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

It was no easy task scrambling down the slope, at the bottom of which they had left their horses, but they managed it, and then rode to the spot where the ram had fallen. They found the body in the bushes, and Sam saw that he had not misstated it when he called it a “beaut.” The ram’s head was graced with a fine pair of horns, which Jack at once announced he would take back East as a trophy.

“Put ’em in your room at Washington Hall,” suggested Sam.

“Sure,” replied his chum.

It was difficult to get the ram back to camp, but they managed it by constructing a sort of litter from saplings, and having the horses pull it with ropes, dragging it along behind them. They found on their arrival that the others had not yet reached camp, and sat down to wait for them.

Presently Long Gun, Nat and Bony came in.

“Where’s Budge?” asked Jack.

“Why, he went off shooting jack-rabbits,” explained Nat. “He said he’d be over near the river, down by the tall pine. He seems to like to pop over those rabbits better than going after big game.”

“I’ll take a walk down there and tell him to come in to supper,” said Jack. “Come on, Nat. I guess we had all the luck to-day, Sam.”

This was true, for Long Gun and the others had not been able to shoot anything.

As Jack and Nat advanced toward the river, which was about half a mile from camp, Nat suddenly called out:

“What’s that smell?”

“Whew! It isn’t very nice,” declared Jack as he took a long sniff. “No wonder they used to call this place Stinking Water before they named it the Shoshone.”

“What makes it smell so?” asked Nat.

“Well, I understand there are springs around here, the water of which is impregnated with sulphureted hydrogen.”

“That’s it. Sulphureted hydrogen! Humpty-doodle’s hydrangeas! I thought it smelled like the chemical laboratory at Washington Hall. Is it the river?”

“No, only some small springs, and some of them give off gases that kill animals. But there’s the tree where Budge ought to be. I s’pose he’s asleep.”

As they approached nearer the unpleasant odor became more pronounced. Then, as they topped a little mound, they looked down and saw their friend reclining on the ground near a dead cottonwood tree.

“Sure enough, he’s asleep,” remarked Jack. “Come on, we’ll wake him up. Get close, and then we’ll yell like wild Indians and scare him.”

They crept softly closer to the outstretched Budge. He did not stir. Then they united their voices in a terrorizing yell.

But instead of Budge sitting up suddenly he remained in the same position, his gun by his side, and a couple of dead rabbits at his feet.

“That’s queer,” remarked Jack. “He’s certainly sleeping sound.”

He tiptoed up to his chum, and bending over looked closely at him. He was struck by the paleness of his face and the fact that Budge did not seem to breathe.

“Nat!” called Jack quickly, “he’s dead! He’s fallen asleep and been killed by those poisonous gases!”

Nat ran up. It did seem as if Budge was dead.

“We must carry him away from here,” said Jack sadly.

“I – I begin to feel rather faint myself,” said Nat as he sat down on the ground.

CHAPTER XXII

AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER

Jack glanced at Nat. The lad was pale, and Jack himself began to feel the effect of the poisonous gas. But he made up his mind he would not give in.

“Brace up, Nat!” he cried. “We must get Budge out of here. Maybe he’s only fainted. Brace up! It will only take us a minute, and then we’ll get where there is better air.”

“I will,” said Nat faintly.

He stood up, and by a strong effort fought off the feeling of faintness. Then he and Jack reached down and took hold of Budge, lifting him by his head and feet. His gun was strapped over his shoulder.

“There’s what did the mischief,” said Jack, and he nodded toward a spring, about five feet in diameter, near which Budge had been sitting when he had been overcome.

The poor lad’s body was limp, and it was hard to carry him, but Nat and Jack strained and staggered along. As they went on, the effect of the deadly gas became less, and soon they could breathe better.

“Do you – do you think he’s dead?” faltered Nat.

“I hope not,” answered Jack, but his voice was serious. “It depends on how long he has breathed that gas. I heard Tanker Ike say he once saw a grizzly bear killed by it, so it must be pretty powerful.”

“Have we got to carry him back to camp?”

“No, we’ll take him out of the reach of the vapor, and then one of us can run back and get the medicine chest. I’ll try some strong ammonia on him. That may revive him – if he isn’t dead.”

A little later they staggered with the limp body of Budge out on a clear place, where the fumes of the gas could not be noticed.

“I’ll wait here with him until you run to camp,” said Jack, and when Nat, who had recovered from his faintness, had started off, Jack chafed Budge’s hands, and running to the river filled his cap with cold water, which he dashed into the face of the unconscious lad.

This treatment was effective in a measure, for Budge opened his eyes. Then he exclaimed:

“Don’t – don’t drown me!”

“Budge! Budge!” cried Jack. “Do you feel better?”

But the lad’s eyes closed again, and Jack feared that it was but a momentary reviving. He chafed the lad’s hands again, and tried to force some cold water from the river between his set teeth.

Then Nat came running back, bearing a medicine box, which Mr. Ranger had insisted that Jack take with him. Long Gun, Sam and Bony followed.

Jack took out a bottle of ammonia, and held it beneath the nose of Budge. The powerful liquid fumes made Budge gasp, and he struggled to sit up.

“Hi! quit!” he called. “Don’t burn me!” For the ammonia stung him.

“Oh, he isn’t dead!” cried Nat, much relieved.

“Pretty soon be all right,” said Long Gun, who had been told what had happened. “Plenty much fresh air make um well.”

And he seemed to be right, for presently Budge sat up, opened his eyes, and began feeling in his pockets.