"Very likely," answered Carr. "But even if it is I don't believe Pike and those fellows would know enough to get it out unless they had all day to work at it; and what would we be doing all that time?"

"Shooting," said Jim Stackhouse; but I thought he said it as if he would rather be doing anything else. I didn't know so much about men then as I do now, but I could see that Tom Carr was the only man in the lot that could be depended on in case of trouble.

"Well, how are we fixed for things to shoot with?" went on Carr.

"I've got a repeating rifle," answered Valentine. "So have you, and so has Cy. I guess Sours left some shooting-irons behind, too, didn't he, Jud?"

"Yes; a Winchester and a shot-gun," I replied.

"There are some other shot-guns in town, too," continued Valentine.

"But I guess the best show for us is in Taggart's hardware store. When he went away he left the key with me, and there's a lot of stuff boxed up there."

"Go and see about it and let's pull ourselves together and find out what we're doing," said Carr. "I think we can stand off those fellows all right if we keep our eyes open. I suppose they are up at the headquarters of the old Middleton gang on Cattail Creek, the other side of the Missouri. The men that went through here with that pony herd last fall were some of them, and the ponies were all stolen, so that Billings sheriff said. I guess Pike has joined them, and I should think they would suit each other pretty well."

In a little while Valentine came back and said he had found a dozen repeating rifles, and that he thought there were more in some of the other boxes. There was also plenty of cartridges and some revolvers and shot-guns.

"That fixes us all right for arms," said Carr. "Before night we must organize and get ready to defend the town against an attack if it should come; but I think the next thing is to send a letter out to Mountain's house and put it where they will look for the money, warning them to keep away if they don't want to be shot."

"Yes," answered Valentine, "that will be best. Write 'em a letter and make it good and stiff."

Tom went into the back room and soon came out with a letter which read as follows:

TRACK'S END, _December_ 16.

TO D. PIKE AND FELLOW-THIEVES,--You will never get one cent out of this town. If any of you come within range you will be shot on sight.

We are well armed, and can carry out our share of this offer.

COMMITTEE OF SAFETY.

"I guess that will do," said Tom. "There isn't any poetry in it, but I reckon they'll understand it. Now, Jud, what do you say to taking it out and leaving it on Mountain's door?"

"All right," I answered; "I'll do it."

"Probably Jim had better go along with you," said Carr. "I don't think any of them are there, but you can take my field-gla.s.s and have a look at the place when you get out to Johnson's."

We all went to dinner, and by the time Jim and I were ready to start the sky had clouded over and threatened snow. I said nothing, but slipped back into the hotel and filled my pockets with bread and cold meat. I thought it might come handy. It was so cold and the snow was so deep that we had decided to go on foot instead of horseback, but we found it slow work getting along. Where the crust held us we made good time, but most of the way we had to flounder along through soft drifts.

At Johnson's we took a long look at Mountain's with the gla.s.s, but could see no signs of life. It began to snow soon after leaving here, and several times we lost sight of the place we were trying to reach, but we kept on and got there at last. The snow was coming down faster, and it seemed as if it were already growing dark.

"It isn't going to be very safe trying to find our way back to-night,"

said Jim. "Let's see what the prospect for staying here is."

We pushed open the door. It was a board shanty with only one room, and that half full of snow. But there was a sheet-iron hay stove in one end and a stack of hay outside. I told Jim of the food which I had brought.

"Then we'll stay right here," he said. "It's ten to one that we miss the town if we try to go back to-night. Our tracks are filled in before this."

We set to work with an old shovel and a piece of board and cleaned out the snow, and then we built a fire in the stove. We soon had the room fairly comfortable. The stove took twisted hay so fast that the work did more to keep us warm than the fire.

We divided the food for supper, leaving half of it for breakfast. It made a pretty light meal, but we didn't complain. I wondered what we should do if the storm kept up the next day, and I suppose Jim thought of the same thing; but neither of us said anything about that. I sat up the first half of the night and fed the fire, while Jim slept on a big dry-goods box behind the stove, and he did as much for me during the last half.

It was still snowing in the morning. We divided the food again, leaving half of it for dinner, which left a breakfast lighter than the supper had been. We were a good deal discouraged. But soon after noon it stopped snowing and began to lighten up. It was still blowing and drifting, but we thought we might as well be lost as to starve; so we left the letter behind the board on the door and started out.

We got along better than we expected. The wind had shifted to the northwest, so it was at our backs. We pa.s.sed Johnson's deserted house and finally came within sight of the town through the flying snow. We were not twenty rods from the station when suddenly Jim exclaimed:

"Why, there's a train!"

Sure enough, just beyond the station was an engine with a big snow-plow on it, with one freight-car and a pa.s.senger-car. A dozen men with shovels stood beside it stamping their feet and swinging their arms to keep from freezing. There were faces at the car-windows, and Burrdock and Tom Carr were walking up and down the depot platform.

We came up to them looking pretty well astonished, I guess.

"When I got to the Junction yesterday I got orders to take another train and come back here and get you folks," said Burrdock in answer to our looks. "Just got here after shoveling all night, and want to leave as soon as we can, before it gets to drifting any worse. This branch is to be abandoned for the winter and the station closed. Hurry up and get aboard!"

Jim and I were both too astonished to speak.

"Yes," said Tom Carr, "we were just starting after you when we saw you coming. We're going to take Sours's horses and the cow in the box-car.

I just sent Andrew over after them--and the chickens, too, if he can catch them."

I don't know how it was, but my face flushed up as hot as if it had been on fire. I felt the tears coming into my eyes, I was in that state of pa.s.sion.

"Tom," I said, "who was left in charge of Sours's things?"

"Why--why, you were," answered Tom, almost as much astonished as I had been a moment before.

"Who gave you authority to meddle with them?" I said.

"n.o.body. But I knew you wouldn't want to leave them here to starve, and I did it to save time."

"They're not going to starve here," I said, getting better control of my voice. "Call Andrew back this minute. You've neither of you the right to touch a thing that's there."

"But surely you're going with the rest of us?" said Tom.

"No, I'm not," I answered.

Tom turned and started toward the town.

"Now, don't make a fool of yourself, young man," said Burrdock. "This here town is closed up for the winter. You won't see the train here again before next March."

"The train won't see me, then, before next March," I said. "Jim, are you going with the rest of them?"

"Well, I'm not the fellow to do much staying," he answered.

I turned and started for the hotel; Burrdock muttered something which I didn't catch. I saw Andrew going toward the train, but without any of the animals. Tom came down the street and met me. He held out his hand and said:

"Jud, I admire you. I'd stay with you if I could, but the company has ordered me to come, and I've got to go. But it's a crazy thing for you to do, and you'd better come along with us, after all."

"No," I said, "I'm going to stay." (It was a foolish pride and stubbornness that made me say it; I wanted to go already.)

"Well, good-by, Jud."

"Good-by, Tom," I said.