Bob Somers

“ Still, Bob Somers could not reconcile himself to the thought of allowing the Tacoma lad to remain there by himself.
“I have a solution to the question, fellows,” he announced.
“Oh, do let it solute at once,” cried Tom.
“I was really the only one to promise Dave to skip back, and the way things have turned out you three chaps are justified in staying.”
“And let you go all the way back alone; no, sir!” declared Dick, emphatically.
“I have another suggestion,” spoke up Tom. “Let one stay here with Cranny, the other ride off with Bob. We can settle it by drawing lots.” ”

“ Bob Somers brought out his field-glass. "By Jove, isn't it wonderful how they keep their footing?" he cried. "Look, Dave!"
The powerful glass brought the animals close into view, and the "poet" gazed long and earnestly. He could see them bunch their four feet together, poise for an instant, then leap gracefully and land on the steepest rocks.
"That's a great sight, Bob," he said, at length.
"Big horns generally keep above the timber line," explained Havens. "They go in bands of about fifty. Some of the old stagers are whoppers."
"Wish I could get a snap-shot of 'em," sighed Dick. ”

“ Boys and men, too occupied to have eyes for anything beyond their immediate surroundings, failed to observe a horseman emerge from the timber above and stare earnestly toward them.
As Jack Conroy, fuming with anger, at last managed to drop from the saddle and rushed toward Pete, Bob Somers whirled his broncho around and rode between them.
"Hold on, Jack," he pleaded, earnestly. "Stop! Grab him, Dave!"
A hand reached up and gripped his arm. Bob turned quickly, to get a nearer view than he liked of Tom Smull's features. ”

“ The quartet cautiously approached.
The steady swash of running water reached their ears, but the torches, held low, revealed nothing but the rocky sides of the pit. Its lower portion was wrapped in inky blackness.
Despite the strangeness of their surroundings, the boys slept as soundly as they ever did in their lives.
"Gee whitaker!"
Bob Somers raised himself on his elbow, and looked at his watch. "Eight o'clock! Wake up, fellows!" he cried.
The reverberations promptly aroused Havens and Dick, but the "poet laureate" lay still.
"Get up, Chub!" yelled Dick. "Whoop la!" ”

“ Then, consulting his compass, he set off in search of the creek.
“And once there it won’t take me long to get my bearings,” he thought, confidently.
Up and down hill he rode; but the stream persistently remained out of sight.
To Bob Somers’ mind there was humor in the situation—but the humor was of rather a grim sort. Weeks might be spent in that wild region without encountering a single human soul.
“It’s a good thing I’m not a tenderfoot,” he grinned. He stroked his pony’s neck. “I guess, though, we’ll be able to find our way out of here before very long, old boy.” ”

“ Being a good sleeper, and nothing occurring to disturb him, morning found Bob Somers fresh, and eager to conquer the difficulties of [265] travel which he knew lay between him and the ranch-house.
His breakfast was cooked and eaten in short order. When the pony, in response to the crack of his quirt, leaped ahead, Bob felt like giving a shout of exultation.
“Mighty certain, after this, the crowd will stick together,” he said, aloud. “By Jingo, I suppose the fellows must be pretty badly worried.” ”

“ John Hackett's fawn had arrived safely, and was enjoying life in comfortable quarters. The huge bearskin had been converted into a rug and adorned a room in Mr. Somers' house.
One afternoon, just after school had begun, Bob Somers was seated in his study, engaged on the very problem which had occupied his attention on the night of the fire, when a domestic called him to the speaking tube.
"Mr. Griffin is in the drawing-room, and wishes to see you, Mr. Robert," she said.
"Mr. Griffin," repeated Bob; "guess he wants to see dad." ”

“ Nat arose, flicked a few spots of dust from his coat, and continued, persuasively: "If you will only stand up for me, Bob Somers may change front at once. It isn't a nice way to treat a friend, I'm sure."
It seemed rather strange to Sam Randall that a high-spirited boy like Nat, who until recently had professed such a dislike for Bob, should now be so willing to ask a favor of him. ”

“ The disastrous end of his first engagement as a tutor, the subsequent loss of another post upon which he had set his heart and the discouraging search for a position, all served to increase his tendency to shrink from the hard knocks which the world sometimes deals out. Self-effacing, and with an almost over-developed sense for the rights of others, the game of life was a much more serious matter to him than to one like the lively, courageous Bob Somers. ”

“ Bob Somers was a pretty bright chap, he reflected, and his suspicions might be justified. The echoing of their footsteps sounded through the big ranch-house with dismal, uncanny clearness. He didn’t like the little ranchman following so [236] close behind, as though driving them before him.
“Here we are!” Hank Styles’ rough voice broke in harshly upon his meditations. “If this here ain’t a nice room I never seen one. Plenty of stools. A nice bench. We ain’t got no books or other foolish things; but that there view out the winder can be looked at a long time.” ”

“ Dugan?"
The driver snorted.
"Bill—plain Bill's my name," he said, sourly. "Never had no tape measure long enough to find out, but some says it's five thousand feet."
"And it looks it," was Bob's comment.
"In ten minutes we'll git to Blinker's Pass," went on "Big Bill," slowly. "Don't know but what we oughter blindfold that little feller inside—say, what's the fat boy's name?"
"Dave Brandon."
"He don't look as if he ever done a lick of work in his life. Whoa, you 'Peggy.' Too clost to the pass for any of that game;" and Bill, with a laugh, gazed into Bob Somers' face. ”

“ There wasn’t anything on Bob Somers’ map that looked like this,” soliloquized the lad. “I wonder how in the world little ‘Fear-not’ managed?”
As the horse struggled up a steep incline, every impact of its hoofs sending down showers of turf and stones, Tom’s face reflected his worried feelings. Long before this he had expected to overtake the “deserter.” His pride rebelled at the thought of returning to the camp without him, or not being able to greet his friends with the triumphant shout:
“Hello, boys; I saw Larry off on the train, all right!” ”

“ We'll have to go some to catch up with 'em," cried Bob. "Give me a hand with the sail, Dick—that's it. Keep her steady, Sam."
"What's the program?" asked Dave, calmly.
"Board the 'Spray,' if necessary. When Dugan and 'Surly Joe' find we mean business, they'll back down."
"Maybe they won't, Bob," put in Tommy Clifton, nervously.
"You might as well give it up," came floating over the air. "Little Bill," in the stern, was waving Bob Somers' rifle tauntingly.
"If you know what's best for yourself you'll come about," shouted Bob. ”

“ During the long route over the prairie, Bob Somers and Jimmy Raymond became a great deal better acquainted with one another. Bob, the recipient of many confidences, was enabled to give his companion words of helpful advice.
The young pianist, after listening to his enthusiastic comments regarding the law as a profession, began to see the matter in another light.
“It’s a mistake to consider it dry,” declared Bob. “The law is full of the most interesting and complex problems. Vital problems, too, for in many cases they affect the well-being of the human race.” ”

“ CHAPTER XXII THE FAWN
Scrambling desperately, John Hackett strove to pull himself beyond the reach of the wolf.
Bob Somers, standing upon an insecure ledge above, and at imminent risk of taking a tumble, fired point-blank. The animal, with a howl of mingled fury and pain, stopped—then went limping away, while Hackett, with another strenuous effort, managed to gain a position of safety.
"Thanks, Somers, old man," he managed to exclaim. "He came pretty near giving me a good snip. My eye! We'll attend to those ugly brutes now. Just look at 'em." ”

“ Just look at the way he moves his arms!”
“You might think he was a lawyer pleading a case in court,” laughed Bob. “I guess he would about match Dave in size.”
[250] “Hello!” said Charlie, his eyes resting on one of the large paintings. “There’s a picture of Adolphus, the boy giant. His figure seems to match our Tom’s.”
“Oh, cut out the Victor Collins remarks,” growled Clifton. “Stop here, Bob. It’s jolly good fun to watch the people. Crickets, what a noise! Why—why—what’s the matter?”
Bob Somers was staring toward the barker with a mystified expression which gradually deepened. ”

“ So you are actually going to meet Bob Somers and his chums! Say, don’t those chaps manage to have the finest time ever, with their aeroplanes, house-boats, automobiles and a dash of cowboy life in between!
“‘And you are going to motor back to Kingswood with them! That’s great.
“‘But I’ve got a bit of news which ought to make Bob Somers sit up and take notice. Nat Wingate and I have formed a football team. Yes, it’s true. There’s a lot of good material going to waste here in town. And the high school team has had its own way so long it’s time somebody took them down a peg. ”

“ But as each faded away it left him annoyed, even angry.
“Never knew Bob Somers to fail in his word before,” he repeated several times.
Unable to stand the dreary task of waiting any longer Tom slapped on his cap, and, in a moment, was down-stairs at the door.
He looked searchingly along the street in both directions. But there were no familiar faces in the ever-passing throng.
“Hang it all,” he growled. “If we were in Chicago I might understand it, because there’s a fire every few minutes, or some kind of a [91] rumpus going on. But here!—Why don’t those chaps come back?” ”

“ I'm smart as him, any day."
"Big Bill's" restless eyes fixed themselves on the other's face, and, as if expecting that his statement might be challenged, he paused.
Then, as silence ensued, Bob Somers spoke up. "How long will it take us to reach the village?" he asked.
"If the old rattleboard don't git throw'd down the precipice, about five hours."
"What precipice?" asked Tom Clifton, with an uneasy look.
"Over at Blinker's Pass—a clean drop of three hundred feet, 'most straight as the walls of this here shanty, eh, Jed?"
"Whew! Anything ever happen there?" asked Tom. ”

“ Go it! Show ‘Whirly-gig’ your heels! This is a bit of luck, sure enough! Great Scott! I’m more glad’n ever to be alive!”
Amidst a whirling cloud of yellow dust Bob Somers and Tom Clifton pulled up their panting, steaming mustangs, to gaze, with expressions of the utmost surprise, at the highly delighted Tacoma lad.
[238] CHAPTER XXI
THE FUSILLADE
Bob Somers was the first of the Ramblers to speak.
“Good-morning, Cranny,” he exclaimed, in as even a tone as the terrific jolting he had received would allow. “I never was more pleased to see anybody in my life. We’ve come to get Jimmy Raymond!” ”

“ Then, besides, the trip will have an object."
Mr. Somers thought for a moment, and the look on his face inspired Bob with hope.
"It might not be a bad idea," he said, reflectively. "With five of you together, it ought to be safe."
"Of course!" exclaimed Bob, enthusiastically.
"But you know that you may encounter wild animals, and perhaps other dangers."
"We are all good shots," persisted Bob. "That is, all except Chubby, perhaps."
"Who is Chubby?" asked his father, with a smile.
"Oh, he's the 'Poet Laureate,'" laughed Bob.
"Is he to immortalize your trip in poetry?" asked Mr. Somers. ”

“ Bob ignored such quibbling.
"Why did you run away from that baseball game in Brampton? And why couldn't you have answered my letter yesterday, if it were only a line? And why have you avoided me here in Washington?"
It is very difficult to answer for another questions which one cannot answer for one's self.
"I haven't avoided you," said Cynthia.
"I've been looking for you all over town this morning," said Bob, with pardonable exaggeration, "and I believe that idiot Somers has, too." ”

“ He ventured to confide in Sam Randall, and the latter was so delighted that he turned a few somersaults in the roadway, much to the disapproval of Miss Maria Pringle, in front of whose house they had happened to pause.
That night Bob approached his father on the subject.
"What!" exclaimed Mr. Somers, in astonishment. "You boys take a trip of three hundred miles? Why, the land is situated far from any railroad, you know."
"So much the better," pleaded Bob. "We can have a bully time, and there isn't a particle of doubt about our being able to take care of ourselves. ”

“ Somers not a little.
"He writes," said the gentleman, "that he has received an offer which he considers very liberal."
"What is the land like, dad?" asked Bob.
"A rather desolate tract, partly wooded," answered his father. "When I went there, about a year ago, I found that the nearest town, a mere village, is miles away."
"Then why should any one wish to buy it?"
"That is just the question which is interesting me at present," said Mr. Somers, dryly. "Of course the timber may be of value."
"Did Mr. Jenkins state the name of the intending purchaser?" asked Mrs. Somers. ”

“ I'd like to get about the world a bit, too."
"As medical attendant to a hypochondriac millionaire?"
"Or some job abroad; or...."
"What you really want, my lad, is an independent income and lots of leisure," Somers commented.
"You can't say I've ever been a slacker, Bob," Woodroffe said.
"No, but you'd soon pick it up if you had got enough to live on without worrying."
Woodroffe considered that before he replied. "Don't believe I should. Go in for research or something. Hate having nothing to do."
"There's always hunting and golf, and bridge and billiards, and cricket, and so on," Somers said. ”