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Updated: June 14, 2025
If such a road could be made, I hoped to get up enough rations and grain from the cornfields purchased to send out a formidable expedition against the Cheyennes, so I set out for Arbuckle accompanied by my quartermaster, Colonel A. J. McGonigle.
"Pumpkin, where is Dick Arbuckle?" questioned Pawnee Brown, leaping to the ground and catching the lad by his arm. "Lemme go! I didn't hurt him!" screamed Pumpkin. "He went that way like the wind on a bay horse which was running away. Oh, he's killed, I know he is!" "You are sure of this?" "Hope to die if it ain't so. Poor Dick! He'll be pitched off and smashed up like his father was smashed up.
"You are very brave, Mr. "I'm only Dick Arbuckle, Miss " "Nellie Winthrop is my name. I just reached Arkansas City yesterday. I am from Peoria, and am looking for my uncle, who is somewhere among the Oklahoma boomers." "Indeed! I'm one of the boomers myself at least, I've been with them a good part of the time. Perhaps I know your uncle. What is his name?"
Arbuckle each gave a napoleon, and other members of the party gave small sums. The gold won the heart of the official, and he was very polite. Having observed the effect as a whole, the tourists proceeded to examine the church in detail. Behind the high altar is the shrine of the Three Kings of Cologne. They are represented as the Magi, who came from the east with presents for the infant Saviour.
Or on officers' entertainment night they and their guests chosen from charming Russian families, joyfully danced or watched the antics of Douglas Fairbanks, Fatty Arbuckle, Charlie Chaplin, and even our dear deceased old John Bunnie.
Still, it would not do to withdraw, so I made a trip to Arbuckle chiefly for the purpose of reorganizing the transportation, but also with a view to opening a new route to that post, the road to lie on high ground, so as to avoid the creeks and mud that had been giving us so much trouble.
Poor father; poor Pawnee Brown! I must leg it to camp just as Pumpkin is doing. Hullo!" He had started to run, but now he pulled up short. Grazing in the wet grass not a dozen steps away was a bay horse, full and round, a perfect beast. At first Dick Arbuckle thought he must be dreaming. He ran up rubbing his eyes. No, it was no dream; the horse was as real as a horse could be.
Two years before Mortimer Arbuckle had paid a visit to Creede, Colorado, on business connected with a mining company then forming under the laws of the State of New York. While in Creede the man had materially assisted an old miner named Burch, who was falling into the hands of a set of swindlers headed by a rascal called Captain Mull.
As the reader knows, the beautiful mare was gone, and had been for some time. "I suppose that young Arbuckle took her," he mused. "But, if so, why doesn't he come back here with her?" There being no help for it, the scout set off for the camp of the boomers on foot. He was just entering the temporary settlement when he came face to face with Jack Rasco, another of the boomers.
"Pumpkin!" ejaculated Dick, striding up and catching the fleeing lad by the arm. "Hold on; what's this racket about?" The dunce paused, then stood stock still, his mouth opening to its widest extent. He was far from bright, and it took him several seconds to put into words what was passing in his mind. "About, about?" he repeated. "Dick Arbuckle! Oh, dear me! I've seen your father's ghost!"
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