The Pike's Peak Rush Part 6

"I am the schoolmaster who made you dance, with your own revolver, after you'd threatened to kill me if I didn't drink liquor for you," retorted Harry. "Yes, I know you for a big bulldozer."

And Terry well remembered the first encounter, last summer, between Harry and Pine Knot Ike, when Harry not only had refused to drink but had cleverly s.n.a.t.c.hed Ike's gun and ordered him to dance as a penalty.

Yet Ike was as large in body as two Harry Reveres.

"Haw, haw!" laughed the crowd.

Ike glared around again.

"I cherish no bad feelin's," he alleged. "I air a man o' peace. I air so peaceful that I hain't bit a nail in two for nigh a full week. I mostly drink milk." His breath did not _smell_ milky! "I air so peaceful that I gener'ly lay down an' let folks walk on me. But I would ask if a peaceful man pursuin' a lawful okkipation, on his way to build up a civi-_li_-zation in them Rocky Mountings air to be run over by two boys an' a wild buffler an' a yaller mule?"

"Hey! Your whiskey's leakin'!" called a voice.

And that was so. Pine Knot Ike exclaimed and leaped for his wagon. The odor in the air had not been entirely from his breath. The bullet intended for Duke had punctured the barrel near the top; and now the wagon was dripping.

Ike hastily clambered in. First he tried to stop the hole with his thumb; next with his hat; and while the crowd hooted he shamelessly stooped and glued his lips to the spot!

"Haw, haw! There's his 'lawful okkipation'!"

"That's his idee of 'civi-_li_-zation,' is it?"

"Pity the hole isn't at the bottom instead of near the top," remarked Harry, disgusted. "Come on, Terry."

With a little help they freed the cart from the Chubbers wagon; and driving the now quieted Duke and Jenny, proceeded on their way. Behind, they heard Pine Knot Ike haranguing the crowd, proclaiming that he was a "ruined man." But he seemed to get scant sympathy.

Without more adventure they completed the half circuit of Manhattan town, crossed the main road and between the road and the Kansas River found a shady spot where they might noon comfortably. Duke was tied by a fore-leg to a tree (they knew better than to tie him by the horns, for he was strong enough to break any rope, that way); and after lunch Harry rode Jenny bareback, down to town, for supplies.

The road up-river was one line of outfits toiling onward under a cloud of dust. They were interesting to watch. Was the whole United States moving westward for the mountains? The constant procession pa.s.sed--wagons of all descriptions, men horseback and muleback, men, women and children afoot; a party of men accompanying a push-cart hauled by two of them in the shafts. The "Noah's Ark" wagon pa.s.sed. And Pine Knot Ike's wagon, with Ike swaying tipsily on the seat. And now a man wheeling a wheel-barrow. But he did not pa.s.s, after all. He turned aside, and deposited his laden barrow and himself under a tree near Terry.

He ate his lunch, and eyed Terry, Shep and Duke.

"How'll you trade?" he asked. That was the customary challenge.

"No trade," answered Terry, promptly. "Are you going clear to Pike's Peak with a wheel-barrow?"

"Yes, sir. I'll push across. I've got the best outfit of anybody. Only my own mouth to feed, and don't need to look for gra.s.s. When I make a dry camp I'm the only sufferer. I can set my own gait, too--can cover twenty miles a day. Well, my name's McGrew. What's your name? Where you from, where'd you get that buffalo, who's with you, and what trail do you calculate on taking?"

He seemed to be a very cheerful, plucky man, and Terry replied in fas.h.i.+on as friendly.

"My name's Terry Richards. My partner's Harry Revere--he's the same as a brother. We're from up the Big Blue. This buffalo is half cow; I caught him when I was hunting with the Delawares; his name is Duke. We're thinking of taking the Republican trail."

"Oh, you're the boys from the Big Blue, are you? I might have guessed.

I've heard about you."

"Have you?" responded Terry, curious.

"Yes. Sol Judy rode through last night and told me to keep an eye out for you; but you seem able to take care of yourselves, all right, judging from your little set-to with that whiskey peddler. I only wish the shot had gone lower, but the chances are he'll empty his barrel himself before he gets to the diggin's."

"Which trail do you think you'll follow?" asked Terry, in turn.

The wheel-barrow man scratched his head.

"I travel light. Believe I'll tackle the Smoky Hill route, straight west from Riley. It's shortest. Sol favors the Republican, on account of the stages. The majority of the people are going by the Smoky, though, or by the Santa Fe Trail--except those who are already striking the Republican farther to the north of us. The California and Oregon Trail, up along the Platte, of course will be the main trail."

Harry returned with a sack of flour, a side of salt pork or sow-belly, some sugar and coffee and beans, matches, a hatchet, and a few other articles. His arms were filled, and Jenny was almost covered, much to her disgust. She hee-hawed at Duke, and Duke stared wonderingly through his matted forelock.

"Best I could do," hailed Harry. "Never saw such a mob. The stores are near cleaned out. I couldn't get picks or spades for love or money, but I reckon we can find them at the other end, or maybe at Junction City beyond Riley."

"Well, I'll see you boys at the diggin's," spoke the wheel-barrow man, rising and grasping the handles of his barrow. And away he trudged, to skirt the procession on the dust-enveloped road.

"He says he's going to try the Smoky Hill trail," informed Terry, "because it's shorter."

"It may do for him," answered Harry. "But the more haste the less speed, for some of the rest of us. I believe we'd better take Sol's advice, and break our trail across to the Republican until the stages catch up with us."

CHAPTER IV

THE TRAIL GROWS LONESOME

Fort Riley was fifteen miles west. Progress was slow, on the crowded road, and at six o'clock the "Pike's Peak Limited" was glad to draw aside out of the dust and camp for the night near to a wagon labeled "Litening Express." The owner was a heavy, round-faced German, with a family of buxom wife, and of six girls ranging from big to little. He had a chicken coop, a large cook stove set up for the evening meal, a feather mattress, and an enormous bale of gunny-sacks that formed a seat for him while he watched the supper-getting.

Harry and Terry called easy greeting, and pretty soon he strolled over.

"Iss dat a wild boof'lo?" he queried.

"He was wild once, but he's tame now."

"You are de boys who made dot man loose his whiskey, mebbe."

"I guess we are," laughed Harry. It was astonis.h.i.+ng, the speed with which news traveled among the overlanders.

"Dot was a goot t'ing. How far you say to dose gold mines, already?"

"'Bout six hundred miles. What are you doing with all those sacks?"

"I t'ink I poot my gold in dem, an' bring it back home."

"That'll be quite a load, won't it?" smiled Harry. "You know gold weighs mighty heavy."

"I haf a goot team," replied the German, not at all worried. "I fill my sacks, an' poot dem in my wagon, an' I come home in time for winter, an'

den I am rich. I will be one of de richest men in Illinois. Mebbe next year I do it over."

"A very fine plan," remarked Harry, gravely. And the German returned to his own fire, much satisfied.

"Jiminy! Is that the way?" blurted Terry, suddenly excited again. "We ought to've brought sacks."