“That’s a good plan,” exclaimed Dick. “Let us adopt it, by all means.”
Slowly the afternoon wore away, until the sun was lost to view behind the great Rocky Mountains in the west. As soon as the shadows became long and deep Jack Wumble arose.
“Now I reckon we can begin to ride on the back trail,” he said, with a shrewd smile on his rugged face.
It was an easy matter to saddle the horse again.
The rest had made the animals as fresh as ever and this was a good thing, as the old miner calculated to ride a long distance between sunset and sunrise.
“I suppose our enemies are watching every move we make,” said Tom. “But I must say I can’t catch a single glance of them.”
“I thought I saw a speck or two of something over the hill to the south,” said Dick.
Jack Wumble nodded. “You are right, Dick, I saw the specks too, and they were men looking in this direction. But they might not have been our enemies.”
“If only we had a good field glass,” sighed Sam. “I was going to bring one along, but I forgot all about it.”
They rode on slowly, the old miner not wishing to reach the fork in the trail until it was quite dark. Fortunately it was clouding up, so that not even the stars would be left to betray them.
“We are coming to the fork,” said Wumble, about eight o’clock. “Keep your eyes peeled, lads, and if you see anything out of the ordinary, let me know at once.”
There was a tiny stream to cross, and then the way led around a series of sharp rocks.
“Keep to the grass as much as possible,” cautioned the old miner in a voice that was a mere whisper. “And now follow me as fast as you can!”
Away he bounded in the lead, and the three Rover boys followed around the rocks through a stretch of pines and over some fallen firs, and then up and up a rugged trail where the footing was so insecure that the horses slipped continually. The branches of the drooping trees bothered them greatly, and had it not been for Wumble’s continual warnings one or another of them would have been seriously hurt. The horses panted for breath, but still the old miner kept the pace until the top of the first range of foothills was gained. Here he called a halt under an overhanging rock beneath which it was as black as a dungeon.
“So far so good,” he muttered, as he leaped to the ground and began to pat his heaving and perspiring animal. “I don’t believe they know much about where we went to, even if they followed us back to the fork.”
“I don’t believe they are following us,” said Dick, as he placed his ear to the ground and listened. All was as silent as the grave.
They remained under the rock the best part of an hour, allowing their trusty animals to get back their wind and strength. During this time Wumble walked back a short distance and Tom climbed up to the top of the rock, but neither made any discovery of importance.
It was a little after midnight when they moved forward again. Their pace was now little better than a walk, for the trail was a dangerous one, and in many spots they had to leap down and lead their horses. Once they came to a gully six to eight feet wide, without a bridge, and it took a good deal of urging to get Tom’s horse to make the leap across.
“If a fellow should tumble in there where would he go to?” asked Sam, with a shudder.
“He’d go out of sight forever,” replied Wumble solemnly. “Some of those cuts are a thousand feet deep.”
“What a mighty upheaval of nature there must have been here at one time,” said Dick.
By three o’clock in the morning Tom was completely fagged out and could scarcely keep his eyes open. Gradually he dragged behind the others, his eyes closing every few minutes in spite of his efforts to keep them open.
“I wish I had a cup of strong coffee to keep me awake,” he murmured. “How much further are you going, Jack?”
“A couple of miles or so,” answered the old miner. “Want a smoke? You can have my pipe.”
“Thank you, but I don’t smoke, and I guess it would only make me feel worse,” answered Tom.
He began to drop further and further behind. The other boys spoke to him, but they were in reality nearly as much worn out as their brother, and had all they could do to keep Wumble in sight.
At last Tom’s head fell forward on his breast, and on the instant he went fast asleep. His horse continued to move forward, but coming to a fork in the trail, took the downward path, that being the easier to travel. On and on went the beast, until striking a smooth road he set off on a gallop.
The violent motion aroused Tom, and he stared about him in bewilderment. “Dick! Sam!” he called out. “Where are you?”
No answer came back, and he sat bolt upright in alarm. Nobody was in sight, nor could he hear a sound saving the hoof beats of his own horse. He drew rein instantly.
“Dick!” he called loudly. “Jack Wumble! Where are you?”
Not a sound came in reply—not even the cry of a bird—all was absolutely silent. Tom gave something of a gasp. He realized his position only too well.
He was lost in the mountains.
CHAPTER XXIII
TOM MEETS THE ENEMY
“Oh, what a fool I was to fall asleep!”
Thus spoke poor Tom to himself, as he continued to gaze around him and call out. To one side was the high mountain, to the other a deep valley filled with giant trees, and on both sides an utter loneliness which seemed to penetrate his very soul.
Like a flash there came over him the various stories he had heard of men being lost in these mountains and wandering around for days and weeks until their very reason forsook them. Was he, too, doomed to such a horrible fate?
Fervidly he prayed to Heaven that such an ending might not overtake him. Then with care he turned his horse about, thinking to gain the point where he had become separated from the rest, and feeling that they must, sooner or later, turn back to look for him.
Once he imagined that he heard somebody calling him. But the sound was so far away he was not sure, and the echo was such that he could not determine from what direction the call emanated. Yet he yelled in return, nearly splitting his throat in his endeavor to make himself heard. For the time being the enemy was completely forgotten.
Tom’s turning back, as he thought he was doing, only made matters worse, for the horse branched off on another trail—but so slender that it soon gave out altogether and left him on the trackless mountain side, and several miles from the fork where his steed had made the first mistake.
Yet he pressed on, calling again and again, but receiving no answer. Twice he imagined he heard pistol shots, and this gave him the idea of firing his own weapon, and he emptied the cylinder, but with no good to himself. Then he reloaded and came to a dead stop. He had never been more lonely in his life.
The balance of the night dragged so slowly that Tom thought it would never come morning again. With the first streak of light in the East he arose from the rock upon which he had thrown himself, and running to a higher point gazed eagerly around him.
He felt as Robinson Crusoe must have done on his deserted island. On all sides were rocks and hills, mountains and valleys, some bare and others covered with growths of pines and firs. Here and there glistened a rushing stream or a lofty waterfall, and on one of the hills he saw a herd of mule deer and on another a solitary Rocky Mountain goat. But nowhere was there the first sign of a human being.
Tom stood there for fully ten minutes, his breast heaving and his heart sinking within him like a lump of lead. He was alone, absolutely alone, in that wild and almost trackless region.
What was to be done?
Over and over he asked himself the question, and the answer always remained a blank. He knew not which way to turn, for going on might bring him into worse difficulty.
And yet he could not think of remaining still where he was, for the very thought
was maddening. He must try to do something, be the consequence what it might.
Then he realized that his mouth was dry and that he was hungry. This made him remember that all of the provisions were loaded on the horses ridden by Jack Wumble and Dick. His own steed bore only some mining tools.
“I wish I could swap the tools for something to eat,” he mused. “But there is no use in crying over spilt milk. I’m in a pickle, and I must do my best to get myself out of it.”
At a short distance he saw a small hollow which had become partly filled by the rain of several days before. He walked to the hollow and drank his fill and then led his horse thither.
“We’re lost, old man,” he said, patting the beast on the neck. “We must find the others. You’ll help, won’t you?” And the horse pricked up his ears and looked around wisely as if he understood every word. At that moment Tom felt that a horse is indeed man’s best friend.
He soon set off, but slowly, trying to locate the trail which had brought him astray, and trying at the same time, by the rising sun, to determine the direction in which his brothers and Jack Wumble had passed. But, as before, his efforts were misleading, and by the middle of the forenoon he found himself on a barren hilltop with no chance of leaving it excepting by the way he had come.
It was truly disheartening, and hot, tired, and discouraged he leaped again to the ground. He was now very hungry, without a morsel to satisfy the cravings of his stomach. His steed, too, wanted for something to eat, and gnawed eagerly at the spare vegetation as soon as permitted.
Tom was wondering what should be his next move when he was startled by the appearance of a mule deer on the hillside just below him. As he gazed at the animal he soon saw another, and then another, until the hillside seemed to be covered with them.
“I suppose men never come here to disturb them,” he thought bitterly. “I wonder if I could bring one down with my pistol? I’ve got matches, and cooked deer’s meat would be first class.”
He crept as close as he could to the deer. Fortunately the breeze was blowing up the hill toward him, so the animals could not scent him readily. When he had gotten as near as he thought possible, he took careful aim and blazed away twice in quick succession.
His first shot was a failure, but his second landed in the deer’s front leg, breaking that member at the knee and pitching the deer headlong. At once the rest of the herd took alarm, and went off like the wind, down the hillside into the valley and up another hill a good mile away. At the same time the wounded beast tried to rise, but before it could do so Tom ran closer and put three more balls into it, and then it rolled over, gave a jerk or two, and remained quiet forever.
The sight of such a feast made Tom’s heart much lighter, and he brought out his pocket-knife and cut out some of the steaks. Then he moved down the hillside to where some brush promised abundant firewood and better forage for his horse.
The fire was soon lit and blazing away merrily, and the boy began to broil his steaks.
“Perhaps Dick and the others will see the smoke,” he thought. “I trust they do, for I don’t want to put in a whole night alone.”
Tom ate his meal slowly, for he did not know what to do after it was finished. He wished he knew how far the nearest settlement was and in what direction.
After he had eaten his fill, he tied the balance of the steaks in a corner of his blanket, for the food must be kept for future use. Then he walked up to the top of the hill for another look around.
Suddenly he caught sight of a man riding swiftly toward him—a heavy-set man, with busky whiskers and a face that was almost black from constant exposure to the elements.
“Hullo, youngster!” cried the man, when he was within hailing distance. “All alone here?”
“I am!” cried Tom, and he felt something of joy to see a human being again.
“What brought you away out here? Hunting?”
“Not exactly, although I did bring down yonder animal,” with a jerk of the thumb toward the deer. “I’ve lost my way.”
“Did you, really? That’s bad. It’s lucky I ran across you. What’s your handle?”
“Tom Rover,” answered the youth boldly. “What is yours?”
“Noxton. So you are all alone?”
“Yes.” Tom was trying to think where he had heard that name, but could not remember.
“Are you alone?”
“Well, hardly.” Bill Noxton hesitated for a moment. “I was alone, but day before yesterday I fell in with a couple of Englishmen who are out here to see the sights, and they hired me to show ‘em around. Our camp is just below here. Will you come down an’ be introduced to the beef-eaters?”
“I suppose I might as well,” answered Tom, never suspecting any trick. “I certainly don’t want to remain alone any longer.”
“Then come on. I told the beef-eaters I would be back inside of half an hour.”
The man waited for Tom to mount, and then led the way down the hillside and into the valley. There was a patch of forest to pass, and they came out in a clearing on another hill, overlooking a mountain stream which flowed a hundred feet below.
“Here we are,” cried Bill Noxton, as he suddenly wheeled behind Tom. “Shall I introduce you, Mr. Rover?”
Tom looked ahead, and his heart dropped.
There around a camp-fire sat Arnold Baxter and his son Dan, and a man who was a stranger to him. Clearly he was trapped, and in the hands of the enemy.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE SEARCH FOR THE MISSING BOY
“Tom isn’t here!”
It was Dick who uttered the words, as of a sudden he wheeled around on the dark trail and tried to penetrate the blackness of night behind them.
“Isn’t here?” demanded Jack Wumble, while Sam set up a cry of dismay.
“No. Tom! Tom!”
Sam joined in the cry, and so did the old miner, but as we already know, it was useless.
“This is the wust yet!” growled Jack Wumble. “I told ye all to keep close to me.”
“Perhaps he fell asleep— I know he was dead tired,” answered Dick, hitting the plain truth.
“We’ll have to go back for him,” said Sam, and turned without delay, for going ahead without Tom was all out of the question.
“Yes, we’ll go back,” rejoined the old miner. “But go slow, or you may make matters wuss. I kin follow a clear trail, even of three hosses, but I can’t follow a trail mixed up backward an’ forward.”
They rode back slowly until at least half a mile had been covered. Then they shouted, but only a dismal echo came back. Dick fancied once that he heard Tom calling, but was not sure.
Daylight found them still searching around, Dick and Sam with more sober faces than they had worn in many a day. They knew only too well the danger of becoming lost in those wild mountains.
“Perhaps he has fallen in with Baxter’s party,” suggested Dick, as they came to a halt at the edge of a cliff overlooking a rushing river far below. It was past the breakfast hour, yet none of them felt like eating.
“Be careful how you expose yourself,” observed Jack Wumble, as he screened himself and his horse behind some brush. “It won’t do no good to Tom to let your enemies see you.”
“If only we hadn’t lost the trail,” sighed Sam. The back trail had disappeared, on some rocks half an hour before and all efforts to take it up again had proved unsuccessful.
The Rover boys felt very much disheartened. Without Tom what was the use of going ahead to locate the missing mine?
“He’s worth a dozen mines,” said Dick.
“We must find him—we simply must.”
But they were “stumped,” to use Sam’s way of expressing it, and with nothing better to do, Jack Wumble drew further back into the bushes, tethered his horse and got out the provisions for a meal. The boys ate mechanically and were
soon done. Then Wumble got out his pipe and began to smoke more vigorously than ever.
“If we had a field glass we might spot him,” he observed. “He can’t be such a terrible distance away.”
“I’m going to fire my pistol again,” said Dick, and did, so, but no response came back and he re-loaded as crestfallen as ever.
It was a clear day, but the very sun seemed a mockery as it beamed down upon them.
“Supposing we separate and renew the hunt?” suggested Sam, but Wumble slowly shook his head.
“None o’ that, lad. It will only be a case of another one lost. No, we must keep within sight of each other, no matter what we do. Come, I have an idea of looking into the valley on the other side of this hill, and then we can try the hill yonder.”
Anything was better than sitting still, and once more they rode on. For the time being the enemy was almost forgotten.
They were going down along the edge of the cliff when, without warning, Dick’s horse began to slip, having stepped on a rock which was insecure.
“Hi! whoa!” yelled the youth, and tried to hold the horse back. Then, as he saw the animal could not save himself, he leaped for the ground. The horse managed to scramble to a place of safety, but Dick, in trying to avoid a dangerous hoof stroke from the beast, lost his balance and went crashing down into the bushes overhanging the cliff!
Down and down, and still down, went the elder Rover, from one bush to another, his clothing catching here and there, thus partly staying his progress. But he could not stop himself entirely, and reaching the stream at last he went in with a loud splash and disappeared from view!
“Dick’s gone!” ejaculated Sam. He tried to look over the edge of the cliff. “Oh, my! He will be drowned!”
He had heard the splash, as had also Wumble, and now both dismounted with all speed and crept to the very edge of the bushes. But the cliff bulged outward just below them and they could see nothing but a strip of the water on the opposite side.
“Dick! Dick!” sang out the brother. “Are you safe?”
The Rover Boys Megapack Page 57