Jack Ranger's Western Trip Part 38

The next instant a red-faced, short, stout, bald-headed man was nearly pulling Nat from his horse.

"h.e.l.lo, Uncle Morris!" called Nat. "How are you?"

"Fine as silk. How about you?"

"Never better," replied Nat "Here fellows, this is Uncle Morris.

That's Jack and that's John," he added, with a wave of his hand.

"Howdy!" exclaimed Mr. Kent heartily, shaking hands with his nephew's companions. "I'd been able to pick you out in the dark from the description Nat gave. Come on in, grub's almost ready."

"Will you speak to him about the old man?" asked Jack of Nat, in a low voice.

"Oh, yes, sure," and Nat told his uncle in a few words of the wounded one, and Jack's desire to have him brought in.

"I'll send some of the men in the wagon," Mr. Kent said.

"Let me go also," Jack begged, and, after some talk it was arranged he was to go with Jim and another cowboy.

"But you must have supper first," said Mr. Kent. "I insist on that.

Besides it's going to be a warm night, and, according to your tale, you left the stranger pretty comfortable. What do you think about him, Jim?"

"Well, there's no telling," the boy's guide said. "He don't look as though he could do much damage. He's a stranger around here. Don't talk like any of the usual crowd. I was a bit leery of him at first, but the lads seemed to cotton to him right off, so I let 'em have their way."

"Well, we'll see what he amounts to," Mr. Kent commented. "No harm in doing him a good turn I reckon."

It was quite dark when Jack, accompanying Jim and Deacon Pratt, another cowboy, started on the wagon trip. But after a bit the moon arose, and the journey was not so unpleasant. Jack was much interested in listening to the talk of the two men. They discussed everything from the latest make of cartridges and revolvers to the best way to rope a steer and brand a maverick.

"Let's see, we ought to be pretty near the place now," Jim remarked, after more than an hour's drive. "I think I see the big stone. Hark!

What's that?"

A low moan was heard.

"That's him, I reckon," put in Deacon, who was driving. He swung the horse to one side, and Jim leaped down.

"He's, here!" Jim called. "Pretty bad shape, I'm afraid. Come here, Deacon, and lend me a hand."

The two men lifted the aged man into the wagon, and placed him upon a pile of blankets, while Jack held the team.

"Do you think he's dead?" asked our hero.

"Not yet, but he don't look as if he could last long," Deacon replied. "I'll give him a bit of liquor. It may revive him," and he forced a few drops of the stimulant between the cold lips.

"Don't shoot!" the old man begged in a feeble tone. "I don't mean any harm."

"It's all right," said Rattlesnake Jim, more tenderly than he had yet spoken.

The trip back was made in quick time, and the old man was put in a bed Mr. Kent had ordered gotten ready for him. They were rude but effective doctors, those ranchmen, and, in a little while the stranger had revived considerably. He was suffering mostly from exposure, hunger and loss-of blood from his wound.

The three boys were in the sitting room of the ranch house, taking turns telling Mr. Kent of their experiences on their trip west.

Before they knew it the clock had struck twelve.

"Now you must get off to bed," said Nat's uncle. "We'll have more time for swapping yarns to-morrow."

At that moment a man poked his had in at the door.

"What is it?" asked Mr. Kent

"That party we brought in a while ago, him as is shot in the foot, seems to want something."

"What is it?"

"He says as how he's got to speak to that lad with the strange ring, calls him Roberts."

"He means me!" exclaimed Jack.

CHAPTER XXV

THE COWBOY'S TRICK

"I thought you said your name was Ranger," said Morris Kent.

"It always has been," Jack replied. "But my father has been going by the name of Roberts. He was known as that to his a.s.sociates, because of the necessity for keeping him in exile. So I'll have to consider myself as the son of Mr. Roberts and Mr. Ranger, until we get this cleared up. I am trying to find my father, and I think this old man can aid me. He seems to have a secret."

"Then you had better go and see what he has to say," Mr. Kent advised. Jack found the aged man propped up in bed. Though he was still pale, he was evidently a little better.

"Let me see that ring again," he said, and Jack, who had taken to wearing the emblem on his finger, held out his hand.

"Yes, yes; it is the same," he murmured. "I would know it among ten thousand, though I have never seen it before."

"Who are you, and what do you know about this ring?" asked Jack. He had been left all alone with the old man, the cowboy who had summoned him, and Mr. Kent, having left the room.

"I am Peter Lantry," the wounded man replied. "Until a month ago I lived with a man named Roberts, though his real name was Robert Ranger. He took his first name for his last one because of some scheming men. But that you know as well as I do. He told me all about his son, and how, if he or I ever saw him he could be identified by a peculiar ring, which he described. As soon as I saw the ring I knew you must be the boy, and I have a message for you."

"What is it? Tell me quickly," said Jack.

"If I was only sure," murmured the old man. "Roberts warned me to be careful about what I said. If I was only sure. I thought I was,--but now I remember--he told me to be careful."

"Careful about what?" asked Jack.

"How do I know you are Robert Ranger's son?" asked the sufferer. "I remember now, he said a stranger might get the ring. I wish I had kept still," and he seemed quite worried. A flush came into his pale cheeks, and it seemed as if he was in a fever.

"If you doubt me, I can easily prove that I am Robert Ranger's son,"

spoke Jack. "You probably know the story of Orion Tevis, and the Indian, Smith. His son is here now, and he has a ring just like this.

Wait, I will call him."