The golden West boys, "Injun and Whitey" : a story of adventure

Front matter

f • e

/ 0 • .

oK

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I News from the West 17

II Preparations . 28

Chapter I

“Hooray! Hooray !” shouted Alan Sherwood, — better known as “Whitey” to the boys in school. “Ooo-lu-lulu-loo-lulu he called, making the sound by putting his hand over his mouth and rapidly pulling it away and putting it back. He considered this a very good imitation of an Indian war-whoop.

Mr. Sherwood, “Whitey’s” father, had just finished reading aloud a letter from a firm of lawyers in Montana which stated that Uncle Robert Granville, who died some weeks before, had left a will bequeathing his large ranch and everything on it to Mr. Sherwood; and that> T 7 as the ranch was a profitable one, it would be necessary for him to come to Montana and either carry on the business or see to its disposal.

“Hooray! Hooray !” yelled “Whitey,” executing a very wild dance, and letting out a series of whoops that almost deafened the other members of the family.

“What are you ‘hooraying’ about ?” asked Mr. Sherwood, while his wife and his two small sisters held their hands over their ears. “I hope,” said Mr. Sherwood, with a quizzical smile, “it is not because your poor uncle Robert is dead?”

“Why, of course not, Father,” said “Whitey,” somewhat abashed; “I’m very sorry that Uncle Robert is dead — but — Im just glad that I’m going out West and can go hunting and be a cow-boy, and maybe shoot a few grizzly bears and Indians!”

“Who told you that you were going?” asked his father, pretending to be very serious, but having hard work to keep back a smile.

“Well, I'd just like to see myself staying 18 here if we owned a ranch out West!” said “Whitey,” with fine scorn. “I’ve heard you say, lots of times, that the West is the place for a young man !”

Whitey had just attained the age of fourteen, and Mr. Sherwood had to conceal a smile behind his hand, as he glanced at his wife, who was an interested listener.

“And what do you want to kill Indians for — they never did anything to you, did they?” asked Mr. Sherwood.

“No,” said Whitey, hesitating about making such an admission, “I don’t know as they ever did anything to me — but everybody kills ’em, don’t they? In all the Western books I read, people always kill ’em — 'wipe ’em out’ is what the scouts call it in the books — make ’em 'bite the dust !’ I thought that was the proper thing to do,” he said, in defense of his position.

“Well,” said Mr. Sherwood, “I think I’d give the matter a little consideration before I started the slaughter. It isn’t open season for Indians just now, and besides, if the Indians should happen to hear that you were coming, 19 they might all leave, while there is yet time to escape the White Avenger! And as for the grizzlies — did you ever see a grizzly bear, Son?”

“Sure,” said Whitey, disdainfully, “up at the Bronx Zoo. He was a terribly moth-eaten looking affair — no life in him at all! He just went sniffing around and all he cared about was to eat peanuts. And when the keeper went into the cage, he ran like he was scared to death !”

“Maybe he’d act a little different if he were in his native Rockies, and you might not have any peanuts with you,” said Mr. Sherwood, shaking his head. “Would you believe it, if I told you that a grizzly can run almost as fast as the fastest horse? And in the brush and over the rough ground, a great deal faster?”

“I’d believe it, if you say so; but it doesn’t seem possible,” said Whitey, doubtfully. “If he can run that fast, it would make him mighty hard to catch, wouldn’t it?” he asked, after some thought.

“It would,” laughed Mr. Sherwood, “if he always ran the other way — but he doesn’t! Sometimes it’s harder to let him go than it is to catch him! Sometimes he runs after you — and then you’d have to 'go some’ — as you say.”

“If he ever came at me,” said Whitey, belligerently, “I’d put a bullet in his heart !”

“Even that doesn’t always stop a grizzly, right away,” said Mr. Sherwood. “They have very surprising vitality. I think that, for the time being, I’d let the Indians and grizzlies alone — let the poor things live! At any rate, you’re not out West, yet, and it may be that I shall decide not to go at all — though I suppose I shall,” and Mr. Sherwood proceeded to ponder over the matter. Nevertheless, it was plain to be seen that he, too, felt the call of the mountain and the prairie almost as much as did his son.

Although a prosperous merchant in New York he had spent several years of his early life in the great West; and once a man gets the lure of the wilds in his blood, ne is seldom able to shake it off altogether. But he felt that there were too many things to be considered — his business, his family and their welfare and the schooling of his children— to make a hasty decision, pack up, bag and baggage, and leave a comfortable home for a new and untried one.

No one, not even grown-ups, can always do just as he likes. Everybody has obligations to others ; and there are many things that we all must forego to fulfill those obligations — as a matter of duty. For duty is, after all, nothing but fulfilling obligations, and the sooner a boy learns this, the sooner he becomes a man!

Alan Sherwood, although he was only fourteen years old, was getting to be a good deal of a man. The nickname “Whitey” had been given him by his companions at school on account of his light blonde hair. He had resented it, at first; but after he found out that he couldn’t “lick the whole school,” — although he came pretty near doing it — he gradually became resigned to it, and answered to it readily.

Whitey was large for his age, and was far stronger than the average boy of fifteen or sixteen. This had been brought about by the fact that he had been a weakling up to the time he was seven or eight, and had been humiliated and imposed upon by the other boys until he determined to remedy his physical defects, if hard work and systematic exercise would do it.

He consulted his father and found out that the first thing for an athlete to do was to breathe properly, for “wind” is a most important thing in all contests of strength and endurance.

“No matter how fast a boy can run,” said Mr. Sherwood who had been a famous college athlete in his day, “if he hasn't good wind, he won't last in a long race; and even if he is far stronger than his opponent in a boxing or a wrestling bout, he will be beaten by the boy who has good wind.”

Whitey began by taking a long, deep breath, as soon as he came out of doors in the morning, and holding it while he walked ten steps; and this he repeated ten times. It made him 23 a little dizzy, at first, but he found that he could soon increase it to twenty and thirty times without discomfort. He was careful to make the increase very gradually, stopping the deep breathing as soon as he felt the slightest dizziness.

Then he began to take up systematic and regular running, jogging around the block at a slow pace, and slowing down to a walk as soon as he felt his heart beating fast. He soon found that he could negotiate this without breathing hard, and then he began to increase the distance. He had been assured by his father that many boys, and men, too, who think they are training are really hurting themselves by over-doing it, and are surprised to find that they do not get into condition, being ignorant of the fact that moderation is the basis of all success.

Mr. Sherwood pointed out to Whitey that shrewd baseball managers do not allow their men to exert themselves to the utmost in the early days of spring training, but compel them to “lob ’em over” until their arm-muscles be- 24 come flexible. And they will not allow a player to run bases at top speed for fear that he may strain a tendon in his leg and impair his speed for a large part of the playing season.

“It is a hard thing for a young and ambitious athlete to keep himself in check when he is brimming over with health and strength and enthusiasm,” said Mr. Sherwood, “but it is the real way to train. Many a young athlete ruins his chances for future success by going at it too violently at first.”

Of course, there were many other things that Mr. Sherwood showed Whitey, one of the most important being regular hours — regular hours for sleep and for play; in short, to be systematic. And another thing of great importance was cleanliness — both of mind and body — for no boy or man can, or ever did, become a really great athlete without the aid of both of these.

And as for smoking — “Well,” said Mr. Sherwood, “I can’t say that there is anything really wrong about a man smoking, but for a boy to smoke means that he is willing to 25 sacrifice almost everything to that. It not only is apt to stunt his growth, but one cigarette may destroy all the good effects of a week’s training. And not only that, it affects the eye and the nerves — takes away accuracy from the eye, and makes the hand unsteady. I don’t believe it pays — I don’t believe there is enough fun in smoking to make up for what it costs a boy in a physical way, even if there were no other reasons.”

And so Whitey really went into training without seeming to have done so — any boy can do it; he doesn’t need any dumb-bells or gymnasium apparatus — and the result was, that by the time he was thirteen, he was the strongest boy in the school ; and what is more important, he had learned to control himself. He wasn’t nearly so anxious to fight as he had been, although, when he did get into a fight, he was able to render a good account of himself. It is always found that the boy who really can fight isn’t nearly so quarrelsome as the one who is always ready to start a fight — and let some other fellow finish it!

Long after Whitey had gone to bed, and was dreaming of picking up a grizzly bear by the hind leg and knocking down eleven Indians with him, Mr. and Mrs. Sherwood sat debating the pros and cons of going to Montana. And it was finally decided that before moving their home to the West, Mr. Sherwood should go out to the ranch and learn what the conditions were and whether it was a suitable place to bring his family. And what is more interesting, it was finally agreed that Whitey was to go with him, although this arrangement was not made without some protest from Mrs. Sherwood, who had a mother’s natural solicitude for her boy. But Mr. Sherwood said, with a smile and a shake of the head, that he was not at all fearful about Whitey — “It’s the poor Indians and grizzlies I’m sorry for!”

Chapter II

The next few days were busy ones for Whitey and his friends. It was vacation time, and as soon as Whitey had the “honest-to-goodness” assurance that he was “really and truly” going out West, he lost no time in communicating the news to all the boys. He found Tom Johnson at breakfast ; but after Tom had heard the news, he had no further appetite, and went with Whitey over to the home of George and Bobby Smith, and the four boys went out to talk over the matter. Whitey’s equipment was a matter for much consideration.

“Gee !” said Tom, “you’ll need a revolver — Colt’s forty-five is what all the cowboys use — an’ the sheriffs, too. An’ a Winchester rifle.”

“Yes,” said George, “an' ’f I was you, I’d take a lot o’ fishin’-tackle and rods an’ reels an’ things. You bet there’s fish out there in Montana — I’ve heard the fish are so thick in some river out there that you can walk in an* ketch ’em with your hands !”

“I guess you’re thinking of the Columbia River salmon — that ain’t in Montana,” said Whitey, who was up in geography.

“Well,” said George, unconvinced, “it’s right out there in the West, some place — mebbe you could tramp over there some afternoon. I know I would ’f I was out there!”

“Well, I’ll tell you what I’d do,” chimed in Bobby, excitedly, “ ’f I was you, the first thing I got would be a big felt hat an’ some cowboy clothes! If you don’t they all call you a “tenderfoot,” an’ they’ll make you do a dance by shootin’ at your feet ! I’ve seen ’em do it in the movies lots o’ times.” Bobby was aged six, but he had advanced ideas and experience, too. “An’ you’re going to want a saddle an’ a lariat an’ a good pair o’ snow-shoes — it snows fierce out there in Montana an’ Alaska an’ all those 29 places — ’t ain’t safe to go any place without snow-shoes! A blizzard is liable to come up any old time !”

The wisdom of all this was readily admitted; and after a list had been carefully prepared, the four boys went to a big sporting-goods store and submitted it, and asked to see the various articles. The clerk looked the list over and got out the various things it called for, which included everything from a baseball — which Tom said “might come in handy” — to snow-shoes. Each of the boys handled and carefully inspected each article and approved it. Whitey had looked at some woodman’s hatchets, but Bobby suggested that Whitey could take a tomahawk away from the first Indian he killed and thus save expense.

“How much would all that come to ?” asked Whitey, a little apprehensively.

The clerk figured it up. “One hundred and sixty-eight dollars and forty cents,” he said cheerfully.

A hurried audit of the finances of the party 30 revealed the fact that the cash capital on hand amounted to two thirty-six!

“Just send them up to the house,” said Whitey, loftily, and he gave the name and the address. One of the proprietors stood near and listened smilingly to the whole transaction ; and when the boys had gone, he went to the telephone.

Mr. Sherwood, in his office, picked up the receiver, and a familiar voice came over the wire: “Hello, Sherwood! This is Robertson. Your boy was just in here with some friends and bought out the store ! He’s evidently going out West — with a vengeance!”

“Is that so?” laughed Mr. Sherwood. “What did he buy?”

“I can tell you what he didn't buy easier than what he did! The bill amounts to one hundred and sixty-eight, forty. What do you want me to do? — he said to send the stuff up to the house!” and Robertson laughed the goodnatured laugh of a man who appreciates boys.

“Great Jehosaphat!” said Mr. Sherwood; “What kind of a selection did he make?”

“Well,” answered Mr. Robertson, “it isn’t altogether bad, but of course, he’s got a lot of things that he won’t need at all. It’s June, and he has selected an elegant pair of snow-shoes !”

“My, my!” exclaimed Mr. Sherwood. “Can you beat it?”

“Yes,” answered Mr. Robertson, “I think I can. He had expert advice from the three youngsters who were with him and it was more or less a consultation purchase. One of the kids assured him that it was the next thing to suicide to go around Butte, Montana, without a compass ! Said a man might get into Butte and wander ’round and ’round in a circle and never get anywhere, if he didn’t have a compass! Ha, ha! I guess that beats the snowshoes, doesn’t it?”

“I’ll have to admit that it does !” laughed Mr. Sherwood. “Any other freak stuff?”

“Well,” laughed Mr. Robertson, “I wish you’d run over here and take a look at it ! Or, if you say so, I’ll send it all up to the house and you can return anything you don’t want him to have. It is certainly surprising how much.

those kids know about the West, at that. I suppose they get it from the movies — the outfit wouldn’t be bad for a man, but I know you don’t want that kid of yours to have some of the things. There’s a Colt forty-five and a 'scalping-knife’, the boys called it, a foot long, among other things.”

“Pm not really surprised,” laughed Mr. Sherwood. "The minute Alan heard the news about the ranch, he declared war on Indians and grizzlies ! Don’t bother to send the stuff up to the house — I’ll bring the boy in and buy some stuff before I go. Thanks for calling me up! I need a few things, myself, but they are strictly in the line of peace.”

That evening, after dinner, Mr. Sherwood said, good-naturedly, "Mr. Robertson tells me that you made a few purchases to-day, Son ?”

"Yes,” answered Whitey, "but they haven’t come. I’ve been looking for them all afternoon — I guess something’s the matter.”

"Have you got the list of the things you ordered?” asked his father. "I’d like to look at it — maybe I can make some suggestions — 33 possibly you didn't get enough ?" and Mr. Sherwood repressed a smile.

“Oh, yes ! I guess I got about everything I wanted. Tom and George and Bobby were with me, and the things I didn't think of they did. It only came to one hundred and sixty-eight dollars, and you know I’ve got more than two hundred in the savings bank." And Whitey showed the list to his father.

Mr. Sherwood examined it with a good deal of interest. “Well," he said, “this shows that you have been thinking the matter over and getting prepared — which is all right. But I don’t believe I’d carry all these things out there, if I were you. They can be bought there just as well, and many of them are unnecessary. It's summer now, and I don't think you'll need any snow-shoes just yet, and as for rifle and revolver, I'm not sure that I ought to buy you anything in that line until you know something more than you do about handling them. We'll see to that after we get out there."

“Do you mean to say that there are stores

— regular stores — out there in Montana ?” asked Whitey, in astonishment.

“Oh, yes,” smiled Mr. Sherwood, “some very fine ones — you can buy about anything there that you can here. And as for those ‘cowboy clothes/ I think a couple of good suits of corduroy would be better — the big felt hat is all right — after you get used to it. I’ll get you everything you need, though I’d like to have you suggest things for me to get and I’ll tell you whether you should have them. It is well for a boy to study out those things for himself, and then take advice of some one who knows as to the things he really needs.

“On a man’s first trip into the West, he almost always takes a lot of stuff that is of no value to him, and might better be left at home. But, there is such a thing as not taking enough, and we’ll be careful to avoid that.”

Then he added, “And another thing, Son — you won’t find that there is as much difference between New York and Montana as you think. You mustn’t get the idea that people out there are altogether savages, and that Indians and 35

'bad men' go around shooting up people every day. Of course, there is a little of that sort of thing, even now; but I believe there are more people murdered in New York City every year than in all the states west of the Mississippi put together. I may be wrong, but I think not.”

Whitey looked much disappointed, and his father laughed as he saw his rueful face. "You'll see plenty of adventure — don't worry about that ! But you'll find people a good deal the same as they are here.”

"Don't the Indians put on war-paint and feathers and have a war-dance and scalp the pale-faces — and things like that?” asked Whitey, reluctant to give up all his cherished traditions.

"Well, not exactly,” said Mr. Sherwood, smiling. "The sheriff won't let 'em. He just locks ’em up until they get sober, and then puts 'em to work on the rock-pile.”

This seemed to take a good deal of enchantment out of things, and Mr. Sherwood added, "I am speaking, of course, of where we are going. There are many places where the Indians have to be watched and reckoned with; but you won’t be very likely to get into those places.”

Out on the front steps, later in the evening, Whitey and the boys held a consultation, and the sad news about the gun and the revolver was received with much apprehension and shaking of heads.

“Gee!” said Tom, “I’d certainly hate to be out West among those bears an’ panthers an’ cowboys an’ Indians without a gun!”

“We’ll simply haf to get Whitey one — somehow!” said George who was much concerned. “ ’T ain’t safe for a man out there ’thout he’s heeled! Mebbe,” he continued, after some thought, “if Whitey ain’t goin’ till next week we can manage it — somehow!”

Bobby, the youngest boy of the lot, was as much alarmed about Whitey’s safety as anybody, but he said nothing. However, he gave the matter deep and even prayerful thought. On his knees, that night, he concluded his prayers — “And, Lord, please don’t let Whitey 37 go out West without a revolver! You blow it ain’t safe! Amen!”

And that was why Bobby’s father never could find that little, pearl-handled pistol that he kept in the automobile !

Many of the boys in the neighborhood dropped in, and by bedtime Whitey was the most envied as well as the most popular boy on the block. He had promised a bear or a panther-skin to every one of his pals, allowing each of them to make his own selection — some preferred bear, some panther, with a slight demand for buffalo. It was all the same to Whitey.

There were requests for souvenir Indian scalps, but Whitey was doubtful about supplying them. And they in return, had given him much sage advice as to how he should conduct himself when he ca|ne in contact with the desperate characters, both man and beast, that he must inevitably encounter in the wilds of Montana. It was unanimously agreed that a compass was necessary.

“This goin’ around Butte without a compass, is takin’ a chance,” said Tom, with a warning shake of his head. “ ’Most as bad as bein’ without a gun ! If a man ain’t got a compass,” warned Tom, for the sixth time, “an’ he gets lost, he goes ’round and ’round in a circle and doesn’t get anywhere!”

It was agreed that this would be very bad in Butte!

Chapter III Off For The Golden West

Astheeventful day approached when Whitey and his father were to start, it seemed to Whitey as though Old Father Time had lost his habit of flying, and had subsided into a very slow walk. Whitey’s entire equipment was purchased at Mr. Robertson’s store where he and the boys had made their selection at first, and Tom and George and Bobby had been allowed to come along and assist in the buying and selection.

And, too, Mr. Sherwood made certain concessions. The apprehension of the boys was so great at the thought of Whitey being in the wilds of Montana without a gun, that, after some hesitation, Whitey 's father allowed a Winchester .22 calibre rifle, with a safety-lock, 40

OFF FOR THE GOLDEN WEST to be added to the equipment. It was expressly agreed, however, that the rifle must not be loaded until the boy had arrived at the ranch in Montana.

Mr. Sherwood put Whitey through a sort of drill, instructing him in the mechanical workings of the gun, and how to handle it under all circumstances — walking, running, climbing a fence or a hill or a tree, or on horse-back; and explaining that a different method must be used when a companion is with you than if you are alone. Whitey was made to understand that when not in use, the muzzle of a gun must point either straight up into the air or straight down at the ground, and never in the direction of any other person nor in the direction of himself . “And,” said Mr. Sherwood, “if you ever aim the gun at any one, I will take it away from you and never let you have it again.”

“But,” said Whitey, “if the gun isn't loaded, what harm can it do ?”

“That is exactly the trouble,” said his father, impressively. “It is the guns that ( are not 4i loaded ’ that kill somebody! Careless boys — and men, too — often think the gun isn’t loaded, when it is, and that is the time when the damage is done! So, the only rule is, don’t ever point a gun at any one whether it is unloaded or not !”

Whitey readily agreed to all these conditions, for he could see the wisdom of them. The corduroy suits were purchased and the wide-brimmed hat as well as two pairs of heavy shoes and a pair of water-proof boots that came high up on Whitey’s legs above the knee. The compass — a small pocket one — was added to allay Tom’s fear that Whitey might get lost in the wilderness of Butte! Then Mr. Sherwood added two things which the boys had not thought of — a big strong jack-knife and a camera.

“You boys will find that hunting with a camera is just about as much fun as hunting with a gun,” said Mr. Sherwood. It isn’t necessary to kill every animal you run across. It is just as interesting and far less cruel to take his picture, and the animal likes it a great 42

OFF FOR THE GOLDEN WEST deal better — and you’ve got something to show afterward. And as for the jack-knife, you’ll find that to be one of the most useful things you can have when you are in the wilds.”

“Yes,” said the excited Bobby, “an’ if Whitey kills an Indian, he can take his picture first, with the camera, and scalp him afterwards with the knife!”

“You don’t ever scalp an Indian — nobody does!” said Tom, reprovingly.

“Father says it ain’t open season for Indians now — the sheriff won’t let any one kill ’em,” said Whitey, a little disgustedly. “They put ’em to work on the rock-pile if they get gay, like they used to. Besides,” he added, with an air of superior wisdom, “the Indians are kind o’ dyin’ out, anyway — just like buffaloes — and the ones that don’t die go to Carlisle College, or some place.”

“Gee!” said George, “I saw the Carlisle football team play over at the Polo Grounds last fall! They didn’t look as though they were ‘dyin’ out!’ They ‘put it all over’ some 43

Eastern college ! I wouldn’t advise Whitey to try to scalp one of those fellows!”

“Of course not!” said Whitey. “They’re educated and civilized — just like other folks. The kind you kill — in all the books — are the ones that get drunk on fire-water and put paint and feathers on ’emselves and go ’round murdering the white settlers and burning folks at the stake. The Carlisle boys don’t do any of those things !” 1

“Well,” said Bobby, dubiously, reluctant to give up cherished traditions, “I dunno. You can’t tell — they might !”

Mr. Sherwood ended the discussion by saying that they better get home and finish packing; and the boys were much put out when Mr. Sherwood had the big package sent to his house. It would have looked so much more like business if they could have carried the gun through the streets !

It seemed to Whitey that the next morning would never come, but it did, finally, and there was a large delegation at the Pennsylvania Station to say good-by. While the farewells were 44

OFF FOR THE GOLDEN WEST being said, Bobby took Whitey a little aside and with much secrecy slipped the little pearl-handled .22 revolver into his hand and Whitey hastily transferred it to his hip-pocket.

“I got it out of our car !” Bobby whispered. “Mother was always afraid of it an’ tried to make Daddy get rid of it — so I just took it! You oughta have it on the train — you know, for train-robbers, or somethin’! Jack Harkaway says 'a man oughta go heeled !’ Mebbe,” he added, a little apprehensively, “it ’d be jes’ as well not to say anythin’ about it — till you get out there.”