Far Past the Frontier

Excerpt

CHAPTER I.

The Flight of Big Pete Ellis.

“Look out thar!”

A young, red-bearded man of herculean frame fiercely jerked the words between his teeth as he leaped between two boys who were about to enter the country store, from the door of which he sprang.

Diving aside, but quickly turning, the lads saw the cause of their sudden movement bound into a wagon standing near, and with a furious cry to the horses, whip them to such instant, rapid speed that the strap with which the animals were tied, snapped like a bit of string. With a clatter and rumbling roar the team and wagon dashed around a corner, the clumsy vehicle all but upsetting, as the wheels on one side flew clear of the ground.

Running forward, the boys were in time to see, fast disappearing down the road toward where the September sun was setting, the reckless driver bending over, lashing the horses to a frantic gallop. The wagon swayed and jolted over the ruts and holes, threatening momentarily to throw the fellow headlong. An empty barrel in the box bounced up and down and from side to side like a thing alive.

“Something has happened! Big Pete isn’t doing that for fun!” the larger of the boys exclaimed.

“Run for Dr. Cartwright, quick! Big Pete has killed Jim Huson, I’m afraid!”

The speaker was Marvel Rice, proprietor of the store in which Huson was a clerk. “Tell him to hurry—hurry!” the merchant cried again, as without a second’s hesitation the two boys sped away along the tan-bark path.

“Are you coming, Ree?” asked the more slender lad, glancing over his shoulder with a droll smile. He was a wiry chap of sixteen and ran like a grey hound, easily taking the lead.

His companion made no reply, but his spirit fired by the sarcastic question, he forged ahead, and the other found it necessary to waste no more breath in humor.

An admirer of youthful strength and development would have clapped his hands with delight to have seen the boys’ close race. Return Kingdom, whom the slender lad had called “Ree,” was a tall, strongly built, muscular fellow of seventeen. His fine black hair waved under the brim of a dilapidated beaver as he ran. His brown eyes were serious and keen and his mouth and chin emphasized the determination expressed in them. Though his clothes were of rough home-spun stuff, and his feet were encased in coarse boots, an observing person would have seen that he was possessed of the decision and strength in both mind and body which go to make leaders among men.

The smaller boy was John Jerome—quick, vigorous, brown-haired, blue-eyed, freckled, and his attire was like that of his companion whose follower he was in everything save foot-racing. In that he would give way to no one, not excluding the trained Indian runners who sometimes came to the neighboring village.

“Easy, easy!” Dr. Cartwright sang out, the boys nearly colliding with him as he was driving from his dooryard. “Somebody dying?” he asked as the runners halted.

“Jim Huson’s been hurt; they want you at the store, quick,” Ree Kingdom breathlessly explained....