Injun and Whitey to the Rescue | Page 9

Injun. "In bunk house
nothin' to steal."
Suddenly Whitey thought of the negro cook, the only other man on the
place, and demanded, "Where's Slim?"
"Dunno," said Injun, and followed Whitey, who shoved his feet into a

pair of slippers and ran hastily from the room.
The bunk house was dark, the men having put out their lanterns before
they rode away. Whitey groped for matches and, finding one, lighted a
lamp. Slim was nowhere to be seen. Whitey looked at Injun in wonder
and alarm. Injun looked at Whitey with no expression of any kind.
"Mebbe they've killed Slim!" cried Whitey.
"Mebbe," Injun agreed.
Sitting Bull had silently followed the boys, and while they were
investigating with their eyes, he was doing the same with his nose. His
search had led him to a bunk, and with his fore paws on its edge, he
was gazing into it, his head on one side and a very puzzled expression
on his face. Bull rarely barked, except to express great joy, and he
never was afraid. His nose had told him what was in that bunk; the
curious movements of the object were what puzzled him. Attracted by
the dog's interest, Injun and Whitey went to him.
The bedding in the bunk heaved and rolled from side to side. Whitey
reached over rather fearfully and pulled down the upper blankets, and
Slim was brought to view. Not only was Slim bound and gagged, but a
coat was tied around his head, to keep him from hearing. In fact, about
the only thing to show that the man was Slim was his black hands.
Injun and Whitey hastily removed the head covering and the gag, and
Whitey eagerly asked what had happened. Slim was half choked and
very indignant.
"I dunno what happened to nobody, 'ceptin' to me," he gurgled.
"Gimme a drink o' watah. I'se burnin' up."
While Whitey held a cup of water to Slim's lips, Injun struggled with
his bonds, and with great difficulty succeeded in releasing him. Whitey
asked a hundred questions meanwhile, none of which Slim answered.
He seemed entirely absorbed in his own troubles, and when he was free,
he carefully felt himself all over.

"Dis is fine foh mah misery, fine!" he said bitterly.
As far as Whitey had ever been able to learn, a "misery" was a sort of
rheumatism.
"How is your misery?" he asked, despairing of getting him to talk about
anything but himself.
"Tehibul, tehibul," groaned Slim; "an' dey tie me wid a rawhide rope,
too, dat jest eat into mah flesh." And Slim looked venomously down at
the lariat that lay at his feet.
"Who tied you?" Whitey inquired.
"I dunno. Wen I wakes up dis yeah rag is bein' jammed into mah mouf,
an' dis yeah coat bein' wrapped round mah haid, an' dat dere rope bein'
twisted round mah body, till it cuts mah ahms an' legs somethin'
scand'lus. I dunno who dey wuz, but dey suttinly wuz thorough," Slim
admitted.
"Then you didn't hear anything?" Whitey demanded.
"Heah? I couldn't 'a' heard a elephant cough," Slim declared.
"Well, Whiff and String Beans and Ham just rode away," said Whitey.
"Dey did?" said Slim. Then an awful thought came to him, and he
jumped to his feet. "Wheah's mah watch?" he cried. He hastily fumbled
under the bedclothes, and brought to light an enormous, old-fashioned
silver watch. Then he heaved a sigh of relief. "An' dat Ham gone, too!
Now, how'm I goin' t' cook, wid dat misery wuss'n evah?"
It was very plain to Whitey that all Slim could think about the affair
was the way it concerned him personally. Also, there was no doubt in
the boy's mind that the absent men were bent on mischief. Bill and the
other cowboys were surely making a night of it at the Junction, in
celebration of the gold shipment. Whatever was to be done in the
matter Whitey and Injun would have to do. By this time Slim was

busily rubbing some horse liniment on his arms and legs.
"Injun and I will see what's to be done. You might as well go to sleep,"
Whitey said to him.
"Sleep! Ah couldn't sleep in Mistah Vanderbilt's bed."
"Well, stay awake, then," said Whitey, as he left the bunk house,
followed by Injun.
In spite of Injun's belief that the men had not been in the ranch house,
the boys took a look around, but nothing had been disturbed. Then, as
they dressed, they talked things over. Whitey was not sorry that Bill
Jordan was away. While not one to think ill of people, Whitey always
had believed that String and Ham were queer, and the affairs of the
night seemed to point to the truth of this. If Whitey could learn