Chapter IX: Lanky's Scheme Wobbles

Knowing the magnitude of the journey they had before them, the adventurers did not intend to make any attempt at speed. They must preserve the strength of their mounts for the hard part of the trip after arriving in the rough region of the mountainous country.

They had a cold snack and rested their mounts at noon. The forty miles in a southwesterly direction was passed over before a halt was again made for supper. Jerry and Zander Forbes were in charge, the one as "big boss," the other in the guise of a guide; though most of Jerry's work was apt to come after they reached their goal and found themselves at the old mining camp.

When they put saddles on the ponies, and started off, they faced due west and a setting sun.

"Only for that heat haze over there," raid Zander to the boys close at his side, "you might glimpse the tops of the mountains if you happened to have sharp eyes and knew just where to look. Most green-horns would be apt to reckon it was only the dim outline of a low-hanging line of white clouds."

Lanky strained his eyes to stare in that direction. Sometimes he felt pretty certain he could just discern a faint line above the level horizon, which he fondly told himself must really be the outline of the lofty Rockies, the object of their long ride.

When the day was done the sun had finally disappeared and the glorious bed of crimson and gold that awakened lively feelings of admiration in the souls of the boys had turned to dark blue, it was decided to camp for the night on the prairie.

This was now nothing new to Frank and his chums, since they had been out overnight several times with some of the punchers, riding range after straying stock.

"I'm glad of one thing, though," Lanky told Paul, as a fire was kindled of such stuff as they had managed to pick up on the way.

"Shoot!" exclaimed the other, when Lanky held back, as was his habit when he wanted, to enliven the curiosity of those in his company.

"We didn't run across the rough-house gang of punchers that hold out over at the Double Z Ranch, nor yet any of the sheep-herders from over near Skidmore Station. We're trying to mind our own business and looking for trouble with no outfit, though of course we don't mean to be stood on."

The night passed in comparative peace, though a pack of coyotes persisted in keeping up an all-night chorus of yelps and long-drawn howls that sounded more wolf than otherwise.

With the morning they were early in the saddle. It was so hot that Mr. Wallace had decided to lay off for several hours toward the middle of the day, making up for lost time by the early start, also a ride after nightfall, when the cooler airs would creep down from the mountains ahead.

They could plainly see these mighty elevations now at any time they chose to cast their eyes up and down the horizon toward the west.

"But the atmosphere out here on the level plains is mighty deceptive, you must remember, boys," Zander Forbes had warned them. "A horseman can keep riding for ten hours steadily in a straight line, and at the end of that time seem to be hardly any closer to the mountains than when he started."

"But we understood there'd be only two days of hard riding after we headed into the west!" remonstrated Lanky.

"Well, by late afternoon to-morrow we ought to be inside of fifteen or twenty miles of the foothills. But like as not we'll have to make a third camp on the prairie."

This turned out to be the case; and when the towering Rockies seemed to be so close, the boys wondered why Mr. Wallace decided to defer the remainder of their ride until the next morning.

"Fresh mounts in good condition," the gentleman explained, "are worth much more to us than the gaining of a little time."

In his younger years Mr. Wallace had been considerable of a sportsman, taking his holidays each fall in a camping trip to the Canada bush, where he hunted the moose in a primitive wilderness.

Of late he had not taken any such trips, and his health had suffered in consequence, which helped to bring about this present outing.

The coyotes were as noisy as ever that night. Besides, Lanky heard a new and more thrilling sound, with which he was making his first acquaintance. Jerry told them it was the long-drawl howl of the big gray timber wolf, savage creatures that traveled in packs, and when beset by hunger seldom hesitated to attack a lone hunter.

"If yuh find yuhself beset by sech a pack o' varmints," was the sage advice of the veteran range rider and hunter, "don't keer a picayune 'bout showin' the white feather. If so be thar's a tree handy, shin up it like a streak. Then take yuh pick o' the pesky wolves an' knock 'em over in a row."

"I tried fighting a pack once," observed Zander, with a grimace. "Got the marks of them fangs on my legs and arms to this day. I'd have gone under to boot, only a storm broke and a terrific peal of thunder and a blinking flash of lightning as a tree was struck close by scared the graycoats off and gave me a chance to climb a tree."

With the coming of morning the journey was resumed, and the rising sun saw them almost half-way to the base of the foothills that served as an advance guard to the mountains themselves.

It was just nine by Frank's wrist watch when they arrived. Jerry showed them a trail that led over the range of hills to a canyon zigzagging up the great divide, it having once been the bed of a mighty torrent.

By noon they were fairly over the ridge. Beyond lay a small valley, and Jerry was able to locate and point out the canyon he expected to utilize in climbing to the plateau where Gold Fork lay. The place, they understood, was now the picture of desolation, with tumble-down shanties and stores marking it as a long since abandoned mining camp, where an alluring boomlet bubble had burst, to disappoint and ruin hundreds.

The ponies were somewhat winded after that stiff climb, so when the ride was continued they took their time in making the descent.

"Shucks! two to one we've got to lay over in this washbowl of a valley," grumbled Lanky, "and won't get to the old camp till to-morrow night."

Frank, being more disposed to take things as they came and not show undue eagerness, only laughed at his disappointed chum.

"Plenty of time, your dad told you, Lanky," he remarked.

"Yes, he's always telling me that Rome wasn't built in a day. But I certainly hate to waste the hours. What makes you look up at the sky so often, Frank? Expecting to have a storm break loose on our heads, are you?"

"Nothing in sight to say so," replied the other. "I was watching the wheeling movements of those big birds a mile or so high. Jerry tells me they are vultures, the largest carrion birds we have in this country, known as California vultures."

"Wow, so _that's_ what they are! I saw them some time ago, but took it for granted they must be only turkey buzzards skimming around on the lookout for some eats. Vultures! Are they related to the monster South American condor?"

"First cousins, Zander Forbes told me, and nearly as big, though not so powerful. Why, those condors can carry off a good-sized lamb, I've read. The buzzard of the East and South belongs to the same family, as does the fish-crow of Florida, though of course they're a lot smaller."

"Vultures! Well, I never expected to set eyes on such birds on this trip. When Zander was telling that story the other night about an adventure he had when trying to secure an egg for a big museum and near losing his eyes from pecks of the mother, he said this California specimen was hardly ever seen except west of the Rockies; and just now we're on the east side of the big divide."

"I don't know anything about that, but he seemed a bit surprised to see them around here. I reckon they go where the feeding is best, even if it takes them across the snow-capped summits of the Rockies."

Lanky kept looking up frequently after that, as though some freakish scheme had been hatched in that fertile brain of his which he meant to try out, if only an opportunity offered.

At least, his guess concerning their camping in that valley turned out quite true, for when they were half-way across the basin Zander gave the order to pull up.

They were going to enjoy a hunter's feast that night, for the first time on the trip. Zander had managed to creep up on a feeding antelope, by keeping to leeward of the timid animal, and with a remarkably long and clever shot dropped his quarry.

So they expected to eat fresh venison to their hearts' content, and the three boys anticipated a delightful meal.

"Say, Frank, they're scooping down closer right now," Lanky observed, as he caught hold of his chum. "I wonder if they smell our fresh meat and hope to get the leavings of our supper."

Frank, however, shook his head skeptically.

"More than likely they've sighted some sort of carrion lying in the valley here, and are making for that. You can see that they keep wheeling in big circles over a spot lying to the north of us, and not more than a couple of hundred yards away from here."

"I'm glad it's to the north," said Paul; "for if there's a dead animal over yonder, so long as the breeze keeps in the southwest we're not going to hold our breath half the night. See! One of the big birds has dropped down to the ground. What monster wings they have; and they keep flapping them up and down as if ready for a scrap as they hop around sideways."

"Zander told me these vultures are about four feet in length from beak to the end of their tails, but that they have a wing spread of over ten feet!"

"Some birds, I'd say," replied Paul. Lanky was only grinning as he eagerly watched the other scavengers of the air drop down and commence to copy the gyrations of the first pilgrim.

"Gee! I'd sure like to try it out," Frank heard him mutter. But what Lanky meant he did not bother to explain, and Frank in the rush of other things forgot to ask him.

"I wonder now," mused Frank, as he watched the big birds hopping about with their wings often used in fighting one another over the spoils, "if he remembers how old Sindbad the Sailor caught a giant roc when a prisoner in that valley and climbing on its back was carried to safety? That would be just like harem-scarem Lanky, with his queer schemes for fun."

A little later he noticed Lanky talking with Zander Forbes, who seemed to be more or less amused at what the boy was saying. The others were all busily engaged at various tasks, and so Lanky was left to his own devices.

Frank's attention was later on attracted to the vultures when he heard a confused sound as of many great wings in motion. Looking out toward the spot they had been feeding he saw they had jumped off the ground and were circling in the air, but keeping within landing distance of their supper table. And there was Lanky, as big as life, stalking toward the spot!

Frank whistled softly in surprise, and then chuckled.

"What under the sun is that chum of mine figuring on doing?" he asked himself. "He's got something on his arm that looks mighty like the fresh skin Zander peeled from the antelope he shot to-day. Yes, and that's a rope he's trailing, too. Something's up, it strikes me."

He kept an eye on Lanky, to see the other stretch himself on the earth and draw the deerskin over him, hair-side down.

"Well, that sticks in my craw," Paul remarked disgustedly as he joined Frank and stared toward the scene of operations. "That chump must have a tougher stomach than I happen to own, to deliberately camp down out there so close to where those monster birds were feeding. Ugh! what wouldn't Lanky risk just to carry out what he'd call a joke?"

"We can soon get a wrinkle on his game by keeping an eye on the spot," vouchsafed Frank. "You see the vultures are already getting over their alarm and are swinging closer to the place with every circle they make."

"You hit the nail on the head that time for keeps, Frank. He keeps lying there as if asleep. What's he got covering him, do you happen to know?"

"Looked to me like the fresh skin of that little deer Zander brought down at such a long distance to-day." Frank informed Paul. "Besides, I saw Lanky talking to Zander, who seemed tickled at something our chum was explaining."

"Oh, well, there's got to be something doing all the time with Lanky, and when it doesn't come along promptly, trust him to rig up a trick to fetch out a little excitement."

"All I hope," added Frank uneasily, "is that he doesn't find he's bitten off more than he can chew this time."

"You don't like the looks of those vultures, then, I take it?" queried Paul.

"No. They're powerful and ugly-tempered birds, Paul. There, the boldest in the bunch has dropped down, and is heading up to his feed trough again, with those queer jumps and his wings flopping, as if in challenge to the gang to beat him to it."

"Yes, and the rest have forgotten their alarm, for they're dropping down in hot haste. I reckon they're afraid that chap will gobble the whole meal before they can carry off a snack. Now one curious bird is making for that fresh deer-hide, thinking it's manna that dropped down from the clouds. What fool game has Lanky got up his sleeve?"

"No telling," was the brief reply.

A couple of minutes passed. Then suddenly the entire assemblage of giant birds once more jumped off the ground, just as the boys had often seen buzzards do, to start their circling again on wide-spread pinions.

"Look! Oh, look, Frank," cried the excited Paul. "Lanky's slipped a noose around the leg of that biggest one, for it's only gone up a short way and is beating its wings like a crazy thing! There's Lanky now, trailing along the ground. But, Frank, why's he going feet first?"

"He's made a fool play, and got the rope twisted around one of his legs!" exclaimed the astounded as well as alarmed Frank. "He's being dragged along by the vulture! Paul, he may be killed!"