The Oakley herald. [volume] (Oakley, Idaho) 1908-1961, 1924-05-16

went over to the French. l kind O
mistrust thar's some o. them runny-
gades behind us. They're 'spectin' to
git lot o. plumber an horse apiece
an ride 'em back an swim the river
at the place o. the many islands.
Wen poke down to the trail on the
edge o. the drownded lands afore sun
rise an l kind o. mistrust Wen see
sign"
Jack Irons was a son of the much
respected John Irons from New Hamp
shire who In the fertile valley where
he had settled some years before. was
breeding horses for the army and send
ing them down to Sir William Johnson
Hence the site Of his farm had beer
called Horse valley.
Mr.. Binkus went to the near brook
and repeatedly filed his old felt hat
with water and poured it on the fire.
Don't never keep no fire a-goin' alter
I'm dried out" he whispered. as he
stepped back into the dark cave
"'cause We never kin tell"
The boy was asleep on the bed of
boughs. Mr.. Binkus covered him with
the blanket and lay down beside him
and drew his coat over both.
Hell learn that 1t amt no fun to
be scout" he whispered with a
yawn and in a moment was snoring.
IL was black dark when he reused
his companion. Solomon had been up
for ten minutes and had got their ra-
tons of bread and dried venison out
of his pack and brought a canteen Of
fresh water.
They started down the foot of the
gorge then dim in the night shadows
Binkus stopped, now and then, to lis
ten for two or three seconds and went
on with long stealthy strides. His
movements were panther-like, and the
boy initiated them. He was tall,
handsome, big-framed lad with blond
hair and blue eyes They could soon
see their way clearly.
They hurried through sloppy footing
in the wet grass that flung its dew
into their garments from the shoulder
down. Suddenly Mr. Binkus stopped.
They could hear the sound of heavy
feet splashlng In the wet meadow.
"Scairt moose, runnin' this wayl"
the scout whispered. "Tll bet We a
pint o. powder an fishhook them In
juns Il over east o. here"
1t was his favorite wager-that of
a pint of powder and a fishhook.
They came out upon high ground
and reached the valley trail just as
the sun was rising. The fog had lifted.
Mr.. Binkus stopped well away from
the trail and listened for some min
utes. He approached 1t slowly on his
manner. For a moment the scout |
stood at the edge of the trail In ST.
lence. Then, leaning low, he examined |
it closely and quickly raised his hand. |
"Hoofs O. the DEVIL" he whispered /
as he beckoned to the boy. "See thar"
he went on, pointing to the ground.
They've jest gone by. The grass
amt riz yit. Wait here"
He followed the trail a few rods
with eyes bent upon 1t. Near a little
run where there was soft dirt, he
stopped again and looked intently at
the earth and then hurried back.
ITS a big band. At least forty In
juns in 1t an some captives, an the
devil and Tom Walker. It's mess
which they amt no mistake"
I'm afraid my folks are in danger"
said the boy as he changed color.
"Er mebbe Peter Boneses'-'cordin'
to the way they go. We got to cuN
Ground 'em an pillow straight through
he bush an over Cobble hill an
ye1l beat 'em easy"
1t was a curious, long, loose stride,
The knees never quite Strengthened,
With which the scout made his way
through the forest. 1t covered ground
10 swiftly that the boy had, now and
hen, to break into dog-trot in order
o keep along with the old woodsman
They kept their pace up the steep side
If Cobble hill and down its far slope
md the valley beyond to the shore of
he Big creek.
I'm hot 'nough to sizzle an smoke
vhen l tech water" said the scout as
lie waded In, holding his rifle and
'owder-horn in his left hand above the
reeks surface.
They had a few strokes of swltn-
1ing at midstream, but managed to
eep their powder dry.