or boomers as they were commonly called, were
tired of waiting for the passage of a law which they knew must come
sooner or later, and they intended to go ahead without legal authority.

It was a dark, tempestuous night, with the wind blowing fiercely and the
rain coming down at irregular intervals. On the grassy plain were
huddled the wagons, animals and trappings of over two hundred boomers.
Here and there flared up the remains of a campfire, but the wind was
blowing too strongly for these to be replenished, and the men had
followed their wives and children into the big, canvas-covered wagons,
to make themselves as comfortable as the crowded space permitted.

It was the rattle of the rain on the canvas covering of the wagon which
had aroused the boy.

"I say father!" he repeated. "Father!"

Again there was no reply, and, kicking aside the blanket with which he
had been covered, Dick Arbuckle clambered over some boxes piled high in
the center of the vehicle to where he had left his parent resting less
than three hours before.

"Gone!" cried the lad in astonishment. "What can this mean? What could
take him outside in such a storm as this? Father!"

He now crawled to the opening at the front of the wagon and called at
the top of his voice. Only the shrieking of the wind answered him. A
dozen times he cried out, then paused to strike a somewhat damp match
and light a smoky lantern hanging to the front ashen bow of the
turn-out's covering. Holding the light over his head he peered forth into
the inky darkness surrounding the boomer's temporary camp.

"Not a soul in sight," he mused. "It must be about midnight. Can
something have happened to father? He said he felt rather strange in his
head when he went to bed. If only Jack Rasco would come back."

From the front end of the wagon Dick Arbuckle shifted back to the rear.
Here the same dreary outlook of storm, mud and flapping canvases
presented itself. Not so much as a stray dog was in sight, and the
nearest wagon was twenty feet away.

"I must find out where he is. Something is wrong, I feel certain of it."

Thus muttering to himself the youth hunted up his overcoat and hat, put
them on, and, lantern in hand, swung himself into the sea of
half-submerged prairie grass, and stalked over to the other wagon just
mentioned.

"Mike Delaney!" he cried, kicking on the wagon wheel with the toe of his
boot; "Mike Delaney, have you seen my father anywhere?"

"Sure, an'