 Chapter 9 of the Boy Scouts and the Rockies. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Chuck Barges, Bradenton, Florida. The Boy Scouts and the Rockies by Herbert Carter. Chapter 9, Baiting a Rattlesnake. Of course they all hastened after the scoutmaster and bumpus, the latter really leading the way, with a consequential way about him, as though he felt that he ought to be looked upon as master ceremonies by right of first discovery. Here's the poll I had when I poked him, he remarked, picking it up as he spoke. But where's a rattler to manage your aff, just as swift as that? For he was always as quick as lightning in his ways. Show the old fraud to us, will you? Must have slipped away while you came to camp with the water. Huh, sneered step in. I'd rather believe now. Bumpus don't know a rattler when he sees one. Perhaps it was only an innocent little garter snake he was spokin', and a locus was singin' in a tree all the while. Bumpus looked furious. He had lately gained quite an envious reputation for remarkable knowledge of woodcraft, and he was up in arms at the idea of being thus placed once more in the tenderfoot class. Think I don't know a genuine rattlesnake when I see one, do you? Well, what do you think of a feller that'd jump over a log without even lookin'? And when a common garden variety of blacksnakes gave him a jab, he hollered that he was poisoned by a terrible rattler and could even see his poor legs swellin' up right before his eyes. Me not know one. When I've been in the zoo reptile house down in New York, and even watched one swallow a rat. Well, I guess you're a way off, step-n-bing'em. Yes, put in fad just then, and it's too early in the day for a locus to be in the noise business. I ought to have thought of that myself I own up. Let's look around, boys. I locate the thing, but be mighty careful how you step. I can cure good many things with the few little remedies I carry, but excuse me from having to tackle a regular dose of rattlesnake poison. It's a bad thing I tell you lads, asserted Toby Smathers, who had come along with the rest, even the Indian boy being present. Many's the time, years ago, I've seen the engines gettin' poisoned from a rattler, so as to make their war arrows more deadly. And it tells you it's war worth watchin'. If so be, we can find this critter. I'll show you how it was done, if Mr. Scoutmaster says so. First get your rabbit before you start to cooking him, laugh fad. Just then giraffe let out a whoop. Here he is, all coiled up again and looking wicked now. I tell you, he called out, and the others rushed in that quarter. Well, he is a sorter biggin' for the mountain, sure enough, admitted the guide after he had taken a look. Wait here a bit till I come back with a piece of deer meat, and I'll show you how it was done. Keep him riled up like, but not striking too hard at that pole, or he'll empty his poison sack on it. That had himself heard more or less about such things, or else read of them in stories of the old-time Indians, the Iroquois, Delaware's, Shawnee's, and other tribes who disputed the way of the early pioneers. And he was just as eager to watch the process as any of the other boys. The rattlesnake was coiled, just as they always are when danger hovered near. Because when caught at full length, the reptile was next to harmless, since it cannot strike and make use of its only means of defense, its poison fangs. That sought to it that no one approach near enough to be in any danger, once the pole was extended by Bumpus, just to show his mates how he had been baiting the awful-looking thing. Instantly, that flathead sprang out toward the object, and as Bumpus adroitly drew it back, remembering the injunction of the guide, the rattlesnake, finding nothing to strike, was throwing half its length out of coil. It was almost laughable to see with what haste it managed to curl up again. And with that rattle buzzing furiously, seemed to defy anything to touch it. Then Toby Smathers came hurrying up. He was fastening a piece of venison, which had been left over several days, and kept well into the dry mountain air, to another long pole, which he had secured, not wishing to handle the one that had already been struck numerous times by the fangs of the snake. Now, you're going to have something worthwhile to mud-jad old filler, cried Bumpus, as he threw his pole away, and pushed a little closer in the ring, anxious to see all that went on. Toby was soon ready. He thrust the pole out, and all of them could hear the sound of the concussion as the reptile struck the piece of meat fastened at the end. It made most of the boys shudder just to contemplate being hit such a venomous blow with all the fury of a maddened reptile. Again and again did Toby cause the snake to repeat the blow, turning the meat around several times, so that it might all be impregnated by the virus. Now that's about done, he said, and the quicker you kill that crazy thing the easier I'll feel. Lost a partner once went on a range, tending for us for the government, and ever since, I've got a grudge against rattlers. Thereupon Bumpus once more picked up his long pole and aimed a vicious blow at the raised head of the snake. Taking the creature fairly across the neck, he sent it spinning away. Look out there, shot a giraffe, giving a hop-skipping a jump in another direction. He may be playing possimal on us. Keep clear of him, everybody, and you, Bumpus, hit him again as hard as you can. It ain't the easiest thing going to kill a snake, let me tell you. Accordingly, the fat scout raised his pole and brought it down several times with might and mane on the neck of the fearful looking reptile, until finally that declared that it was beyond ever doing any harm again. And the rattle belongs to Bumpus if he cares to claim it, said the scout master. It isn't a pretty thing, but then every time he looks at it, he'll be apt to remember this occasion and can picture the camp, the mountains, and all the rest of it, including Mike and Molly, our gentle pack mules, added giraffe, immediately bending down to assist Bumpus, secure his prize. Now, you see, said the guide, as he held up the piece of fresh venison so as to show the streaks of green, where the terrible poison had permeated it. After they'd done this, the reds used to just let the meat lie until it was old and soft and chuck full of poison. Then, all they had to do was to push the point of an arrow into the same and dry it in the sun. But I'm told they never do such things anymore, which I take it as a good job. There'll be some things that seem too tough, even for savages to use in war. And poison is one of them, I reckon. For goodness sake, bury it, Toby, begs Smithy, turning pale as he contemplated the object the guide was holding up. And I surely hope we will not have the misfortune turn and run across any of the same breed while we're stocking those strange big horn sheep. Not much danger, because rattlers, they zapped at this time of year to Kim down to damp places. And they can find such, the guide explained. But at that's request, he did put the piece of venison underground. If later on, some hungry wolf digs it up, why, I'm sorry for that same beast you're after remarked, as it returned once more to the camp. Must be near time for us to skip out, said Stepen, giving the scoutmaster a look of entreaty, his own ploughing thad to be merciful and cut their waiting short. Five minutes yet before the half hour is gone, declared Alan. An exclamation from the Indian drew their attention just then. The fox was pointing, and on following the direction of his extended brown finger, the boy saw what it caught his always vigilant eyes. Away up on the top of the cliff that towered so many hundred feet above its base, several figures were moving. They were plainly men and white men at that. No need for anyone to dart into the tent and get the field glasses in order to know who these parties were, though that did secure it as he wished a closer view. It's sure that crackerjack crowd cried giraffe, better get a move on Alec and drop out of sight before they glimpse you. But the other shook his head, it's too late for that now, he declared. Cracker has got a supply glass leveled at this camp right now, and he sure glimpsed me before this. And when Thad a minute later looked through the field glasses at the three who were on the cliff he saw, that Alec had spoken truly, for even then the biggest of the trio was watching them through a pair of glasses. Now then he would turn to say something to one of his companions. These fellows, known as Waffles and Dickeybird respectively, were not in the same class with the giant cracker, with regard to size, though as to reputation, possibly they were able to run him a close race, since they were all looked upon as a pretty bad lot by the settlers and miners with whom they came in contact. Wonder what he thinks, remarked Davy Jones, who seemed almost tempted to try and use his Kodak on the party. Only his good sense told him that they would look like specks at such a great distance, and there would be no satisfaction in the picture. How do you expect they ever found that Alec was no longer on the ledge, asked Stephen. Perhaps they may have been in camp somewhere, they gave them a view of the ledge and looked in vain for Alec. They hurried up to see whether he had fallen, or was climbing up some way or other, Alan suggested. The chances are they want to drop in here now that they know he's taken up with us, said Giraffe. Stephen looked anxious. Say that. Is that a going to interfere with our starting out on our little excursion he demanded? The scoutmaster knew what was in his mind. He smiled as he replied. Oh, I don't see why it should, Stephen. Fact is, time's up now, and as I've said all I want to about taking care of yourselves, why, you might as well make a start. There'll be enough of us left behind to take care of Colonel Cracker and his friends, if so be they do chance to call on us. Bring us back some nice juicy mutton, Stephen, called Giraffe, and Davey, be sure you snap them off in the air. We ain't from Missouri, but we like to be shown at it, Bumpus. I say, Smithy, the country expects every man to do his duty, sir, and if you get your chance, I give you my word, sir, that little gun can be depended on every single time. Shouted the Southern or Bob White. And so, followed by the good wishes of their chums, the little party at Bighorn Hunters started forth, none knowing what strange events might be waiting for them among the wild uplifts of the Rockies. End of Chapter 9 Recording by Chuck Barges, Brainton, Florida Chapter 10 of the Boy Scouts in the Rockies This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Chuck Barges, Brainton, Florida The Boy Scouts in the Rockies by Herbert Carter Chapter 10 The Coming of Cracker They're sure coming, fad. The Scoutmaster looked up when Giraffe said this. Oh, you must mean that big cannon cracker and his two friends, he remarked, in such a cool tone that Giraffe fairly gasped for breath. That's them, he declared, with an utter disregard for grammar that would have caused him to lose some of his good points in school had the laps occurred there. And my stars, they look ugly enough to eat us all up without caring for bones. But I calculate they won't all the same, replied the other, smiling with supreme confidence. Did Allen send you in to tell me, he continued, for he had delegated the second in command to keep watch and word when he was busy in his tent doing something. Giraffe nodded his head violently. Indeed, anyone who did not know how tenacious a hold it had on that long neck might have been alarmed lest he dislocate his vertebrae through such contortions. Yep, and he said you was to come out and see for yourself, Giraffe went on. All right, I will then. Thad quietly picked up his little 12-bore marlin before quitting the tent, and there was an air of business about his manner of doing so quite different from the fussy way Giraffe had of doing things, but which was apt to appear much more convincing in the eyes of anyone who could read character fairly well. When the scout master reached the open air, he found quite a buzz of excitement around the confines of the little camp. It seemed as though the scouts must certainly be anticipating something in the line of trouble, because everyone who had a gun was nervously fingering the weapon, and watching the coming of the three figures stalking toward the camp from across the valley. There was Giraffe, first of all, gripping his big rifle eagerly, a grim look on his thin face. Bumpus had his ten-gauge marlin clench tightly in his hands, and perhaps some of the usual coloring was missing from his fat face, but he had a reputation to sustain now, and knew he must tow the mark like a little man. Allen had his rifle in evidence, and Alec, having lost his at the time he was captured, was keeping a hand close to one of his pockets in which reposed a small revolver, which one of the other scouts had loaned him. Bob White did not have a gun either, since he had let Smithy go off with his, but he did not mean to be caught defenseless, should trouble arise, and back of him he was holding that handy camp hatchet. The Fox, well, if he was anywhere around the camp, Fad failed to discover him, and even at that exciting moment, the scoutmaster remembered thinking that perhaps the crow-boy had hidden, not wishing any of the cracker-crow to see him. Fad glanced around him. He had considered the situation before this, like the wise general who notes down in his mind the promising points connected with his chosen field of battle. Speaking a few words to Allen, who knew what the planet campaign was to be, Fad sent the other over to a clump of rocks, from the crust of which, not more than 50 feet away, he could have a splendid and unobstructed view of the camp, as well as its surroundings. Indeed, hardly a snake could have crawled across that open space without being exposed to the sharp eyes of the main-boy. Then Fad awaited the coming of the three men. Just as Giraffe declared, he could easily see that they were all looking more or less angry. The big man in the middle interested him much more than either of the others, of course, because he knew very well that when Colonel Cracker took snuff, it was up to Waffles and Dicky Bird to sneeze, for they were only shadows of the leader who always controlled their actions. Fad had never seen just such a man before, but for all that he believed that what he had said before was the truth, red-faced and looking like a big hurricane let loose on the land, still back of all this outward display of fierceness, Fad felt sure they lay a really cowardly heart. Yes, no brave man would act as Cracker had done, and when he came right down to the point of facing death, he was pretty sure to coil. Fad turned and spoke a few reassuring words to Alec. Remember, we don't mean to let him lay a finger on you, boy. I've drawn a line out between that rock and the scrub oak over yonder, and if he crosses that, we're going to make him wish he hadn't. It'll be some work for me to do picking birch-shot out of his fat legs and binding up his other wounds, for we sure got to stop him coming into this camp, no matter what happens. It was a remarkable situation for the acting scoutmaster of a troop of Boy Scouts to find himself in. Very few others could ever say they had gone through a like experience, that thought. But then, that was no reason he and his mates were bound to let this tyrant-walk rush-shot over them, and take Alec away to continue his harsh and inhumane treatment of the lad. No, if it were necessary in order to avoid such a catastrophe overtaking them, he must give the command to fire on the enemy, much as he would ever regret the necessity for such a step. He wondered what the leading lights in the great organization would say, should the circumstances ever be placed before them. But then, Scouts should have quit themselves manfully under any and all conditions, and that was just what that meant to do now. The men were now close enough to make sure that those facing them were only boys. Thad could see that Cracker was looking closely, as though anxious to settle that point first of all, and he'd agreed exactly with the opinion he had already entertained for the big prospector. Namely, that he was what Giraffe would call a windbag or a puffball, like those everyone has stepped on in the fields. They go off with a pop, emit a little cloud of dust, and then collapse. But what was there to be feared from a mere parcel of hacker-owned boys? Cracker doubtless believed that he could awe them with that fierce look of his, in the domineering way he had of holding himself erect. While it was almost certain that when they heard his awful voice, sounding like horse thunder, their very legs would tremble under them, so that their knees must knock together. But apparently no one was doing much trembling, as yet, for they seemed to stand there in a line and holding their guns half raised, with their stalks hitched under their shoulders, in the manner of those who have hunted much, and know which might be the easiest method of flinging a gun to rest in a second of time. One of the men had a rifle. He was a fellow whom Thad Guest went by the name of Dickey Bird. But then, no doubt both Cracker and Waffle carried similar arms about their person somewhere, for Thad could see signs of their belts, and judge the heavy revolvers who were swung back of them, where a hand could sweep around and lay hold of the butt easily. The scoutmaster had made up his mind that Cracker was the only one whom he had to fear in the least. With him removed from the game, the other two would turn out to be easily handled. In fact, they would probably throw up their hands and surrender the very instant anything happened to take the big man off. And accordingly, Thad meant to devolve all of his energies towards cutting the claws of the colonel. He had given Alan his ideas on the subject, and the main boy agreed with him fully. They were coming close to the imaginary deadline that Thad had marked between that pile of rocks and the stunted tree. Half a minute more, and he felt that he must call a halt. Would they mind what he said, or thinking that orders from a mere boy were not to be taken seriously? Would they insist on advancing further? Thad gritted his teeth, and was more resolved than ever that if Cracker invited trouble, he would get it, good and hard. He would find out that guns can be just as dangerous in the hands of boys as men. But now he noticed that the big man had slowed up a little. Perhaps he did not just like the way they stood there waiting, and with so many guns handy too. Thad deliberately cocked a shotgun. The sound of the hammer clicking could be plainly heard, just as a boy intended it should, and there was something terribly businesslike and significant about it. At any rate, Colonel Cracker reduced his pace another notch, as if an answer to an unspoken challenge. He was not so brave inwardly as his fierce outward appearance would seem to indicate. His eyes were glued upon the figure of young Alec who stood beside Thad, just a step to the rear possibly. And apparently Cracker was trying to throw all the force of his domineering character into that glare. It was really enough to frighten one into fits, that thought, but somehow it did not make him even tremble because he believed surface indications often told what was not true. Keep on giving him back look for look, Alec, was what Thad said in a low tone, intended only for the ear of the boy they had rescued from the cliff ledge. Oh, I ain't afraid of him now. He couldn't make me squirm when I was all alone and in his power, so it ain't likely I'm shivering now that I've got so many friends to back me up, answered the other, also in a hoarse whisper. Good for you, Thad sent back. At the same time he coughed. This had been arranged as a signal for the rest of those who carried guns to raise them to their shoulders. The action itself ought to convince Cracker that he had reached the limit of the peace-line, and that if he persisted in advancing any further he might expect something to happen. It worked splendidly. The big man came to an abrupt halt, and of course so did Waffles and Dickey Bird too. Thad did not think much of the last mentioned, but the other fellow looked to be just the sort of second fiddle whom a man-like Cracker would choose to assist him in his schemes that were so often evil. And they were right on that imaginary line that had marked out to. Had they persisted in advancing three more feet, he meant to call out sharply and warned them to pull up. Slowly Cracker elevated that fat-right hand of his. Many a time, no doubt, it had given some poor wretch cause for trembling when he pointed that finger at him. Just now, with those terrible eyes of his glued upon Alec, he made his forefinger move once, twice, three times, in a significant beckoning gesture. Then he spoke, and his deep-toned voice was not unlike the rumble of thunder at a time the lightning is darting among the heavy storm clouds. Come here. End of Chapter 10. Recording by Chuck Barges, Bradenton, Florida. Chapter 11 of the Boy Scouts and the Rockies. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Chuck Barges, Bradenton, Florida. The Boy Scouts and the Rockies by Herbert Carter. Chapter 11. Held at Bay. Don't move, Alec, said that, instantly. And he raised his voice enough to purposely let the three men hear what he said. Of course, the boy did not budge. Perhaps he even gave Cracker back look for look, only that there may have been a smile of contempt upon his boyish face. Don't you hear what I say? Come here, roared the colonel. He hears you all right, but he feels quite satisfied to stay where he is, said that, in a cool tone. The other turned those blazing eyes on the speaker. Who asked you to put your finger in my business? He demanded harshly. I'm not. It's you who keeps on meddling with things that concern this boy and his mother only. I suppose you are Colonel Cracker, that went on. That's my name, and anybody who knows me would tell you that you're doing the most foolish thing in all your life when you try to interfere with any affair on which I've set my heart. I want that boy to come to me. And he shook his fat finger threateningly towards Alec as he said this. Then you'll have to take it out in one thing, let me tell you, replied the patrol leader. For he belongs in this camp of Boy Scouts, and we're going to stand back of him. If that was excited, he certainly did not seem to be so. In fact, Giraffe wondered how in the world he could command his voice so well, and speak so calmly, when on his part he was fairly shivering with a nervous tension. What's that you say, shouted the big man, bristling all over with rage until he seemed to swell up larger than ever. Why, you little imp, do you know what I've got a good notion to do with you for this insulting talk? I don't know, and neither do I care, replied that. But there's one thing I do think you ought to know. Oh, you do, eh? What might that be, demanded cracker sneeringly? Turn your head a little to the left, and you'll see a pile of rocks, the Scout Master went on. Now, look up on top of that pile, and you'll see a young fellow on one knee, holding a big rifle, straight on you. That's one of our chums. He's from the state of Maine, where they teach boys to be able to hit a leaping deer straight in the heart every shot. Try and take just three steps this way, if you want to test his skill with the rifle, or any one of you start to raising a gun, and my word for it, you'll never know what hit you. Get that, cracker? Evidently, the big man saw Alan kneeling there, and holding his gun leveled. The sight did not give him any too much enjoyment, either, judging from the way some of the color faded from his face. He spluttered quite as much as before, but he had lost a good part of his make-believe courage. In fact, that believed he had the big bully on the run, and he meant to press his advantage. If I don't get him this time, I will later on, said cracker, giving Alec a look of intense hatred. Don't you believe it, declared the Scout Master cheerfully? We're going to see him through, and if it's necessary, we'll find a way of sending word to the Fort and bringing a bunch of hard-riding cavalrymen here to chase you out of the mountains. And just remember, Colonel Cracker, there are eleven of us, all told, well-armed and knowing how to take care of ourselves. We're no city greenhorns, either, but Scouts who have had a whole lot of experience in hard places. Now, if you know what is good for you, keep away from our camps, wherever they may be. Our guide, Toby Smathers, who knows you like a book, says that lots of good people would throw up their hats and cheer if they heard you'd crossed over the line. You understand what I'm saying, I guess. Don't you? You're doing a full play, young fellow, believe me, spoke up the man called Waffles, thinking it was up to him to stick in his oar. They ain't many men, as would Dar talk to the Colonel like you done. Better hand the boy over to him. He's his uncle, and has the right to take charge him. That's a lie, burst out Alec angrily. He came around our home and tried every which way to get Mother to just tell him what she knew about the mine, promising all sorts of shares if only she'd trust him. But since she didn't know a single thing about where it lay, and wouldn't believe him on oath, either, of course, she didn't make any arrangement. But he ain't any relation of mine. It wouldn't make any difference if he was Alec. When you say you don't want anything to do with Cracker, that settles it. And that all this while kept his eyes fixed on the big man, because he believed the other to be just full of treachery and all kinds of trickery, so that he would be ready to do something desperate if only he thought he could take the young scout master by surprise, and off his guard. You don't understand the matter at all, complained the big man, with something like a whine in his gruff voice now, showing that he was pretty nearly cowed. How is that? demanded the other instantly. I'm meaning to be his friend, and the friend of his folks, Cracker continued. Funny way you have showing your friendly feelings then, I must say, declared that, was scorn in his voice, making him a prisoner, trying to force him to give up a secret you choose to think he carries, and when he refuses to take you at your word, putting him there on that ledge, to starve, or face a horrible death and perhaps falling down a couple of hundred feet. Cracker looked a little confused, but it was only a flash in the pan. Such a thing of shame was foreign to his nature. For years he had been used to brow-beating almost every person with whom he had had dealings. The fact that, first of all, a mere slip of a woman had dared defy him, and then her boy did the same, nettle him beyond description, and he had arrived at desperate measures at the time Alec, so unfortunately for the boy, fell into his hands. Now it gall-cracker to see how he and his two helpers were being actually held up by a parcel of half-grown lads. Why, it would seem as though some mockery of fate had taken hold of his fortunes, and was finding keen pleasure in adding to his humiliation. He would have liked to rush upon these cool boyish customers, and to have trampled them underfoot, as he had possibly done many men in pastimes, when he was less huge in his proportions and could get around better, but somehow he did not dare attempt it. Perhaps it was the display of weapons that ought him, and yet Colonel Cracker was accustomed to seeing such things, and knew how to take them at their true value. Then it may have been the manner of the spokesmen of the little party that had so depressing an effect upon the bully. Why, what was the world coming to when mere boys began to hold the whip hand, and shape things as they pleased? He started to talk, but spluttered so much he could not make intelligible sounds, and his round moon face had taken on a deep red hue again, until it bordered on the purple, that, who had some knowledge of medicine, as we have seen on numerous occasions, really began to wonder whether the bulky man might not be getting perilously near the border line, and taking chances with a sudden attack of apoplexy, or else something else along those lines. Once or twice, that had seen something move back of the three men. He dared not take his eyes off them long enough to look carefully, and at first could not decide whether it was a prowling wolf, bold enough to come thus near the camp in broad daylight, or a human being, even suspected at one moment that possibly the invaders might have been in greater numbers than any of the scouts dreamed, and that some of them were even then creeping around, with the idea of turning the tables on the boys by a sudden coup. But that idea went glimmering, when he contemplated the utter impossibility of any foe crawling across the bare and open stretch of rock extending between their camp and the foot of the rise. It certainly could never be done, and with the main boy keeping watch on things from his eerie amid the piled up rocks. Then what? Why, to be sure, it must be the fox. The young crow had vanished, that remembered, had the approach of the trio of prospectors, just where he had gone the patrol leader hadn't either known, nor cared at the time. He seemed to have some reason for fearing either cracker, or one of the two lesser rascals with him, and appeared desirous of keeping out of their sight. That also remembered that the Indian boy possessed a gun. He only hoped he would not do anything rash, but then he had been present when the scout master spoke to those under him, saying that as members of the great organization that made for peace, they must not use their firearms unless as a very last resort, and then only to cripple their enemies. The crow had nodded his head with the rest when that asked for this assurance, and surely an Indian keeps his word. There, once again his head poked up into view, and this time so close to the man that that saw the fox had been stealthily creeping nearer all the time. Did he have some object in his movements, or were they caused simply by curiosity to see how close he could get, unobserved, to the one he seemed to fear? Seeing that cracker was too furious to even control his voice, the shorter fellow, whom that took to be waffles, again put in his talk. It's plain to be seen, you critters don't know the cunnel he observed bitterly, just as though he himself had had a long experience, and knew what it meant to stir up that vile temper too far. He never gives a thing up. He's just like a bulldog that gets a grip. He may chase us off this time, but will stick like a plaster, and in the end get what we want, we all ours does. Oh, you don't say remark the scout master with cutting emphasis. Well, the chances are, the lot of you will get what you've been richly deserving a long time back, if you keep on meddling with our affairs. And now, suppose you skip out. We couldn't come to an agreement if we talked an hour, and we have some other things we want to do. Take your fat friend away, waffles. He's liable to explode before long, unless you do. Amazed at the cool defiance of the boy, the man called waffles mechanically started to obey, but before he had taken half a dozen steps backward, that heard a strange hissing sound that he could not understand. The next instant, to his astonishment, he saw waffles pulled over backwards, his feet sprawling awkwardly, his calls for help were half muffled, and for a very good reason, since he was being partly choked by the loop of rope which the young crow Indian had thrown over his head with so much dexterity, and then jerked tight. End of Chapter 11. Recording by Chuck Barges, Bradenton, Florida. Chapter 12 of The Boy Scouts in the Rockies. This is a LibraVox recording. All LibraVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibraVox.org. Recording by Chuck Barges, Bradenton, Florida. The Boy Scouts in the Rockies by Herbert Carter. Chapter 12. Just turned around and went away. It was certainly a time for quick thinking and speedy action if the boys expected to avoid a tragedy. Naturally enough, Cracker and his one remaining companion, hearing the cries of the fallen waffles, would think that they were being actually set upon by their enemies, and that no matter what followed, they must fight. It was to offset this that Thad first of all turned his attention. A collision must be averted at all hazards. It would be a terrible thing if the Scouts became embroiled in a fight with such men, and either received wounds or were compelled to give them. And so Thad, acting instantly on impulse, darted forward the very second he saw what was happening. Fortunately for all parties, the big man, having been so dazed by his late baiting, did not seem able to grasp the situation quickly enough to draw a weapon before Thad was upon him. The only thing the boy did was to snatch the big six-shooter from the hand of Cracker, now trembling with various emotions, in which fear may have had as much space as anger. Surround the other and don't let him raise a hand, boys, shouted the Scout Master to those who had followed close at his heels when he thus rushed forward. With the words, he turned to where waffles were still sprawling on the ground, but there was now more reason than ever why the fellow could not get up, because someone was sitting astride his body and threatening him with a knife. Of course it was the fox, and he seemed to have a storm of passion in his dark face. But while Thad had been prompt to knock the revolver from the hand of Cracker, he was just as quick to leap alongside the young crow-boy and grasp his wrist. Give me that knife-fox, he said sternly. The Indian looked up in his face. For a moment it seemed as though he might be about to mutiny and positively refuse the order. Then his whim changed, and opening his fingers he allowed the shining blade to fall to the ground. Ub, on him long time. Now find, make give up what snake in the grass steal away from T.P. in reservation. He grunted, disconsolently. Oh well, if he's got anything that belongs to you, or your people, why, you've my full permission to search him and get it back, Thad went on to say quickly. Only we want no violence here if we can help it. We scouts generally manage to reach our ends without that, you know, fox. Go ahead and see. We'll keep his friends quiet meanwhile, eh, boys? That's what we will, Thad, said Giraffe, who was standing close by, with his gun poking almost into the ribs of the big man with the purple face. We can do it to beat the band, I tell you. And here comes Allen in, to have a hand in the game. Didn't he keep a beat on the Colonel here all the while? And if you hadn't jumped in and snatched that gun away from him, I warn Allen was just on the point of making him a one-armed man for a while. But Thad was not paying much attention to what the talkative Giraffe said, his attention being taken up with other matters. The fox had heard him give permission to search the pockets of the short rascal he was holding down, after having caught him in the loop of Bumpus's rope, taken slightly from the limb of the tree where the fat scout carefully kept it while in camp. The light that flashed the thwart, the mahogany-colored face of the young crow, told how pleased he was with this chance that was offered. He immediately started to rummage through the various pockets of waffles. Quite naturally, the lesser bully objected to such liberties being taken with his person, and it must have galled him more than a little to realize it was an Indian, and a boy at that, who was subjecting him to such indignities, for like most men along the border, waffles undoubtedly held Indians in contempt. But when he raised his voice to stormy protest, Thad told him to hush up. Besides, the fox leaned over and glared in his eyes with such a suggestive look that waffles, being a coward at heart, gradually subsided, his protest taking the safer form of groans and grunts and wriggles, all of which were alike unavailing. Presently the crow uttered a cry of joy. Found what you were looking for, asked Thad. It is well. And as he said this, the fox helped something up. Thad may have thought that the Indian boy was making a mountain out of a molehill, for if it had been left to him, he did not know that he would have willingly paid more than a dollar at the most for the object the fox now gripped was such evident delight. But then, at the same time, Thad realized that associations often have a great deal to do with the value of things. That peculiar strip of deer skin, decorated with colored beads that formed all sorts of designs, must have come down from some of fox's ancestors. Perhaps it was a species of wampum similar to that in use as currency during the earlier days, when men like Daniel Boone were trying to settle along the Ohio River. And then again, it might be that the forefathers of the fox always wore this strip of beaded leather when they were invested with the office of chief of the tribe. At any rate, Waffles had apparently known of its value and had stolen it, possibly hoping it some time to receive a rich reward for its safe return, for surely he could not have fancied it because he had any love for beauty or meant to start a collection of Indian relics. Are you satisfied, Fox? Now that you've recovered your property, if that is all he took from your home, that asked, much like Mark Thief on him cheek, so nowhere belong, grunted the crow boy longingly. Don't you let him almost shriek the waffles, doubtless fearing that he was going to be tortured as a penalty for his shortcomings. Them engines just like to mark a man all up when they get a chance to tell him to get off of me. I ain't going to stand for it. If he so much as puts the point of his knife on me, I'll vow to keep still, you cowardly thief, said that sternly, and even Waffles seemed influenced by the hidden power of the scout master's tone, for he broke off in the middle of a sentence and finished it by mumbling to himself. Speaking to the Indian boy, that went on. Run your hand over him again and hand me any weapon you find. He's in a state where he might lose his head and get us all into a fight, if we let him go armed. Willingly, the crow boy did as he was told. The search revealed the big revolver that was apparently the maid of the one that had knocked from the hand of cracker. Now get that other fellow's rifle, Alan, continued the patrol leader, who had mapped out his plan of campaign quickly. He did not trust these men further than he could see them. They were quite unscrupulous, and after having been held up to scorn by this parcel of boys, there was every reason in the world to believe that they would play on a hasty revenge. And the fewer deadly weapons they had in their possession, the better chances would be for peace in that mountain valley, the rifle in particular that wanted to hold back. With it, damage might be done at a much greater distance than with the smaller arms. And knowing that the boys had long-distance modern rifles, possibly cracker and his followers might keep out of range. Besides, there was that business of Alex concerning the hidden mine. They had promised to stand back of him until he had secured full possession, and that was apt to keep them in the neighborhood for some time, always subjected to annoyance from these anxious ones, who longed to secure the prize that had tantalized their species for so long. So the rifle and what ammunition Dickie Byrd happened to be carrying in a belt slung over his shoulder fell into the hands of the boys. They also retained possession of one of the heavy revolvers, not that anyone fancy the clumsy weapon in the least, but as Thad said, to cut the wings of the party as much as possible. Let Waffles get up now, Fox, said Thad, when all these matters had been adjusted, much to the admiration of the other scouts, who thought their leader might be just it when it came to doing things. The shorter rascal was not slow to gain his feet. He was still boiling over with a sense of insult added to injury and ready to vent his wrath in offensive words, but Thad cut all this short. Listen to me, Waffles, he said sternly again. We don't care to hear your opinion of anything. Take a lesson from the Colonel here, who knows when silence is golden. You don't hear him swearing around and threatening to break a blood vessel in his mad feeling. He's taking it all as cool as a cucumber. He knows when it's time to laugh and when it's time to cry. Now, the sooner you gentlemen give us your room, the better we'll be pleased, and be sure to make it plenty of room too, because we're all going to be ready to take snapshots at any of you we see, after half an hour has gone by. Cracker moved his lips, but strange to say, not a word proceeded from them. The man was so completely overpowered by his emotions that for the time being he had actually lost all power of speech. For this, Thad was pleased, because he believed that had the big prospector been able to say one half that was bubbling through his mind, they must have been treated to an awful exhibition of hard words. So the three men turned their back on their tormentors and walked away, but it was certainly true that their retreat did not smack in the least of the jaunty and threatening manner of their late arrival. They had, as giraffe crowed jubilantly, the wind taken from their sails and just turned around and went away. Wonder if we'll see anything more of them again, remarked Bumpus, who had really carried himself quite handsomely through it all, the most of the time his eyes had seemed to be fairly bulging from his head, and he could be heard saying words over and over to himself to indicate surprise. I hope not, remarked Thad, but it wouldn't surprise me if they bobbed up again later on. You see, it's perhaps the biggest steak Cracker ever played for, and for years now this hidden mind has kept dancing before him, beckoning him on. He won't give it up easily, I'm afraid. There, look at him turn and shake his fat fist at us. That shows how he feels about it. He's just like to have us tied up right now, so he could lay on the whip, good and hard. But boys, after this, it's for us to keep a good lookout all the time. Such fellows as Cracker and the others won't hesitate at anything, if only they saw a chance to win out. At his words, Giraffe and his mates nodded their heads, but there was no loud demonstration. For somehow they seemed to realize the gravity of the game they were now playing, with a long lost mind as the steak. End of Chapter 12. Recording by Chuck Barges, Bradenton, Florida The Safest Way of Shooting a Grizzly Meanwhile, how fare the ambitious big-horned hunters? They had started out filled with determination to accomplish something, even if it took a couple of days. Indeed, the guide had said to Thad before leaving that none of them need to worry if the party failed to show up at nightfall. The distances were so great and the mountain climbing of such a stupendous character that they might have to put in better part of several days reaching defeating ground of the animals and getting the coveted chance for a shot or two. When noon came, it found them climbing steadily. They were entirely out of sight of the valley where they can't play, so that they could not have knowledge of what was happening in that quarter. But so set were the boys on what had taken them forth that for the time being they felt perfectly satisfied to forget about other matters. Talk about your wild country, remarked Steffen, when they all came to a little stop to eat a snack and rest. So as to be ready for a further climb, this sure takes a cake for me. Why that poor little blue-ridged country and you could put it all in a pocket here and it wouldn't be missed. Well, remark Smithy, who was burying up under the strain in a manner that would have pleased the scout master, could have been along to notice it. You want to be exceedingly careful how you say that before our hot-butted southern chump Bob White unless you're ready to get into a war of words. Oh, excuse me, Chuckle Steffen, I wouldn't build guilty of hurting Bob's pride even in a little bit. I know he thinks that land is a sky country better than most other places, but it takes a lot of different people to make a world, doesn't it, fellas? That's right, it does, remarked Baby Jones, who had managed to snap off several pictures as they came along, but was trying to say most of his exposures were things that would count, live subjects, in fact. How much further did we have the client Toby ask Smithy, trying to appear rather indifferent about it, though the others just knew he must feel the strain more than any of them because Smithy had never been much of an athlete, and up to date he had yet to play in his first baseball game, strange to say. Well, that depends on the good many things the guy had responded. First of all, we don't know as yet just war, the sheet may be feeding. I'm headed for a place where I've seen him many a time when I was a prospectant through this country. Oh, so you had a touch of the lost mind fever, did you, quickly remarked Smithy, or up to the present time Toby has never said so much as admitted this fact, but now he grinned and went on, well, yes, I've taken my look and had just the same luck as all the rest, but about them big horns, boys, if they don't happen to be war arm headed thrust, and we go down to another two hours, but chances are we'll find a flock in one of them places and get a shot before nightfall sets in. With this company thought, then, his little party once more started out after an hour's rest and refreshment. Smithy was doubtlessly feeling considerably better. He never complained even while he limped sadly at times, and once came near losing his grip when swinging across a bad place in the trail, so that he might even have fallen, only that the guide, readily through an arm around him, having been keeping conveniently near Smithy was proving one thing at least. He may never turn out to be much of a hunter, but he surely possessed his father's spirit when he came to same qualities, and when he went back home, all the maiden ants in creation would never be able to bring that boy back again to the docile habits that had marked him here through four. Thanks to women's training, Smithy had a taste of real outdoors, and would never be satisfied again to live in an old sissy rut. It was about an hour after the stop that, without warning, the little party suddenly came upon a monstrous grizzly bear. Slowly, he's making his way diagonally across the tracks they were following. At the sight of them, the ant will rear it up on his hind quarters and seem to be trying to make up his mind whether he ought to attack these queer two-legged creatures or go on about his own business. Stefan had raised his gun to his shoulder, but instantly the guide clapped a hand over the lock. There were no convenient trees in which they could take shelter from an enraged grizzly, and Toby Smithers knew too much about these animals to have any wish to find when rushing at them, wild with rage from a womb. Snap-click! Got him that time, said a delighted voice, of course it was Davey Jones. He had swung that Kodak of his around, calmly focusing on the grizzly, as the animal reared himself up to a terrible height, and then pressed the button, and perhaps after all that was the safest kind of shooting when it came to a matter of grizzly bears. Even one of these ferocious species would hardly offer any serious objections to having his likeness preserved for future generations to gaze upon. Keep still all of you warned the guide, who was holding his own rifle and readiness for instant use, should the bear conclude to charge them. But he ain't lost any mountain Charlies today, as I know on. Big Orange is what we come after. Let him take himself, or he will, and a good rinse too, I says. Which the enormous beast finally concluded to do. Perhaps he had his dinner, and was not feeling in particularly aggressive mood, no matter what the cause, all of the boys heaved a sigh of positive relief when he shuffled away, looking back over his shoulder several times. Just like he wanted a half, and excuse for getting his man up, explained Steppen, he had a chip on his shoulder all right. I guess I'm glad you didn't let me start in on him, Toby. I might have missed knocking him over for keeps, and then would a nice pickle be to all be in. Excuse me from tackling on a moving mountain like that, when trees are as scarce as hen's teeth. And I'm really glad too you didn't fire amidst Smithy, who had turned somewhat white during the minute of dreadful suspense. While he stared at the monster, squatted in their path, I was ready to back up. But then what could you expect from a greenhorn? I never wished so much that I'd taken to this sort of thing before, as I did, when that fearful beast was looking at me, just as if to say, hear the tenderness of the thought, Smithy, and I think I'll choose you, if I have any room for more inside of me. The other boy laughed at his words. But in a whole they thought Smithy had carried himself rather credibly, all things considered. And each knew, down deep in his secret soul, that his own hard head seemed to stand still, while his blood ran cold as he stood there, awaiting the decision of the bear. They glanced around rather fearfully for some a little time after that. But as nothing was seen again on the mountain terror, they finally concluded that the incident was closed. Again their thoughts went on towards a singular game they had come after. Many ambitious hunter had sought to shoot a big horned sheep in the Rockies, and was compelled to give it up in the end as useless. So Toby had informed them the condition was generally very difficult, and the game so shy, besides, their sense of impending danger seemed to be abnormally developed, and on account of the rocky formation of the slopes, where they found bunches of grass in the crevice, it was awful and extra impossible to stalk them from leeward. The tired boys were thrilled to the core when Toby finally announced that he had a glimpse of the game. Of course they became wildly excited and demanding that he show them. Creeping carefully up to a certain outcrop rock, they peered around its edge, and for the first time in their lives, Davy, Smithy and Stefan found themselves looking upon the queer animals that seemed to live in the wildest parts of the Rockies, taking delight in bountying from crag to crag, and baffling the skill of most experienced Chamois hunters to get within gunshot of their lofty irs. They were seven or eight of the sheep, and as they were really just within gun range, the boys could get a splendid view of them. They admired the tremendous curved horns greatly, and Stefan quivered with eagerness to say that he had shot a rocky mountain sheep all by himself, while Davy clicked his camera several times, so that he at least might have a picture in case they could get no nearer. I can't be sure I've even hunting one from here, whispered Stefan, turning around appealing to the guide. Ain't it possible to creep up closer, Toby? Oh please fix it for us, just as though the guide had in his power to do anything he wanted. But fortunately, the lay of the mountain allowed Toby to arrange it, and he soon mapped out a route that they might crawl along, keeping well hidden from the feeding sheep, and getting gradually closer. Besides it happened that luck was working over time in their favor, because the animals happened to be feeding toward them now, and only two or three could be seen nibbling at the turrets of grass, or leaping across some small fisher that tried to block them from others tempting pastures. The whole seven would be in sight at the same moment. After advancing slowly and carefully for some time, Toby made motions that they dare not go any further. He also let them know by signs that, as the sheep were still coming in a line toward them, all they had to do was to lie quiet and wait until the right moment. That was a period of great excitement to the scouts, two of them clutching their guns and hands that would tremble in spite of them, while the third was trying to find the best spot to hold his Kodak, with the view of snapping off a picture just before the critical seconds came for shooting. Stefan and Smithy had even gone so far as to select which one of the seven sheep they hoped to get, as they lay there peeking out over their rocky shelter. It can be taken for granted that each of them had eyes for his particular quarry only, and finally Toby touched the shoulder of the Kodak owner as a signal that he had better be getting to work. End of Chapter 13, Recording by Kenneth Sargent Gagan Chapter 14 of The Boy Scouts and the Rockies This is a lever box recording. All lever box recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit leverbox.org. Recording by Kenneth Sargent Gagan. The Boy Scouts and the Rockies by Herbert Carter. Chapter 14. The Sheep Hunters Davey Jones had made all his arrangements. He had only depressed a button when the slight click told them that his picture was an accomplished fact. And if the hunters did as well, the expedition might be set down as a glorious success. Davey had carried a shotgun fast into his back with a strap while he worked his little camera. Then he reached out for the gun, although realizing the folly of trying to do any execution, at that distance with the buckshot cartridge. Now, said the guide suddenly, it would seem as though he spoke aloud purposely. Knowing what effect was apt to be, every feeding bighorn sheep raised its head instantly. And for the space of several seconds stood there as though carved out of stone. A better chance for a shot could not be imagined. Bang! Wang! That was mythy firing first. And the second report told them that Stefan's little thirty-thirty was on the job instantly. One bighorn sheep fell over the rock and kicked several times. Might have fallen over the ledge only that somehow the body seemed to become fastened in a crotch. And narrowly in a tantalizing position. For only by a most difficult climb downward could it be reached at all. Oh, I hit mine and he's falling down there, cried Smithy, and a voice that just thrilled with wild exultation. And he hardly had said this. Then he added, in a deeply crushed tone, Oh, wasn't that too cruel of him now, to just bound off on his horns like they were skis, and get on his feet again? There he goes now and I see him limp. Will you, fellows, I hit him. Yes, I surely did. Well, he's gone and that's the last you're going to likely see of him. More is the pity, said Stefan. But look at my game, would you? Stuck there in among the rocks, Toby. We must manage to get him some way or other. Tell me how it can be done, won't you? The guy scratched his head as if himself a bit puzzled. Only way I can see, boys, you observe, and that means a lot more climbing for us. It means we'll just have to work around and get up there above the place where my big horn lies, as dead as a doornail. Is that it, Toby? questioned Stefan's. Perhaps unconsciously placing great emphasis on the pronoun, nor could he be blamed for feeling proud of half that the guy that told them concerning the difficulties encountered by the hunters of Rocky Mountain Sheep were true. Just what I had in mind, replied Toby, then let's make a start, urged Stefan. My stars, I wouldn't like to lose that splendid fellow for anything. Just think of having that pair of horns to put in our club room at home. Davey, I hope you got a good picture, too. Because we can have it in large, taken and hang it under my horns. I don't see any growing out of your head yet, Stefan chuckled Davey, as he and the third scout fell then behind the others and started forth. One thing made it a little easier now. They didn't have to be so particular about moving softly. Since their aim had been accomplished and they had shot their bolt, but the way was rough enough at the best. Smithy had a hard time of it. He was forever bruising his hands, for they were not so tough in the palms as those of the other boys. So it had been accustomed to work and hard play. Besides, he often took a little slide and mis-fashioned tourist trousers, as well as made it quite a gash in his leg. But the other boys rather fancy that Smithy, unable to wholly overcome his former love for fine clothes, grieved more on account of that big wrench in his khaki trousers than he did for the bleeding leg. So it must have pained him considerably. Still, he did not murmur. Smithy was showing much more grit than either of the others had ever dreamed. He possessed. Like bumpers, it only seemed to need a fitting opportunity to come to the surface, as in this case with many backward boys. As they turned an angle on the rock, Stefan gave a shout. What's this? What's this he called? Oh, please don't shoot, Shrull, Smithy. Wonderfully excited again. Must be the sheep I struck with my bullet. See how the poor thing drags that leg after him? Let me have the pleasure of knocking him over and putting him out of his pain. Get busy, then, or he'll give you the slip, after all. Quick, Smithy, or I'll be tempted to shoot him myself. Oop, you did it at that time, Smithy. Good boys. And Stefan fairly danced in his excitement. Smithy had made good. How he did it, he never could tell. But somehow, when he just pointed his gun in a general direction toward the escaping big horn and pulled the trigger, why the already bandedly wounded animal fell over, gave a couple of last kicks, and then lay still. But strange to say, Smithy was less given to excitement over his exploit than either of the other boys, as they all bent over the big horn to admire his sturdy frame and the head ornaments that distinguished him among all his kind. Smithy was sent to stroke the hairy back of the dead sheep and clinched his teeth hard together, as though, after all, he felt sorry that a sudden whim had caused him to actually take a life that nothing could restore it. Evidently, it would be some time before Smithy could so far overcome his former gentle traits of character to feel the hunter's fierce lust for his quarry. But this ain't getting my big horn, you know, remarked Stefan, as though the feel of those massive curved horn pieces had thrown him into a new fever of impatience to secure his own trophies. For it would be a shame if the only greenhorn of the party should be the only one to exhibit positive evidence of their having shot game. Come along, then, we'll soon get around to war as that might climb down if so be your cheerful not to slip, said the guide once more. Oh, do we abandon my big horn, then, cried Smithy, as though half tempted to refuse to leave the spot. I want my proof to be a wild goose chase. To him it seemed like leaving the substance to try and catch the shadow. We can come back this way and take care of it then, said Toby, with this assurance Smithy had to rest content, and to some further scrambling along the face of the steep slope. Digging their toes into the shawl that often crumbled under them, when they might risk a serious ride down the side of the mountain only for the fact that they had managed to cling fast with their hands, they reached a point where it was extra rocky and a pretty sheer descent. Down there are your sheep lies, the guide said, pointing as he spoke. Stefan immediately lay his gun aside and crawled into the edge he looked over. I don't see hair or hide of it, though, Toby, he complained. No more you can return the other, with it soon marked in both voice and manner. But all the same it's down there, not more than a hundred feet up most. I got my bearings fine, look off yonder, and you see where we lay, when you did the shooting at the big horns. He's right, said, Davey Jones, after looking to where the guide was pointing so confidently. I know that rock among a thousand, I'll never forget it either. And yes, your sheep must be lying below us right now. I think the same fellas asserted Smithy, who was beginning to feel that he ought to give his opinion of things after this. See, he was now an actual bona fide hunter and had even secured one of the most wary of all wild animals in the whole west. Why don't we see it then, demanded Stefan, always very stubborn and needing to be shown. You see the guide explain the face of the mountain backs in some in a general way. That tells the story, the only thing that bothers me is if I had to let you try and get down there, so as to shove the seed off and land it at the bottom, or make the riffle myself. Oh, I wouldn't think of letting you try, declared Stefan quickly. I'm young and spying, used to climbing up cliffs such as stunts besides he added as a clincher. It's my big horn, you know. As either of the boys backed him up, the chance of where the Tobi smithers might have refused to give his permission. Or he knew that there would naturally be considerable risk involved in such an undertaking. But then both Davey and his comrade Smithy saw nothing so very unusual in the proceeding. The one, because he was not accustomed to judging such things, and Davey on account of being such a clever gymnast himself, always doing dangerous tricks such as hanging from a high limb of a tree by his toes, coming down the outside of a tree by using the branches as it ascending ladder, and all such a crazy antics as Draft called them. Here, somebody hold my gun, says Stefan, with an arrow of resolution. You're going to be some careful I take a question to guide, dubiously. Of course, what do you take me for, Tobi? Think I want to go on my own funeral in a hurry? Not much. Well, I can be careful, all right. Don't you worry about me. And I want that big horn worse than ever, I do. Here goes then. He started down the face of the almost perpendicular precipice, where there were plenty of places where you get a good foothold, and to cure a grip with his ready hands. The only danger it seemed to be, as the guide had warned him, and having some apparently secure rock suddenly give way under his weight, he must watch out for that constantly, and never take a fresh step unless he was sure he could maintain his hold upon the last known knob of a rock. Call it out if we can help any, Stefan, was what Davy said, as they saw the last of their companion said, just about to vanish, where the first inward dip to the precipice occurred. Sure, I will, and just you remember our single code, Davy, I may have to use it if I get caught tightening a crack and can't break away, know how. Goodbye, be good to yourselves now, and don't go believing there's any chance of me losing my grip. Then he vanished from their sight. A dreadful clatter of falling stones gave the two scouts still above a case of the trembles. Immediately afterwards, and Davy called at the top of his voice, I say, Stefan, all right, welled up from somewhere below them, is that on purpose to test a stepping-place? Catch a weasel of sleep before you get me to stand on a loose place? Why, it's as easy as falling off a log, this is End of Chapter 14, Recording by Kenneth Sargent Gagan Chapter 15 of the Boy Scouts and the Rockies This is a lever-box recording. All lever-box recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit leverbox.org, recording by Kenneth Sargent Gagan. The Boy Scouts and the Rockies by Herbert Carter. Chapter 15 of fierce fight with eagles But all those Stefan spoke so flippantly he was far from being as confident as he pretended, in fact, as he proceeded downward he found his task getting more and more difficult. One thing that bothered him was the getting up again. He just felt sure that he would not be able to accomplish it. But then, if it came to the worse, doubtless the balance of the descent was no harder to manage than this. And as the first sending his big horn down, he might pick up his own way after it, and the others could follow as best they saw fit. Stefan was a self-reliant boy at any rate. Sometimes a scout master feared too much so, and since he had said he was going to get that game and was already part-way down, the face of the rocky wall, there was nothing to be done but keep right along, which he proceeded to do. He could not get the slightest glimpse of his comrades. They were somewheres up above him. But just as the guide had declared, the face of the wall fell away in places, and this kept taking him further beyond the range of vision. Whatever he could do so without imperiling his supports, Stefan would crook his neck and look downward. In the hope of seeing where the sheep lay, he could not help thinking how much easier this effort would come for him, if a kindly nature had given him the extensive neck that Giraffe possess. There it is, he exclaimed joyfully, as his anxious eyes fell upon an object at a short distance below, and which he knew must be the crumpled body of his big horn. And I ought to get there now without breaking my neck. Wow! That was a near tumble, all right. Careful, boy. Careful now. Them horns of yours ain't grown big enough to drop on like the sheep do. He halted for a full minute. Not that he was so tired in the arms, but to recover from the shock received when he came so nearly falling. Then once more, resuming his labors, he presently had the satisfaction of dropping beside the motionless body of his victim. The horns that Smithy had was his first exclamation as he bent over. The better to see, and at the same moment he came conscious of the fact that some buzzards or some other big birds were swooping around close by, making him think they had looked on his dead sheep as their next dinner. Guess perhaps I'd better be tossing it over here and let it roll down to the bottom. Then come follow the best way there is, and something gave him a sudden, fierce blow that knocked Stefan down on his hands and knees. And he might have rolled over the edge of the narrow shell, only for his good luck in catching hold of the sheep's rounded horns. Quit that, you silly. You nearly knocked me over that time, he shouted angrily, his very first thought, being not one or the other. Boys, presumably Davy Jones, because he was so smart about climbing everywhere, had followed after him, and this was rudely announcing his arrival, close on the heels of the first explorer. But as Stefan raised his head to look, to his surprise, he failed to see anyone near him, a dreadful suspicion that Davy might have pitched over the edge of the narrow shell after striking him, assail the scout, and he was almost on the point of looking, when suddenly there was a rush of great wings, and he dropped flat on his face, just in time to avoid being struck a second time. Wow, eagles and mad as hops at me for coming here, grasped Stefan, as raising his head cautiously, like a turtle peeping out of his shell. He caught sight of two wheeling birds that came and went with tremendous speed. He noticed the spud of their mints' wings, and it seemed to Stefan, as if in all his experience he had never before gazed upon more powerful birds than those two rocky mountain eagles. Perhaps they had a nest nearby with young eagles in it, and fancied that he was bent on robbing them. Then again, the big birds might have decided that he could make good use of that fine quarry that had lodged in the rock so conveniently near their nests, and resented a coming of another claimant. But no matter what the contributing cause might be, there were undoubtedly as mad as a wet hen, as Stefan afterwards declared, and telling of his adventure there on that shelf, fully a hundred feet from the top and the bottom, on the steep face of the mountain. His first thought was how he could fight back, for he saw that he was to be at the mercy of the great birds that swooped down again and again, striking him viciously at him with claws and beaks and powerful wings, until the boy was bleeding in half a dozen places. And casting his eyes about, even as he fought with his bare hands, and shouted for assistance at the top of his voice, Stefan made a little discovery. A tree must have grown up above one time or another, for there stuck vast in the crevice of the rock. He saw a pretty good size remnant of a branch that he believed would make a fair cruddle better than his bare hands at any rate, with which to strike at the attacking eagles. When he had clutched this in his eager hand, the boy felt more confident, and watching his opportunity, he did manage to meet the swoop of the next bird with a whack that sent it whirling back. But they quickly learned to adapt other tactics, now that he was armed, both of them coming together for opposite directions, so that unable to dodge or hit back properly, Stefan again found himself getting a worse to the fight. Would his comrades be able to do anything for him, or was he to be left there on that shelf of a rock to either conquer his savage enemies, alone and unaided, or succumb to their ferocious assaults? And all the while he was beating at them with his might, and main Stefan kept up a constant shouting. He had a double purpose in this, hoping to tempt one of his companions to descend to his rescue, carrying a gun, since they seemed unable to hit the birds from above. Though several shots had been fired, and then again it was possible the sound of a human voice would, by degrees, cause the eagles to haul off. Take that way, or the boy cried whenever he succeeded in reaching either of his feathered assailants with his club. Come on up me again, will you? Just wait and see what happens to you. Ouch! That hurts some now. Oh, if I can only swing the club around better without being afraid of tumbling over. Wouldn't I knock their heads off? Wow! Once more you'll have it, will you? See the feathers fly. I believe they're weakening some, sure I do, but what about me? I'll bleed to death yet, if they keep on tapping me like that. So Stefan went on, shouting and whacking away, doing the best he was able, under the circumstances. Nobody could ever say at any rate, but when he put up a strapping good fight of it, he kept thinking, but all the same, he cast an anxious eye upward wherever he could find a chance, hoping to see a pair of human legs even sight, and discover the welcome faith of either Davey Jones or the guide. Bring a gun, bring a gun! That was about the burden of his shouts. He hoped those above understood what he was saying. The eagle cell went far outside a given circle, so that they could only be glimpsed from above. Occasionally, and it was like shooting at a disappearing target in a gallery, to try and hit them under such circumstances. Stefan had knocked one of the great birds down for the sixth time, and was dismayed to see that he had not even then disabled it. Since it immediately started to fly again, no wing had been broken by his club, when he thought he caught the sound of a human voice close by. Then some loose stones rattled down beside him, giving him a thrill of joy, for he knew when all reinforcements were on the way, and it nerve him to fight on. Another minute, and someone dropped down beside the crouching Stefan, who was breathing hard from his exertions, but still full of pluck, as a true scout should always be. Toby, he called out in a quivering voice, and looked very grim with his face so scratched and streaked with blood. Ah, I'm sure glad to see you, but glad to notice you've got your gun. Look out, they are coming again. Dodge, Toby, dodge. They're on to you. But the guy that snatches gun from his back, where it had been securely fastened with a stout cord, had no time to aim or fire just then, only to swing the barrel around, and strike viciously at the swooping birds that threw its claws forward, as it pounced upon him just as a fish-walk might do on striking the water. The attack was clicky-parried, and no, Toby also had a streak of blood on his cheek. Where one of those ferocious wings had struck him. Now he turned the gun quickly around in his hands. Leave one for me, Toby, pleaded the boy, eagerly. I ought to have the pleasure of knocking one over after what they'd have done to me. Oh, you put it to that gay old robber of honest fish-walk, sure you did. And he's gone down below, dex for good. Give me your gun, Toby, I must have it, I tell you. And the guy, understanding, as well as sympathizing with the spirit that had caused the others to cry out in his fashion, did thrust his repeating rifle into the hands of Stefan. After throwing a discharged shell out, and sending a fresh one into the firing chamber, with a satisfaction that words could never paint, Stefan followed the swinging form of the remaining eagle as it flew around, so as to get in line for another swoop. And just as the great birds started to come down at them, the boy pulled the trigger. His aim was true, and the second eagle pitched forward, whirling over and over as it went tumbling down the face of the descent, just as its mate had done. Hurrah! shouted Stefan tremendously, pleased with the final outcome of the fight, with a pair of fierce pirates of the upper air currents. That's what they get for tackling me, ain't it, Toby? We gave them what they needed, didn't we? Let's say I'm just thinking, and it's going to be a tough old job for me to get back up where the boys are, and that perhaps we will have to keep on climbing down after shoving the big horn off the shelf. And the guy, after recovering his breath, which had been used up in his recent hasty movements and coming to the rescue, looking over the edge, admitted that he believed such a course was the only one left to them. CHAPTER XVI. OF THE BOYSCOUTS OF THE ROCKIES The Boy Scouts in the Rockies by Herbert Carter, Chapter 16, Down the Slope The first thing, then, is to toss this feller overboard, remarked Stefan as he proudly touched the dead big horn with the toe of his shoe, and tried to assume the air of a conquering hero, but his face was so sore and his appearance so remarkable that apparently his manner did not impress the guide very much. The sooner you get to water and wash them scratches, the better, said Toby. I've known more than one fella have a bedtime getting clawed by eagles, and the doctor said, as how to our blood poisoning like. What seems to me most of that might have come from you being hit by their wings. Just what it did, replied Stefan, though he looked a bit anxious, and goodness gracious, how they could hit with them, though, felt like you'd run against an electric fan or something like that, busted this skin every time, too, and made the blood come, but never mind about that, Toby, shall I shove this thing over now? Just as you say, replied the guide, we'll be apt to find it when we get down, which I hope we can do, and be safe and sound and limb. Apparently Toby was a little anxious himself about the result of the next step on the program. A scout, accordingly, worked the dead sheep loose and cast it over the edge. He watched it go bounding down with considerable apprehension that the other did not comprehend until he heard Stephan remarked in a relieved tone, didn't break either horn. That's all hunky-dory. Don't you think we ought to let the rest know what we're expecting to do? Suggested the guide just then. Why, that's a good idea, Toby, replied Stephan, and while we can't see our chums, there's a way of communicating with them. Anyhow, I can tell them to send down a piece of string and pull up a message all right. Davey Jones knows the code enough for that. He began making a series of queer sounds that at first considerably amused the old guide, but when an answer came from far above, Toby realized that there did promise to be more merit in the signal code of the scouts. Then, a little later, Stephan exclaimed triumphantly, here comes the end of a string, Toby, with a stone tied to it. If they can swing it in now, we'll be able to fasten this message I've written to the end of it and send it up. Then the boys will know what we expect to do, and they'll try to get down some other way, to join us before night comes on, because it'd be kind of tough if we couldn't bunk together through the night. After some manipulation with the piece of broken branch, they succeeded in getting hold of the dangling cord, which Smithie had carried along with him because of some reason or other, possibly from the same principle that caused bumpers to carry that rope around wherever he went, thinking that it might come in handy some time or other. Having dispatched the note to the other scouts by means of the cord channel, Stephan and the guide started to descend from their perch. The way was anything but easy, especially to the boy. He had been weakened more than he realized by his hard struggle with those two fierce eagles, and perhaps his numerous wounds, slight as they seemed on the surface, made him less capable of keeping such a firm grip as he had before reaching the ledge. But the same old indomitable luck held good. When a drop of perspiration mangled with blood from those scratches dimmed his vision. Stephan put Dash one hand impatiently across his eyes, and then go right on, clambering downward. Toby kept as near the boy as he could. Had he possessed a rope, he would certainly have fastened himself to Stephan, as a means of protecting the land against an ugly fall, just as the glacier clambers do when ascending to the snow-covered summit of some lofty mountain peak, so that should one slip another, having a firm hold at the time, could bear him up. Again and again, he cautioned his companion against trusting his weight on some inviting projecting knob of stone, which he himself had tried and found wanting. But the guide had insistent on going first as a sort of pilot when his real object was to be in a position to clutch hold of the boy, if possible, should Stephan make a bad move and fall. But they finally managed to reach the bottom without any accident happening, for which both of them were thankful enough. They threw themselves upon the rocks, utterly exhausted, and panting for breath. Stephan was indeed very near a complete collapse, for the boy had been under a terrible strain recently, both mentally and bodily. After a little, however, when he had pumped much good air into his system and regained some of his lost breath, Stephan remembered, I hadn't ought to be lying around this way when those fellas up down there are all tied up in knots, waiting to know whether we've made the riffle or got stuck partly down. So here goes to tell them, they know from my note what we want them to try and do next. So he started in again with those queer sounds that seemed to climb up the face of a cliff as though on ladders, that were invisible. And there came back similar sounds, which Stephan listened to with eagerness, finally crying out. They understand that we're safe down here. And Davey says that's how he thinks he knows a way to work around. And now, since we've got some time on our hands, Toby, let's look about for a place to spend the night. But Toby had not forgotten something that he had spoken of before. As for the camp, I'll take care of that, he said. While you've dropped down beside this little creek here, and wash your face and hands, and sooner you get them their scratches clean, the better, I reckon, keeps out trouble and grow out of a little carelessness in that regard. I guess you're right, replied Stephan, trying to make a grimace, but without much success, because the blood that dried on his face and made it feel as stiff as though it had been duly starched on a wash day at home. So he complied with the ruling of the guide, and while the cool water made his cuts smart, more or less, to begin with, still there was a sense of satisfaction in cleanly feeling that soon followed. When he got back to the side of the guide again, Stephan discovered that Toby had found a place he was looking for, close to where the big horn lay. Already, smoke was beginning to rise, showing that giraffe might not be the only one in the party who knew just how to go about making a cooking fire. The scout watched Toby with considerable interest. He learned that when a man has lived all his life in the borderland, he has picked up a good many useful little rinkets that a wide awake scout ought to know, and Stephan determined to profit by his experience in the company of Toby's smithers. Besides, now that all the excitement was over, Stephan secretly confessed to feeling more or less tired, though had any of his mates been around, he would doubtless have scorned to display this fact. It was nice to just stretch out by the cheery blaze and see someone else quite willing to do the work. The guide was only too glad to assume all the burden of getting supple, such as it promised to be. Secretly, he was proud of Stephan. He had started in with rather a poor opinion of the boy's qualities, and thought him given somewhat to boasting and practical jokes, but he had found that he was full of grit, gave promise of being a good hunter, and was ready to attempt any sort of task that mattered not how difficult. The way Stephan thought those two eagles, alone and unaided, on that narrow ledge that aroused the ardent admiration of Toby. While he worked, he cast many a secret glance toward where Stephan was stretched out, and each time the guide would give a little satisfied nod and chuckle, just as though he were passing a critical judgment and saying to himself, all woe in the yard wide he'll do, I sure reckons. He's got the real stuff in him, anybody with one eye can see, and I'm sure going to tell Mr. Skellop Master that same, too, he deserved to be put up to not just utter this. Could Stephan but have read what was passing through Toby's mind just then, he would have thrilled with deepest satisfaction. Why, the low wreath of the victor could not have given him one half the solid pleasure that would come, could he but know he had won the admiration of this experienced forest ranger and trapper guide. Meanwhile, after he had the cooking fire under full way, Toby proceeded to skin the rocky mountain sheath, making sure to handle the excellent horns carefully as Stephan begged, since they were almost perfect. He ain't a youngster, and at the same time, he don't seem to be very old, the guide remarked as he worked, cutting up the sheep, so perhaps we can get our teeth working on him some. I never was much of a hand for this sort of meat, but in such a pinch as this, I can eat even muckin'. Anyhow, it'll sure keep us from going hungry, and that's the game right now. I hopes as how the other boys can get here before dark sets in. That makes me remember I'm neglecting my duty because I oughta be lettin' out a hope now and then just to sort of guide Davy and Smithers. With that, Stephan managed to get to his feet, though he was surprised to find how stiff he had become, just sitting there. Toby grinned to see him wince, as he stretched first one arm and then a leg. He knew what had been, the strain of the recent engagement on the ledge. Besides all that hanging desperately to the face of a precipice, was telling on the boys' muscles. When Stephan let out a loud cry, he was pleased to get a response in the well-known voice of Davy Jones. The call came from a point not far away, and Toby immediately declared that the other scouts must be about halfway down. They're going to make it all right, I do believe, Stephan exclaimed. Looks that way for a fact, the guide responded. The day was almost done, at least down at the foot of that great wall that stretched upwards for hundreds of feet, lying there, resting the back of his head on both hands, and looking upward where some buzzards were grilling against the sky. Stephan could hardly believe that he had actually descended all that distance in safety. He shuddered as he contemplated what an ugly tumble he must have experienced if those fighting eagles had succeeded in knocking him off the ledge. And just as the shades of approaching night began to gather around them, with a rather appetizing order from cooking meat filling the immediate neighborhood, there came a hail from a point close at hand. Hello there, glad to see you're able to sit up and take notice after all the row you kicked up. First thing Smithy and me want to know is, what under the sun was it all about? And with these words, the two scouts staggered into camp, throwing themselves rarely down besides their chum. Chapter 17 of the Boy Scouts of the Rockies This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Shasta, Oakland, California. The Boy Scouts in the Rockies by Herbert Carter, Chapter 17. Troubles Thicken for Young Alec. The Scouts were pretty hungry and they united in pronouncing the supper just prime, but then the conditions would not allow of any other verdict. And as Toby regretfully declared, they all had good teeth while his were getting frayed and worn. But after a period of stress and storm, a haven does seem good indeed. And sitting there chatting alongside that blaze, which had now been built up into a real campfire, the three boys were feeling a thousand percent better than they had a couple of hours before. Of course, Stephan had told all about his great combat with the two fighting eagles. He even led the doubting Davey along the foot of the descent with the blazing torch in his hand until they had found both of the dead birds, which they lugged back to camp with them to show to the wondering Smithy as positive evidence of the truth of the story. And after that, the boys would surely feel more respect for Stephan's prowess as a hunter and a possessor of unlimited nerve. Smithy declared that nothing on earth could tempt him to try and descend that precipice where Stephan had done it and was amazed when Davey announced that they had accomplished a feat very nearly as hazardous, only coming a yard at a time. They had not noticed the danger. By only hope, nothing will run off with my sheep, Smithy had remarked plaintively, at one time, after they had finished their meal and were just flouncing around, taking things easy. How about that, Toby? asked Davey Jones. Will Wolves be happy to rob Smithy of his hard-earned laurels? Don't know anything about that, air-grinned the guide. But if so, be you mean, will they come around and eat his mutton? I'm afraid that's just what'll happen. But, he added, as Smithy gave a plaintiff little bleat, they can't eat them big horns, you know, and I reckons as how that's the main thing you want, Edith. Oh yes, if that is so, I shall stop worrying. But I surely do want to carry the souvenir back with me, because, you know, that is my first game, Smithy went on to say. Wolves remarked the guide with a nod. You had ought to be proud of them, because they ain't many fellers, as, can say, the first wild game they ever knocked down was a big horn. I've known old hunters as couldn't ever get one, try as hard as they might. We had a heap of luck today, let me tell you, boys, a heap of it, and for mutton, twant so very tough, either. Oh, I thought I heard someone give a funny little cough just then, exclaimed Stephen, suddenly sitting up straight. You was correct at that, said the guide, quietly drawing his rifle closer to him, as though caution were second nature. There is some parties coming down the canyon here, and heading for our fire. The boys, maybe, exclaimed Davy Jones. No, I don't think they be. Toby Smithers added, straining his eyes to catch the first glimpse of the newcomers, for, in this wild region, strangers are not always to be recognized as friends until they have proven themselves such. There's two of them remarked Stephen, and their men, I can see. Hello there, don't shoot. We're friends all right, called a voice so peculiar in itself that Toby immediately laughed, alone, as though he had no difficulty in recognizing it. Is that Sheriff Bob McNulty, he asked? Nobody else, came to reply, and unless I'm mighty far off my base, that must be my old friend, Toby Smithers, the forest ranger. The two men came on to the fire. The boys saw that the one whom Toby had called Sheriff Bob, was a tall, angular man, wearing the regulation wide-brimmed soft hat and long black coat that sheriffs out in the wild and woolly west seem to so frequently think a badge of their calling. He impressed them as a man of strolling character, but they did not entertain the same sort of an opinion toward his companion, who was a middle-aged man, lanky and sinister in appearance, and with a crafty gleam in his shifting eyes, that somehow gave Stephen and Davy Jones a cold feeling of distrust. Why? What's this mean, Toby? You, a forest ranger, campin' with a parcel of kids, they exclaimed the Sheriff, throwing a quick, interrogative glance toward his companion, which the other answered with a negative shake of the head, after giving each of the three boys a keen look, while a shade of bitter disappointment crossed his crafty face. Oh, it was an offseason for me, Sheriff Bob, replied the guide, laughing, and I thought I'd try playin' guide again. This time to a bunch of Boy Scouts, what came out to the Rockies from the Far East to hunt big game? The Sheriff grinned broadly, as though that struck him as a good deal in the nature of a joke. Boy Scouts, huh? He continued as he calmly sat him down by the fire. Well, I've heard a heap about them, but these are the first I've set eyes on. They brought their nerve along with them, I reckon, Toby, and he chuckled again, while speaking. That's the way I thought about them, First Pop Sheriff Bob remarked, Toby, in a quiet, convincing voice. But I've found out that I sideed them up a lot too low. They's ate of them in the bunch, and the rest is keepin' camp down by that willow that stands by the spring hole in the valley. We came out today to try to get a big horn. The Sheriff sniffed the air at this. Say, you don't mean to tell me they shot a sheep, he demanded. Two of the same at a pretty fair distance, too. We got them both. This here, who is known as Smithy, had never killed anything bigger than a mouse of four, I understand, and precious few of them. While step in here, he's had considerable experience up in Maine, which is said to be a good hunting ground. The Sheriff pursed up his lips and arched his eyebrows. Well, he remarked, I'd like to shake hands with you both, boys, because you've done what I never yet accomplished in my life, shot a big horn. But, show, that ain't near all, declared the proud Toby. And he got a couple of big grizzlies in the bargain, and right this very day, step in, he clumped halfway down that cliff-dar to shove his sheep loose, and had to fight for his life again a pair of cantankerous eagles that had a nest up there. I went to his help, and thar the birds lie, Sheriff Bob. The officer whistled again. This is a surprise, I must say, he remarked, but Toby, if so be you could spare us a mouthful of that same mutton why we'd be obliged. We've got to be going in a little while, because, you see, I'm up here to assist this gentleman, whose name is Mr. Artemis Rosson, and a lawyer from Denver. Look up, a boy, who's his nephew, and who's stolen something his uncle values, a heap. We learned he was last seen on a hike for this country around about, and I'm bound to find him, by hook or by crook. I always do, you remember, Toby? None of them ever gets away from Sheriff Bob. Step hand almost cried out, such was the thrill that shot through him. Almost instinctively, his eyes sought those of Davy Jones, and a look of intelligence passed between them. Rosson, the sheriff said his name was, and he was a lawyer from Denver, looking for a boy who was his nephew, and whose name, therefore, was likely to be the same. Surely he must be referring to their new friend, Alec, but the sheriff had declared the boy to be a thief, and they could never believe Alec that, with his frank face, his clear eyes, and engaging manners. There must be some sort of a mistake, or else this so-called Artemis Rosson was a fraud of the first water, and just trying to get possession of that secret connected with the hidden mind the same as Colonel Cracker. Step hand put a finger on his lips, and that told Davy to keep quiet, so that the others might not suspect that their comrades in the other camp were entertaining the very boy these men sought at that particular minute. And when he had a chance, Step hand whispered a few words to Smithy that rather startled that worthy, who had apparently not noticed what was being said when the sheriff was talking. He, having hurried over to try and cut some slices from the carcass of the big horn, as he wished to get into the habit of doing these handy things about camp. There now remained a tobey, and from the sly wink which the guide gave Step hand upon seeing the anxious look on the boy's face, it was plain that he had grasped the situation immediately, and they need not fear that he would betray Alec. While the two men were eating a little later, Step hand tried to make up his mind as to what sort of a party this so-called Artemis Rawson might be. If he indeed proved to be a genuine brother of the man who had discovered the silver load, and the real uncle of Alec, then he must have been a different sort of a man altogether from the boy's father. On his small, rat-like face scheming was written plainly, and the chances were Step hand concluded that he too knew something about the find Alec had lately made, and was plotting to get possession of that precious chart to the mind. This gave Step hand cause for sudden excitement. The sheriff had just said they could not stay all night with Toby and his charges, that they were bound in the direction of the valley, called by business. Then the chances were that they knew something of the boy's plans, and that he might be run across heading into the valley from the other side. They had laid out to meet him on the way, and take him by surprise. What bothered Step hand was the fact that the sheriff had just said they were likely to come upon the camp of the scouts on the way between then and morning, and in case they did, he promised himself the pleasure of dropping in to take a bite of breakfast with the smart scout master and his chums, whom he would like to meet very much. Step hand worried over this, very nearly all the time the two men were eating. He thought those rat-like eyes of Artemis Rosson, so-called, were often searching his face, as though the man suspected that he knew something about the boy the sheriff had been engaged to find, and that being the case, the man would even go out of their way to visit the camp of the scouts to see whether the one they saw might be stopping there, and how under the sun could that be warned of the impending trouble. End of chapter 17