CHAPTER VII THE FIGHT ON THE TRAIL

The road to Orella was in the opposite direction to that taken by Dave and Roger on the day they had encountered the heavy storm. As Mr. Obray had said, the trail was well marked, so that the young civil engineer had little trouble in following it.

“But you are going to have some rough riding, Dave,” remarked Roger, when he came forward to see his chum depart. “They tell me there is one spot on the trail where riding is as dangerous as it is on any trail in Montana.”

“Well, Sport is a good horse, and I intend to be careful,” answered our hero; and then, with a wave of his hand, he galloped away and was soon out of sight of the construction camp.

Our hero felt in the best of humor, for the day promised to be a fine one and a ride on horseback through the mountains was just to his liking. He could not help but whistle gayly to himself as he sped forward; and thus the first three miles of his journey were covered in a comparatively short space of time.

69Beyond these three miles the trail roughened for another mile or two, and here the young civil engineer had to pick his way among the rocks and loose stones with care. In some places where the trail was of dirt, the brushwood grew thickly, so that it often brushed his legs and the sides of his steed as they passed. This, of course, was merely the foot trail to Orella, a sort of short cut. The main trail for teams wound along farther down in the valley and was fully fifteen miles longer.

As Dave pursued his journey, many thoughts came to his mind, both about his work and concerning those left at home in Crumville. The beautiful face of Jessie, with her bewitching eyes, was continually before him; and once or twice he took from his pocket the last letter he had received from her, to read over some of the lines she had penned.

“She wants me to make good as a civil engineer, and I’m going to do it,” he murmured to himself.

Shortly after leaving the construction camp he had passed several miners who were prospecting in that vicinity, but now he seemed to be alone on the trail, and the only sound that broke the stillness was the occasional cry of a wild bird and the hoofbeats of his horse as the sturdy animal moved ahead.

Having mounted to the top of an unusually hard 70rise, Dave brought Sport to a halt to rest, and also to take a look at his surroundings. On one side of him were the jagged rocks leading still further upward, while on the other was the broad valley, clothed in green and with a shimmering river flowing through its center. Far away he could see some animals grazing, and took them to be mountain goats, although at such a distance it was hard to make sure.

“A fellow certainly could have some great times out here hunting in the proper season,” he told himself. “I’d like to go out myself for a few days, especially if I could get some old hunter for a guide.”

Having rested for about five minutes, Dave moved forward again, and soon found himself on the dangerous part of the trail mentioned by Roger. The youth had heard this spoken of before, and he reined in his steed and moved forward with caution.

“You be careful, old boy,” he said, patting his horse on the neck. “Neither of us wants to take a tumble down yonder rocks. If we did, it might be good-bye to both of us.”

Evidently Sport understood the situation quite as well as did the young civil engineer, for he kept as close to the inner side of the path as possible, and picked every step carefully, and thus they moved onward until the very worst of the trail had 71been left behind. There was, however, still some bad places, the trail widening out in some spots only to narrow worse than ever in others.

“Hi there! Don’t you ride me down!” cried an unexpected voice, as Dave came around one of the narrow bends of the trail. And the next instant the youth found himself face to face with Nick Jasniff.

The fellow who had been in prison was on foot, and carried a bundle strapped over one shoulder. He was so close that he had to leap to one side for fear of being trampled under foot, and this filled him with anger even before he recognized who was on horseback.

“Nick Jasniff!” exclaimed Dave, and for the instant knew not what more to say.

“So it’s you, Porter, is it?” snarled the former bully of Oak Hall. “What are you doing on this trail?”

“That is none of your business, Jasniff,” answered Dave coldly.

“See here! You needn’t put on any lordly airs with me!” growled the fellow who in the past had caused our hero so much trouble. “Thought you were playing a fine game on me, didn’t you—having that construction camp manager make a fool of me?” And now Jasniff came closer and caught Dave’s horse by the bridle.

“You keep your hands off my horse, Jasniff,” 72ordered Dave. “You let go of him this instant!”

“I’ll let go when I please.”

“No, you won’t! You’ll let go now!” And so speaking, Dave leaned over in the saddle to push the fellow away.

It was not a very wise thing to do, and Dave should have known better. The instant he made the movement, Jasniff, who was tall and powerful, caught him by the arm, and the next instant had hauled him from the saddle. The scuffle which resulted from this alarmed the horse, and the steed trotted away some distance up the trail.

“I guess I’ve got you now where I want you, Porter!” cried Jasniff, the squinting eye squinting worse than ever as he scowled at our hero. “I’ve got a big account to settle with you.”

Dave realized that he was in for it and that Nick Jasniff would hesitate at nothing to accomplish his purpose. Our hero remembered well the dastardly attack made on him by the rascal at the Oak Hall gymnasium with an Indian club.

Jasniff struck out with his left fist, and at the same time put his right hand back as if to draw some weapon. Dave dodged the blow intended for his face, and then struck out swiftly, hitting Jasniff in the cheek. Then several blows were exchanged in quick succession, Dave being hit in the chest and shoulder and Jasniff receiving several in the chest and one on the nose which sent him staggering 73several feet. Then the bully rushed forward and clinched, and both circled around and around on the narrow trail, each trying to get the advantage of the other.

“I’ll fix you! Just wait and see!” panted Jasniff, as he did his best to get a strangle hold on our hero.

Dave did not answer, for he realized that in an encounter with such a tall and powerful fellow as Jasniff he must make the best use of his breath as well as his muscles.

He slipped from the clutch Jasniff was trying to get on him, and caught the fellow by the waist. Then Jasniff went down with Dave on top of him, and both rolled over and over among the rocks and into some bushes which chanced to have sprung up in that vicinity.

“You le—le—let up!” gasped Jasniff presently, when he found Dave had him by the throat.

“I’ll let up when I’m through with you—not before,” answered Dave pantingly.

The struggle continued, and Jasniff arose partly to a sitting position only to have his head banged backward on the rocks. Then, however, he managed to get one leg doubled up and he sent his foot into Dave’s stomach in such a way that our hero was for the moment deprived of his breath. Both clinched again and rolled over until they were close to the edge of the rocks.

74“Now I’ve got you!” cried the bully; and just as Dave managed to hit him another blow in the nose, one which made the blood spurt, Jasniff tore himself free and an instant later pushed Dave down over the rocks.

Even then our hero might have saved himself, as he had his left foot planted in what he thought a safe place, and he might have caught Jasniff by the leg. But the foot gave way most unexpectedly, and in a trice Dave found himself rolling over and over down a rocky slope. He clutched out wildly, and managed to catch hold of several bushes. But these came out by the roots, and then he slid downward once more, at last reaching a little cliff over which he plunged sideways, to land with a crash in some bushes and stunted trees some distance below.

The rolling and the drop over the cliff had all but stunned the young civil engineer, and for fully five minutes he lay among the bushes hardly realizing where he was or what had happened. Then, when he finally arose to his feet, he found that his left shoulder hurt him not a little, and that his left ankle felt equally painful and was quite lame.

“That certainly was some tumble,” he groaned to himself. “I suppose I can be thankful I wasn’t killed.”

Dave found himself rolling over and over down a rocky slope.—Page 74.

He had rolled a distance of fifty yards, and the top of the little cliff was six or eight feet above his 75head. From where he stood he could not see that portion of the trail where the encounter had occurred, and consequently he knew not what had become of Nick Jasniff.

“I hope he rolled down, too,” murmured Dave to himself. But after he had taken a good look around he concluded that Jasniff had remained up on the trail.

The only thing to do was to climb up to the trail and try to find out what had become of Jasniff and the horse.

“It would be just like Jasniff to take Sport and ride off with him,” thought Dave dismally. “What a fool I was not to give him a knock-out blow when I had him down on the rocks! If I had given him that I could have made him a prisoner before he had a chance to regain his senses. Now he’s got the best of it, and there is no telling what he’s up to.”

More anxious to know what had become of his horse than over Jasniff’s welfare, Dave moved around to one end of the cliff and then began to scramble up the rocks. This was by no means easy, and more than once he had to stop to catch his breath and nurse his hurt shoulder and his lame ankle. Up above him he could now see the trail, but neither Jasniff nor the horse was in sight.

At last Dave had the satisfaction of drawing himself up over the rocks bordering the edge of 76the trail, and here, feeling rather weak, he sat down to regain his strength. He listened intently, but scarcely a sound broke the silence of the mountains. Evidently Nick Jasniff had taken time by the forelock and made good his departure.

“If he took that horse, what am I to do?” mused Dave bitterly. “To foot it all the way to Orella, and especially with this lame ankle, is almost out of the question.”

Thinking of Orella put Dave in mind of his mission, and he quickly thrust his hand into his pocket to see if the envelope Mr. Obray had given him to deliver was safe.

The next instant his heart almost stopped beating. The envelope was gone!

Frantically he searched one pocket after another; and then he made another discovery equally dismaying. Not only was the envelope the construction camp manager had given him missing, but likewise the letters he had received from Jessie and his Uncle Dunston, and also his pocketbook which had contained upward of forty dollars.