CHAPTER VIII
HORACE IN DANGER
As the others reached the tree they dismounted, unbuckled the saddle bags and removed the saddles.
"Well, commander, do you wish me to select a place to hobble the ponies?" asked Mr. Wilder, addressing Tom.
"Yes, sir. I never was in charge of a camp before, so you must tell me what to do."
"Oh, make me your lieutenant and I'll tell you," pleaded Horace.
"I know all about it."
"You can give orders all right," grunted Bill, "there's no doubt about that. I see myself lugging wood."
All laughed heartily at this reference to Horace's fondness for commanding, and the younger of the comrades replied;
"All right, Horace, you may be my lieutenant. Only you must tell me what there is to be done, and I will give the orders."
Although by this arrangement the youngest of the party would be deprived of most of his powers, he readily agreed, saying:
"Wood must be collected for the fire, the food and dishes must be unpacked, supper cooked and water located."
"Better put me on the job of getting water, because I shall picket the horses where they can get a drink," declared the ranchman.
"Then, Larry, you and Bill build the fire and get supper ready. Horace, I'll put you in charge and you must arrange the place for us to sleep. I can see some pine trees yonder. Break off some limbs and spread them on the ground. Then put the blankets over them. I'm going with Mr. Wilder to bring the water and to learn how to hobble the horses."
"You're a fine commander to be lieutenant for—not," declared Horace. "Gave me the meanest job of all." Yet he lost no time in obeying.
Quickly each one set about the work assigned to him, for the sight of the doughnuts and other good things to eat, after their long ride, made them hungry.
"Get the coffee pot and then sling the reins of Lightning and Buster on your arm and come with me, Tom," said Mr. Wilder. "I'll take Blackhawk, because he's still cranky, and the other two."
The ranchman, however, let the ponies lead him more than he led them, for he knew their instinct would take them to the nearest water.
Yet there was no need of their guidance, for in a few minutes the ears of the hunters caught the sound of running water.
"That's a brook," declared Mr. Wilder, and quickly he led the way to a spot where they found a fair-sized pool formed by a stream coming from the hills.
The coffee pot was a monster, holding all of two gallons, and this the ranchman directed Tom to fill before allowing the ponies to satisfy their thirst.
As the animals were drinking Mr. Wilder took the lariats he had brought and tied an end around the left ankle of each pony, making another noose round the hind ankle on the same side at such a distance that there was about three feet of the rope between the hoofs.
"Such a short line makes it impossible for them to run or even walk very well," he explained, "so they will just stay here and browse,
"Now we'll remove the bridles. Always remember to hobble your pony before unbridling."
"But the rope ends?" asked Tom.
"In a place like this, where there are no rocks between which they can get bound, you can let them drag. When it is rocky, you can wind the rope loosely round their necks."
Before the task was finished they heard Horace calling.
"Hey, you! Hurry with that coffee pot!" he shouted. "We want to start it boiling."
"Then come and get it," replied his father.
But Tom had already picked it up and was carrying it toward the camp fire, which was blazing cheerily beneath the big tree. Taking the bridles, Mr. Wilder soon followed.
Larry had spread a blanket on the ground for a tablecloth and arranged the plates, knives and forks. In the middle he had made a pile of doughnuts and around them set three pies.
To Bill had fallen the task of cooking, and he was busy frying eggs and bacon in a long-handled pan, which he rested on a bed of coals.
At the sight of Tom and the coffee pot, he called:
"Tell Horace to pour some water into the drinking cups, put the coffee in the pot and set it in the fire. Supper'll be ready before the coffee unless you hurry."
But Tom was not a boy to shirk work, and directing his brother to bring the cups, he sent his aide for the coffee while he prepared a good hot bed of coals.
The odor from the sputtering bacon whetted their appetites, and all but Bill devoted their energies to hurrying the coffee and to such good purpose that they disproved the old saying, "A watched pot never boils."
At last all was ready, and the hunters squatted tailor fashion on the ground, each before his plate of eggs and bacon and a steaming cup of coffee.
"My, but this tastes better than anything I ever ate before," declared Larry.
"Because the ride has given you a keen appetite," said the ranchman with a smile.
The others were too busy eating to offer any comment, and the meal progressed in silence till almost the last bit of food had disappeared.
"Hop Joy certainly can cook," complimented Tom as he reached for another doughnut from the fast vanishing pile.
"That's what I told you," returned Horace. "From the way they are going, it's a good thing I went back and put in an extra supply when Hop wasn't looking."
"He'll fix you when we get back!" cried Bill. "Tom, who does the dishes? For your benefit and before my young brother gets a chance to speak, I'll tell you that the cook never washes the dishes."
"Oh, what a whopper!" cried Horace. "Tom, the cook always washes them. That's all he does, wash dishes and cook."
"Well, we'll all help," declared the youthful commander of the camp.
This arrangement met with laughing approval, and because of the many hands, the task was soon finished.
"And now, as we must be up with the dawn if we are going to get a shot at any deer, I suggest that we turn in," remarked Mr. Wilder.
"Where did you put the pine boughs, Horace? I don't see them."
"I left them over by the tree," replied the lieutenant, grinning. "I didn't know how many each of you would want, so I thought the best way was to let you pick out all you pleased."
"Lazy bones! Lazy bones!" shouted the other boys, and Tom cried:
"That trick won't work this time. Now, hurry and tote the boughs over."
Making a face at his superior, Horace Jumped tip and soon came back, dragging a monster pile of fragrant pine branches, which he quickly separated into five heaps.
"Does the honored general wish me to wrap and tuck each one in his bed or will they do that themselves?" he asked, bowing in mock deference.
"The honored general sentences you to do the dishes in the morning for that," returned Tom with assumed dignity, and in rare good humor they quickly placed their saddles as pillows and unrolled their blankets.
Fixing the fire so that it could not spread and cause any harm, Mr.
Wilder bade the boys turn in, and soon they were sound asleep.
Exhausted from the excitement of their arrival and the long ride, Tom and Larry were so deep in slumber that though Mr. Wilder called them when he himself got up, they did not wake.
His own sons, however, heard his call and quickly crawled from their blankets.
"Come on, we'll get breakfast. Let Tom and Larry sleep," exclaimed their father. "Remember, they are not so accustomed to riding as you two are."
This caution was uttered just in time, for Horace was in the very act of yanking the youthful commander by the foot when his father spoke.
Not long did it take to prepare the food, and Bill was just pouring the coffee when Mr. Wilder aroused his guests.
"Wh—what is it?" gasped Larry, sitting up and staring about him dazedly.
"It's breakfast, that's all," said Horace. "Hey, Mr. Commander, you'll be court-martialed if you miss grub." And he proceeded to drag Tom from his bed of boughs by the heels.
Chagrined to think they had not helped with the meal, Tom and Larry quickly arose and ran to the brook to wash.
As they stood at the pool they forgot their ablutions in the beauty of the scene before them.
The grass of the prairie was heavy with dew and in the rose glow of the sky the particles of moisture sparkled and glistened like countless crystals.
"Seems like fairyland," whispered Tom, as though afraid if he spoke out loud the scene would vanish.
A call from Horace, however, roused them to action, and in a few minutes they were, eating heartily.
"What sort of a brook is that?" asked Larry. "I didn't see any outlet, yet water keeps running into the pool all the time."
"There must be some underground stream into which it empties," replied the ranchman. "There are two such subterranean rivers in these hills, and, I suppose this pool connects with one of them."
Discussion of such phenomena was prevented by his continuing:
"Hurry now and pack up. I'll bring up the ponies while you are getting ready."
Eager to begin the ascent of the hills, the boys worked rapidly, and by the time Mr. Wilder appeared with the horses everything was in the saddle bags, though Horace had dispensed with the formality of wiping the dishes.
It was the task of but a few minutes to make fast the saddle bags and blankets, and just as the sun flooded the plains with its golden light the hunters swung into their saddles.
Riding southward, Mr. Wilder followed the base of the hills for a good mile till he came to a well-worn trail.
"We'll follow this run for a while," said he. "Bill, you and Larry can ride at the rear. I'll keep Horace and Tom with me, so they won't be tempted to spoil our sport by shooting at the first deer they see, no matter how far out of range it is. For the benefit of you two," he added, addressing the brothers, "I will say that when you are riding a trail, and especially a mountain trail, always let your pony have plenty of rein. It's easier for him. He won't be so likely to stumble and fall, and a pony can generally keep a trail better than a man."
These instructions delivered, Mr. Wilder turned his pony into the run and the others followed in Indian file, the two elder boys bringing up the procession.
For an hour they rode, now with their ponies scrambling over rocks, now up such steep ascents that the comrades feared the animals would fall over onto them.
But by leaning far forward at such times, they had no mishaps and at last rode out onto a plateau from which they looked down into a vale some two hundred yards below.
A mist hovered over the basin, rendering it impossible for them to see the bottom.
The boys were disappointed and said so.
"On the contrary, it is lucky," declared Mr. Wilder. "There is a brook down there and it is a favorite drinking ground for deer. Under the cover of the mist we shall be able to go down, and it will act as a blanket to keep our scent from the sensitive-nosed beauties."
"Going to ride down?" queried Tom, looking about for some trail.
"No, we'll leave the ponies here. Lively now and hobble them and don't talk."
The plateau was some hundred yards long by half as many wide, and quickly the hunters rode their horses to where the mountain again rose, turning the horses loose in some delicious grass.
"Be very careful, very careful in descending," cautioned the ranchman. "The ground is wet and the rocks are slippery, and if you once start to fall, there's no knowing where you will land."
All the boys had hunted enough to know that the safest way to carry a loaded gun is with the muzzle pointed to the ground, the butt resting against the back of the right shoulder, with the arm akimbo, thus forming a rest for the barrel.
And in this fashion they set out.
After a few minutes' search Mr. Wilder exclaimed:
"Here's the run the deer use. Steady now. Mind your feet. Don't make a sound."
With almost no noise, the party descended. Now and then one of the lads slipped, but there was always a rock or a sapling at hand which they could grasp to steady themselves and no one fell.
As he reached the edge of the mist, Mr. Wilder held up his hand as a signal to halt.
Turning his head, he listened intently for some sound that might give him an inkling as to the whereabouts of the deer.
In his eagerness to locate them, Horace moved away from the trail to the left and then stopped.
Barely had he halted when a loud sneeze rang out from directly in front of him.
So sudden and so near was it that Horace cried out in fright.
At the same moment the antlers of a big buck appeared from the mist and then vanished as quickly, only to reappear a moment later, followed by its head and shoulders.
Whether the buck or the hunters were more surprised it would be hard to say. For several seconds they stared at one another.
Larry, Tom and Horace were trembling like leaves, victims of "buck fever," a species of stage fright which makes it impossible for any one to hold a gun steady, and Bill was in such a position behind the others that he could not aim his rifle unless he put it between the heads of the others.
The ranchman alone was where he could bring down the buck, and he hesitated, unwilling to risk a chance to get several other deer by dropping the one in front of him.
It was the buck himself that put an end to the remarkable situation. Of a sudden, with a snort of rage, he lowered his sharp pronged antlers and charged at Horace.
With a yell of terror the boy turned to flee and stumbled.
In an instant the scene had changed from one of comedy to one of possible tragedy should the infuriated beast reach his victim.
But Mr. Wilder was equal to the occasion. Throwing his rifle to his shoulder, he fired.
True was his aim and the buck threw up his head, staggered and then toppled over.
The sound of the shot had galvanized Tom and Larry into action, and with a lightning movement they both stooped, seized their friend and pulled him to them just as the body of the buck struck the ground.
So unnerved were they all by the narrowness of the escape that for several moments no one spoke.
Then Mr. Wilder rallied them by exclaiming:
"See! see! The mist has lifted. There go three more deer up the valley. Come on! Let's see who can bring one down."
The chance for a shot brought even Horace out of his fright, and in a thrice the boys had sighted their rifles and fired. But no deer dropped.
"I hit one, I know I did!" declared Bill. "Let's follow."
"No, shoot again," returned his father. "We have the advantage here from being above."
Again the rifles cracked, and this time one of the deer gave a bound in the air and dropped flat.
"Hooray! We've got another!" cried the lads,
"Don't fire any more. The others are out of range," declared the ranchman.
"Please, just one more," begged Horace.
But his father refused, telling him that a good hunter never shot when there was no hope of bringing down his game.
"Never mind, we've got two," said Larry. "I call that pretty good luck."
And speculating as to whom the credit of hitting the second belonged, they all hastened to where it lay.