WHITEY HIS OWN BOSS
As the days went by Whitey found that he had "increased in wisdom and stature" to a considerable degree. Although he had been the strongest boy at school, he knew that, after two months or so on the ranch, he had not only gained remarkably in strength, but in agility and suppleness the gain had been proportionately much greater. He had developed muscles that he did not know he possessed, and his almost continuous life in the open air had strengthened his lungs, and had hardened and toughened him. He did not know what "a cold" meant, now; or, in fact, illness of any kind; and he was impervious to any sort of weather that had, as yet, presented itself. In short, he fitted into ranch life like "a duck's foot in the mud," as Bill Jordan expressed it.
"Do you think, Son, you could manage to get along without me here for a time?" asked Mr. Sherwood, as he and Jordan and the two boys sat on the piazza at sunset, one evening.
"Sure, I could get along," said Whitey, "but where are you going?"
"I find my affairs in the East need some attention and I must go back, at least for a time. Do you want to go back with me?"
"I do not!" said Whitey, emphatically. "I think I won't ever want to go East again!" Bill Jordan smiled behind his hand.
"How about seeing your mother and sisters and the boys?" asked Mr. Sherwood.
"I want to see them, all right; but what is the matter with bringing them out here? You said you would, if you found things here were fit for them, and it seems to me that they are fit for anybody! I don't see why any one should ask for anything better than this!"
"I might bring your mother and sisters, but I don't exactly see how I could bring your boy friends," answered his father.
"I don't see why," said Whitey. "They'd all like it just as much as I do. Don't you think their fathers would let them come?"
"Perhaps, but there are other things to be considered," said Mr. Sherwood. "However, we'll see about it. But before I go, I want to be assured of one thing, and that is, you two boys must promise to keep out of mischief. Bill has enough to do without having to go and rescue you from a peck of trouble."
"That doesn't mean that we have to stay cooped up on the ranch all the time, does it?" asked Whitey ruefully.
"Considering that the ranch contains something like sixty square miles, that ought not to be a hardship, and I wouldn't exactly call it being 'cooped up'; but if you find that you have to go off it, go ahead—only don't get mixed up with any more rustlers and caverns; and remember, too, that our old friend Mr. Pedro is still at large. He'll skin the pair of you alive if he gets the chance."
"I don't know whether he would or not," said Whitey. "I think that in a fair fight, Injun and I could give him about all he wanted to do, and then some!"
"That's jest the trouble, Son," said Bill Jordan, "thet skunk don't know nuthin' 'bout fightin' fair. He'd sneak up an' bite a baby while it was asleep ef he could! Ef either o' you two gets yo'r lamps onto his pizen carcass, yo' both better empty yo'r Winchesters inta him an' then ride away fer dear life. Thet's th' only way to do 'ith him!"
"Injun hasn't any Winchester," said Whitey, who thought he saw an opening whereby his pal might get one—and he was right.
"Better see if you can't find one, Bill, and let the boy have it," said Mr. Sherwood. "I think he has shown that he can be trusted with anything in the way of equipment that any ranch-hand uses. He is entitled to about anything that I can give him, for he has rendered both Whitey and me most valuable service, and I want to show him that I appreciate it."
"I think thet's good jedgment, Mr. Sherwood. Them two boys is a whole team an' a dog under the wagon, to boot, but the' 's a heap safer with two guns 'n the' is with one—now 't they knows how to handle 'em."
And so Injun got his Winchester, one from the rack at the ranch-house and, if possible, he was more elated over its possession than he had been over the pink pyjamas. With his naturally keen eye, developed as it had been by continual use of the bow and arrow, he soon became fairly expert in its use, an almost unlimited supply of cartridges which Bill allowed the two boys contributing to this end.
When Mr. Sherwood left for the station to take the train East, the two boys on their horses accompanied the wagon as outriders. The long ride of twenty-two miles was soon made, and at last the East-bound limited came puffing into the station. Mr. Sherwood's baggage was lifted aboard.
"Sure you don't want to go along?" asked Mr. Sherwood of Whitey, as he stood on the observation-platform of the rear car.
"Certain!" answered Whitey. "I am hungry to see the folks and the boys, but I can wait until they come out here!"
"I'll have 'em both ridin' herd by the time yo' gets back!" said Bill as he looked at them proudly. "Thet is," he added, grinning, "unless this here son o' yo'r'n has got me workin' fer him, an' him in my job!"
"Not much danger of that!" said Whitey. "I guess it'll be some time before I can do the stunts that you seem to think are so easy."
Finally, after the good-bys had all been said, the train pulled out, and Mr. Sherwood waved at them from the back platform until they could no longer distinguish him, and the train dwindled to a speck in the distance finally disappearing altogether. And Whitey felt a thrill—the thrill that any strong, self-reliant boy feels when he realizes that he is, to all intents and purposes, his own master.
"Mr. Jordan," said Whitey, one morning, as he met the latter out at the corral, "is it all right for Injun and me to go over to Moose Lake and camp for a few days? He knows where he can get a canoe there, and he says the fishing is fine."
Bill thought the matter over for a moment and then said, smiling,
"I a heap ruther yo' 'd bring the lake over here, where I c'd keep my eye onto you'! Besides, I don't reckon I'd git dispepsy eatin' the fish thet yo' all 'd bring back—Moose Lake's more 'n sixty mile from here! Why don't yo' all go set on the bank o' one o' the branches an' try yo'r luck?"
"I've tried that," grinned Whitey, "and either there aren't any fish worth speaking about, or else they're educated and too foxy to bite."
"Mebbe yo'r worm wasn't tryin' his best," said Bill, solemnly. "The's certain kinds o' worms thet jes' nacher'ly flirts with a fish—sort o' coaxes 'em to cum up an'——"
"Yes, I know all about that," laughed Whitey, "but we haven't time to send our worms to school to teach 'em to flirt. Besides flirting isn't proper, even for a worm. The main thing is—may I go?"
"Well, Son," said Bill, "I reckon yo're yo'r own boss now, ain't yo'?"
"Not entirely," said Whitey. "I'm willing to listen to your advice, anyway."
"Good!" said Bill. "Then I guess yo' don't need none. It's them thet won't take it thet really needs advice. 'Bout how many days yo' call 'a few'?"
"Four or five," said Whitey. "I think that would be long enough."
"Goin' to take a pack-hoss with grub an' stuff—mebbe them Moose Lake fish is eddicated, too? A growin' boy's liable t' git up condider'ble appetite ef he has t' go 'thout eatin' fer four five days! Ef yo' say so, I'll pack up a tin o' biscuit an' mebbe a can o' beans, in case yo' all gits tired of a fish diet."
"That will be fine," said Whitey, "tho', maybe, you better make it two cans of each," he added, laughing. "You know I have quite an appetite at any time—I don't have to fast for four or five days to get one up!"
"So I've noticed," said Bill. "An' now thet yo' 'lowed as how yo' 'd take advice, I'm goin' to hand out some. Don' yo' two get separated too fur in thet there wilderness, an' don't go messin' 'round with no grizzlies er painters—the's both bad animals! I don't reckon yo'll see none, fer the's pretty well cleaned out; but, ef yo' see a grizzly, an' he don't see you, jes' nacherly put all the distance between you an' him thet yo' kin. An' ef he does see yo', jes' drop whatever yo're doin' an' climb a tree—don't waste no time a tall; an don't come down fer an hour after he's left; they ain't always gone when they seem to be! As fur 's other things go, Injun knows 'nuff to pilot yo' through all right."
"I'll remember," said Whitey, "and I'll promise you that I won't take any unnecessary chances."
"Good," said Bill. "I'll have thet pack-hoss ready with them two cans o' beans onto him whenever yo're ready to start. An' say, listen—don't fergit to bring home somethin'!"
Whitey promised that he would, and turned away to tell the good news to Injun, who had just ridden into the ranch-yard.
The boys decided that they would start as soon as the necessary preparations could be made, and camp on the way for the night. This would bring them to Moose Lake late in the afternoon of the following day; and within an hour after his talk with Bill the boys rode out of the ranch-yard, their Winchesters slung across their shoulders, and leading a pack-horse that was piled high with what Bill called "a tin o' biscuit an' a coupla cans o' beans," and were headed toward the mountains that looked so near, and yet didn't seem to get any nearer as the boys put mile after mile behind them.