Ruth Fielding at Silver Ranch Part 22

"Why! I don't know," returned Ruth, wetting her cleanest handkerchief and folding it to press upon the patient's brow.

"He hollered like a loon and grabbed at it when I tried to straighten it out," the Indian said, thoughtfully. "And so he did when you touched it."

"Yes."

"He's got something hid there. It bothers him even if he is delirious."

"Perhaps," admitted Ruth.

But she was not interested in this suspicion. The condition of the poor fellow was uppermost in her mind.

"You let me have your pistol, Jib," she said. "I can use it. It will keep that old coyote away."

"And anything else, too," said Jib, handing the gun to her and then stepping back to his pony. "I'll hobble your critter, Miss. Don't go far from the door. I'll either come back myself or send a couple of the boys from camp. They will bring food, anyway. I reckon the poor chap's hungry as well as thirsty."

"He is in a very bad way, indeed," returned Ruth, gravely. "You'll hurry, Jib?"

"Sure. But you'd better come back with me."

"No. I'm in for it now," she replied, trying to smile at him bravely.

"I'd better nurse him till he's better, or--"

"You ain't got no call to do it!" exclaimed the Indian.

"There is more reason for my helping him than you know," she said, in a low voice. "Oh! there is a very good reason for my helping him."

"He's too far gone to be helped much, I reckon," returned the other, mounting into his saddle. "But I'll be going. Take care of yourself."

"I'll be all right, Jib!" she responded, with more cheerfulness, and waved her hand to him as the cow puncher rode away.

But when the patter of the pony's hoofs had died away the silence brooding over the abandoned mining camp seemed very oppressive indeed.

It was not a pleasant prospect that lay before her. Not only was she alone here with the sick man, but she _was_ afraid of catching the fever.

The patient on the couch was indeed helpless. He muttered and rolled his head from side to side, and his wild eyes stared at her as though he were fearful of what she might do to him. Ruth bathed his face and hands again and again; and the cool water seemed to quiet him. Occasionally she raised his head that he might drink. There was nothing else she could do for his comfort or betterment until medicines arrived.

She searched the cabin for anything which might belong to him. She did not find his rifle-the weapon with which he had killed the bear in the canon when Ruth had been in such peril. She did find, however, a worn water-proof knapsack; in it was a handkerchief, or two, a pair of torn socks and an old shirt, beside shaving materials, a comb and brush, and a toothbrush. Not a letter or a sc.r.a.p of paper to reveal his ident.i.ty.

Yet she was confident that this was the man whom she had hoped to meet when she came West on this summer jaunt.

This was the fellow who had encouraged Uncle Jabez to invest his savings in the Tintacker Mine. It was he, too, who had been to Bullhide and recorded the new papers relating to the claim. And if he had made way with all Uncle Jabez's money, and the mining property was worthless, Ruth knew that she would never see Briarwood Hall again!

For Uncle Jabez had let her understand plainly that his resources were so crippled that she could not hope to return to school with her friends when the next term opened. Neither she, nor Aunt Alvirah, nor anybody else, could make the old miller change his mind. He had given her one year at the boarding school according to agreement. Uncle Jabez always did just as he said he would; but he was never generous, and seldom even kind.

However, it was not this phase of the affair that so troubled the girl from the Red Mill. It was the ident.i.ty of this fever-stricken man that so greatly disturbed her. She believed that there was somebody at Silver Ranch who must have a much deeper interest in him than even she felt.

And she was deeply troubled by this suspicion. Was she doing right in not sending word to the ranch at once as to her belief in the ident.i.ty of the man?

The morning was now gone and Ruth would have been glad of some dinner; but in leaving the other herders she and Jib had not expected to remain so many hours from the Rolling River crossing. At least, they expected if they found the man at Tintacker at all, that he would have played the host and supplied them with lunch. Had Jib been here she knew he could easily have shot a bird, or a hare; there was plenty of small game about. But had she not felt it necessary to remain in close attendance upon the sick man she would have hesitated about going to the outskirts of the camp. Even the possession of Jib's loaded pistol did not make the girl feel any too brave.

Already that morning she had been a witness to the fact that savage beasts lurked in the locality. There might be another puma about. She was not positively in fear of the coyotes; she knew them to be a cowardly clan. But what would keep a bear from wandering down from the heights into the abandoned camp? And Ruth had seen quite all the bears at close quarters that she wished to see. Beside, this six-shooter of Jib's would be a poor weapon with which to attack a full-grown bear.

It must be late in the afternoon before any of the boys could ride over from the Rolling River outfit. She set her mind firmly on _that_, and would not hope for company till then. It was a lonely and trying watch.

The sick man moaned and jabbered, and whenever she touched the old coat he used for a pillow, he became quite frantic. Perhaps, as Jib intimated, there was something valuable hidden in the garment.

"Deeds-or money-perhaps both," thought the girl nurse. "And maybe they relate to the Tintacker Mine. Perhaps if it is money it is some of Uncle's money. Should I try to take it away from him secretly and keep it until he can explain?"

Yet she could not help from thinking that perhaps Jib was right in his diagnosis of the case. The man might be too far gone to save. Neither physician nor medicines might be able to r.e.t.a.r.d the fever. It seemed to have already worn the unfortunate to his very skeleton. If he died, would the mystery of the Tintacker Mine, and of Uncle Jabez's money, ever be explained?

Meanwhile she bathed and bathed again the fevered face and hands of the unfortunate. This was all that relieved him. He was quiet for some minutes after each of these attentions. The water in the bucket became warm, like that in the canteen. Ruth thought she could risk going to the rivulet for another supply. So she stuck the barrel of the gun into her belt and taking the empty pail set out to find the stream.

She closed the door of the sick man's cabin very carefully. It was not far to the water and she had filled the pail and was returning when she heard a scratching noise nearby, and then a low growl. Casting swift glances of apprehension all about her, she started to run to the cabin; but when she got to the trail, it was at the cabin door the peril lay!

It was no harmless, cowardly coyote this time. Perhaps it had not been a coyote who had dug there when she and Jib rode up to the camp. She obtained this time a clear view of the beast.

It was long, lean and gray. A s.h.a.ggy beast, with pointed ears and a long muzzle. When he turned and glared at her, growling savagely, Ruth was held spellbound in her tracks!

"A wolf!" she muttered. "A wolf at the door!"

The fangs of the beast were exposed. The jaws dripped saliva, and the eyes seemed blood-red. A more awful sight the girl had never seen. This fierce, hungry creature was even more terrifying in appearance than the bear that had chased her in the canon. He seemed, indeed, more savage and threatening than the puma that Jib had roped that forenoon as they rode over to Tintacker.

He turned squarely and faced her. He was not afraid, but seemed to welcome her as an antagonist worthy of his prowess. He did not advance, but he stood between Ruth and the door of the sick man's cabin. She might retreat, but in so doing she would abandon the unfortunate to his fate. And what that fate would be she could not doubt when once she had glimpsed the savage aspect of the wolf.

CHAPTER XXI-A PLUCKY FIGHT

Ruth had already set down the bucket of water and drawn the heavy pistol from her belt. The girls had been trying their skill with six-shooters at the ranch at odd times, and she knew that she stood a good chance of hitting the big gray wolf at ten or twelve yards. The beast made no approach; but his intention of returning to the door of the cabin where the sick man lay, if she did not disturb him, was so plain that Ruth dared not desert the helpless patient!

The wolf crouched, growling and showing his fangs. If the girl approached too near he would spring upon her. Or, if she fired and wounded him but slightly she feared he would give chase and pull her down in a few seconds. She very well know that she could not hope to distance the beast if once he started to pursue her.

This was indeed a dreadful situation for a tenderly nurtured girl. The wolf looked to be fully as large as Tom Cameron's mastiff, Reno. And Ruth wished with all her heart (as this comparison flashed through her mind) that the mastiff was here to give battle to the savage beast.

But it were vain to think of such impossibilities. If anything was to be done to drive off the wolf at the cabin door, she must do it herself.

Yet she dared not make the attack here in the open, and afoot. If she approached near enough to him to make her first shot sure and deadly, the beast gave every indication of opening the attack himself.

And, indeed, he might spring toward her at any moment. He was growing impatient. He had scented the helpless man inside the shack and-undisturbed-would soon burrow under the door and get at him.

Although not so cowardly as a coyote, the wolf seldom attacks human beings unless they are helpless or the beast is driven to desperation by hunger. And gaunt as this fellow was, there was plenty of small game for him in the chapparel.

Thus, Ruth was in a quandary. But she saw plainly that she must withdraw or the wolf would attack. She left the bucket of water where it stood and withdrew back of the nearest hut. Once out of the wolf's sight, but still holding the revolver ready, she looked hastily about. Her pony, hobbled by Jib, had not wandered far. Nor had Freckles seen or even scented the savage marauder.

Ruth spied him and crept away from the vicinity of the wolf, keeping in hiding all the time. She soon heard the beast clawing at the bottom of the door and growling. He might burst the door, or dig under it, any moment now!

The last few yards to the pony Ruth made at a run. Freckles snorted his surprise; but he knew her and was easily caught. The frightened girl returned the revolver to her belt and removed the hobbles. Then she vaulted into the saddle and jerked the pony's head around, riding at a canter back toward the cabin.

The wolf heard her coming and drew his head and shoulders back out of the hole he had dug. In a few minutes more he would be under the door and into the cabin, which had, of course, no floor but the hard-packed clay. He started up and glared at the pony and its rider, and the pony began to side-step and snort in a manner which showed plainly that he did not fancy the vicinity of the beast.

"Whoa, Freckles! Steady, boy!" commanded Ruth.

The cow pony, trained to perfection, halted, with his fore feet braced, glaring at the wolf. Ruth dropped the reins upon his neck, and although he winced and trembled all over, he did not move from the spot as the girl raised the heavy pistol, resting its barrel across her left forearm, and took the best aim she could at the froth-streaked chest of the wolf.