Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 141: what you’re looking at

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

132 see us again, could you get a report of the matter over to the fort when you get back? ” “T’ll attend to that,’ Phil promised him, as the two cavalcades separated. “Report!” exclaimed Ben, with an angry snort. “Ef that ain’t jest like their blamed foolishness. I'd like ter write ’em a few reports. They’d be short, but ter the p’int! I’d hev ’em read like this: ‘ Left fort at sunrise. ' Chased sixteen Injuns. Killed ev’ry last one of ’em. Respectfully submit- ted, etc.’ ” Phil laughed at this. “You’re altogether too blood- thirsty,” he declared. “If we get back the cattle that’s all J care.” “Well,” returned Ben grimly, “ you keep yer gunlock dry, jest the same. Ye might wanter shoot jack rabbits.” The trail of the stampeded cattle, with here and there the print of a pony’s unshod hoof, was plain enough in the alkali dust, and there was little doubt that Bowker Pass was the objective point of the thieves. As they neared the range, therefore, the trailers trav- eled more carefully. The entrance to the pass was of such a nature that the approaching herders could not see half a dozen rods into it. As far as they could see, it appeared deserted enough; but there were so many convenient places for ambushes along its entire length that it was sheer recklessness for the whole party to ride right in. “TI tell ye what it is, fellows,” said Ben. “ One man’s better’n two, or half a dozen, in that place, if there 7s Injuns there. Ifa feller’s alone, an’ he sees suthin’ that ain’t jest right, he kin wheel his pony an’ skedaddle a great sight easier than if there was a mob right behind him. But who’s a goin’ ter be the feller to do the reconnoiterin’, as they say in books? ” “ Draw lots,” Rafferty proposed. “ Right, my boy, we will,” said Ben. He stooped from his saddle and plucked a long, stiff blade of grass, THE ARGOSY. which he proceeded to break into seven lengths, one slightly longer than the others. Having prepared these he hid them in his hand, offering only one to the view of each man. They all drew, Phil (to whom such work was new) feeling, it must be con- fessed, a little fearful. However, the Irishman, Rafferty, drew the longest blade. “Well, my luck,” he said coolly. “ Day, day, boys! If 1 don’t see ye again, the mule’s yourn,” and he rode away with an assumption of careless- ness which may or may not have hidden a good deal of feeling. ‘Ef ye don’t hear from me in half an hour, come on,” he called, looking back over his shoulder, and then he disap- peared up the pass. The waiting men sat like statues up- on their horses, without a word and hardly making a movement, half fearful that the terrible Indian warwhoop, or the report of Rafferty’s rifle, would break the silence at any instant. But as the minutes passed, all became more relieved, and when Phil, who sat with his watch in his hand, nodded to Ben as a signal that the half hour was up, the whole cavalcade rode forward into the defile at a swinging trot. The pass was deserted, and not until they had mounted the rocky trail for half a mile did they observe any signs of Rafferty’s previous passage of the defile. Then, at a particularly difficult spot, where the spray from a rollicking little waterfall had made the path slippery, were marks which instantly assured Ben Wilmarth that the Irishman’s horse had tumbled. “The pony fell with him, boys,” ex- claimed the leader, reining in his own steed. “ See, there’s the print of its hull side in the mud. Guess Raf wasn’t hurt, fur he seems ter hev gone along,” and he cast a quick glance along the trail before them. “Look here!” suddenly exclaimed Phil Boyd. “ There’s been more than , COMMGIOOKX