The Young Forester | Page 9

was not so bad; but when a lanky, red-faced, leather-legged
individual came in to he at once supplied with his wants, I began to get
angry. I waited another five minutes, and still the friendly chatting went
on. Finally I could stand it no longer.
"Will somebody wait on me?" I demanded.
One of the shirt-sleeved men leisurely got up and surveyed me.
"Do you want to buy something?" he drawled.
"Yes, I do."
"Why didn't you say so?"

The reply trembling on my lips was cut short by the entrance of Buell.
"Hello!" he said in a loud voice, shaking hands with me. "You've
trailed into the right place. Smith, treat this lad right. It's guns an'
knives an' lassoes he wants, I'll bet a hoss."
"Yes, I want an outfit," I said, much embarrassed. " I'm going to meet a
friend out in Penetier, a ranger--Dick Leslie."
Buell started violently, and his eyes flashed. "Dick--Dick Leslie!" he
said, and coughed loudly. "I know Dick. . . . So you're a friend of
his'n? . . . Now, let me help you with the outfit."
Anything strange in Buell's manner was forgotten, in the absorbing
interest of my outfit. Father had given me plenty of money, so that I
had but to choose. I had had sense enough to bring my old corduroys
and boots, and I had donned them that morning. One after another I
made my purchases--Winchester, revolver, bolsters, ammunition,
saddle, bridle, lasso, blanket. When I got so far, Buell said: "You'll
need a mustang an' a pack-pony. I know a feller who's got jest what you
want." And with that he led me out of the store.
"Now you take it from me," he went on, in a fatherly voice, "Holston
people haven't got any use for Easterners. An' if you mention your
business-- forestry an' that--why, you wouldn't be safe. There's many in
the lumberin' business here as don't take kindly to the Government. See!
That's why I'm givin' you advice. Keep it to yourself an' hit the trail
today, soon as you can. I'll steer you right."
I was too much excited to answer clearly; indeed, I hardly thanked him.
However, be scarcely gave me the chance. He kept up his talk about the
townspeople and their attitude toward Easterners until we arrived at a
kind of stock-yard full of shaggy little ponies. The sight of them drove
every other thought out of my head.
"Mustangs!" I exclaimed.
"Sure. Can you ride?"

"Oh yes. I have a horse at home. . . . What wiry little fellows! They're
so wild-looking."
"You pick out the one as suits you, an' I'll step into Cless's here. He's
the man who owns this bunch."
It did not take me long to decide. A black mustang at once took my eye.
When he had been curried and brushed he would be a little beauty. I
was trying to coax him to me when Buell returned with a man.
"Thet your pick?" he asked, as I pointed. "Well, now, you're not so
much of a tenderfoot. Thet's the best mustang in the lot. Cless, how
much for him, an' a pack-pony an' pack-saddle?"
"I reckon twenty dollars'll make it square," replied the owner.
This nearly made me drop with amazement. I had only about
seventy-five dollars left, and I had been very much afraid that I could
not buy the mustang, let alone the pack-pony and saddle.
"Cless, send round to Smith for the lad's outfit, an' saddle up for him at
once." Then he turned to me. "Now some grub, an' a pan or two."
Having camped before, I knew how to buy supplies. Buell, however,
cut out much that I wanted, saying the thing to think of was a light pack
for the pony.
"I'll hurry to the hotel and get my things," I said, "and meet you here.
I'll not be a moment."
But Buell said it would be better for him to go with me, though he did
not explain. He kept with me, still he remained in the office while I
went up-stairs. Somehow this suited me, for I did not want him to see
the broken window. I took a few things from my grip and rolled them
in a bundle. Then I took a little leather case of odds and ends I had
always carried when camping and slipped it into my pocket. Hurrying
down-stairs I left my grip with the porter, wrote and mailed a postal
card to my father, and followed the impatient Buell.

"You see, it's a smart lick of a ride to Penetier, and I want to get there
before dark," he explained, kindly.
I could have shouted for very glee when I saw the black mustang
saddled and bridled.
"He's