"Oh! how happy I would be, if I only had my jolly old music maker guitar along."
"Budge, will you ever let up on that moan? I'm sick of hearing the same thing over and over again. Why, Alec and Jack and me, we're shaking hands with ourselves every day, just because we've got you muzzled, for once."
"Muzzled— who, me? Goodness gracious! Freckles, whatever do you mean?"
The fat boy, whom his companion had called Budge, actually raised a hand to his face, as though he expected to find some sort of iron cage, like the mask of a baseball catcher fastened there.
Freckles, whose name at home in Staunton was Ambrose Codling, chuckled, as though it really pleased him to give the stout boy a little scare.
They were seated beside a swift flowing stream away up in that wonderland of the Great Northwest, which the Government guards jealously under the name of the Yellowstone Park Reservation.
This country takes in a vast stretch of choice territory bordering the famous Rocky Mountains. Within the guarded district are nearly all the marvelous spouting geysers, and similar objects of interest that annually cause thousands of curious tourists to journey that way.
Besides, within the precincts of the Park wild game of many kinds is protected by every possible device. Soldiers have jurisdiction there, and Government game wardens do the best they can to keep out trespassers, whether poachers of the human breed, or deer, killing wolves, panthers or wildcats.
Close to where Budge and his tantalizing companion sat, could be seen a number of up-to-date motorcycles that gave evidence of being travel stained, though in good serviceable condition still.
As there were just four of these machines parked in a bunch, it was evident that these two boys had comrades close at hand, undoubtedly the Alec and Jack mentioned by Freckles.
Those who have read the previous stories in this Series will need no further introduction to this lively group of boys. For the benefit of any who are making their acquaintance for the first time in the pages of this hook, perhaps a brief explanation may be necessary.
The tall boy who went by the name of Freckles, for reasons that were very obvious, was, as has been said before, Ambrose Codling, in the New York town of Staunton, where his father was a leading doctor.
Budge, very fat, rosy, good-natured, and stubborn, was Nelson Clifford. As boys give nicknames without considering how appropriate they may be, no one could ever tell why he had been called "Budge," save that he always hated to budge at all.
He had the bluest of eyes, that often looked reproachfully at Freckles, his tormentor, and actually shamed him; while a shock of yellow hair covered his large, round head.
The other boys were Alec Travers and Jack Kinkaid. The former had always been looked upon as a sort of leader, both on account of his resolute nature, as well as the fact of his having spent a whole season on his uncle's Western ranch, so that he knew a heap concerning outdoor life.
As for Jack, his hobby was machinery of all kinds, so that whenever any trouble came along, connected with the modern speed wheels, Jack was called in to do a little tinkering.
Since his father was no other than the inventor of the well known Kinkaid motor, well known in the trade, and among aviators especially, as the most powerful light engine ever devised, it can be seen that young Jack came by his talents through inheritance.
Of course the boys, like all of their kind, had pet names for their motorcycles, and often referred to them as familiarly as though they were human beings, or faithful horses, rather than intricate contraptions of iron and steel.
Thus Alec called his winged steed "Comet," Jack had bestowed the name of "Rocket" upon his, while Freckles' motorcycle was well named "Cannonball Limited," because the reckless owner was fond of speeding ahead of his mates.
Budge, who was often in trouble account of his clumsy method of handling his machine, and the throbbing noise it gave forth when he neglected to use the muffler properly, had very properly christened his mount "Old Hurricane."
In previous seasons these four motorcycle chums had been through a number of strange happenings, which may be found duly set down in the earlier books of the Series, to which the inquiring boy reader is referred, if he would learn more about their doings.
On one occasion they had taken a trip into the famous Blue Ridge country of North Carolina, known as the Land of the Sky, where they had met with a whole lot of thrilling adventures, while pursuing an errand that took them into the wild haunts of the moon-shiners.
Another time we find them with their motorcycles spinning along the Old Santa Fe Trail away down in the Southwest, with a mission entrusted to their charge by one of their parents.
That four such wide awake lads should run across some lively times in the country of the strange mesas, great sand deserts, nomadic Apaches, and burning heat, can be readily understood by any who knows the average American boy of sixteen today.
And only on the preceding Fall they had toured through the Adirondacks, meeting with a whole lot of strange adventures, such as boys love to encounter, or at least read about.
Through all these strenuous times the chums had thus far passed safely.
If accidents occasionally happened, it might be through the recklessness of Freckles, or some of the clumsy ways to which Budge was addicted, yet some good little angel aloft had kept them from serious consequences.
And besides, the good sense shown by Alec and Jack had frequently prevented the fulfillment of what, at the time, threatened to be disasters.
Another vacation found the four chums a year older, and through experience, more resolute and self confident than ever.
Budge, it is true, had not improved as fast as might be hoped. And Freckles too still hugged some of his faults to his heart. But if one could only compare these boys with what they used to be, the change would readily be noted.
They had shipped their motorcycles out to a station within reach of the great National Park, and ten days previous, started upon their jaunt, which had been carefully charted out by Alec beforehand.
He knew just where they could get additional supplies of gasoline for fuel, as well as oil for lubricating purposes. This was a very important part of the whole trip, for to be stalled many miles away from a post would prove rather troublesome.
And so, for a week and more now, they had been visiting all of the strange wonders to be seen in Uncle Sam's magnificent playground and Natural Park.
Budge often declared he dreamed of spouting geysers, he had looked upon so many of these boiling springs. Often the roads, while fairly decent for the ordinary vehicles used by park visitors, were poorly suited to motor-cycles. Many times had the persistent boys been compelled to push their heavy machines for miles, amid the lamentations of poor Budge, who, being very fat, was poorly fashioned for such vigorous exercise.
They had gone through with such an experience today, and Budge, while sitting there with his back toward the river, talking with his angular chum, was resting up, since he had really mutinied, and refused to go another step that day, come what might.
So the others had favored him, because, truth to tell, all of them had felt the strain of a hard day's work.
One thing had favored the chums above the ordinary tourists who started in to do the spectacular sights of the great park in the orthodox way.
Alec had brought a letter of introduction from his guardian, Mr. Worthington, to Colonel Seaforth, the commanding officer of the military forces in charge of the great reservation.
It seemed that the two gentlemen had been very great friends, and hence the genial colonel was delighted to make the acquaintance of the boys. He was also ready to do everything in his power to assist them in having the time of their lives.
When, however, he discovered that, while Budge packed a most astonishing cargo of stuff aboard his wheel and on his back, and Freckles did the same, the other two boys had guns strapped to their motorcycles, the worthy colonel looked a bit serious; because tourists are not, as a rule, allowed to take firearms with them into the reservation, all such being left at the post where they enter, and given back again upon their leaving.
Since they would have to sleep out on many nights, if their plans carried, Jack and Alec did not like the idea of being left defenseless. Wolves and panthers abounded in the park, despite the efforts of the wardens to exterminate such destroyers of game, and it would be pretty tough luck if they were placed at the mercy of such beasts. But the colonel discovered a way whereby the law might be strictly obeyed, and yet the boys be allowed to carry their firearms into the reservation without hindrance.
They readily signed a document whereby they agreed not to kill, or attempt to kill, certain game which was being fostered by the Government, such as antelope, elk, bison, mountain sheep and so on, to the end of the list. And they also promised to ruthlessly slaughter such wolves, coyotes, panthers or wild cats as they might see in the course of their sojourn within the confines of the park.
Each of the boys proudly sported the badge of a deputy game warden. And for the time being, thanks to the influence of the colonel, they enjoyed all the rights which that office entailed.
Budge was very vain of his decoration. He often, when he fancied himself alone and unnoticed, strutted up and down pompously, with his chest puffed out until he resembled a pouter pigeon, Freckles declared.
The tall boy was taking pictures with a small kodak which he had smuggled along. He had promised to snap off all the interesting features of the park for a certain young lady at home, who expected to make lantern slides of the best pictures, and entertain her class at college with the result.
Freckles claimed to have taken Budge while looking so important. Indeed, he was, according to the indignant fat boy, always hovering around with his kodak, trying to get pictures of Budge which would show him in humorous situations, and thus provide fun for the entertainment later on.
Budge did not like it one bit.
He was not only proud, but exceedingly sensitive about his size. And the thought of a roomfull of silly Smith College girls laughing when they saw him executing some ludicrous "stunt" gave him anything but pleasure.
Which explanation brings us once more to the point where Budge took the term "muzzled" so seriously that he raised his hand to his face, as if half afraid that joke loving Freckles had played a sly trick on him.
"Oh! shucks!" the tall boy went on to say, "I was only speaking in a general sense when I said that, Budge. What I meant was that we forced you to leave that blessed old guitar at home, hoping to have some peace on this trip. Have we had it? Not that you could notice. Again and again and again, I've seen you pretend you were strumming away on the strings, with a plunketty, plunk, plunk, plunk, until I've had to throw a stick at you to make you let up."
Whereupon Budge smiled; and when he allowed his rosy face to take on this look, Budge gave forth an essence of good humor that was usually as "catching as the measles," according to Freckles, who ought to know.
"Well," remarked Budge, softly, "of course I don't want to get out of practice, and so I have to just make believe I'm picking the strings of my guitar. You can do this on any old musical instrument, or even a piece of wood. If I could only run across a banjo right now, I'd soon show you what a mistake you made in muzzling me, as you call it."
"A banjo!" exclaimed Freckles, throwing up his hands in real or pretended horror. "Don't you ever dare bring one of them old coon song plunketty plunks around this camp, Budge Clifford."
"There you go again, throwing cold water on my noble ambitions," sighed the fat boy, disconsolately.
"I'll be throwing a fit, if you ever ring any old banjo racket in on me!" declared Freckles.
"Oh! don't worry," remarked Budge, complacently, "there's small chance for any such good luck in this desolate wilderness."
"Good luck! Now what do you mean by saying that, when I'm talking of going out of my senses?" demanded the lanky one.
"You couldn't if you tried, Freckles," replied Budge, so innocently that his companion could not take offense, and only grinned. "But I meant that there wasn't a show for me to beg, borrow or steal a banjo up here, where our only neighbors are half tame wild animals. Sometimes I'm almost tempted to try and make me a musical instrument."
"Go on and keep trying; I guess the country is safe," jeered Freckles, who apparently did not have a very high opinion of his lazy chum's ability in the line of a master workman.
"Forget it," said Budge, with a wave of his fat hand, though at the same time there appeared as near approach to a look of cunning as his blue eyes were capable of showing.
As though this sweeping movement of the boy's arm might have been the signal for resentment on the part of some unnoticed animal that had been prowling near close at hand, there came a sudden startling growl.
Looking hastily up, both Freckles and Budge were astonished to see the head and shoulders of a big gray timber wolf projected from the bushes not ten feet sway from where they were sitting.