Pluck on the Long Trail Part 35

"Do you think we're on the right trail, still?" asked Van, dubiously.

"They didn't say anything about this other hill."

That was so. But they hadn't said anything about there being two trails, either. They had said that when we struck the trail over the mesa, to follow it to the mines.

"It must be the right trail," I said, back. "All we can do is to keep following it."

Seemed to me that we had gone the twenty miles already. But of course we hadn't.

"Maybe we've branched off, on to another trail," persisted Van. "The horses turned, you remember. Maybe we ought to go back and find out."

"No, it's the right trail," I insisted, again. "There's only the one, they said."

We must stick to that thought. We had been told by persons who knew. If once we began to fuss and not believe, and experiment, then we both would get muddled and we might lose ourselves completely. I remembered what old Jerry the prospector once had said: "When you're on a trail, and you've been told that it goes somewhere, keep it till you get there.

n.o.body can describe a trail by inches."

We went on and on and on. It was down-hill and up-hill and across and through; but we pegged along. Van was about discouraged; and it was a horrible sensation, to suspect that after all we might have got upon a wrong trail, and that we were not heading for the doctor but away from him, while Fitz and Ward were doing their best to save Tom, thinking that we would come back bringing the doctor.

We didn't talk much. Van was dubious, and I was afraid to discuss with him, or I might be discouraged, too. I put all my attention to making time at fast walk and at trot, and in hoping. Jiminy, how I did hope.

Every minute or two I was thinking that I saw a light ahead--the light of the mines. But when it did appear, it appeared all of a sudden, around a shoulder: a light, and several lights, cl.u.s.tered, in a hollow before!

"There it is, Van!" I cried; and I was so glad that I choked up.

"Is that the mines?"

"Sure. Must be. Hurrah!"

"Hurrah!"

The sight changed everything. Now the night wasn't dark, the way hadn't been so long after all, we weren't so tired, we had been silly to doubt the trail; for we had arrived, and soon we would be talking with the doctor.

The trail wound and wound, and suddenly, again, it entered in among sheds, and the dumps of mines. At the first light I stopped. The door was partly open. It was the hoisting house of a mine, and the engineer was looking out, to see who we were.

"Is the doctor here?" I asked.

"Guess so. Want him?"

"Yes."

"He has a room over the store. Somebody hurt? Where you from?"

"Harden's ranch. Where is the store?"

"I'll show you. Here." He led the way. "Somebody hurt over there?"

"No. Sick."

We halted beside a platform of a dim building, and the engineer pounded on the door.

"Oh, doc!" he called.

And when that doctor answered, through the window above, and we knew that it was he, and that we had him at last, I wanted to laugh and shout. But now we must get him back to the major.

"You're needed," explained the man. "Couple of kids." And he said to us: "Go ahead and tell him. I'm due at the mine." And off he trudged. We thanked him.

"What's the trouble?" asked the doctor.

"Appendicitis, we think. We're from the Harden ranch."

"Great Scott!" we heard the doctor mutter. Then he said. "All right, I'll be down." And we waited.

He came out of a side door and around upon the porch. He was b.u.t.toning his s.h.i.+rt.

"Who's got it? Not one of _you_?"

"No, another boy. He was sick on the trail and we took him to the ranch.

Then we rode over here."

"What makes you think your friend has appendicitis?"

We described how the major acted and what Fitz had found out by feeling, and what we had done.

"Sounds suspicious," said the doctor, shortly. "You did the right thing, anyway. Do you want to go back with me? I'll start right over. Expect you're pretty tired."

"We'll go," we both exclaimed. We should say so! We wanted to be there, on the spot.

"I'll just get my case, and saddle-up." And he disappeared.

He was a young doctor, smooth-faced; I guess he hadn't been out of college very long; but he was prompt and ready. He came down in a moment with a lantern, and put his case on the porch. He handed us a paper of stuff.

"There's some lump sugar," he said. "Eat it. I always carry some about with me, on long rides. It's fine for keeping up the strength."

He swung the lantern to get a look at us, then he went back toward the stables, and saddled his horse. He was in the store a moment, too.

"I've got some cheese," he announced, when he came out again. "Cheese and sugar don't sound good as a mixture, but they'll see us through. We must keep our nerve, you know. All aboard?"

"All aboard," we answered.

That was another long ride, back; but it did not seem so long as the ride in, because we knew that we were on the right trail. The doctor talked and asked us all about our trip as Scouts, and told experiences that he had had on trips, himself; and we tried to meet him at least halfway. But all the time I was wondering about the major, and whether we would reach him in time, and whether he would get well, and what was happening now, there. But there was no use in saying this, or in asking the doctor a lot of questions. He would know and he would do his best, and so would we all.

Just at daylight we again entered the ranch yard. Fitz waved his one arm from the ranch door. He came to meet us. His eyes were sticky and swollen and his face pale and set, but he smiled just the same.

"Here's the doctor," we reported. "How is he?"

"Not so bad, as long as we keep the cold compress on. He's slept."

"Good," said the doctor. "We'll fix him up now, all right."

He swung off, with his case, and Fitz took him right in. Van and I sort of tumbled off, and stumbled along after. Those forty miles at trot and fast walk had put a crimp in our legs. But I tell you, we were thankful that we had done it!