"Don't you take it so hard, my lad; I feel certain that your father will turn up sooner or later."
It was Pawnee Brown who spoke. He addressed Dick, who sat on a horse belonging to Jack Rasco. The pair had been scouring the plains and the woods for three hours in search of Dick's father.
"Poor father! If only I knew what had become of him!" sighed the lad.
In his anxiety he had forgotten all about his adventures among the cavalrymen who had sought to detain him as a horse thief.
"It's a mystery, thet's what it is," burst in Jack Rasco.
"It looks loike the hivens hed opened an' swalleyed him up," was Mike Delaney's comment. "Be jabbers, we all know th' hivens was wide open enough last noight. Me turn-out is afther standin' in two foot o' wather, an' Rosy raisin' the mischief because she can't go out. 'Moike,' sez she, 'Moike Delaney, git a boat or Oi'll be drowned,' an' niver a boat in sight. Th' ould woman will have to shtay in the wagon till the wather runs off of itself."
"I wonder if it is possible my poor father wandered into town," mused Dick. "Perhaps he did that and was locked up by the police. He is—well, you know he gets strange spells," and the youth's face flushed.
"Run into town, lad, and make a search," answered the boomer. "If I and Rasco get the chance we'll follow. We shan't strike camp for several hours yet."
Dick thought this good advice and was soon on his way. The rain had stopped entirely and the sun was just peeping up over the distant plains when he entered Arkansas City and began his hunt.
A visit to the police station speedily revealed the fact that nothing was known there concerning his missing parent. Here Dick left a description of his father, and was promised that if anything was discovered of the man word would be sent to him immediately.
Having ridden around to the depot, hotels and other public places, Dick tied up his steed and began a hunt through the various streets, looking into the doors of the stores and saloons as he passed.
His footsteps soon brought him down to the vicinity of the river front. Here, situated along several blocks, were a number of eating and drinking houses, patronized principally by river men, gamblers and similar persons.
Having satisfied himself, with a sigh of relief, that his father was not in any of the saloons, the youth came to a halt in front of a restaurant. He had not eaten anything since the evening before, and his night of adventures had made him decidedly hungry.
"I'll get a cup of coffee and some rolls to brace me up," he thought, and entered the establishment. His order was soon given, and he took a seat at a side table, close to a thin board partition.
His order served, he was disposing of the last of it, when the sound of voices on the other side of the partition attracted his attention.
"Leave me alone, Juan Donomez!" came in the voice of a girl. "You have no right to touch me."
"You are too pretty to be left alone," came in the slick tones of a Mexican vaquero. "Come, now, senorita, give me just one kiss."
"I will not, and you must leave me alone," went on the girl, and her trembling voice showed plainly that she was much frightened. "Where is the man who sent for me?"
"He is not here yet."
"I do not believe he sent for me at all. It was a trick of yours to get me here. Let me go."
"Not yet, senorita; you can go after a while. But first you must give me a kiss. Then I will explain why I had you come."
As the last words were uttered Dick heard a scurry of feet, then came a faint scream, cut short by the Mexican. The boy waited to hear no more.
"The contemptible greaser!" he muttered and leaped up. Throwing down the amount of his check on the cashier's desk he hurried from the restaurant. As he had supposed there was a hallway next door, where the talking he had overheard was taking place.
"Oh, save me!" cried the girl, and one glance at her told Dick that she was not over sixteen and as beautiful as any maiden he had ever seen. She was attired in true western style and wore on her mass of shining curls a big, soft riding hat.
"Let that young lady alone," cried the youth to the Mexican, who glared at him savagely. "I overheard your talk, and if she wants to leave she shall do it."
"Oh, thank you for coming to my aid," burst out the girl gratefully. "This bad man——"
"Say no more, Nellie Winthrop," interrupted the Mexican. "Go to the rear. I will attend to this cub who dares to interfere with my business."
And he shoved the girl behind him. His roughness made Dick's blood boil over, and, rushing forward, he put out his foot, gave a push, and Juan Donomez measured his length upon the floor.
During the encounter Nellie Winthrop had escaped to the front end of the hallway, and here Dick now joined her.
"We might as well go," said the youth.
"Yes, yes; let us get out as quickly as we can," answered the girl trembling. "He may attempt to attack you."
"I ought to hand him over to the authorities, but I won't," said Dick. "Come," and he opened the door and followed her to the street.
"I shall never forget you for your kindness," the girl burst out as soon as they had left the vicinity of the spot where the trouble had occurred. "You are very brave, Mr.——"
"I'm only Dick Arbuckle, Miss——"
"Nellie Winthrop is my name. I just reached Arkansas City yesterday. I am from Peoria, and am looking for my uncle, who is somewhere among the Oklahoma boomers."
"Indeed! I'm one of the boomers myself—at least, I've been with them a good part of the time. Perhaps I know your uncle. What is his name?"
"John Rasco, but I believe the men all call him Jack Rasco."
"Why, is it possible! I know Jack Rasco well—in fact, my father and I have been stopping with him ever since we came on from New York. As soon as the rush into Oklahoma was over my father was going to get your uncle to locate a certain mine claim in the West for him—a claim that belongs to us, but which can't be located very easily, it seems."
"And where is my uncle now?" demanded Nellie Winthrop.
"At the boomers' camp, I suppose. You see," went on Dick, his face falling, "there is something wrong afoot." And in a few words he told of his father's disappearance and of the search being made to find him.
"I sincerely trust he is safe," said Nellie when he had concluded. "I presume you want to resume your search. Do not let me detain you. If you are among the boomers we will certainly meet again," and she held out her hand.
"Do you feel safe enough to find the camp alone?" he asked. "Perhaps I had better take you there. It is about a mile in that direction," and he indicated the locality with a wave of his hand.
"I feel safe enough in the open air," she smiled. "It was only when that Mexican had me cornered in a dark hallway that I felt alarmed. I was born and brought up on the plains, and I've been to Peoria only to get educated, as they say. I've a horse at the livery stable, and I can ride the distance."
"May I ask how you fell in with that greaser?"
"I think he overheard me asking for my uncle at the hotel, and after that he sent a note saying my uncle was at the place where you found me. I saw him first on the train, where he tried his best to get some information from me about some horses. But I told him little," concluded the girl.
Five minutes later they parted at the livery stable, where Nellie had left her horse, and Dick went on his way to continue his search for his lost parent. The girl had thanked him again for what he had done and had squeezed his hand so warmly that his heart thumped pretty hard, while his face was flushed more than ever before.
For over half an hour longer Dick tramped the streets of the city looking for some trace of his father.
Presently he found himself down by the docks along the muddy river. The stream was much swollen, and the few boats tied up were bumping freely against the shore as the current swung them in.
"I wonder if father could have come down here?" he mused. "He had a great fondness for the water when he got those strange spells."
Slowly and with eyes wide open he moved down the river shore, ready to seize upon any evidence which might present itself.
Suddenly he uttered a cry and leaped down into a rowboat lying before, him.
"Father's hat! I'd know it among a thousand!"
Dick was right. There on the stern seat of the craft rested the head-covering Mortimer Arbuckle had worn ever since he had left New York.
The tears stood in the youth's eyes as he picked up the hat and inspected it. One side of the brim was covered with dirt, and it was still soaked from the rain.
"Poor father! Is it possible he fell overboard?"
Dick said "fell overboard," but he thought something else. He knew as well as anybody that his father did strange things while under the influence of the melancholy spells which at times haunted him.
He looked up and down the stream. Nothing was in sight but the boats and here and there a mass of driftwood.
He sat down on the seat and covered his face with his hands.
"Say, boy, wot yer doin' in my boat?"
It was a burly fellow standing upon the shore who asked the question.
"Excuse me; I am looking for my father, who is missing. I just found his hat on the seat here. Did you see anything of him?"
"Missing, eh—an' thet's his headgear? Say, boy, thet's no laughin' matter," and the burly fellow looked at the youth kindly.
"I know it. I am afraid he tumbled overboard. He had times when he wasn't feeling quite right in his head."
The burly individual whistled softly to himself. "Then I reckon Sary was right, arter all," he half mused.
"Sary? Who do you mean?"
"Sary's my wife. She woke me up about five o'clock this mornin'. We live up in the shanty yonder. Sary said she heard somebody moanin' an' yellin' down here. I said she wuz dreamin', but I allow now ez I might hev been mistook, eh?"
"You didn't come out to investigate?"
"No; it war too stormy. I listened, but there wuz no more of the noise arter Sary waked me up. If yer father fell overboard I'm mighty sorry fer yer. If he did go over his body must be a long way down stream by this time."
"Poor father!" It was all Dick could say. He and his parent had been alone in the wide world, and now to think that his only relative was gone was almost beyond endurance.
"Take the boat and go down if yer want to," went on the burly individual. "Ye can leave the craft at Woolley's mill. I'd go along, only the old woman's took sick an' I've got to hustle fer a doctor."
"I will take a look around in the boat," answered Dick, and, having procured the oars, he set off. The current was so strong it was not necessary to use the blades, and he had all he could do to keep the craft from spinning around and dashing itself against the shore or the other boats which lay along both banks.
On and on the rowboat sped, until about a quarter of a mile had been covered. Nothing unusual had yet been noted, yet the boy kept his eyes strained for some sign of his father, praying inwardly that all might still be well with the only one who was left to him.
"If father is dead, what shall I do?" he thought with a shiver. "He had all of our money with him, all of those precious papers, everything. I would be left a pauper, and, worse than that, without a single relative in the wide world. Oh, pray Heaven he is spared to me!"
"Look out there, youngster!"
It was a wild cry, coming from a bend in the stream. Dick had been gazing across the river. Now he turned to behold his craft rushing swiftly toward the trunk of a half-submerged tree which the storm had torn away from the shore.
The river was almost a torrent at this place.
He grasped the oars, intending to turn the boat from its mad course. But the action came too late. Crash! The craft struck a sharp branch of the tree with fearful force, staving in the bow completely, and the next instant the boy was hurled headlong into the boiling and foaming current.
The next instant the boy was hurled headlong into the boiling and foaming current
It was less than an hour after separating from Dick Arbuckle that Pawnee Brown found his way to Arkansas City.
He was accompanied by Jack Rasco and Cal Clemmer, and the great scout's object was not alone to aid Dick in the search for Mortimer Arbuckle, but also to help Cal Clemmer get back some money out of which the cowboy boomer claimed he had been swindled.
Clemmer had played cards with a certain sharp known as Pete Stillwater, and lost two hundred and fifty dollars. At first he had imagined he had lost it fairly enough, but after thoughts, coupled with what he heard on the sly the next day, made him certain that Stillwater had cheated him.
He had brought his case to Pawnee Brown, and the leader of the boomers at once concluded that the gambler had not acted fairly. He had met Stillwater at Wichita, where the gambler's reputation was far from savory.
"You were a fool to bet at cards, Cal," he said flatly. "But that is no reason why Stillwater should cheat you. I'll do what I can, but you must promise to leave playing for high stakes alone in the future."
"Don't yer fear, Pawnee," was Clemmer's ready reply. "A scorched Injun keeps hez distance from the blaze, don't he? Wall, I'm the scorched Injun in this air case. Git back my money fer me an' I won't play nothin' higher then penny-ante ez long ez I live."
The gambling resort at which Stillwater was holding forth was soon reached, and the three entered, to find the place comfortably crowded by boomers, men-about-town, cowboys and gamblers, all anxious to add to their wealth without working. As Pawnee Brown surveyed the assemblage his lip curled with a sarcasm which was by no means displaced.
"Poor fools!" he thought; "they expect to win, and nine-tenths of them are bound in the end to be fleeced out of all they possess. Why men who have brains will throw away good money in this fashion is more than I can understand."
"Thar's Stillwater," whispered Cal Clemmer. "Hang hez hide, I'd like ter wring hez neck fer him."
"Better wring his money bag first," smiled Pawnee Brown.
Without hesitation he called Stillwater outside and explained the situation.
"You can say what you please, Stillwater," he said. "I am certain you have been cheating, for I know your past record. You must restore that money and do it right away."
A stormy war of words followed, but Pawnee Brown was firm and at last Stillwater gave up about a hundred dollars—all he had with him.
He went off vowing vengeance and when at a safe distance turned and drew a pistol from his pocket.
"He's going to shoot ye!" cried one of the boomers, but Stillwater was afraid to fire. As Pawnee Brown started after him on a run the gambler fled toward the river.
"Let us go after him!" cried one of the others, and away they went. Soon they came in sight of the river and saw Stillwater in a small craft, sculling his way to the opposite shore. Presently a bend in the stream hid him from view.
"Hullo!" sang out Pawnee Brown. "Here comes another rowboat, and—yes, there is Dick Arbuckle in it. What can he be doing on the river?"
"The boat is makin' fer thet half-sunk tree!" interrupted Cal Clemmer. "He'll strike ef he don't look out! Heavens!"
"Look out there, youngster!" yelled Pawnee Brown, and those were the words which attracted Dick's attention, as mentioned in the former chapter.
It was useless to say more. Standing upon the bank, Pawnee Brown and the cowboy boomer saw the craft strike and go to pieces and saw Dick thrown out into the madly rushing current.
As the boy sped along his head came into painful contact with the furthest of the tree branches, and he was partially stunned. His eyes closed and he struck out wildly and ineffectually.
"He'll be drowned!" gasped Clemmer. "It would take a strong swimmer to gain the bank with the water runnin' ez it is to-day."
"I don't believe he could catch a rope," answered Pawnee Brown, starting off down the river bank. "Cal, hunt one up somewhere; I'm going in after him!"
"But the risk——"
"Never mind the risk. Get the rope if you can," and away went the scout again.
"Help!" came faintly from Dick. He was dazed and weak, and could hardly see in what direction the shore really was.
"Keep up, boy, and we'll save you!" shouted Pawnee Brown encouragingly.
Reaching a spot twenty or thirty feet below where Dick was drifting, he threw off his hat and coat and leaped into the stream.
Down he went over his head, to come up a second later and strike out powerfully for the youth. The cold water chilled him, but to this he paid no attention. He had taken a fancy to Dick, and was resolved to save the boy at any cost.
Nearer and nearer he came. It was a tough struggle, for in the bend of the swollen stream the water boiled and foamed upon all sides. He was yet ten feet away from Dick, when he saw the youth sink beneath the surface.
"Gone!" he thought, and made a leap and a dive. His outstretched hand came in contact with Dick's left arm, and he dragged his burden upward.
"Keep cool, Dick," he said when he could speak. "Can't you swim?"
"Yes, but not extra well," panted the half-drowned lad. "I struck my head upon something."
"Then lay hold of my shoulder and I'll keep you up. Steady, now, or the current will send us around like two tops."
No more was said, as both felt they must save their breath. With Dick clinging loosely, so as not to hinder his swimming, Pawnee Brown struck out for the shore.
It was perilous work, for other trees and obstructions were upon every hand, and more than once both were torn and scratched as they sped by in what was little short of a whirlpool.
"Catch the rope!" suddenly came from Clemmer, and a noose whizzed in the air and fell close beside the pair. Both Pawnee Brown and Dick did as requested, and the cowboy boomer began to haul in with all the strength at his command. It was hard work, but Clemmer was equal to it, and presently those in the water came close enough to gain a footing, and then the peril was over.
Dick's story was soon told, to which the great scout added that of his own.
"I shall not attempt to follow up Stillwater," Pawnee Brown concluded. "It is high time I got back to camp, for let me tell you, privately, we move westward to-day. You may continue the hunt for your father or come with me, just as you choose. It is possible you may find some trace of him around here, but it is doubtful to me, after such a storm. It's hard lines, boy, but cheer up; things may not be as bad as you imagine," and he laid a dripping but affectionate arm upon Dick's shoulder.
"I will stay here for a while, at least," answered Dick. "But—but I am without a cent, and——"
"How much do you want, Dick?" and Pawnee Brown's pocketbook came out without delay.
"If you will lend me ten dollars——"
"Here are twenty. When you want more let me know. Now, goodbye, and good luck to you."
And the next minute Pawnee Brown and Clemmer were gone. Dick watched them out of sight and a warm feeling went over his heart.
"The major is as generous as he is brave," he murmured. "He is one scout of a thousand. No wonder all the boomers asked him to lead them in this expedition."
Ten minutes later Dick was drying himself at the fire in a house near by. Hearing his tale of misfortune, the man who took him in insisted upon treating him to some hot coffee, which did a good bit toward making him feel once more like himself.
"It may be a wild-goose chase, but I can't give it up," he muttered as he continued his search by walking along the river bank. "Poor father, where can he be?"
The outskirts of the city had been left behind and he was making his way through a tangle of brush and over shelving rocks. A bend was passed and he gave a wild cry.
And small wonder. There on the river bank lay the motionless form of his parent, dripping yet with the water of the river. The eyes were closed as if in death. With a moan Dick threw himself forward and caught one of the cold hands within his own. Then he placed his ear to his parent's heart.
"Too late! He is gone!" he wailed. "Poor, poor father, dead after all! Oh, if only I had died with you!" and he sank back utterly overcome.
"We move in an hour!"
This was the word which was whispered about the boomers' camp shortly after Pawnee Brown's arrival.
The great scout had found it out of the question to attempt to enter the Indian Territory in a direct route from Arkansas City. The government troops were watching the trail, and the soldiers were backed up by the cattle kings' helpers, who would do all in their power to harass the pioneers and make them turn back.
Many a man would have gone ahead with a rush, but Pawnee Brown knew better than to do this. If he was brave, he was also cautious.
"A rush now would mean people killed, horses shot down or poisoned, wagons ditched, harnesses cut up and a thousand and one other disasters," he said. "We must beat the cattle kings at their own game. We will move westward to Honnewell either this afternoon or tonight. Get ready to go on whenever the signal is passed."
"But vot goot vill it do to vait by Honnvell?" questioned Carl Humpendinck, a German boomer.
"We'll not wait very long there," answered Pawnee Brown.
So the word went around that the boomers would move in an hour. This was not actually true, but it was necessary to spread some report of this kind in order to make the slow ones hustle. If left to themselves these few would not have gotten ready in two days.
"It's a move we are afther makin' at last, is it?" burst out Rosy Delaney when Mike brought the news. "Sure, an' Oi'm ready, Moike Delaney, but how are ye to git this wagon out av thet bog hole, Oi dunno."
"Oi'll borry a horse," answered Mike. "It's Jack Rasco will lind me the same."
Mike ran around to where Jack Rasco was in earnest conversation with a stranger who had just come in from town. The stranger had brought a letter from Nellie Winthrop, posted two days before, and saying when she would arrive. The letter caused Rasco not a little worry, as so far the girl had failed to appear.
"I haven't any horse to spare just now, Mike," he said; "but hold on, you can have Billy, the mule, if you wish."
There was a little twinkle in his eyes as he spoke, but Mike didn't see the twinkle and readily accepted the mule and led him over to where his own turn-out stood.
"Moike Delaney, phot kind av a horse do yez call that?" demanded Rosy.
"It's a mule, ye ignoramus," he answered. "An' a good puller, I'll bet me whiskers. Just wait till Oi hitch him beside the tame."
Billy was soon hitched up as Mike desired, and the Irishman proceeded to urge him forward with his short whip.
It was then the fun began. Billy did not appreciate being called upon to do extra work. Instead of pulling, he simply turned around, tangling up and breaking the harness, and began to kick up the black prairie dirt with both hind hoofs.
"Oh, the villain!" spluttered Rosy Delaney, who received the first installment of dirt full in her eyes and mouth. "Moike Delaney, ye made him do that a-purpose!" and she shook her fist at her husband. "Ye bould, bad mon!"
"Oi did not," he ejaculated. "Git back there, ye baste!" he added, and tried to hit Billy with his whip. The knowing mule dodged and, turning swiftly, planted a hoof in Mike's stomach so slickly that the Irishman went heels over head into a nearby puddle.
A shout arose from those standing near.
"Score one round for the mule!"
"Mike, thet summersault war good enough fer a show. Better jine the circus!"
"Oi'll show the mule!" yelled Mike, and rushed in again. But once more Billy turned and got out of the way, and this time he caught the seat of Mike's trousers between his teeth and lifted the frightened man six feet from the ground.
"Don't! Let me down! Somebody save me!" yelled the terrorized son of Erin. "Rosy! Clemmer! Rasco! Hit him! Shoot him! Make him let go av me! Oi'll be kilt entoirely!"
Outsiders were too much amused to help Mike, but Rosy came to the rescue with a woman's best weapon—a rolling-pin, one she occasionally used in making pies for the family when in camp. Whizz! came the rolling-pin through the air, hitting Billy on the ear. The mule gave a short snort, broke what remained of the harness and scampered off to make a complete circuit of the camp and then fall into his regular place near Jack Rasco's turn-out.
"Want him some more?" asked Jack, who had seen the fun, and was compelled to laugh, in spite of his worry.
"Want him some more, is it?" growled Mike. "Not fer a thousand dollars, Rasco! Yez kin kape the mule, an' be hanged to yez!" and he stalked off to borrow a horse that was warranted to be gentle under the most trying of circumstances.
In the meantime Pawnee Brown was completing his arrangements for moving to Honnewell and then to enter the promised land by way of Bitter Creek and the Secaspie River. Scouts sent out to watch had reported that the cavalry were watching every movement closely, but Pawnee Brown did not dream that Louis Vorlange had overheard what was said at a meeting in the woods, or that this scoundrel had hired Tucker, the cavalryman, to shoot down both himself and Dick Arbuckle.
Presently Jack Rasco found his way to the scout's side.
"Pawnee, if you can spare a little time I would like your advice," he said, and mentioned the letter from Nellie Winthrop. "It's mighty strange the gal don't turn up, ain't it?"
"Perhaps so; but she may have been detained," answered the scout.
At this Rasco shook his head. The bearer of the letter had seen Nellie's name on the hotel register. Something was wrong, he felt sure of it. The letter had contained Nellie's photograph, and he showed it to Pawnee Brown as he asked for permission to leave his work of assisting the boomers to be prepared for a moving in order to pay Arkansas City another visit.
"Go on, Jack. You're my right-hand man, but I'll manage somehow without you," answered the great scout. "A pretty niece for any man to have," and he handed back the photograph, after a somewhat close inspection. Two minutes later found Jack Rasco on his way, to encounter adventures of which he had never imagined.
"A note for you, Pawnee." It was one of the scouts sent out that morning who spoke as he rode up. Pawnee Brown read the communication with interest.
"Come up to the ravine back of Honnewell as soon
as possible," ran the note. "I think the cavalry are
up to some new dodge, or else the cattle men are going
to play us foul. Urgent.
DAN GILBERT."
DAN GILBERT."
"I must away, boys!" cried Pawnee Brown, tearing up the note. "Be ready to move, but don't stir until you hear from me," and, giving a few more instructions, he borrowed a fresh horse from Carl Humpendinck and set off on a gallop of twelve miles across the country.
As he covered mile after mile, through woods and over stretches of broad prairie, he could not help but think of his racing mare, Bonnie Bird. How she would have enjoyed this outing, and how she would have covered this ground with her twinkling feet.
"I must find her and find the rascal who stole her!" he muttered. "I wouldn't take twenty thousand dollars for Bonnie," and he meant what he said. The little mare and the great scout were almost inseparable.
The afternoon sun was sinking low when Pawnee Brown struck the outskirts of Honnewell (spelled by some writers, Honeywell). Not caring to be seen in that town by the government agents, who might inform the cavalry that the boomers were moving in that direction, the scout took to a side trail, leading directly for the ravine mentioned in the letter.
Soon he was picking his way down a path covered with brush and loose stones. Upon either side were woods, and so thick no sunlight penetrated, making the spot gloomy and forbidding.
"Now, I suppose I'll have no picnic in finding Dan," he mused. "I'll give the signal."
The shrill cry of a night bird rang out upon the air, and Pawnee Brown listened attentively for a reply. None came, and he repeated the cry, with the same result.
"I'll have to push on a bit further," he thought, and was just about to urge forward his horse when a crashing on the opposite side of the ravine caught his ear. Instinctively he withdrew to the shelter of some brush to learn who the newcomer might be.
He was not kept long in waiting. The sounds came closer and closer, and presently a tall Indian came into view, astride a horse, and carrying an odd-looking burden in his arms.
"Yellow Elk!" almost burst from Pawnee Brown's lips. The Indian he mentioned was a well-known chief, a warrior noted for his many crimes, and a redskin whom the government agent had tried in vain to subdue.
The scout crouched back still further and drew his pistol, for he felt that Yellow Elk was on no lawful errand, and a meeting would most likely mean a fight. Then he made a discovery of still greater importance—to him.
"Bonnie Bird, as sure as shooting! So Yellow Elk is the horse thief. The rascal! I've a good mind to shoot him down where he sits!" He handled his pistol nervously. "What is that he is carrying, wrapped up in his blanket? Ha!"
A murmur of amazement could not now be suppressed. In shifting his burden from one shoulder to the other the Indian had allowed the blanket to fall partly back, and there was now revealed to Pawnee Brown the head and shoulders of a beautiful, but unconscious white girl. Nor was that all. The girl was—Nellie Winthrop!
"Father! father! speak to me! Tell me that you are not dead!"
Over and over again did poor Dick repeat these words as he sat by the side of that wet and motionless form on the muddy river bank. The boy's heart seemed to be breaking.
But suddenly there came a change. He saw one of his father's arms quiver. Then came a faint twitching of an eyelid.
"He is alive!" gasped Dick. The joy of the discovery nearly paralyzed him. "Father! father!"
No answer came back, indeed, it was not to be expected. Kneeling over his parent, Dick set to work to resuscitate the almost drowned man.
Fortunately the youth had, during his school days in New York, heard a lecture on what was best to do in just such a case, so he did not labor in ignorance. His treatment was as skillful as memory and his love for his parent could make it, and in less than half an hour he had the satisfaction of seeing his father give a gasp and open his eyes.
"Father, don't you know me?"
"Dick!" came the almost inaudible reply. "Where—where am I?"
"You are safe, father. You fell into the river and came near to drowning."
"Is that so? I did not know there was a river near here."
Mr. Arbuckle was silent for several minutes, during which Dick continued his work and made him as comfortable as possible by wrapping his parent in his own dry coat.
"Where is that rascal?"
"What rascal, father?"
"The man with the red mask—the fellow who struck me down?"
"I do not know. So you were struck down? Where?"
"Just outside of the boomers' camp. Somebody brought me word that Pawnee Brown wanted to see me privately. I went, and a rascal rushed on me and demanded my private papers. I resisted and he struck me down. I know no more than that," and Mr. Arbuckle gave another gasp. His eyes were open, but in them was that uncertain look which Dick had seen before, and which the lad so much dreaded.
"Why, you were struck down last night, father, and several miles from here. You must have come down to the river at a spot above here. Don't you remember that?"
Mortimer Arbuckle tried to think, then shook his head sadly.
"It's all a blur, Dick. You know my head is not as strong as it might be."
"Yes, yes; and you must not try to think too far. So he got your private papers?"
"Yes."
"The ones referring to that silver mine in Colorado?"
"Yes, and all of the others."
At this Dick could not help but groan. The papers were gone—those precious documents by which he and his father had hoped some day to become rich.
The history of the deeds to the silver mine was a curious one. Two years before Mortimer Arbuckle had paid a visit to Creede, Colorado, on business connected with a mining company then forming under the laws of the State of New York.
While in Creede the man had materially assisted an old miner named Burch, who was falling into the hands of a set of swindlers headed by a rascal called Captain Mull.
Mortimer Arbuckle had never met Captain Mull, but he had saved Burch's claim for him, for which the old miner was extremely grateful.
Over a year later Burch had died and left with another old miner the deeds to a new mine of great promise, deeds which had not yet been recorded.
The old miner had forwarded these papers, along with others of importance concerning the exact location of the claim, to Mortimer Arbuckle, and the gentleman had then begun preparations to go to the West and see if the claim was really as valuable as old Burch had imagined.
Dick was just out of school, and would not think of remaining behind, so it was arranged that father and son should go together.
A spell of sickness had detained the father several months. Before this, however, he had hired Jack Rasco to go to Creede with him and assist in locating the new claim.
As Mortimer Arbuckle failed to come West, Jack Rasco returned to the companionship of Pawnee Brown, for, as already stated, he considered himself the great boomer's right-hand man.
At last Mortimer Arbuckle had come on with Dick, to find Rasco had given his word to Pawnee Brown to stick with the boomers until the desired entrance into Oklahoma was effected.
"Yer will hev ter wait, Mr. Arbuckle," Jack had said. "I'm sorry, but I hev given my word ter Pawnee an' I wouldn't break it fer a cool million, thet's me."
"Let us go with the boomers!" Dick had returned enthusiastically. "It will be lots of fun, father, and it will give you a chance to get back your health before you tie yourself down to those silver mine schemes."
And rather against his wishes Mortimer Arbuckle had consented. Dick saw his father was in no mental condition to locate claims, form a new mining company, and do other labor of this sort, and trusted that the days to be spent with the boomers would make him much stronger in both body and mind.
"Do you think the robber thought of the deeds when he robbed you?" went on Dick, after a pause.
"I—I—don't know, Dick. It runs in my mind he spoke of the deeds, but I can't remember for certain."
"He took your money?"
"Every cent." Mortimer Arbuckle gave a groan. "We are now out here penniless, my son."
"No we are not, father. I asked Pawnee Brown for the loan of ten dollars and he gave me twenty, and said I could have more if I needed it."
"A good man—as generous as he is brave," murmured Mortimer Arbuckle. "Would the world had more of such fellows."
"Pawnee Brown and Jack Rasco are the best fellows in the world!" answered the youth. "But, come, let me carry you to yonder house, where you can get dry and also get something to eat."
He assisted his parent to his feet, then lifted the man to his back and started off. A backwoodsman saw him coming, and ran to meet him. Soon Mortimer Arbuckle was in the house and lying tucked in on a warm couch.
A relapse followed, coming almost immediately after father and son had exchanged stories and detail. In alarm Dick sent off the backwoodsman for a doctor. The medical man was half an hour in coming. After a thorough examination he looked grave.
"The man must be kept absolutely quiet," he said. "If you have been talking to him it has done him more harm than good. You had better go away and leave him among strangers."
In a further conversation Dick learned that the backwoodsman, Peter Day, and his wife were ready to take charge of the invalid for fair pay, and could be trusted to do their best, and it was arranged to leave Mr. Arbuckle at the house, while Dick returned to camp, hunted up Pawnee Brown and Jack Rasco and tried to get on the track of the man of the red mask.
"And if I ever get hold of him I'll—I'll—mash him," said Dick, and the look on his youthful but stern face told that he meant just what he said. The western idea of shooting had not yet entered his mind, but woe to Louis Vorlange if his villainy was once unmasked.
"Do not worry about me, father," said Dick taking his departure. "I will take care of myself, and I am sure that either Pawnee Brown, Jack Rasco or myself can get on the track of the rascal who robbed and struck you down."
"Be cautious, Dick," murmured the sick man. "Be cautious—for you are all the world to me!" and he kissed his son affectionately.
"Who could have attacked father?" he murmured, half aloud. "It was a dastardly thing to do. I must find out, even if I have to remain in the city. But who knows but what it was one of the boomers? Perhaps the man saw father had money and only asked about his papers to put him off the track. As a rule, the boomers are as honest as men can be, but there are several hang-dog faces among them."
Dick had covered a distance of half a mile and was within sight of the spot where he had been rescued by Pawnee Brown from a watery grave, when a murmur of voices broke upon his ear, coming from a thicket down by the river bank. The murmur grew louder and he paused to listen.
Suddenly two pistol shots rang out, followed by a cry of pain and rage. There was a brief silence, then came the words which made Dick's heart almost stop beating:
"Now I'll fix you for helping to run me out of town, Jack Rasco! I never forget my enemies!"
To return to Pawnee Brown at the time when he made the double discovery that Yellow Elk, the rascally Indian, was riding his stolen mare, Bonnie Bird, and had as his fair captive Nellie Winthrop, Jack Rasco's niece.
For the moment the great scout was nearly dum founded by the revelation. He had not met Yellow Elk for several months, and had imagined that the Indian chief was safe within the territorial reservation allotted to him and his tribe.
As Yellow Elk shifted his fair burden, Nellie Winthrop's eyes opened and she started up in alarm.
"Oh, you beast! Let me go!" she screamed faintly. She was about to say more, but Yellow Elk clapped a dirty hand over her mouth and silenced her.
"No speak more," he muttered in his broken English. "White girl speak too much."
"But—but where are you taking me? This is not the boomers' camp."
"We come to camp soon—girl in too much hurry," rejoined the wily redskin.
"I was told the camp was but a short distance out of town."
"Camp he move. Pawnee Brown not safe near big town," went on Yellow Elk.
"You're a good one for fairy tales," was the boomer's silent comment. He had withdrawn to the shelter of the thick brush and sat his steed like a statue, while his pistol was ready for use, with his forefinger upon the trigger.
"But—but—what happened to me?" went on Nellie, struggling to sit up, while Yellow Elk held her back.
"White girl lose breath and shut eyes," was the answer, meaning that Nellie had fainted. "No more fight—Yellow Elk no hurt her."
"I will go no further with you—I do not believe your story!" cried Nellie. "Let me down."
At these words the face of the Indian chief grew dark, and he muttered several words in his own language which Nellie did not understand, but which Pawnee Brown made out to be that the White Bird was too sweet to be lost so easily, he must take her to his cave in the mountains.
"Will you?" murmured Pawnee Brown. "Well, maybe, but not if I know it."
The mentioning of a cave in the mountains made Pawnee Brown curious. Did Yellow Elk have such a hiding place? Where was it located, and was the Indian chief its only user?
"Perhaps some more of these reds have broken loose," he thought. "I would like to investigate. Who knows but what the cavalrymen are after them and not the boomers, as Dan Gilbert imagined."
A brief consideration of the subject and his mind was made up. So long as the Indian did not offer positive harm to Nellie Winthrop he would not expose himself, but follow on behind, in hope of locating the cave and learning more of Yellow Elk's intended movements.
"Let me go, I say!" cried Nellie, but the Indian chief merely shook his head.
"White girl be no fool. Indian friend; no hurt one hair of her head. Soon we be in camp and she will see what a friend Yellow Elk has been."
At this Nellie shook her head. That painted and dirty face was far too repulsive to be trusted. But there was no help for it; the Indian held her as in a vise, and she was forced to submit.
Moving along the trail, Indian and horse passed within a dozen feet of where Pawnee Brown sat, still as silent as a block of marble. It was a trying moment. What if the horse he rode should make a noise, or if his own Bonnie Bird should instinctively discover him and give the alarm?
"Poor Bonnie Bird, to have to carry a dirty redskin," thought the boomer. The ears of the beautiful mare went up as she drew close, and she appeared to hesitate. But Yellow Elk urged her along by several punches in the ribs, and in a moment more the danger of discovery just then was past.
On went the tall Indian along the ravine, peering cautiously ahead, with one hand around Nellie's waist and the other holding the reins and his pistol. He knew he was on a dangerous mission, and he stood ready, if unmasked, to sell his worthless life dearly.
Pawnee Brown followed at a distance of a hundred feet, taking care to pick his way so that his horse's hoofs should strike only the dirt and soft moss, and that the brush growing among the tall trees should screen him as much as possible.
Presently he saw the Indian halt and stare long and hard at a tall pine growing in front of a large flat rock.
"Wonder if he has missed his way?" mused the scout, but a moment later Yellow Elk proceeded onward, faster than ever.
Coming up to the pine, Pawnee Brown saw instantly what had attracted the redskin's attention. There was a blaze on the tree six inches square, and on the blaze was written in charcoal: