Pluck on the Long Trail

E >> Edwin L. Sabin >> Pluck on the Long Trail

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The moon sank, soon the sun would be up; the birds were moving as well
as chirping, the east was brightening, and already the tip of Pilot
Peak, far away behind us with Kit and Jed sleeping at his base, was
touched with pink, when we came upon a camp.

Red Fox Scout Van Sant, who was leading, suddenly stopped short and
lifted his hand in warning. Before, in a bend of the stream that we were
skirting, among the pines and spruces beside it was a lean-to, with a
blackened fire, and two figures rolled in blankets; and back from the
stream a little way, across in an open grassy spot, was a burro. It had
been grazing, but now it was eying us with head and ears up. Red Fox
Scout Van had sighted the burro first and next, of course, the lean-to
camp.

We stood stock-still, surveying.

"Cache!" whispered Major Henry (which means "Hide"); and we stepped
softly aside into the brush. For that burro looked very much like Sally,
who had been taken from us by the two recruits when they had stolen
Apache also--and by the way that the figures were lying, under a
lean-to, they might be the renegade recruits themselves. It was a
hostile camp!

"What is it?" whispered Red Fox Scout Ward, his eyes sparkling. "Enemy?"

"I think so," murmured Major Henry.

"We can pass."

"Sure. But if that's our burro we ought to take her." And the major
explained.

The Red Foxes nodded.

"But if she isn't, then we don't want her. One of us ought to
reconnoiter." And the major hesitated. "Fitz, you go," he said. And this
rather surprised me, because naturally the major ought to have gone
himself, he being the leader. "I've got a side-ache, somehow," he added,
apologizing. "It isn't much--but it might interfere with my crawling."

Fitz was only too ready to do the stalking. He left his pack, and with a
detour began sneaking upon the lean-to. We watched, breathless. But the
figures never stirred. Fitz came out, opposite, and from bush to bush
and tree to tree he crept nearer and nearer, with little darts from
cover to cover; and at last very cautiously, on his hands and knees; and
finally wriggling on his belly like a snake.

'Twas fine stalking, and we were glad that the Red Fox Scouts were here
to see. But it seemed to us that Fitz was getting too near. However, the
figures did not move, and did not know--and now Fitz was almost upon
them. From behind a tree only a yard away from them he stretched his
neck and peered, for half a minute. Then he crawled backward, and
disappeared. Presently he was with us again.

"It's they, sir," he reported. "Bat and Walt. They're asleep. And that
is Sally, I'm certain. I know her by the white spot on her back."

"We must have her," said the major. "She's ours. We'll get her and pack
her, so we can travel better."

"Can we catch her, all right?" queried Red Fox Scout Van Sant. "We're
liable to wake those two fellows up, aren't we?"

"What if we do?" put in his partner, Scout Ward. "Three of us can guard
them, and the other two can chase the burro."

"No," said Major Henry. "I think we can rope her and be off before those
renegades know anything about it. Can you, Fitz?"

Fitz nodded, eager.

"Then take the rope, and go after her."

Fitz did. He was a boss roper, too. You wouldn't believe it, of a
one-armed boy, but it was so. All we Elk Scouts could throw a rope some.
A rope comes in pretty handy, at times. Most range horses have to be
caught in the corral with a rope, and knowing how to throw a rope will
pull a man out of a stream or out of a hole and will perhaps save his
life. But Fitz was our prize roper, because he had practiced harder than
any of us, to make up for having only one arm.

The way he did was to carry the coil on his stump, and the lash end in
his teeth; and when he had cast, quick as lightning he took the end
from between his teeth ready to haul on it.

Major Henry might have gone, himself, to get the credit and to show what
he could do; but he showed his sense by resigning in favor of Fitz.

So now at the command Fitz took the rope from him and shook it out and
re-coiled it nicely. Then, carrying it, he sneaked through the trees,
and crossed the creek, farther up, wading to his ankles, and advanced
upon Sally.

Sally divided her attention between him and us, and finally pricked her
ears at him alone. She knew what was being tried.

Coming out into the open space Fitz advanced slower and slower, step by
step. He had his rope ready--the coil was on his stump, and the lash end
was in his teeth, and the noose trailed by his side, from his good hand.
We glanced from him and Sally to the lean-to, and back again, for the
campers were sleeping peacefully. If only they would not wake and spoil
matters.

Sally held her head high, suspicious and interested. Fitz did not dare
to speak to her; he must trust that she would give him a chance at her
before she escaped into the trees where roping would be a great deal
harder.

We watched. My heart beat so that it hurt. Having that burro meant a lot
to us, for those packs were heavy--and it was a point of honor, too,
that we recapture our own. Here was our chance.

Fitz continued to trail his noose. He didn't swing it. Sally watched
him, and we watched them both. He was almost close enough, was Fitz, to
throw. A few steps more, and something would happen. But Sally concluded
not to wait. She tossed her head, and with a snort turned to trot away.
And suddenly Fitz, in a little run and a jerk, threw with all his might.

Straight and swift the noose sailed out, opening into an "O," and
dragging the rope like a tail behind it. Fitz had grabbed the lash end
from between his teeth, and was running forward, to make the cast cover
more ground. It was a beautiful noose and well aimed. Before it landed
we saw that it was going to land right. Just as it fell Sally trotted
square into it, and it dropped over her head. She stopped short and
cringed, but she was too late. Fitz had sprung back and had hauled hard.
It drew tight about her neck, and she was caught. She knew it, and she
stood still, with an inquiring gaze around. She knew better than to run
on the rope and risk being thrown or choked. Hurrah! We would have
cheered--but we didn't dare. We only shook hands all round and grinned;
and in a minute came Fitz, leading her to us. She was meek enough, but
she didn't seem particularly glad to see us. We patted Fitz on the back
and let him know that we appreciated him.

He had only the one throw, but that had been enough. It was like Van's
last cartridge.

CHAPTER XIX

MAJOR HENRY SAYS "OUCH"

The sun was just peeping above the Medicine Range that we had crossed,
when we led Sally away, back through the brush and around to strike the
trail beyond the lean-to camp. After we had gone about half a mile Major
Henry posted me as a rear-guard sentry, to watch the trail, and he and
the other Scouts continued on until it was safe to stop and pack the
burro.

The two renegade recruits did not appear. Probably they were still
sleeping, with the blankets over their faces to keep out the light! In
about half an hour I was signaled to come on, and when I joined the
party Sally had been packed with the squaw hitch and now we could travel
light again. I tell you, it was a big relief to get those loads
transferred to Sally. Even the Red Foxes were glad to be rid of theirs.

Things looked bright. We were over the range; we had this stroke of
luck, in running right upon Sally; the trail was fair; and the way
seemed open. It wouldn't be many hours now before the Red Fox Scouts
could branch off for the railroad, and get aboard a train so as to make
Salt Lake in time to connect with their party for the grand trip, and we
Elks had three days yet in which to deliver the message to the Mayor of
Green Valley.

For two or three hours we traveled as fast as we could, driving Sally
and stepping on her tracks so as to cover them. We felt so good over our
prospects--over being upon the open way and winning out at last--that we
struck up songs:

"Oh, the Elk is our Medicine;
He makes us very strong--"

for us; and:

"Oh, the Red fox is our Medicine--"

for the Red Fox Scouts.

And we sang:

"It's honor Flag and Country dear,
and hold them in the van;
It's keep your lungs and conscience clean,
your body spick and span;
It's 'shoulders squared,' and 'be prepared,'
and always 'play the man':
Shouting the Boy Scouts forev-er!
Hurrah! Hurrah! For we're the B. S. A.!
Hurrah! Hurrah! We're ready, night and day!
You'll find us in the city street and on the open way!
Shouting the Boy Scouts forev-er!"

But at the beginning of the second verse Major Henry suddenly quit and
sat down upon a log, where the trail wound through some timber. "I've
got to stop a minute, boys," he gasped. "Go ahead. I'll catch up with
you."

But of course we didn't. His face was white and wet, his lips were
pressed tight as he breathed hard through his nose, and he doubled
forward.

"What's the matter?"

"I seem to have a regular dickens of a stomach-ache," he grunted.
"Almost makes me sick."

That was serious, when Major Henry gave in this way. We remembered that
back on the trail when we had sighted Sally he had spoken of a
"side-ache" and had sent Fitzpatrick to do the reconnoitering; but he
had not spoken of it again and here we had been traveling fast with
never a whimper from him. We had supposed that his side-ache was done.
Instead, it had been getting worse.

"Maybe you'd better lie flat," suggested Red Fox Scout Ward. "Or try
lying on your side."

"I'll be all right in a minute," insisted the major.

"We can all move off the trail, and have breakfast," proposed Fitz.
"That will give him a chance to rest. We ought to have something to eat,
anyway."

So we moved back from the trail, around a bend of the creek. The major
could scarcely walk, he was so doubled over with cramps; Scout Ward and
I stayed by to help him. But there was not much that we could do, in
such a case. He leaned on us some, and that was all.

He tried lying on his side, while we unpacked Sally; and then we got him
upon a blanket, with a roll for a pillow. Red Fox Scout Van Sant hustled
to the creek with a cup, and fixed up a dose.

"Here," he said to the major, "swallow this."

"What is it?"

"Ginger. It ought to fix you out."

So it ought. The major swallowed it--and it was so hot it made the tears
come into his eyes. In a moment he thought that he did feel better, and
we were glad. We went ahead with breakfast, but he didn't eat anything,
which was wise. A crampy stomach won't digest food and then you are
worse.

We didn't hurry him, after breakfast. We knew that as soon as he could
travel, he would. But we found that his feeling better wasn't lasting.
Now that the burning of the ginger had worn off, he was as bad as ever.
We were mighty sorry for him, as he turned and twisted, trying to find
an easier position. A stomach-ache like that must have been is surely
hard to stand.

Fitz got busy. Fitzpatrick is pretty good at doctoring. He wants to be a
doctor, some day. And the Red Fox Scouts knew considerable about
first-aids and simple Scouts' remedies.

"What kind of an ache is it, Tom?" queried Fitz. We were too bothered to
call him "Major." "Sharp? Or steady?"

"It's a throbby ache. Keeps right at the job, though," grunted the
major.

"Where?"

"Here." And the major pointed to the pit of his stomach, below the
breast-bone. "It's a funny ache, too. I can't seem to strike any
position that it likes."

"It isn't sour and burning, is it?" asked Red Fox Scout Ward.

"Uh uh. It's a green-apple ache, or as if I'd swallowed a corner of a
brick."

We had to laugh. Still, that ache wasn't any laughing matter.

"Do you feel sick?"

"Just from the pain."

"We all ate the same, and we didn't drink out of that tin can, so it
can't be poison, and it doesn't sound like just indigestion," mused Fitz
to us. "Maybe we ought to give him an emetic. Shall we, Tom?"

"I don't think I need any emetic. There's nothing there," groaned the
major. "Maybe I've caught cold. I guess the cramps will quit. Wish I had
a hot-water bag or a hot brick."

"We'll heat water and lay a hot compress on. That will help," spoke Red
Fox Scout Van Sant. "Ought to have thought of it before."

"Wait a minute, boys," bade Fitz. "Lie still as long as you can, Tom,
while I feel you."

He unbuttoned the major's shirt (the major had taken off his belt and
loosened his waist-band, already) and began to explore about with his
fingers.

"The ache's up here," explained the major. "Up in the middle of my
stomach."

"But is it sore anywhere else?" asked Fitz, pressing about. "Say ouch."

The major said ouch.

"Sore right under there?" queried Fitz.

The major nodded.

We noted where Fitz was pressing with his fingers--and suddenly it
flashed across me what he was finding out. The _ache_ was in the pit of
the stomach, but the _sore spot_ was lower and down toward the right
hip.

Fitz experimented here and there, not pressing very hard; and he always
could make the major say ouch, for the one spot.

"I believe he's got appendicitis," announced Fitz, gazing up at us.

"It looks that way, sure," agreed Red Fox Scout Van Sant. "My brother
had appendicitis, and that's how they went to work on him."

"My father had it, is how I knew about it," explained Fitz.

"Aw, thunder!" grunted the major. "It's just a stomach-ache." He hated
to be fussed with. "I'll get over it. A hot-water bag is all I need."

"No, you don't," spoke Fitz, quickly--as Red Fox Scout Ward was stirring
the fire. "Hot water would be dangerous, and if it's appendicitis we
shan't take any risks. They use an ice-pack in appendicitis. We'll put
on cold water instead of hot, and I'm going to give him a good stiff
dose of Epsom salts. I'm afraid to give him anything else."

That sounded like sense, except that the cold water instead of the hot
was something new. And it was queer that if the major's appendix was
what caused the trouble the ache should be off in the middle of his
stomach. But Fitz was certain that he was right, and so we went ahead.
The treatment wasn't the kind to do any harm, even if we were wrong in
the theory. The Epsom salts would clean out most disturbances, and help
reduce any inflammation. (Note 64.)

The major was suffering badly. To help relieve him, we discussed which
was worse, tooth-ache or stomach-ache. The Red Foxes took the tooth-ache
side and we Elks the stomach-ache side; and we won, because the major
put in his grunts for the stomach-ache. We piled a wet pack of
handkerchiefs and gauze on his stomach, over the right lower angle,
where the appendix ought to be; and we changed it before it got warmed.
The water from the creek was icy cold. We kept at it, and after a while
the major was feeling much better.

And now he began to chafe because he was delaying the march. It was
almost noon. The two renegade recruits had not come along yet. They
might not come at all; they might be looking around for Sally, without
sense enough to read the sign. But the major was anxious to be pushing
on again.

"I don't think you ought to," objected Fitz.

"But I'm all right."

"You may not be, if you stir around much," said Red Fox Scout Ward.

"What do you want me to do? Lie here for the rest of my life?" The major
was cross.

"No; but you ought to be carried some place where you can have a doctor,
if it's appendicitis."

"I don't believe it is. It's just a sort of colic. I'm all right now, if
we go slowly."

"But don't you think that we'd better find some place where we can take
you?" asked Fitz.

"You fellows leave me, then, and go on. Somebody will come along, or
I'll follow slow. Those Red Foxes must get to their train, and you two
Elks must carry the message through on time."

"Not much!" exclaimed both the Red Foxes, indignant. "What kind of
Scouts do you think we are? You'll need more than two men, if there's
much carrying to be done. We stick."

"So do we," chimed in Fitz and I. "We'll get the message through, and
get you through, too."

The major flushed and stood up.

"If that's the way you talk," he snapped (he was the black-eyed, quick
kind, you know), "then I order that this march be resumed. Pack the
burro. I order it."

"You'd better ride."

"I'll walk."

Well, he was our leader. We should obey, as long as he seemed capable.
He was awfully stubborn, the major was, when he had his back up. But we
exchanged glances, and we must all have thought the same: that if he was
taken seriously again soon, and was laid out, we would try to persuade
him to let us manage for him. Fitz only said quietly:

"But if you have to quit, you'll quit, won't you, Tom? You won't keep
going, just to spite yourself. Real appendicitis can't be fooled with."

"I'll quit," he answered.

We packed Sally again, and started on. The major seemed to want to hike
at the regulation fast Scouts' pace, but we held him in the best that we
could. Anyway, after we had gone three or four miles, he was beginning
to pant and double over; his pain had come back.

"I think I'll have to rest a minute," he said; and he sat down. "Go
ahead. I'll catch up. You'd better take the message, Fitz. Here."

"No, sir," retorted Fitz. "If you think that we're going on and leave
you alone, sick, you're off your base. This is a serious matter, Tom. It
wouldn't be decent, and it wouldn't be Scout-like. The Red Foxes ought
to go--"

"But we won't," they interrupted--

"--and we'll get you to some place where you can be attended to. Then
we'll take the message, if you can't. There's plenty of time."

The major flushed and fidgeted, and fingered the package.

"Maybe I can ride, then," he offered. "We can cache more stuff and I'll
ride Sally." He grunted and twisted as the pain cut him. He looked
ghastly.

"He ought to lie quiet till we can take him some place and find a
doctor," said Red Fox Scout Van Sant, emphatically. "There must be a
ranch or a town around here."

"We'll ask this man coming," said Fitz.

The stream had met another, here, and so had the trail; and down the
left-hand trail was riding at a little cow-pony trot a horseman. He was
a cow-puncher. He wore leather chaps and spurs and calico shirt and
flapping-brimmed drab slouch hat. When he reached us he reined in and
halted. He was a middle-aged man, with freckles and sandy mustache.

"Howdy?" he said.

"Howdy?" we answered.

"Ain't seen any Big W cattle, back along the trail, have you?"

No, we hadn't--until suddenly I remembered.

"We saw some about ten days ago, on the other side of the Divide."

"Whereabouts?"

"On a mesa, northwest across the ridge from Dixon Park."

"Good eye," he grinned. "I heard some of our strays had got over into
that country, but I wasn't sure."

We weren't here to talk cattle, though; and Fitz spoke up:

"Where's the nearest ranch, or town?"

"The nearest town is Shenandoah. That's on the railroad about eight
miles yonder. Follow the right-hand trail and you'll come out on a
wagon-road that takes you to it. But there's a ranch three miles up the
valley by this other trail. Sick man?" The cow-puncher had good eyes,
too.

"Yes. We want a doctor."

"Ain't any doctor at Shenandoah. That's nothing but a station and a
store and a couple of houses. I expect the nearest doctor is the one at
the mines."

"Where's that?"

"Fifteen miles into the hills, from the ranch."

"How far is Green Valley?" asked the major, weakly.

"Twenty-three or four miles, by this trail I come along. Same trail you
take to the ranch. No doctor now at Green Valley, though. The one they
had went back East."

"Then you let the Red Fox Scouts take me to the station and put me on
the train for somewhere, and they can catch their own train; and you two
fellows go ahead to Green Valley," proposed the major to Fitz.

"Ain't another train either way till to-morrow morning," said the
cow-puncher. "They meet at Shenandoah, usually--when they ain't late. If
you need a doctor, quickest way would be to make the ranch and ride to
the mines and get him. What's the matter?"

"We don't know, for sure. Appendicitis, we think."

"Wouldn't monkey with it," advised the cow-puncher.

"Then the Red Foxes can hit for the railroad and Fitz and Jim and I'll
make the ranch," insisted the major.

"We won't," spoke up Red Fox Scout Ward, flatly.

"We'll go with you to the ranch. We'll see this thing through. The
railroad can wait."

"Well," said the cow-puncher, "you can't miss it. So long, and good
luck."

"So long," we answered. He rode on, and we looked at the major.

"I suppose we ought to get you there as quick as we can," said Fitz,
slowly. "Do you want to ride, or try walking again, or shall we carry
you?"

"I'm better now," declared our plucky corporal. He stood up. "I'll walk,
I guess. It isn't far."

So we set out, cautiously. No, it wasn't far--but it seemed _mighty_
far. The major would walk a couple of hundred yards, and then he must
rest. The pain doubled him right over. We took some of the stuff off
Sally, and lifted him on top, but he couldn't stand that, either, very
long. We tried a chair of our hands, but that didn't suit.

"I'll skip ahead and see if I can bring back a wagon, from the ranch,"
volunteered Red Fox Scout Van Sant; and away he ran. "You wait," he
called back, over his shoulder.

We waited, and kept a cold pack on the major.

In about an hour and a half Van came panting back.

"There isn't any wagon," he gasped. "Nobody at the ranch except two
women. Men folks have gone and taken the wagon with them."

That was hard. We skirmished about, and made a litter out of one of our
blankets and two pieces of driftwood that we fished from the creek; and
carrying the major, with Sally following, we struck the best pace that
we could down the trail. He was heavy, and we must stop often to rest
ourselves and him; and we changed the cold packs.

At evening we toiled at last into the ranch yard. It had not been three
miles: it had been a good long four miles.

CHAPTER XX

A FORTY-MILE RIDE

The ranch was only a small log shack, of two rooms, with corral and
sheds and hay-land around it; it wasn't much of a place, but we were
glad to get there. Smoke was rising from the stove-pipe chimney. As we
drew up, one of the women looked out of the kitchen door, and the other
stood in a shed with a milk-pail in her hand. The woman in the doorway
was the mother; the other was the daughter. They were regular ranch
women, hard workers and quick to be kind in an emergency. This was an
emergency, for Major Henry was about worn out.

"Fetch him right in here," called the mother; and the daughter came
hurrying.

We carried him into a sleeping room, and laid him upon the bed there. He
had been all grit, up till now; but he quit and let down and lay there
with eyes closed, panting.

"What is it?" they asked anxiously.

"He's sick. We think it's appendicitis."

"Oh, goodness!" they exclaimed. "What can we give him?"

"Nothing. Where can we get a doctor?"

"The mines is the nearest place, if he's there. That's twenty miles."

"But a man we met said it was fifteen."

"You can't follow that trail. It's been washed out. You'll have to take
the other trail, around by the head of Cooper Creek."

"Can we get a saddle-horse here?"

"There are two in the corral; but I don't know as you can catch 'em.
They're used to being roped."

"We'll rope them."

The major groaned. He couldn't help it.

"It's all right, old boy," soothed Fitz. "We'll have the doctor in a
jiffy."

"Don't bother about me," gasped the major, without opening his eyes. "Go
on through."

"You hush," we all retorted. "We'll do both: have you fixed up and get
through, too."

The major fidgeted and complained weakly.

"One of us had better be catching the horses, hadn't we?" suggested Red
Fox Scout Ward. "Van and I'll go for the doctor."

"No, you won't," said I. "I'll go. Fitz ought to stay. I know trails
pretty well."

"Then either Van or I'll go with you. Two would be better than one."

"I'm going," declared Van Sant. "You stay here with Fitz, Hal."

That was settled. We didn't delay to dispute over the matter. There was
work and duty for all.

"You be learning the trail, then," directed Fitz. "I'll be catching the
horses."

"You'll find a rope on one of the saddles in the shed," called the
daughter.

Fitz made for it; that was quicker than unpacking Sally and getting our
own rope. Scout Ward went along to help. We tried to ease the major.

"You should have something to eat," exclaimed the women.

We said "no"; but they bustled about, hurrying up their own supper,
which was under way when we arrived. While they bustled they fired
questions at us; who we were, and where we had come from, and where we
were going, and all.

The major seemed kind of light-headed. He groaned and wriggled and
mumbled. The message was on his mind, and the Red Fox Scouts, and the
fear that neither would get through in time. He kept trying to pass the
message on to us; so finally I took it.

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