CHAPTER VI
JUST IN TIME
Terry flew to the cart, wrestled with the keg until he might pour fromit, and lavishly plashing a tin cup full, even to running over, flewback again.
Harry sopped his handkerchief and mopped the up-turned face of thecast-away; trickled a few drops, now and then, in between the cracked,parted lips; wet the thin wrists. Skin and lips seemed to absorb waterlike a dry sponge.
The unconscious refugee was small and exceedingly thin; he could not beover eighteen or nineteen at the most. He wore coarse shoes andtrousers, and a flannel shirt open at the chest. Harry wet the whitechest. Terry and Shep watched expectantly.
"He must be a stray from some pilgrim outfit," remarked Harry. "Gotlost. Expect he tried to strike across country by himself, and had nofood or water. Queer that the buffalo didn't harm him. They went rightover him."
And that was so. All the brush, save in this oasis, was crushed, and theground was stamped and furrowed by the myriad plunging hoofs. Butsomehow they had leaped the little hollow, or avoided it.
"Did you find him?" asked Terry.
"No; Shep found him. More water, please." And Harry passed up theemptied cup.
When Terry returned with it filled again, a change had occurred in theirpatient. His eyes were fluttering, and he was feebly moving his bonyhands. He greedily gulped for the water, and even tried to seize the cupwhen Harry removed it. Some of the water flowed over his face, but someof it was swallowed.
Terry hated to see any of it wasted on the ground. He was thirstyhimself; so were they all--Duke bawled hoarsely and Jenny essayed tobeg, smelling water and asking for it.
The patient appeared to be attempting to speak--signed for more, more.
"A little at a time, a little at a time," repeated Harry. "You're allright. You're among friends, but you mustn't drink too much at once.Might make you sick. Another swallow? There you are."
The second cup was emptied. The patient was beginning to mutter thicklyand seemed to be seeing--signed for more, more. A slight color tingedhis smooth sunken cheeks.
"He's coming round," declared Harry. "Next thing is to get him out ofthis sun and into the cart. We can't stay here. Whew, this sun is hot!Watch him and shade him as much as you can, will you, while I fixthings?"
Having fumbled inside the cart, away limped Harry, and returned luggingthe bale of gunny sacks. He cut the binding with his knife, and openedthe bale--spread the sacks in the cart, for a bed, and leaping out witha buffalo robe, brought it to the hollow.
"Now let's put him on this and hoist him aboard."
That was done, Terry tugging from inside the cart and Harry lifting fromoutside. The sacks and the buffalo robe made a very comfortable, snugbed, and wedged the sides so as to hold the patient securely.
"Water," feebly implored a voice.
"One cup full, this time," granted Harry. "Drink slowly--slowly, now."
The boy clutched the cup with both hands, and Harry with difficultyprevented his draining it at a gulp. But having drained it, he sank backwith a sigh.
"Ho, hum!" And Harry paused, to sigh too, and wipe his streaming facewith his handkerchief. Duke and Jenny had their heads turned,expectantly; Shep was sitting, his tongue out, his eyes eager, likewisedemanding a share from the keg. "I suppose we'll all have a small drinkapiece, but we've got another mouth to supply."
"We won't have enough, will we?" anxiously asked Terry. "We hardly hadenough before."
This did loom as tough luck: to have been limited in water anyway, thento have lost the trail, and to have lost part of the water, and to haveused half of the valuable day in getting nowhere in particular, but inbeing made thirstier than ever, and now to have added still anotherthirsty mouth to the company. Of course----
"Never mind," asserted Harry. "Everything's all right. Don't you see--ifthe stampede hadn't come Duke and Jenny wouldn't have run, and if theyhadn't run, we might not have lost the trail, and if the things hadn'tbounced out we wouldn't have back-tracked to gather them, and if wehadn't back-tracked, we would never have found the boy, and if he hadn'tbeen found today, he'd have died, down there in that hollow. Now we'llall get through. We won't stop to eat, but Duke and Jenny will travel alittle faster for a drink, and so will the rest of us. Half a cup foryou, and half a cup for me, and half a pail for them, to wash the dustout of their throats, and a dozen laps for Shep. And one more cupful forour new partner, when he needs it."
"Well," said Terry, dubiously, "I don't know whether there's that muchin the keg or not."
There was, and a swash left. The boy in the cart didn't understand."Water! Water!" he kept begging, as the Pike's Peak Limited ("limited"indeed) again toiled on through the monotonous flatness, Harry guessingat the right direction and Terry trudging beside the rear wheels. Thatincessant cry for "water, water," grew rather annoying. The new boyalready had had four cupfuls and probably'd get another! And everycupful counted now. But of course----!
"We must go on as far as we possibly can, before dark," had said Harry."Or until we strike water, first."
When would that be? Duke and Jenny were sluggish on their feet, andfrequently stumbled as they groaned along with their stringy tonguesdangling. It was slow work, and hot work, and awfully thirstywork--Terry wasn't certain that he could hold out much longer withoutanother drink.
"Do we drink again pretty soon?" he stammered.
"I don't think we'd better, do you?" answered Harry, as if trying tospeak cheerfully. "We've got to save some for Duke and Jenny, and ourpassenger. We can't get him through without them to haul him."
"Tha' so," agreed Terry, his mouth gluey. "Thasso."
"Yesh, thasso," encouraged Harry. "You an' I awright. We unnerstan'.They don't."
"Water! Water!" babbled the passenger. His voice was the clearest ofany.
Trudge, trudge, creak, creak, over the dry plain, on for that quiveringhorizon which might contain water but never drew nearer. They did notknow where they were going; they probably had passed another of thestage station stakes; bushy black Shep was lagging, Duke and Jennystumbled, Harry limped doggedly, the passenger pleaded ever more faintlyand piteously until Harry, halting abruptly, without a word grimly gavehim half a dozen swallows; and when they resumed, Terry had decided thathe'd rather have a drink, himself, than all the gold of Pike's Peak.
However, Harry took none; and so he didn't ask for one.
The sun was low, streaming into their faces, and dazzling and blinding.Soon it would set; soon they must stop; one spot would be as good asanother, if they didn't come to water--and just how he was to getthrough a dry night, following a dry day, Terry could not imagine--didnot like to imagine, anyway.
That keg, when Harry had tilted it to give those few swallows to thepassenger, had sounded alarmingly emptier than before. Water evaporatedmighty fast on these plains.
Turning a moment, to shut the sun from his tortured eyes, now Terry sawsomething, quartering behind, on the right, which was the north. What?Antelope? No; too much dust. Antelope didn't raise such dust. Buffalo,then? More buffalo? Or Indians! No--and a wild hope surged into hisheart and strengthened his voice, as he cried, to Harry:
"Harry! Hurrah! There's somebody else--another outfit!"
Harry, who had been plodding on, stopped to gaze; and instantly theexhausted Duke and Jenny stopped.
"Freighters," decided Harry. "Great Scott! Hurrah! Or maybe some of thestage-line people. We'll have to head 'em off and make 'em see us. Comeon. Hurrah! Duke! Jenny! Gwan! Water! Water! Barrels of it--gallons ofit!"
Duke and Jenny seemed to appreciate--they started gallantly.
"Gee--gee with you, Duke!" bade Harry, hobbling.
"Do you think they _will_ have water?" panted Terry.
"Of course. But we'll have to catch 'em. Duke! Jenny! Hep!"
The dust cloud yonder had resolved itself into quite a large outfit,traveling briskly. There was a herd of animals--mules or horses; and twowagons following, drawn each by four span; and several
men afoot, andothers horseback.
"They'll have to camp pretty soon. We'll come into 'em, if we keepgoing," encouraged Harry. And he added, suddenly: "Look at Jenny! Shesmells water. And so does Duke!"
For both Duke and Jenny were alertly stretching out--sniffing, tugging,trying to increase their pace. They almost trotted. Could they reallysmell water in barrels, away off there--or did they guess? At any rate,the two routes were drawing together.
The sun sank below the horizon, and a pleasant coolness flowed over thelandscape. Now in the twilight the freighter outfit had halted, andbunched. Going to make camp? No--there it started again. Pshaw! Butno--some of it had remained: not the wagons, but several of the loosestock, and two men, and a heap of stuff.
"Hurrah!" gasped Harry. "That's enough. Enough for us."
Duke and Jenny were trying to break into a gallop, and their owners hadhard work to keep up. The party at the camp had seen them coming, andwere pausing in their camp-making to stare. Now at a staggering lope andtrot the Pike's Peak Limited fairly charged in--would have run rightover the camp had not the two men there rushed out and waved their armsand shouted.
The camp was on the edge of a muddy creek course. That was what ailedDuke and Jenny; only by main force could they be held back.
"What's the matter? Plumb crazed?" scolded one of the men.
"Their critters are plumb crazed, don't you see?" reproved the other."Unhook 'em and let 'em go, or they'll drag cart and all in."
Harry hustled, Terry hustled, the men helped--and on sprang Duke andJenny, into the mud, into the water, to drink, and gulp, and drinkagain, and stand there, belly deep, soaking. Terry yearned mightily tojoin them, but Harry was more polite.
"Whar you from? You look nigh tuckered out, yourselves," accused one ofthe men.
"So we are," gasped Harry. "We're down to our last drop--we've a manaboard the cart who's worse off still--picked him up this morning. But Ican't talk till I have a drink."
"Never mind the creek; it's too roily. We've a barrel full." And theother man promptly passed over a brimming dipper. Harry took it; hishand trembled.
"You first, Terry," he said.
Terry shook his head.
"We'll take turns," he proposed. "You drink and then I'll drink."
Ah, but that water, warmish and brackish, was good! Together theyemptied the dipper, and at once emptied another--and by this time thetwo men had lifted the boy from the cart and were attending to him,also. He was too weak to talk, but he seemed to know, and smiled when helikewise had drained a dipper.
"Give him a little broth, later," grunted one of the men. "He had anarrow squeak, I reckon. Mustn't overfeed him. We'll stew him somebuff'ler meat. 'Xpec' you fellers are hungry, yourselves, by this time."
"Haven't eaten all day," laughed Harry, in spirits again. "But where arewe? We're looking for the stage line, and the Republican."
"You aren't near the Republican yet, by a long shot. But this is a stagestation, all right. Fust stages will be through tomorrow and after thattwo at a time every day, till the trail's well broken. We're part of thesupply outfit. It drops some of us off every so far along the line,ahead of the stages, so we'll have meals and lodgin' and a change ofmules ready. You needn't do much unpackin'; we've grub enough, and youcan bunk with us and put that sick boy in the tent."
"Yes, and the stages'll take him on tomorrow," spoke the other man."You'll have to lie by, anyhow. You can't start your critters out tillafter they've rested a bit. That's a great team you've got--a buffaloand a mule! Where you from?"
"The Big Blue," answered Terry.
"Oh! You're the boys from the Big Blue, are you? You're the ones whospilled Chubbers' whiskey."
So even they knew!
The station agent and his helper were a hospitable pair. Harryvolunteered to attend to the cooking while they straightened the camp alittle, for the night. The supply wagon had dumped off a tent, a stove,a barrel for water, a bale of hay, bedding, sacks and boxes ofprovisions, several bunches of fire-wood, etc. The tent was erected, therescued boy placed inside and given a little broth. He immediately wentto sleep.
This was Station Twelve--a dinner station for the stages. The nextstation, Number Thirteen, about twenty-five miles farther on, was anight station. The stations would average about twenty-five miles apart,through this region, to the diggin's. Farther east, in the settlements,the stations were closer. One hundred stages and a thousand mules wouldbe put on the run, at a cost of $800 a day. The company, Jones & Russellof Leavenworth, already had spent $300,000. The fare from Leavenworth tothe mountains was $100 gold, and shorter trips were twenty-five cents amile. Time to the mountains, twelve days--maybe less when the trail waswell broken, and if the Indians didn't bother.
"Two stages travelin' together will hold off the Injuns," remarked thestation agent.
"Heigh-ho!" drowsily yawned Harry, after dusk, from his blankets. "All'swell that ends well--but I was getting a trifle worried."
He and Terry had decided to wait for the stages, and to let Duke andJenny rest during at least half that next day. The fact is, they werewilling to rest, themselves.
Toward noon the station men paused in their tasks, to gaze more and morefrequently into the east.
"Thar they come," quietly informed one; and now all gazed, expectant.
"Right on time."
Upon the surface of the vast plains to the south of east had appeared adot. It rapidly enlarged, and resolved into two dots, one behind theother. They were coming--they were coming: the first stagecoaches, sureenough; each drawn by four mules, driver on seat, other people on seatand roof, heads protruding from windows, mules at a gallop.
"Yes, sir-ee! On time to the minute."
Swaying and lurching and dust-enveloped, with creak of leather andsudden grind of brake-shoes, the leading stage slackened at the station,stopped abruptly, and setting the brake more securely the driver tossedhis lines to the ground and in leisurely fashion descended. He was inslouch hat, white shirt-sleeves (or whitish, rather), yellow kid glovesand shiny boots. Somewhat of a dandy, he.
Another man swung down from the seat, after him; so did the passengersatop the coach, and those within piled out. The second coach arrived inlike fashion.
The first coach was painted red, the second green; and both were giltstriped and bore, in gilt letters, the announcement: "Leavenworth andPike's Peak Express Company."
The station-agent's assistant bustled to unhitch the mules and put infresh ones. The station agent served the dinner, of cold boiled buffalomeat, bread and coffee. The passengers ate out of doors, sitting on theboxes and a nail-keg.
One of the passengers who had ridden on top of the coach was a busy,inquiring man with a full brown beard and a blue eye and a long linenduster. After he had eaten he walked over to Harry and Terry.
"I'm Henry Villard, from the Cincinnati _Commercial_," he said,genially. "The station agent tells me that you boys have had quite anexciting experience on this new trail. Buffalo stampede, and a rescue,and all that. I'd like to hear about it and send it to my paper. Itought to make a good story."
The man who had occupied the seat with the driver also came over.
"A buffalo, a mule and a two-wheeled cart, eh?" he commented. "Well, Iguess you'll make it, if you've got so far. But there are five thousandother pilgrims behind us, some with worse outfits than yours, and allpushing on by this same trail, to find the 'elephant.'"
Journalist Villard took notes; he even interviewed the boy in the tent.The boy was now able to talk. He said that his name was Archie Smith. Heand two others had started from Ohio, to walk to the diggin's. They hadtried to cut across north from the Smoky Hill trail and had gotlost--and the last he remembered he was wandering alone, so weak fromhunger and thirst that he had fallen down.
The man who had spoken of the five thousand pilgrims behind (his namewas Beverly D. Williams, and he was the stage-line superintendent, onhis initial tour of inspection), helped Archie into the red coach.
"Thanks. I owe you a lot. I'll see you at the mines. Don't forget. I'llsee you at the mines."
With a jump the green coach started also. And away rolled, tugged bytheir galloping mules, the first stages for Pike's Peak, bearingJournalist Henry Villard of the Cincinnati _Commercial_ andSuperintendent Williams, and those passengers who, like Mr. Villard,were bent on discovering just how true the "elephant" stories were.
The Pike's Peak Rush; Or, Terry in the New Gold Fields Page 8
