Boy Scouts in the Rockies; Or, The Secret of the Hidden Silver Mine

by Herbert Carter

  THE BOY SCOUTS IN THE ROCKIES

  Or

  The Secret of the Hidden Silver Mine

  by

  HERBERT CARTER

  Author of "The Boy Scouts First Camp Fire," "The Boy Scoutsin the Blue Ridge," "The Boy Scouts on the Trail,""The Boy Scouts Through the Big Timber,""The Boy Scouts in the Maine Woods."

  A.L. BURT COMPANYNEW YORK]

  Copyright, 1913By A. L. Burt Company

  THE BOY SCOUTS IN THE ROCKIES.

  The stubborn jack stood, with his sturdy legs braced like steel, while the taut rope told that Smithy must be dangling at the other end.

  _Page 13_

  _The Boy Scouts in the Rockies._]

  THE BOY SCOUTS IN THE ROCKIES

  CHAPTER I.

  PERILS OF THE MOUNTAIN TRAIL.

  "How is the cripple crowd coming on these days? Hello! Step Hen, anymore snake bites? Hope you're not limping with that other leg, now?"

  "I should say not, Thad. But I'm always going to believe you did a lotto keep the poison from getting into my system, when you sucked thatwound."

  "And how about your game limb, Giraffe--was it the right, or the leftyou bruised so badly on the stones when you fell?"

  "The left one, Thad; but thank goodness it's healing up just prime,now. That magic salve did the business in great shape, I tell you."

  "Allan, I notice that you still have a halt once in a while. That oldbear trap sure took a nasty grip on your leg, didn't it, though?"

  "It gave me an ugly pinch, Mr. Scout Master; and only for the fact ofthe springs being so weak and rusty that the owners had abandoned thetrap, I might have been lame for three months. The witch hazelliniment you rubbed on helped a lot."

  "Well, I'm glad to see you're all such a grateful lot, considering thelittle I was able to do for you. It's sure a pleasure to be patrolleader and assistant scoutmaster to such a wide-awake lot of boys aswe have in the Silver Fox Patrol. Don't you think so, Toby Smathers?"

  Thad Brewster turned a smiling face upon the sole man of the party, agenuine woods-ranger, such as the Government employs to look after thegreat forest reservations in the region of the Rocky Mountains, andthe Coast, away up in the Northwest region.

  "Wall, it strikes me they're a purty lively lot of scouts, all right;and lucky at that to hev a leader as leads, and holds the reins tightover 'em. And I'm glad myself to be guide to such a hefty bunch. That'swhat I'm asayin', Mr. Scout Master," the party addressed replied.

  Outside of the guide there were just eight lads in the party; and fromthe fact that various parts of their attire suggested the well knownkhaki uniform which all Boy Scouts wear, the world around it wasevident that these young fellows belonged to such an organization.

  This was the exact fact, since they had come from far-away Cranford inan Eastern State, and were known as the Silver Fox Patrol of CranfordTroop; there being another patrol known as the Eagles, mustered induring the late winter.

  Thad Brewster was the patrol leader; he was also a First Class Scout,and had qualified for the position of Assistant Scout Master,receiving his certificate from Headquarters many moons before.

  Second in charge came Allan Hollister, a Maine boy, who had hadconsiderable actual experience in wood's life, and to whom the rest ofthe patrol naturally turned whenever a knotty problem faced themduring an outing.

  The exceedingly fat and good-natured youth was Bumpus Hawtree, buglerof the troop, even though just now he was minus the instrument onwhich he was accustomed to sound the various calls, such as"reveille," "assembly," "taps," and so on, the most popular being thesecond, as it was usually associated with meals. Bumpus had beenlooked upon as the real tenderfoot scout, up to recently; but havingbecome lost in the big timber recently, he had acquitted himself sosplendidly, as recorded in the preceding volume, that his mates nowregarded him as one who had been keeping his light under a bushel.

  Then there was Bob White, otherwise Robert White Quail, a Southernboy, warm of heart, a faithful friend, and upon whom the leader couldalways depend in emergencies; Step Hen Bingham, whose real name ofcourse was Stephen, but upon appearing at school for the first time hehad insisted that it was pronounced as though made up of twosyllables; Davy Jones, an athletic lad; Giraffe, really Conrad,Stedman, but given the significant nick-name because of a habit he hadof stretching an exceedingly long neck most outrageously; and last butfar from least, a dudish looking boy who at home answered when theycalled him Edmund Maurice Travers Smith; but among his playmates hewas known simply as "Smithy."

  These Boy Scouts had seen some pretty lively times during the pastyear or so, down in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, wherethey visited the former home of Bob White, and found themselves mixedup with the moonshiners of that wild, inhospitable region; and lateron up in Maine, where they had gone partly on business for Thad'sadopted father and guardian, and to enjoy an outing, with a littlehunting thrown in.

  It happened that here among the pine woods of Maine, they wereinstrumental in recovering some valuable bonds and other papers thathad been stolen from a bank, and for which a large reward had beenoffered. With this money in the treasury of the troop, they were ableto lay out a great trip to the Rocky Mountain region for the followingsummer. As the money really belonged to the eight lads individually,they felt justified in using it in this manner; for the second patrolhad only been formed after the Cranford boys learned what glorioustimes the Silver Foxes were having right along.

  One guide who had been hired had gone off with a party of big-hornhunters, who lured him with better pay, and the other had been takendown sick; so it came that the boys actually started toward themountains without a convoy, their tents and camp-duffle being loaded ona couple of comical pack mules known as Mike and Molly, which animalsafforded more or less amusement and excitement from time to time.

  They had heard of Toby Smathers, and only good words. In coming tothis particular region they had hoped to run across the ranger, andsecure him for their service while in the valleys and mountains; forhe was said to be patrolling the big timber country, on which somethieving lumbermen were suspected of having set envious eyes.

  And by great good luck the boys had happened to meet up with Toby,after passing through a great variety of thrilling experiences,connected with the hunt for the tenderfoot who had "gone out to findhis bear." And as the ranger was able to engage with them for thebalance of their stay in the mountains, Thad and his companions nowfelt that they need hesitate no longer, but might strike boldly intothe heart of the Rockies.

  They had various objects in wanting to come out to this far distantregion. Several who had the hunting fever burning in their veins, hadsighed for a glimpse of big game, grizzlies and such; then another, whowas rapidly being taken with the photographic craze, being Davy Jones,expressed a wish to snap off wild animals and birds in their nativehaunts, the famous big horn sheep for instance taking one of his amazingplunges over a precipice; Smithy was interested in wild flowers, and hadheard great stories concerning the pretty ones that were to be found outhere; and then there were several others who yearned for excitement inany shape or style, so long as it thrilled their pulses--which was thenatural boy spirit, always feeding on action.

  Some days had passed since the coming of the guide, and the breakingup of the camp at the foot of the noisy rapids, where three of theboys had remained while their companions were off for days, trackingthe wandering Bumpus.

  They had started into the mountains, and were at the time thisconve
rsation took place surrounded by the wildest scenery that any ofthem had ever looked upon.

  The trail led along precipitous paths, often with a wall of rock onone side, and a yawning abyss on the other, down which the boys couldlook and see trees growing that seemed to be dwarfed, but which theguide assured them were of fairly respectable size.

  As a rule the scouts were a rollicking set, full of jokes, and evenplaying innocent little tricks upon each other; but somehow thegrandeur of the scenery, as well as the dangers of that mountaintrail, rather stilled their spirits. Thad had also taken pains to warnthem that practical pranks would be out of order during their stay inthe mountains. He had heard of several that had turned out tragedies;and wanted to carry no ill tidings home to dear old Cranford, when thepatrol set their faces that way.

  Step Hen had one trait from which nothing ever seemed capable ofbreaking him. He was exceedingly careless by nature, and forevermisplacing things that belonged to him. And the fun of it was, that hecould never see how the fault lay with himself; but kept bewailing themisfortune that always picked him out as a victim; just as though someinvisible little imp were haunting his footsteps forever, and watchingfor opportunities to hide his belongings in the most unheard-of places.It did not matter that they were usually found just where Step Hen hadhimself dropped them in a moment of absent-mindedness; he would grumbleto himself, and observe his companions suspiciously, as though he reallybelieved they had been playing a little joke upon him after all.

  Thad had even lain awake nights, figuring on how the other might beradically cured of this failing; for Step Hen had many admirable traitsof character, and it seemed a great pity that his record as a scoutshould be marred by so tenacious a fault. But up to the present thescoutmaster had not been able to build up a scheme that promised toeffect a cure. And every once in a while the complaining voice of StepHen might be heard in the land, wondering "where in Sam Hill that knifeof mine has disappeared to; last time I had it I was mighty careful toput it away in the sheath; and now it's gone like magic. Who sneaked itoff me, tell me that? Funny how it's only _my_ things that disappear allthe time. Oh! is that it sticking up there in the tree, Giraffe? You sayyou saw me put it there? Well, I don't remember the least thing aboutthat. Guess you must have been dreaming; but of course I'm glad to findit again. I wish people would use their own knives."

  Perhaps, some time or other Step Hen might be given a lesson thatwould make so lasting an impression on him that he would begin to seethe absurdity of being careless. Thad often felt that he would like tohelp the good work along, if ever the chance arrived.

  Smithy was more than a little curious in his way. He possessed a kindlynature, too, and had made friends with Mike, one of the pack mules.Often in the goodness of his heart the dude scout would walk alongsidethe burden bearer, talking to him, and patting the animal's nose.Sometimes Mike resented these attentions, for he was only a mule afterall, and all scouts looked alike according to his manner of thinking.

  Smithy was walking there now, having the leading rope that was connectedwith Mike in his hand; in fact, he had wrapped it around his wristabsent-mindedly. And as he talked confidingly to the animal, he was alsoengaged in rubbing Mike's nose. Twice the mule had plainly given him tounderstand that he preferred to be let alone while staggering alongthese mountain trails, bearing that big pack on his sturdy back; butSmithy was really thinking about some wonderfully beautiful wild flowershe had seen clinging to the face of a precipice further back, andwishing he might be so lucky as to get hold of such a prize; so that hepaid no attention to the impatient thrust from the mule's nose.

  It happened just then that Thad, Allan and the guide were in theadvance. Something engrossed their attention, and they were holding anearnest talk-fest among themselves. Had it been otherwise, TobySmathers, who knew mule nature like a book, must surely have warnedthe kindly Smithy that Mike was in a most irritable frame of mind, andthat he would do well to leave him severely alone for the present.

  Behind Smithy and Mike came Davy Jones, carrying his little camera, andlooking for new worlds to conquer. He had snapped off the processionseveral times, and of course the mules always occupied posts of honor inthe pictures. Back of him Bob White and Step Hen were sauntering along,telling stories, and observing things in general; after them cameBumpus, puffing and blowing with the exertion; while Giraffe brought upthe rear, leading the other pack animal, known as Molly; and just aboutas full of tricks as Mike ever dreamed of being.

  Thad was in the act of pointing toward the valley, glimpses of whichthey could obtain from their lofty position, when he heard atremendous outcry from the rear that gave him a bad shock. Turninglike a flash, the scoutmaster discovered that one of the patrol wasmissing. There was no need to ask who it was, for there he saw Mike,the pack mule, with his feet pushed out to keep himself from beingpulled over the edge of the shelf of rock; while the taut rope toldthat poor Smithy must be dangling at the other end, with an ugly fallthreatening him if by chance the rope came loose from his wrist, wherehe had wrapped it!