The Rambler Club with the Northwest Mounted

BY W. CRISPIN SHEPPARD

AUTHOR OF

“THE RAMBLER CLUB AFLOAT” “THE RAMBLER CLUB’S WINTER CAMP” “THE RAMBLER CLUB IN THE MOUNTAINS” “THE RAMBLER CLUB ON CIRCLE T RANCH” “THE RAMBLER CLUB AMONG THE LUMBERJACKS” “THE RAMBLER CLUB’S GOLD MINE” “THE RAMBLER CLUB’S AEROPLANE” “THE RAMBLER CLUB’S HOUSE-BOAT” “THE RAMBLER CLUB’S MOTOR CAR” “THE RAMBLER CLUB’S BALL NINE” “THE RAMBLER CLUB’S FOOTBALL TEAM”

Illustrated by the Author

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY PHILADELPHIA MCMXIV

COPYRIGHT 1914 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY

Introduction

When Bob Somers and his four friends, of Kingswood, Wisconsin, formed the Rambler Club they probably had little idea of the numerous and exciting adventures which were before them. These are related in: “The Rambler Club Afloat,” “The Rambler Club’s Winter Camp,” “The Rambler Club in the Mountains,” “The Rambler Club on Circle T Ranch,” “The Rambler Club Among the Lumberjacks,” “The Rambler Club’s Gold Mine,” “The Rambler Club’s Aeroplane,” “The Rambler Club’s House-boat,” “The Rambler Club’s Motor Car,” and “The Rambler Club’s Ball Nine.”

The present book carries them to the great Northwest Territories, patrolled by that famous body of men known as the Royal Northwest Mounted Police. Their intention was to camp out, to see the country, and to meet their old-time friend, Jed Warren, of Circle T Ranch, Wyoming, who had become a member of[4] the force. The lads’ plans, however, are thoroughly disarranged at the start by an unwelcome surprise, and their energies are immediately turned into other channels. They do see a great deal of the country, and are also mixed up with some of the affairs of the “riders of the plains.” In a great measure this is brought about through the agency of big blond Larry Burnham; and the astonishing events which follow an apparently trivial occurrence surprise the lads as much as they do the Royal Northwest Mounted.

In “The Rambler Club’s Football Eleven” is told the interesting experiences of the club at the Wentworth Preparatory School. Here, again, many unexpected things take place.

W. Crispin Sheppard.

Illustrations

[8]

The Rambler Club Among the Northwest Mounted

CHAPTER I AT THE BARRACKS

Sergeant Jarvis Erskine of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police, stationed at a lonely outpost barracks, was hard at work on his headquarters’ report. Occasionally the sergeant, a tall, spare man with a military bearing, stopped to stroke his iron-gray moustache, while a serious expression now and again seemed to creep into his keen, deep-set eyes. He glanced toward his lone companion, Teddy Banes, a half-breed, who sat so motionless in a shadowed corner of the room as to give the impression that he was enjoying a doze.

Teddy Banes, often employed by the police as a trail-breaker and scout, had on many occasions rendered valuable assistance to the[10] “riders of the plains.” And though his sullen, morose nature prevented him from being a favorite, he possessed the confidence and esteem of the men at the post.

“Banes,” exclaimed Sergeant Erskine, finally breaking the monotonous silence which the ticking of the clock and the rustling of the breeze had served to render oppressive, “I’m afraid this is bad business.” With his pen half poised in the air, he turned once more to the half-breed, his eyes running over the long, lean form huddled up in the chair. “I say this is bad business,” repeated the sergeant, in a louder key. “One of the most promising young men on the force! I don’t like to think it, but——”

For the first time, Teddy Banes stirred, shifting his position so that the light fell full across his swarthy, large-featured face and long black hair.

“Yes, a bad business, sergeant,” he echoed. “He gone. No one ever see him more. He—what you call him—deserter.”

The palm of the sergeant’s hand came down upon his desk with a bang.

[11]“Aye! It looks that way, man. And a fine, well-built chap he was, too.”

“Bad man scare him, maybe,” said the half-breed, sinking back into his former position.

“Jed Warren didn’t look like a chap who could be easily frightened,” answered Erskine, with a negative shake of his head. “It’s a most unfortunate affair—a mystery that the Northwest Mounted Police are going to solve in mighty short order.”

The explosive force with which the sergeant uttered these words seemed to have the effect of jerking Teddy Banes to his feet. He began to pace slowly to and fro, his gaunt shadow trailing fantastically over the floor and walls of the sturdy log cabin.

“He is not the first who has crossed the United States border and never come back,” he exclaimed, “and——”

“Aye, that’s so,” agreed the military-looking sergeant, “but, somehow, I can’t believe it of Warren. He should have reported here at least a week ago.”

“For sure,” grunted Banes.

“Of course a good many things could happen to a trooper in a vast country like this,[12] but a man of his intelligence ought certainly to have been able to get some word to the post.”

Teddy Banes came to a halt in front of one of the windows and gazed reflectively out into the black, gloomy night. Borne over the air, blending in with the sighing breeze and faint whisperings of grasses and leaves, came the musical chirping of crickets, or the occasional cry of some nocturnal bird.

“Guess we never know,” he said, laconically.

Sergeant Erskine made no reply, but an uplifting of his eyebrows and a sudden tightening of his lips indicated that he did not agree with Teddy Banes’ views.

For fully ten minutes neither man spoke. Then the sergeant looked toward the half-breed, who had resumed his place in the chair. “Banes,” he said, abruptly, “what in thunder is the matter with you?”

“Matter with me!” echoed Teddy. “What you mean?”

“Why don’t you say something, instead of sitting there like a bronze statue?”

“Me?—I got nothings to say.”

[13]“What are you thinking about, then?”

“What I think about?”

“Yes. I can’t stand a man sitting around looking into space. It gets on my nerves. But if you’re trying to think out a solution of this little affair I’ll forgive you.” The sergeant, having finished his report, rose to his feet and strode across the floor, his tall, erect form coming to a halt before the half-breed. “Teddy,” he said, “you’ve done some pretty good work for the police, and in the job that’s ahead of us you must do your share.”

“Why for you ask that, sergeant?” queried the other. The monotonous tone of his voice rose slightly. “Always I work hard for the police. Me the best frien’ they have; they the best frien’s I have.”

“Correct,” answered the sergeant, with a short laugh.

A strict disciplinarian, Sergeant Jarvis Erskine, a man whom all his subordinates highly respected and liked, yet feared, had always treated the scout with a consideration which often excited the envy and wonder of the troopers at the post; and while his stern presence and penetrating voice may have sometimes[14] awed them it never seemed to have that effect upon the imperturbable, sullen Teddy Banes.

The officer turned on his heel and opened the door, to let a flood of light pour out for a short distance over the ground. To his left he saw the men’s quarters, still illuminated, and faintly heard the sound of their voices. A dim yellow beam shone from one of the stable windows, but beyond and on all sides contours and forms were lost in the darkness of the night. The pine-clad hill to the north might as well have been a part of the sky for all that could be seen of its bold, rugged sides, which dropped abruptly to the plain. Between the rifts of cloud, now beginning to break away, a few stars beamed brightly upon the earth.

To the grizzled and seasoned veteran of the Royal Mounted Police the uninspiring sight made no impression, and the sudden and peculiar manner with which he stepped outside the door was not caused by any phenomenon of nature.

“Banes,” he called sharply, “come here!”

The lethargic movements of the scout[15] seemed suddenly to desert him. A few long strides took him to the officer’s side.

“Banes”—the sergeant spoke with curious intensity—“listen!”

“Ah, you have hear something, sergeant?”

“Yes—most assuredly,” answered Erskine. “All the men are at quarters, yet that thick blackness out there hides either one man or several. Perhaps Jed Warren is——”

“No, me think not,” interrupted Banes. “For sure he crossed the line. No—never see him more.”

The half-breed paused, for his keen ears had suddenly detected the sound of human voices. True they were so faint and partly swallowed up in the breeze that only a man whose ears were trained by long experience would have noticed them.

“They were louder than that before, Banes,” exclaimed the sergeant.

“Wonder who it be?”

“Evidently some one who isn’t afraid of traveling on a dark night.”

“They come this way, I think.”

“I only hope it’s Jed Warren, or some one with a message from him. This is not quite[16] the hour for receiving visitors.” Erskine chuckled audibly. “Still, my suspicions are always roused when men pass by the brightly-lighted barracks of the police without stopping in to say howdy-do.”

“Yes; for they sure come this way,” said Teddy Banes. “One, two, three—four, maybe.”

“Yes; and mounted, as every respectable man ought to be in a country like this. I’ll stake my month’s pay I heard the neigh of a horse.”

“For sure. I hear him, too.”

Straining all their faculties the two stepped from the bright light which issued from the open door and windows into the gloom beyond. For some time neither uttered a sound. But, at length, as the voices which had so aroused their curiosity were no longer heard, Sergeant Erskine spoke up:

“I’ve a good mind to saddle my horse and take a run out on the prairie.”

The half-breed grunted a monosyllable.

“Since Jed Warren’s unaccountable disappearance,” went on the sergeant, “I am more particular than ever to look over every one who passes this way.”

[17]“You take lantern then, I s’pose?” said Teddy Banes, a touch of sarcasm in his tone.

The sergeant laughed dryly.

“Quite good, Banes,” he said. “Ah! Did you hear that?”

“Certain I hear him,” answered the half-breed.

“I reckon you are right, Banes. They seem to be headed this way. From the prairie these barracks must shine like a constellation.”

“Nobody could miss him but one who wants to,” remarked Teddy, sagely.

“I’m still hoping Jed Warren may be among that party.”

“No—no!”

“What makes you so confounded sure about it, Banes? Why in thunder do you always insist he’s a deserter?”

“Why?” echoed Teddy, sharply. “How many times you say same thing?”

“Well, suppose I have? I won’t believe it until it’s proved. Guess it isn’t necessary to saddle up, Banes. That bunch out there is coming nearer every minute.”

The sound of voices was certainly growing[18] louder, while occasionally the hoof-beats of horses easily overcame the whisperings and sighings of nature.

For a long time no visitors had been at the post. Now and again a ranch owner or some of his men stopped in to while away a few hours at the barracks; and all received a generous welcome at the lonely outpost station, where the police sometimes grew tired of always seeing only one another’s faces.

Within a short time the noise made by the advancing riders grew to such proportions that several troopers hurried out of the mess room to join their commanding officer. And the rays of light which flashed across their forms showed them to be strong, athletic-looking chaps who carried themselves as erect as any soldiers in the Dominion.

It was quite evident that all were full of curiosity, even eagerness, to let their eyes rest upon the newcomers; and the steady progress with which the latter were now approaching made it quite certain that their wishes would soon be gratified.

“It sounds like a pretty big crowd,” remarked Trooper Farr to Jack Stanford.

[19]“’Tain’t often around here that so many’s travelin’ together.”

“Maybe they’re from Cummin’s ranch, to tell us the cattle rustlers have done a couple more jobs,” said Stanford.

“Or perhaps Jed Warren has rounded up that band of smugglers he was after an’ is bringin’ ’em in single-handed,” laughed Phil Cole.

Several minutes passed while the men busily conjectured and theorized. Then, from out of the shadows, there appeared a number of dusky patches so blended and lost in the surrounding darkness that only the sharpest eyes could have detected the forms of horses and riders.

“Stanford,” commanded Sergeant Erskine, “go back to the mess room, get a lantern and hurry down to the gate. Those chaps are going to miss it by more than a few yards; and we won’t ask ’em to hurdle over the fence.”

“If Stanford isn’t quick they may ride into it and bump their noses,” said Cole, pleasantly.

Stanford was quick, however. He almost immediately returned with a lighted lantern,[20] which sent curious streaks and dashes of yellow rays darting in all directions, then, followed by Trooper Farr, walked rapidly toward the gate.

Sergeant Erskine and the others waited and watched with the keenest interest.

Suddenly they heard a loud hail from the distance and an answering salutation from Stanford.

It was quite the most unusual event which had happened at the post for several months; and those standing close to the barracks experienced a feeling of satisfaction when they heard the gate beginning to creak.

And now from the direction of the swinging lantern came the sound of clear, lusty voices, with the heavier tones of Stanford and Farr joining in.

It soon became evident from bits of conversation which were carried crisply over the air that the visitors had not stumbled accidentally upon police headquarters. Even Sergeant Erskine, whose stern exterior seldom reflected emotion of any sort, felt a rather curious thrill when he heard Jed Warren’s name pronounced by various voices.

[21]“Ah, Banes, I reckon we’re going to have some news from him after all,” he remarked.

The half-breed made no answer. All the intensity of his small black eyes was fixed in the direction of the gate, where the body of horsemen were now filing in. On they came, galloping across the grounds with an abandon that showed them to be skilful riders.

An instant later the friendly lights of the barracks plucked forms and faces from the obscurity. And even Sergeant Erskine allowed a slight gasp of surprise to escape him when he noted that the travelers, instead of being the troop of hardy men he had expected to see, were but a healthy-looking lot of lads.

CHAPTER II “WHERE IS JED WARREN?”

“Is Sergeant Erskine of the Royal Mounted Police here?”

All the boys had swung from the saddle, and one of their number, advancing toward the grinning and astonished members of the police, had asked the question.

“Great Scott!” murmured Cole. “What does this mean?—a lot o’ kids!”

“I am Sergeant Erskine,” answered the officer. His eyes ran over his questioner, taking in every detail of the well-set, sturdy figure which stood before him. “Who are you, and where do you come from?”

A very tall lad, looming up behind the first speaker, took it upon himself to answer.

“We’re the Rambler Club of Wisconsin,” he said, in a tone which seemed to indicate that he felt this announcement ought to create an enormous sensation.

[23]“The Rambler Club of Wisconsin!” exclaimed Sergeant Erskine, while several loud guffaws came from his men. “Who are they?”

“My name is Bob Somers,” began the lad who had spoken first, “and——”

“Bob Somers!” interrupted Sergeant Erskine. “Well—a light breaks in upon me, as the fellow in the only play I ever saw remarked. If I haven’t heard Jed Warren mention your name about fifty times I won’t take the next furlough that’s coming to me.”

“What’s this we hear about Jed Warren having disappeared?” demanded the tall lad, abruptly.

“Yes, I know all about you chaps now,” said Erskine, without heeding this remark. “You boys exchanged a lot of letters with Jed. He told me he’d asked you to come out.”

“And we’re here,” said the tall member of the group.

“Said you could have lots of fun in the Northwest Territories camping out, hobnobbing with an occasional policeman or ranch owner.”

“And perhaps incidentally rounding up a[24] bunch of smugglers or cattle rustlers,” snickered Farr.

“Hey?” said the big boy, quite fiercely.

“Well, Ramblers,” continued the sergeant, “I’m sorry you came all this way to meet with disappointment. Your friend is not here, and we don’t know when he will be.”

A chorus of remarks and questions which immediately began to flow from the lads was cut short by a wave of Sergeant Erskine’s big hand.

“Easy, boys, easy,” he counseled. Then, turning to Farr, he asked: “Who’s on stable duty to-night?”

“Stephen Stevens, sir,” answered the trooper.

“Well, tell him to take charge of the horses. Now, boys,” he added, “come inside. I suppose you must be pretty tired. How long have you been in the saddle?”

“Ever since early this morning,” answered the tall Rambler. “Tired! Oh, I guess not. I’m good for another twenty mile jaunt. You see we’re used to this sort of thing, and——”

“Tom Clifton is the greatest fellow that ever happened outside the covers of a story[25] book,” came in a drawling voice from some one. “Never gets tired; never gets sleepy. He could look a grizzly bear in the face without even winking. It’s a wonder to me that——”

“Oh, cut it all out, Larry Burnham,” snapped the other. “I wasn’t born lazy, for one thing. Are we coming in? Yes, sergeant; right away.”

As they fell in behind Erskine’s tall, erect figure the troopers led their tired mounts toward the stables.

On two sides of the barracks were long benches, and upon these six lads were soon seated comfortably.

“Sergeant Erskine,” began Bob Somers, “we’ve heard a good deal about you from Jed. Now I’ll introduce the crowd.”

The “crowd” promptly stood up, while Bob Somers, with a wave of his hand toward each, in a delightfully informal fashion, made known their names.

“Dave Brandon,” he said, indicating a stout, round-faced lad; “Tom Clifton”—his hand dropped on the tall boy’s wrist; “Sam Randall; Dick Travers, and Larry Burnham.”

[26]“Last and least,” murmured Tom, sotto voce.

“A most promising football player,” went on Bob, “who thought he’d like to take a little jaunt out to the Northwest Territories with us.”

“That’s putting it pretty mild, Bob,” snickered Tom Clifton. “If Larry didn’t coax and plead to come along I’ll——”

“Just listen to the little story-book hero!” growled Larry, in accents of disgust. “It’s a wonder I ever got his permission, I’m sure.”

“See here, fellows,” interposed Bob Somers, “we haven’t found out yet why Jed isn’t here.”

“That’s so,” cried Tom. “Those chaps who met us at the gate didn’t say very much, but what they did say sounded kind of queer.”

“I should sort o’ think it did,” agreed Larry Burnham.

All the boys had reseated themselves except the latter; and, as the sergeant’s eyes rested on his six feet of solid bone and muscle, he thought to himself that, for physique, he had never seen a better specimen than the blond youth before him. But he also noticed a[27] curious droop in Larry’s mouth and a generally dissatisfied expression on his face which seemed to indicate that the “promising football player” might not be a very pleasant companion to have around.