“Are you looking for any one?” asked the agent; respectfully.
“Yes, sir,” replied Jack Dudley; “we are on our way to a ranch which lies to the eastward of Camp Brown, not far from Wind River.”
“May I ask your errand thither?”
“My father is part owner of the ranch, and we wish to visit it for a few weeks.”
“Ah, you are the young men that Hank Hazletine was asking about yesterday. He has charge of Bowman’s ranch.”
“That’s the place. What has become of Mr. Hazletine?”
“I think he is over at the fort, and will soon be here. He brought a couple of horses for you to ride. Ah, here he comes now.”
The boys saw the man at the same moment. He was walking rapidly from the direction of the fort, and looking curiously at the youths, who surveyed him with interest as he approached. He was full-bearded, tall, and as straight as an arrow, dressed in cowboy costume, and the picture of rugged strength and activity. His manner was that of a man who, having made a mistake as to the hour of the arrival of the train, was doing his best to make up for lost time.
Stepping upon the long, low platform, he walked toward the lads, his Winchester in his left hand, while he extended his right in salutation.
“Howdy?” he said, heartily, as he took the hand of Fred Greenwood, who advanced several paces to meet him. “I reckon you’re the younkers I’m waiting for.”
“If you are Hank Hazletine, you are the man.”
“That’s the name I gin’rally go by; which one of you is Jack Dudley?”
“I am,” replied that young gentleman.
“Then t’other one is Fred Greenwood, eh?” he asked, turning toward the younger.
“You have our names right.”
“Glad to know it; I got your letter and looked for you yesterday; have been loafing ’round here since then.”
“We were not sure of the exact time of our arrival and missed it by twenty-four hours,” said Jack; “I hope it caused you no inconvenience.”
“Not at all—not at all. Wal, I s’pose you’re ready to start for the ranch, younkers?”
“We are at your disposal; we have quite a long ride before us.”
“We have; it’ll take us two or three days to git there, if all goes well.”
“Suppose all doesn’t go well?” remarked Fred.
“We shall be longer on the road; and if it goes too bad we’ll never git there; but I ain’t looking for anything like that. Where’s your baggage?”
Jack pointed to the two plump valises lying on the platform, near the little building.
“That and what we have on us and in our hands make up our worldly possessions.”
“That’s good,” said Hazletine. “I was afeard you might bring a load of trunks, which we’d had a purty time getting to the ranch; but there won’t be any trouble in managing them; I’ll be right back.”
He turned away, and soon reappeared, mounted on a fine, wiry pony, and leading on either side a tough little animal, saddled and bridled and ready for the boys.
“There ain’t any better animals in Wyoming or Colorado,” he explained; “they can travel fast and fur a long time. We’ll strap on that stuff and be off.”
There was no trouble in securing the baggage to the rear of the saddles, when Jack and Fred swung themselves upon the backs of the ponies, adjusted their Winchesters across the saddles in front, following the suggestions of Hazletine, and announced themselves ready to set out on the long ride northward. The animals struck into an easy canter, and a few minutes later all signs of civilization were left behind them.
The boys were in buoyant spirits. There was just enough coolness in the air to make the exercise invigorating. Here and there a few snowy flecks dotted the blue sky, but the sun shone with undimmed splendor, the warmth slightly increasing as the orb climbed the heavens. To the northward the undulating plain was unbroken by hill or stream, so far as the eye could note, while to the eastward the prospect was similar, though they knew that the North Platte curved over in that direction, and, after winding around the upper end of the Laramie Mountains, joined the main stream far over in Nebraska.
To the westward the prospect was romantic and awe-inspiring. The Wind River range towered far up in the sky in rugged grandeur, following a course almost parallel with their own, though gradually trending more to the left, in the direction of Yellowstone Park. The snow-crowned peaks looked like vast banks of clouds in the sky, while the craggy portions below the frost-line were mellowed by the distance and softly tinted in the clear, crystalline atmosphere. The mountains formed a grand background to the picture which more closely environed them.
As the three galloped easily forward they kept nearly abreast, with the ranchman between them. He was in a pleasant mood, and seemed to have formed a fancy for the youths, who felt a natural admiration for the big, muscular veteran of the plains and mountains.
“Yes,” said he, in answer to their inquiries; “I’ve spent all my life as a cattleman, cowboy, hunter or trapper. I left the States with my parents, when a small younker, with an emigrant train fur Californy. Over in Utah, when crawling through the mountains, and believing the worst of the bus’ness was over, the Injins come down on us one rainy night and wiped out nearly all. My father, mother and an older brother was killed, and I don’t understand how I got off with my scalp, but I did, with half a dozen others.”
“Did you go on to California?”
“No; I’ve never been in that country, which I s’pose you’ll think strange; but I was on my way there, when I met the great scout Kit Carson and several hunters. They took me along with ’em, and the next twenty years of my life was spent in New Mexico, Arizona and Texas. Since then I’ve ranged from the Panhandle to Montana, most of the time in the cattle bus’ness.”
“At what are you engaged just now?” inquired Jack.
“The same—that is, the cattle bus’ness. You may know that after thousands of the critters have spent the summer in Texas, New Mexico and Arizona, they drive ’em north into Wyoming, Montana and the Dakotas, to git their finishing touches. The grazing is so much better than in the south that in a few months they’re ready for the market, and are either killed and their carcasses shipped to the East, or they are took there by train in as fine condition as anybody could ask. You obsarve that the grass under our feet is powerful good.”
The boys replied that it seemed to be.
“Wal, there’s hundreds of thousands of acres better than this; there’s thirty thousand of ’em in Bowman’s ranch, where we’re going, and it’s the best kind of grazing land.”
“I believe it extends to the Wind River Mountains,” said Jack.
“It takes in a part of the foot-hills; there are plenty of streams there, and some of the finest grass in the world.”
Jack Dudley did not forget the real object of the coming of himself and companion to this section, and he could not gather the information too soon.
“How does Bowman’s ranch compare with others in Central Wyoming?”
“You may ride over the whole State without finding a better. If you doubt it, look at the country for yourself.”
“We don’t doubt anything you tell us,” said Fred Greenwood. “I suppose you know that Mr. Dudley, the father of my friend, owns half the ranch?”
“I’ve heerd that.”
“He didn’t intend to buy it, but matters so shaped themselves that he couldn’t help doing so. Before selling it, he sent us to take a look at it and find out whether it is all that was claimed. We have come to do that, but, at the same time, are eager to have some hunting among the mountains.”
“You won’t have any trouble about that. As I was saying, we’re close to the mountains, and when you’re ready I’ll go with you, and promise that you’ll have something to talk about as long as you live.”
The eyes of the boys sparkled as they looked across at each other, and Jack said:
“Nothing could delight us more
. We need a veteran like yourself, and are happy to know you can serve us.”
“How many months can you stay in Wyoming?”
“How many months?” laughed Jack. “We are under promise to be back at school in New York on the first of November.”
“Whew! I wish the time was longer.”
“So do we; but we had a hard enough task to get the month, so we must make the best use of it.”
“Wal, we can crowd a good ’eal into two or three weeks, and I won’t let you go to sleep in the daytime—I’ll promise you that.”
Hazletine produced a brierwood pipe and pressed some tobacco in the bowl. Although the motion of their ponies caused quite a brisk breeze, he lighted a match and communicated the flame to the tobacco without checking the speed of his animal. Then he glanced admiringly to the right and left, at his companions.
“You’re a couple of as fine-looking younkers as I’ve seed in a long time; but you’re almost as tall as me, and it seems to me you orter be through with school.”
“We expect to stay in school another year and then spend four in college, after which several years will be needed to get ready for some profession.”
“Great Jiminy!” exclaimed the astonished ranchman; “you must be powerful dumb, or else there’s more to larn than I ever dreamed of.”
“Well,” said Jack, with a laugh at the simplicity of the fellow, “there are plenty of boys a great deal smarter then we, but the smartest of them can spend their whole lives in study and not learn a hundredth part of what is to be learned.”
Hank puffed his pipe slowly and looked seriously at the youth for a minute without speaking. Then he said, as if partly speaking to himself:
“I s’pose that’s so; a chap can go on larning forever, and then die without knowing half of it. I never had much chance at eddycation, but managed to pick up ’nough to read and write a letter and to do a little figgering, but that’s all.”
“That is what you may call your book education; but how much more you know of the rivers, the mountains, the climate, the soil, the game, the Indians, and everything relating to the western half of our country! In that respect we are but as babes compared with you.”
“I s’pose that’s so, too,” replied the hunter, evidently impressed by the fact that these youths were destined, if their lives were spared, to become excellent scholars. He was so thoughtful that they did not interrupt his meditations, and for a considerable while the three rode in silence.
It need not be said that Jack and Fred kept their wits about them and took note of everything in their field of vision. The season had been an unusually favorable one for Wyoming, the rains having been all that was required to make the grass succulent, nourishing and abundant. They could have turned their ponies loose at any point, after leaving the railway behind them, and the animals would have been able to crop their fill. It was the same over hundreds of square miles, a fact which readily explains why many portions of Wyoming rank as the best grazing country in the world.
It was not yet noon when they rode down a slight declivity to a stream several rods in width. The water was so clear that the bottom could be plainly seen from their saddles, the depth being no more than two or three feet. The ponies paused to drink, and, as they emerged on the other side and started up the gentle slope, Hazletine suggested that for a time at least they should be held down to a walk.
One anxiety began to impress itself upon the minds of Jack and Fred. They were not only hungrier than they had been for months, but that hunger was increasing at an alarming rate. Neither had brought any lunch with them, and they wondered how food was to be obtained. Jack almost fainted at the awful suspicion that perhaps their friend intended to break them in by making the two or three days’ journey to the ranch without eating anything at all!
“I suppose it would be no trouble for him,” was the lugubrious thought of the youth, “but it will be the death of us!”
Happily this dread proved unfounded. The sun had hardly crossed the meridian when both lads were thrilled by the declaration of Hazletine:
“Wal, if you younkers are as hungry as me, we’ll have a bite.”
They were in the middle of the undulating plain, with no wood or water in sight; but that was a small matter. In a twinkling all three were out of their saddles, and the guide unstrapped a large bundle from its fastening to the saddle of his pony. This, being unwrapped, disclosed a goodly portion of cooked and tender steak and plenty of well-baked brown bread. Furthermore, there were a couple of bottles of milk—enough for two meals at least.
These having been placed on the grass, the bits were removed from the mouths of their horses, who were allowed to graze while their masters were partaking of one of the most enjoyable meals they had ever eaten.
“If I’d expected to be alone,” explained Hazletine, “I wouldn’t have brought this stuff with me, but we may not see a maverick or any game all the way home. I wouldn’t mind it, but I don’t s’pose you are used to it.”
“I should say not,” replied Jack, as well as he could, while his mouth was filled with bread, meat and milk; “I’m hungry enough to eat a mule.”
“And I feel as if I could chew his saddle,” added Fred, laboring under the same difficulty in speaking clearly. “If our appetites keep up at this rate, there will be a shrinkage among the cattle in Wyoming before we go home.”
“What do you mean by a maverick?” asked Jack of their guide.
“It’s an unbranded cow or calf that don’t b’long to nobody, and consequently it don’t make no difference whether nobody or somebody brands or kills it.”
The rhetoric of this sentence may not have been faultless, but its meaning was clear to the boys. They ate until they wished no more, and were vastly relieved to note that something was left for another meal.
“That’ll see us through till morning,” said Jack, “but how about tomorrow and the next day?”
“If we don’t see anything to kill, we must wait till we git to the ranch.”
Fred groaned.
“You’ll have to tie me in the saddle, for I shan’t be able to sit up.”
The smile on the face of the guide raised the hope that he was not in earnest in making this dreadful announcement, but neither Jack nor Fred were quite easy in mind.
The halt was less than an hour, when the three were in the saddle again. Hazletine, instead of pressing directly toward the ranch that was their destination, bore to the left, thus approaching the Wind River range.
“There’s a little settlement off to the right,” he said, “of the name of Sweetwater; we could reach it by night, but it takes us a good many miles out of our path, and there’s nothing to be gained by losing the time.”
“Are you following a straight course to the ranch?”
“Pretty near; but I’m edging to the left, toward the foot-hills, ’cause there’s better camping-ground over there.”
This was satisfactory, and the youths were not the ones to question a decision of so experienced a guide and mountaineer. Besides, they had hope that one reason for the slight change of course was that it increased the chance of obtaining game. For the present, the question of food supply was the most absorbing one that demanded attention. Other matters could wait, but a sturdy, growing lad finds his appetite something whose cravings can be soothed only by the one method that nature intended.
CHAPTER III.
ON GUARD.
The beautiful weather continued unchanged throughout the afternoon. As the sun declined in the sky there was a perceptible coolness in the air, but the exercise of riding removed all necessity for using their blankets.
Although the party had been edging toward the foot-hills for hours, it seemed to the boys that they were as far off as ever. They had covered many miles, but those who have travelled in the West know the deceptive character of the crystalline atmosphere, so far as distances are concerned. However, as twilight began closing in they reached a small grove of trees, which was the d
estination of the guide from the first. It was there he meant to camp for the night, and he could not have selected a better place had he spent a week in looking for it.
The grove covered less than an acre, the trees standing well apart, and wholly free from brush and undergrowth. Thus even the horses could pass back and forth freely. Over this shaded space the dark-green grass grew luxuriantly, with a soft juiciness of texture which made it the ideal food for cattle and horses. In the middle of the grove bubbled a spring of clear cold water, whose winding course could be traced far out on the plain by the fringe of deeper green which accompanied it.
Saddles and bridles were removed, and the ponies turned free to crop the grass until they were filled, when they would lie down for the night. The blankets were spread on the ground near the spring, and then, at the suggestion of Hazletine, all three joined in gathering dried branches and limbs with which to start a fire. It was now cool enough to make the warmth welcome, while the flame would add to the cheerfulness of the occasion.
Jack and Fred had never ridden so far at one stretch, and when they reclined on their blankets to watch Hank start the fire they were thoroughly tired out; but it seemed to them their hunger was more ravenous than ever. Each forbore to speak of it, but the deliberation of their friend in preparing the meal was almost intolerable.
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 40
