terry flew to the cart, wrestled with the keg until he might pour from it, and lavishly plashing a tin cup full, even to running over, flew back again.
harry sopped his handkerchief and mopped the up-turned face of the cast-away; trickled a few drops, now and then, in between the cracked, parted lips; wet the thin wrists. skin and lips seemed to absorb water like a dry sponge.
the unconscious refugee was small and exceedingly thin; he could not be over eighteen or nineteen at the most. he wore coarse shoes and trousers, and a flannel shirt open at the chest. harry wet the white chest. terry and shep watched expectantly.
"he must be a stray from some pilgrim outfit," remarked harry. "got lost. expect he tried to strike across country by himself, and had no food or water. queer that the buffalo didn't harm him. they went right over him."
and that was so. all the brush, save in this oasis, was crushed, and the ground was stamped and furrowed by the myriad plunging hoofs. but somehow they had leaped the little hollow, or avoided it.
"did you find him?" asked terry.
"no; shep found him. more water, please." and harry passed up the emptied cup.
when terry returned with it filled again, a change had occurred in their patient. his eyes were fluttering, and he was feebly moving his bony hands. he greedily gulped for the water, and even tried to seize the cup when harry removed it. some of the water flowed over his face, but some of it was swallowed.
terry hated to see any of it wasted on the ground. he was thirsty himself; so were they all—duke bawled hoarsely and jenny essayed to beg, smelling water and asking for it.
the patient appeared to be attempting to speak—signed for more, more.
"a little at a time, a little at a time," repeated harry. "you're all right. you're among friends, but you mustn't drink too much at once. might make you sick. another swallow? there you are."
the second cup was emptied. the patient was beginning to mutter thickly and seemed to be seeing—signed for more, more. a slight color tinged his smooth sunken cheeks.
"he's coming round," declared harry. "next thing is to get him out of this sun and into the cart. we can't stay here. whew, this sun is hot! watch him and shade him as much as you can, will you, while i fix things?"
having fumbled inside the cart, away limped harry, and returned lugging the bale of gunny sacks. he cut the binding with his knife, and opened the bale—spread the sacks in the cart, for a bed, and leaping out with a buffalo robe, brought it to the hollow.
"now let's put him on this and hoist him aboard."
that was done, terry tugging from inside the cart and harry lifting from outside. the sacks and the buffalo robe made a very comfortable, snug bed, and wedged the sides so as to hold the patient securely.
"water," feebly implored a voice.
"one cup full, this time," granted harry. "drink slowly—slowly, now."
the boy clutched the cup with both hands, and harry with difficulty prevented his draining it at a gulp. but having drained it, he sank back with a sigh.
"ho, hum!" and harry paused, to sigh too, and wipe his streaming face with his handkerchief. duke and jenny had their heads turned, expectantly; shep was sitting, his tongue out, his eyes eager, likewise demanding a share from the keg. "i suppose we'll all have a small drink apiece, but we've got another mouth to supply."
"we won't have enough, will we?" anxiously asked terry. "we hardly had enough before."
this did loom as tough luck: to have been limited in water anyway, then to have lost the trail, and to have lost part of the water, and to have used half of the valuable day in getting nowhere in particular, but in being made thirstier than ever, and now to have added still another thirsty mouth to the company. of course——
"never mind," asserted harry. "everything's all right. don't you see—if the stampede hadn't come duke and jenny wouldn't have run, and if they hadn't run, we might not have lost the trail, and if the things hadn't bounced out we wouldn't have back-tracked to gather them, and if we hadn't back-tracked, we would never have found the boy, and if he hadn't been found today, he'd have died, down there in that hollow. now we'll all get through. we won't stop to eat, but duke and jenny will travel a little faster for a drink, and so will the rest of us. half a cup for you, and half a cup for me, and half a pail for them, to wash the dust out of their throats, and a dozen laps for shep. and one more cupful for our new partner, when he needs it."
"well," said terry, dubiously, "i don't know whether there's that much in the keg or not."
there was, and a swash left. the boy in the cart didn't understand. "water! water!" he kept begging, as the pike's peak limited ("limited" indeed) again toiled on through the monotonous flatness, harry guessing at the right direction and terry trudging beside the rear wheels. that incessant cry for "water, water," grew rather annoying. the new boy already had had four cupfuls and probably'd get another! and every cupful counted now. but of course——!
"we must go on as far as we possibly can, before dark," had said harry. "or until we strike water, first."
when would that be? duke and jenny were sluggish on their feet, and frequently stumbled as they groaned along with their stringy tongues dangling. it was slow work, and hot work, and awfully thirsty work—terry wasn't certain that he could hold out much longer without another drink.
"do we drink again pretty soon?" he stammered.
"i don't think we'd better, do you?" answered harry, as if trying to speak cheerfully. "we've got to save some for duke and jenny, and our passenger. we can't get him through without them to haul him."
"tha' so," agreed terry, his mouth gluey. "thasso."
"yesh, thasso," encouraged harry. "you an' i awright. we unnerstan'. they don't."
"water! water!" babbled the passenger. his voice was the clearest of any.
trudge, trudge, creak, creak, over the dry plain, on for that quivering horizon which might contain water but never drew nearer. they did not know where they were going; they probably had passed another of the stage station stakes; bushy black shep was lagging, duke and jenny stumbled, harry limped doggedly, the passenger pleaded ever more faintly and piteously until harry, halting abruptly, without a word grimly gave him half a dozen swallows; and when they resumed, terry had decided that he'd rather have a drink, himself, than all the gold of pike's peak.
however, harry took none; and so he didn't ask for one.
the sun was low, streaming into their faces, and dazzling and blinding. soon it would set; soon they must stop; one spot would be as good as another, if they didn't come to water—and just how he was to get through a dry night, following a dry day, terry could not imagine—did not like to imagine, anyway.
that keg, when harry had tilted it to give those few swallows to the passenger, had sounded alarmingly emptier than before. water evaporated mighty fast on these plains.
turning a moment, to shut the sun from his tortured eyes, now terry saw something, quartering behind, on the right, which was the north. what? antelope? no; too much dust. antelope didn't raise such dust. buffalo, then? more buffalo? or indians! no—and a wild hope surged into his heart and strengthened his voice, as he cried, to harry:
"harry! hurrah! there's somebody else—another outfit!"
harry, who had been plodding on, stopped to gaze; and instantly the exhausted duke and jenny stopped.
"freighters," decided harry. "great scott! hurrah! or maybe some of the stage-line people. we'll have to head 'em off and make 'em see us. come on. hurrah! duke! jenny! gwan! water! water! barrels of it—gallons of it!"
duke and jenny seemed to appreciate—they started gallantly.
"gee—gee with you, duke!" bade harry, hobbling.
"do you think they will have water?" panted terry.
"of course. but we'll have to catch 'em. duke! jenny! hep!"
the dust cloud yonder had resolved itself into quite a large outfit, traveling briskly. there was a herd of animals—mules or horses; and two wagons following, drawn each by four span; and several men afoot, and others horseback.
"they'll have to camp pretty soon. we'll come into 'em, if we keep going," encouraged harry. and he added, suddenly: "look at jenny! she smells water. and so does duke!"
for both duke and jenny were alertly stretching out—sniffing, tugging, trying to increase their pace. they almost trotted. could they really smell water in barrels, away off there—or did they guess? at any rate, the two routes were drawing together.
the sun sank below the horizon, and a pleasant coolness flowed over the landscape. now in the twilight the freighter outfit had halted, and bunched. going to make camp? no—there it started again. pshaw! but no—some of it had remained: not the wagons, but several of the loose stock, and two men, and a heap of stuff.
"hurrah!" gasped harry. "that's enough. enough for us."
duke and jenny were trying to break into a gallop, and their owners had hard work to keep up. the party at the camp had seen them coming, and were pausing in their camp-making to stare. now at a staggering lope and trot the pike's peak limited fairly charged in—would have run right over the camp had not the two men there rushed out and waved their arms and shouted.
the camp was on the edge of a muddy creek course. that was what ailed duke and jenny; only by main force could they be held back.
"what's the matter? plumb crazed?" scolded one of the men.
"their critters are plumb crazed, don't you see?" reproved the other. "unhook 'em and let 'em go, or they'll drag cart and all in."
harry hustled, terry hustled, the men helped—and on sprang duke and jenny, into the mud, into the water, to drink, and gulp, and drink again, and stand there, belly deep, soaking. terry yearned mightily to join them, but harry was more polite.
"whar you from? you look nigh tuckered out, yourselves," accused one of the men.
"so we are," gasped harry. "we're down to our last drop—we've a man aboard the cart who's worse off still—picked him up this morning. but i can't talk till i have a drink."
"never mind the creek; it's too roily. we've a barrel full." and the other man promptly passed over a brimming dipper. harry took it; his hand trembled.
"you first, terry," he said.
terry shook his head.
"we'll take turns," he proposed. "you drink and then i'll drink."
ah, but that water, warmish and brackish, was good! together they emptied the dipper, and at once emptied another—and by this time the two men had lifted the boy from the cart and were attending to him, also. he was too weak to talk, but he seemed to know, and smiled when he likewise had drained a dipper.
"give him a little broth, later," grunted one of the men. "he had a narrow squeak, i reckon. mustn't overfeed him. we'll stew him some buff'ler meat. 'xpec' you fellers are hungry, yourselves, by this time."
"haven't eaten all day," laughed harry, in spirits again. "but where are we? we're looking for the stage line, and the republican."
"you aren't near the republican yet, by a long shot. but this is a stage station, all right. fust stages will be through tomorrow and after that two at a time every day, till the trail's well broken. we're part of the supply outfit. it drops some of us off every so far along the line, ahead of the stages, so we'll have meals and lodgin' and a change of mules ready. you needn't do much unpackin'; we've grub enough, and you can bunk with us and put that sick boy in the tent."
"yes, and the stages'll take him on tomorrow," spoke the other man. "you'll have to lie by, anyhow. you can't start your critters out till after they've rested a bit. that's a great team you've got—a buffalo and a mule! where you from?"
"the big blue," answered terry.
"oh! you're the boys from the big blue, are you? you're the ones who spilled chubbers' whiskey."
so even they knew!
the station agent and his helper were a hospitable pair. harry volunteered to attend to the cooking while they straightened the camp a little, for the night. the supply wagon had dumped off a tent, a stove, a barrel for water, a bale of hay, bedding, sacks and boxes of provisions, several bunches of fire-wood, etc. the tent was erected, the rescued boy placed inside and given a little broth. he immediately went to sleep.
this was station twelve—a dinner station for the stages. the next station, number thirteen, about twenty-five miles farther on, was a night station. the stations would average about twenty-five miles apart, through this region, to the diggin's. farther east, in the settlements, the stations were closer. one hundred stages and a thousand mules would be put on the run, at a cost of $800 a day. the company, jones & russell of leavenworth, already had spent $300,000. the fare from leavenworth to the mountains was $100 gold, and shorter trips were twenty-five cents a mile. time to the mountains, twelve days—maybe less when the trail was well broken, and if the indians didn't bother.
"two stages travelin' together will hold off the injuns," remarked the station agent.
"heigh-ho!" drowsily yawned harry, after dusk, from his blankets. "all's well that ends well—but i was getting a trifle worried."
he and terry had decided to wait for the stages, and to let duke and jenny rest during at least half that next day. the fact is, they were willing to rest, themselves.
toward noon the station men paused in their tasks, to gaze more and more frequently into the east.
"thar they come," quietly informed one; and now all gazed, expectant.
"right on time."
upon the surface of the vast plains to the south of east had appeared a dot. it rapidly enlarged, and resolved into two dots, one behind the other. they were coming—they were coming: the first stagecoaches, sure enough; each drawn by four mules, driver on seat, other people on seat and roof, heads protruding from windows, mules at a gallop.
"yes, sir-ee! on time to the minute."
swaying and lurching and dust-enveloped, with creak of leather and sudden grind of brake-shoes, the leading stage slackened at the station, stopped abruptly, and setting the brake more securely the driver tossed his lines to the ground and in leisurely fashion descended. he was in slouch hat, white shirt-sleeves (or whitish, rather), yellow kid gloves and shiny boots. somewhat of a dandy, he.
another man swung down from the seat, after him; so did the passengers atop the coach, and those within piled out. the second coach arrived in like fashion.
the first coach was painted red, the second green; and both were gilt striped and bore, in gilt letters, the announcement: "leavenworth and pike's peak express company."
the station-agent's assistant bustled to unhitch the mules and put in fresh ones. the station agent served the dinner, of cold boiled buffalo meat, bread and coffee. the passengers ate out of doors, sitting on the boxes and a nail-keg.
one of the passengers who had ridden on top of the coach was a busy, inquiring man with a full brown beard and a blue eye and a long linen duster. after he had eaten he walked over to harry and terry.
"i'm henry villard, from the cincinnati commercial," he said, genially. "the station agent tells me that you boys have had quite an exciting experience on this new trail. buffalo stampede, and a rescue, and all that. i'd like to hear about it and send it to my paper. it ought to make a good story."
the man who had occupied the seat with the driver also came over.
"a buffalo, a mule and a two-wheeled cart, eh?" he commented. "well, i guess you'll make it, if you've got so far. but there are five thousand other pilgrims behind us, some with worse outfits than yours, and all pushing on by this same trail, to find the 'elephant.'"
journalist villard took notes; he even interviewed the boy in the tent. the boy was now able to talk. he said that his name was archie smith. he and two others had started from ohio, to walk to the diggin's. they had tried to cut across north from the smoky hill trail and had got lost—and the last he remembered he was wandering alone, so weak from hunger and thirst that he had fallen down.
the man who had spoken of the five thousand pilgrims behind (his name was beverly d. williams, and he was the stage-line superintendent, on his initial tour of inspection), helped archie into the red coach.
"all aboard!" summoned the drivers, climbing to their seats. the passengers hastily took their places. as the red coach started with a jump, from the window archie waved his hand at harry and terry, and called again:
"thanks. i owe you a lot. i'll see you at the mines. don't forget. i'll see you at the mines."
with a jump the green coach started also. and away rolled, tugged by their galloping mules, the first stages for pike's peak, bearing journalist henry villard of the cincinnati commercial and superintendent williams, and those passengers who, like mr. villard, were bent on discovering just how true the "elephant" stories were.
