Jack Ranger's Gun Club: or, From Schoolroom to Camp and Trail

“Don’t eat much,” cautioned Ike as they stopped for a mid-day lunch. “You’ll not be so thirsty then.”

But even refraining from food did not seem to make much difference, and as the day wore on and the supply of water became lower and lower, with a consequent reduction of the ration, the sufferings of the boys grew acute.

“Oh, for a good glass of ice water,” sighed Bony.

“Dry up!” commanded Nat.

“I can’t be any drier than I am now,” responded the bony lad.

Meanwhile, Tanker Ike had been anxiously scanning the horizon. He appeared worried, and Jack, seeing this, asked him:

“Do you think we ought to be at the river now?”

“We ought to, yes, but we’re not,” was his answer. “I’m afraid I’ve gotten off the trail. I don’t see any familiar landmarks, yet I was sure I took the right route.”

He called a halt and consulted with Mexican Pete. That individual was of the same opinion as Ike – that they were on the wrong trail.

“Well, there’s no help for it,” said the plainsman. “We’ll have to go back a ways. I’m sorry, boys. It’s my fault. It’s the first time I ever did a thing like that.”

“Oh, mistakes will happen,” said Jack, and he tried to speak cheerfully, but his voice was husky and his throat was parched.

They turned around, the horses seeming unwilling to retrace their steps, and they were beginning to get restive, as were the mules.

“The last of the water,” announced Tanker Ike at dusk that evening, when they halted for a short meal. “We’ll have to push on with all speed to-night. If we don’t find water in the morning – ”

He did not finish, but they all knew what he meant.

That night was one of fearful length, it seemed. As it wore on, and the parched throats of the travelers called for water where there was none, it became a torture.

Morning came, and the sun blazed down hotter than ever. The horses and mules acted as if crazed, but they were urged on relentlessly. The tongues of Jack and his comrades began to get thick in their mouths. Those of the animals were hanging out, and foam was falling from their lips where the bits chafed.

At noon, though Tanker Ike strained his eyes for a sight of the Shoshone River or for some water hole, there was no sign of either. On and on they pushed, trying to swallow to relieve their terrible thirst.

Suddenly the horse which Sam rode gave a leap forward, and then began to go around in a circle.

“That’s bad,” murmured Ike in a low voice. “He’s beginning to get locoed from want of water.”

He urged his own beast up to Sam’s, and gave the whirling animal a cut with the quirt. That stopped it for a while, and they went on.

Mexican Pete and Tanker Ike said little. They were men used to the hardships of the West, and it was not the first time they had suffered in crossing the desert. But it was hard for Jack and his chums. Nevertheless, they did not complain, but taking an example from the men, silently rode their horses. The poor beasts must have suffered dreadfully.

Tanker Ike, who was riding ahead, suddenly leaped off his horse. At first the boys thought he had seen a water hole, but he merely picked up some pebbles from the sand.

“Put some of these in your mouth and roll them around,” he said. “It will help to make the saliva come and keep down your thirst some.”

Mexican Pete followed his example, and the boys were about to do likewise, when Budge Rankin, reaching into his pocket, called out:

“What’smatterwithis?”

And he held out several packages.

CHAPTER XVIII

LOST IN THE BAD LANDS

“Gum!” cried Jack. “Gum! That’s the stuff, Budge!”

“The very thing!” added Tanker Ike. “I wonder I didn’t think to ask for some. That will be better than the pebbles. Pass it around, young man.”

Budge handed out packages of gum, which he was seldom without, and soon all the travelers were busily engaged in chewing it. In a measure it relieved their thirst at once, and their tongues felt less swollen, and not so much like pieces of leather.

“’Stoobad,” remarked Budge as he put in a fresh wad.

“What is?” asked Jack.

“That the horses can’t chew,” replied Budge.

“Hu! I guess it would take a bigger cud than you could muster to satisfy a horse – or a mule,” remarked Tanker Ike. “But it’s lucky you had it for us. I was feeling pretty bad.”

The little diversion caused by the production of the gum and the relief it brought, helped them to pass over several miles in a comfortable fashion. But the terrible thirst did not leave them, and as for the horses and mules, they were half crazed, or “locoed,” as Tanker Ike expressed it.

How they traveled the remainder of that day none of them could tell exactly afterward. But they managed to keep on, and just as it was beginning to get dusk there was a sudden movement among the animals.

“They smell water,” cried Ike as the mules, drawing the heavy wagon, broke into a run. “They smell water! They do, for sure!”

And he was right. Half an hour later they came to a small water hole, and here they slaked their thirst, drinking slowly at first, and keeping the animals back from it by main force, until they had each been given a pailful, which they drank greedily. Then, after the life-giving fluid had had a chance to take off the first pangs of thirst, boys, men and horses drank more freely.

“Petrified persimmons!” exclaimed Nat. “I used to think ice-cream sodas were the best ever, but now I think a cupful of water from a mud hole is the finest thing that ever came over the pike. Let’s have another, boys!”

Their sufferings were at an end, and, their thirsts having been slaked, they ate a good meal and rested that night beside the water hole.

The next day they reached the Shoshone River and the end of the desert.

“Well, boys, now I’m going to leave you,” said Tanker Ike. “Long Gun will be here pretty soon, and he’ll show you where to get some big game. Then you’ll have to sort of shift for yourselves. Mexican Pete will take your camp stuff wherever you tell him to, and the rest depends on you.”

“Oh, I guess we’ll make out all right,” replied Jack.

“But what about that Indian, Long Gun?” asked Sam. “I thought he was to meet us here.”

“He will,” replied Tanker Ike confidently, and, sure enough, about an hour later there sauntered into the camp a tall, silent Indian guide, who, as he advanced to the fire, uttered but one word:

“How?”

“How?” responded the plainsman, and then he introduced the boys.

Long Gun merely grunted his salutations, and then seating himself near the fire, he took out his pipe and began to smoke.

“I wonder why he doesn’t pass it around,” whispered Nat to Jack.