Читать книгу Rick and Ruddy Out West - Howard Roger Garis - Страница 7

Table of Contents

With a quick motion, Mr. Dalton tore open the envelope and rapidly scanned the telegram. By the smile that spread over his face the boys knew it could be nothing serious.

“What is it?” asked Mrs. Dalton. “Who is it from?”

“Uncle Tod,” answered her husband. “He says: ‘Tell Rick not to forget Ruddy!’”

“As if I would,” murmured the dog’s young master.

“Oh, boy!” whispered Chot in his chum’s ear. “I was afraid he was dead or something, and we couldn’t go.”

“So was I,” admitted Rick.

But after this slight delay the start was made again, though “Sartin Sure,” the colored man of all work about the Dalton place, sighed and shook his head dubiously as the auto went down the street.

“What’s the matter, Sartin Sure?” asked Mazie. This odd name had been given the faithful negro helper because of his habit, whenever asked if he could do anything, of answering: “Sartin, sure I kin do it!”

“Bad luck, Missie,” he answered.

“Bad luck, Sartin, what do you mean?” asked Rick’s sister.

“Dey is suah t’ hab bad luck, fo’ didn’t dey start off an’ den stop t’ read dat tellygraft? Dey did, an’ dey suah will hab bad luck!”

“Isn’t there any way of stopping it, Sartin?” asked Mazie, more to please the old man than because she really had any belief in his many superstitions.

“Well, Missie, if dey had got out an’ turned around free times arter dey done stopped when dey had once started, dat would hab scairt de bad luck off. But now de only t’ing t’ do is fo’ somebody t’ hide a black hoss hair under a stone an’ say, free times: ‘Bad luck ride away!’”

“Couldn’t you do that, Sartin Sure?” asked Mazie.

“Why, ob course, Missie, Ah kin ef yo’ wants me t’.”

“It might not be a bad idea,” agreed Mazie, more to take the old man’s mind off his superstitious brooding than for any other reason.

“Den Ah’ll do it!” he declared. “Ah suah will!”

And he did, for some time later that day Mrs. Dalton saw him muttering and puttering away over a flat stone in the garden.

“What in the world is he doing?” Mazie’s mother asked her.

“Driving away Rick’s bad luck,” was the laughing answer.

“Oh, Mazie, you shouldn’t tease him or encourage him that way,” her mother objected.

“He’s got to have something to amuse himself with,” said the girl with another laugh, “and as long as I don’t believe in it, no harm is done.”

“But you shouldn’t let Sartin think you believe in such foolish charms,” went on her mother. “However it’s done, now, but don’t do it again.”

“I won’t,” promised Mazie. “But, Oh, I do hope the boys will be all right.”

“Your father seems to think they will be,” said Mrs. Dalton. “Of course it’s a long, and not easy, trip for such young lads, but Mr. Campbell will look well after them, and when they get to Bitter Sweet Gulch, there Uncle Tod will meet them. I guess they’ll be all right.”

As for Rick, Chot and Ruddy they had not the slightest doubt but that they would safely get out west, and there was no end to the many adventures they planned, from learning to be cowboys to visiting the reservations of all the Indians within a hundred miles.

Rick and Chot knew, as do most sensible boys, that the days of Indian hunting and buffalo chasing across the western plains were gone forever. The buffalo, except those on protected ranges, were a thing of the romantic past, and as for the Indians, they were rapidly dying off, and those who remained were on government reservations.

Of course, down toward the Mexican border there were occasional outbreaks of the Yaquis, but from these our friends had nothing to fear, for they were not going that far south. Not that Rick and Chot would have “feared” this contingency. To the contrary they would rather have welcomed it. But it was not to be.

And so, for the first few days, they traveled on with Mr. Campbell in his comfortable touring car, with Ruddy on the seat between them, and nothing of any moment occurred. There was an occasional bit of tire trouble, and once they ran into such a rain storm that they remained for two days near a city, waiting for the storm to pass.

The boys even enjoyed this stay, for Mr. Campbell put up at a hotel in a small suburban town just outside the city, as he thought the boys and dog would have more freedom than in a larger inn. And Chot and Rick appreciated this, as did Ruddy.

Then the rain stopped, the sun came out and they were on their way again. As Mr. Campbell did not have to keep to any strict timetable, or schedule, the loss of a few days did not matter.

They did not expect all “smooth sailing,” and they did not get it. Toward evening, on about the fifth day of travel, they were approaching a fairly large city, outside of which were signs along the highway warning that the road was under reconstruction. Half of the thoroughfare was torn up and was being replaced with new concrete, while the other half, in a distressing state of ruts and holes, was used by vehicles.

Owing to the fact that the part of the road that was in use was so narrow that two autos could not pass, the machines had to be operated like trains on a single track road. That is a certain number were allowed to come east, while western traffic was held up at the control station until the signal was given to let the waiting ones have their turn.

On the occasion when our friends started down the narrow road, piled thickly with highway materials on the side being rebuilt something went wrong with the signals, and two streams of autos—pleasure cars and trucks started from each end at the same time.

The result was that none could pass, any more than two trains meeting on a single track, while going in opposite directions, can get by.

There was a lot of talk, and it seemed impossible to straighten out the tangle, unless one or the other of the long line of cars backed up, and none of the drivers wanted to do this.

But finally one of the highway engineers got a gang of men out and they hastily made a wide enough place so that one line of cars could turn out, though it was risky work, for there was mud and water all over on account of the rain.

As it was, one car just behind Mr. Campbell’s was upset, though no one was hurt for it was moving slowly. Mr. Campbell and the boys helped right the machine and then towed it, as the steering gear was broken.

“Well, I’m glad we’re out of that!” exclaimed Mr. Campbell when they were again on a broad highway. “And I think I’ll take a short cut I know of to get into Elmwood. We’ll stay there for the night.”

“Have you been this way before?” asked Rick.

“Oh, yes, once or twice, and I think I know a back road that will take us into Elmwood in much shorter time than by following the main trail. We’ll try it.”

He swung off after passing through the next small city and as darkness fell the boys and dog with Mr. Campbell were traveling along a fairly good, but evidently seldom-used, country highway.

“What do you think your Uncle Tod has for us to do out where he is, Rick?” asked Chot as the auto rolled along, not any too smoothly, for the road became rougher.

“I can’t seem to guess,” was the answer, “though I’ve tried a lot. It’s almost like the time he took me on the Sallie. I didn’t know what in the world he was up to until toward the end.”

“And he’s so particular about having Ruddy come,” went on Chot. “Why do you s’pose he wants the dog?”

“Well, Ruddy’s smart,” said Rick, a bit proudly, as you would have felt if you owned such a dog.

“I know that,” agreed Chot. “Oh, say, maybe he’s gone in for raising sheep—a lot of men out west do that—and maybe he wants Ruddy to help drive the sheep.”

“Maybe,” assented Rick. “But I don’t guess—if it was just sheep herding—that Uncle Tod would be in such a hurry and act so queer. It’s something else, and I hope we can help.”

“So do I,” agreed Chot. “Anyhow, I’m glad we got Ruddy along.”

Rick was, too, and he gently pulled the ears of his four-footed chum, at which sign of affection Ruddy tried to wash Rick’s face with that ever-busy red tongue.

It grew very dark as they progressed along the quiet back-country road, and Mr. Campbell drove carefully, scanning the highway as it was revealed to him in the glare of his powerful headlights.

“I think we’re going to have another storm, boys,” he remarked.

There was a flashing of distant lightning and a rumble of thunder, at which sound Ruddy pricked up his ears.

“Think it’ll come before we get to Elmwood?” asked Rick.

“I hope not. I don’t fancy being on a dirt road in a rain,” was the answer. “But I think we must be nearly there.”

“I just saw a sign post!” exclaimed Chot as they flashed past one. “Shall I get out and see what it says?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” suggested Mr. Campbell.

He stopped the car and Rick and Chot, accompanied by Ruddy ran back, for the boys said they wanted to “stretch their legs” that were cramped from long sitting in the car.

“Fifteen miles to Elmwood,” read Chot in the light of a pocket flashlamp he carried.

“I thought we were nearer than that,” remarked Mr. Campbell. “Well it won’t take long if we can beat the rain.”

But the louder thunder, and the increased brightness and frequency of the lightning, seemed to indicate that the storm would soon break.

Mr. Campbell guided his car around a curve, at a point where the trees meeting overhead rendered the highway very dark. He saw a straight stretch ahead of him, and was about to resume speed when Ruddy suddenly uttered a howl, so weird and so full of import that, as Chot said afterward, it made his hair stand up.

“Ruddy! Ruddy! What’s the matter!” cried Rick, patting his dog’s head.

Again Ruddy howled, in that mournful way dogs have—a nerve-racking sound at best, and doubly so on a lonely road after dark and with a brooding storm overhead.

Mr. Campbell suddenly jammed on the brakes, locking the rear wheels and sliding the car along with a crunch of gravel beneath the tires.

“What’s the matter?” cried Rick.

“I’m afraid of danger,” was the answer. “I believe Ruddy is trying to warn us of something!”

And again the dog howled mournfully, as the car slackened speed.