Читать книгу Grace Harlowe's Overland Riders on the Lost River Trail - Josephine Chase - Страница 6

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“The village is saved!”

Hamilton White, blackened, red-eyed, his clothing scorched, made that announcement as, at the break of day, he had opportunity to look about him.

“Yes, and not a life lost,” agreed Grace Harlowe, herself worn out and disheveled. “It is a miracle. Mr. White, they should get down on their knees to thank you for what you have done for Silver Creek. Without your resourcefulness—Well, there would be nothing left of the village or people.”

“Thank you!” Ham White bowed and grinned through the soot on his face. “The credit is due wholly to the assistance of the Overlanders. In other words, the shoe is on the other foot.”

“Well, what next?” demanded Hippy Wingate coming up, Emma Dean following, and taking her place beside the guide.

“Something to eat if we can find it, then to get out of here and to dodge what is left of the fire,” replied the guide. “Suppose we go down to the creek and wash our faces.”

“Get out of here!” jeered Hippy. “With what? I haven’t seen anything that looked like a horse since yesterday. I think our animals must have gone downstream, and that we are all fixed for a long hike to some place where fresh mounts can be had.”

“Oh, Hamilton! Is it really true that the ponies have run away?” begged Emma, linking arms with the guide.

“Too true, little bird,” chuckled Hippy. “Thank you, Mr. Wingate. Being a bird is better than being a donkey,” answered Emma.

“And hop from bough to bough, and chatter and then chatter some more,” finished Hippy.

“While a donkey can only bray, and then bray some more,” was Emma’s parting shot, which brought a shout of laughter from the begrimed Overlanders.

Hippy made a gesture of helpless resignation, and turned to the guide to ask what they had better do.

“We will find the stock somewhere to the northeast, provided they have been neither burned nor drowned. Stock have an instinct that tells them to seek high ground,” said the guide. “By the way, is Miss Briggs in one of the houses resting?”

“Elfreda!” cried Nora.

The girls looked at each other with the same question in their eyes. None had seen her since the evening before, and in the excitement and confusion she had not been missed.

“Girls, girls! Run!” cried Grace. “Go to every house in the village. She must be here! She must be here! Hippy! Mr. White! Please help us.”

There was instant compliance, and half an hour later the Overlanders met in front of the post office. Grace was the only one of the party that had any information to convey. Grace had found the woman whom Miss Briggs had tried to rescue, and ascertained that the last that woman had seen of her was when Elfreda had given her a vigorous push towards the shore.

For the first time since the Overlanders had known him, Ham White lost his composure. He steadied himself in a moment. Leaping to the steps of the store he shouted to the villagers that were still thronging the streets.

“Men!” he said. “These splendid young women have helped to save your town and your women and children. One of the young women, Miss Briggs, is missing. She must be found, and I want you men to form a searching party. Get your breakfasts, but never mind anything else. If you are men, which I believe you to be, you won’t have to be urged. I’ll tell you what to do. Will you go?”

“Yes!” The answer was a shout. And Hamilton White smiled.

The guide directed the girls to steady themselves, and eat. As for himself, he wanted nothing to eat except what he could carry with him and munch on his way. White sent one searching party down each side of the creek, heading the party on the left side himself, with Lieutenant Hippy Wingate leading the party on the right.

“Do not worry if we aren’t back as quickly as you might hope for, as we shall be looking for stock—for our horses—at the same time,” he urged.

“Oh, Hamilton, do be careful of yourself,” begged Emma as the men were starting away. “I shall demonstrate for you all the time you are away.”

Grace linked an arm in Emma’s.

“My dear, how long have you known Mr. White?” she asked gently.

“It seems as though I have always known him,” answered Emma dreamily.

“As a matter of fact, you have known him less than a week. It is true we took him on the recommendation of the banker at Cresco, where we made our start for the Cascade Range of Washington State, and we know him to be a man of intelligence, a brave, resourceful fellow, but there is still something about him that I do not understand. I don’t believe he is what he represents himself to be, but, if we should ever go out again, he is the man I should like to have lead us. Just the same, that is no reason why you should be so forward. Emma, well-bred girls are not supposed to wear their hearts on their sleeves. Be a good fellow, which you are, but be dignified,” admonished Grace smilingly.

“I am and I do,” answered Miss Dean haughtily.

“Now let us forget our little lecture, and do what we can to assist the women of the village to get set, so to speak,” suggested Grace. “We must not worry about Elfreda. I believe we shall find her and that she is as safe at this moment as we are.”

“I’ll demonstrate over her. I’ll keep saying to myself, ‘Elfreda is well and happy. No harm can come to her because only error can mean harm,’” promised Emma, bubbling and laughing.

“Come,” said Grace. “Demonstrate after we have given some material aid to these distressed people.”

It was about this time that Elfreda reached the shack in the forest and made the discovery that so startled her. Elfreda’s amazement was caused by the sight of a human being, sitting on a stump near the shack. The human being was short and fat. He was eating from a can of baked beans, his big eyes regarding Miss Briggs soulfully, his cheeks puffed out with the beans.

“Stacy!” cried Elfreda. “Oh, Stacy Brown! Am I dreaming?”

“Mebby,” mumbled the fat boy, digging more beans from the can.

Elfreda ran to him, and in her joy at seeing her Overland companion, she threw her arms about Stacy. In doing so she knocked the can of beans from his hands, and the rest of the contents was spilled on the ground.

“Now see what you’ve done,” wailed the fat boy. “And the beanery fifty miles away.”

“Never mind the beans. What is this place?”

“Lost cabin,” answered Stacy promptly.

“How do you know?”

“I don’t. I just guessed it. Hungry?”

“Famished,” answered J. Elfreda.

“Some more canned stuff under the floor of the shack,” he informed her, waving a hand towards the cabin, and picking up the spilled beans one by one, placing each individual bean carefully in his mouth.

“First tell me how you got here?” demanded Miss Briggs.

“Came down on a Roaring River Liner—other words, a log. Where’s the party?”

“Trying to put out the fire at Silver Creek. Shall we try to find our way back?”

“What! With all that food cached in the shack?” demanded Stacy almost indignantly. “So long as the food holds out and no fire comes along, I stay right here. I know a good thing when I find it. After I get enough to keep my strength up I am going down to the river and catch some fish. Then we will have a real spread.”

“Hopeless!” exclaimed Elfreda. “I am glad to see you, though. I think you are right about remaining here for the day. When the fire is under control our folks will search for us, and Mr. White will pick up our trail.”

“Yes. I left ‘feetprints’ in the river when the log rolled me off. Did you ever observe how wonderfully prominent ‘feetprints’ in the water are, Elfreda?”

Elfreda gave her head a toss and walked to the cabin. It was a typical forest shack. There was a plain deal table, two chairs, a bed on the floor and blankets hung over a line. The dishes were limited, but sufficient for one or two persons. She investigated an opening in the floor, from which Stacy had lifted the trap door, and found there a good supply of canned goods, some rope, axes, picks and shovels.

“A forest ranger’s shack,” she murmured. “Yes, I think that must be it.” Elfreda helped herself to a can of beans, surveyed it ruefully and carried it outside.

“Have you the can-opener, Stacy?” she asked.

Stacy shook his head.

“How did you open your cans then?” Several empty cans lay about the stump on which he was sitting.

“With my teeth. Bit ’em open!” said the fat boy thickly.

“Stacy Brown, you are impossible! I think I know a better way.” Elfreda got an axe from the shack and attacked the can of beans. She made a bad job of it, and most of the beans that were not mashed flat were scattered about on the ground. These, the fat boy gathered up carefully and placed in his own can.

“Get another can. I’m busy, but I will open it for you. Girls are so helpless.”

“I am beginning to agree with you,” answered Miss Briggs, returning to the cabin for another can. When she came back Stacy removed the top of the can with his knife, and handed the food to her.

“For this, you buy me a new knife when we reach a store somewhere. Knives cost money, and I can’t afford to waste mine on girls.”

“You shall have a new knife, and thank you very much for your courtesy,” returned Elfreda.

Stacy gave her a sidelong glance.

“You look all fagged out. After you finish that can, better go in and lie down. Besides, it won’t do to overload your stomach so soon after a bath.”

“Oh, you funny boy!” Elfreda laughed until two tear drops were sparkling on her brown cheeks. “If you will catch some fish I promise to cook them for you, and we will have a real spread. Yes, I will take a nap, for I am completely fagged. Did you discover any coffee in the shack?”

“Uh-huh. I didn’t have time to make coffee. I’m too busy to do so now.”

Miss Briggs went to the shack, spread out the blankets for inspection, and found them clean; so she laid them on the bed and stretched out for a rest. Until then she had not realized how weary she was, and, in a few moments, fell into a deep sleep.

After a time Stacy took a nap by the stump, from which he did not awaken until late in the afternoon. He did not know what time it was, his watch having stopped on his wet ride from the village of Silver Creek. The fat boy decided to go fishing. There was a bamboo pole, hook and line in the shack, and this he got, after taking a squint at the sleeping Elfreda.

“Girls are such sleepy-heads,” muttered the boy, as he shouldered the pole and went out, making all the noise he could, all of which failed to awaken Miss Briggs. On the way to the stream he looked for a rotting stump, one of which he eventually found, and with his hunting knife managed to dig out some nice white grubs for bait.

“Humph! They do look almost good enough to eat,” he muttered, surveying some of the grubs in the palm of his hand. “I don’t blame the fish for liking them.”

Shortly after that the fat boy sat down on the bank with his line in the water, thoroughly at peace with the world, and content to remain where he was so long as the food held out.

Stacy had not been fishing long when he heard a horse approaching, but did not turn his head, his eyes remaining fixed on the fish line that caused a little ripple in the stream as it split the current.

“Hello, boy!” called a voice behind him.

“Same to you,” returned Stacy.

“Fishing?”

“No. Just teaching this grub how to swim.”

“Say, you! You’re too fresh. I’ve a good mind to throw you into the river,” growled the newcomer.

“Better not. I’ll get wet.”

“Where do you come from?” demanded the man, his voice sharp and incisive.

“Up Silver Creek way. I came down here on the river packet to get away from the forest fire.”

“I mean, where do you live?”

“Right here at the present moment. I don’t look as if I were dead, do I?”

“You may be soon if you ain’t more civil. What happened to the village?”

“Some people got singed, others got wet. I got a little of both before I shipped.”

The man got down from his horse and stepped around where he could see the fat boy’s face. Stacy gave him a slow, sidelong glance, then turned his attention to his line. He had a bite, and a few seconds later he landed a fish.

“Huh!” grunted the stranger. “Anybody with you?”

“A few grubs in my pocket and myself, that’s all. Who are you?”

“None of your business!”

Stacy regarded the stranger blinkingly. The fellow was not a pleasant-looking man, and a scar across one cheek gave him a still more evil look. The horse he rode, Stacy observed, was a fine animal and looked as though it could develop a lot of speed.

“Where’d you get the nag?” questioned the boy.

“Bought him. Didn’t think I stole him, did you?” demanded the man indignantly.

Stacy shrugged his shoulders, but made no reply. He resumed his fishing.

“Let me give you some advice, young fellow. This is no place for children. You git out of here, and stay out. I’ll be back later, and if you’re here then I’ll help you out on the run.”

“Thanks,” drawled the fat boy without looking up.

The stranger rode away, and Stacy resumed his fishing. He caught a fine mess of trout; then the grubs gave out. Being too tired to return to the shack just then the Overlander decided to take a nap, which he proceeded to do. Night came on, and Stacy Brown was still asleep. So was Elfreda Briggs, in the shack. Miss Briggs had not moved since she lay down hours before.

It was late when she finally suddenly roused herself and sat up. The cabin was enshrouded in darkness. Peering out, she saw that it was night.

“Stacy!” she called. There was no response. Stacy Brown was sleeping peacefully on the bank of Roaring River.

Elfreda wondered what had awakened her so suddenly. Then all at once she understood. She heard a horse approaching. The animal stopped just beyond the cabin. Miss Briggs did not go to the door, but got to her feet and listened. She thought she heard someone groan; then all was silence for a moment.

“Oh!” exclaimed the Overland girl under her breath as the door of the shack was slowly pushed open. “Who is it?” she cried, with all the steadiness that she could summon. Miss Briggs reached for her revolver, but it was not in its holster.

A man staggered in. She could see his figure faintly outlined in the doorway.

“Help! I’m shot—I’m dying!” groaned the man, and collapsed at the feet of Elfreda Briggs.