Three Young Ranchmen Part 21

Before moving to the house Chet had driven the horses into the barn and locked the door, so now the animals were safe, at least for the time being.

It was found that Jeff Jones had received an ugly wound in the shoulder.

This Paul set to work to dress, taking good care, however, that the prisoner should be allowed no chance of escape.

"Wot is yo' gwine to do wid me?" asked Jeff Jones as the work progressed. "Ain't gwine ter tote me ter town, is yo'?"

"That depends upon what Mr. Dottery says," replied Chet. "He's the boss of this ranch."

"Better let me go," urged the colored man. "If yo' don't dar will be big trouble ahead."

"Don't imagine we are to be scared so easily," returned Chet, smartly.

"We have a bigger rascal to deal with even than you," he added.

"Yo' mean Saul Mangle?"

"No, I mean Captain Hank Grady," replied the boy, without stopping to think.

"Captain Hank Grady! Wot yo' know ob him?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Jeff Jones. "Did yo' know about him and yo' Uncle Barnaby----" the colored man broke off short.

"My Uncle Barnaby!" exclaimed Chet. "What made you think of him in connection with Captain Grady?"

"Oh, I know a lot about him an' de captain," said Jeff Jones suggestively. "A heap dat maybe yo' boys would gib a lot ter know about."

CHAPTER XVII.

Something about a Letter

Allen Winthrop knew full well that he had a long journey before him and one that would, perhaps, be full of peril, yet his heart did not fail him as he and Noel Urner rode away, bound first for Dottery's ranch, and then for the railroad station, over a hundred miles away.

"You must keep up a stout heart, Allen," said the young man from the east. "Perhaps all is well with your uncle in spite of appearances."

"I am not daunted by what lies ahead," said the young ranchman. "But I am convinced that Uncle Barnaby has been led into some great trouble.

Were it otherwise we would surely have heard from him ere this."

At Dottery's they put up over night, and set off at sunrise in the morning; Allen riding the animal from the ranch and Noel using a large and powerful beast hired to him by Dottery.

"Thirty-five miles to-day," observed Allen, as they pushed on along a somewhat hilly trail, lined on either side by cactus and other low plants.

"Is that the distance to Daddy Wampole's hotel, as you call it?"

"Yes--by the roads. The direct route would not make it over thirty miles, but we can't fly as the birds do."

"We ought to make thirty-five miles easily enough."

"We could on a level. But you must remember we have several hills to climb and half a dozen water courses to ford. I imagine, too, you will get tired of the saddle before nightfall."

"Oh, I can stand it," laughed Noel Urner, "thanks to my experience in the riding schools in New York and my frequent exercises in Central Park."

"A big difference between Central Park and this, eh? I would like to see the park some time," returned Allen.

On they went, taking advantage of the early morning while the sun was still low. The level stretch was pa.s.sed and then they came to a good-sized brook. Beyond was a belt of timber and the first of the hills.

They watered the horses and took a drink themselves, and pushed on without stopping further. Allen knew they must keep on the move if they expected to reach Daddy Wampole's crossroads ranch before the evening shadows fell.

On through the forest of spruce and hemlock, with here and there a tall cottonwood, they spurred their horses. The foot of the hill was soon reached, and up they toiled.

"A grand country," murmured Noel Urner.

"And big room for improvements," returned Allen, grimly. "It will take a deal of labor to put this land in shape for use."

"We never realize what the pioneers had to contend with when they first settled this country until we see things as they are here. To cut down forests, level the land, build houses and barns, and fix roads--it's an immense amount of labor, truly."

At noon they halted near the top of a second hill, and here started up just enough of a fire to boil themselves a pot of coffee. They had brought jerked meat and crackers from home and made a comfortable, if not luxurious meal. In twenty minutes they were again on the way, the horses in the meantime having also been fed.

"Daddy Wampole's ranch is our post office," explained Allen, as they rode along side by side. "The mail comes down from Deadwood once a week.

It's not very extensive and Wampole usually puts everything in a soap box and lets every comer pick out whatever belongs to him."

Noel laughed. "I've heard of such doings before," he said. "I suppose he has another box of letters to be mailed."

"Exactly."

"It's not a very safe way to do. Letters might easily be stolen or taken by mistake. Who knows but what some communication from your uncle was carried off by another?"

Allen's face grew serious. "I never thought of that. But who would be mean enough to do it?"

"The man who sent that forged letter to me would be mean enough."

"So he would! I must ask Wampole if he remembers any letter addressed to us."

It was now the hottest part of the day. The road was dry and dusty and the horses hung out their tongues as they toiled onward. All were glad when they reached a portion of the road overhung by huge rocks a hundred feet or more in height.

"A day in the saddle seems a long while," said Noel Urner.

"And we have four more days to follow," smiled Allen. "I was afraid it would tire you."

"Oh, I am all right yet, Allen. But look, what is that ahead, a building?"

"That's the crossroads hotel. Come, we have less than a mile more to go."

The sight of the rude building ahead raised Noel Urner's spirits. Off he went on a gallop, with Allen close at his heels. In ten minutes they drew up at the rude horse block and dismounted.

Old Daddy Wampole, then a well-known character throughout Idaho, came out on the porch of his ranch to greet them.

"Back ag'in, hey?" he called out to Allen. "Wall, thar ain't no new mail in sense ye war here afore."