Ruth Fielding at Silver Ranch; Schoolgirls Among Cowboys

CHAPTER XVIII – A DESPERATE CASE

Jane Ann and Tom Cameron had both offered to accompany Ruth; but for a very good – if secret – reason Ruth did not wish any of her young friends to attend her at the meeting which she hoped would occur between her and the strange young man who (if report were true) had been hanging about the Tintacker properties for so long.

She had written Uncle Jabez after her examination with the lawyer of the mining record books at Bullhide; but she had told her uncle only that the claims had been transferred to the name of “John Cox.” That was the name, she knew, that the vacuum cleaner agent had given Uncle Jabez when he had interested the miller in the mine. But there was another matter in connection with the name of “Cox” which Ruth feared would at once become public property if any of her young friends were present at the interview to which she now so eagerly looked forward.

Freckles, now as fresh as a pony could be, carried Ruth rapidly up the valley, and as the two ponies galloped side by side the girl from the Red Mill grew quite confidential with the Indian. She did not like Jib Pottoway as she did the foreman of the Bar Cross Naught ranch; but the Indian was intelligent and companionable, and he quite evidently put himself out to be entertaining.

As he rode, dressed in his typical cowboy costume, Jib looked the full-blooded savage he was; but his conversation smacked of the East and of his experiences at school. What he said showed that Uncle Sam does very well by his red wards at Carlisle.

Jib could tell her, too, much that was interesting regarding the country through which they rode. It was wild enough, and there was no human habitation in sight. Occasionally a jackrabbit crossed their trail, or a flock of birds flew whirring from the path before them. Of other life there was none until they had crossed the first ridge and struck into a beaten path which Jib declared was the old pack-trail to Tintacker.

The life they then saw did not encourage Ruth to believe that this was either a safe or an inhabited country. Freckles suddenly shied as they approached a bowlder which was thrust out of the hillside beside the trail. Ruth was almost unseated, for she had been riding carelessly. And when she raised her eyes and saw the object that had startled the pony, she was instantly frightened herself.

Crouching upon the summit of the rock was a lithe, tawny creature with a big, round, catlike head and flaming green eyes. The huge cat lashed its tail with evident rage and bared a very savage outfit of teeth.

“Oh! what’s that?” gasped Ruth, as Freckles settled back upon his haunches and showed very plainly that he had no intention of passing the bowlder.

“Puma,” returned the Indian, laconically.

His mount, too, was circling around the rock with mincing steps, quite as unfavorably disposed toward the beast as was Freckles.

“Can it leap this far, Jib?” cried Ruth.

“It’ll leap a whole lot farther in just a minute,” returned the Indian, taking the rope off his saddle bow. “Now, look out, Miss!”

Freckles began to run backward. The puma emitted a sudden, almost human shriek, and the muscles upon its foreshoulders swelled. It was about to leap.

Jib’s rope circled in the air. Even as the puma left the rock, its four paws all “spraddled out” in midair, the noose dropped over the savage cat. The lariat caught the puma around its neck and one foreleg, and before it struck the ground Jib had whirled his horse and was spurring off across the valley, his captive flying in huge (but involuntary) leaps behind him. He rode back in ten minutes with a beaten-out mass of fur and blood trailing at the end of his rope, and that was the end of Mr. Puma!

“There isn’t any critter a puncher hates worse than a puma,” Jib said, gruffly. “We’ve killed a host of ’em this season.”

“And do you always rope them?” queried Ruth.

“They ain’t worth powder and shot. Now, a bear is a gentleman ‘side of a lion – and even a little old kiote ain’t so bad. The lion’s so blamed crafty and sly. Ha! it always does me good to rope one of them.”

They rode steadily on the trail to the mines after that. It was scarcely more than fifteen miles to the claims which had been the site, some years before, of a thriving mining camp, but was now a deserted town of tumble-down shanties, corrugated iron shacks, and the rustied skeletons of machinery at the mouths of certain shafts. Money had been spent freely by individuals and corporations in seeking to develop the various “leads” believed by the first prospectors to be hidden under the surface of the earth at Tintacker. But if the silver was there it was so well hidden that most of the miners had finally “gone broke” attempting to uncover the riches of silver ore of which the first specimens discovered had given promise.

“The Tintacker Lode” it had been originally called, in the enthusiasm of its discoverers. But unless this strange prospector, who had hung about the abandoned claims for so many months, had struck into a new vein, the silver horde had quite “petered out.” Of this fact Ruth was pretty positive from all the lawyer and Old Bill Hicks had told her. Uncle Jabez had gone into the scheme of re-opening the Tintacker on the strength of the vacuum-cleaner agent’s personality and some specimens of silver ore that might have been dug a thousand miles from the site of the Tintacker claims.

“Don’t look like there was anybody to home,” grunted Jib Pottoway, as they rode up the last rise to the abandoned camp.

“Why! it’s a wreck,” gasped Ruth.

“You bet! There’s hundreds of these little fly-by-night mining camps in this here Western country. And many a man’s hopes are buried under the litter of those caved-in roofs. Hullo!”

“What’s the matter?” asked Ruth, startled as she saw Jib draw his gun suddenly.

“What’s that kiote doing diggin’ under that door?” muttered the Indian.

The skulking beast quickly disappeared and Jib did not fire. He rode his pony directly to the shack – one of the best of the group – and hammered on the door (which was closed) with the butt of his pistol.

“Hullo, in there!” he growled.

Ruth was not a little startled. “Why was the coyote trying to get in?” she asked.

“You wait out here, Miss,” said Jib. “Don’t come too close. Kiotes don’t usually try to dig into a camp when the owner’s at home.”

“But you spoke as though you thought he might be there!” whispered the girl.

“I – don’t – know,” grunted Jib, climbing out of his saddle.

He tried the latch. The door swung open slowly. Whatever it was he expected to see in the shack, he was disappointed. When he had peered in for half a minute, he stuck the pistol back into its holster and strode over the threshhold.

“Oh! what is it?” breathed Ruth again.

He waved her back, but went into the hut. There was some movement there; then a thin, babbling voice said something that startled Ruth more than had the puma’s yell.

“Gee!” gasped Jib, appearing in the doorway, his face actually pale under its deep tan. “It’s the ‘bug’.”

“The man I want to see?” cried Ruth.

“But you can’t see him. Keep away,” advised Jib, stepping softly out and closing the door of the shack.

“What is the matter, Jib?” cried Ruth. “He – he isn’t dead?”

“Not yet,” replied the Indian.

“What is it, then?”

“Mountain fever – or worse. It’s catching – just as bad as typhoid. You mustn’t go in there, Miss.”

“But – but – he’ll die!” cried the girl, all her sympathy aroused. “Nobody to help him – ”

“He’s far gone. It’s a desperate case, I tell you,” growled Jib. “Ugh! I don’t know what we’d better do. No wonder that kiote was trying to dig under the door. He knew– the hungry beast!”

CHAPTER XIX – THE MAN AT TINTACKER

Ruth waited for her companion to suggest their course of action. The man she had come to see – the mysterious individual whom she believed had taken her uncle’s money to buy up the property known as the Tintacker Claim – was in a raging fever in that old shack near the site of the mine. She had heard his delirious babblings while Jib was in the hut. It never entered her mind that Jib would contemplate leaving the unfortunate creature unattended.

“You can’t talk to him, Miss. He don’t know nothing,” declared the Indian. “And he’s pretty far gone.”

“What shall we do for him? What needs doing first?” Ruth demanded.

“Why, we can’t do much – as I can see,” grumbled Jib Pottoway.

“Isn’t there a doctor – ”

“At Bullhide,” broke in Jib. “That’s the nearest.”

“Then he must be got. We must save this man, Jib,” said the girl, eagerly.

“Save him?”

“Certainly. If only because he saved my life when I was attacked by the bear. And he must be saved for another reason, too.”

“Why, Miss Ruth, he’ll be dead long before a doctor could get here,” cried Jib. “That’s plumb ridiculous.”

“He will die of course if he has no attention,” said the girl, indignantly.

“Well?”

“Surely you won’t desert him!”

“About all we can do for the poor fellow is to bury him,” muttered Jib.

“If there was no other reason than that he is a helpless fellow-being, we could not go away and leave him here unattended,” declared the girl, gravely. “You know that well enough, Jib.”

“Oh, we’ll wait around. But he’s got to die. He’s so far gone that nothing can save him. And I oughtn’t to go into the shack, either. That fever is contagious, and he’s just full of it!”

“We must get help for him,” cried Ruth, suddenly.

“What sort of help?” demanded the Indian.

“Why, the ranch is not so awfully far away, and I know that Mr. Hicks keeps a big stock of medicines. He will have something for this case.”

“Then let’s hustle back,” said Jib, starting to climb into his saddle.

“But the coyote – and other savage beasts!” exclaimed Ruth.

“Gee! I forgot that,” muttered Jib.

“One of us must stay here.”

“Well – I can do that, I suppose. But how about you finding your way to the Rolling River outfit? I – don’t – know.”

“I’ll stay here and watch,” declared Ruth, firmly. “You ride for help – get medicine – tell Mr. Hicks to send for a doctor at Bullhide, too. I have some money with me and I know my Uncle Jasper will pay whatever it costs to get a doctor to this man. Besides – there are other people interested.”

“Why, Miss, I don’t know about this,” murmured Jib Pottoway. “It’s risky to leave you here. Old Bill will be wild at me.”

“I’m going to stay right here,” declared Ruth, getting out of the saddle. “You can leave me your gun if you will – ”

“Sure! I could do that. But I don’t know what the boss’ll say.”

“It won’t much matter what he says,” said Ruth, with a faint smile. “I shall be here and he will be at Silver Ranch.”

“Ugh!” muttered Jib. “But what’ll he say to me?”

“I believe Mr. Hicks is too good-hearted to wish to know that we left this unfortunate young man here without care. It would be too cruel.”

“You wait till I look about the camp,” muttered Jib, without paying much attention to Ruth’s last remark.

He left his pony and walked quickly up the overgrown trail that had once been the main street of Tintacker Camp. Ruth slipped out of the saddle and ran to the door of the sick man’s hut. She laid her hand on the latch, hesitated a moment, and then pushed the door open. There was plenty of light in the room. The form on the bed, under a tattered old blanket, was revealed. Likewise the flushed, thin face lying against the rolled-up coat for a pillow.

“The poor fellow!” gasped Ruth. “And suppose it should be her brother! Suppose it should be!”

Only for a few seconds did she stare in at the unfortunate fellow. His head began to roll from side to side on the hard pillow. He muttered some gibberish as an accompaniment to his fevered dreams. It was a young face Ruth saw, but so drawn and haggard that it made her tender heart ache.

“Water! water!” murmured the cracked lips of the fever patient.

“Oh! I can’t stand this!” gasped the girl. She wheeled about and sent a long shout after Jib: “Jib! I say, Jib!”

“What’s wantin’?” replied the Indian from around the bend in the trail.

“Bring some water! Get some fresh water somewhere.”

“I get you!” returned the cowboy, and then, without waiting another instant, Ruth stepped into the infected cabin and approached the sufferer’s couch.

The sick man’s head moved incessantly; so did his lips. Sometimes what he said was audible; oftener it was just a hoarse murmur. But when Ruth raised his head tenderly and took out the old coat to refold it for a pillow, he screamed aloud and seized the garment with both hands and with an awful strength! His look was maniacal. There were flecks of foam on his lips and his eyes rolled wildly. There was more than ordinary delirium in his appearance, and he fought for possession of the coat, shrieking in a cracked voice, the sound of which went straight to Ruth’s heart.

The sound brought Jib on the run.

“What in all tarnation are you doing in that shack?” he shouted. “You come out o’ there!”

“Oh, Jib,” said she, as the man fell back speechless and seemingly lifeless on the bed. “We can’t leave him alone like this.”

“That whole place is infected. You come out!” the puncher commanded.

“There’s no use scolding me now, Jib,” she said, softly. “The harm is done, if it is to be done. I’m in here, and I mean to stay with him till you get help and medicine.”

“You – you – ”

“Don’t call me names, but get the water. Find a pail somewhere. Bring plenty of cool water. He is burning up with fever and thirst.”

“Well, the hawse is stole, I reckon!” grunted the Indian. “But you’d ought to be shaken. What the boss says to me about this will be a-plenty.”

“Get the water, Jib!” commanded Ruth Fielding. “See! he breathes so hard. I believe he is dying of thirst more than anything else.”

Jib grabbed the canteen that swung at the back of his saddle, emptied the last of the stale water on the ground, and hurried away to where a thin stream tumbled down the hillside behind one of the old shaft openings. He brought the canteen back full – and it held two quarts.

“Just a little at first,” said the girl, pouring some of the cool water into her own folding cup that she carried in her pocket. “He mustn’t have too much. And you keep out of the house, Jib. No use in both of us running the risk of catching the fever. You’ll have to ride for help, too. And you don’t want to take the infection among the other boys.”

“You are a plucky one, Miss,” admitted the cowboy. “But there’s bound to be the piper to pay for this. They’ll say it was my fault.”

“I won’t let ’em,” declared Ruth. She raised the sick man’s head again and put the cup to his lips. “I wish I had some clean cloths. Oh! let somebody ride over from the camp with food and any stimulants that there may be there. See if you can find some larger receptacle for water before you go.”

“She’s a cleaner!” muttered the Indian, shaking his head, and walking away to do her bidding.

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.