Chief Brave Heart of the Woodside tribe

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QUICKLY HE SIGHTED ALONG THE ARROW i.

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OF THE

WOODSIDE TRIBE

E. Manchester Boddy

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Copyrighted 1922

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Times-Mirror Printing and Binding House ' ;

Los Angeles, California • ■ ^

AU rights reserved

SEP 25 'PS

Chapter V

Jerry Wins a Desperate Fight and Becomes Chief Brave Heart of the Woodside Tribe 102

ILLUSTRATIONS

Quickly He Sighted Along the

Arrow Frontispiece

PAGE

Eagerly Jerry Drank in Every Word. . . 12

Thud! Thud! Came Jerry’s Feet

Against His Back 32

A Tall Figure, the Like of Which Jerry Had Never Seen Before 84

Sloan Stumbled Heavily and Went

Headlong into the Grass 122

Each Taking His Turn at Leading and Riding Spot 128

Chapter I JERRY GOES WEST AND MEETS AN ENEMY

It was a hot August morning in a coalmining town of Illinois. Mrs. Sands was sitting on the front steps of a rather rundown, little house, facing a dirty street along which a great many similar places — “company houses” they were called — were built.

Jerry Sands sat beside his mother. For over two weeks now the two had sat this way, at the same time each morning, peering anxiously down the hot board sidewalk that ran along in front of the house toward town.

“Here he comes, mother,” Jerry would say, as each morning the stooped form of the mailman appeared in the distance. But each morning had come the same disappointment — no letter from father.

Over three months before, the elder Sands had left for the Far West to take up a home-

EAGERLY JERRY DRANK IN EVERY WORD stead, and build a little home for his family. He was to send for them when all was ready. Jerry had read everything he could find, including railroad folders, old geographies, anything, in fact, that told him even a little of the West.

And now on this particular morning, to the great joy of both Jerry and his mother, the mail carrier delivered the precious letter. Eagerly Jerry drank in every word as his mother read:

My dear wife and Jerry:

I could not write sooner as I have been far out in the country here looking over the land that is still open for settlement. But it has been well worth the time and trouble, as I have located on two fine forties on the western slope of the Cascade Mountains and have almost finished a cabin for us.

You had better pack up and come at once to the Woodside Roads Station, where I will meet you. Don’t bring anything but your clothes and a few kitchen things, as it is hard to get in here and we can make nearly everything we need. There is a small lake on our land and all the game and fish Jerry’s heart can desire. There are a few farmers scattered through the hills here already and they say most of them are very good people, although there is one family near us that doesn’t seem to want us to come in; as I understand they were figuring on taking up this place themselves.

I am very lonesome for you both and will count the days until you come. I figure if you leave two days after this letter reaches there, you will be here on the first of September. You had better draw the money out of the Savings Bank, and after you buy your tickets, let Jerry carry part of what’s left in case something happens, as this is all we have left now.

Your loving husband and father, BEN SANDS.

Another slip of paper was enclosed with the letter, this one giving complete details of stations where Jerry and his mother would change trains, and points of interest along the journey.

And so it was that Jerry started for the Woodside country. It was a delightful journey through the great, wide wheat and corn fields of the Middle West, on into the smaller, rugged, little farms of the newer settlements, and up into the towering Rocky Mountains of which Jerry had heard so much. It was, perhaps, the greatest event in his life. He took particular delight in sitting with his mother in the dining car for their morning meal, especially as the train struggled past the snow-capped peaks of the Rockies.

But as the days passed Jerry became more and more anxious about Woodside Roads. ‘‘Do you suppose there are any mountains like these in Woodside, mother ?” he would ask as they passed some particularly majestic peak — or “Did dad say there was fishing in our lake.^” — question after question, directed as much to his own wandering imagination as to his mother, came from Jerry, prompted largely by the particular scenery they were passing.

According to their schedule, they were due to arrive at Woodside Station early Friday morning. On Thursday night Jerry had gone to sleep reading and re-reading his father’s letter and dreaming of his future home in the woods. The next morning, before the rest of his fellow-passengers were up, Jerry was fully dressed and peering out between the cars, longing for daylight to help him see the great country he was soon to become a part of. How large were the trees ? Would there be a little town there with lots of people ? Fie hoped not. Could he see their cabin from the station ? All these and many more thoughts and questions raced through his mind as he peered into the darkness. The train seemed to be traveling faster than it had for days, for it was now going down grade, and Jerry was beginning to worry for fear they would leave the mountains entirely. But the train was taking long spiral turns down one particularly large hump, and while they were traveling at a fast rate, it seemed even faster compared with the slow up-grade speed of the past few days.

Jerry could just discern the first hint of pale light and was about to see if his mother was awake, when he saw her coming down the aisle, completely dressed, and followed by the porter carrying their bags.

‘‘Good morning, Jerry boy,” greeted his mother. “The porter says we will be there in five minutes now. See — the train is slowing down already.”

True enough. The train was actually slowing down in fits and jerks, and Jerry could hear the steam gushing from the engine and then the loud whistle reverberating through the mountains, seeming to arouse even the trees that were gradually becoming visible.

Then with a grinding and final jerk, the train came to a standstill. To Jerry’s great delight, there were no houses of any kind in sight, and from what he could see they were still in the mountains.

“Here we are, Molly. Hello there, Jerry. Well! Well! Here at last,” came the deep strong voice of Mr. Sands, as he folded both his wife and boy in his great arms. Tenderly he held them, saying a lot of things none could understand as the long train, released from its brakes, slipped noisily oif down the mountain as if hurrying away from the great red sun now breasting the crest of the eastern ridges.

‘Well,” he said at length, “we’d better find some breakfast. We’ve got a long ride before us and we must get started before the sun gets too high. Come, Jerry, carry one of mother’s bags and we’ll see what we can find in the hotel.”

The little party was all alone on the graveled siding and now that the train had gone far down into the valley below, there were no further sounds to break the deep stillness of the early morning.

Woodside Roads was not quite so untenanted as Jerry had supposed, for his father soon led the way to a little cluster of houses, one of which served as the depot, standing between what appeared to be a sort of general merchandise store on one side and a drug store and post office combined on the other. Nearby was a low frame building, painted a dull red like the station, which Jerry surmised, and rightly, too, was a sort of railroad company hotel where the train crews, or any guests or natives of the country, could stop. There was also a livery stable, and a few small dwellings were scattered about. But the only signs of life came from the little red hotel where an oil lamp still burned and where several railroad men could be seen washing their hands and faces from a long wooden basin.

As the Sands family entered the room, an elderly lady who was apparently preparing breakfast came forward to greet them.

“So your family has come at last, Mr. Sands ? Fm so glad for you. And they seem to be just as happy as you,’’ she added, as Mr. Sands introduced his wife and Jerry. “Now just come right in and have your breakfast. I know how far you must travel today, and it’s going to be a hard trip on you, Mrs. Sands, the roads are so terrible.”

Now Jerry was a sturdy lad, rather large for his thirteen years. His father had taught him many things a boy should know — particularly good manners, respect and courtesy for his mother, sportsmanship and manly conduct towards his boy friends, and above all, the ability to take care of himself.

During his father’s absence in the West he had been the ‘‘man of the house” and had taken a keen delight in the responsibilities — some of them imaginary, of course — that his father’s absence had meant.

Somehow, Jerry felt that from now on his responsibilities were going to be increased and real. He looked anxiously toward his mother to see how the news of the day’s trip affected her. But Mrs. Sands was not a mother to be easily discouraged. In fact, she almost seemed to enjoy the prospect of the journey. She had always been strong and healthy and Jerry had many times heard her say how happy she would be to live on a homestead in the West, where she could help build up a home. Nevertheless, Jerry felt that he would be much happier when his mother was safely at the end of the journey, for the mountains and woods that seemed so friendly and grand to him must have many difficulties for women folks.

Breakfast was served just as Jerry’s imagination had led him to expect. The table was long and made of coarse board. It was covered with a checkered red and white table-cloth, in the center of which a large oil lamp was still burning. Jerry was impressed with the friendliness and hearty good humor of the railroad men who sat down to the table with them. The breakfast was an ample one — ^well browned bacon with eggs, hot, fluffy biscuits, honey and coffee.

“Such lovely honey,” Mrs. Sands remarked, “and such an odd flavor.”

“Yes,” the old lady answered, “one of the men discovered a large bee-tree the other day while out hunting for Old Burntsides. It’s the first honey we’ve had this summer.”

Jerry waited for his chance, and then in an undertone for fear some of the men might be amused at his question, he asked his father who Old Burntsides was.

“You’ll find out soon enough, Jerry,” his father replied. “Old Burntsides has eaten many a poor settler’s chickens. He’s the biggest black bear ever seen in these parts. Old Indian Dan says he lives up near our claims, but so far he has not put in an appearance.”

“But why do they call him Burntsides?” pursued Jerry.

“Oh — that’s because he has great brown patches of fur on both sides. Some people think he was burned in the forest fires last year, but Indian Dan said that wouldn’t show this year. He thinks — and he seems to know everything about wild things in the woods — that Old Burntsides is really not a black bear at all, but is a grizzly that has come into the timber from the higher mountains. I’ve been hoping that we would be prepared to get him ourselves if he came our way, but I guess we won’t be able to this year.”

It seemed to Jerry that his father was a little disappointed in something. He wondered what it was and all through the breakfast he kept thinking of Old Burntsides and his father’s remark about not being prepared to go after him this year. But there were so many new subjects of interest being discussed that Jerry did not question his father further.

The breakfast finished, Jerry and his father left for the little barn that served as a livery stable and where Jerry was to find what would prove to be two of his best friends, a pair of faithful, long-eared mules. Jerry had already heard about them but was thoroughly delighted when his father pointed out the two rather small but wellbuilt animals that were standing fully harnessed eating from a manger.

‘‘This is Buck,” his father said as he called to the mule which bore the name. “You must always speak to mules before you get close to their heels, Jerry. Now old Buck here is a very friendly, lovable fellow, but if we walked quietly up and surprised him at a nap, he might kick without knowing who was near him. We call his partner here Reddy because of his color. He’s good-natured and you’ll learn to like him, too.”

Jerry wanted to pitch right in and help with the hitching up, but his father advised him to go back to the hotel and see if he could find a place to change his clothes, for Jerry was still dressed in his best, which he would no longer need. He was, in fact, quite anxious to get into his old shirt and overalls, and to wear the new broad brimmed hat his mother had bought for him.

Hurry as they did, it was nearly nine o’clock before the little party was under way. Jerry observed that his mother made quite a warm friend of the old lady at the hotel, whom she called Mrs. Downs. He heard her saying that if his mother ever needed help or anything, she should come right to her, as neighbors were rather scarce at the homestead.

Buck and Reddy were given a final drink of water from the large trough — evidently made by hollowing out a log — and the party was off. The wagon was a light, springy affair, with a rather high front seat, just wide enough to seat Mr. and Mrs. Sands comfortably. The wagon itself was partly covered with semi-circular strips, evidently long hazel bushes bent into shape. Over these was stretched a brown canvas, durable enough to withstand rain and wind. Jerry sat under this cover where he could watch the sacks of sugar, beans, potatoes, bacon, coffee, tinware, valises and bags.

Carefully Jerry looked over the entire lot. He pried open the long boxes, looked into the burlap sacks and under the front seat, but always without success.

‘‘Father,” he finally asked, “haven’t we got a gun at all

His father at once caught the anxiety in Jerry’s expression. It was hard to give him the answer, but he decided it would be better to explain it right away.

‘‘No, Jerry, my boy, we can’t afford to spend money for guns yet. We have scarcely had enough money to buy our mules and provisions, and it will be nearly a year before we can sell any crops from the homestead. We must clear land and do lots of improvement work before the ground will be ready. You will have to get along the best you can this year. Maybe next year it will be different.”

Poor Jerry was nearly heart-broken. All his dreams of adventures and life in the woods had been built around a gun, steel traps and modern fishing tackle. For a moment it seemed as though the very woods were mocking him. He could not imagine a woodsman without a gun! But Jerry was to learn a lot within the next few days!

With one turn of the road, the little cluster of houses disappeared entirely from view and the mules trotted resolutely ahead into the dark forest of fir and hemlock. The road had only recently been cut through and it was still covered with a deep carpet of moss, old branches and badly trampled salal berry bushes. Now and then Buck and Reddy would shake their long ears in protest as they stuck their fore legs into a cluster of prickly oregon-grape vines that were still standing in the center of the road.

So far as Jerry could see the road led in and out between the trees, first down one miniature valley and then along another, occasionally leading to rather steep places where Jerry had to get out and place a log or stone under the wheels to keep the wagon from pulling too strongly against the faithful mules as they were brought to a rest by Jerry’s father.

As they traveled along, Mr. Sands told his wife and Jerry more about their new home.

“It’s nearly twenty miles from the railroad where we had breakfast,” he told them. “Our place seems to have very rich soil and plenty of good water. The summers are fine and the winters, too, are good, but of course there will be snow and ice.”

“Are there any boys near our place put in Jerry.

“Oh, yes,” his father answered, “but they are not real close. There is one family about a quarter of a mile from us — the Norman family. They have two fine lads about your age, and then there are the Stuart boys, one your age and two small youngsters. You will meet some other boys out there, too — ^Tom Sloan’s boys. They’re a bad lot. I understand his boy has a cousin living with him now. I have only seen them once, but I don’t think they are the kind I want you to associate with. I believe they are quite a little older than you anyhow.”

He continued to talk of the new home, answering questions and discussing plans for the future. He never referred to the gun or traps again, and Jerry was beginning to find more interest in the signs of wild life about him than in his parents’ discussion, especially since the subject was now turning toward a proposed plan for a country schoolhouse.

Like most any thirteen year old boy, Jerry was wondering how he would get along when he met the Sloan fellows. His father had said they were a bad lot, and he had never known his father to make a mistake of this kind. There was one thing certain. Jerry was not afraid. He had fought his way through a “gang’’ of toughs when he first went to the coal mining town and he had learned a lot of valuable lessons that would come in handy if the Sloan boys gave him occasion to come into unfriendly contact with them.

It was now nearing twelve o’clock, and the family decided to make a noonday camp by the side of a stream they had been following for some time. Jerry helped his father unhitch Buck and Reddy, feed them and stake them out near the stream so they could drink. Mrs. Sands busied herself with a large coffee pot, tins of meat, etc., while Mr. Sands built a fire.

Jerry took this occasion to explore a little of the stream. It was scarcely a dozen feet wide, about two feet deep and clear as crystal. Jerry thought he saw fish dart out from the shady side of the water and into the cover of ripples and dark holes as he went along, but he could not be sure. So intent was he on making certain about the fish that he wandered further along the stream than he realized. Without taking his eye from the water he rushed headlong into a small pile of dead branches and roots, crashing through them and into the water below, which was really part of the creek that made a sharp turn at this point before widening out into a clearing.

“That’s right, you clumsy mule, scare all the fish away,” came an angry voice from the edge of the clearing. “Who said you could run loose in the woods, anyhow

Jerry was completely bewildered and dumbfounded as he gathered himself up through the broken roots and branches. He hardly knew what to say or do. He looked about quickly and soon discovered two boys, rather older than himself, seated on a log fishing. Instantly it flashed through his mind that these were the Sloan boys. A second later he was certain, as the talkative one said to the other, “We ought to give him a real ducking for blundering around this way. We’ll teach him that this is the Sloan’s Ashing territory, for today anyhow.”

“I am very sorry,” stammered Jerry, still confused and getting red in the face. “I didn’t mean to fall in the stream, and I’m not Ashing here.”

“Haw, haw, haw!” sneered the eldest of the t'W'O boys; ‘‘suppose you think we’re going to believe that? Think my cousin’s right. I’d ought to duck you good.”

He made a threatening move as if to start for Jerry. Perhaps he thought Jerry would take to his heels, but if he thought so he was wrong. Jerry was naturally a good-natured young man and did not hunt trouble. But he hated bullies and was never afraid of them. Quickly he glanced about for an open space where he would be clear of the brush and water. The Sloan boy, whom his cousin addressed as Albert, saw what was going on in Jerry’s mind and advanced quickly toward him, so that he could attack before Jerry was entirely clear of the water and brush. Jerry saw that it was useless to attempt to clear himself. He looked anxiously about for some means of defense. He could call for his father, but pride kept him from doing this. He could ask Albert Sloan and his cousin to let him come out and light fairly but something told him they were not the kind who fought fairly. Jerry was still standing in about two feet of water, several feet from the cleared bank on which Albert was running toward him. Directly back of Jerry and about two feet from where he was standing the water surged into a deep hole where it whirled about in angry circles. It was plain that Jerry’s enemy intended to push him into this hole. But Jerry was not afraid. Quick as a flash he had made his plan. A large old hemlock shaded the water hole. It was the rotten wet roots from this tree, in fact, that had caused Jerry’s trouble in the first place. Now, Jerry planned to make it help him out of it. One large branch hung directly over his head. He measured the distance with his eyes and found he could easily reach it. Calmly he waited for the bully who came on with quick strides to take advantage of his position and push him in the deep water hole. With much bad language and a ferocious look, Albert Sloan rushed. But just as quickly, Jerry made two steps toward him and then to the utter amazement of Sloan and his cousin, turned his back!

‘‘He’s going to make a dive!” yelled Sloan’s cousin in glee.

“But I’m going to give him a good start,” growled Albert, who, misled into thinking thud! thud! came jerry’s feet against his back

Jerry really intended to spring into the hole in terror, wanted to make an impression on his cousin and get credit for throwing Jerry in. Consequently he lunged with much less caution than he would otherwise have used. But Jerry was far too nimble for the clumsy Albert. Quickly he grasped the limb above him and swung out over the hole. With a rush Albert swept under him and all but pitched headlong into the water. He had hardly straightened himself up when thud! thud! came Jerry’s feet against his back. Such force did Jerry use that he sent his heavier opponent crashing through the old roots, headlong into the water hole. Another swing and Jerry was clear of the roots himself and well into the timber.

‘‘Help! Help! I’m drowning. George! George!” Albert called to his cousin, who, ignoring Jerry, rushed to Albert’s rescue. Jerry remained under cover of the woods long enough to see George pull his cousin Albert from the water hole, but not until George himself had fallen through the rotten roots and branches for a thorough ducking. Both boys came up, faces and hands badly scratched and bleeding, and, of course, with their clothes wringing wet. Sheepishly they looked about to see if Jerry was still there.

‘‘I’m here, all right,” he called. “I’m Jerry Sands and I would keep you two bullies in the water all day, only I must be going. But I’ll see you fellows again!” Threats and more bad language came from the cousins, who were heartily disgusted over their defeat. But Jerry, completely satisfied with his first adventure, slipped quietly back through the trees and joined his folks who were just about to call him for the noonday meal.

Chapter II THE FIRST CAMP IN THE WOODS

The little party hurried through the noon meal. Distant thunder and darkening skies caused anxious looks from Mr. Sands. Jerry related his experience up the stream in high glee, but his parents were very much concerned. Only the approaching storm prevented Mr. Sands from going up the stream himself to settle with young Sloan and his cousin George. As it was, all haste was made to get under way before the approaching storm broke.

“There’s a very bad place in the road about five miles up,” Mr. Sands explained. “I have never seen it during a thunder storm, but Norman told me it frequently fioods and makes the roads impassable for days. He and his two boys left the railroad with provisions about one hour before us this morning. Norman told me he feared a thunder storm following the hot spell of the last few days.”

Within an hour the storm broke. Great smashing peals of thunder followed each vivid flash of lightning. Rain fell in torrents. Jerry huddled under the shelter of the canvas which had now been stretched up over the seat bows also, to protect the entire party. Buck and Reddy did not falter. With ears cocked forward, alertness in every flbre, they strained ahead through the fast accumulating mud.

Presently Reddy threw up his head and stopped short.

‘‘Hello! Must be something ahead. Come on, Reddy — out of this,” Mr. Sands gave a vigorous jerk on Reddy’s line. The mule responded promptly, but seemed very reluctant to keep on. The rain kept pouring down in great sheets and it almost seemed as though the party would have to drive off the road under some nearby hemlocks for protection. Jerry and his father agreed, however, that it would be better to get over the hill they were on before making a stop. As they neared the top, old Buck began to share Reddy’s uneasiness. And no wonder! Soon the little gully below came into sight. Directly across the road, and flooding it on either side, a huge brown torrent of water was raging. Sticks, old logs, little piles of ferns and green branches raced by at an alarming rate. Buck and Reddy refused to go farther.

‘‘This is bad,” was all Jerry heard from his father. Together they jumped to the ground and followed the curve in the road which had been cut around the side of the gully in a sort of V-shaped angle.

As they rounded this curve, who should they And, much to their surprise, but Mr. Norman and his two boys, who had drawn their horses and wagon off the road on to a little shelving of level ground.

“We just rounded this curve when the first rush of water came,” Norman explained to Mr. Sands after they had greeted each other and expressed much pleasure at meeting.

Jerry was particularly pleased to meet the two Norman boys, Jim and Dick. Jim, the older, was a quiet sort of lad, stockily built and about the same size as Jerry. His brother Dick, although younger was taller.

He was wiry and slender and seemed to be always moving about as though anxious to be doing something.

“Well,” Mr. Sands was saying, “there’s no use trying to make the stream today. I don’t think the storm will let up before nightfall. We’d better camp right here.” Norman was of the same opinion and together they went to talk it over with Mrs. Sands, leaving the boys huddled together under the canvas of Norman’s wagon. No one stirred for nearly an hour. The storm increased in severity. Darkness was only a few hours off and the older folks began to be uneasy about approaching night. The wagon beds were not large and what space there was seemed well filled with provisions, bags and grain. The canvas covers could not be spared as much of these goods would be ruined if they should get wet.

About four o’clock, however, the heavy peals of thunder ceased and the rain settled into a steady drizzle.

“Come, boys,” called Mr. Sands, who seemed to have taken the leadership, “now’s our chance to make camp before night falls. Jerry, you unhitch the mules and lead them after me; Mr. Norman and I will see what we can find for a camp site.”