Their trunks were packed, their tickets had been purchased, and their landlady had promised to give them an early breakfast, so that they could reach the depot in time to catch the western-bound train that passed through the village at six o’clock.
“The time draws near,” said Bob, with a tragic air, as he glanced at the little clock on the mantelpiece. “In five hours we shall have made our last bow to a Montford audience. The only thing I regret is the absence of my father; but he was not at all well when I last heard from him, and he didn’t feel as though he could stand the journey. By this time to-morrow, if nothing happens to delay us, we shall be hurrying to meet him as fast as steam can carry us. I tell you, George, you may make up your mind to see some fun when we get out there in that wilderness, and for once in your life you will have hunting, fishing, and horseback riding until you are heartily tired of them all. Father has a pack of splendid hounds, and it will make you laugh to see them in pursuit of an antelope or prairie wolf. When you grow weary of that sport, you can go out with a double-barrel and shoot grouse and sage-hens over as fine a brace of setters as ever drew to a scent. Trout streams are plenty, and any one who can throw the fly can snatch out such beauties as you don’t see here in the Eastern States this side of the Rangeley Lakes. There is one thing we must do, George, as soon as we can gain father’s consent—we must clear up a certain mystery that hangs over those mountains.”
“I have often heard you speak of it,” replied George, with a smile; “but you have never told me what it is.”
“If I could tell you, it wouldn’t be a mystery, would it? You needn’t laugh about it, for there is a mystery there, and in all that country there is no one who has ever been able to solve it. The Indians or some of the trappers might do it, but they won’t try, for their superstition makes them timid. Several parties, composed of settlers and soldiers, and one or two scientific expeditions from Eastern colleges, have started out from our valley, declaring that they wouldn’t come back until the thing was cleared up; but they have always returned, after a few weeks’ absence, in a most dilapidated condition.”
“There must be a good many obstacles to be overcome,” said George, “but you may count on me every time.”
“All right. I shall some day put your courage to the test. Now I will tell you what I have decided to do. If my father is no worse when I reach home, I shall go to college. He wants me to do it, and I should like to carry out his wishes, although I expect to be a ranchman all my life. If he requires my presence at home, I shall remain there, and you must stay with me. I will give you a position as herdsman at good wages, and will pay you in money or sheep, or both, just as you prefer. You can make enough in a few years, by steady work and economy, to start a ranch of your own on a small scale.”
“You are very kind, Bob,” said George.
“No, I am not. I am only selfish. I am thinking quite as much of my own comfort and pleasure as I am of yours. I don’t want to stay out there with no congenial companion to help me while away the time. It is lonely, especially in winter, when we are snowed up or confined to the house for days at a time by those furious storms that we call ‘blizzards.’ And since you have no home of your own, and no father or mother, why shouldn’t you go with me?”
“Wouldn’t it be more agreeable for you to take your Cousin Arthur out there with you?” asked George. “I have often heard you speak of him.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” answered Bob, quickly. “His father—Uncle Bob, after whom I was named—treated my father most shamefully, and they have not seen each other for years. Father has forgiven him, and Uncle Bob now and then writes him very friendly letters; but I am afraid of Uncle Bob, for I know that he is cunning and vindictive, and always on the lookout for a chance to work some injury to those he does not like, because my mother often told me so. I have seen him and Arthur several times, but I did not like either of them. There is too much ‘Oily Gammon’ about Uncle Bob, while Arthur is—Well, the less said about him the better. I wouldn’t take him into my father’s house under any consideration, for his presence there would be enough to rob life of all its pleasure. I say, George!” exclaimed Bob, suddenly, “What is that on the table there by your elbow?”