hunters; but they caught the vibration of the pounding hoofs.
They were off like darts, swerving from the direction the boys came, stretching out to reach the swell of the nearest hillock.
“Come on!” yelled Chet, and pounded Hero in the flank with his heels.
The horses seemed to enter into the spirit of the chase. They thundered up the rise at the heels of the elks. Dig wanted to shoot at once; but Chet begged him not to.
“You’ll be shooting right into the air as we go up hill!” he shouted. “You’ll shoot clean over their heads, Dig.”
“I don’t want to lose my chance as I did with those buffaloes,” returned Dig, much worried.
“Wait till we’re over the rise. Then we can shoot down on them—”
But Chet was mistaken. The elks flew over the rise. It would have been a long shot had they tried it then. On rushed the bay and the black, both as eager in the chase as their young masters.
Chet fairly rose in his stirrups to see over the round top of the mound. He saw the tossing horns of the bigger elk; and then—he saw something else!
“Dig! Dig! they’re here!” he gasped, and almost fell out of his saddle, he was so amazed.
Chet was taller than his chum and he had risen in his stirrups, while Dig lay out on the black’s neck and cheered him on. So the first named lad saw over the rise and out upon the plain.
The two elks were hammering down the slope, their slender legs doubling under their round bodies, and stretching out again with almost bewildering swiftness—like the driving-rods of fast-turning engines. But they were a good shot, if not an easy one, for the boys were not directly behind them. A ball, directed properly, would have raked either beast from forward of the hip into, and through, the heart. This was not to be, however, Chet and Dig were destined never to knock over those elks.
What arrested Chet’s hand was the sight of a herd of animals grazing on the plain, and almost as close to him as the elks. The sight of them brought the cry to his lips:
“Dig! Dig! they’re here!”
“Who are here? Those rascals?” Dig yelled, thinking first of the thieves who had robbed them the night before.
But the next moment he saw the grazing herd-the sixteen buffaloes!
“After them! Quick!” shrieked Dig, and spurred his black.
He almost seemed to lift Poke off his feet when he struck the tiny spurs into him. Poke shot ahead of the bay and Dig rose in his stirrups.
He was not as good a shot as Chet; but he could not miss that brown body which was squarely in front of him. It was not the big bull Dig aimed at; that animal, in fact, he did not see. But the creature in line with his rifle barrel was big enough.
It was a well grown bull, and when it raised its head and swung the huge bulk of it to see the charging boys, it looked formidable. The chums were tearing down upon the buffaloes, losing sight of the elks entirely. The nobler game made them ignore the other.
Naturally, the elks charging down into the herd startled the buffaloes before the boys themselves were seen. Most of the buffaloes sprang away on a gallop.
But the young bull for which Dig aimed was too late. The boy fitted the heavy rifle-stock snugly into his shoulder—no chance for it to kick him this time—and fired almost over Poke’s ears at the huge brown body.
He made a bull’s-eye. The thud of the bullet could be heard plainly by both furiously riding boys. But he did not hit a vital spot, having aimed too far back of the foreleg.
Chet had checked Hero, riding to give to his chum all the room he needed. The other buffaloes scuttled across the plain so rapidly that the bay—heavily loaded as he was—could scarcely have caught them and so given his master a shot. The stricken bull did not follow his mates, but wheeled on Poke and, head down, charged him and his rider.
“Look out, Dig!” shouted Chet in superfluous warning.
The buffalo moved with surprising swiftness; but even at that Dig could have easily got in a second shot had the mechanism of his rifle not fouled for a second.
That second was long enough to put the boy in danger. For the charge of the wounded buffalo meant peril.
Chet yelled and urged Hero after the angry animal. The bull buffalo was not blind with rage, whatever else he was. He turned as nimbly as a cat, in spite of his bulk, and was fairly upon the black horse as the latter wheeled to escape.
“Shoot him, Chet!” begged Dig, dropping his rifle to save himself from a fall as Poke whirled. The mustang leaped away, but the maddened bull was right at his heels. Of course, given a few moments, Poke could have distanced the buffalo; but at the time, the situation was serious.
Chet, on Hero, came thundering along upon the buffalo’s off side. The boy had not raised his rifle to his shoulder, but he was alert.
“Shoot!” again begged Dig, in alarm.
Chet forced the snorting bay up beside the charging buffalo. He leaned over suddenly, clapping the rifle-butt to his shoulder, and looked over the sights directly at a patch behind the fore-shoulder.
When the rifle spoke the huge head of the buffalo was almost under Poke’s belly. The buffalo ran with his nose barely clearing the ground. Now his head dropped, struck into the sod, and so swiftly was he going that the momentum caused the bull to turn a complete somersault.
The ball had gone through the buffalo’s heart, and he was instantly dead. The boys pulled in their horses to blow, and to look at their wonderful quarry.
“Whew!” wheezed Dig, rather shakily, “that was great, old man. I believe he’d have had me and Poke.”
“Oh, Dig! isn’t it a great kill?” gasped Chet, just as excited as he could be. “To think of us killing a big buffalo like this!”
“Lots I had to do with it,” grumbled his chum. “It was your shot brought him down.”
“But if it hadn’t been for your wounding him, I don’t think he’d be lying here at all. They’re pretty tough creatures to kill, boy.”
“Cricky! I should say they were. And as wicked as lions or bears. Whew! I feel as though I’d had a narrow escape, Chet.”
“I reckon you have!”
“And that confounded old rifle! It fouled just as I tried to work the lever.”
“Well! let’s be glad it was no worse. And, Dig! we’ve got the buffalo—the first buffalo we ever shot.”
“You’re a wonder, Chet,” declared his generous chum. “You put that ball right where it would do the most good. I lost my head completely—I own up to that. Talk about elk fever! that creature looked as big as a house to me,” and Dig laughed.
“It is a mystery to me how such a big creature could be killed by only two bullets,” said Chet. They had dismounted now and stood beside the inert body of the buffalo bull. “I read, though, that some Indians when riding to kill a buffalo would force their ponies close up to the running beast and drive an arrow clear through his body. What do you know about that?”
“Don’t know anything about it,” returned Dig, with a whimsical look, “but I think that the fellow that told that ought to be woke up—he was lying on his back!”
“I don’t know about its being a dream. Before they got to fooling with the cast-off firearms of the white man, the Indian must have done a lot of killing with arrows and spears.”
“That’s all right. You can have such hardware if you want,” returned Dig. “Give me a rifle every time.”
“Even if it fouls in the breach?” chuckled Chet.
Every creature but themselves and their mounts had disappeared from the plain by this time. They straightened the dead beast out and then rolled it on its back.
Much as he deplored any delay at this time, Chet could not think of going on and leaving the hide of the buffalo. Butchering the huge creature would be hard work for two boys with their little experience in such work; but they needed a part of the animal for food.
Dig vowed he could eat it all—horns and hide—he was so hungry!
They picketed the horses, removed their own coats, and whetted their knives. It was difficult work to get the hide off the buffalo, for the carcass weighed all of six hundred pounds—all the weight the two boys could possibly roll on the clean sward. They were more than an hour in getting the hide clear; Dig was satisfied to give up the idea of saving the head for mounting, although Chet managed it so that the horns came with the hide.
“Say! that’ll be something to show ’em back home!” panted Dig, holding up the fore part of the hide. “Cricky, Chet! we ought to have been photographed beside of this beast. Whew! he looks bigger now he’s skinned than he did before. Wish somebody that needed it had all this meat.”
“I wish he did,” agreed Chet.
“But never mind,” said Dig, the next minute. “We need some of it right now. Wish we had something to boil the tongue in.”
But they opened the carcass to drain it (as well as it could be drained on the ground) and cut out several ribs for their own supper.
“Two meals together!” Dig declared. “I’ve got to catch up on my rations, Chet.”
There was a thicket near, and the boys gathered fuel and made a hot fire. They broiled the ribs on green withes, and, still having seasoning, they made a hearty repast, while the horses cropped the buffalo grass eagerly.
It was late afternoon when this was over and Chet said they must move on. They cut out the tidbits and several good steaks; but were forced to leave the rest of the meat for the coyotes, who were already hovering on the tops of the hillocks.
“Good-bye, first buffalo!” exclaimed Dig, looking back at the red carcass. “It’s the greatest kill we ever had, Chet, old boy! Won’t your folks and mine be surprised when they see this robe?”
“I hope we can cure the robe in time, so that it will be a nice one,” Chet said, with some anxiety. “We must spread it out carefully every place we camp.”
“And, say! where will we camp next?” cried Dig. “We’re a long way off the Grub Stake trail.”
“It’s still south of us, somewhere,” said his chum. “We’ll find it. But I hope we’ll pick up the trail of those two robbers first.”
“By the last hoptoad that was chased out of Ireland!” exclaimed Dig. “I had forgotten all about them.”
“I hadn’t,” returned Chet grimly. “We must find them, boy.”
“Do you suppose they came this way after the buffaloes?”
“I don’t believe they knew any more about the course the buffaloes took than we did. They are aiming for Grub Stake, just the same.”
“So are the buffaloes,” said Dig. “At least, they were when they went out of sight.”
“In that general direction—yes.”
“Whew! Suppose we overtake them again, Chet?”
“Then maybe we’ll get a second robe. Otherwise we’ll have to cast lots for the one you’re sitting on right now, Dig,” and young Havens laughed.
Nevertheless, excited as the boys were over the buffalo herd, Chet insisted in slanting at a sharper angle south than the big game had taken. It was the trail of the two men who had robbed them that Chet was the more anxious to pick up.
He was a brave boy—and a determined. His father had entrusted him with the papers relating to John Morrisy’s share in the Crayton claim. Mr. Havens’ lawyer in Silver Run had prepared the documents. For all Chet knew, the names might be changed in the body of the documents and then, if Mr. Morrisy signed them, they would give somebody besides Mr. Havens title to the old mine.
The loss of the documents worried Chet greatly. He felt, somehow, that he had been to blame in allowing the thieves to get the deeds. He should have been more watchful, especially after the warning he had had of threatening danger.
The horses were still fresh, although they had travelled some distance that day. They kept on at a fast pace for several hours—until, indeed, the sun was down. There was then a strip of timber ahead, which seemed to extend clear across the plain, as far as the eye could see, from north to south.
“And no sign of those rascals yet,” grumbled Dig. “Could we have crossed their trail without knowing it?”
“Sure!” admitted Chet promptly. “I’ve been looking sharply for signs, and so have you. But everything or anything is possible on the trail. We aren’t the smartest fellows who ever lived, Dig. If we were only a little bit smarter we wouldn’t have been robbed at all.”
“Don’t rub it in,” grumbled Digby. “I hold myself responsible for all this trouble.”
“I don’t hold you responsible. Just bad luck and bad figuring. I am fully as much to blame as you are. I had reason to believe we were being followed, and you hadn’t. Humph! No use crying over spilled milk.”
“That’s all right,” said Dig. “But where are we going to camp to-night? In the open, or shall we push on to that timber?”
“We’ll be more sheltered there,” Chet said, gazing ahead at the distant line of trees. “There is water between here and there. We can let the horses drink, refill our canteens, and push on for the woods.”
“Just as you say. Get up, Poke!”
The timber was much farther away than it seemed, however. The boys did find water; rather, they let the horses find it for them. But it was an open water-hole and the sun had evaporated the water until it was very low.
“Maybe there will be a running stream in the woods. This is as flat as dishwater,” declared Dig, tasting it. “’Tisn’t fit to drink straight. Wish we could boil some of our coffee.”
“Let’s keep on to the timber and make a regular camp,” Chet advised. “Then I’ll rig something to hold a canteen over the fire and make coffee.”
“You can’t do it.”
“Well, I can try,” returned Chet. “Anyway, we’ll take shelter in the woods. Our camp won’t be spotted so far.”
“Waugh!” ejaculated Dig, with disgust. “No use in locking the stable after the horse has been swiped. Those fellows don’t want anything more of us, that’s sure. They’ll let us alone after this, I reckon.”
But he did not oppose his chum’s suggestion. They got into the saddle again and pushed for the timber line. The sun had sunk altogether behind the mountains and darkness on the plain gathered quickly. The timber was tall and thick and they were in the shadow of it for some time before they reached the first line of trees.
It was Chet who observed the light first. It twinkled at a stationary point some distance back in the forest.
He drew in Hero quickly and put out a hand to warn Dig back. “There’s a campfire,” he said quietly.
“Whew! Who’s that, do you suppose?”
“That’s what we want to find out,” Chet said, with decision. “And we want to find it out before we get into any trouble. Look out, Dig! that black scamp is going to whinny.”
Dig swiftly stifled that desire on Poke’s part by pinching his nostrils between thumb and finger.
“There are other horses here, you may be sure. We’d better take our horses back farther and tether them before we do anything else.”
“No,” said Chet, thoughtfully. “We’ll put on their hobbles. We might need our ropes,” he added, which made Dig look at him curiously.
Ten minutes later the two chums entered the forest and crept toward the light. That it was a campfire neither doubted; there could be no question about that.
“What you going to do with these lariats?” Dig whispered, for Chet had insisted that each carry the rope which hung at his cantle.
“Never mind! hush!” urged Chet, with more vigour than politeness.
There might be very good reason for a silent approach to the camp. Whether it was the camp of the thieves who had troubled them the previous night or not, the campers might be men whom the boys would not care to meet.
“We’ll spy on them first,” Chet had declared, and now they proceeded to carry out his intention.
The timber was big and open. It was really fair grazing ground, for there were few shrubs. Before they had penetrated far into the wood the boys descried two ponies feeding. The animals gave them no attention, so, plainly, they were used to white men. Indian ponies would have snorted and stamped at the approach of any white visitors.
The campfire blazed brightly; but there was no smell of cooking. It was evident that the campers had finished supper. Chet led the way around to the windward and they got the smell of tobacco smoke quite strongly.
“They’re sitting there smoking; but they are not talking much,” whispered Chet. “We know there are at least two, for both those horses are saddle horses. I bet they are the fellows we are after.”
“Whew! What’ll we do now we’ve found them, Chet?” whispered his chum, in return.
“Get nearer and make sure. Then we’ll see,” said Chet, with confidence.
“I hope we’ll see,” muttered Dig, “but it’s blamed dark.”
They both remembered their training under old Rafe, however. The hunter had taught them how to move quietly in the night, and through thickets far more dense than this. Soon the two chums, side by side, were in view of the tiny clearing where the fire burned.
Their suspicions were correct on the first count, at least. There were two men at the fire.
One was lying on his back with a blanket wrapped around him, while his big, black hat was tipped over his face. Dig pinched Chet sharply, and when his chum turned to scowl at him, the excited lad mouthed the words:
“My blanket!”
Chet nodded. He recognised the stolen covering. There could be no doubt but these two men were the ones who had robbed them. Besides there were the coffee-pot and some of their cooking utensils on a log near the fire.
Dig’s eyes snapped and he doubled his fist and shook it at the prostrate man, who was evidently asleep.
It was just then that Chet touched his chum’s arm and pointed to the second figure by the campfire. This man was sitting, with his back against a log and his knees drawn up. He was the one who smoked, and it was both a vile pipe and strong tobacco he was sucking on.
Dig nodded vigorously when he made out the features of this man in the shadow. “It’s Tony,” he breathed in Chet’s ear. “But who’s he?” and he pointed to the sleeping man.
Chet shook his head over that question. Somehow that broad-brimmed, black hat looked familiar; but Chet could not place it just then. Besides, he was too anxious regarding what they should do with these two rascals.
Chet had refused to let Dig bring his rifle; but both boys carried their ropes. He saw that Tony Traddles cuddled a rifle in the hollow of his arm; it had slipped down until it lay in such a position that the man would have hard work to grab it up quickly. As for the sleeping rascal, Chet could not see that he was armed at all.
The boys both had their revolvers, but at the start Chet had forbidden Dig to flourish his pistol.
“Somebody might get hurt. They’ve stolen from us, but they did not try to injure us. And how we should feel if we managed to seriously hurt one of them!”
Of course, in a sober moment, Dig would have agreed to this; but at the time he grumbled some.
“They didn’t hurt us? Huh! look at my forehead. If it hadn’t been for them, I wouldn’t have a headache.”
He was in full accord with his chum, however, agreeing that Chet should take the lead. Tony Traddles, the bewhiskered, ragged tramp, was really nodding as he pretended to keep watch before the brightly burning fire. He pulled at his pipe slowly; his effort to draw the smoke into his mouth was almost mechanical.
Dig was the better of the two chums with the rope, as well as with horses. Chet signalled him to watch the sleeping man so that when he roused and sat up Dig could noose him before he had a chance to seize a weapon. For his own part, Chet stepped away a few paces and made ready his lariat.
There were no trees or shrubs in the way. Tony’s eyes were too full of sleep to see him. Besides, both boys were behind the log and Tony would have had to turn his head to catch a glimpse of them.
Dig was getting nervous when he saw his chum taking so much time for his preparations. Suppose Tony aroused suddenly—or the other man?
But Chet was not going to miss his man by any over-eagerness. He made sure the coil of the rope ran free and that the noose was open. Then he threw the lariat and it dropped just where he wanted it to—over the head and shoulders of the gorilla-like rascal.
“Help!” grunted Tony, who had been quite asleep, feeling the tightening of the noose about his arms.
His partner sprang almost instantly into a sitting posture, and his hand went to a six-shooter that he had bolstered at his hip. But Dig was ready. He uttered a yell of derision and dropped his noose over the villain, whipping it so tight at the first pull that the man uttered a cry of pain.
“Got him!” cried Dig.
Chet had been just as quick as his chum. When he pulled the line taut he sprang over the log and landed right on the back of Tony Traddles, knocking the big fellow forward on his face.
The boy fastened the rope with a good knot and left Tony thrashing about and sputtering, while he ran to see that Dig and his prisoner were all right. The man with the black sombrero could not get at his gun, and struggle as he did he could not loosen the rope. Soon the boys had wound the slack of the lariat around him, from elbows to heels, and laid him out like an “Indian papoose,” as Dig said, chuckling.
Then the chums went to Tony and, in spite of his kicking, and ignoring his threats, they triced him up as carefully and securely as they had his comrade in crime.
“I know who that other man is now,” said Chet. “Don’t you recognise him, Dig?”
“No. My acquaintance doesn’t run among such fellows as he,” answered Dig. “The mean thief! That’s my blanket he was sleeping in. I’ll take it and hang it over a bush to air.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Chet, smiling. “He’s the fellow who was hanging around our house. Don’t you remember that when I shot that hawk, he was there? And he is the same fellow who, the day of the cave-in at the mine, was up in the mountain with Amoshee.”
“With John Peep?”
“Yes. I know he is interested in the Crayton claim, and he’s stolen those deeds from me. I’m going to get them back,” and Chet approached the man with determination.
“You keep away from me, you young snipe!” growled the man. “When I get out o’ this I’ll make you sweat.”
“You’re going to perspire yourself, mister, I should think,” said Dig, giggling. “We have you right. You stole from us—”
“Nothing of the kind!” blustered the fellow. “We never saw you before.”
“I think we recognise that blanket and those pots and pans,” said Chet gravely. “You needn’t tell stories about it. You robbed us and now we’re going to take our things back.”
“We ought to drive them along to Grub Stake, too,” suggested Dig, “and turn them over to the police.”
“You young smart Alecks will get your comeuppance,” muttered the man. “You let me loose or it will be the worse for you.”
“How about me?” bawled Tony. “I’ll break ’em in two if I git my hands on ’em. That boy of old Havens’ ’specially.”
Chet meanwhile had approached the black-hatted man, and now he began to search his pockets. The man used frightful threats to check him; but Chet was not to be stopped.
“You might as well save your breath to cool your porridge,” quoth Dig, grinning. “My chum is going to get back those deeds, and don’t you forget it!”
“What deeds?” snarled the man. “You’re trying to rob me. Better let my wallet alone.”
But there was nothing in the nature of deeds about the fellow, although Chet examined his clothes carefully. The boy’s hopes sank very low as he proceeded with the search.
The man snarled at him and threatened, but Chet thought that he seemed disturbed himself over the result of the investigation. Chet went toward Tony and that scoundrel cried:
“You won’t get nothin’ off ’n me, young Havens. Sue a beggar and get his rags—that’s all. Don’t know nothin’ about no deeds. Go away!”
But Chet insisted on searching him, and Dig helped. Then, when they had come to a resultless finish, the two boys stood up and looked at each other.
They had found and made prisoners the men who they knew had robbed them; but the main object to be attained—the recovery of the precious papers Chet was carrying to Grub Stake—seemed just as far off as ever. Neither of the captives was in possession of the deeds.