Kitabı oku: «Ruth Fielding at Silver Ranch; Schoolgirls Among Cowboys», sayfa 8
CHAPTER XX – THE WOLF AT THE DOOR
Ruth had the old coat folded and under the sick man’s head again when Jib returned with a rusty old bucket filled with water. He set it down just outside the open door of the cabin – and he did not come in.
“What d’ye s’pose he’s got in the pocket of that coat that he’s so choice of, Miss?” he asked, curiously.
“Why! I don’t know,” returned Ruth, wetting her cleanest handkerchief and folding it to press upon the patient’s brow.
“He hollered like a loon and grabbed at it when I tried to straighten it out,” the Indian said, thoughtfully. “And so he did when you touched it.”
“Yes.”
“He’s got something hid there. It bothers him even if he is delirious.”
“Perhaps,” admitted Ruth.
But she was not interested in this suspicion. The condition of the poor fellow was uppermost in her mind.
“You let me have your pistol, Jib,” she said. “I can use it. It will keep that old coyote away.”
“And anything else, too,” said Jib, handing the gun to her and then stepping back to his pony. “I’ll hobble your critter, Miss. Don’t go far from the door. I’ll either come back myself or send a couple of the boys from camp. They will bring food, anyway. I reckon the poor chap’s hungry as well as thirsty.”
“He is in a very bad way, indeed,” returned Ruth, gravely. “You’ll hurry, Jib?”
“Sure. But you’d better come back with me.”
“No. I’m in for it now,” she replied, trying to smile at him bravely. “I’d better nurse him till he’s better, or – ”
“You ain’t got no call to do it!” exclaimed the Indian.
“There is more reason for my helping him than you know,” she said, in a low voice. “Oh! there is a very good reason for my helping him.”
“He’s too far gone to be helped much, I reckon,” returned the other, mounting into his saddle. “But I’ll be going. Take care of yourself.”
“I’ll be all right, Jib!” she responded, with more cheerfulness, and waved her hand to him as the cow puncher rode away.
But when the patter of the pony’s hoofs had died away the silence brooding over the abandoned mining camp seemed very oppressive indeed. It was not a pleasant prospect that lay before her. Not only was she alone here with the sick man, but she was afraid of catching the fever.
The patient on the couch was indeed helpless. He muttered and rolled his head from side to side, and his wild eyes stared at her as though he were fearful of what she might do to him. Ruth bathed his face and hands again and again; and the cool water seemed to quiet him. Occasionally she raised his head that he might drink. There was nothing else she could do for his comfort or betterment until medicines arrived.
She searched the cabin for anything which might belong to him. She did not find his rifle – the weapon with which he had killed the bear in the cañon when Ruth had been in such peril. She did find, however, a worn water-proof knapsack; in it was a handkerchief, or two, a pair of torn socks and an old shirt, beside shaving materials, a comb and brush, and a toothbrush. Not a letter or a scrap of paper to reveal his identity. Yet she was confident that this was the man whom she had hoped to meet when she came West on this summer jaunt.
This was the fellow who had encouraged Uncle Jabez to invest his savings in the Tintacker Mine. It was he, too, who had been to Bullhide and recorded the new papers relating to the claim. And if he had made way with all Uncle Jabez’s money, and the mining property was worthless, Ruth knew that she would never see Briarwood Hall again!
For Uncle Jabez had let her understand plainly that his resources were so crippled that she could not hope to return to school with her friends when the next term opened. Neither she, nor Aunt Alvirah, nor anybody else, could make the old miller change his mind. He had given her one year at the boarding school according to agreement. Uncle Jabez always did just as he said he would; but he was never generous, and seldom even kind.
However, it was not this phase of the affair that so troubled the girl from the Red Mill. It was the identity of this fever-stricken man that so greatly disturbed her. She believed that there was somebody at Silver Ranch who must have a much deeper interest in him than even she felt. And she was deeply troubled by this suspicion. Was she doing right in not sending word to the ranch at once as to her belief in the identity of the man?
The morning was now gone and Ruth would have been glad of some dinner; but in leaving the other herders she and Jib had not expected to remain so many hours from the Rolling River crossing. At least, they expected if they found the man at Tintacker at all, that he would have played the host and supplied them with lunch. Had Jib been here she knew he could easily have shot a bird, or a hare; there was plenty of small game about. But had she not felt it necessary to remain in close attendance upon the sick man she would have hesitated about going to the outskirts of the camp. Even the possession of Jib’s loaded pistol did not make the girl feel any too brave.
Already that morning she had been a witness to the fact that savage beasts lurked in the locality. There might be another puma about. She was not positively in fear of the coyotes; she knew them to be a cowardly clan. But what would keep a bear from wandering down from the heights into the abandoned camp? And Ruth had seen quite all the bears at close quarters that she wished to see. Beside, this six-shooter of Jib’s would be a poor weapon with which to attack a full-grown bear.
It must be late in the afternoon before any of the boys could ride over from the Rolling River outfit. She set her mind firmly on that, and would not hope for company till then. It was a lonely and trying watch. The sick man moaned and jabbered, and whenever she touched the old coat he used for a pillow, he became quite frantic. Perhaps, as Jib intimated, there was something valuable hidden in the garment.
“Deeds – or money – perhaps both,” thought the girl nurse. “And maybe they relate to the Tintacker Mine. Perhaps if it is money it is some of Uncle’s money. Should I try to take it away from him secretly and keep it until he can explain?”
Yet she could not help from thinking that perhaps Jib was right in his diagnosis of the case. The man might be too far gone to save. Neither physician nor medicines might be able to retard the fever. It seemed to have already worn the unfortunate to his very skeleton. If he died, would the mystery of the Tintacker Mine, and of Uncle Jabez’s money, ever be explained?
Meanwhile she bathed and bathed again the fevered face and hands of the unfortunate. This was all that relieved him. He was quiet for some minutes after each of these attentions. The water in the bucket became warm, like that in the canteen. Ruth thought she could risk going to the rivulet for another supply. So she stuck the barrel of the gun into her belt and taking the empty pail set out to find the stream.
She closed the door of the sick man’s cabin very carefully. It was not far to the water and she had filled the pail and was returning when she heard a scratching noise nearby, and then a low growl. Casting swift glances of apprehension all about her, she started to run to the cabin; but when she got to the trail, it was at the cabin door the peril lay!
It was no harmless, cowardly coyote this time. Perhaps it had not been a coyote who had dug there when she and Jib rode up to the camp. She obtained this time a clear view of the beast.
It was long, lean and gray. A shaggy beast, with pointed ears and a long muzzle. When he turned and glared at her, growling savagely, Ruth was held spellbound in her tracks!
“A wolf!” she muttered. “A wolf at the door!”
The fangs of the beast were exposed. The jaws dripped saliva, and the eyes seemed blood-red. A more awful sight the girl had never seen. This fierce, hungry creature was even more terrifying in appearance than the bear that had chased her in the cañon. He seemed, indeed, more savage and threatening than the puma that Jib had roped that forenoon as they rode over to Tintacker.
He turned squarely and faced her. He was not afraid, but seemed to welcome her as an antagonist worthy of his prowess. He did not advance, but he stood between Ruth and the door of the sick man’s cabin. She might retreat, but in so doing she would abandon the unfortunate to his fate. And what that fate would be she could not doubt when once she had glimpsed the savage aspect of the wolf.
CHAPTER XXI – A PLUCKY FIGHT
Ruth had already set down the bucket of water and drawn the heavy pistol from her belt. The girls had been trying their skill with six-shooters at the ranch at odd times, and she knew that she stood a good chance of hitting the big gray wolf at ten or twelve yards. The beast made no approach; but his intention of returning to the door of the cabin where the sick man lay, if she did not disturb him, was so plain that Ruth dared not desert the helpless patient!
The wolf crouched, growling and showing his fangs. If the girl approached too near he would spring upon her. Or, if she fired and wounded him but slightly she feared he would give chase and pull her down in a few seconds. She very well know that she could not hope to distance the beast if once he started to pursue her.
This was indeed a dreadful situation for a tenderly nurtured girl. The wolf looked to be fully as large as Tom Cameron’s mastiff, Reno. And Ruth wished with all her heart (as this comparison flashed through her mind) that the mastiff was here to give battle to the savage beast.
But it were vain to think of such impossibilities. If anything was to be done to drive off the wolf at the cabin door, she must do it herself. Yet she dared not make the attack here in the open, and afoot. If she approached near enough to him to make her first shot sure and deadly, the beast gave every indication of opening the attack himself.
And, indeed, he might spring toward her at any moment. He was growing impatient. He had scented the helpless man inside the shack and – undisturbed – would soon burrow under the door and get at him. Although not so cowardly as a coyote, the wolf seldom attacks human beings unless they are helpless or the beast is driven to desperation by hunger. And gaunt as this fellow was, there was plenty of small game for him in the chapparel.
Thus, Ruth was in a quandary. But she saw plainly that she must withdraw or the wolf would attack. She left the bucket of water where it stood and withdrew back of the nearest hut. Once out of the wolf’s sight, but still holding the revolver ready, she looked hastily about. Her pony, hobbled by Jib, had not wandered far. Nor had Freckles seen or even scented the savage marauder.
Ruth spied him and crept away from the vicinity of the wolf, keeping in hiding all the time. She soon heard the beast clawing at the bottom of the door and growling. He might burst the door, or dig under it, any moment now!
The last few yards to the pony Ruth made at a run. Freckles snorted his surprise; but he knew her and was easily caught. The frightened girl returned the revolver to her belt and removed the hobbles. Then she vaulted into the saddle and jerked the pony’s head around, riding at a canter back toward the cabin.
The wolf heard her coming and drew his head and shoulders back out of the hole he had dug. In a few minutes more he would be under the door and into the cabin, which had, of course, no floor but the hard-packed clay. He started up and glared at the pony and its rider, and the pony began to side-step and snort in a manner which showed plainly that he did not fancy the vicinity of the beast.
“Whoa, Freckles! Steady, boy!” commanded Ruth.
The cow pony, trained to perfection, halted, with his fore feet braced, glaring at the wolf. Ruth dropped the reins upon his neck, and although he winced and trembled all over, he did not move from the spot as the girl raised the heavy pistol, resting its barrel across her left forearm, and took the best aim she could at the froth-streaked chest of the wolf.
Even when the revolver popped, Freckles did not move. The wolf sprang to one side, snarling with rage and pain. Ruth saw a streak of crimson along his high shoulder. The bullet had just nicked him. The beast snapped at the wound and whirled around and around in the dust, snarling and clashing his teeth.
But when the girl tried to urge Freckles in closer, the wolf suddenly took the aggressive. He sprang out into the trail and in two leaps was beside the whirling pony. Freckles knew better than to let the beast get near enough to spring for his throat. But the pony’s gyrations almost unseated his rider.
Ruth fired a second shot; but the bullet went wild. She could not take proper aim with the pony dancing so; and she had to seize the lines again. She thrust the pistol into the saddle holster and grabbed the pommel of the saddle itself to aid her balance. Freckles pitched dreadfully, and struck out, seemingly with all four feet at once, to keep off the wolf. Perhaps it was as well that he did so, for the beast was maddened by the smart of the wound, and sought to tear the girl from her saddle.
As Ruth allowed the pony to run off from the shack for several rods, the wolf went growling back to the door. He was a persistent fellow and it did seem as though he was determined to get at the sick man in spite of all Ruth could do.
But the girl, frightened as she was, had no intention of remaining by to see such a monstrous thing happen. She controlled Freckles again, and rode him hard, using the spurs, straight at the door of the shack. The wolf whirled and met them with open jaws, the saliva running from the sides of his mouth. His foreleg was now dyed crimson.
Freckles, squealing with anger, jumped to reach the wolf. He had been taught to ride down coyotes, and he tried the same tactics on this fellow. The wolf rolled over, snapping and snarling, and easily escaped the pony’s hard hoofs. But Ruth urged the pony on and the wolf was forced to run.
She tried her best to run him down. They tore through the main street of what had been Tintacker Camp, and out upon the open ridge. The wolf, his tail tucked between his legs, scurried over the ground, keeping just ahead, but circling around so as to get back to the abandoned town. He would not be driven from the vicinity.
“I must try again to shoot him,” exclaimed the girl, much worried. “If I ride back he will follow me. If I hobble Freckles again, he may attack the pony and Freckles could not defend himself so well if he were hobbled. And if I turn the pony loose the wolf may run him off entirely!”
She drew Jib’s pistol once more and tried to get a good shot at the wolf. But while she did this she could not keep so sharp an eye on the course the pony took and suddenly Freckles sunk one forefoot in a hole.
He plunged forward, and Ruth came very near taking a dive over his head. She saved herself by seizing the pommel with both hands; but in so doing she lost the gun. Freckles leaped up, frightened and snorting, and the next moment the wolf had made a sharp turn and was almost under the pony’s feet!
The wolf let out an unmistakable yelp of pain and limped off, howling. Freckles kept on in pursuit and the revolver was soon far behind. The beast she pursued was now in a bad way; but the girl dared not ride back to search for her lost weapon. She did not propose that the wolf – after such a fight – should escape. Ruth was bent upon his destruction.
The wolf, however, dodged and doubled, so that the pony could not trample it, even had he wished to come to such close quarters. The clashing teeth of the savage animal warned Freckles to keep his distance, however; and it was plain to Ruth that she must dismount to finish the beast. If only she had some weapon —
What was that heap on the prairie ahead? Bones! hundreds of them! Some accident had befallen a bunch of cattle here in the past and their picked skeletons had been flung into a heap. The wolf ran for refuge behind this pile and Ruth immediately urged Freckles toward the spot.
She leaped from the saddle, tossing the bridle reins over his head upon the ground and ran to seize one of the bigger bones. It was the leg bone of a big steer and it made a promising club.
But even as she seized upon this primitive weapon the wolf made a final stand. He appeared around the far side of the pile. He saw that the girl was afoot, and with a snarl he sprang upon her.
Ruth uttered an involuntary shriek, and ran back. But she could not reach Freckles. The wolf’s hot breath steamed against her neck as she ran. He had missed her by a hair!
The girl whirled and faced him, the club poised in both her hands, determined to give battle. Her situation was perilous in the extreme. Afoot as she was, the beast had the advantage, and he knew this as well as she did. He did not hurry, but approached his victim with caution – fangs bared, jaws extended, his wounds for the moment forgotten.
CHAPTER XXII – SERVICE COURAGEOUS
There was no escape from the wolf’s attack, even had Ruth desired to evade the encounter. The beast’s flaming eyes showed his savage intention only too plainly. To turn and run at this juncture would have meant death for the brave girl. She stood at bay, the heavy bone poised to strike, and let the creature approach.
He leaped, and with all her strength – and that was not slight – she struck him. The wolf was knocked sideways to the ground. She followed up the attack with a second and a third blow before he could recover his footing.
The wound in his shoulder had bled a good deal, and Freckles’ hard hoofs had crippled one leg. He could not jump about with agility, and although he was no coward, he was slow in returning to the charge.
When he did, Ruth struck again, and with good effect. Again and again she beat him off. He once caught her skirt and tore it from the waist-binding; but she eluded his powerful claws and struck him down again. Then, falling upon him unmercifully, she beat his head into the hard ground until he was all torn and bleeding and could not see to scramble at her.
It was an awful experience for the girl; but she conquered her antagonist before her strength was spent. When he lay, twitching his limbs in the final throes, she staggered back to where her pony stood and there, leaning upon his neck, sobbed and shook for several minutes, while Freckles put his soft nose into her palm and nuzzled her comfortably.
“Oh, oh, Freckles! what a terrible thing!” she sobbed. “He’s dead! he’s dead!”
She could say nothing more, nor could she recover her self-possession for some time. Then she climbed into the saddle and turned the pony’s head toward the deserted huts without once looking back at the blood-bedabbled body and the gory club.
At the camp, however, she was once more her own mistress. The fact that she must attend the sick man bolstered up her courage. She hobbled Freckles again and recovered the bucket of water. John Cox (if that was his name) raged in his fever and clutched at his precious coat, and was not quiet again until she had cooled his head and hands with the fresh water.
After that he fell into a light sleep and Ruth went about the cabin, trying to set the poor furniture to rights and removing the debris that had collected in the corners. Every few moments she was at the door, looking out for either enemy or friend. But no other creature confronted her until the sound of pony hoofs delighted her ear and Tom Cameron and Jane Ann, with two of the cowboys from the Rolling River outfit, dashed up to the shack.
“Ruth! Ruth!” cried the ranchman’s niece, leaping off of her pony. “Come out of that place at once! Do as I tell you – ”
“Don’t come here, dear – don’t touch me,” returned her friend, firmly. “I know what I am about. I mean to stay and nurse this man. I do not believe there is so much danger as Jib says – ”
“Uncle Bill will have his hide!” cried Jane Ann, indignantly. “You wait and see.”
“It is not his fault. I came in here when he could not stop me. And I mean to remain. But there is no use in anybody else being exposed to contagion – if there is any contagion in the disease.”
“Why, it’s as bad as small-pox, Ruth!” cried Jane Ann.
“I am here,” returned Ruth, quietly. “Have you brought us food? And is that spirits in the bottle Mr. Darcy has?”
“Yes, Miss,” said the cowboy.
“Set it down on that stone – and the other things. I’ll come and get it. A few drops of the liquor in the water may help the man a little.”
“But, dear Ruth,” interposed Tom, gravely, “he is nothing to you. Don’t run such risks. If the man must be nursed I’ll try my hand – ”
“Indeed you shall not!”
“It’s a job for a man, Miss,” said Darcy, grimly. “You mount your pony and go home with the others. I’ll stay.”
“If any harm is done, it’s done already,” declared the girl, earnestly. “One of you can stay outside and help me – guard me, if you please. There’s been an awful old wolf about – ”
“A wolf!” gasped Tom.
“But I killed him.” She told them how and where. “And I lost Jib’s gun. He’ll be furious.”
“He’ll lose more than his little old Colts,” growled the second cowboy.
“It was not Jib’s fault,” declared the girl. “I could not so easily find my way back to the river as he. I had to stay while he went for help. Has word been sent on to the ranch?”
“Everything will be done that can be done for the fellow, of course,” Jane Ann declared. “Uncle Bill will likely come over himself. Then there will be ructions, young lady.”
“And what will Helen and the other girls say?” cried Tom.
“I wish I had thought,” murmured Ruth. “I would have warned Jib not to let Mary know.”
“What’s that?” asked Tom, in surprise, for he had but imperfectly caught Ruth’s words.
“Never mind,” returned the girl from the Red Mill, quickly.
The others were discussing what should be done. Ruth still stood in the doorway and now a murmur from the bed called her turn back into the shack to make the unfortunate on the couch more comfortable – for in his tossings he became more feverish and hot. When she returned to the outer air the others had decided.
“Darcy and I will remain, Ruth,” Tom said, with decision. “We’ll bring the water, and cook something for you to eat out here, and stand guard, turn and turn about. But you are a very obstinate girl.”
“As long as one is in for it, why increase the number endangered by the fever?” she asked, coolly. “You are real kind to stay, Tom – you and Darcy.”
“You couldn’t get me away with a Gatling gun,” said Tom, grimly. “You know that, Ruth.”
“I know I have a staunch friend in you, Tommy,” she said, in a low voice.
“One you can trust?”
“To be sure,” she replied, smiling seriously at him.
“Then what is all this about Mary Cox? What has she got to do with the fellow you’ve got hived up in that shack?” shot in Master Tom, shrewdly.
“Oh, now, Tommy!” gasped Ruth.
“You can’t fool me, Ruth – ”
“Sh! don’t let the others hear you,” she whispered. “And don’t come any nearer, Tom!” she added, warningly, and in a louder tone.
“But The Fox has something to do with this man?” demanded Tom.
“I believe so. I fear so. Oh, don’t ask me any more!” breathed the girl, anxiously, as Jane Ann and the cowboy rode up to say good-bye.
“I hope nothing bad will come of this, Ruth,” said the ranch girl. “But Uncle Bill will be dreadfully mad.”
“Not with me, I hope,” rejoined Ruth, shaking her head.
“And all the girls will be crazy to come out here and help you nurse him.”
“They certainly will be crazy if they want to,” muttered Tom.
“They would better not come near here until the man gets better – if he ever does get better,” added Ruth, in a low tone.
“I expect they’ll all want to come,” repeated Jane Ann.
“Don’t you let them, Jane Ann!” admonished Ruth. “Above all, don’t you let Mary Cox come over here – unless I send for her,” and she went into the shack again and closed the door.
