CHAPTER XVI LOST IN THE MOUNTAIN

Weighted with the still glittering spoils of their sport, Frank and Phil hurried through the pines to the Loon. They had realized that a new start would not be easy. Now they wondered if they could make it at all. Frank shook his head.

“We ain’t goin’ to get up much speed runnin’ through this grass,” he suggested as he kicked his foot into the luxuriant tangle.

“It’s gettin’ longer all the time,” laughed Phil depositing the fish in the cabin. “Let’s get busy.”

Taking their places in the car the boys, after a careful examination, turned on the power. The propellers fell to work and the trembling ship, heaving like a chained monster, strove to free itself. But the force of the propellers only pushed in the frame until, fearful of breaking it, the engine was shut off.

“Let’s pull her forward a bit,” suggested Phil. “Maybe she’s worn a rut here.”

The boys got out and pushed the ship forward a few yards. And before doing it they beat down the grass as well as they could into three paths for the wheels.

The Loon this time ran forward a few yards and then, one of the landing wheels sinking in softer ground the monoplane whirled in that direction almost at right angles, Frank stopping his engine just in time to prevent his right plane from turning plowshare.

“That’s the right idea,” insisted Frank, “only we didn’t go far enough. Let’s tramp down a longer road.”

This was done with considerable effort and another trial made after each irregularity had been smoothed to the best of the boys’ ability. The monoplane sprang forward but again it touched in the grass at the end of the improvised roadway and the strain on the plane truss became alarmingly apparent. Twice more the start was attempted on an enlarged runway, and each time the propellers were shut off just in time to prevent an accident. At half past six the two boys, hot and dusty, their shoes and clothing still wet and heavy from crawling on the dusty ground, stopped for rest in half despair.

“I got it,” exclaimed Phil suddenly.

“We’ve both got it where we can’t get it out,” answered Frank, rubbing his stiffened fingers.

“The camp ain’t far from here,” went on Phil. “We know that.”

“Somewhere over that hill,” answered Frank pointing to the western edge of the grass meadow.

“And it’s at the mouth of the creek,” said Phil. “We could get to the camp by following the Fording down to the Elk.”

“That’s exactly what we’d do if we could get a start,” was Frank’s reply.

“It’s exactly what I can do without a start,” persisted Phil. “Get aboard. You can get away like a top with a little help. I’ll give you the shove that will do the trick at the right moment.”

“You—” began Frank.

“Then I’ll walk to camp. It can’t be far.”

“You’re crazy,” exclaimed Frank.

“We’re dumb-heads for not thinkin’ about it before,” went on Phil. “It’s supper time and that mess of trout is spoilin’. I’ll see your camp fire as soon as I get through the river channel, even if it is dark.”

“I’ll draw cuts to see who does it.”

“Gimme that flash light,” went on Phil. “If I ain’t there by dark, send ‘Grizzly’ Hosmer up the creek for me. I’ll flash a light every five minutes after dark.”

“An’ stick to the river!” urged Frank.

“You’re off,” laughed Phil sticking the electric flash light in his pocket. “But say,” he added, “let me take your automatic—I may meet a grizzly on the hill.”

Handing Phil his new revolver Frank hesitatingly took his place in the cabin. In another moment the Loon made another spurt and Phil, sprinting behind, successfully gave it the last push that cleared the gluelike grass.

“Good-bye,” yelled Phil. There was a wave of Frank’s hand and the silver planes of the airship tilted as the monoplane veered to the west. Long before the birdlike craft had disappeared over the Hog Back range, Phil was trudging stoutly toward the Fording.

Reaching the summit of the big hill, Frank expected to see a valley and some sign of the camp. Instead, he saw only an expanse of lodge-pole pine trees and a second and lower range about four miles distant. He immediately turned north until he was over the river and then followed its course until the stream made its way through a rift in the second range. For a better view he had gone up to one thousand feet. From the summit of the second range he easily made out the Elk River and then, still following the Fording, was soon relieved to catch sight of their junction.

Ten minutes after he started and having covered seven miles, as he estimated, the Loon shot southward to a landing much like the deceitful one in Grass Meadow. There was much revolver firing and yelling as the Loon made a spiral drop. But Frank’s face and the absence of Phil stopped the jollification. The four camp tents had been pitched, the wagons parked and Mr. Mackworth and his guests were seated in comfortable camp chairs watching Jake’s supper preparations when Frank reached the camp. But the lone aviator gave these things little attention.

It had seemed a simple enough thing for Phil to follow the river to camp. But as Frank traced its winding course and saw its rocky brier-lined shore up to the very edge of which the thick pine trees crowded, he realized that his chum had no easy task before him. Certainly it would be dark long before Phil could cover the seven miles, and that meant feeling his way through a tangled forest without even a trail.

Frank told his story in a frightened, excited manner.

“He can’t make two mile an hour follerin’ the river,” volunteered “Grizzly” Hosmer.

“Why didn’t he come over the Hog Back?” asked Skinner. “He’d saved a lot.”

“Regrets won’t mend matters,” interrupted Mr. Mackworth soberly. “‘Grizzly,’” he added, “you know the country best. Isn’t there a trail from here through the woods to the hill?”

“A plain one,” was Hosmer’s response.

“Well, you start at once with an extra horse and hurry to Hog Back Cut. You can probably get there before the boy does, as he has four miles to cover in that valley over there. Bring him home by the trail.”

In a few minutes Hosmer had saddled and was off. Both Sam Skinner and Frank wanted to join him but Mr. Mackworth thought the guide would travel quicker alone. Frank made a perfunctory examination of the camp and then remembered his fish.

The moment Mr. Mackworth saw them he demanded a detailed story of the fishing experience.

“To-morrow,” said Mr. Mackworth at last, “we go trout fishing. And, if we have luck like this, I think we’ll stop here a few days. It’s the finest string of fish I ever saw.”

“Give me one of these boys,” exclaimed Captain Ludington, taking Phil’s 3¼ pound fish up to admire it once more, “and I won’t care very much whether I get a sheep or not.”

It was too late for Jake to bake the fish that night but they were prepared and salted for breakfast. The evening meal was a wonder as a camp product but no great hilarity accompanied it. And when it was over and the men had gone to their pipes and cigars Frank sat apart, far from cheerful, straining his ears for returning hoof beats. Eight o’clock and nine o’clock went by. Mr. Mackworth had long since begun to show anxiety. Nor did Captain Ludington and Lord Pelton conceal their solicitude. Jake kept his cook fire blazing brightly as a guide to the returning wanderers.

At ten o’clock, the anxious and silent party were suddenly stirred by the sound of a distant shot and then, on the edge of the forest bordering the meadow, Frank caught the flash of a light. Followed closely by Skinner he ran in the direction of the sound and light.

“Now you see what you did,” exclaimed Frank as he came up with two horses hurrying forward in the moonlight and made out that Phil was on the rear one.

“We’d have both been there,” answered Phil, “if I hadn’t. But say, it’s a good thing Mr. Hosmer was there to stop me. I couldn’t follow the river. I had to take to the meadow. And that hill! Whew! But say,” he went on with a chuckle—“first blood for me. See what’s here.”

An animal lay across Phil’s saddle.

“You don’t need to tell me what that is,” sniffed Frank. “It’s a billy goat. I can smell him.”

“A yearlin’ kid,” explained “Grizzly.” “Jist right fur brilin’ ur roastin’.”

Then it dawned on Frank.

“Why that’s what we’re here for, Rocky Mountain goats. Has it got horns?”

“Toothpicks,” laughed Phil. “But I saw some real ones.”

“Regular big ones?” asked Frank, his interest rising.

“Well, big enough to shoot, I reckon,” answered Phil. “Certainly big enough to climb some. I wish I’d had my rifle. That’s what you did by lettin’ me send my rifle in the wagon.”

At this point the little cavalcade encountered Mr. Mackworth who had also come out to meet the party. At sight of the goat he asked immediately for all details.

“You see,” he said turning to Captain Ludington and Lord Pelton who were just behind him, “we don’t have to go far to find ’em. And we’re just as likely to scare up a fine one right here as in the big mountains.”

“These were pretty middlin’ big,” explained Phil, trying to be conservative. “And there was a pile of ’em. I counted thirty anyway.”

“Why did you shoot such a little one?” interrupted Frank.

“I didn’t,” replied Phil. “That is I didn’t mean to. I aimed at the biggest Billy there, but I hit the little one.”

In the laugh that followed the party reached camp. While Jake prepared some supper for the late arrivals, Phil told his story.

“I got to the river,” he said, “and found that it was no place to travel. Then I cut across the valley straight for the hills. But I don’t think they are hills. They are what I call mountains. I saw I couldn’t walk over them; it was a climb. Well, finally, I got up but I was a wishin’ for the Loon you can bet. And when I got where I could get a peek on the other side and saw nothing but pine trees I knew I was on the wrong track. I couldn’t get through them and keep any bearings.

“There wasn’t anything to do but to keep on the ridge and go north hoping I could come to the Fording River Cut before it was black night. It wasn’t easy walkin’ on the rocks. What made it worse was that it was so awful still and so dark behind things. But there was a rim of sun left and I was hittin’ up my best pace when something went bang like a rock fallin’. Right in front of me something white jumped sideways; there was a rattle of ‘ba’s’ and, while I stood gulpin’, a flock of something went scamperin’ and circling around me and down the hill.

“The thing that jumped sideways was last. Once it stopped and then I could see it was a big goat. I didn’t have the buck ague, or whatever you call it out here, but I couldn’t get my bearings. When the old Billy stopped the rest stopped, too, just long enough to take a peek at me. A half dozen of ’em came back toward the big fellow and I did my best to size ’em up. ‘They’ll all be gone in a second,’ I said to myself and I let the big boy have the best I could give him with a revolver. That settled it. They all went scamperin’, with rocks a rolling down the mountain before ’em, and disappeared behind a bend.

“I couldn’t see that I’d hit anything but I climbed down where they had been, hoping to see where they’d gone, thinkin’ you would be sure to want to find ’em again. And I found this little fellow—dead enough.”

“And where did you meet Hosmer?” Mr. Mackworth asked.

“It was really dark, then,” went on Phil, “and I made up my mind to follow the ridge until I came to where it broke into the river pass. It was pretty hard work for I had the kid on my shoulders. Finally it got so dark that I thought of stoppin’ till day. Then I remembered my flash light and I used it to pick out the way along the mountain side. I’d been doin’ that almost an hour, I guess, when I heard a shot. I was a good deal nearer the river than I thought. Mr. Hosmer saw the light and shot off his rifle.”

There were congratulations all around; many other questions and answers and then Mr. Mackworth said:

“I suppose I ought really spank you boys, but I’ll forgive you since everything has turned out all right. We have a fine mess of fish for breakfast; you have located the Cutthroat trout for us and found the first herd of goats. What more could we ask? We have a good camp site here, plenty of spring water and we’ll stop long enough to have a good fish and, if possible, to get that big Billy. Jake, give the boys a good supper and then all turn in. We’ll be off for Josephine Falls in the morning. Gentlemen,” he concluded addressing his English guests, “you see we made no mistake in bringing our airship and aviators. They’ve made a good beginning.”

“We ain’t started yet,” laughed Frank. “We were just warmin’ up to-day.”