Army and Navy Weekly — page 41: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ARMY AND NAVY ‘*But—what does it mean?’’ cried Phil, in great bewilderment. ‘‘It means dot your friend vos carry off by Injuns, if I knows somethings about signs,’’ was the phleg- ‘matic reply. ‘‘Maybe,’’ continued Geary, philosophic- ally ‘‘it was better he be carry off than you or me.’’ Phil took no such selfish view of the case. Indeed, for a little time he could not believe that Geary could be right. Tom was hardly one who would tamely sub- mit to capture. His rifle would have spoken more than once, no matter what were the odds against him; and in the clear mountain air the reports would have quickly echoed to Phil’s ears, whereas he had heard nothing of the kind. Yet in some manner Tom had vanished as though the yawning earth had swallowed him up. And whena more extended search discovered Phil’s bronco, de- nuded of saddle and bridle, grazing in a hollow behind the little rise before mentioned, Phil, heavy-hearted enough, had to admit that Geary’s conjecture was probably true. To attempt anything like pursuit would, under the circumstances, be an act of folly. And, more dis- tressed than one acquainted with Phil’s volatile na- ture would have thought possible, the young fellow caught his brouco aad accompanied Geary back to camp. we your friend was smart as you tells for, maybe he get away somehow,’’ observed Geary, as Phil seated himself despondently by the fire. There was a grain of comfort in the suggestion. Phil’s faith in Tom’s pluck and prowess was un- bounded. And ag Geary wenton to speak of hair- breadth escapes of his own, his spirits began to rise. ‘‘Why, it vos back in seventy-one, I think, there vos three of us did prospect down along Salt River valley. We vos attack one night where we camp on der bluff. Jim, he get a sbot in der head an’ pitch inter der rifer, where he vos drown. Me and Richter was took prisoner——’’ ‘*Richter?’* exclaimed Phil, as the name suddenly brought to mind Mr. Bruton’s mention of the circum- stances counected with the tragic death of Phil’s father. ‘‘Why, you are Dutch Geary, and the Jim you speak of was James Amsted, my own father !”’ Geary took his pipe from his mouth and stared at Phil. Something like surprise was visible in his stolid features. ‘*Yas. Don’t I told you I was Dutch Geary before? And I thinks dot vos der name—James Amsted. He vos your fader? Well, dot vos funny.’’ Phil saw uothing funny about it—only a remarkable coincidence. And before Geary could continue his re- cital, Phil briefly told the story of his orphaned life and his meeting with his uncle, John Bruton, who had told him what little he knew of his father’s death. ‘*And so you knows what we vos huntin’ for—-to see if der stories vos true about der gold on Flat Top Mountain, eh?”’ ‘‘The story is true enough. I found that out my- self.”? Geary looked up inquiringly. Phil told him of Tom’s discovery, at the ranch, and repeated the substance of Father Anselnio’s letter. ‘So! Well dot vos funnier than your fader to be Jim Amsted. He shtick to it always dot der gold vos there. Only Carl and I think mebbe he vos only wis- ionary kind of. All same we shall try.’’ ‘‘But how? By what. Uncle Jack said, I shouldn’t think it possible to reach the top of the mesa without —_ wings—or a balloon,’? Geary smoked in silence for a moment, and then, taking his pipe from his mouth, shook the ashes very deliberately. ‘‘Your fader had a plan, only we have no chance to try, as you know. Some other time I tells how Richter and me ’scape from der Injuns—not now. Ever sence | haf mean to go back to der Flat Top, but some things happen so I can’t till dis spring——’’ ‘Then you are going back there now?’ eagerly interrupted Phil. : ‘*Yas. I was meanin’ to go alone by myself. But see. It vos your fader I voz before along of. Mebbe _ you likes to take der trip. For here you shall be in von » bad fix. Vot you say?”’ _ Uhere was only one thing Phil could say, as a matter _ of course. He had neither saddle, bridle, nor pocket - compass. And if those things had been in his possesion, - Phil by himself would hardly adventure into the 1095 wilderness, either in search of his friend or of John Bruton’s party. Whereupon he said yes—he would cast in his lot with Dutch Geary, in search of the gold of Flat Top Mountain. — ———- CHAPTER XIV. AN UNPLEASANT SURPRISE. As on the ocean days go by devoid of stirring in- cident or event, so on the Western plains. Then all at once something happens so startling--perhaps tragic— in its nature, as to—well, make up for lost time, if I may thus express it. Such was the case in connection with Tom’s sudden disappearance, He had been a trifle provoked at Phil’s obstinacy in following the antelope with all odds against him. Hop- ing to overtake his companion before he was out of sight, ‘l'‘om, leading his own bronco, at the same time whistled for the other one, which was lagging in the rear. But Mustard had caught sight of better grazing ground further away to the left. In place of obeying, his heels flew in the air, and with a squeal, half de- fiant, half mischievous, the blue bronco wheeled sud- denly, and, dashing off at full speed, disappeared be hind one of the low hills at the left. Tom had no other resource than to follow. And as he hurried round the sandstone formation, lo, a most unwelcome and indeed alarming surprise. For sitting erect on as many Indian ponies were half a dozen savages in war paint and feathers—evidently lying 1n wait for the unfortunate, owner of the bronco. Tom started back and made a motion to unsling his rifle, but a second too late. The coils of a lasso came hurling through the air, and the loop, settled neatly over his head, was drawn straight by a sudden jerk so as not omy to momentarily deprive him of breath, but to throw him from his feet. When Tom recovered from a terrible sense of suffoca- tion, he was being hoisted by the hands of two brawny redskins into the saddle of his own bronco, while a third Indian, with stolid suggestiveness, held the muz- zle of Tom’s Winciester at his head. Resistance under the circumstances would have been as useless as attemped expostulation. Tom passively submitted to have his right arm bound to his body —his other being left free that he might guide the bronco. Further lashings were not needed. for his revolver and knife were in the possession of his captors, who themselves were armed with short carbines. The echo of the shot fired by Phil came reverberat- ing from the range. A muttered consultation followed. Then a dismounted Indian crept round the base of the rise for a reconnoissance, and returned some ten min- utes later leading Phil’s bronco. Another brief discussion resulted in stripping Phil’s horse of its accoutrements. The blankets and slickers were left behind as too cumbersome, the saddle and bridle alone being taken. Then, at a gesture from the grim-visaged leader, the party started off—heading, as nearly as Fom could judge, well to the eastward. ‘*T’ll circumvent you fellows yet,’’ was the captive’s inward reflection as, grinding his teeth with inward rage, he watched the short, thick set Indian who rode on his left. For this savage, who wore a leather hunt- ing shirt over his buckskin breeches, had let the bridle fall on his horse’s neck, and with evident satisfaction was examining the contents of Tom’s haversack. His pocket compass, spare cartridges, the corked bottle containing matches, and a dozen other articles invalu- able to the plainsman were successively examined and replaced. After which the haversack itself was thrown over the shoulders of its new owner, who grinned ina most exasperating manner as he saw Tom’s angry eyes fixed upou him. To what tribe or reservation his captors belonged Tom had no means of knowing, any more than what their object might be in making hima prisoner. On the whole they did not seem brutally inclined, as he might have had reason to fear. So Tom resolved to try as to their knowledge of his own tongue. ‘*Say—you know Blueskin?’’ he asked, suddenly. A chorused grunt—whether of surprise, affirmation, or indifference it was impossible to say—followed the question. Tne savage who had appropriated Tom’s revolver—a tall, sinewy fellow, wearing a silver crescent hung CORmICLOOkKS.CG© OO