The Boy Land Boomer Part 10

"Never mind the risk. Get the rope if you can," and away went the scout again.

"Help!" came faintly from d.i.c.k. He was dazed and weak, and could hardly see in what direction the sh.o.r.e really was.

"Keep up, boy, and we'll save you!" shouted p.a.w.nee Brown encouragingly.

Reaching a spot twenty or thirty feet below where d.i.c.k was drifting, he threw off his hat and coat and leaped into the stream.

Down he went over his head, to come up a second later and strike out powerfully for the youth. The cold water chilled him, but to this he paid no attention. He had taken a fancy to d.i.c.k, and was resolved to save the boy at any cost.

Nearer and nearer he came. It was a tough struggle, for in the bend of the swollen stream the water boiled and foamed upon all sides. He was yet ten feet away from d.i.c.k, when he saw the youth sink beneath the surface.

"Gone!" he thought, and made a leap and a dive. His outstretched hand came in contact with d.i.c.k's left arm, and he dragged his burden upward.

"Keep cool, d.i.c.k," he said when he could speak. "Can't you swim?"

"Yes, but not extra well," panted the half-drowned lad. "I struck my head upon something."

"Then lay hold of my shoulder and I'll keep you up. Steady, now, or the current will send us around like two tops."

No more was said, as both felt they must save their breath. With d.i.c.k clinging loosely, so as not to hinder his swimming, p.a.w.nee Brown struck out for the sh.o.r.e.

It was perilous work, for other trees and obstructions were upon every hand, and more than once both were torn and scratched as they sped by in what was little short of a whirlpool.

"Catch the rope!" suddenly came from Clemmer, and a noose whizzed in the air and fell close beside the pair. Both p.a.w.nee Brown and d.i.c.k did as requested, and the cowboy boomer began to haul in with all the strength at his command. It was hard work, but Clemmer was equal to it, and presently those in the water came close enough to gain a footing, and then the peril was over.

d.i.c.k's story was soon told, to which the great scout added that of his own.

"I shall not attempt to follow up Stillwater," p.a.w.nee Brown concluded.

"It is high time I got back to camp, for let me tell you, privately, we move westward to-day. You may continue the hunt for your father or come with me, just as you choose. It is possible you may find some trace of him around here, but it is doubtful to me, after such a storm. It's hard lines, boy, but cheer up; things may not be as bad as you imagine," and he laid a dripping but affectionate arm upon d.i.c.k's shoulder.

"I will stay here for a while, at least," answered d.i.c.k. "But--but I am without a cent, and----"

"How much do you want, d.i.c.k?" and p.a.w.nee Brown's pocketbook came out without delay.

"If you will lend me ten dollars----"

"Here are twenty. When you want more let me know. Now, goodbye, and good luck to you."

And the next minute p.a.w.nee Brown and Clemmer were gone. d.i.c.k watched them out of sight and a warm feeling went over his heart.

"The major is as generous as he is brave," he murmured. "He is one scout of a thousand. No wonder all the boomers asked him to lead them in this expedition."

Ten minutes later d.i.c.k was drying himself at the fire in a house near by. Hearing his tale of misfortune, the man who took him in insisted upon treating him to some hot coffee, which did a good bit toward making him feel once more like himself.

"It may be a wild-goose chase, but I can't give it up," he muttered as he continued his search by walking along the river bank. "Poor father, where can he be?"

The outskirts of the city had been left behind and he was making his way through a tangle of brush and over shelving rocks. A bend was pa.s.sed and he gave a wild cry.

And small wonder. There on the river bank lay the motionless form of his parent, dripping yet with the water of the river. The eyes were closed as if in death. With a moan d.i.c.k threw himself forward and caught one of the cold hands within his own. Then he placed his ear to his parent's heart.

"Too late! He is gone!" he wailed. "Poor, poor father, dead after all!

Oh, if only I had died with you!" and he sank back utterly overcome.

CHAPTER IX.

MIKE AND THE MULES.

"We move in an hour!"

This was the word which was whispered about the boomers' camp shortly after p.a.w.nee Brown's arrival.

The great scout had found it out of the question to attempt to enter the Indian Territory in a direct route from Arkansas City. The government troops were watching the trail, and the soldiers were backed up by the cattle kings' helpers, who would do all in their power to hara.s.s the pioneers and make them turn back.

Many a man would have gone ahead with a rush, but p.a.w.nee Brown knew better than to do this. If he was brave, he was also cautious.

"A rush now would mean people killed, horses shot down or poisoned, wagons ditched, harnesses cut up and a thousand and one other disasters," he said. "We must beat the cattle kings at their own game.

We will move westward to Honnewell either this afternoon or tonight.

Get ready to go on whenever the signal is pa.s.sed."

"But vot goot vill it do to vait by Honnvell?" questioned Carl Humpendinck, a German boomer.

"We'll not wait very long there," answered p.a.w.nee Brown.

So the word went around that the boomers would move in an hour. This was not actually true, but it was necessary to spread some report of this kind in order to make the slow ones hustle. If left to themselves these few would not have gotten ready in two days.

"It's a move we are afther makin' at last, is it?" burst out Rosy Delaney when Mike brought the news. "Sure, an' Oi'm ready, Moike Delaney, but how are ye to git this wagon out av thet bog hole, Oi dunno."

"Oi'll borry a horse," answered Mike. "It's Jack Rasco will lind me the same."

Mike ran around to where Jack Rasco was in earnest conversation with a stranger who had just come in from town. The stranger had brought a letter from Nellie Winthrop, posted two days before, and saying when she would arrive. The letter caused Rasco not a little worry, as so far the girl had failed to appear.

"I haven't any horse to spare just now, Mike," he said; "but hold on, you can have Billy, the mule, if you wish."

There was a little twinkle in his eyes as he spoke, but Mike didn't see the twinkle and readily accepted the mule and led him over to where his own turn-out stood.

"Moike Delaney, phot kind av a horse do yez call that?" demanded Rosy.

"It's a mule, ye ignoramus," he answered. "An' a good puller, I'll bet me whiskers. Just wait till Oi hitch him beside the tame."

Billy was soon hitched up as Mike desired, and the Irishman proceeded to urge him forward with his short whip.

It was then the fun began. Billy did not appreciate being called upon to do extra work. Instead of pulling, he simply turned around, tangling up and breaking the harness, and began to kick up the black prairie dirt with both hind hoofs.

"Oh, the villain!" spluttered Rosy Delaney, who received the first installment of dirt full in her eyes and mouth. "Moike Delaney, ye made him do that a-purpose!" and she shook her fist at her husband. "Ye bould, bad mon!"