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CHAPTER XIV
THE BROKEN TRAIN

“What is it?” asked Nat. “Any bad news? Can’t you go camping?”

“It’s a message from Mr. Gabel, Bill Williams’ guardian,” replied Jack. “He says he has a clue that Bill has gone out to a settlement on the Big Horn River, in Montana, and he wants me to tell him to go back to Hickville at once if I see him.”

“But you’re not likely to, are you? Is the Big Horn River near where we are going?” asked Bony.

“Not very, I guess,” answered Jack. “The Big Horn starts in Wyoming, but I rather think the chances are a thousand to one against seeing Bill. Poor chap! He has a hard row to hoe. I wish I could help him, but if he’s run away I don’t see how I can.”

“I wish we’d meet him out West,” said Sam. “Wouldn’t it be a joke if, after all, he could go camping with us and fool his mean old guardian?”

“Oh, what’s the use discussing fairy tales?” asked Jack. “Are you fellows all ready? Don’t leave anything behind, now.”

“I guess we’re all here – what there is of us,” remarked Bony, cracking his finger joints.

Just then the whistle of an approaching train was heard.

“Gotchertickets?” asked Budge Rankin, taking in a fresh wad of gum.

“Hu! Do you think I left them until now?” inquired Jack. “I’ve got all the tickets. That’s our train, fellows. Now we’ll say good-by to Denton for a while, and live in the wild and woolly West. Here, Budge, you take that satchel, and I’ll tote the dress-suit case. Try and get seats together, boys.”

A little later they were on the train and being whirled rapidly away from Denton. They had a long journey before them, and as the first part of it contained no features of interest the lads spent all their time discussing what was before them.

“I want to get a big buck mule deer,” remarked Jack as they were talking about what kind of game they would be likely to find.

“Me for a big-horn sheep,” said Nat. “I want to get the head mounted and put it in my room. Then I’ll put my rifle across the horns, and show it to every one who comes in.”

“I s’pose you’ll tell ’em you shot it, won’t you?” asked Bony.

“Of course. I will shoot it.”

“You won’t if you haven’t improved your aim any since we were camping this summer.”

“I can shoot better than you can,” retorted Nat.

“Like pie!” exclaimed Bony, discharging a whole volley of knuckle-bone shots.

“Why, you missed that big muskrat you aimed at, the day before Jack and I were kidnapped!” taunted Nat.

“Yes, but you joggled my arm.”

“I did not.”

“You did so.”

“Hold on,” interposed Jack in a quiet voice. “All the passengers are laughing at you two.”

“I don’t care,” replied Nat. “I guess I can shoot as good as he can.”

“Oh, I fancy there’ll be game enough out there, so if you miss one thing you can hit another,” consoled Sam. “What I want to see are the bad lands. Just think of thousands of small sandstone peaks, so much alike that they look like a stone forest, with sulphur springs here and there, and all sorts of queer-shaped rocks. It must be a great sight!”

“Yes, and it’s easy to get lost among those same peaks,” added Jack. “I read of a hunter who went out there, and he was so near camp that his friends could hear him shouting, but they couldn’t locate him until he began to fire his gun, and then they had hard work because of the echoes. We’ll have to keep together if we get in such a place as that.”

“But there are some woods, aren’t there?” asked Bony.

“Sure, woods, mountains, valleys, and all sorts of wild places,” said Jack. “I fancy there’ll be plenty of snow on the upper peaks, too, but it’s likely to be nice and warm down below.”

“What do you want to shoot, Budge?” asked Nat, for the gum-chewing youth had not said much.

“Hu! Guessarabbit’lldome.”

“A rabbit,” remarked Jack. “Maybe we’ll be glad of a good rabbit stew, or one roasted, in case these mighty hunters don’t bring down a buck or a bear.”

Thus they talked for many miles, until they had to change cars, where they took another road leading more directly West. They arrived at Chicago the morning after the day on which they had started, and spent some time in the Windy City. Then they started off again.

“Two days more and we’ll be in Wyoming,” remarked Jack the next afternoon, as they were speeding through Iowa. “Then for a good time. Eh, fellows?”

“That’s what!” answered Sam. “My, but I’m getting stiff. I’d like to get out and have a ball game.”

“So would I,” said Nat.

Their train stopped at a small station, and was held there for some time.

“Wonder what we’re waiting for?” ventured Jack. “What’s the matter?” he asked of a brakeman who passed through their car at that moment.

“Some block on the line ahead,” was the reply. “We’ll go in a few minutes.”

There was some fretting among the passengers at the delay, but finally the train started off again. It proceeded slowly. Then followed some sharp whistles, and finally there sounded a report like a gun.

“It’s a hold-up!” cried an excited man.

The boys and all about them leaped to their feet in alarm.

“That’s what it is,” went on the man. “It’s a Wild West hold-up! Better hide your watches and money.”

He began emptying his pockets of his valuables, and was thrusting them under his seat.

The train had come to a sudden stop.

“Do you s’pose it’s train robbers?” asked Bony in some alarm.

“I don’t know,” answered Jack. “I guess – ”

“Where’sthegunsan’we’llshoot’em!” exclaimed Budge, jumping up.

Just then a brakeman ran through the car, carrying a red flag.

“What’s the matter? Is it a hold-up? Are they after our money?”

These questions were rapidly fired at him.

“A freight train has broken in two just ahead of us,” explained the railroad man. “The engine’s disabled,” he went on. “We’ve got to back up to a switch so as to pass it. I’ve got to go back with a danger flag.”

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed a woman. “But who got shot? I’m sure I heard a gun go off.”

“That was a torpedo on the track, ma’am,” explained the brakeman. “The freight crew put it there on a sharp curve, so we wouldn’t run into the tail-end of their train. It’s all right. There’s no danger.”

The brakeman hurried down the steps of the last car, in which the boys were riding, and began to run along the track. When he was about a hundred yards away the train began to back slowly up.

“I wonder how far back we have to go to reach the switch?” asked Jack.

“About two miles,” answered a man across the aisle from the lads. “It’s near Mine Brook Station, and it’ll take us quite a while to get there.”

“Why?” asked Bony. “Can’t the train go fast backward?”

“Yes, but the engineer dare not run past the man with the flag. He has to keep a certain distance in the rear of the last car, to warn any other trains that may be approaching behind us. So we really can’t back up any faster than the brakeman can run. I don’t like this delay, either, as I have an important engagement. But something always seems to be happening on this road. I wish I’d come another route.”

There were other grumbling remarks by the various passengers, but the boys were too interested in watching the brakeman to notice them. The train must have gotten too close to him, for it came to a stop, in obedience to a signal on the air whistle, and waited until the man with the red flag was out of sight around a curve. Then it began to back again.

This was kept up for some time, and finally the boys saw the brakeman come to a halt and wave his flag in a peculiar manner.

“He’s at the switch now,” remarked the man who had first spoken to the lads. “We’ll soon be on our way again.”

The train proceeded more slowly, and then the boys saw where a switch crossed from one track to another. The rear car was halted some distance from the cross-over, and a man came running up from the head end, carrying a key in his hand, with which to unlock the switch. He quickly turned it, and then began to wave his arm, as a signal for the engineer to back up. He continued to wave for several seconds, and then he exclaimed:

“He can’t see me. Hey!” he called to a group of men on the back platform of the last car, “give him the whistle signal, will you?”

“What?” asked a man.

“Give him the whistle. Blow it three times, so he’ll back up. Hurry! I can’t leave this switch.”

The men did not seem to know what to do. Some of them began looking inside the car for the old-fashioned bell cord, that used to run through the train to the engineer’s cab. This is now displaced by a small red cord at one side of the car, and it operated a whistle connected with the air-brake system.

“Pull the cord. Give him three whistles, can’t you?” cried the man at the switch. “We can’t lay here all day.”

“I don’t see any whistle,” murmured the man who had told the boys about the switch. “Let him come and pull it himself. This is a queer road, where they expect the passengers to help run it.”

“Can’t some of you pull that whistle cord?” demanded the man. “Hurry up.”

Jack heard and understood. He had often seen the brakemen or conductor at the Denton station start the trains by pulling on something under the hood of the car, as they stood on the platform.

“I guess I can do it,” he said as he worked his way through the crowd of passengers about the door.

He reached up, and his fingers encountered a thin cord. He pulled it slowly, as he had seen the railroad men do, for as the air pressure had to travel the entire length of the train it required some time, and a quick jerk would not have been effective.

Once, twice, three times Jack pulled the whistle cord, and he heard the hissing of escaping air that told of the signal sounding in the locomotive cab. An instant later came three blasts from the engine, and the train began to back up.

“Much obliged to you,” called the man at the switch to Jack, as the rear car passed him. “I’m glad somebody knew how to work it.”

“Is that where the whistle cord is?” asked a man. “I was looking for a bell cord.”

The train backed across the switch, and was soon on another track, and one not blocked by a disabled freight.

“Say,” remarked Nat to Jack, “you’re getting to be a regular railroad man.”

“Well, I’m in a hurry to get out to camp and take the trail,” replied Jack. “That’s why I’m helping ’em run this road.”

CHAPTER XV
JACK MEETS A GIRL

The train soon began to move forward again, but it had to proceed slowly, as it was on the wrong track, and a flagman had to precede it to prevent a collision. It was tiresome traveling, and nearly every one grumbled – that is, all save the boys. To them the affair was novel enough to be interesting.

Finally they reached and passed the disabled freight train. As they puffed past it a girl, who had come in from some car ahead with an elderly gentleman, took a seat with him just across from where Jack sat.

“There, daddy,” said the girl in a sweet, resonant voice that made Jack look up quickly, “there’s the train that made all the trouble. Now we’ll go more quickly.”

“Are you sure, Mabel?” he asked.

“Why, yes, daddy. Didn’t the conductor say that as soon as we passed the broken freight train we would get on our regular track? You heard him.”

“Yes, I know, but you can’t always believe what these railroad men tell you. They’d say anything to keep a passenger quiet. I’m nervous riding in these cars. There may be a collision when we’re on the wrong track. Don’t you think so?” he asked, turning to Jack.

“Why, no. I don’t believe we’re in any danger,” replied our hero, and his heart beat faster at the grateful look which the pretty girl flashed at him from her brown eyes. “There is a flagman ahead of us, and we’ll soon be on the right track. There is no danger.”

“I’m sure I hope so,” went on the aged man. “I’m not used to this way of traveling. A wagon, a horse, or hitting the trail for mine. I came out of the front car, because I thought it would be safer here in case of a collision. Don’t you think so?” he asked anxiously.

“Of course,” answered Jack reassuringly, and again the girl looked gratefully at him.

“My name’s Pierce,” went on the timid man. “Dan Pierce. What’s yours?”

“Oh, daddy!” exclaimed the girl. “Perhaps the young gentleman doesn’t want to tell his name.”

“Why shouldn’t he?” asked Mr. Pierce quickly. “Every one ought to be proud of his name. I’m proud of mine. Dan Pierce it is. I’m an old Western hunter, and this is my daughter Mabel. We’ve been East on a visit, and we’re going back. I’m glad of it, too. What’s your name?” he went on.

“Father,” expostulated the girl, “perhaps he doesn’t wish to tell.”

“Oh, I haven’t the least objection,” answered our hero. “I’m Jack Ranger, and these are some friends of mine.”

“I’d like to know ’em,” said Mr. Pierce quickly, and Jack introduced the boys, the old hunter, in turn, presenting his daughter Mabel, who blushed more than ever. But Jack thought her ever so much prettier when the color surged up into her brown, olive-tinted cheeks.

“Going far?” asked Mr. Pierce.

“We’re taking a hunting trip to the Shoshone Mountains,” replied Jack.

“You don’t say so? Why, that’s where I lived and hunted for forty years!” exclaimed Mr. Pierce. “That’s where me and my daughter live. About ten miles from Pryor’s Gap. But my hunting days are over,” he said a bit sadly. “I have to settle down now and live in a house with Mabel here.”

Jack thought that was not at all a bad arrangement, and he stole a glance at the girl. He caught her looking at him, and he felt the blood mounting to his face, while he saw the blush spread again over her cheeks.

“How long are you going to stay?” asked Mr. Pierce.

Then Jack told of the formation of the gun club, and how it happened that they had a chance to come West on a late fall hunting trip.

“It makes me feel young again,” declared Mr. Pierce as his eyes lighted up. “I declare, I’ve a good notion to hit the trail again.”

“Oh, you mustn’t think of that, daddy!” exclaimed Mabel. “Remember, you promised me you would stay home now and rest.”

“Rest? I guess you mean rust,” said Mr. Pierce, his deep-set eyes sparkling with fun. “I sure would like to hit the trail again.”

“We would be very glad to have you come along with us,” said Jack. “We have plenty of shelter tents, and lots of grub.”

“I’d like it – I’d like it,” said Mr. Pierce musingly.

“Daddy!” expostulated his daughter.

She shot a somewhat indignant glance at Jack for proposing such a thing, but she was not angry.

“There, there, Mabel, of course I won’t go,” said her father. “I’ll stay home. My hunting days are over, I reckon, but I sure would like a chance to wrassle with a bear or draw a bead on a mule deer or a fine big-horn sheep. Say, if you boys ever get near Pryor’s Gap I’ll feel mortal offended if you don’t stop off and see us.”

“We’ll stop,” promised Jack heartily, and he looked into Mabel’s eyes, whereat she blushed again, and Jack felt his heart strangely beating.

“Masquerading mud-turtles! but that’s a fine view!” suddenly exclaimed Nat, who was looking from a window. “You can see fifty miles, I’ll wager.”

Mabel laughed heartily.

“What a funny expression!” she said. “Where did you get it?”

“Oh, he makes them up as he goes along,” explained Jack, while Nat was in some confusion.

“It must be some tiresome,” observed Mr. Pierce, while his eyes twinkled humorously. “But we sure do have fine views out here. You needn’t be in a hurry to look at ’em. There’s plenty where you’re going. But I meant to ask you boys how do you calculate to travel after you get to Fort Custer? I believe you said you were going there first.”

“We are,” replied Jack, “and from there we have arranged to go in wagons to Sage Creek and across Forty-mile Desert.”

“That’s a good route,” observed Mr. Pierce. “Who was you depending on to tote your stuff across the desert?”

“Why, a man named Isaac Blender,” answered Jack. “I wrote to him on the advice of my father, who heard of him through some Western friends he has.”

“Oh, you mean Tanker Ike,” said Mr. Pierce.

“Tanker Ike?” repeated Jack.

“Yes. You see, we call him that because he used to drive a water tank across the desert to the mining camps. So you’re going with Tanker Ike, eh? Well, that’s middlin’ curious.”

“Why so?” asked Sam.

“Because me and my daughter are going to take a short trip with him. I’ve got a sister I want to visit before I go back to Pryor’s Gap, and Mabel and I are going in one of Tanker Ike’s wagons.”

“Maybe we can go together,” spoke Jack quickly, and he glanced at Mabel, who suddenly found something of interest in the scenery that was rushing by.

“That’s just what I was thinking,” went on Mr. Pierce. “I’ll give you a proper introduction to Ike. Are you going to have a guide?”

“Yes,” answered Jack. “I wrote to Mr. Blender about it, and he promised to get an Indian guide for us. Do you think he can?”

“Oh, yes. There are plenty of Crow Indians that can be hired. I’ll see that he gets you a good one.”

“Thank you,” said Jack, secretly delighted that he could travel for some time longer in Mabel’s company.

The rest of the railroad journey seemed very short to Jack, and to his chums also, for Mr. Pierce proved an interesting talker, and told them many stories of camp and trail.

Finally they reached Fort Custer, found their camping outfit on hand, with their guns, tents and other necessaries, and there was Tanker Ike on hand to meet them.

“Hello, Ike!” called Mr. Pierce as he descended from the car.

“Well, bust my off wheel! If it ain’t Dan Pierce!” exclaimed the other. “Where did you drift in from?”

They greeted each other heartily, and then Mr. Blender approached Jack and his chums, Mr. Pierce doing the introducing, which was hardly necessary, as the man who was to pilot the boys across the desert was a hearty, genial Westerner, whom to meet once was to feel well acquainted with.

“And I want you to get these boys a good Indian guide,” said Mr. Pierce. “None of those lazy, shiftless beggars.”

“I’ve got Long Gun for them,” said Mr. Blender.

“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Pierce. “Long Gun is as good a Crow Indian as there is. You’ll be safe with him, boys.”

“Sanctimonious scalplocks!” exclaimed Nat. “Are we going to travel with a real live Indian?”

“That’s what, son,” replied Tanker Ike softly. “But don’t let off any more of them curious expressions than you can help. They might scare Long Gun, and he’s sort of timid – for an Indian,” and Mr. Pierce joined the wagon driver in a laugh.

“Well, if we’re going to start we’d better be going,” remarked Mr. Blender at length. “Let’s see. I guess I can get you all in one wagon, and pack the grub and camp truck in another.”

“Where will the Indian guide meet us?” asked Jack.

“The other side of the desert.”

“Do you think he’ll be there?”

“When Long Gun says a thing, it’s as good as done,” commented Mr. Pierce. “Well, Mabel, climb up, and I’ll get aboard in a few minutes.”

Jack made a start for the wagon.

“Where you going?” asked Nat quickly.

“I’m going to get in, of course.”

“But what about our stuff?”

“Oh, Mr. Blender will look after that, I guess.”

Jack kept on, following close after Mabel, and he took a seat beside her in the big wagon.

“Say, fellows,” remarked Nat in a low voice to the other lads, “what do you think of Jack?”

“He’s got ’em bad,” commented Sam. “But I don’t know as I blame him. She’s awful nice.”

“Cut it out! You’re getting sentimental in your old age, Sam,” objected Bony, as he cracked a couple of knuckles for practice.

CHAPTER XVI
A DANGEROUS DESCENT

Jack looked down at his chums from his seat in the big wagon beside Mabel.

“Aren’t you going to get aboard?” he asked with a smile.

“Are we going to start soon?” asked Nat.

“As soon as our stuff is loaded in the freight wagon,” replied Jack. “Why?”

“I want to get my gun,” replied Nat. “We may see something to shoot at.”

“Not much around here,” commented Mr. Pierce. “Better leave your truck all together until you get to camp. It’ll carry better that way.”

“Juthinkwe’llseeanyrobbers?” asked Budge suddenly.

“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Pierce slowly, while a look of surprise slowly spread over his face. “But what was that remark you just made?”

For Budge had not talked much, thus far on the journey, and when he had spoken he had not used any of his conglomerated remarks.

“He merely inquired if you thought we’d see any robbers,” answered Sam with a smile.

“’SwatIsaid,” added Budge, rapidly chewing gum in his excitement.

“No, I don’t cal’alate we’ll meet up with any bandits,” answered Mabel’s father with a smile. “If we do – well, Tanker Ike and I are pretty well heeled, I guess,” and he lifted from his side coat pocket, where he carried it as if it was a pound of sugar, a revolver of large size.

“Oh, daddy! Don’t bring out that horrid gun!” exclaimed Mabel.

“I thought Western girls were used to guns and such things,” remarked Jack.

“So she is,” said her father. “Mabel is as good a shot with the rifle as I am, but somehow she don’t exactly seem to cotton to these pocket pistols.”

“I think they’re dangerous,” explained the girl with a glance at Jack that set his heart to beating faster again. “I don’t mind a rifle, but for all daddy says so, I’m not as good a shot as he is.”

“I’d like to see you shoot,” said Jack.

“Maybe you will – if you come to see me – I mean us,” she corrected herself quickly, with a blush.

“I’ll come,” said Jack.

Meanwhile, Mr. Blender and some men from the railroad freight office were loading the other wagon. This was one with a canvas top, something like the prairie schooners of the early Western days, and was drawn by a team of four mules. The passenger vehicle was hauled by four horses.

“Well, I guess I’ve got everything in,” commented Tanker Ike. “Now it’s up to you boys to get the game. There’s plenty of it, and I expect when you come back here to take a train East you’ll have a great collection.”

“We’ll try,” answered Jack.

“All aboard!” sung out Mr. Blender, and Sam, Bony and Budge, together with Nat, who had been wandering about, looking at the view, started to climb up into the big wagon. Jack had not relinquished his seat by Mabel’s side, and he was oblivious to the winks and grins of his chums.

“Have you got a good seat, Jack?” asked Sam, giving Nat a nudge in the ribs.

“I’ve got the best seat in the wagon,” replied Jack boldly, and Mabel seemed to find something very interesting on the opposite side of the vehicle from where Jack sat at her elbow.

Mr. Pierce and Mr. Blender took their places on the front seat, the four other boys distributing themselves in the rear, while a teamster in charge of the freight wagon drove the mules that were to haul the camping outfit over the desert and mountains.

It was fine, clear weather, not cold, in spite of the lateness of the season, and the boys, as well as all the others in the party, were in fine spirits.

“Hurrah for Jack Ranger’s gun club!” cried Nat, when they started off, the horses and mules plunging forward in response to pistol-like cracks of the long whips.

“That’s right!” sung out Sam.

“Is it your gun club?” asked Mabel.

“Well, they call it that,” explained Jack, as he told how it came to be formed.

“Cæsar’s side saddles!” suddenly exclaimed Nat, when they had gone a little farther. “Did you see that rabbit? It was as big as a dog!”

“That’s a jack-rabbit,” explained Mr. Pierce.

“Why didn’t I keep out my gun?” asked Sam with regret in his voice. “I’d like a shot at it. That’s the biggest game I’ve seen in some time.”

“Wait until you see a mule deer, or a big-horn sheep,” said Mr. Blender. “Then you can talk.”

They continued on slowly for several miles, the view changing every moment, and bringing forth exclamations of astonishment and delight from the boys. To Jack and Nat, who had been West before, there was not so much novelty in it, but Sam, Budge and Bony said they had never seen such beautiful aspects of mountain and valley.

They stopped at noon to get dinner at a stage station, and though the place was of the “rough and ready” style, the meal was good.

“’Sanycowboys?” asked Budge of Jack, as they came out to resume their journey.

“I suppose you mean where are any cowboys,” said Jack, and Budge nodded, being too busily engaged in preparing a fresh wad of gum at that moment to answer in words.

“There aren’t many around here,” explained Mr. Pierce, who had heard Jack’s interpretation of the question. “Oh, the West isn’t half so wild and woolly as some book writers make it out to be.”

“Are you boys pretty good at going dry?” asked Tanker Ike, turning to Jack, when they had accomplished several miles more of their journey.

“Going dry?” repeated our hero.

“Yes. Can you go without a drink if you have to?”

“Why?”

“Well, you see, we’ll start to cross the desert to-morrow, and though we’ll take plenty of water along, you never can tell what will happen. It usually takes two days to make it, but sometimes an accident happens to a wagon, or a horse or a mule may go lame, and then you’re longer on the trip. When you are, your water doesn’t always last, and many a time I’ve finished the journey with my tongue hanging out of my mouth, and the poor beasts as dry as powder-horns. So I just thought I’d ask you if you were pretty good at going dry.”

“Well, Nat and I were shipwrecked once,” answered Jack, “and if it hadn’t rained we’d have been in a bad way, eh, Nat?”

“That’s what. Sanctified sand-fleas! but that was a tough time,” he added, as he thought of the cruise of the Polly Ann.

“Well, it never rains on this desert,” commented Mr. Pierce.

“Can’t you carry enough water so that if you’re four days instead of two crossing the desert you’ll have plenty?” asked Bony.

“You can only carry just so much,” replied Tanker Ike. “But don’t worry. I was only asking just for fun. I reckon we’ll make out all right.”

“Were you really shipwrecked?” asked Mabel, interestedly turning to Jack.

“Well, yes,” he admitted, for he disliked to talk about himself.

“Oh, do tell me about it, please. I love to hear real stories of adventure.”

“And tell her how you knocked out Jerry Chowden,” put in Sam. “Say, maybe we’ll meet him out here. He went West, you know.”

“I hope not,” responded Jack, and then he told Mabel of his ocean cruise.

“Everybody hold on tight now,” cautioned Mr. Blender about an hour later, as he set the brake of the wagon and called back a warning to the driver of the freight vehicle.

“Why?” asked Jack.

“There’s a bad hill just ahead, and I’ve got more of a load on than I usually carry. But I guess we’ll make it all right,” and he gathered the reins in a firmer grip and braced himself on the seat.

A few minutes later they came to a turn in the road, and started down a dangerous descent of the bluff that bordered the valley of the desert.

The brake began to screech on the wheels, and the horses threw themselves almost on their haunches to hold back the heavy wagon, which, in spite of the fact that two wheels were almost locked, was sliding down the declivity at a dangerous speed.

“I’d oughter chained the wheels,” said Tanker Ike grimly, as he tried to force the brake lever forward another notch.

“Can’t you do it now?” asked Mr. Pierce.

“Nope!” spoke the driver between his clenched teeth. “We’ve got to go on.”

More and more rapidly the vehicle slid down the hill. The horses were slipping, but they managed to keep their feet, and the brake was more shrilly screeching on the wheels.

All at once, as they made a turn and came to yet a steeper part of the trail, there was a sudden chill to the air, and some white flecks, as if some one had scattered tiny feathers, swirled in front of those in the wagon.

“Snow!” exclaimed Tanker Ike. “I thought it was coming.”

A moment later there was a sharp squall, and the air was filled with white crystals, which came down so thick that it was impossible to see twenty feet ahead.

“Steady, boys – steady!” called the driver to the horses, which seemed frightened by the storm and the weight of the wagon pushing them from behind.

The speed was faster now, though Tanker Ike was doing his best to have the animals hold back the wagon. The horses were almost “sitting down,” and were fairly sliding along.

Suddenly there sounded a sharp snap, and the wagon seemed to plunge forward.

“What’s that?” cried Mr. Pierce.

“Brake’s busted!” shouted Mr. Blender. “Now we’re in for it!”

He loosened his hold on the reins slightly, and swung his long whip over the heads of the astonished horses with a crack like that of a rifle.

“Go on!” he yelled. “Go on! Run!”

The steeds began to gallop, just in time to prevent the wagon, so unexpectedly released from the hold of the brake, from striking them, and they dashed down the mountain-side, dragging the vehicle after them.