CHAPTER XXXIV.
RUPERT'S PREDICAMENT
Rupert did not wake till later than usual. The previous day had been unusually fatiguing and nature had asserted her rights.
He turned over and mechanically looked over to where his companion lay at the time he went to sleep. He was a little surprised to find that he was not visible. Usually Boone slumbered till Rupert went over and waked him up.
"Ben has gone to take a walk," he said to himself. "It must be later than usual."
He looked at his watch and found that it was eight o'clock.
"Well, I did oversleep myself," he said, as he rose to his feet. "No wonder Boone got the start of me."
Upon reflection he decided that Ben had probably gone down to the boat, which was tied to a small tree on the river bank not more than five minutes' walk distant. He turned his steps in that direction. When he reached the place where the skiff was fastened, a surprise awaited him.
The boat was not there!
Still he had not the faintest suspicion that his guide had played him false and deserted him in the wilderness.
"Ben must have taken a row himself," he decided. "It is rather strange, for he isn't generally enterprising enough for that. He must have had a headache or something that prevented his sleeping. Well, I might as well take breakfast."
There was something left from supper of the night before. Rupert ate this with a hearty relish. He did not stop to make any hot coffee. Ben usually attended to this duty, and he was likely to appear at any moment.
"I will wait for Ben to come," Rupert said to himself. "I hope he hasn't gone very far."
After eating he lay back on the ground, for he still felt a little tired.
"It seems odd to be alone," he reflected.
He had not formed any particular attachment to Ben Boone, but he had a certain satisfaction in his companionship. They had become closely acquainted, and though Ben was not especially sociable, they had had some long talks together, so that Rupert felt a certain interest in his rough companion.
Half an hour passed, and Rupert began to feel impatient, as well as solitary.
"Why doesn't Ben come?" he asked himself. "It is very strange that he should go away so early and stay away so long."
As this thought came to him he happened to put his hand into the pocket where he usually kept his money.
The pocket was empty.
A suspicion for the first time dawned upon him that startled and alarmed him. He made a hurried examination of the ground around him, for he knew that it was possible that the pocketbook had slipped out of his pocket.
But his search was fruitless. The pocketbook was nowhere to be seen.
Was it possible, he asked himself, that he had been robbed? Was Ben capable of such black treachery?
The thought that his companion had proved false disturbed him more at first than the sense of his loss, but he began almost immediately to realize his predicament.
Probably he was a hundred miles away from the ranch of his friend Giles Packard. Not only this, but he was without money and without provisions, except the small supply of food which remained over from his frugal breakfast.
Then, again, he was without a boat, for the skiff had been carried away by Ben. He was alone in a wilderness.
There were very few houses within the distance over which they had traveled. If he had been in any portion of the Eastern States, among settlements and villages, he would not have minded his destitute condition—that is, not so much. He would have felt sure of getting along somehow. But as it was, there was no one to appeal to. There was no one to lend him a helping hand.
If only Ben had left him the boat, matters would not have been so bad. He would, of course, have instantly started on his return. He didn't feel at all tempted to explore farther. The fine mountain scenery which he had enjoyed yesterday had no attraction for him now.
"I'd give fifty dollars—if I had it"—he added, as the thought came to him that he had no money whatever, "to be back with Giles Packard on his ranch. Shall I ever see him again, or am I doomed to starve to death in this wilderness?"
CHAPTER XXXV.
RUPERT MAKES A DISCOVERY
It was not easy for Rupert to form plans in his present destitute condition. The money which he had lost was a minor consideration. The boat and provisions were much more important.
Besides this, he still had his gun and his watch. Both these were likely to prove useful.
He wondered a little why Ben had not taken the watch. But his wonder diminished when he remembered that Boone had told him one day that he had never owned a watch.
"How, then, do you tell time?" Rupert inquired.
"By the sun," answered Ben.
Rupert had tested him more than once, and found that from long and close observation his guide could always guess within a few minutes of the correct time. To Ben the watch had no value, and it didn't occur to him that he might raise money on it when he reached the settlements.
Rupert felt that he must lose no time in forming some plan of reaching the point from which he started. He went down to the river, faintly hoping that he might see Ben returning in the skiff, but this he owned to himself was extremely improbable.
Ben was ten, perhaps fifteen miles on the way back. What his object could have been in playing him such a dastardly trick, or what possible excuse he could make to Giles Packard for returning alone, Rupert could not conjecture.
He took it for granted that Boone would go back to his old home at Red Gulch. He did not dream of his plan of going to New York. If he had, this would have explained his sudden defection.
Rupert stood on the shore of the river and looked up the stream. Everything was calm and placid, and lonely. At the East he would have seen houses, on the banks and passing boats, but here he found himself alone with nature.
Without thinking especially what he was doing, he started to walk up stream, that is, along the river bank in an easterly direction.
"If I could only come across a boat," he soliloquized, "no matter how poor, I should think it a piece of great luck."
But it was too great luck for him. Still he kept on walking and looking about him, but he not only saw no boat, but no indication of any human presence.
He had walked quite five miles, as he judged from the passage of time, when at last he made a discovery. Moored to the bank was a dismantled raft, if such an expression is allowable. Rupert remembered now that on their trip down the river Boone had called his attention to it, saying: "It must have been left there by some party of travelers."
Rupert little thought how serviceable this would prove to him.
His eyes lighted up with joy, for he hailed the finding of the raft as a good omen, and foresaw how important it would prove to him.
"But was it in a condition for use?"
That was the important question.
Rupert bent down and examined it critically. The boards were still pretty firm, though water-soaked, and seemed to be securely fastened together. The rope that fastened it to the small sapling on the bank was quite rotten, and it was a wonder that it had not parted.
Rupert pulled on it to see how secure it was, and it broke. This, however, was of little consequence. He selected a long stick to serve as an oar, and getting on the raft, pushed out into the stream.
The stick, however, made a very poor substitute for an oar. Still he found that it was of some use.
But just as he was starting he discovered, almost covered with underbrush, the paddle which had probably been used by the parties who had constructed and used the raft. This worked tolerably well, and he was glad to have found it.
At last he was ready, and started on his journey. He found his progress slow, and his task toilsome. Still he was making progress, and that was encouraging.
How rapid this progress he could only conjecture. It might be two miles an hour; probably it was not more than that, and he was obliged to confess with a sinking of the heart that it would take a very long time at this rate before he would get back.
He had tugged away possibly three hours, when his strength began to give out. He began to feel faint and hungry, especially as his breakfast had not been very satisfying.
Then, for the first time, with a sinking heart, he realized that he had made a serious blunder. What few provisions were left after breakfast he had left behind him, and he was absolutely without a mouthful to eat.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
A LUCKY ENCOUNTER
Unsatisfied hunger is always a serious discomfort. What it was to a young, healthy boy like Rupert, who had been working hard for several hours, may be imagined.
Even if there had been a prospect of his dining in two or three hours, it would have been inconvenient, but he could have endured it. As it was, he did not know when he could satisfy his appetite, if at all.
He discovered in his pockets some silver change which Ben hadn't taken, but that could do him no good in the Colorado wilderness.
Rupert was in general sanguine and light-hearted. But it must be owned that he felt terribly depressed about this time. He had his gun with him, but even if he should succeed in shooting anything, how could he cook it? He had not even a match with which to light a fire.
Was he destined to starve in this out of the way region? he asked himself. A hundred miles off he had a rich friend. In New York he owned two valuable lots and had money in the bank besides, but neither of these could do him any good now.
The French speak of an uncomfortable quarter of an hour. Rupert had two hours at least that could be described in this way. All this while, faint as he was and tired as his exertions on an empty stomach had made him, he still paddled on. At last, to his great joy, there came light in the darkness. As the raft turned a corner in the windings of the river he saw on the bank, curiously regarding him, a tall, thin, dark-complexioned girl, in a calico dress too short for her.
A new hope was born in Rupert's heart? and he stopped paddling.
"Do you live around here?" he asked.
"Yes," answered the girl.
"Could I buy some food at your house?"
"Don't know. I reckon so."
"Then I'll stop, and you can show me the way to your house."
"Where did you come from?"
"From below—about ten miles down the river."
"Is that where you live?"
"No. I live in New York."
"Where is that? Is it in Colorado?"
"Didn't you ever hear of New York?" asked Rupert, in genuine surprise at the ignorance of his new acquaintance.
"No."
"It's a large city."
The girl seemed to take very little interest in the information he gave her.
"Did you always live here?" asked Rupert, becoming himself the questioner.
"Reckon so."
By this time Rupert had brought the raft to shore and tied it to a stump. He obtained a nearer view of the girl, but did not find her attractive.
She was tall, thin, and had a sallow complexion. Her dress hung straight down. Moreover, it was not clean. The girl eyed him attentively, and didn't seem in the least bashful. She seemed to arrive at a decision in regard to him.
"Say, you're good-lookin'," she said, in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Do you think so?" returned Rupert, blushing.
"Yes. How old be you?"
"Seventeen."
"I'm fourteen. If you lived round here I'd take you for my beau."
"But I don't live round here," said Rupert, with an air of relief. "What is your name?" he asked, with a sudden thought.
"Sal. That's what mam calls me. What's yours?"
"Rupert."
"That's a mighty cur'us name. Never heard it afore."
"I don't think it is a common name."
"You jest come along, if you want some dinner. You said you'd pay for it, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Then I guess mam will give you some."
"Do you live far off?" asked Rupert, anxiously.
"No. Jest in the woods a little way."
Rupert followed the girl for about a quarter of a mile. Then, in a little clearing, he saw a rude cabin—just such a house as he fancied Sal would live in.
"That's our house, and there's mam at the door," said his young guide.
A tall, thin woman, between whom and Sal there was considerable resemblance, not only in appearance but in dress, stood in the doorway, shading her eyes with her hand as she looked down the path.
"She's lookin' for me," explained Sal, with a grin.
"Here you, Sal!" called her mother. "Where've you been gallivantin' to?"
Then she stopped short, for she caught sight of Rupert.
"Who've you got with you?" she asked, abruptly.
"A boy," answered Sal. "Ain't he nice lookin'?"
Rupert blushed again, as most of my boy readers would probably have done under like circumstances.
"No matter how he looks," said the mother, sharply. "What does he want here?"
"He wants somethin' to eat, and he's got money to pay for it," answered Sal.
"I am very hungry, madam," said Rupert, taking off his hat. "I shall consider it a great favor if you will give me some dinner."
"I reckon I kin scare up something," said the woman, more amiably. "Jest come in."
Rupert entered the cabin. It was rudely and scantily furnished, but doubtless the occupants enjoyed it as much as a New York millionaire enjoys his elegant mansion on Fifth Avenue. There was a fire in the cooking-stove, and in a pantry Rupert noticed some cold remnants of the noonday meal.
"Sit down," said the woman. "I'll scare you up something in a jiffy."
"I'll sit down outside, if you don't mind," answered Rupert.
He sat down on a settee on one side of the door. Soon the odor of some meat which was being fried assailed his nostrils, and gave him the keenest delight.
In about twenty minutes Sal called him in, and he was glad to accept her rather unceremonious invitation.
On the table was a dish of meat. He didn't know what kind it was, but it smelled good. On another plate was some corn bread, but no butter was provided.
"We ain't got no whiskey," said the woman. "We're sort o' run out, but I can give you some tea."
"That will do just as well, madam."
Rupert might have said that it would do better, but he saw that the family were not prohibitionists and might take offense if he spoke against the use of whiskey.
Rupert had seldom enjoyed a meal more than the one he sat down to in that rude cabin.
"What kind of meat is this?" he asked.
"Bear meat. Didn't you ever eat any?"
"No, madam."
"We reckon it's good. My man killed the bear."
"It is excellent," said Rupert, and he really meant what he said.
"I'm glad you like it."
Rupert ate till he was ashamed. He had not asked the price of the meal in advance, for he was fully resolved to eat it, even if it took every cent he had left to pay for it. But when at last he laid down his knife and fork he summoned courage to ask how much he must pay.
"I reckon a quarter'll do," said the woman.
Rupert breathed a sigh of relief. It not only came within his means, but he would have fifty cents left after paying.
Then the woman began to ask questions.
"Where mought you be goin'?" she asked.
Rupert mentioned his destination.
"How far away is that?"
"Nearly a hundred miles."
"Are you travelin' alone?"
"I had a man with me till this morning."
"Where is he now?"
"He got up early, robbed me of all my money and ran off, taking the boat with him," Rupert answered in indignant tones.
"If he took all your money, how are you goin' to pay for your dinner?" asked the woman, frowning.
"I have a little money left in silver," said Rupert, producing the quarter.
"How are you goin' to get back?"
"I don't know. I have no money, and only a raft."
Then an idea came to him.
"If I could find a man who would go back with me, I would pay him well."
"But you have no money."
"Mr. Packard, of Red Gulch, is my friend. He is a rich man and he would pay for me."
"Do you mean Giles Packard?"
"Yes."
"I know about him. He is rich. Is he your friend?"
"Yes."
Rupert followed up his advantage.
"If I could find a man who would take me to him I would promise him fifty dollars—and this gun."
The woman's eyes showed her interest. She was fond of money, and fifty dollars seemed to her a large sum.
"I reckon my man would go along with you," she said slowly. "The fifty dollars would be sure?"
"Yes, and if I was satisfied with him, I would give him ten dollars more."
"Mam," said Sal, "you'd better say yes. We'll all be rich if dad gets sixty dollars."
"When will your husband be home?" asked Rupert, becoming hopeful.
"I reckon he'll be home directly—if you kin wait."
"Oh, yes, I can wait. Has he got a boat?"
"He has a canoe."
"That will do just as well."
"And will you give me the raft?" asked Sal. "You won't want it."
"Yes, you shall have the raft."
Sal was so delighted that she threw her arms round Rupert's neck and kissed him, much to his confusion.
"Quit that, you Sal. Ain't you got no manners?" said her mother, sharply. "There's your dad comin' now."
Rupert raised his flushed face, and was indescribably astonished when a tall Indian entered the cabin.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
AN INDIAN GUIDE
"Is that your husband?" asked Rupert, in a tone that betrayed his surprise.
"Yes. What yer gawkin' at? He's enough sight better'n my first husband, who was a white man. Isn't he, Sal?"
"You bet, mam!"
The Indian, who had an air of natural dignity, seemed pleased with their tributes to his excellence.
"Yes," continued Sal's mother, "he's my man now. John, this boy wants you to take him to Giles Packard's ranch."
"It's a long way," said the Indian, slowly.
"Yes, I know that," answered Rupert, "but I am willing to pay you. That is, I haven't money with me, but Mr. Packard will pay you fifty dollars, and I will give you my gun besides."
The Indian seemed most impressed with the last part of the offer. He held out the gun and examined it closely. Then a look of satisfaction overspread his face, and he said "Good."
"He seems straight, though he's only a boy," remarked the woman. "You'd better go. Fifty dollars is a good deal of money."
"Gun good," said the Indian, sententiously.
"Yes, but the money is better."
"When you want to go?" asked John.
"You'd better wait till to-morrow morning," put in the woman. "I'll bake up some bread and fry some bear steak for you to carry."
"That will suit me if you will give me a place to sleep and some supper," said Rupert.
This was readily agreed to.
One of those best pleased with this arrangement was Sal. She seemed so impressed with Rupert that the latter was afraid she would kiss him again, but fortunately she refrained.
She made up her mind, however, to enjoy the boy's companionship, and challenged him to a trial of speed. Rupert was almost ashamed to compete with a girl, but he found that Sal was a rival by no means to be despised. She kept up well with him in a quarter mile run, and in a running jump she beat him once out of three times.
"You jump very well—for a girl," said Rupert.
"You're taller'n I be, or I'd beat you. Besides, you're older."
"And your mother's older than you. Can she beat you?"
"I'd jump mam out of her boots," said Sal, confidently. "Want to try, mam?"
"Try what?"
"Jumpin'."
"Oh, quit yer foolin'. A nice sight I'd be, jumpin'. Your dad will jump with you."
"Yes," said John, smiling gravely.
"Oh, he can beat me, of course."
"Won't you jump, John?" asked Rupert, thinking the Indian looked desirous of a trial.
"Yes," answered John.
Like most of his race, he was supple and well trained in all athletic exercises. He jumped three feet farther than Rupert, though the white boy plumed himself on his agility.
Later Rupert and Sal took a trip down the river on the raft. Sal desired to do the paddling, and Rupert was obliged to confess that she understood the art of paddling a raft better than he.
"You gave it to me, didn't you?" she said.
"Yes, Sal, it is yours."
The girl looked pleased.
"I will go out on it a good deal," she said. "Dad doesn't like me to use his canoe."
"Where does he keep his canoe?"
"Up the river a way. Shall I show you?"
"Yes, if you will."
She kept on paddling till they reached a secluded part of the stream, where there was a circular indentation in the bank. Here was the Indian's canoe. It was higher than the skiff in which Rupert had traveled with Ben Boone, and though as long, was narrower.
"It is a beautiful canoe!" said Rupert, admiringly.
"Isn't it? Dad's proud of it."
"How long has he been married to your mother?"
"'Bout three years."
"You don't mind having an Indian for a father?" asked Rupert, feeling that he might be on delicate ground.
"No, John's a good man. He never drinks, as my own father did. He's good to mam. Then he is a good hunter, and brings us plenty of bear's meat."
"Would you be willing to marry an Indian yourself?"
"No, I'd rather marry you," was Sal's disconcerting reply.
"I am not old enough to be married," said Rupert, blushing.
"You will be some day."
"Yes. I shall be some day—if I live."
"Then will you come and marry me?"
This was a leap year proposal with a vengeance. Rupert was hardly prepared with an answer. He replied diplomatically, "I can't tell yet. I must ask my mother."
"Mam would be willing I should marry you," said Sal. "Where does your mother live?"
"Near New York."
"Won't you ask her?"
"Yes," answered Rupert; "but perhaps you will see some one else you will like better."
"No, I shan't," said Sal, positively. "You are awful handsome."
"Am I?" said Rupert, in rather an embarrassed tone.
"Yes, you've got such nice red cheeks."
Rupert scanned her critically, but he was unable to return the compliment. Her face was thin and sallow, and the only feature that was passable was her bright black eyes.
The next morning, when Rupert was ready to start, Sal showed an inclination to kiss him again, but he hurried off with the Indian, and escaped this affectionate demonstration.
"You'll come back some time?" said Sal, anxiously, as she looked after him.
"Yes, some day."
Rupert hoped that before he saw Sal again she would have secured a husband in her own station in life.
Rupert found the Indian a very satisfactory companion. Compared to Ben he was silent and reserved, but he was willing to answer questions, and the young traveler managed to extract considerable information from him.
There was no unnecessary delay. Rupert had no desire to remain longer in the wilderness. So on the evening of the third day he reached Red Gulch and sought out his friend Giles Packard.
The cattleman eyed his companion with surprise.
"Where have you left Ben?" he said.
"He left me," answered Rupert, and he told the story of Ben Boone's treachery.
Giles Packard was very angry.
"The rascal!" he said. "I knew he was lazy and shiftless, but I didn't think he was a villain. If I could get hold of him he'd find it worse than being in a bear's clutches. Have you any idea where he went?"
"No; I thought he might have come home."
"He wouldn't dare to come home without you."
"I've got it!" exclaimed Rupert, suddenly.
"What is it?"
"I understand now. He's on his way to New York."
"What do you mean?"
"He asked a great deal about New York, and said he would go there if he only had money enough. I expect he is using my money for traveling expenses."
"Where did you pick up your Indian friend?"
Rupert told of the compact he had made with the Indian, and asked Mr. Packard to lend him money enough to keep it.
"Certainly, lad, and I'd do a great deal more for you, if necessary."
John was paid his money, and received the gun besides as a free gift. With them he started for home happy and proud.
Rupert might have sent his love to Sal, but he refrained.
"By the way, Rupert," said Giles Packard, "I have two letters for you."
Rupert opened them hastily. The first was from his mother. The important part ran thus:
"Mr. Strathmore is sick with pneumonia, and there is little hope of his living. Of course this will make it necessary for me and Grace to seek a new home. I wish we might all be together again. I have been contented, because I knew you were doing well, but I should be happier to have you with me. Will you be back soon? I will make no arrangements till you return."
The second letter was from Leslie Waters. He wrote:
"Congratulate me, Rupert! I have at last realized my ambition and am to become an actor. I have been engaged to play a part in the comedy of 'Fireflies.' You won't get any idea of the piece from the title. My part is a very good one. I am to represent a Broadway swell. I can't give you any idea of the plot, but I hope some time you may be able to see it played. Of course I have resigned my position as a bell-boy. We start on the road on Monday, opening at Albany, and going thence to Buffalo. I will send you my route as soon as I can. Answer this to Cleveland, Ohio."
"I suppose Leslie is happy," thought Rupert. "I hope he will succeed."
"I trust your letters contain good news," said Giles Packard.
"One contains bad news. My mother is about to lose her home, and I am afraid I must start at once for New York."
"Wait till to-morrow, Rupert, and I will go with you. I have a capable superintendent who will take my place, and a journey will do me good."
"I shall be delighted to have your company, Mr. Packard."
Giles Packard looked pleased, for the longer he knew Rupert the better he liked him.