The Boy Scouts On The Range

"Well, Mayberry," burst out Mr. Harkness, "I told you so. I hate to say it, but I told you so. If it hadn't been for the Boy Scouts here, we'd never have saved you."

"No, I guess not, Harkness," breathed the agent, "and this is not the place to tell you all how I feel. But, but – "

His voice faltered as he gazed at Ranger, who still lay on the ground. Blinky and some of the cow-punchers had been examining his injuries.

"Is Ranger seriously hurt?"

The agent's throat sounded dry. He could hardly bring himself to ask the question.

"No, he'll be around in a while," announced Blinky; "only a tendon on the off front leg is sprained. He'll carry a few scars, though."

And so it proved, for, though Ranger was soon as well as ever, he carried with him to his last days the marks of that night. But his owner, as you may imagine, treasured every one of them, for each blemish spoke to him of his horse's affection and nobility.

"Hullo, here come the soldiers!" exclaimed Tubby suddenly, with that fleshy youth's usual indifferent manner.

A bugle call and a loud cheer announced the news at the same moment.

"So they are!" exclaimed Mr. Mayberry, who by this time was standing upright, although he still had to lean weakly on the shoulder of Mr. Harkness.

"A good thing you didn't wait for them," remarked Blinky; "they'd have come too late."

"That was not their fault," put in Mr. Harkness. "The messenger I sent to Sentinel Peak could not have reached there more than an hour or two ago. They must have ridden like the wind."

Indeed, as the bronzed troopers clattered, cheering, into the rocky basin, their steaming, dripping horses bore ample testimony to the pace they had kept up.

"Confounded luck, arriving just too late for the music!" exclaimed the young officer at their head, after first greetings had been exchanged. "I see, though, that you have handled the situation well."

"Yes, thanks to the Boy Scouts," said Mr. Harkness.

"Ah, that is an organization of which I have often heard," observed the soldier. "They are destined to do great work for our country in the future."

"We hope so," said Rob simply.

Little more is left to be told of the Boy Scouts' adventures on the range. The rebellious Moquis, thoroughly cowed by their lesson, went peaceably back to the reservation, and accepted Black Cloud once more as their chief. Their break from the place set aside for them, though, was paid for by the stoppage of more than one privilege. In course of time Mr. Mayberry recovered some of his faith in the Indian character, but even he admits that his optimism has been severely shaken.

Possibly, if you were to pay a visit to the tribe, you might be tempted to ask who a certain graceful young squaw is, whose buckskin garments are literally covered with wonderful bead work, and round whose slender neck hang so many chains of red, yellow, amber and blue globules that you might be inclined to think it would make her stoop-shouldered.

If you asked her her name you would be told that she is Susyjan. She is regarded as the most attractive young squaw in the tribe, and her fortunate husband will have to give her old father many ponies and blankets before he can hope to win her hand. The source of Susyjan's beady splendor, however, has always, as you may imagine, remained a mystery to the tribe.

Clark Jennings and his unworthy accomplices were tried in due course for their offenses against the law, and received various heavy sentences. In a Western community few more serious crimes, for obvious reasons, can be committed than cattle stealing.

The days following the surrender of the renegade tribe were happy ones for the young Eastern scouts. In due course of time, the uniforms Rob had ordered for the Ranger Patrol arrived, and the organization is now one of the most flourishing in the B. S. of A.

Hunting trips were organized and many excursions made into the mountains. The boys, too, shared in the excitement of a round-up, and proved themselves of use in many ways. Altogether, the Boy Scouts has become a name to conjure with in that part of Arizona.

What became of Silver Tip?

Well, the story of how Rob had Silver Tip at his mercy, and let the huge brute go, has become a ranch classic. This is no place to relate it at length, but one day on a mountain hunt the monarch of the hills and the boy who had once rushed wildly upon the monster's shaggy form, met face to face.

Did Silver Tip recognize the lad? Who can tell? Animals possess many faculties and instincts we do not credit them with. Be that as it may, it seemed to the imaginative Rob that the monster's eyes bore a craven look, as if he realized that judgment was come upon him. Rob stood alone upon a rocky ledge. Below him the great brute gazed upward, in the position he had frozen into on his first discovery of the young hunter. Rob raised his heavy rifle to his shoulder. The great creature was at his mercy. He paused an instant and then slowly lowered the weapon again.

"Go on, old Silver Tip!" he said. "Let some one else wipe out your wicked old life."

Tubby was highly indignant when he heard of this.

"Gee whiz!" he exclaimed, "you ought to have thought of me, Rob. I've been hearing about bear steak ever since I've been out here, and now I've lost about the only chance I've ever had to stick my teeth into one."

One day a letter came to the ranch house which caused several long faces to be drawn. It announced the opening, within a week, of the Hampton Academy.

And so – as all good things have to draw to a close – the happy, eventful days of the Boy Scouts on the Range ended. But had they realized it, the exciting scenes through which they had passed were only a milestone in their adventurous lives.

We shall meet our young friends again, and follow them through many more stirring incidents and scenes in the next volume of this series. Some of these will be connected with the wonderful new science of ærial navigation.

This new installment of their adventures will be called: The Boy Scouts and the Army Airship.