by Zane Grey
THE YOUNG LION HUNTER [Part 2]
CHAPTER IX
A VISIT FROM RANGERS
The Navajo awoke us with his singing. Ken peeped lazily from under the blankets and then covered himself again. The air was cold and flakes of white drifted through our wind-break of pine boughs.
“Snow!” exclaimed Ken.
“By all that’s lucky,” I replied. “Hiram wants snow more than anything.”
“Why?” queried Ken.
“So we can track lions. Also have plenty of snow-water. Roll out now, Ken.”
“Oh-h-h! but I’m sore,” groaned Ken, as he laboriously got up and began to pull on his boots. “Baseball training isn’t one—two—six to this work.”
“Stay off bucking horses,” I replied.
We walked to a roaring camp-fire. The others were all astir, even Hal being up and busy. Hiram’s biscuits, well browned and of generous size, had just been dumped into the middle of our tarpaulin table-cloth; the coffeepot steamed fragrantly and a huge skillet sizzled with a quantity of sliced venison.
“Youngster, did you hear the Injun?” asked Hiram, as he poked red coals in a heap round the skillet.
“His singing woke me,” answered Ken.
“It wasn’t a song. Thet’s the Navajo’s mornin’ prayer, a chant. Wal—”
Growls and snarls from the lions interrupted him. I looked up to see Hal fooling round our captives. They were wet, dirty, bedraggled. Hiram had cut down a small pine and made shelters for the lions, but they did not seem disposed to keep out of the snow.
“Let ’em alone, youngster,” said Hiram to Hal. “They won’t be drove. Mebbe they’ll git in out of the wet arter a while.… We’re havin’ good luck an’ bad. Snow’s what we want. But now we can’t git the trail of the lion thet killed the doe.”
“Chineago!” called Jim, who like the rest of us had begun to assimilate a little of the Navajo language.
Whereupon we fell to eating with appetites unknown to any save hunters. Somehow the Indian gravitated to Hal at meal-times, and now he sat cross-legged beside him, holding out a plate and looking as hungry as Mux. At the first he always asked for what happened to be on Hal’s plate, and when that became empty he gave up imitation and asked for anything he could get. The Navajo had a marvelous appetite. He liked sweet things, sugar best of all. It was a fatal error to let him get his hands on a can of fruit. Although he inspired Hiram with disgust and Jim with worse, he was a source of unfailing pleasure to the boys.
“What’s on for today?” queried Ken.
“Wal, we may as well hang round camp an’ rest the hounds,” replied Hiram. “I intended to go after the lion thet killed the deer, but this snow has taken away the scent.”
“Shore it’ll stop snowin’ soon,” said Jim.
The falling snow had thinned out, and looked like flying powder; the leaden clouds, rolling close to the tree-tops, grew brighter and brighter; bits of azure sky shone through rifts.
Navvy had tramped off to find the horses, and not long after his departure we heard the jangle of bells. Then he appeared, riding Hal’s mustang, and racing the others toward camp.
Ken and I set to work building a shack for the hounds. And when we finished it there was no need of it, for that time at least, because all the snow had gone. The sun was shining warmly and the forest was as brown and almost as dry as on the day before.
“Wal, it’s a good idee to hey a day of rest onct in a while,” said Hiram, in answer to Ken’s impatient desire to be on the hunt. “Youngster, you’ll git all you want. But I tell you it might be useful fer us to prowl round an’ explore some of these hollers. We’ll need to know all about ’em, places to cross, whar they head, an’ sich as thet. Now you an’ Dick go north, an’ Jim an’ me’ll go south. Hal can keep camp with Navvy.”
So Ken and I started off on foot. We found the hollows extremely interesting. They began where the forest of pines merged on the sage flats. Some were shallow and some deep V-shaped cuts, too steep for us to go straight down. The thickets of scrub-oak lined the slope and thickets of aspen covered the bottom. Every hollow had its well-defined deer and lion trail, and every thicket its grisly heap of bones and hide. We jumped deer and flushed grouse, and out of one hollow we chased the wild stallion and his band. Ken was delighted at the sight of them. After several hours of leisurely exploring we returned toward camp.
“Dick, I see strange horses,” said Ken, as we drew near.
Sure enough, there were horses in camp that did not belong to our party, and presently I saw men who were not Hiram or Jim. We had visitors.
“Perhaps they’re some Mormon wild-horse hunters,” I replied. “I hope so, for I’d like you to meet some of those fellows, and go on a hunt with them.… No, they’re rangers. Now, Ken, I don’t like this for a cent.”
As we walked into camp neither Hal nor the Indian was in sight. Three rangers lolled about under the pines. One of them I did not know; the others had worked with me and did not like me any better than I liked them, which was not much. Then a fourth fellow appeared from somewhere in the shade, and when I recognized him I was divided between anger and distrust at this invasion of our camp. This fourth individual, Belden by name, had been a ranger, and as he had been worthless, and a hindrance to other rangers, I got his discharge. It had been an object of worry to me that after his discharge he still remained on the preserve. In fact all these men were Mormons, and they resented the advent of Hiram, Jim, and myself. The bone of contention was that the forest department had put us over them. And the hard feelings had been shared even by the forest supervisor, who was strongly in sympathy with native rangers. To me the present situation looked as if these men had been sent to spy on us, or they had undertaken that on their own account.
“Hello, fellows,” I said, “what are you doing out here? Thought you were building a cabin at Quaking-Asp.”
“We’re jest pokin’ around,” replied one, a man named Sells, and he was the best of the lot.
“We want to see how you trap them cougars,” said another.
Belden laughed loudly. “An’ me, I’m sort of scouting around, too, Leslie; I’ve got a new job.”
“With the forest service?” I queried.
“Yep.”
“What kind of a job?”
“I’m keepin’ tab on all the rangers. The Supervisor says it’ll go hard with any ranger ketched with fresh venison.”
Belden looked meaningly at me. I thought the fellow was lying about a new job, still I could not be certain as to that. But there was no doubt about the gleam in his eyes meaning that he had caught me breaking the law.
“Belden, we’ve got fresh venison in camp—but we didn’t kill it.”
“Haw! Haw! Haw!” he guffawed.
It was hard for me to keep my temper. On the moment I was glad to see Hiram and Jim approaching. Hiram stopped near where the lions were chained and I heard him mutter: “Wal, what in the tarnal dickens is the matter with thet lion?” From where I stood I could not see either of our captives. Jim lounged into camp, and as he glanced with keen eyes from our visitors to me his genial smile faded.
“Shore we’ve got company,” he drawled.
I would have replied in no cordial acknowledgment of the fact, but just then Hal came out of the tent, and sight of him cut short my speech. Hal wore a broad red mark across his cheek, and anyone could have seen that it was a mark made by a blow. Moreover, he trembled either with excitement or anger, and on closer view I saw that under his tan he was pale.
“Hal!” exclaimed Ken, sharply. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing. I’m all right.”
“That’s not so. I’d know from the look of you, without that red welt on your face. Who hit you? Hal—you couldn’t have gotten in a scrap with Navvy?”
“Nope—never mind how I got the welt. I got it and that’s enough,” replied Hal.
Where Hal got that mark did not appear any great mystery to me. I would ha
ve staked my horse that Belden had given the blow.
“Sells,” I demanded, “which one of you struck the lad?”
Sells removed his pipe and puffed a cloud of smoke. He did not seem in any hurry to reply.
“Speak up, man. Who hit the lad—Belden, wasn’t it?”
This time the ranger nodded.
“What for? What did he do?.… Haven’t you a tongue? Talk! I want to know—”
I felt Ken Ward’s hand on my arm and I hesitated. He took one long step forward.
“This boy is my brother,” he said. “Do I understand you to mean one of you hit him?”
Again Sells nodded.
“Which one of you?” added Ken.
Sells pointed to the grinning Belden. Ken made a quick, passionate movement, and took another long step that seemed involuntary; then he wheeled to his brother.
“Hal, what have you done this time? You promised me you’d behave if I brought you out West. I declare I’m ashamed of you. I’ll never—”
“Cheese it! Shut up!” cried Hal, hotly. “You’re always blaming me. How do you know I deserved getting slapped? Do I always deserve the worst of everything?”
“Nearly always, Hal, I’m sorry to say,” returned Ken, gravely.
“Well, this is one of the few times when I don’t, then,” said Hal, sullenly.
“What did you do?” demanded Ken.
“I called that fellow every name I could lay tongue to,” retorted Hal, pointing a quivering finger at Belden. “I called him a liar and a coward. Then he hit me.”
“Why did you call him names?”
“He saw the deer meat hanging there on the tree and he kept saying we shot the deer. But I held my temper. Then he got to teasing Tom and trying to hold him with a forked stick. He said we caught the lion in a trap and he was looking for trap-marks. Tom batted him one, scratching him a little. Then he took up a club—”
At this juncture Hiram Bent strode into the circle and he roared: “Who clubbed thet lion? If the Injun—”
The old hunter was angry clear through.
“Hold on, Hiram,” I interrupted. “We’re getting at the thing. Hal was just telling us. Go on, lad.”
“Look here, Hal,” spoke up Ken, in great earnestness, “tell the absolute truth. Don’t stretch. Give me your word. Then I’ll believe you, and if I do, so will Hiram and Dick and Jim.”
Hal repeated precisely what he had told us before Hiram’s interruption, and then he went on: “Belden took up a club and beat Tom over the head—beat him till I was sure Tom was dead. Then I couldn’t stand it longer, so I called Belden a brute, a coward, a liar—everything I could think of. So he hit me, knocked me down, and kicked me.”
“Leslie—the youngster’s tellin’ it straight,” said Hiram. “Thet cougar is all bunged up, an’ any sneak who would beat a chained animal would hit a boy.”
The old hunter then turned to Belden. That worthy had ceased to grin. I looked closely at him to see if he had been drinking, but it was not that; he was surely sober enough.
“Belden, afore I say anythin’ else I’d like to know what you mean by carryin’ on this way,” went on Hiram. “Mebbe you think beatin’ up chained cougars an’ boys as are keepin’ camp ain’t serious. Wal, I reckon you’ll change your idee.”
“Bent, I’d change no idees of mine,” rejoined Belden. “An’ one idea I got is then you trapped them cougars. An’ another idee is thet I ketched you killin’ deer. An’ thet’s agin the law. I’m agoin’ to put you through for it.”
For answer Hiram strode to a pine-tree some twenty paces from his tent and took down something from a dead snag. As he returned I saw it was the head and neck of the yearling doe. He showed it to Belden, and pointed out the laceration made by the teeth of the lion. Belden did not speak. Then Hiram showed the wound to the other rangers.
“Sells, you’re a woodsman. Now what made thet wound?”
“A cougar killed thet doe an’ no mistake,” admitted Sells.
“Thar!” The old hunter threw down the deer head and whirled to face Belden. I never saw a man any more furious than Hiram was, holding himself in control.
“I ain’t carin’ a tarnal flip what sich as you think of my capturin’ cougars. But fer beatin’ up a helpless animal I care this much—you’re wuss than the youngster called you—you’re the wust dog I ever seen. An’ fer hittin’ this youngster I’m goin’ to pay you back in—”
Ken Ward caught the old hunter’s arm. The boy was white, but he was as cool as ice, and his eyes had the dark flash I had once or twice before seen in them. He stepped in front of Hiram and faced Belden.
“Belden, I’ll give you a chance to beat me up.”
“Hey?” queried Belden in stupid surprise.
Hiram and Jim appeared too amazed for speech; and as for me I saw with a kind of warm thrill what was coming off.
“Hey?” mocked Ken. “What do you think? I mean fight.”
Belden kept on staring. He was a grown man and probably could not conceive the idea Of a boy wanting to fight him. But I knew Ken Ward, and I saw, too, that he was nearly as big as Belden, and when I compared the two and thought of Ken’s wonderful agility and strength I felt the call of battle rise within me. Then conscience troubling me, I made a half-hearted attempt to draw Ken back. I was too late. The lad reached out with his hand—his powerful right hand that had acquired much of its strength in gripping baseballs—and he seized Belden’s nose between his fingers. It was no wonder he did it. Belden’s nose was long and red, an offensive kind of nose. The effect was startling. Like a mad bull Belden roared. Ken pulled him round, this way and that, then he let go and squared himself. Bellowing furiously, the ranger rushed at Ken. The lad appeared to step aside and flash into swift forward action at the same instant. A sharp thud rang out and Belden stopped in his rush and staggered. But he did not fall.
Then Ken began to dance around the ranger. Any fight always roused me to a high pitch of excitement, and this one gripped me so intensely that I could scarcely see it. But then Ken Ward was so swift in action that even in a calm moment it would not have been easy to follow his motions. I saw enough to know that the fight he had made with the Greaser when I was bound fast was as nothing to this one. Ken appeared to be on all sides of Belden at once. He seemed to have as many arms as a centipede has legs. Belden’s wildly swinging fists hit the air. The way his head jerked up showed the way Ken was hitting, and the sound of his blows rang out like rapid pistol-shots. Belden’s swarthy face grew red and swollen. All at once I seemed to hear mingled yells from Hiram and Jim, and that made me conscious that I was yelling myself. Ken’s gray form flashed around Belden and the rain of scientific blows went on. Suddenly Ken stepped back and swung heavily. Belden went to his knees, staggered up, only to be met with a stunning shock that laid him flat.
He stirred laboriously, groaned and cursed, tried to sit up and fell back. He was bloody; his nose looked like a red cauliflower; one eye was nearly closed. Ken stood erect panting hard, still flaming-eyed, still unsatisfied. His face showed a few marks of conflict.
Hiram Bent looked down at Belden. “Dog-gone it! You did git a tarnal good lickin’!… Hey?”
This good-humored query from the lately furious Hiram brought the rest of us to our senses.
CHAPTER X
HAL
Presently Belden got to his feet. He did not look at Ken or any of us, and went directly for his horses. He saddled and packed with hurried hands. It showed what the humiliation meant to him as well as what kind of a fellow he was that he rode away without a word to his companions.
They were disposed to make a joke of it and were not above praising Ken. Soon afterward they put up a tent and began preparations for supper. I certainly had no desire for their company, but neither had I any right to ask them to move on, so I thought it was just as well that we should try to be friendly.
“If you all don’t mind we want to see you ketch a cougar,” said Sells.
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p; “Sartinly—glad to show you,” replied Hiram.
And shortly we were laughing and talking around the camp-fire just as if there had not been any unpleasantness. I noticed, however, that Hal did not speak a word to any of our visitors, and indeed he was uncivil enough not to reply to questions they put. This gave me the idea that Hal had not told all of what had been done to him during our absence. Certainly he was not the kind of a boy to blab things. From the light in his big gray eyes I fancied that he was cherishing a righteous anger against these invaders. I made a note, too, of how intently he listened to all they said.
“Look a-here, Bent,” Sells was asking, “is there any danger of them cougars gittin’ loose?”
“Wal, sometimes they break a collar or chain. I lose probably one out of ten thet way. But I can’t tie them up any tighter, for they’d choke themselves to death.”
“Durn me if I like to sleep so close to cougars as this,” went on Sells. “I allus wus scared of ’em; jest can’t stand fer cats, any kind, nohow.”
“Nother am I powerful enraptured at the idee,” remarked one of his companions.
“Then why did you throw up the tent so close to them?” demanded Sells.
“Nary danger, fellers,” put in Hiram. “My cougars won’t hurt you onless you git in their way. Then I reckon you’d git a swipe.”
We talked and smoked around the camp fire for an hour or more. Then the north wind rose, roaring in the pines, and the night air grew cold. Soon we all sought our blankets.
I quickly dropped off to sleep. Sooner or later after that I was awakened by a terrible sound. Sitting up with a violent start I felt Ken’s hands clasping me like a vise. I heard his voice hut could not distinguish what he said. For the uproar in the camp made hearing anything else impossible. Blood-curdling shrieks, yells and curses mingled with sounds of conflict. They all came from the rangers’ tent. By the pale moonlight I saw the tent wavering and shaking. Then followed the shrill rending of canvas. Hiram emerged from the gloom and bounded forward. I jumped up eager to help, but ignorant of what to do, I held back. Then bang, bang, bang, went a revolver, and bullets whistled about.
