



Produced by Al Haines









[Illustration: Cover art]





[Frontispiece: 'THEN BEGAN A TERRIBLE FIGHT BETWEEN THE MAN AND THE
HORSE.'  _Page_ 124.





LEFT ON THE PRAIRIE



BY

M. B. COX (NOEL WEST).




_ILLUSTRATED BY A. PEARCE_




LONDON:

WELLS GARDNER, BARTON & CO.,

3, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, & 44, VICTORIA STREET, S.W.

1899.




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER

    I.  AT LONGVIEW
   II.  JACK IN TROUBLE
  III.  JACK'S RESOLUTION
   IV.  JACK STARTS ON HIS JOURNEY
    V.  JACK GOES IN SEARCH OF <DW65>
   VI.  JACK IS DESERTED
  VII.  JACK IS RESCUED
 VIII.  WHAT JACK LEARNED FROM PEDRO
   IX.  JACK ARRIVES AT SWIFT CREEK RANCH
    X.  JACK'S VISIT AT SWIFT CREEK RANCH
   XI.  JACK CROSSES THE RANGE WITH CHAMPION JOE
  XII.  AT LAST!




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


'THEN BEGAN A TERRIBLE FIGHT BETWEEN THE MAN AND THE HORSE'......
... _Frontispiece_

'JACK COULD HELP HIS FATHER, TOO, WHEN HE ARRIVED HOME'

'HE RUSHED OFF TO THE WOODSHED, AND WEPT AS IF HIS HEART WOULD BREAK'

'HE GOT OUT OF HIS WINDOW'

'JACK STRUCK UP "FOR EVER WITH THE LORD"'

'"YOU'D BETTER NOT COME BACK WITHOUT THE HORSE"'

'JACK FOUGHT HARD, BUT THEY WERE TOO MANY FOR HIM'

'"HERE," SAID THE MEXICAN, "DRINK THIS"'

'PEDRO LET THE NOOSE FALL OVER SENOR'S NECK'

'JACK MADE HIMSELF USEFUL'

'CARRYING HIM INTO A NICE WARM ROOM'

'THROUGH A DENSE FOREST OF PINES'

'JACK RUSHED INTO THE MIDST OF THE HORSES TOWARDS A YELLOW-COATED
BRONCHO'

'"OH, MOTHER DARLING!  I AIN'T DEAD, AND I'VE FOUND YOU AT LAST!"'




LEFT ON THE PRAIRIE.



CHAPTER I.

AT LONGVIEW.

Little Jack Wilson had been born in England; but when he was quite a
baby his parents had sailed across the sea, taking him with them, and
settled out on one of the distant prairies of America.  Of course, Jack
was too small when he left to remember anything of England himself, but
as he grew older he liked to hear his father and mother talk about the
old country where he and they had been born, and to which they still
seemed to cling with great affection.  Sometimes, as they looked
out-of-doors over the burnt-up prairie round their new home, his father
would tell him about the trim green fields they had left so far behind
them, and say with a sigh, 'Old England was like a _garden_, but this
place is nothing but a _wilderness_!'

Longview was the name of the lonely western village where George
Wilson, his wife, and Jack had lived for eight years, and although we
should not have thought it a particularly nice place, they were very
happy there.  Longview was half-way between two large mining towns,
sixty miles apart, and as there was no railway in those parts, the
people going to and from the different mines were obliged to travel by
waggons, and often halted for a night at Longview to break the journey.

It was a very hot and dusty village in summer, as there were no nice
trees to give pleasant shade from the sun, and the staring rows of
wooden houses that formed the streets had no gardens in front to make
them look pretty.  In winter it was almost worse, for the cold winds
came sweeping down from the distant mountains and rushed shrieking
across the plains towards the unprotected village.  They whirled the
snow into clouds, making big drifts, and whistled round the frame
houses as if threatening to blow them right away.

Jack was used to it, however, and, in spite of the heat and cold, was a
happy little lad.  His parents had come to America, in the first place,
because times were so bad in England, and secondly, because Mrs.
Wilson's only sister had emigrated many years before them to Longview,
and had been so anxious to have her relations near her.

Aunt Sue, as Jack called her, had married very young, and accompanied
her husband, Mat Byrne, to the West.  He was a miner, and when he
worked got good wages; but he was an idle, thriftless fellow, who soon
got into disfavour with his employers, and a year or two after the
Wilsons came he took to drink, and made sad trouble for his wife and
his three boys.  George Wilson had expostulated with him often, and
begged him to be more steady, but Mat was jealous of his honest
brother-in-law, who worked so hard and was fairly comfortable, and
therefore he resented the kind words of advice, and George was obliged
to leave him alone.

George Wilson made his living by freighting--that is, carrying goods
from place to place by waggons, as there was no rail by which to send
things.  Sometimes, when he took extra long journeys, he would have to
leave his wife and boy for some weeks to keep each other company.

'Take care of your mother, Jack, my boy,' he would say, before
starting.  'She has no man to look after her or do things for her but
ye till I get home.'  And right well did the little fellow obey orders.
He was a most helpful boy for his age, and was devoted to his mother,
who was far from strong.  He