Grace Harlowe's Overland Riders in the High Sierras
“Produce one and see whether I dare or not,” offered Emma.
“I – I don’t think I have one,” stammered Stacy amid laughter.
“All ready,” announced Lieutenant Wingate, mounting and starting down the sharp incline. The others watched him for a few moments, then followed, the pack animals taking their places without being urged, not at all disturbed over the perilous descent. Hippy was now taking a zig-zag course, which was the only safe way, unless one preferred to adopt Stacy’s suggestion and jump. To look at the mountain, traveling down its steep side would seem to the novice an impossibility. However, ponies familiar with mountain climbing are sure-footed and unafraid, and do some remarkable climbing, frequently going where a tenderfoot would hesitate to crawl on hands and knees.
Here and there were small trees, with an occasional growth of bushes, which afforded more or less protection from a bad fall, but on other parts of the trail the rocks sloped away for hundreds of feet, lying smooth and glaring in the bright afternoon sunlight. The Overland Riders took the descent without any display of nervousness, but Kitty, the pack-horse, groaned and grunted all the way down. One would imagine that she was suffering agonies, but it was simply habit with her, and she got no sympathy, though now and then she did feel the sting of a pebble that one or another of the party hurled at her.
Lieutenant Wingate was making much more rapid progress than his companions, he being eager to reach the bottom before the light failed them, for it would not do at all to be caught on the side of the mountain after dark. A shout from below told them that he had reached the valley. It was answered by another shout from above, then a “Hi-lee, hi-lo!” in the high-pitched voice of the guide. A stone came bumping down not far from Woo.
“Stacy, did you throw that stone?” shouted Hippy.
“I did.”
“Stop it! You might hit someone.”
“I want to hit someone. I want to wing that song-bird, and I’ll do it yet,” threatened Chunky.
The safe arrival of the rest of the Overland party at the bottom of the pit put a stop to further gaiety at the expense of the guide. They found themselves in a valley about a quarter of a mile in width and of unknown length. The place was a meadow in the heart of the mountains, carpeted with the brown California grass that did not appeal to the appetites of the horses, and as soon as the animals were turned out they made haste to climb the opposite slope in search of the succulent greens that they seemed to know they should find up there.
In the meantime, preparations for making camp and getting supper were going on systematically down in the canyon. It was an ideal place for camping, sheltered from storm, and from sunshine during the early and late hours of the day. A clear, cold brook rippled merrily on their side of the canyon, its waters leaping from the black rocks or lying in sombre bank-shadowed pools; and, despite the apparent dryness of the landscape, gorgeous bush-flowers bloomed, filling the air with their perfume, the valley farther down being a riot of varied colors where the stream had left its banks and spread out over the lower land.
“Oh, girls, isn’t this fairyland?” breathed Elfreda Briggs.
“Wonderful!” agreed Grace.
“All but the fairies,” answered Stacy.
“We have a gnome,” suggested Emma, glancing at Chunky. “Fairies don’t stuff themselves. They live on atmosphere.”
“This fairy doesn’t live on atmosphere,” retorted Stacy. “He takes his belt off, if necessary, too.”
“I would suggest that you take it off now and get to work. We have plenty of it to do,” reminded Tom Gray.
All hands turned to, to help the cook, for they were hungry, and it was natural that they should be, for climbing mountains in the High Country is hard, grilling work.
Supper was a busy rather than a lively affair, but after supper the Overlanders found their tongues and were soon engaged in good-natured raillery, but they were quite ready to turn in when Tom Gray whistled “taps.” This time there was no hesitancy on the part of anyone to sleeping on the ground, and they dropped off to sleep with the tinkling of the bells of the pack-horses in their ears, the rich perfumes of flowers in their nostrils, their senses lulled pleasantly by the song of the locusts and strange insects that none remembered ever to have heard of before.
The camp was awake shortly after daybreak. Once more Stacy Brown had to be urged forth to wrangle the horses. He protested loudly when Elfreda pointed to the opposite slope, which Chunky must climb, for the animals were nowhere in sight.
“I suppose I might as well go out. I always get the fag-end of the stick,” grumbled Stacy.
“Never mind, Chunky. I’ll fetch the horses,” offered Tom.
“No, no. I just wanted to say something,” returned Stacy, hastily stirring himself into activity and jumping on the bare back of his pony. No sooner was he on than he was off again, for the pony had never been ridden without a saddle, and promptly bucked when his owner mounted. Stacy landed flat on his back in the campfire, sending up a shower of sparks and smoke, and it was only the quick action of Nora Wingate that saved him from being burned. As it was, his clothing was smoking when he was dragged out. Hippy and Tom put Stacy’s fire out by grabbing the boy up and throwing him in the creek, where Stacy rolled over whooping and howling his disapproval of the entire proceeding.
“You should have known better than to try to ride that pony without a saddle,” rebuked Hippy.
Stacy turned angrily on his now meek-eyed pony.
“You donkey! Oh, you doddering idiot!” he raged, shaking a fist at the animal. “You’ll pay for that! You’ll rue the day and the minute that you bucked me off your back. Where is my saddle?”
“Never mind. I will get the ponies,” grinned Hippy. “You aren’t fit.”
“I am. I’m always fit. I’ll get ’em myself.”
“Be sure to bring back the donkey,” teased Emma.
Stacy cinched on his saddle before starting, and this time the little animal offered no protest, but galloped away as docile as could be desired. After he had left them, the Overlanders had a good laugh at his expense, then began packing in preparation for the day’s journey.
The Overlanders finally began to wonder what had become of Stacy, for he had been absent much longer than seemed necessary, then, all at once they heard a yell on the opposite side of the canyon.
“There he is! He is in trouble again,” cried Tom, starting for his own pony.
“See him come! He will break his neck,” worried Nora.
Tom halted at his pony’s side, for he had discovered something else. Right on the heels of Stacy’s mount came the saddle-ponies and the pack-horses. The latter, being hobbled, were hopping like kangaroos, making long leaps, covering a great deal of ground in each leap and turning their heads to glance back with almost every jump.
“What can be the matter?” wondered Grace, anxiously watching the descent of the fat boy. Every second she expected to see him come a cropper and fall the remaining distance down the mountainside, but Chunky did nothing of the sort. He stuck tightly to his saddle, now and then casting apprehensive glances back at the horses that were tearing along in his wake.
Lieutenant Wingate, suddenly surmising what the trouble was about, ran for his rifle.
“Wha – at is it?” stammered Emma Dean.
“They are stampeding. Something is chasing them. I think I know what it is,” answered Hippy, darting across the canyon, clearing rocks and other obstructions in a series of lively leaps, the others of his party standing gaping, wondering, some of them a little fearful, especially for the safety of the panic-stricken Chunky.
CHAPTER XII
AMID THE GIANT SEQUOIAS
Stacy swept past, flinging back some unintelligible words, the ponies still tearing along after him. The Overland Riders shouted with laughter at the funny antics of the hobbled pack-horses. Kitty had forgotten to groan, and Idler was imbued with a new spirit of activity.
For the moment the outfit had forgotten all about Lieutenant Wingate. When finally they thought to look for him he was nowhere in sight.
“Hippy! Oh, Hippy!” hailed Tom Gray.
No answer came back from Hippy, who was stalking the mysterious something that had stampeded the ponies.
“What is it?” cried the Overlanders in one voice, as Stacy rode back to them wide-eyed.
“I don’t know. It was something big and awful. I couldn’t see all of it, but it looked to me like an elephant. Maybe it was a Bengal tiger, but I didn’t wait to see. If I had waited, the ponies would have run right over me. When I saw them coming I threw on the high-speed lever and lit out for home. I transmigrated. Where is my rifle? I am going back after that beast, whatever it may be and – ”
“There goes Hippy across that open space,” cried Grace, pointing.
“Yes, and he is after something,” added Tom.
“Look! Oh, look!” cried Emma.
All eyes were turned in the direction indicated by Grace. They saw a dark object moving across the open space towards Hippy, then saw the lieutenant raise his rifle and fire. Still the object came on.
“It’s a bear! Hippy’s missed!” groaned Tom.
“I’ll wager my hat that Uncle Hippy didn’t miss,” answered Stacy. “He never misses – when he hits.”
Hippy raised his rifle and fired again.
“That was a hit!” cried Grace.
Stacy galloped his pony up the other side of the mountain.
“Came near making a meal of you, didn’t he, Uncle Hip?” called Stacy as he came up with Lieutenant Wingate.
Hippy shook his head.
“I tried to shoot him between the eyes, but he dodged as I pulled the trigger. Next time I couldn’t do any fine aiming because the bear was too close. Do you see what he is – a big cinnamon bear? I am going to have that skin. Go back and tell them to wait until I finish this job, and that we are going to have bear steak for supper to-night.”
Stacy galloped back with the message, then Tom rode out to assist in the skinning and to select such meat as he wished to carry with them. The bearskin proved to be very heavy, but Hippy insisted on taking it along, first, however, treating the skin so that it would keep until they reached a place where the curing and tanning might be continued.
Woo, upon observing the bear skin and the steaks taken from the animal, lapsed into song, which Stacy pretended not to hear. It irritated Chunky to listen to that “Hi-lee, hi-lo!” and put him into a fighting humor.
An hour after their delayed start they topped the rise on the opposite side of the canyon and paused to gaze over the peaks and rugged mountain-tops that lay before them in a vast panorama. Over yonder in the clouds hung the snow-capped peaks of the High Sierras, now and then taking on a purple shade from some tinted cloud.
“It doesn’t seem possible that we shall be able to make those mountains with our ponies, does it?” wondered Elfreda.
“Are we going there?” demanded Stacy.
“I believe so.”
“Hm-m-m-m!”
“Are you getting cold feet already?” teased Emma.
“Not yet, but I expect to when I get in those chilly looking snow-caps off yonder,” answered Stacy quickly. “This life is just one ridge after another.”
They had mounted ridges, and crossed broad and narrow valleys for some time without incident and the steady creak of saddle straps and girths was becoming monotonous, when suddenly Grace’s pony jumped clear of the ground with all four feet and began to back. Grace Harlowe, instantly understanding, called “Look out!” and whirled her pony about.
“What is the trouble, Grace?” called Tom, who was riding farther to the rear.
“A snake! I heard it, but do not know where it is.”
“Stay back. I will find him and dispatch him,” shouted Hippy, hurrying forward.
“Send him a message for me while you are about it. Tell him Emma Dean wishes him to transmigrate,” chortled Stacy.
Just then Lieutenant Wingate discovered the snake, and raising his rifle he aimed it over the head of his pony for a few seconds, then pulled the trigger.
“Did you get him?” shouted Nora.
“Of course he did. My Uncle Hip never misses anything,” declared Stacy.
“No. Not even food,” added Emma.
“You may all get off. I am going to skin the reptile. He is a fine specimen,” announced Lieutenant Wingate. “I propose to make a hat band of him. It isn’t everyone who can wear a rattler around his sombrero, you know.”
“I’ll say that was a fine shot,” declared Stacy.
“Yes, but not better than almost any other person could make,” differed Emma Dean.
“Velly fine. Me savvy fine shot,” interjected the Chinaman.
“Emma, in a way, is right,” spoke up Grace. “It does not take any sort of marksmanship at all to shoot the head from a rattler. Even a person who never has fired a gun in his life should be able to shoot one.”
Hippy laughed.
“You don’t believe it. Suppose you let Emma try it when next we meet a snake. Point your rifle at a rattler and he will line his head up with the muzzle. Move the muzzle from side to side and he will follow it, always keeping his head in line with it. Then, all you have to do is pull the trigger. Why, I believe I could shoot and hit one with my eyes shut. I think I should like to make the experiment next time we see a rattler,” said Grace.
“Never mind; never mind! We will take your word for it,” protested Stacy Brown. “We do not need a public demonstration.”
“It surely would be interesting,” agreed Elfreda.
“Oh, all right. Just let me know when the show is coming off and I’ll have business on the other side of the mountain,” declared the fat boy.
During this temporary halt the pack-horses had plodded on alone. They made a detour of the spot where the snake was being skinned, seeming instinctively to know where they were expected to go, and soon after they started off, Woo Smith followed with his “Hi-lee, hi-lo!”
About midday they topped a range of hills, and before them saw revealed a vast forest that stretched over more miles of mountain country than they cared to try to estimate. At first they had no idea of the bigness of the trees; it was merely a great forest.
Lieutenant Wingate, who had been gazing inquiringly at the scene, fanning himself with his sombrero, turned to his companions.
“Good people, you are now gazing on some of the big trees of California of which you no doubt have heard or read much. Before you lies the world-famous Sequoia forest. Let us push on. When you are among the trees you will get a better idea of their great height.”
“You should have been a guide on a sightseeing bus,” averred Emma, as the Overlanders rode on.
The party reached the edge of the great forest some two hours later, where, in the cool shadows, they halted for a rest.
“I am told,” resumed Hippy pompously, “that this forest comprises more than five thousand specimens of trees.”
“And you will also observe,” announced Emma Dean, standing up in her stirrups and waving her sombrero, “that many of them are from ten to twenty feet in diameter. At the great height to which they grow, the least leaning either way would cause the trees to break off. You will observe, also, the perfect symmetry of the trees. They are perfect works of art,” finished Emma, resuming her seat on the saddle.
“Hooray!” shouted Stacy Brown. “Emma has transmigrated again.”
Emma’s companions looked at her in amazement, then burst out laughing.
“Where in the world did you learn all that, darlin’?” questioned Nora Wingate admiringly.
“I heard the postmaster at Gardner telling Hippy about it,” answered Emma meekly, amid shouts of laughter at Lieutenant Wingate’s expense.
The scene was so impressive that the laughter of the Overland Riders soon died away, for the great silence of this wonderful forest had taken strong hold on them. Whereas all other forests in which they had traveled, were continually nodding and murmuring, the giant Sequoias stood in absolute calm. Tom Gray explained this silence by saying that, owing to their great height, the trunks were solid, the branches rigid and the movement very slight. Even though there might be some slight murmurings, the tops were so far above the ground that the human ear could not catch the faint rustling up there.
As the party moved on through the silent forest aisles, the bigness of the trees grew Upon them.
“You savvy big tlees?” asked Woo Smith finally, after a long period of silence on his part.
The Overlanders nodded.
“Do you know where there is a spring or a creek?” asked Tom.
“Me savvy spling,” nodded Woo.
“Lead us to it. Is it far from here?”
The guide answered with a shake of his head.
An hour later, no water being yet in sight, Grace called a halt.
“Woo, I do not believe you savvy any spring at all,” she said. “I think we should camp right where we are. It will soon be dark, and if we keep on going we shall undoubtedly be worse off than if we remain where we are. Smith, have you lost the trail?” she demanded.
Woo did not reply at once, but gazed up at the tops of the trees, muttering to himself.
“You’re lost! That’s what’s the matter,” grinned Stacy.
“Woo no lost. Tlail him lost. Me savvy tlail lost,” chuckled the Chinaman.
“I thought so,” agreed Hippy gravely. “There being no objection, I second Grace’s motion that we camp here.”
“While you are making camp I will go out and prospect for water,” offered Tom, wheeling his pony about and riding off into the forest. Tom, being a forester by profession, an experienced woodsman, they felt no concern over his departure, but, as the hours following his departure wore on and Tom Gray did not return, the Overlanders began to worry.
At nine o’clock they began firing signals at intervals, and Woo Smith built up a blazing fire, but there was no response to either signal. Grace Harlowe was the least worried of the party.
“We will have supper,” she said. “Tom will be all right. Should he be lost it will not be the first time.”
“Yes, but what if he doesn’t find himself?” questioned Emma tremulously.
“In that event he will make camp and sleep in the forest, so you folks make your beds and turn in for a good night’s sleep, just as I am going to do,” urged Grace.
“Hi-lee, hi-lo!” chanted Woo.
“Stop that noise, will you!” commanded Chunky. “I am not in the mood for song this evening, and I might do you bodily harm,” he added, starting to prepare his bed. This he did by smoothing the ground with an axe swung adz-wise between his legs, then filling in the open space with dry pine needles. The Overlanders observed his work in interested silence.
“You do know how to do something, don’t you?” approved Emma.
“Someone in the outfit has to have a head with him,” retorted Chunky. “It makes me sleepy to look at it. If I weren’t sleepy I would make beds in the same way for you girls. Let Uncle Hip do it, I can’t keep awake long enough. Good night!” Stacy lay down, and the others quickly cradled under their blankets and went to sleep, watched over by the huge Sequoias that had stood sentinel on that very spot for hundreds of years.
Then, all at once, it was morning. The songs of birds filled the air, and a squirrel, whisking its tail nervously, chattered on a giant tree trunk, then darted up out of sight.
CHAPTER XIII
THE CAMP AT THE “LAZY J”
Stacy sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“What did you wake me up for?” he demanded. “Hulloa, Tom!”
“I awakened you by transmigration of thought,” answered Emma. “Oh, girls, girls, wake up! Tom is here,” she cried.
The camp was instantly aroused. Tom was discovered sitting calmly by a little fire that he had built, waiting for the sleepers to awaken. Tom had done exactly what Grace said he would. When he lost his bearings in the darkness, he lay down to wait for daylight. When daylight came he found no difficulty in picking up his trail and returning to camp.
“Did you find water?” demanded Hippy.
“Not a drop. For that reason, we must take a quick breakfast and hurry on. I think we shall find water beyond the next low range, and it is necessary that we do so before the sun gets high and hot. We can stand it for some time longer, but the horses cannot.”
The start was made soon after that, Tom and Hippy packing their belongings while Woo and the girls were getting breakfast. The trail they followed took them up a gradual slope for several miles and then pitched giddily into a deep canyon, a canyon that covered all of fifty acres, from which the hills rose in great swells into the far distance. The climb down the side of the mountain was tiresome and difficult, but they forgot their discomfort when finally they came upon a stream of cold, sparkling water that came down from the snow-capped tips of the High Sierras.
“Oh, look!” cried Emma. “Cows! Now we can have some milk.”
“Cows!” groaned Stacy. “Those aren’t cows, they are cattle.”
There were loud exclamations of wonder when the Overlanders saw a lot of cattle, in charge of several herders, grazing less than a mile away. After permitting the horses to drink all that was good for them, and after the Overlanders themselves had drunk and filled their water bottles, they galloped on towards the herd. From the herders they learned that the cattle belonged to the “Lazy J” ranch. The animals were on their summer grazing grounds, having come up into the hills for the summer months.
The herders informed the Overlanders that the ranch-house was about five miles due east of there, and that the boss would be glad to see them.
“My horse has a loose shoe. Is there a blacksmith outfit over there?” asked Hippy.
“Sure,” answered a herder. “You’ll have to do your own smithing, though.”
“I reckon I can do that all right,” answered Lieutenant Wingate. “We can make camp there and have a rest before we undertake the next hard climb.”
After waving good-byes to the herders, the Overland Riders resumed their journey, arriving at the “Lazy J” ranch about mid-afternoon. They were warmly welcomed by Mr. Giddings, the foreman, who showed his amazement that a party of young women should have made the rough ride into the mountains.
“Help yourselves to anything in sight. It’s all yours,” he offered. “Glad to have you take pot luck with me in my shack. There isn’t much, but what there is you are welcome to.”
“No. You sit down with us and have a snack,” urged Grace.
Mr. Giddings did so, and after a late luncheon he conducted Hippy to the blacksmith shop, where Lieutenant Wingate removed the loose shoe from his pony and straightening it on the anvil proceeded to nail it back in place, observed interestedly by the Overlanders and several cowboys who were resting up at the ranch-house. Even the cowboys’ cook came out, frying-pan in hand, to see how the tenderfoot would go about it to shoe a horse.
The cowboys looked on with solemn visages, expressive of neither approval nor disapproval. Their interest quickened, however, when Stacy Brown announced that he was going to remove a loose shoe from the off hind foot of the white mare, Kitty, and set it properly in place.
Kitty was led in, and Chunky made his preparations with sundry flourishes to show the spectators that he knew what he was about. Kitty was not unobservant, and every move of the Overland boy was narrowly watched by her.
“I should advise you to watch her ears,” urged Grace.
“It isn’t her ears, it’s those hind feet that I am interested in,” replied Stacy. “Ears can’t hurt a fellow – feet can,” he said. “Whoa, you brute!” added Stacy, running a hand down one of the pony’s hind legs, then lifting the foot from the ground.
What followed was almost too swift for the human eye. Barely had the foot been lifted than Kitty kicked the boy clear out of the shop. In his flight, Chunky was catapulted against the cook, and both went down in a heap.
The faces of the cow-punchers relaxed. They howled, fired their revolvers into the air and went fairly wild with joy, while Grace and Elfreda disentangled Stacy and the cowboys’ cook and stood them on their feet.
“Are you hurt?” begged Grace solicitously.
“Of course I am. I’m killed, but the white mare is going to get worse than I did,” threatened the fat boy.
“Cool off. Don’t punish her now,” advised Elfreda.
“I don’t want to cool off. I want to shoe that beast.” Stacy strode belligerently to the now meek little animal. “I ought to break your miserable neck, but I haven’t time to do it to-day. Besides, the weather is too warm. If I did, this outfit would make me dig a hole and bury you. I always get the worst of it when trying to do a good turn for others. Now you stand still or I’ll surely forget myself.”
