The Frontier, May 1926 — page 95: what you’re looking at

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

The other frontiersmen and _ the breeds gathered around Joe. Mubsley, finding himself deserted by all save the Deacon, who was now hovering near him, hands waving and thin lips twitch- ing, now quickly changed front. “Now, now,’ he cried, with a throaty gurgle, “we must get along. My temper got the best of me, Joe. He waved his arms in token of sur- render, and smiled blandly. “We must stand together,” he added dramatically, “against the red devils.” Joe chuckled. Always was Mubs- ley amusing, One could read the fakir as easily as he could follow a buffalo water trail, yet the big blow-hard thought he was cunning and clever. “Oh, all right, then,” he agreed shortly. “We'll hit fer the river.” He turned briskly to the breeds. “Git the pack mules movin’ now.” Then to the frontiersmen: “This boy and I will go ahead. Two of you foller up the breeds. Prayerful, you and Bill kin work along the sides. Look sharp, fer that Injun that got away may not have fur to go to git help. Now, let’s move,” Faithful had lost considerable blcod, but now, with the arrows removed and the wounds washed by the tireless Joe, the horse seemed little the worse for his battle experience. Joe helped Aletes into the saddle. They moved up to the head of the little column. Mubsley, mounted on a small mule, fell in ahead of the pack train. “Too bad my misfortune broke up your plans,” remarked Aletes to Joe, as the column moved off. “Never you fret, my boy. Only thing I’m sorry about is that we ain’t the time to git your outfit. I know you must set a store by your stuff, but we've lost too much time a’ready. I was foolish to come with this oufit any- way. Trail alone, I say, or with a good pard. Never mix with a bunch, ner work fer no man. Mubsley thought to pick up nuggets the size of hen eggs. But he’s full of foolish idees. We found some gold, here and there, enough, maybe, to put in a holler tooth, but not enough to pay. I should a- stuck to my trappin’. A mar should stick to what he knows he kin do. I ain’t no gold miner; I’m a trapper. 1 know beaver from beginnin’ to end, but what I dont know about gold is more’n I could tell in ten thousand moons. Yep, a man should stick to what he knows how to do.” Aletes made no reply to Joe’s chat- ter, and yet he wondered why the lit- tle man had not questioned him, He YELLOW IRON was yet to learn that, while Joe was a chronic spiller of words, he never asked direct questions, The frontiers- man might volunteer information, but he was careful not to pry into any man’s private affairs. He simply liked to talk. The youth saw that, temporarily at least, he would have to give up his quest of the stream his uncie had named Pactolus. He might return to civilization and secure a new outfit, but that was too far in the future to give much thought. With Joe leading the way, they fol- lowed the stream down until it opened Mubsley found himself deserted out into a great park. There, with guards out, they rested. Deer stood agaze within easy range, but Joe would permit no shooting, They ate sparing- ly of pemmican, and washed it down with cold mountain water. Joe, with some idea of “blinding the trail,” led them up a tributary of the stream they had been following. This was tedious work, for at times the cur- rent eddied around their waists. Aletes, however, was put to little strain, as Faithful splashed methodically up the stream. Shortly before sundown they came to a high divide, sparsely tim- bered, but covered with rich grass. There they rested until nightfall. With difficulty Aletes gained his feet. He was stiff and sore and his wound was throbbing. Joe helped him into the saddle, and led the way through the gloom. nan | DAWN they were _s% {| descending a game trail that zig-zagged down to a swift- flowing stream. “We'll foller this crick down,” Joe told the youth. “It’s a queer crick. Down at the mouth of 85 the canyon, she runs under the wall and that’s the end of her.” Aletes, despite his natural calmness, gasped a little. Why, this was the stream his uncle had described! He visualized the map his uncie had drawn, Should he share the secret with these men? To secure the gold alone, would mean a return to civiliza- tion and a long, toilsome journey back to the mountains. These men had saved his life, It was only fair that he should teli them that here was the stream in whose bank his uncle had found the gold. When they reached the floor of the canyon, he reined in his horse. “What’s the trouble?” asked Joe. “Feelin’ sick ?” “No; I have something to say.” Mubsley came up, followed by Pray- erful and Squeaky Bill and the other frontiersmen, “I want to tell you about this stream,” said the youth, in his quiet fashion. “There is gold here. My uncle found gold here—nuggets. I have a sack of them in my pocket. You are searching for gold. I thought it no more than right that I should tell you. You have been kind to me. I’ve a map that will prove what I say.” Mubsley flung himself from his lit- tle mule. “Let’s see the nuggets!” he almost yelled. Aletes gave him the little buckskin sack, Now the half-breeds came up. Their eyes glittered as the dully-gleaming nuggets rolled into Mubsley’s palm. “But we can’t stop,” remonstrated Joe. Yet he picked over the nuggets in his employer’s hand. “It’s gold all 1 *ht—the pure quill,” he commented excitedly. “Let’s see the map,” demanded Mubsley. “If the stuff is like this, we can clean up enough here in a few days to make us all rich.” “But the. Injuns—the Injuns!” whined Joe, dancing about, but invari- ably returning to the fascinating nug- gets, as though hypnotized by their dull gleam, “Indians hell!’ bellowed Prayerful, “T'll take a chanct.” “Same here,” squeaked Biil. “That’s it,” chortled Mubsley. ‘We'll stay—we'll stay. Now the map—the map!” “In my right saddle bag,’ Aletes quietly directed, marveling not a little at the mad excitement the sight of the nuggets had aroused. Mubsley clawed forth the map and Gomicbooksncom