Chapter XI: A Camp in the Canyon

"Hold up, Lanky!"

Hearing these words shouted suddenly by Frank, Lanky Wallace turned in his saddle. Seeing Paul's peril, he drew his unwilling pony's head around, and commenced to gallop back again just as fast as he had taken flight.

"Look lively, Paul!" shrilled Frank, fervently wishing he had his rifle along, when he might trust everything to a shot, in the hope of at least crippling the locoed buffalo bull.

"Hi! Paul!" bellowed Lanky. "The tree! Make for the tree! Only chance to give him the grand laugh! Hey! Side-step it in a hurry! Good jump, Paul, old boy! See him get over the ground for that tree, will you, Frank? Talk to me about home-runs, Paul's got it all plastered over his old mates on the Columbia High team. He's after you, Paul! Dodge those shiny horns again! One more whirl like that, and you'll arrive! Got him again, but he's on to your curves. Beat it!"

Paul did, and in great shape. He arrived at the lonesome tree in time to scramble up amidst its low-hanging branches before the furious buffalo came lumbering along, foam flecking each corner of his mouth.

"Hold up, Lanky!" cried Frank.

"What's the next thing on the program?" asked the impetuous one, pulling in his rearing steed and holding the bridle as tight as he could--one run-away pony was surely sufficient without having the others take their leave.

"Chase Paul's nag and fetch him back." Frank had assumed charge of the situation; for he was accustomed to being the captain in baseball and football games, his companions gladly looking to him for leadership.

"You'll find a way to get Paul out of his fix, will you, Frank? All right, here goes for a pony chase!"

With that Lanky was off on the jump. He never even bothered to ask Frank how he meant to maneuver, in order to get Paul out of the bison's reach.

When Frank next turned his attention to the strange scene before him he found that Paul, having recovered his breath, was taking things in a matter-of-fact way that rather amused his chum.

Leaning down from his safe perch he was talking to his guard. The buffalo bull was staring up at his prisoner in the tree with those small but wicked-looking eyes and at certain points in Paul's harangue Frank was highly amused to see the animal scrape the ground violently with a fore hoof, as if he did not agree with the argument at all.

"Looks as if the old scamp might be saying," chuckled Frank, "'you just drop down here once, and I'll show you how I can polish you off slicker than anything you ever saw. Try me, that's all.'"

"Hey! Frank!" called out the boy up in the tree, noticing for the first time that his chum had drawn somewhat closer and was holding in his prancing and snorting pony with a firm hand.

"All right, Paul. You sure did climb some that time!"

"Well, anybody would be apt to, with those black horns right behind him," the other retorted in self-defense.

"They say a miss is as good as a mile, and you did have a close shave."

"But how'm I going to get out of this scrape? That's what's bothering me!"

"Forget it, and trust to your Dutch uncle to hatch up a scheme to fool old Woolly Head. Now listen, and I'll unfold the plan."

"Shoot!"

"Notice that Lanky's galloped after your run-away pony?"

"That's mighty fine of him," ventured Paul. "I'd begun to believe I'd have to do considerable hiking before landing in camp again; or else double-up with one of you fellows. Well, what's next?"

"I'm going to lure that bison of yours off by his lonesome, if I can fix things right."

"Sounds good to me," came the reply. "But first of all, don't denominate this _shaggy_ monster as _my_ property. I don't claim to own a solitary share in him hair, hide, or horns. He belongs to Buffalo Smith; though I'd like to convert him into tough steaks, if only I had a rifle handy."

"I've managed to snatch up that offensive red handkerchief of yours," explained Frank, "from where you threw it when chasing for refuge. It must have been the innocent cause of all your trouble and as tit-for-tat I mean to make it help you out of this pickle."

"Oh! now I get you! You expect to coax the old lummix to chase after you for a mile or so, and so give me a chance to climb down?"

"That's the little game, partner. When you see me wave my hat get a move on, and drop."

"But if he sees me on the ground he's dead sure to come back with a rush, and I'd have to take to the mountains to keep clear of those shiny short horns!"

"Oh, I expect to keep him employed till I see that Lanky's shown up, leading your pony. Get that, Paul?"

"A regular old booster of a scheme, Frank, if only everything works in a groove. Get busy then, and flag him. I'll lie low, so he'll forget all about poor little Paul up a tree!"

Frank delayed no longer, but started waving the red neckerchief violently in the most insolent fashion he could devise. At the same time he called out tantalizingly at the buffalo, daring him to come out and have a nice little run for his money.

More pawing at the ground followed, accompanied with low, hollow sounds that stood for bellows. Evidently the bull was thus engaged in working himself up to a certain pitch of rage, when he would be unable to resist the lure of that flaunting and much hated red flag.

"Whoop! he's off. Frank, get going before he takes a whack at you!" shouted Paul, as the animal suddenly tore away with lowered head, eager to give battle to the reckless enemy who thus dared him.

If Frank had possessed three hands to pull at the reins he could not have held in that frantic cow pony when the little beast saw that lumbering bull charging.

Whirling around, he went off like a shot, only desirous of placing plenty of ground between himself and the mad creature. Accustomed to cattle as he must be, nevertheless there was something terrifying about the bunchy-headed buffalo that sent the pony into equine spasms.

Frank managed to pull him in a bit, so as not to outdistance the charging bull, lest he go back to his prisoner again. He also continued to flaunt that offensive red flag and send jeering whoops over his shoulder that kept his pursuer spurred up to fever heat.

A full mile was covered in a short time. Then a distant shout was borne to Frank's ears. On investigating he discovered that Lanky had succeeded in capturing the run-away mount and was already close to the tree, from which Paul could be seen descending in eager haste.

"Now then, get a move on you, Chestnut!" Frank called out to his pony, at the same time kicking his heels into the animal's sides.

Gradually he began to gain on the bull, which after another mile lost heart, and dropped out of the race. Frank, seeing his two chums coming in a round-about way, waited for them to join him. Paul was grinning amiably, as if he had rather enjoyed having been in the spotlight. Things looked different to him, now that it was all over but the shouting.

They again took up the search for the pony that was so badly needed to carry the pack, and were fortunate enough to glimpse the animal feeding on some luxuriant grass that had tempted him to forget his love of freedom.

Having captured the run-away, the boys once more turned their faces toward the south, and in due time reached camp. The others did not return for another hour or more, and were of course pleased to learn of the recovery of the pack animal.

It was now noon, so they had a bit of cold lunch, and after that a start was made.

Jerry was in the lead, it being their intention to make for the canyon. If this was followed up the face of the mountain range it would in due time take them to the plateau where Gold Fork lay in its desolation.

The boys now had a chance to see a real Rocky Mountain canyon, where ages ago a torrent used to come tearing down from the snow-capped peaks above, gradually to wear away the earth lying between solid walls of rock, until they loomed up a hundred feet or more on either hand.

It was now a dry defile, the lads noticed, although they fancied that once in a great while, during some cloudburst, there might be a deluge of water come roaring and tossing down the canyon, carrying everything before it.

They found it hard work picking their way upward; but Jerry knew pretty well how to avoid the worst of the difficulties.

"This means we're going to pitch camp in this channel of an old-time torrent," remarked Frank, as the long afternoon wore away and their hard-worked ponies gave signs of being very tired.

"It'll be a new experience," observed Lanky, looking around at the lofty walls that rose on either side. "Gee whiz! but I'd hate to be caught in this hole if a storm broke and the rain came down as it does sometimes out here in the Rockies. We'd soon be swimming I reckon."

Paul Bird looked uneasy, but made no remark, for he rather suspected that Lanky was saying what he did in anticipation of "getting a rise" from him. As long as Paul had known Lanky, he had never learned to tell with certainty when the tall fellow was joking and when he was serious.

As evening approached Jerry called a halt. He must have had reasons for choosing that particular spot to pitch camp, Frank decided, after noticing how the veteran puncher and prospector looked around him from time to time, as if renewing old-time recollections of the place.

A fire was made, there being an abundance of dead wood at hand, coming from the stunted trees that grew out of clefts in the surrounding walls.

"What makes it seem so hot here?" asked Paul, wiping his reeking forehead with the same red neckerchief that had excited the buffalo bull.

"Oh, it's nearly always hot around these mountains," replied the artful Lanky. "Folks say it's because some of them used to be volcanoes ages and ages ago, and the fires must still be burning deep down."

But Paul scoffed at the fantastic idea, knowing full well Lanky was only "drawing the long bow" for his especial benefit.

"If you look," remarked Frank quietly, "you'll notice that it's clouded up; and with all this high temperature I wouldn't be surprised if we had some rain before morning."

"Let's hope, then," added Lanky, and really meaning what he said, "that it isn't to be one of those terrific cloudbursts Zander was telling us about at supper. I like swimming, all right! But excuse me from being swept on a boiling torrent down an old canyon half a mile long, to be kicked out on the prairie like a knocked-about bag of meal."

"Well, Jerry knew what he was about when he picked out this particular point for our camp," Frank went on to say confidently.

"We'll pin our faith on Jerry, then," said Paul, trying to appear quite unconcerned, though his heart did beat faster than its wont as he surveyed the myriad of sharp-pointed rocks and enormous boulders marking the course of the crooked defile.

Another thing the watchful Frank noticed later on told him Jerry Brime did not mean to be caught entirely unprepared, should any sort of impending disaster break over their heads.

He himself took the trouble to do up their pack of stores after supper was over, a most unusual thing, and arrange so that at a moment's notice it could be secured on the back of the pony.

The animals, too, were kept saddled and bridled, as though in readiness for sudden flight. Frank wondered what sort of time they could make going down that dreadful gap in the face of the mountains in the dead of night, and with a million obstacles lying in wait to bring about trouble.

They needed no blaze that night to keep the chill away; it seemed strangely suffocating, a fact that might account for the unusual wakefulness on the part of the three boys.

"Don't know what ails me," grumbled Lanky who was stretched out in his beloved checkered blanket close to Frank. "I keep turning from one side to the other, and just can't get asleep, tired as I am. Guess mom would say I'd got the 'fidgets,' while dad'd likely tell me I was too greedy with that campfire-cooked venison. Shucks! something's going to happen, I reckon."

"It sure will, if you don't quit that mumbling," chuckled Frank, "for I can see Zander popping his head up and looking this way, as if he had half a mind to make you go off and herd by yourself."

"You said it, Frank," came from Paul, on the other side of Lanky. "I'm no knocker, but he keeps digging his elbows into my ribs every time he turns over. Please quit it, Lanky, and settle down."

Somehow or other, the uneasy one did manage to control his restlessness, and he soon lay sprawled out on his back and breathing hard, which was a pretty good indication that he had passed over into dream-land.

Frank did not have the slightest idea how long he was lost to the world after Lanky quieted down. It may have been several hours, for there was nothing to tell him what the time was when he was aroused by a frightful crash of thunder that seemed to make the solid rocks under him tremble with the vibration.

Then came a dash of rain that almost instantly deluged every one, so that clothes and blankets were soaking wet.

When a flash of lightning lit up the canyon as by bright sunlight, Lanky was seen threshing around in the endeavor to get free from his blanket that had crept up about his ears as he slept. At the same came his triumphant shout:

"What did I tell you? Something's happened all right, hasn't it?"

But Jerry Brime gave them no time to dispute.

"We got to git outen this right smart, 'case that looks like a cloudburst to me. This hyah canyon she'll be ten feet deep in a flood afore yuh knows what's comin' down on yuh. Everybody git yuh duffle, an' foller old Jerry!"