CHAPTER XIV.

LEFT IN THE SAGE-BRUSH.

The opening in the bushes was so small that Oscar was able to obtain but a momentary glimpse of the passing horseman, but that momentary glimpse was enough to satisfy him on two points. It was not the lieutenant, after all, but Lish, the Wolfer, and he had not been to the village for the purpose of getting drunk, as the colonel had intimated, but to lay in some necessary supplies in the way of provisions. The well-filled bags that were slung across his pony’s neck, and the side of bacon which hung from the muzzle of the long rifle he carried over his shoulder testified to this fact.

Oscar drew a long breath of relief when he saw the man ride down the path, and told himself that one thing was certain: If Tom was determined to go with the wolfer he would have something to eat during the journey to his hunting-grounds, and if he went hungry after that, it would be because his partner was too lazy to keep the larder supplied with meat.

As soon as the wolfer had passed out of hearing Oscar mounted his pony and rode down into the path. He made his way around the brow of the hill; and, when he had put a safe distance between himself and the mouth of the ravine, he checked his pony and proceeded to load his gun.

“Tom has got the matter in his own hands,” said he, as he rested the butt of the weapon on the toe of his boot and poured a charge of powder into each barrel. “If he had nothing to do with that ‘affair’ that happened last summer—I wish to goodness I knew what it was—and has any desire to turn over a new leaf and to go to work in earnest, he will come up to the fort as soon as he has read that note. If he does not come I shall have to look upon his absence either as a confession of guilt, or as a declaration that he prefers the companionship of such men as that wolfer to the society of honest folks. In either case I have done all I can, and the business ends right here so far as I am concerned.”

Oscar would have been very much surprised if anyone had told him that he had not seen the end of the business after all; that, in fact, he had seen only the beginning of it.

The note he had written, as well as the clothing he had purchased to keep Tom from freezing, were destined at no distant day to be produced as evidence against him.

Was it a dread of impending evil that prompted him to say, as he placed the caps on his gun and started his pony forward again:

“Mr. Chamberlain was always right, and he shot close to the mark when he told me that I would not find plain sailing before me, simply because I was about to engage in a congenial occupation. I have been at the fort but a few hours, and yet I have wished myself back in Eaton more than a dozen times. Why didn’t I keep away from that ravine? Thoughts of Tom will force themselves upon me continually, and all my pleasure will be knocked in the head. How can I enjoy myself when I know that he is in such a situation? Hold on there! I am ready for you now!”

Although he was deeply engrossed in his meditations, Oscar could still keep an eye out for game; and when that flock of sage-hens arose from the bushes almost at his pony’s feet, they did not catch him napping.

Being accustomed to the noise made by the grouse of his native hills when it suddenly bursts from its cover, the sound of their wings did not startle him as it startles the tyro.

He was so excited that he did not think to stop his pony, but still he was cool enough to make his selections before he fired; and when he saw, through the thick cloud of smoke that poured from each barrel, two little patches of feathers floating in the air, and marking the spot where a brace of the finest members of the flock had been neatly stopped in their rapid flight, he knew that his ammunition had not been expended in vain.

There was another thing Oscar did not think of, and that was whether or not his pony would stand fire. But it was now too late to debate that question, and besides, it had been settled to his entire satisfaction. Almost simultaneously with the quick reports of the fowling-piece there arose other sounds of an entirely different character—a crashing in the bushes, followed by muffled exclamations of astonishment and anger. These sounds were made by Oscar, who had been very neatly unhorsed.

The pony would no doubt stand fire well enough to suit his half-savage, rough-riding Indian master, but he was not steady enough to suit the young taxidermist.

When the double-barrel roared almost between his ears, his head went down, his hind feet came up, and Oscar, being taken off his guard, went whirling through the air as if he had been thrown from a catapult.

He lost no time in scrambling to his feet, but he was too late to catch his pony. All he saw of him was the end of his tail, which was flourishing triumphantly in the breeze as the tricky little beast went out of sight over the brow of the hill.

“Well, go if you want to!” shouted Oscar, holding one hand to his head, and rubbing his shoulder with the other. “You’ll never come that on me again, I tell you. I can hunt just as well on foot. Now, where’s my gun?”

The weapon had been pitched into a thick bush, a short distance in advance of the one in which Oscar had brought up, and fortunately it had sustained no injury beyond a few deep scratches in the stock, which Oscar tried to rub out with the sleeve of his coat.

The boy’s first care was to put fresh loads into each barrel, and his second to hunt up his specimens, which he found to be perfect in every way.

After examining them to his satisfaction, he placed them in a couple of paper cones which he had taken the precaution to put into his game-bag before leaving the fort, and then set out in search of the jack-rabbit he had seen a few hours before.

He did not waste any time in looking for his pony, for he knew that all efforts to recapture him would be unavailing. The animal would no doubt make the best of his way back to the corral from which he had been taken in the morning, and Oscar would find him there when he returned to the fort.

If he ever got on his back again, he would teach him that he was expected to halt the instant he saw his rider raise a gun to his face, and give him to understand, besides, that any and every attempt to throw that rider would be sure to bring a certain and speedy punishment.

The young hunter walked up and down the ridge several times, carefully beating the cover on each side of the path, but he could not make the jack-rabbit, or any member of his family, show himself.

Probably there were plenty of his species running about in the brush, within easy range, or hiding away in secure retreats, listening to the sound of his footsteps; but he had no dog to drive them out into the open so that he could get a shot at them. How Bugle would have enjoyed an hour’s run in that thicket!

Becoming weary of the hunt at last, Oscar looked at his watch, felt of his head—which must have been pretty severely bumped, judging by the way it ached—and drew a bee-line for the post.

Tom had been allowed ample time to read the note and put on the clothes that had been provided for him; and, if he thought it best to come up to the fort, Oscar wanted to be on hand to meet him. It was near the hour of dress-parade, too.

As soon as that was over, and supper had been served, the officers who were to compose the hunting expedition were to be ready for the start.

Oscar knew that the hunt had been planned solely for his own benefit, and since the colonel had shown him so much courtesy, it would not do for him to be a minute behind time.

There was a vast difference, Oscar found, in traveling over two miles and a half of prairie on a swift and willing horse, and walking the same distance when one has an aching head on his shoulders and a fowling-piece to carry, even though it does weigh but little over seven pounds.

It seemed a long way from the sage-brush to the fort, but he reached his journey’s end at last, and just in time to see the companies fall in for dress-parade.

From the top of the hill on which the fort was located, Oscar witnessed, for the first time, this imposing ceremony, which took place on a level plain a short distance away.

It consisted principally of a short exercise in the manual of arms, the reception of the reports of the first sergeants, and the publication of the latest orders.

There were eight companies in line, and every one of them was composed entirely of well-dressed veterans. There was not a man in the ranks who had not heard the warwhoop, and joined in headlong charges against the hostile Sioux.

They presented a fine appearance as they sat there in their saddles, the rays of the declining sun glancing from their bright weapons and burnished accoutrements, every man’s arm and body moving as one, in obedience to the sharp words of command. As Oscar looked at them his heart thrilled, and he wished that he was a soldier himself.

This wish he communicated to a young second lieutenant, Joel Warwick by name, who was to be one of the hunting party, and who joined him as soon as the parade was dismissed.

The officer stared at Oscar a moment, as if to assure himself that he was really in earnest, and then astonished him by saying:

“I would change places with you to-day, if I could, and give you boot into the bargain. You see us now in our Sunday clothes, and you think we look nice. So we do; for there’s not a finer sight to be seen in this world than a battalion of cavalry drawn up in line, unless it be that same battalion making a charge. But you ought to see us and our clothes after a hard scout!”

“Well, you don’t go on scout every day,” said Oscar. “Besides, you have a life position; you get good pay for what you do, and there are your chances for promotion. You’ll be a colonel yourself some day.”

“Not much. We go by the seniority rule in peace times, and there are a good many on the list above me, I tell you. Nothing but a war that will kill off some of my seniors will advance me.”