Pluck on the Long Trail

I was stiff and cold. Now I could see all about me-see the rocks and t

m the coals that were left, and cooked the rest of the grouse, and had breakfast, chewing well so as to get all the nourishment

le curl, as if it were from a camp or a chimney. I took that as a good omen. Down I sprang, to my own fire; and heaped on damp stuff and dirt, and

eak kind of a Scout, to sit down and call for help. There's a sign for you. Maybe that smoke is the beaver man. Sic him." And trampling out my own

where the dead trunks were criss-crossed like jackstraws; and they were smooth and hard and slippery, and I had to climb over and crawl under and straddle and slide, and turn back several times, and I lost my

so that I wasn't sure, any more, that I was heading straight for the fire. Down into a deep gulch I must plunge, and up I toiled, on the other side. It was about time that I climbed a tree, or did something else, to locate that fire. When ne

partly fell the rest of the way along the trunk, and tore my shirt and scraped a big patch of skin from my chest. This hurt. When I la

t at the bottom I smelled smoke! I stopped short, and sniffed. It was wood smoke-camp smoke. I must be near that camp-fire. And away off I could hear water running. That was toward my left, so p

amp was the camp of the beaver man with the message, I must reconnoiter and scheme; if it was the cam

I heard voices. That was encouraging-unless the beaver man had company. The brush thinned, and the gulch opened, and I was at the mouth of it, with the water sounding louder. On my stomach I looked out and down-and th

est skinned and my shirt and trousers torn, bearing my bow and my broken arrow, like a wild boy I burst out upon them. Then suddenly I saw on the sleeves of their khaki shirts the Scout badge. My throat wa

rol, Colorad

ew Jersey," they repli

ter the run I had made on an empty stoma

for wounds or help me in some way, but I s

ad, to do Salt Lake and then the Yellowstone. They had had a late breakfast and a good clean-up, because this was Sunday; and now they were starting on, for a walk while it was coo

ifle, and the other had a camera. The name of the boy with the rifle was Edward Van Sant; the na

apped his pack, and Ward had taken a little pan and had brought water from the creek. Then a little alcohol stove appeared, and while

dope, and washed my skinned chest with a carbolic smelling wash and shook some surgical powder over it, and put a band

me they kn

d man, with a small face a

ad a mustache and fres

bay

th a blazed f

He was dark-complexioned, he wore a black hat, and he rode a bay wi

the brand. "He's the man, sure. He's shaved off his mustache and whiskers, but he's ridin

ere's a trail on the other side," he sai

ed for everything, but I've got to catch him. If you meet any of my crowd please tell 'em you saw me an

oo us this way, unless you'd rather travel a

aid Scout

l lies down cr

you're in trouble you

that fi

ctions with the rest of

ow, for business,-and pleasure can wait. Yo

their packs on their backs, we crossed the creek on some stones, and taking the trail on the other side

the lead, Scout Ward came next, and I closed the rear. Pretty soon Scout Van Sant dropped back, behind me, and let Ward have the lead.

rate; sometimes in the timber and sometimes in littl

en minutes and had a dish of soup. The creek branched, and one part entered a narrow, high vall

e the gulch branch. An old bridge had been washed out, but the water was shallow, and Scout Van Sant was over in about three jumps. After a

e that first time, but you know how a smell sometimes sticks in the nose. Still, we a

advanced with Scout caution, looking ahead each time as far as we could, on rounding an angle suddenly we came out into a sunny litt

a dump. By the looks, nobody had been working these holes for a year or two; but from the chimn