The Boy Land Boomer

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THE BOY
LAND BOOMER

OR

DICK ARBUCKLE'S
ADVENTURES IN OKLAHOMA

BY

CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL

AUTHOR OF

"THREE YOUNG RANCHMEN,"
"A SAILOR BOY WITH DEWEY," ETC.

[Illustration: "The youth had to cling fast around his neck to save
himself a lot of broken bones"]

ILLUSTRATED BY W. H. FRY

H. M. CALDWELL COMPANY
NEW YORK Publishers BOSTON

COPYRIGHT, 1902,
BY
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY

Made by
Robert Smith Printing Co.,
Lansing, Mich.

---------------
Transcriber's Note: Obvious printer errors have been corrected. All
other inconsistencies have been left as they were in the original.
---------------

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

"The youth had to cling fast around his neck to save
himself a lot of broken bones" _Frontispiece_

"The next instant the boy was hurled headlong into
the boiling and foaming current" 62

"Dick had let fly the jagged stone, taking him directly
in the forehead and keeling him over like a tenpin" 179

"In a second more the two men were in a hand-to-hand
encounter" 220

PREFACE.

"The Boy Land Boomer" relates the adventures of a lad who, with his
father, joins a number of daring men in an attempt to occupy the rich
farming lands of Oklahoma before the time when that section of our
country was thrown open to settlement under the homestead act.

Oklahoma consists of a tract of land which formerly formed a portion of
the Indian Territory. This region was much in dispute as early as 1884
and 1885, when Captain "Oklahoma" Payne and Captain Couch did their best
to force an entrance for the boomers under them. Boomers remained in the
neighborhood for years, and another attempt was made to settle Oklahoma
in 1886, and up to 1889, when, on April 22, the land was thrown open to
settlement by a proclamation of the President. The mad rush to gain the
best claims followed, and some of these scenes are related in the
present volume.

The boomers, who numbered thousands, had among them several daring and
well-known leaders, but not one was better known or more daring than
the leader who is known in these pages as Pawnee Brown. This man was not
alone a great Indian scout and hunter, but also one who had lived much
among the Indians, could speak their language, and who had on several
occasions acted as interpreter for the Government. He was well beloved
by his followers, who relied upon his judgment in all things.

To some it may seem that the scenes in this book are overdrawn. Such,
however, is not the fact. There was much of roughness in those days, and
the author has continually found it necessary to tone down rather than
to exaggerate in penning these scenes from real life.

CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL.

THE BOY LAND BOOMER.

* * * * *

CHAPTER I.

DICK ARBUCKLE'S DISCOVERY.

"Father!"

The call came from a boy of sixteen, a bright, manly chap, who had just
awakened from an unusually sound sleep in the rear end of a monstrous
boomer's wagon.

The scene was upon the outskirts of Arkansas City, situated near the
southern boundary line of Kansas and not many miles from the Oklahoma
portion of the Indian Territory.

For weeks the city had been filling up with boomers on their way to
pre-empt land within the confines of Oklahoma as soon as it became
possible to do so.

The land in Oklahoma had for years been in dispute. Pioneers claimed the
right to go in and stake out homesteads, but the soldiers of our
government would not allow them to do so.

The secret of the matter was that the cattle kings of that section
controlled everything, and as the grazing land of the territory was
worth hundreds of thousands of dollars to them they fought desperately
to keep the pioneers out, delaying, in every manner possible,
legislation which tended to make the section an absolutely free one to
would-be settlers.

But now the pioneers, or boomers as they were commonly called, were
tired of waiting for the passage of a law which they knew must come
sooner or later, and they intended to go ahead without legal authority.

It was a dark, tempestuous night, with the wind blowing fiercely and the
rain coming down at irregular intervals. On the grassy plain were
huddled the wagons, animals and trappings of over two hundred boomers.
Here and there flared up the remains of a campfire, but the wind was
blowing too strongly for these to be replenished, and the men had
followed their wives and children into the big, canvas-covered wagons,
to make themselves as comfortable as the crowded space permitted.

It was the rattle of the rain on the canvas covering of the wagon which
had aroused the boy.

"I say father!" he repeated. "Father!"

Again there was no reply, and, kicking aside the blanket with which he
had been covered, Dick Arbuckle clambered over some boxes piled high in
the center of the vehicle to where he had left his parent resting less
than three hours before.

"Gone!" cried the lad in astonishment. "What can this mean? What could
take him outside in such a storm as this? Father!"

He now crawled to the opening at the front of the wagon and called at
the top of his voice. Only the shrieking of the wind answered him. A
dozen times he cried out, then paused to strike a somewhat damp match
and light a smoky lantern hanging to the front ashen bow of the
turn-out's covering. Holding the light over his head he peered forth into
the inky darkness surrounding the boomer's temporary camp.

"Not a soul in sight," he mused. "It must be about midnight. Can
something have happened to father? He said he felt rather strange in his
head when he went to bed. If only Jack Rasco would come back."

From the front end of the wagon Dick Arbuckle shifted back to the rear.
Here the same dreary outlook of storm, mud and flapping canvases
presented itself. Not so much as a stray dog was in sight, and the
nearest wagon was twenty feet away.

"I must find out where he is. Something is wrong, I feel certain of it."

Thus muttering to himself the youth hunted up his overcoat and hat, put
them on, and, lantern in hand, swung himself into the sea of
half-submerged prairie grass, and stalked over to the other wagon just
mentioned.

"Mike Delaney!" he cried, kicking on the wagon wheel with the toe of his
boot; "Mike Delaney, have you seen my father anywhere?"

"Sure, an' Moike Delaney is not here, Dick Arbuckle," came in a female
voice. "He's gone off wid Pawnee Brown, and there's no tellin' whin
he'll be back. Is yer father gone?"

"Yes, and I don't know where," and now Dick stepped closer, as the round
and freckled face of Rosy Delaney peered forth from a hole in the canvas
end. "He went to bed when I did, and now he's missing."

"Saints preserve us! Mebbe the Injuns scalped him now, Dick!" came in a
voice full of terror.

"There are no Indians around here, Mrs. Delaney," answered the youth,
half inclined to laugh. "But he's missing, and it's mighty strange, to
say the least."

"He was sick, too, wasn't he?"

"Father hasn't been real well for a year. He left New York very largely
in the hope that this climate would do him some good."

"Moike was sayin' his head throubles him a good bit."

"So it does, and that's why I am so worried. When he gets those awful
pains he is apt to walk away and keep right on without knowing where he
is going."

"Poor mon! Oi wisht Oi could help yez. Mebbe Moike will be back soon.
Ain't Jack Rasco about?"

"No, he is off with Pawnee Brown, too. Rasco and Brown have been looking
over the trails leading to Oklahoma. They are bound to outwit the United
States cavalry, for the boomers have more right to that land than the
cattle kings, and right is always might in the end."

"Especially wid Pawnee on the end o' it, Dick. He's a great mon, is
Pawnee, only it do be afther givin' me the shivers to hear him spake the
Pawnee language loike he was a rale Injun. Such a foine scout as he is
has no roight to spake such a dirthy tongue. How illegant it would be
now if he could spake rale Oirish."

"His knowledge of the Indian tongue has helped both him and our
government a good deal, Mrs. Delaney. But I mustn't stop here talking.
If my father----"

A wild, unearthly shriek cut short further talk upon Dick Arbuckle's
part. It came from the darkness back of the camp and caused Mrs. Delaney
to draw back and tumble to the bottom of her house on wheels in terror.

"It's the Banshee----" she began, when Dick interrupted her.

"It's Pumpkin Bill. I'd know his voice a mile off," he declared.
"Somebody ought to send him back to where he belongs. Creation, what a
racket!"

Nearer and nearer came the voice, rising and falling with the wind. The
shrill shrieking penetrated to every wagon, and head after head was
thrust out of the canvases to see what it meant. In another minute
Pumpkin Bill, the dunce of the boomer's camp, "a nobody from nowhar," to
use Cal Clemmer's words, came rushing along, hatless and with his wild
eyes fairly starting from their sockets.

"Save me! a ghost!" he yelled, swinging his hands over his head. "A
ghost full of blood! Oh, oh! I'm a dead boy! I know I am! Stop him from
following me!"

"Pumpkin!" ejaculated Dick, striding up and catching the fleeing lad by
the arm. "Hold on; what's this racket about?"

The dunce paused, then stood stock still, his mouth opening to its
widest extent. He was far from bright, and it took him several seconds
to put into words what was passing in his mind.

"About, about?" he repeated. "Dick Arbuckle! Oh, dear me! I've seen your
father's ghost!"

"Pumpkin!"

"Yes, I did. Hope to die if I didn't. I was just coming to camp from
town. Some men kept me, and made me sing and dance for them--you know
how I can sing--tra-la-la-da-do-da-bum! They promised me a dollar, but
didn't give it to me. I was running to get out of the wet when I plumped
into something fearful--a ghost! Your father, covered with blood, and
groaning and moaning, 'Robbed, robbed; almost murdered!' That's what the
ghost said, and he caught me by the hand. See, the blood is there yet,
even though I did try to wash it off in the rain. Oh, Dick, what does it
mean?"

"It means something awful has happened, Pumpkin, if your story is
true----"

"Hope to die if it ain't," and the dunce crossed his heart several
times. Suddenly, to keep up his courage, he burst into a wild snatch of
song:

"A big baboon
Glared at the moon,
And sang la-la-la-dum!
'Come down to me
And I will be
Your lardy-dardy----'"

"Stop it, Pumpkin," interrupted Dick. "Come along with me."

"To where?"

"To where you saw my father."

"Not for a million dollars--not for a million million!" cried the
half-witted boy. "It wasn't your father; it was a ghost, all covered
with blood!" and he shrank back under the Delaney wagon.

"It was my father, Pumpkin; I am sure of it. He is missing, and
something has happened to him. Perhaps he fell and hurt himself. Come
on."

The dunce stopped short and stared.

"Missing, is he? Then it wasn't a ghost. La-la-dum! What a joke. Will
you go along, too?"

"Of course."

"And take a pistol?"

"Yes."

"Poor mon, Oi thrust he is not very much hurted," broke in Rosy Delaney,
who had been a close listener to the foregoing. "If he is, Dick
Arbuckle, bring him here, an' it's Rosy Delaney will nurse him wid th'
best of care."

As has been said, many had heard Pumpkin Bill's wild cries, but now that
he had quieted down these boomers returned to their couches, grumbling
that the half-witted lad should thus be allowed to disturb their rest.

In a minute Dick Arbuckle and Pumpkin were hurrying along the road the
dunce had previously traveled. The rain was letting up a bit, and the
smoky lantern lit up the surroundings for a circle thirty feet in
diameter.

"Here is where I met him," said Pumpkin, coming to a halt near the edge
of a small stream. "There's the hat he knocked off my head." He picked
it up. "Oh, dear me! covered with blood! Did you ever see the like?"

Dick was more disturbed than ever.

"Which way did he go?"

"I don't know."

"Didn't you notice at all, Pumpkin? Try to think."

"Nary a notice. I ran, that's all. It looked like a bloody ghost. I'll
dream about it, I know I will."

To this Dick did not answer. Getting down on his knees in the wet he
examined the trail by the lantern's rays. The footsteps which he thought
must be those of his father led around a bend in the stream and up a
series of rocks covered with moss and dirt. With his heart thumping
violently under his jacket he followed the footprints until the very
summit of the rocks was gained. Then he let out a groan of anguish.

And not without cause. Beyond the summit was a dark opening fifteen feet
wide, a hundred or more feet long and of unfathomable depth. The
footprints ended at the very edge of this yawning abyss.

CHAPTER II.

DICK ON A RUNAWAY.

"If he fell down here he is dead beyond all doubt!"

Such were Dick Arbuckle's words as he tried in vain to pierce the gloom
of the abyss by flashing around the smoky lantern.

"Gosh! I reckon you're right," answered Pumpkin in an awe-struck
whisper. "It must be a thousand feet to the bottom of that hole!"

"If I had a rope I might lower myself," went on the youth, with quiet
determination. "But without a rope----"

A pounding of hoof-strokes on the grassy trail below the rocks caused
him to stop and listen attentively.

"Somebody is coming. I'll see if I can get help!" he cried, and ran down
to the trail, swinging his lantern over his head as he went. In ten
seconds a horseman burst into view, riding a beautiful racing steed. The
newcomer was a well-known leader of the land boomers, who rejoiced in
the name of Pawnee Brown.

"Ai! Pawnee Brown!" cried Dick, and at once the leader of the land
boomers came to a halt.

"What is it, Arbuckle?" he asked kindly.

"My father is missing, and I have every reason to fear that he has
tumbled into an opening at the summit of yonder rocks."

"That's bad, lad. Missing? Since when?"

Dick's story was soon told, and Pawnee Brown at once agreed to go up to
the opening and see if anything could be done. "It's the Devil's
Chimney," he explained. "If he went over into it I'm afraid he's a
goner."

A lariat hung from the pommel of the scout's saddle, and this he took in
hand as he dismounted. Soon he stood by the edge of the black opening,
while Dick again waved the lantern.

"You and the dunce can lower me by the lariat. I don't believe the
opening is more than fifty feet deep," said Pawnee Brown.

The lariat was quickly adjusted around the edge of a smooth rock, and
with his foot in a noose and the lantern in hand, the scout was lowered
into the depths of the opening.

Down and down he went, the light finding nothing but bare, rocky wall to
fall upon. Presently the lowering process ceased.

"We have reached the end of the lariat," called out Dick.

Hardly had he spoken when a fearful thing happened. There was a snap and
a whirr, and Dick and Pumpkin went flat on their backs, while ten feet
of the lariat whirled loosely over their heads.

The improvised rope had broken.

"Gone!" gasped Dick. "Merciful heavens!"

He scrambled up and looked over the edge of the opening. The lantern had
been dashed into a thousand pieces, and all was dark below.

"Pawnee Brown!" he cried, and Pumpkin joined in with a cry which was
fairly a shriek.

The opening remained as silent as a tomb. Again and again both called
out. Then Dick turned to his companion.

"This is awful, Pumpkin. Something must be done. I shall mount his mare
and ride back to camp and get help. For all I know to the contrary both
my father and Pawnee Brown are lying dead below."

"I shan't stay here alone," shivered the half-witted boy. Then, before
Dick could stop him, he set off at the top of his speed, yelling
discordantly as he went.

"Poor fool, he might have ridden with me," thought Dick.

He was already rushing down to the trail. Now he remembered that he had
heard a strange noise down where Pawnee Brown's beautiful mare, Bonnie
Bird, had been tethered--a noise reaching him just before the lariat had
parted. What could that mean?

He reached the clump of trees where Bonnie Bird should have been. The
mare was gone!

"Broken away!" he groaned. "Was ever such luck before! Everything is
going wrong tonight! Poor father; poor Pawnee Brown! I must leg it to
camp just as Pumpkin is doing. Hullo!"

He had started to run, but now he pulled up short. Grazing in the wet
grass not a dozen steps away was a bay horse, full and round, a perfect
beast. At first Dick Arbuckle thought he must be dreaming. He ran up
rubbing his eyes. No, it was no dream; the horse was as real as a horse
could be. He was bridled, but instead of a saddle wore only a patch of a
blanket.

"It's a Godsend," he murmured. "I don't know whom you belong to, old
boy, but you've got to carry me back to camp, and that, too, at a
licking gait, you understand?"

The horse pricked up his ears and gave a snort. In a trice Dick was on
his back and urging him around in the proper direction. He was a New
York boy, not much used to riding, and the management of such a beast as
this one did not come easy. The horse arose upon his forelegs and
nearly pitched Dick over his head, and the youth had to cling fast
around his neck to save himself a lot of broken bones.

"Whoa, there! Gee Christopher, what a tartar! Whoa, I say! If only I had
a whip!" he panted, as the horse began to move around on a pivot. "Now,
why can't you act nice, when I'm in such dire need of your services? If
you don't stop--Whoa! whoa!"

For the horse had suddenly stopped pivoting and started off like a
streak, not up or down the trail, but across a stretch of prairie grass.
On and on he went, the bit between his teeth and gaining speed at every
step. In vain Dick yelled at him, kicked him and banged him on the head.
It was of no use, and he had to cling on for dear life.

"I might as well let him go and jump for it," he thought at last, when
nearly a mile had been covered. "It's just as useless to try to stop him
as it would be to stop a limited express. If I jump off--but I won't,
now!"

For the prairie had been left behind, and the bay was tearing along a
rocky trail leading to goodness knew where, so Dick thought. A jump now
would mean broken bones, perhaps death. He clung tighter than ever, and
tried to calm the horse by speaking gently to him.

At first the beast would not listen, but finally, when several miles had
been covered he slackened up, and at last dropped into a walk. He was
covered with foam, and now he was quite willing to be led.

"You old reprobate!" muttered Dick, as he tightened his hold on the
reins. "Now where in the name of creation have you brought me to, and
how am I to find my way back to camp from here?"

Sitting upright once again, the youth tried to pierce the darkness. The
rain had stopped, only a few scattering drops falling upon himself and
the steaming animal, but the darkness was as great as ever.

On two sides of him were forest lands, on the third a slope of rocks and
on the fourth a stretch of dwarf grass. The trail, if such it could be
called, ran along the edge of the timber. Should he follow this? He
moved along slowly, wondering whether he was right or wrong.

"Halt! Who goes there?"

It was a military challenge, coming out of the darkness. Dick stopped
the horse, and presently made out the form of a man on horseback, a
cavalryman.

"I'm a friend who has lost the way," began the youth, when the
cavalryman let out a cry of surprise.

"Tucker's horse, hang me if it isn't! Boy, where did you get that nag?
Tucker, Ross, come here! I've collared one of the horse-thieves!"

In a moment more there came the clatter of horses' hoofs through the
timber, and Dick found himself surrounded by three big and decidedly
ugly-looking United States cavalrymen--troopers who belonged to a
detachment set to guard the Oklahoma territory from invasion.

"A boy and a boomer!" ejaculated the fellow named Tucker. "I saw the kid
over near Arkansas City a couple of days ago. And riding Chester, too!
Git off that hoss, before I kick you off!"

And riding up he caught Dick by the collar and yanked him to the ground.
In an instant he was beside the boy and had produced a pair of
reservation handcuffs.

"Out with your hands, sonny, and be quick about it."

"What for?" asked Dick, somewhat bewildered by the unceremonious way in
which he was being handled. "I didn't steal that horse."

"Too thin, sonny. All you boomers are a set of thieves, and I suppose
you think stealing our hossflesh is the rarest kind of a joke. Out with
those hands, I say, and consider yourself a prisoner of Uncle Sam.
You've nearly ridden Chester to death and for two pins I'd take the law
into my own hands and string you up to the nearest tree. Take that!"

And having handcuffed Dick the cavalryman let out with his heavy right
hand and landed a savage slap that sent the helpless youth headlong at
his feet.

The blow aroused all of the lion in the youth's makeup. As quickly as he
could he leaped up.

"You brute!" he cried. "Why don't you fight fair? Take that, and that
and that!"

Each "that" meant two blows, for Dick could not separate his hands, and
therefore struck out with both at a time--two in the chest, two on the
chin and the final pair on either side of Tucker's big and reddish nose.
The cavalryman, taken by surprise, let out a cry of rage and pain.

"You imp!" he screamed. "To hit a man in uniform! I'll show you what I
can do! How do you like that?"

With incredible swiftness he drew his heavy Sabra and leaped upon Dick.
The boy tried to retreat, but slipped on the wet ground and went down.
On the instant Tucker was upon him, and, with a fierce cry, the
infuriated cavalryman raised his blade over Dick's head.

CHAPTER III.

A CAVE AND A CAVE-IN.

Let us go back and see what happened to Pawnee Brown at the time the
lariat parted and he found himself going down into what seemed
bottomless space.

Instinctively he put out both hands as far as he was able, to grasp
anything which might come within reach and thereby check his awful
downward course.

The lantern fell from his fingers and jingled to pieces on a protruding
rock.

Then his right hand slid over the ends of a bush growing out of a
fissure. He caught the bush and held on like grim death.

The bush gave way, but not instantly, and his descent was checked so
that the tumble to the bottom of the hole, fifteen feet further down,
was not near as bad as it would otherwise have been.

Yet he came down sideways, and his head striking a flat rock, he was
knocked insensible.

Half an hour went by, and he opened his eyes in a wondering way. Where
was he and what had happened?

Soon the truth burst upon him, and he staggered to his feet to see if
any bones had been broken.

"All whole yet, thanks to my usual good luck," he thought. "But that's a
nasty lump on the back of my head. Hullo, up there!"

He called out as loudly as he could, but no answer came back, for Dick
and Pumpkin were already gone.

"Well, I always allowed that I would explore the Devil's Chimney some
day, but I didn't calculate to do it quite so soon," he went on. "What
can have become of those boys? Have they deserted me or gone off for
help? If I can read character I fancy that Dick Arbuckle will do all he
can for me--and, by the way, can his father's corpse really be down
here?"

He brought forth a match and lit it. The battered lantern lay close at
hand, and, although without a glass, it was still better than nothing,
and, turned well up, gave forth a torch-like flame which lit up the
surroundings for a dozen feet or more. No body was there, nor did he
find any for the full distance up and down the dismal hole.

"The boy was mistaken; his father wandered elsewhere," was the boomer's
conclusion. "Poor fellow, he was in no mental or physical condition to
push his claims in the West. He should have remained at home and allowed
some hustling Western lawyer to act for him. If he falls into the
clutches of some of our land agents they'll swindle him out of every
cent of his fortune. I must give him and the boy the tip when I get the
chance." The great scout laughed softly. "When I get the chance is good.
I reckon I had best pull myself out of this man-trap first."

He made a careful investigation of the rocks. At no point was there
anything which gave promise of a footing to the top.

"In a pocket and no error," he mused. "I wonder if I've got to stay here
like a bull-croaker at the bottom of a well?"

The rain had formed a long pool between the slanting rocks. He threw a
chip into this pool and saw that it drifted slowly off between two scrub
bushes growing partly under a shelving rock.

With the light he made an inspection of the locality, and a cry of
surprise escaped him. Beyond the bushes was the opening to an irregular,
but apparently large cavern.

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