Ruth Fielding at Silver Ranch; Schoolgirls Among Cowboys

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.

CHAPTER XXIII – BASHFUL IKE TAKES THE BIT IN HIS TEETH

There was great commotion at Silver Ranch when Jib Pottoway (on a fresh horse he had picked up at the riverside cow camp) rode madly to the ranch-house with the news of what was afoot so far away across Rolling River. From Old Bill down, the friends of Ruth were horror-stricken that she should so recklessly (or, so it seemed) expose herself to the contagion of the fever.

“And for a person who is absolutely nothing to her at all!” wailed Jennie Stone. “Ruth is utterly reckless.”

“She is utterly brave,” said Madge, sharply.

“She has the most grateful heart in the world,” Helen declared. “He saved her life in the cañon – you remember it, Mary. Of course she could not leave the poor creature to die there alone.”

The Fox had turned pallid and seemed horrified. But she was silent while all the others about the ranch-house, from Old Bill Hicks down to Maria the cook, were voluble indeed. The ranchman might have laid violent hands upon Jib Pottoway, only there was so much to do. Such simple medicines as there were in the house were packed to take to Tintacker. Old Bill determined to go over himself, but he would not allow any of the young folks to go.

“And you kin bet,” he added, “that you’ll see Jane Ann come back here a-whizzin’!”

The unfortunate Jib had enough to do to answer questions. The girls would not let him go until he had told every particular of the finding of the man at Tintacker.

“Was he just crazy?” queried Heavy.

“I don’t know whether he’s been loony all the time he’s been hanging around the mines, or not,” growled the Indian. “But I’m mighty sure he’s loco now.”

“If that was him who shot the bear up in the cañon that day, he didn’t appear to be crazy enough to hurt,” said Helen.

“But is this the same man?” queried Mary Cox, and had they not all been so busy pumping Jib of the last particular regarding the adventure, they might have noticed that The Fox was very pale.

When Jib first rode up, however, and told his tale, Bashful Ike Stedman had set to work to run the big touring car out of the shed in which it was kept. During the time the young folk had been at Silver Ranch from the East, the foreman had learned from Tom and Bob how to run the car. It came puffing up to the door now, headed toward the Bullhide trail.

“What in tarnashun you goin’ ter do with that contarption, Ike?” bawled Mr. Hicks. “I can’t go to Tintacker in it.”

“No, yuh can’t, Boss. But I kin go to Bullhide for the sawbones in it, and bring him back, too. We kin git as far as the Rolling River camp in the old steam engine – if she don’t break down. Then we’ll foller on arter yuh a-hawseback.”

“You won’t git no doctor to come ‘way out there,” gasped the ranch owner.

“Won’t I?” returned the foreman. “You wait and see. Ruthie says a doctor’s got to be brought for that feller, and I’m goin’ to git Doc. Burgess if I hafter rope an’ hogtie him – you hear me!”

The engine began to pop again and the automobile rolled away from the ranch-house before Mr. Hicks could enter any further objections, or any of the young folk could offer to attend Ike on his long trip. Fortunately Tom and Bob had seen to it that the machine was in excellent shape, there was plenty of gasoline in the tank, and she ran easily over the trail.

At the Crossing Ike was hailed by Sally Dickson. Sally had been about to mount her pony for a ride, but when the animal saw the automobile coming along the trail he started on the jump for the corral, leaving Miss Sally in the lurch.

“Well! if that ain’t just like you, Ike Stedman!” sputtered the red-haired schoolma’am. “Bringin’ that puffin’ abomination over this trail. Ain’t you afraid it’ll buck and throw yuh?”

“I got it gentled – it’ll eat right off yuh hand,” grinned the foreman of Silver Ranch.

“And I was going to ride in to Bullhide,” exclaimed Sally. “I won’t be able to catch the pony in a week.”

“You hop in with me, Sally,” urged Ike, blushing very red. “I’m goin’ to Bullhide.”

“Go joy-ridin’ with you, Mr. Stedman?” responded the schoolma’am. “I don’t know about that. Are you to be trusted with that automobile?”

“I tell yuh I got it gentled,” declared Ike. “And I got to be moving on mighty quick.” He told Sally why in a few words and immediately the young lady was interested.

“That Ruth Fielding! Isn’t she a plucky one for a Down East girl? But she’s too young to nurse that sick man. And she’ll catch the fever herself like enough.”

“Hope not,” grunted Ike. “That would be an awful misfortune. She’s the nicest little thing that ever grazed on this range – yuh hear me!”

“Well,” said Sally, briskly. “I got to go to town and I might as well take my life in my hands and go with you, Ike,” and she swung herself into the seat beside him.

Ike started the machine again. He was delighted. Never before had Sally Dickson allowed him to be alone with her more than a scant few moments at a time. Ike began to swallow hard, the perspiration stood on his brow and he grew actually pale around the mouth. It seemed to him as though everything inside of him rose up in his throat. As he told about it long afterward, if somebody had shot him through the body just then it would only have made a flesh-wound!

“Sally!” he gasped, before her father’s store and the schoolhouse were out of sight.

“Why, Ike! what’s the matter with you? Are you sick?”

“N-no! I ain’t sick,” mumbled the bashful one.

“You’re surely not scared?” demanded Sally. “There hasn’t anything happened wrong to this automobile?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Are you sure? It bumps a whole lot – Ugh! It’s not running away, is it?”

“I tell yuh it’s tame all right,” grunted Ike.

“Then, what’s the matter with you, Ike Stedman?” demanded the schoolmistress, with considerable sharpness.

“I – I’m suah in love with yuh, Sally! That’s what’s the matter with me. Now, don’t you laugh – I mean it.”

“Well, my soul!” exclaimed the practical Sally, “don’t let it take such a hold on you, Ike. Other men have been in love before – or thought they was – and it ain’t given ’em a conniption fit.”

“I got it harder than most men,” Ike was able to articulate. “Why, Sally, I love you so hard that it makes me ache!”