Edward Stratemeyer - Boys of The Fort - or, A Young Captain's Pluck

"And how long do you think it will take to make this territory perfectly safe?"

"There aint no telling about that, but probably when you are as old as I am now you'll be able to travel anywhere without fear of being stopped. The railroads are a-coming in, towns are building up, and one of these days the desperadoes and stage-coach robbers will all be a thing of the past – and a good job done."

The third horse had been found, and now Joe was riding in his own saddle. The rain of the night before had made the trail dustless, and the air was as pure and sweet as one could wish.

By noon they calculated that they had covered ten miles of the worst portion of the distance to the fort. The ride had been a strain to Joe, and when old Benson called a halt he was glad enough to slip to the ground and throw himself in the shade of a tree to rest. Darry and the old scout lit a fire, and soon had a nice steak preparing for dinner.

"He's asleep," said Darry, a little later, pointing to Joe. "Poor fellow! supposing we let him rest for a couple of hours? I haven't the heart to wake him up."

"All right," answered Benson. The pair ate their dinner without arousing Joe, and after it was over the scout sat down near at hand to smoke his stumpy brier-root pipe, filling it with cut-plug which was as black as coal, and puffing away with keen satisfaction.

Darry was more restless, and having put away the things used in preparing the meal he began an inspection of the neighborhood.

"Be careful," said old Benson, as the youth moved around. "Don't get into trouble, as Joe did."

"I'll keep my eyes open," replied Darry.

Opposite the trail was a tall spur of rocks with something of a series of natural steps leading to the top. Up these steps went the youth. Some of the climbing was difficult, but this he did not mind.

When the top was gained a magnificent panorama was spread out before him. To one side were the tall mountains, hidden in a bluish mist, to the other the vast forests and plains. Northward was the continuation of the gap they were traveling, and southward was a series of foothills, with here and there a stream or waterfall glinting brightly in the sunshine.

"How grand!" he murmured. "What a vast country this is! Thousands upon thousands of people could live here, and nobody be crowded. This would make splendid pasture for cows and sheep, and yet there isn't a single animal in sight."

Beyond the rocky spur was a similar elevation, and presently Darry crossed to this. Here there was a lone pine with several low branches, and he drew himself up and climbed to the top. He could now see much further than formerly, and his view took in a portion of the trail passed several hours before, as it wound, serpent-like, between the foothills.

"Hullo!" he cried, as he caught sight of something moving on the trail. "Three people on horseback. Can they be the desperadoes Joe met?"

He watched the riders with interest, and at last felt certain they were three men fully armed and wearing slouch hats and light-colored coats. This description tallied with that given by his cousin, and he hastened down to acquaint old Benson with the news.

"Must be the gang," said the scout. "Are they moving this way?"

"Yes."

"Then we had better move on."

Joe was awakened, and leaped to his feet, looking rather bewildered.

"I – I thought I'd take a little nap," he stammered. "I suppose I've slept a good while, haven't I?"

"About an hour and a half," answered his cousin. "Here's your dinner," and he passed it over. "We've got to move on. Those rascals are behind us."

"Behind us!"

"Don't get scared," put in old Benson. "They are a good distance back. Darry discovered 'em from yonder p'int. Eat what you want, and then it will be time enough to start."

The repast was quickly disposed of by Joe, and soon they were in the saddle once more. The long nap had refreshed the lad greatly, and he said he would now be able to ride as far as anybody.

On they went, the trail growing more difficult as the top of the mountain was gained. Here there was a stiff breeze that at times was positively cold, and both boys were glad enough to button their jackets tightly around them.

If all went well Benson calculated that they could reach Hank Leeson's place with ease before dark. This was the cabin of an old hunter and trapper who was known from one end of the Territory to the other. As mentioned at the beginning of this tale, Leeson's place was twenty miles from the fort.

"I could ride right through," said the old scout. "But you boys couldn't do it. If you tried it, you'd be so sore and stiff the next day you couldn't stand up."

At first the boys were inclined to think that the old scout was mistaken – that they could ride as far as anybody. But when, shortly after sunset, they came within sight of Hank Leeson's place both were glad to think that they would have to ride no more for the present.

"I'm sore already," whispered Darry to his cousin.

"So am I – but I didn't want Benson to know it," was the low answer. "That last mile of the trail was awfully rough."

Hank Leeson had seen them coming, and stood at the doorway of his cabin, rifle in hand. He was a tall, thin man, with black eyes that were exceedingly sharp and shrewd. When he recognized Sam Benson he dropped his firearm into a corner and ran to meet the scout.

"Downright glad ter see ye!" he said, shaking hands. "Sam, yer a sight fer sore eyes, thet's wot!"

"And I'm glad to see you, Hank," responded Benson, just as warmly. "How have things been with you?"

"Putty slow, to tell the truth." Leeson looked at the boys. "Two tenderfoots along, I see."

"Yes. This is Joe Moore, brother to the captain up at the fort, and this is Darry Germain, his cousin. Boys, this is Hank Leeson, the best trapper and all-around shot in these parts."

"Oh, come, don't be a-praisin' me so much!" cried Leeson, as he took the boys' hands in a grip that made them wince. "As fer shootin', ye kin do thet yerself as good as anybody, Sam." He looked the boys over. "Glad to know ye, lads. I know Captain Moore downright well, and he's a good soldier."

"I've got news, Hank," put in the old scout. "Joe fell in with Matt Gilroy's gang down near Buckwater Run."

"What!" roared the old trapper. "Do you mean to tell me thet measly crowd is around here ag'in?"

"Three of 'em are – Gilroy, Fetter, and a young fellow named Potts. I think Potts comes from Denver."

"I know him. His father was Ike Potts, the card-sharp. Thet blood is about as bad as any in the gang. What are they up to?"

"They are laying a trap for the quartermaster when he comes through with the soldiers' money. Joe heard part of their talk by accident. Do you know when the quartermaster is expected?"

"I do not. Ye see, ever since old Cap'n Bissile was held up the army officers keep mum about the movements of the cash-box. I reckon they have orders from Washington to do it."

"I want to warn Colonel Fairfield as soon as I can," went on the old scout.

"Yes, he ought to be warned."

"Can you lend me a fresh hoss?"

"I can."

"Then I'll be off as soon as I've had a bit of supper. The boys can stay with you all night, can't they?"

"They can, an' welcome," replied Hank Leeson.

"You are going to leave us?" queried Joe.

"Don't see any other way to do, lad. The sooner I get the news to the fort the better. I'll come back in the morning after you – or send your brother or somebody else."

"We can ride it alone, can't we?" questioned Darry.

"I wouldn't try it, if I were you. The trail is a rough one, and there are several forks where you might go astray."

"Better stay with me, lads," put in Leeson. "I'll treat ye well, never fear," and he smiled broadly.