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The Boy Ranchers of Puget Sound

Harold Bindloss



  Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  THE BOY RANCHERS OF PUGET SOUND

  "'DESERTED!' JAKE SAID SHORTLY"--Page 282]

  THE BOY RANCHERS OF PUGET SOUND

  BY HAROLD BINDLOSS

  Author of "Alton of Somasco," "Winston of the Prairie," "Lorimer of theNorthwest," "Thurston of Orchard Valley," etc.

  NEW YORK FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY PUBLISHERS

  Copyright, 1910, ByFREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

  _All rights reserved_

  _September, 1910_

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE I. FRANK GOES WEST 1 II. THE BUSH 14 III. THE RANCH 28 IV. TARGET PRACTICE 39 V. THE MYSTERIOUS SCHOONER 51 VI. AT THE HELM 62 VII. A WARNING 71 VIII. SALMON SPEARING 82 IX. A PLAIN HINT 93 X. A BREEZE OF WIND 106 XI. MR. BARCLAY JOINS THE PARTY 118 XII. THE STRANGER 127 XIII. THE SCHOONER REAPPEARS 137 XIV. A TEST OF ENDURANCE 148 XV. A MIDNIGHT VISITOR 157 XVI. FRANK KILLS A DEER 166 XVII. MR. WEBSTER'S GUNS 174 XVIII. RUNNING A CARGO 184 XIX. THE CACHE 195 XX. MR. WEBSTER'S SLASHING 206 XXI. A NIGHT ON THE SANDS 216 XXII. THE ULTIMATUM 228 XXIII. MR. OLIVER OUTWITS HIS WATCHERS 237 XXIV. A FAST RUN 249 XXV. THE UNITED STATES MAIL 259 XXVI. MR. BARCLAY LAYS HIS PLANS 268 XXVII. THE DERELICT 277 XXVIII. A GRIM DISCOVERY 285 XXIX. THE RAID 294 XXX. THE RELIEF OF THE RANCH 305 XXXI. FRANK BECOMES A RANCH OWNER 315

  THE BOY RANCHERS OF PUGET SOUND

  CHAPTER I

  FRANK GOES WEST

  It was the middle of an afternoon in May. An old side-wheeler wassteaming south toward Puget Sound across the land-locked waters that liebetween Vancouver Island and the state of Washington. A little astern onone hand Mount Baker lifted its heights of eternal snow. On the other,and a little ahead, the Olympians rose white and majestic; and between,vast, dim forests rolled down to the ruffled, blue water. It seemed toFrank Whitney, sitting on the steamer's upper deck in the lee of hersmokestack, that it was a wild and wonderfully beautiful country he hadreached at last; for since leaving Vancouver, British Columbia, they hadsteamed past endless rocks and woods, while island after island fadedinto the smoke trail down the seething wake and great white mountainsopened out, changed their shapes, and closed in on one another as thesteamer went by. He had, however, not come there to admire the scenery,and as he watched the wonderful panorama unroll itself he looked backupon the troubles that had befallen him since he set out from Boston alittle less than a year ago.

  When he left that city he was but sixteen, and was, as he had cause torealize during the following twelve months, merely an average Americanboy, with a certain amount of alertness, self-reliance and common sense;though he might, perhaps, have had more of these desirable qualities,had he not been a trifle spoiled by his widowed mother before he went toGorton school. He had, quite apart from his lessons, learned a fewuseful things there which probably he would never have learned at home,but he had been suddenly recalled, and his mother had informed him thatit was now impossible for him to enter the profession for which he hadbeen intended. Frank did not understand all the reasons for this, but heknew that they were connected with the fall in value of some railroadstock and the failure of a manufacturing company in which his motherheld shares. She had, as she pointed out, his two younger sisters toprovide for, and he must earn his living at once.

  Frank found this much harder than he had expected. The subjects in whichhe excelled did not seem to be of the least use to business men, and thefact that he could play several games moderately well did not seem tocount at all. There were people who were ready to give him a trial, butthey seemed singularly unwilling to pay him enough to live in a way thathe considered fitting; and this somewhat astonished as well as troubledhim. In the end, a relative, who said that a young man with any grit andsnap had better chances in the West, found him a position with a bigmilling company in Minneapolis. Frank accepted the position, but soonfound it not much to his liking. The people he met were not like hisBoston friends. They were mostly Germans and Scandinavians, and theirways were not those to which he had been accustomed. What was worse,they hustled him in the milling company's offices, and instead ofteaching him the business kept him busy licking stamps, copying lettersand answering telephones, which did not seem to him a fitting occupationfor an intellectual lad.

  He bore it, nevertheless, because he had to, until one day there came aclimax, when a clerk who had bullied him all along assigned to him aparticularly disagreeable task which was really outside his duties. Inreturn, in a fit of very foolish anger, Frank screwed the clerk's newhat down tight in a copying-press, and it happened that the secretarycame upon the scene during the trouble that followed. The secretary hadan unpleasant temper, and when he walked out of the general office Franksat down at his desk boiling with indignation and almost stupefied.There was, however, not the least doubt that he was fired.

  He spent a very dismal evening afterward, for one thing, at least, wasclear--he could not go home to Boston and become a burden on his mother.But the flour trade was bad in Minneapolis just then, and business inSt. Paul did not seem much better, so eventually he found employment inthe offices of a milling company in Winnipeg. He suffered from theextreme cold during the winter there. The cold of Massachusetts, as hediscovered, is very different from the iron frost which shuts down onthe Canadian prairie and never slackens its grip for months together.The clothing he had brought from Boston was not warm enough, and hissmall earnings would only provide him with shelter in the cheapestquarters. Still, he held on until trade grew slack in the early springand he was turned adrift again. This time he felt that he had had enoughof business. He had heard and read of men who burrowed for treasure inthe snow-clad ranges, broke wild horses, and cleared the forests, out inthe farthest West. There was a romance in that life surpassing anythingthat seemed likely to be got out of the addition of flour invoices orthe licking of stamps, and he wrote a letter to an old friend of hisdead father, who lived on a ranch near Puget Sound. It was some timebefore he got an answer telling him rather tersely to come along.

  Frank started the day after he received it, and was now, he supposed,within a short distance of his journey's end. He had never seen hisfather's friend, and knew nothing of what he would be required to do atthe ranch, though he fancied that all that was necessary could readilybe learned by an intelligent lad. In this, however, he was wrong.

  Suddenly the steamer's whistle hurled a great blast out across thewaters, and, looking around, Frank saw, not far ahead, a long pointstrewn with rocks and streaked with wisps of pines. There was, however,no sign of life on it, and he turned to a deck-hand who strode by.

  "Can that be Bannington's?" he asked.

  "Yes," the man informed him. "I guess that's just what it is."

  "But there's nobody about," objected Frank.

  The deck-hand grinned.

  "Did you expect it was like Seattle or Port Townsend? There's a store tothe place, and they've got a post-offi
ce back among the rocks. We layoff and whistle, and if there's no sign of a shore boat she goes onagain."

  He went forward with a jump as a man came out of the pilot house with apair of glasses in his hand.

  "Run up slow," he ordered. "There's nothing coming yet."

  The big side-wheels beat more slowly and the whistle called again, butthere was still only the ruffled blue water with white flecks on it andthe rapidly rising pines. Frank watched them anxiously, for he had onlyabout two dollars in his pocket, and it seemed quite possible that hemight be carried on to Seattle, in which case he had not the faintestnotion as to how he was to get back. It was quite certain that he couldnot pay any more steamboat fares.

  A minute or two later the man with the glasses raised his hand as a sailcrept out around the point, and the big wheels stopped. The strip ofcanvas grew into a gaff mainsail and a jib; the hull beneath it emergedat intervals from the little tumbling seas; and it became apparent toFrank for the first time that it was blowing rather hard. The sailseemed to be dripping and he could see the spray flying about theshapeless figure at the helm. Then the steamboat officer motioned tohim.

  "Are you getting off here?" he asked.

  Frank answered rather dubiously that this was his intention.

  "Then you'd better get down on to the wheel-case bracings with yourgrip. I don't know how they're going to take you off, but I guessthey'll shoot her up head to wind and you'll have to jump."

  Frank got out on the guard-framing on the after side of the wheel andwatched the boat drive by, swung up on a little sea some distance away.Half of her hull seemed to be under water, though the fore part of itwas hove up streaming into the air. She rolled wildly with her bigmainsail squared right out and the jib, which hung slack, drippingwater. Then she came round and headed for the steamer, lying down allslanted to one side, while the water sluiced along her lee deck, andFrank made out a boy crouching under the sail with a rope in his hand.It seemed to him that the boat must inevitably ram the steamer and smashin her bows. Then a hail reached him.

  "Hello, pilot house! Shove her astern soon as we're clear of you!"

  Somebody shouted an answer, and the steamer swung out, lifting a row ofwet plates out of the water and burying them again with a gurglingsplash. A glance around showed Frank a deck-hand standing behind himwith a long, spiked pole and a crowd of passengers leaning over therails of the deck above. How he was to get into the boat he did notknow, for the thing was beginning to look difficult. Then there wasanother shout from the figure at her helm:

  "That you, Whitney?"

  Frank waved his hand in answer, hastily grabbing up the small bag whichcontained his few possessions. The wheel-casing sank again into a ridgeof frothing brine which swirled about his feet, and he felt that itwould be a good deal wiser to climb back to the deck above and go on toSeattle. This, however, was out of the question, even if there had notbeen so many passengers looking on, and it was comforting to rememberthat he could swim a little. The next moment the deck-hand touched hisarm.

  "I'll sling your grip aboard her as she shoots," he said. "Then jump,and stick to anything you get your hands on."

  The boat was now only seven or eight yards away, nearer the steamer'sstern, but as Frank gazed at her she suddenly swayed upright with afrantic thrashing of canvas, and shot forward head to wind beneath thevessel's side. The next moment his bag went hurtling through the air,and he heard the deck-hand shout something in his ear. Then he set hislips and jumped.

  He struck something hard with his knees, and was conscious of a suddenchill as the brine washed over one leg, but he had his hands clenchedtight on a strip of wet wood, and somebody seized him by the shoulder.Making a determined effort he dragged himself up on the narrow sidedeck, and fell in a heap into the bottom of the boat. When he scrambledto his feet again the big side-wheel was splashing amidst a welter ofchurned-up foam as the steamer pushed away from them, and, in the boat,the boy he had already noticed was tugging desperately at a rope.

  "Get hold and heave!" he cried.

  Frank did as the boy directed. Then the helmsman waved his hand.

  "Not too flat! Belay at that! Get down here aft, both of you!"

  Frank staggered aft a pace or two, and sitting down breathless anddripping gazed about him. The boat looked a good deal bigger than shehad appeared from the steamer, and, as a matter of fact, she was ahalf-decked sloop of about twenty-four feet in length. Just then she wasslanted well down on one side, with the water foaming along herdepressed deck and showers of spray beating into her over her weatherbow, while the jib above her bowsprit every now and then plunged intothe short, white-topped seas. There seemed to be some water inside her,for it washed up above the floorings at every heave. In a few momentsFrank had recovered his breath sufficiently to look around at hiscompanions. One was a boy of about his own age who smiled at him. He hada bronzed skin and a kindly expression, and looked lean and wiry.

  "You're Frank Whitney?" asked the boy.

  Frank acknowledged that this was his name, and the other proceeded tointroduce himself and his companion.

  "I'm Harry Oliver, and, as you're going to stay with us, we've got tohit it off together."

  Then he turned and indicated the ruddy-faced, red-haired man who heldthe helm.

  "This is Jake, one of the smartest choppers and trailers on the PacificSlope. There aren't many of the boys who could have picked you off thatsteamboat in a breeze of wind as he did."

  "Oh, pshaw!" said the helmsman with a grin.

  Neither of them had said anything striking in the way of welcome, butFrank felt quickly at ease with them. As a rule, the new acquaintanceshe had made in business farther east seemed to expect him to recognizetheir superiority, or, at least, to understand that it was a privilegeto be admitted into their society. His present companions, however,somehow made it plain that as long as he was willing to be commonlycivil there was no reason why they should not get on well together, forwhich he was thankful, though he felt that any attempt to put on airswith them would probably lead to trouble.

  "How far is it to your father's ranch?" he asked presently.

  "Twelve miles," responded Harry. "With a head wind like this one, itmeans from eighteen to twenty-four miles' sailing. It depends, for onething, on Jake's steering."

  "Thirty, sure," broke in the helmsman, "if you had the tiller."

  "How's that?" asked Frank.

  "Know anything about sailing?"

  Frank confessed his ignorance, and Jake nodded to Harry.

  "Show him," he said. "He has got to learn and you can teach the fellowwho'll allow he doesn't know anything. The kind we've no use for is theone that knows too much."

  Harry laid a wet finger on the hove-up weather deck.

  "Now," he began, "a boat or a ship under sail can go straight to theplace she's bound for as long as she has the wind anywhere from rightbehind her to a little forward on her side. In fact, as she'll lie upwithin a few points of the wind, there's only a small segment of thecircle you can't sail her straight into."

  He traced a circle on the deck and then placed his finger over about aquarter of the circumference of it.

  "She won't go there."

  "But supposing you want to?"

  "Then, if the wind's ahead, you have to beat." He drew two lines acrossthe circle at right angles to each other and laid his finger at the endof one. "Say we're here at north and the cove we're going to lies aboutsouth. Well, you get your sheets in flat--same as we have them now--andyou sail up this way, at this angle to the wind." He ran a slanting lineacross the circle until it touched the rim. "That brings you here; thenyou come round, and go off at the same angle on the opposite tack, whichbrings you right up to the cove. You can do it in two long tacks,or--and it's the same thing--in a lot of little ones, each at the sameangle to the wind; but how many degrees there are in that angle and whenyou get there depends on how your sails are cut and how smart you are atsteering her."

  Frank understood the g
ist of it, but there were one or two difficulties,and he was not ashamed to ask a question:

  "What makes her go slantways against the wind? Why doesn't it blow herback, or sideways?"

  "It does," Jake broke in dryly, "if you don't sail her right, or itblows hard enough."

  "What makes a kite go up slantways against, or on, the wind, which isthe same thing in sailing?" continued Harry. "Because with the wind andthe string both pulling her, that's the line of least resistance." Hepaused, and added deprecatingly, "I was at school at Tacoma and as I'd anotion I might take up surveying, they pounded some facts into me thatmade this kind of thing easier to get hold of. A boat goes ahead on thewind because, considering the shape of her, it's the easiest way; andthis is what stops her going off sideways to lee." He kicked a highnarrow box which ran along the middle of the boat. "It holds thecenterboard--a big plate that's down deep in the water now. Before thewind could shove her off sideways--and it does a little--it would haveto press that flat plate sideways through the water."

  Frank made a sign of comprehension.

  "That's about the size of it," said Jake. "Now I guess it would be moreuseful if you got some of the water out of her."

  Harry, who explained that there was something wrong with the pump,pulled up one of the flooring boards and invited Frank to dip a bucketinto the cavity and hand it up to him when it was full. Frank endeavoredto do so, but found it difficult, for the water which surged to and froas the sloop plunged left the bottom of the hole almost dry one momentand the next came splashing back so rapidly that before he could get afair scoop with the bucket it had generally gone again. Besides, themotion every now and then flung him off his knees; but he toiled on withhis head down for nearly half an hour, when a horrible nausea masteredhim and he staggered to the foam-swept lee coaming. For the next tenminutes he felt desperately unhappy, and when he turned around againthere was a grin on the faces of his companions.

  "She'll do," said Harry. "You want to look to weather and get the windon your face. That's the best way to keep a hold on your dinner."

  Frank suddenly remembered that he had had no dinner. He had had only adollar or two left in his possession, and after considering thesteamboat tariff he had decided to dispense with the meal. In spite ofthis fact and the unpleasant sensations he felt, he was conscious of acertain satisfaction with his new surroundings. The seasickness wouldpass, and grappling with the winds of heaven and the charging seasseemed a finer thing than adding up the price of flour or stickingstamps on letters. Here man's skill, nerve and quickness were pittedagainst the variable elements, and Frank had a suspicion--which, as ithappened, was quite justified--that if Jake made a blunder the nextwhite-topped comber would come foaming across the bows of the craft. Itwas only his cool judgment and ready hand on the tiller that swung hersafely over them.

  Raising himself a little he glanced ahead. The steamer and her smoketrail had vanished some time ago, and the white Olympians had faded,too. Evening was drawing on. The sky was now a dismal, dingy gray, andthe leaden-blue water was streaked with flecks and curls of foam. Itseemed to him that the sea was steadily getting higher, and there wasnot the least doubt that the sloop was slanting more sharply andthrowing the spray all over her.

  "It looks bad up yonder, doesn't it?" he queried in anxious tones.

  "I allow we might have more wind by and by," Jake answered laconically."Seems to me she has about all the sail she can stand up to on her now."

  He had scarcely finished speaking when a comber curled over at its toprose up close ahead, and the boat went into it to the mast. Part of itpoured over the forward head ledge into the open well, and the restsluiced foaming down the slanted deck to lee, through which she lurchedclear, with the water splashing and gurgling inside her.

  "We'll heave another reef down right away," said Jake. "Get forward,Harry, and claw that headsail off her."

  The boy seized a wet sail that lay in the well, and as he crawledforward with it the sloop rose almost upright, with her mainsail bangingand thrashing furiously. When he loosed a rope the jib ran partly downits stay, and then jammed, filling out and emptying with sudden shocksthat shook the stout spar beneath it and the reeling mast. Harry,however, crawled out on the bowsprit with his feet braced against awire--a lean, dripping figure that dipped in the tumbling seas--andFrank, seeing that he was struggling vainly with the sail, scrambledforward to help him, sick as he was. Water flowed about his knees on theplunging deck, flying ropes whipped him, and the spray was hurled intohis face, but he could think of no reason why the Western boy should domore than he could. He crouched down, hauling savagely on a rope atwhich Harry pointed, and by and by the sail fell upon both of them. Theydragged it in, made it fast, and set a smaller one in place of it,after which they floundered aft to where Jake was struggling with themainsail.

  He had hauled down what Frank afterward learned was the leach of it, andwas now standing with his toes on the coaming and his chest upon theboom, pulling down the hard, drenched canvas and tying the little bitsof rope that hung in a row from it around the boom.

  "Hustle!" he shouted. "Get those reef-points in!"

  Frank took his place with his companion, and tried not to look at thefrothing water close beneath him as he leaned out on the jerking boom.For the most part, the big spar lay fairly quiet, but now and then thecanvas above it shook itself with a bang. It cost him a strenuous effortto drag each handful of it down in turn, and he discovered afterwardthat he had broken two of his nails. He lost his breath, theperspiration started from every pore in his skin, and he was sick anddizzy, but he managed to hold on. At last it was finished, and soonafterward Jake, driving the sloop on her course again, turned to Harry.

  "She'll make nothing of it against this breeze," he said. "We'll up-helmand look for shelter under Tourmalin."

  Harry, bracing himself against the strain, let a rope run through theclattering blocks, the bow swung around, and the motion became a littleeasier.

  "We'll be snug beneath the pines in an hour," said Jake, noddingreassuringly.

  Frank found the time quite long enough. He was wet and dizzy, and theway the big frothing ridges came tumbling up out of the growing darknesswas rather terrifying. They heaved themselves up above the boat, andevery time that one foamed about her she slanted alarmingly over toleeward. At last, when it had grown quite dark, a shadowy blur that grewinto a wisp of tall pines rose up ahead, and a minute or two laterthere was an almost bewildering change from the rolling and plunging asthe sloop ran into smooth water. Her sails dropped, the anchor chainrattled out, and by and by they were all sitting in the little cabin,which was scarcely three feet high, and Jake was cramming bark andkerosene rags into the stove.

  Half an hour later Frank forced himself to eat a little canned beef anddrink some coffee, and then Harry told him he could lie down on whatseemed to be a moderately dry sail. He had scarcely done so when he fellasleep. Jake, who had been watching him, turned the lantern so that thelight fell on his face.

  "He was mighty sick," he observed, a kindly smile lighting up his ruggedfeatures, "but he stayed with it through the reefin'. Your father shouldmake something of him. I guess he'll do."