note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations by charles m. russell. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the range dwellers by b. m. bower (b. m. sinclair) author of _chip of the flying u_, _the lonesome trail_, _her prairie knight_, _the lure of the dim trails_, _the happy family_, _the long shadow_, etc. illustrated by charles m. russell new york; grosset & dunlap, publishers [illustration: "she turned her back on me, and went imperturbably on with her sketching." (frontispiece)] contents chapter i. the reward of folly ii. the white divide iii. the quarrel renewed iv. through king's highway v. into the lion's mouth vi. i ask beryl king to dance vii. one day too late viii. a fight and a race for life ix. the old life--and the new x. i shake hands with old man king xi. a cable snaps xii. i begin to realize xiii. we meet once more xiv. frosty disappears xv. the broken motor-car xvi. one more race xvii. the final reckoning chapter i. the reward of folly. i'm something like the old maid you read about--the one who always knows all about babies and just how to bring them up to righteous maturity; i've got a mighty strong conviction that i know heaps that my dad never thought of about the proper training for a healthy male human. i don't suppose i'll ever have a chance to demonstrate my wisdom, but, if i do, there are a few things that won't happen to my boy. if i've got a comfortable wad of my own, the boy shall have his fun without any nagging, so long as he keeps clean and honest. he shall go to any college he may choose--and right here is where my wisdom will sit up and get busy. if i'm fool enough to let that kid have more money than is healthy for him, and if i go to sleep while he's wising up to the art of making it fade away without leaving anything behind to tell the tale, and learning a lot of habits that aren't doing him any good, i won't come down on him with both feet and tell him all the different brands of fool he's been, and mourn because the lord in his mercy laid upon me this burden of an unregenerate son. i shall try and remember that he's the son of his father, and not expect too much of him. it's long odds i shall find points of resemblance a-plenty between us--and the more cussedness he develops, the more i shall see myself in him reflected. i don't mean to be hard on dad. he was always good to me, in his way. he's got more things than a son to look after, and as that son is supposed to have a normal allowance of gray matter and is no physical weakling, he probably took it for granted that the son could look after himself--which the mines and railroads and ranches that represent his millions can't. but it wasn't giving me a square deal. he gave me an allowance and paid my debts besides, and let me amble through school at my own gait--which wasn't exactly slow--and afterward let me go. if i do say it, i had lived a fairly decent sort of life. i belonged to some good clubs--athletic, mostly--and trained regularly, and was called a fair boxer among the amateurs. i could tell to a glass--after a lot of practise--just how much of 'steen different brands i could take without getting foolish, and i could play poker and win once in awhile. i had a steam-yacht and a motor of my own, and it was generally stripped to racing trim. and i wasn't tangled up with any women; actress-worship had never appealed to me. my tastes all went to the sporting side of life and left women to the fellows with less nerve and more sentiment. so i had lived for twenty-five years--just having the best time a fellow with an unlimited resource can have, if he is healthy. it was then, on my twenty-fifth birthday, that i walked into dad's private library with a sonly smile, ready for the good wishes and the check that i was in the habit of getting--i'd been unlucky, and lord knows i needed it!--and what does the dear man do? instead of one check, he handed me a sheaf of them, each stamped in divers places by divers banks. i flipped the ends and looked them over a bit, because i saw that was what he expected of me; but the truth is, checks don't interest me much after they've been messed up with red and green stamps. they're about as enticing as a last year's popular song. dad crossed his legs, matched his finger-tips together, and looked at me over his glasses. many a man knows that attitude and that look, and so many a man has been as uncomfortable as i began to be, and has felt as keen a sense of impending trouble. i began immediately searching my memory for some especial brand of devilment that i'd been sampling, but there was nothing doing. i had been losing some at poker lately, and i'd been away to the bad out at ingleside; still, i looked him innocently in the eye and wondered what was coming. "that last check is worthy of particular attention," he said dryly. "the others are remarkable only for their size and continuity of numbers; but that last one should be framed and hung upon the wall at the foot of your bed, though you would not see it often. i consider it a diploma of your qualification as master jackanapes." (dad's vocabulary, when he is angry, contains some rather strengthy words of the old-fashioned type.) i looked at the check and began to see light. i _had_ been a bit rollicky that time. it wasn't drawn for very much, that check; i've lost more on one jack-pot, many a time, and thought nothing of it. and, though the events leading up to it were a bit rapid and undignified, perhaps, i couldn't see anything to get excited over, as i could see dad plainly was. "for a young man twenty-five years old and with brains enough--supposedly--to keep out of the feeble-minded class, it strikes me you indulge in some damned poor pastimes," went on dad disagreeably. "cracking champagne-bottles in front of the cliff house--on a sunday at that--may be diverting to the bystanders, but it can hardly be called dignified, and i fail to see how it is going to fit a man for any useful business." business? lord! dad never had mentioned a useful business to me before. i felt my eyelids fly up; this was springing birthday surprises with a vengeance. "driving an automobile on forbidden roads, being arrested and fined--on sunday, at that--" "now, look here, dad," i cut in, getting a bit hot under the collar myself, "by all the laws of nature, there must have been a time when _you_ were twenty-five years old and cut a little swath of your own. and, seeing you're as big as your offspring--six-foot-one, and you can't deny it--and fairly husky for a man of your age, i'll bet all you dare that said swath was not of the narrow-gage variety. i've never heard of your teaching a class in any sunday-school, and if you never drove your machine beyond the dead-line and cracked champagne-bottles on the wheels in front of the cliff house, it's because automobiles weren't invented and cliff house wasn't built. begging your pardon, dad--i'll bet you were a pretty rollicky young blade, yourself." now dad is very old-fashioned in some of his notions; one of them is that a parent may hand out a roast that will frizzle the foliage for blocks around, and, guilty or innocent, the son must take it, as he'd take cod-liver oil--it's-nasty-but-good-for-what-ails-you. he snapped his mouth shut, and, being his son and having that habit myself, i recognized the symptoms and judged that things would presently grow interesting. i was betting on a full-house. the atmosphere grew tense. i heard a lot of things in the next five minutes that no one but my dad could say without me trying mighty hard to make him swallow them. and i just sat there and looked at him and took it. i couldn't agree with him that i'd committed a grievous crime. it wasn't much of a lark, as larks go: just an incident at the close of a rather full afternoon. coming around up the beach front ingleside house a few days before, in the _yellow peril_--my machine--we got to badgering each other about doing things not orthodox. at last barney mactague dared me to drive the _yellow peril_ past the dead-line--down by the pavilion--and on up the hill to sutro baths. naturally, i couldn't take a dare like that, and went him one better; i told him i'd not only drive to the very top of the hill, but i'd stop at the gift house and crack a bottle of champagne on each wheel of the _yellow peril,_ in honor of the occasion; that would make a bottle apiece, for there were four of us along. it was done, to the delight of the usual sunday crowd of brides, grooms, tourists, and kids. a mounted policeman interviewed us, to the further delight of the crowd, and invited us to call upon a certain judge whom none of us knew. we did so, and dad was good enough to pay the fine, which, as i said before, was not much. i've had less fun for more money, often. dad didn't say anything at the time, so i was not looking for the roast i was getting. it appeared, from his view-point, that i was about as useless, imbecile, and utterly no-account a son as a man ever had, and if there was anything good in me it was not visible except under a strong magnifying-glass. he said, among other things too painful to mention, that he was getting old--dad is about fifty-six--and that if i didn't buck up and amount to something soon, he didn't know what was to become of the business. then he delivered the knockout blow that he'd been working up to. he was going to see what there was in me, he said. he would pay my bills, and, as a birthday gift, he would present me with a through ticket to osage, in montana--where he owned a ranch called the bay state--and a stock-saddle, spurs, chaps, and a hundred dollars. after that i must work out my own salvation--or the other thing. if i wanted more money inside a year or two, i would have to work for it just as if i were an orphan without a dad who writes checks on demand. he said that there was always something to do on the bay state ranch--which is one of dad's places. i could do as i pleased, he said, but he'd advise me to buckle down and learn something about cattle. it was plain i never would amount to anything in an office. he laid a yard or two of ticket on the table at my elbow, and on top of that a check for one hundred dollars, payable to one ellis carleton. i took up the check and read every word on it twice--not because i needed to; i was playing for time to think. then i twisted it up in a taper, held it to the blaze in the fireplace, and lighted a cigarette with it. dad kept his finger-tips together and watched me without any expression whatsoever in his face. i took three deliberate puffs, picked up the ticket, and glanced along down its dirty green length. dad never moved a muscle, and i remember the clock got to ticking louder than i'd ever heard it in my life before. i may as well be perfectly honest! that ticket did not appeal to me a little bit. i think he expected to see that go up in smoke, also. but, though i'm pretty much of a fool at times, i believe there are lucid intervals when i recognize certain objects--such as justice. i knew that, in the main, dad was right. i _had_ been leading a rather reckless existence, and i was getting pretty old for such kid foolishness. he had measured out the dose, and i meant to swallow it without whining--but it was exceeding bitter to the palate! "i see the ticket is dated twenty-four hours ahead," i said as calmly as i knew how, "which gives me time to have rankin pack a few duds. i hope the outfit you furnish includes a red silk handkerchief and a colt's . revolver, and a key to the proper method of slaying acquaintances in the west. i hate to start in with all white chips." "you probably mean a colt's . ," said dad, with a more convincing calmness than i could show. "it shall be provided. as to the key, you will no doubt find that on the ground when you arrive." "very well," i replied, getting up and stretching my arms up as high as i could reach--which was beastly manners, of course, but a safe vent for my feelings, which cried out for something or somebody to punch. "you've called the turn, and i'll go. it may be many moons ere we two meet again--and when we do, the crime of cracking my own champagne--for i paid for it, you know--on my own automobile wheels may not seem the heinous thing it looks now. see you later, dad." i walked out with my head high in the air and my spirits rather low, if the truth must be told. dad was generally kind and wise and generous, but he certainly did break out in unexpected places sometimes. going to the bay state ranch, just at that time, was not a cheerful prospect. san francisco and seattle were just starting a series of ballgames that promised to be rather swift, and i'd got a lot up on the result. i hated to go just then. and montana has the reputation of being rather beastly in early march--i knew that much. i caught a car down to the olympic, hunted up barney mactague, and played poker with him till two o'clock that night, and never once mentioned the trip i was contemplating. then i went home, routed up my man, and told him what to pack, and went to bed for a few hours; if there was anything pleasant in my surroundings that i failed to think of as i lay there, it must be very trivial indeed. i even went so far as to regret leaving ethel mapleton, whom i cared nothing for. and above all and beneath all, hanging in the background of my mind and dodging forward insistently in spite of myself, was a deep resentment--a soreness against dad for the way he had served me. granted i was wild and a useless cumberer of civilization; i was only what my environments had made me. dad had let me run, and he had never kicked on the price of my folly, or tried to pull me up at the start. he had given his time to his mines and his cattle-ranches and railroads, and had left his only son to go to the devil if he chose and at his own pace. then, because the son had come near making a thorough job of it, he had done--_this_. i felt hardly used and at odds with life, during those last few hours in the little old burgh. all the next day i went the pace as usual with the gang, and at seven, after an early dinner, caught a down-town car and set off alone to the ferry. i had not seen dad since i left him in the library, and i did not particularly wish to see him, either. possibly i had some unfilial notion of making him ashamed and sorry. it is even possible that i half-expected him to come and apologize, and offer to let things go on in the old way. in that event i was prepared to be chesty. i would look at him coldly and say: "you have seen fit to buy me a ticket to osage, montana. so be it; to osage, montana, am i bound." oh, i had it all fixed! dad came into the ferry waiting-room just as the passengers were pouring off the boat, and sat down beside me as if nothing had happened. he did not look sad, or contrite, or ashamed--not, at least, enough to notice. he glanced at his watch, and then handed me a letter. "there," he began briskly, "that is to perry potter, the bay state foreman. i have wired him that you are on the way." the gate went up at that moment, and he stood up and held out his hand. "sorry i can't go over with you," he said. "i've an important meeting to attend. take care of yourself, ellie boy." i gripped his hand warmly, though i had intended to give him a dead-fish sort of shake. after all, he was my dad, and there were just us two. i picked up my suit-case and started for the gate. i looked back once, and saw dad standing there gazing after me--and he did not look particularly brisk. perhaps, after all, dad cared more than he let on. it's a way the carletons have, i have heard. chapter ii. the white divide. if a phrenologist should undertake to "read" my head, he would undoubtedly find my love of home--if that is what it is called--a sharply defined welt. i know that i watched the lights of old frisco slip behind me with as virulent a case of the deeps as often comes to a man when his digestion is good. it wasn't that i could not bear the thought of hardship; i've taken hunting trips up into the mountains more times than i can remember, and ate ungodly messes of my own invention, and waded waist-deep in snow and slept under the stars, and enjoyed nearly every minute. so it wasn't the hardships that i had every reason to expect that got me down. i think it was the feeling that dad had turned me down; that i was in exile, and--in his eyes, at least--disgraced, it was knowing that he thought me pretty poor truck, without giving me a chance to be anything better. i humped over the rail at the stern, and watched the waves slap at us viciously, like an ill-tempered poodle, and felt for all the world like a dog that's been kicked out into the rain. maybe the medicine was good for me, but it wasn't pleasant. it never occurred to me, that night, to wonder how dad felt about it; but i've often thought of it since. i had a section to myself, so i could sulk undisturbed; dad was not small, at any rate, and, though he hadn't let me have his car, he meant me to be decently comfortable. that first night i slept without a break; the second i sat in the smoker till a most unrighteous hour, cultivating the acquaintance of a drummer for a rubber-goods outfit. i thought that, seeing i was about to mingle with the working classes, i couldn't begin too soon to study them. he was a pretty good sort, too. the rubber-goods man left me at seattle, and from there on i was at the tender mercies of my own thoughts and an elderly lady with a startlingly blond daughter, who sat directly opposite me and was frankly disposed to friendliness. i had never given much time to the study of women, and so had no alternative but to answer questions and smile fatuously upon the blond daughter, and wonder if i ought to warn the mother that "clothes do not make the man," and that i was a black sheep and not a desirable acquaintance. before i had quite settled that point, they left the train. i am afraid i am not distinctly a chivalrous person; i hummed the doxology after their retreating forms and retired into myself, with a feeling that my own society is at times desirable and greatly to be chosen. after that i was shy, and nothing happened except that on the last evening of the trip, i gave up my sole remaining five dollars in the diner, and walked out whistling softly. i was utterly and unequivocally strapped. i went into the smoker to think it over; i knew i had started out with a hundred or so, and that i had considered that sufficient to see me through. plainly, it was not sufficient; but it is a fact that i looked upon it as a joke, and went to sleep grinning idiotically at the thought of me, ellis carleton, heir to almost as many millions as i was years old, without the price of a breakfast in his pocket. it seemed novel and interesting, and i rather enjoyed the situation. i wasn't hungry, then! osage, montana, failed to rouse any enthusiasm in me when i saw the place next day, except that it offered possibilities in the way of eating--at least, i fancied it did, until i stepped down upon the narrow platform and looked about me. it was two o'clock in the afternoon, and i had fasted since dinner the evening before. i was not happy. i began to see where i might have economized a bit, and so have gone on eating regularly to the end of the journey. i reflected that stewed terrapin, for instance, might possibly be considered an extravagance under the circumstances; and a fellow sentenced to honest toil and exiled to the wilderness should not, it seemed to me then, cause his table to be sprinkled, quite so liberally as i had done, with tall glasses--nor need he tip the porter quite so often or so generously. a dollar looked bigger to me, just then, than a wheel of the _yellow peril_. i began to feel unkindly toward that porter! he had looked so abominably well-fed and sleek, and he had tips that i would be glad to feel in my own pocket again. i stood alone upon the platform and gazed wistfully after the retreating train; many people have done that before me, if one may believe those who write novels, and for once in my life i felt a bond of sympathy between us. it's safe betting that i did more solid thinking on frenzied finance in the five minutes i stood there watching that train slid off beyond the sky-line than i'd done in all my life before. i'd heard, of course, about fellows getting right down to cases, but i'd never personally experienced the sensation. i'd always had money--or, if i hadn't, i knew where to go. and dad had caught me when i'd all but overdrawn my account at the bank. i was always doing that, for dad paid the bills. that last night with barney mactague hadn't been my night to win, and i'd dropped quite a lot there. and--oh, what's the use? i was broke, all right enough, and i was hungry enough to eat the proverbial crust. it seemed to me it might be a good idea to hunt up the gentleman named perry potter, whom dad called his foreman. i turned around and caught a tall, brown-faced native studying my back with grave interest. he didn't blush when i looked him in the eye, but smiled a tired smile and said he reckoned i was the chap he'd been sent to meet. there was no welcome in his voice, i noticed. i looked him over critically. "are you the gentleman with the alliterative cognomen?" i asked him airily, hoping he would be puzzled. he was not, evidently. "perry potter? he's at the ranch." he was damnably tolerant, and i said nothing. i hate to make the same sort of fool of myself twice. so when he proposed that we "hit the trail," i followed meekly in his wake. he did not offer to take my suit-case, and i was about to remind him of the oversight when it occurred to me that possibly he was not a servant--he certainly didn't act like one. i carried my own suitcase--which was, i have thought since, the only wise move i had made since i left home. a strong but unsightly spring-wagon, with mud six inches deep on the wheels, seemed the goal, and we trailed out to it, picking up layers of soil as we went. the ground did not _look_ muddy, but it was; i have since learned that that particular phase of nature's hypocrisy is called "doby." i don't admire it, myself. i stopped by the wagon and scraped my shoes on the cleanest spoke i could find, and swore. my guide untied the horses, gathered up the reins, and sought a spoke on his side of the wagon; he looked across at me with a gleam of humanity in his eyes--the first i had seen there. "it sure beats hell the way it hangs on," he remarked, and from that minute i liked him. it was the first crumb of sympathy that had fallen to me for days, and you can bet i appreciated it. we got in, and he pulled a blanket over our knees and picked up the whip. it wasn't a stylish turnout--i had seen farmers driving along the railroad-track in rigs like it, and i was surprised at dad for keeping such a layout. fact is, i didn't think much of dad, anyway, about that time. "how far is it to the bay state ranch?" i asked. "one hundred and forty miles, air-line," said he casually. "the train was late, so i reckon we better stop over till morning. there's a town over the hill, and a hotel that beats nothing a long way." a hundred and forty miles from the station, "air-line," sounded to me like a pretty stiff proposition to go up against; also, how was a fellow going to put up at a hotel when he hadn't the coin? would my mysterious guide be shocked to learn that john a. carleton's son and heir had landed in a strange land without two-bits to his name? jerusalem! i couldn't have paid street-car fare down-town; i couldn't even have bought a paper on the street. while i was remembering all the things a millionaire's son can't do if he happens to be without a nickel in his pocket, we pulled up before a place that, for the sake of propriety, i am willing to call a hotel; at the time, i remember, i had another name for it. "in case i might get lost in this strange city," i said to my companion as i jumped out, "i'd like to know what people call you when they're in a good humor." he grinned down at me. "frosty miller would hit me, all right," he informed me, and drove off somewhere down the street. so i went in and asked for a room, and got it. this sounds sordid, i know, but the truth must be told, though the artistic sense be shocked. barred from the track as i was, sent out to grass in disgrace while the little old world kept moving without me to help push, my mind passed up all the things i might naturally be supposed to dwell upon and stuck to three little no-account grievances that i hate to tell about now. they look small, for a fact, now that they're away out of sight, almost, in the past; but they were quite big enough at the time to give me a bad hour or two. the biggest one was the state of my appetite; next, and not more than a nose behind, was the state of my pockets; and the last was, had rankin packed the gray tweed trousers that i had a liking for, or had he not? i tried to remember whether i had spoken to him about them, and i sat down on the edge of the bed in that little box of a room, took my head between my fists, and called rankin several names he sometimes deserved and had frequently heard from my lips. i'd have given a good deal to have rankin at my elbow just then. they were not in the suit-case--or, if they were, i had not run across them. rankin had a way of stowing things away so that even he had to do some tall searching, and he had another way of filling up my suit-cases with truck i'd no immediate use for. i yanked the case toward me, unlocked it, and turned it out on the bed, just to prove rankin's general incapacity as valet to a fastidious fellow like me. there was the suit i had worn on that memorable excursion to the cliff house--i had told rankin to pitch it into the street, for i had discovered teddy van greve in one almost exactly like it, and--hello! rankin had certainly overlooked a bet. i never caught him at it before, that's certain. he had a way of coming to my left elbow, and, in a particularly virtuous tone, calling my attention to the fact that i had left several loose bills in my pockets. rankin was that honest i often told him he would land behind the bars as an embezzler some day. but rankin had done it this time, for fair; tucked away in a pocket of the waistcoat was money--real, legal, lawful tender--m-o-n-e-y! i don't suppose the time will ever come when it will look as good to me as it did right then. i held those bank-notes--there were two of them, double xx's--to my face and sniffed them like i'd never seen the like before and never expected to again. and the funny part was that i forgot all about wanting the gray trousers, and all about the faults of rankin. my feet were on bottom again, and my head on top. i marched down-stairs, whistling, with my hands in my pockets and my chin in the air, and told the landlord to serve dinner an hour earlier than usual, and to make it a good one. he looked at me with a curious mixture of wonder and amusement. "dinner," he drawled calmly, "has been over for three hours; but i guess we can give yuh some supper any time after five." i suppose he looked upon me as the rankest kind of a tenderfoot. i calculated the time of my torture till i might, without embarrassing explanations, partake of a much-needed repast, and went to the door; waiting was never my long suit, and i had thoughts of getting outside and taking a look around. at the second step i changed my mind--there was that deceptive mud to reckon with. so from the doorway i surveyed all of montana that lay between me and the sky-line, and decided that my bets would remain on california. the sky was a dull slate, tumbled into what looked like rain-clouds and depressing to the eye. the land was a dull yellowish-brown, with a purple line of hills off to the south, and with untidy snow-drifts crouching in the hollows. that was all, so far as i could see, and if dulness and an unpeopled wilderness make for the reformation of man, it struck me that i was in a fair way to become a saint if i stayed here long. i had heard the cattle-range called picturesque; i couldn't see the joke. frosty miller sat opposite me at table when, in the course of human events, i ate again, and the way i made the biscuit and ham and boiled potatoes vanish filled him with astonishment, if one may judge a man's feelings by the size of his eyes. i told him that the ozone of the plains had given me an appetite, and he did not contradict me; he looked at my plate, and then smiled at his own, and said nothing--which was polite of him. "did you ever skip two meals and try to make it up on the third?" i asked him when we went out, and he said "sure," and rolled a cigarette. in those first hours of our acquaintance frosty was not what i'd call loquacious. that night i took out the letter addressed to one perry potter, which dad had given me and which i had not had time to seal in his presence, and read it cold-bloodedly. i don't do such things as a rule, but i was getting a suspicion that i was being queered; that i'd got to start my exile under a handicap of the contempt of the natives. if dad had stacked the deck on me, i wanted to know it. but i misjudged him--or, perhaps, he knew i'd read it. all he had written wouldn't hurt the reputation of any one. it was: the bearer, ellis h. carleton, is my son. he will probably be with you for some time, and will not try to assume any authority or usurp your position as foreman and overseer. you will treat him as you do the other boys, and if he wants to work, pay him the same wages--if he earns them. it wasn't exactly throwing flowers in the path my young feet should tread, but it might have been worse. at least, he did not give perry potter his unbiased opinion of me, and it left me with a free hand to warp their judgment somewhat in my favor. but--"if he wants to work, pay him the same wages--if he earns them." whew! i might have saved him the trouble of writing that, if i had only known it. dad could go too far in this thing, i told myself chestily. i had come, seeing that he insisted upon it, but i'd be damned if i'd work for any man with a circus-poster name, and have him lord it over me. i hadn't been brought up to appreciate that kind of joke. i meant to earn my living, but i did not mean to get out and slave for perry potter. there must be something respectable for a man to do in this country besides ranch work. in the morning we started off, with my trunks in the wagon, toward the line of purple hills in the south. frosty miller told me, when i asked him, that they were forty-eight miles away, that they marked the missouri river, and that we would stop there overnight. that, if i remember, was about the extent of our conversation that day. we smoked cigarettes--frosty miller made his, one by one, as he needed them--and thought our own thoughts. i rather suspect our thoughts were a good many miles apart, though our shoulders touched. when you think of it, people may rub elbows and still have an ocean or two between them. i don't know where frosty was, all through that long day's ride; for me, i was back in little old frisco, with barney mactague and the rest of the crowd; and part of the time, i know, i was telling dad what a mess he'd made of bringing up his only son. that night we slept in a shack at the river--"pochette crossing" was the name it answered to--and shared the same bed. it was not remarkable for its comfort--that bed. i think the mattress was stuffed with potatoes; it felt that way. next morning we were off again, over the same bare, brown, unpeopled wilderness. once we saw a badger zigzagging along a side-hill, and frosty whipped out a big revolver--one of those "colt 's," i suppose--and shot it; he said in extenuation that they play the very devil with the range, digging holes for cow-punchers to break their necks over. i was surprised at frosty; there he had been armed, all the time, and i never guessed it. even when we went to bed the night before, i had not glimpsed a weapon. clearly, he could not be a cowboy, i reflected, else he would have worn a cartridge-belt sagging picturesquely down over one hip, and his gun dangling from it. he put the gun away, and i don't know where; somewhere out of sight it went, and frosty turned off the trail and went driving wild across the prairie. i asked him why, and he said, "short cut." then a wind crept out of the north, and with it the snow. we were climbing low ridges and dodging into hollows, and when the snow spread a white veil over the land, i looked at frosty out of the tail of my eye, wondering if he did not wish he had kept to the road--trail, it is called in the rangeland. if he did, he certainly kept it to himself; he went on climbing hills and setting the brake at the top, to slide into a hollow, and his face kept its inscrutable calm; whatever he thought was beyond guessing at. when he had watered the horses at a little creek that was already skimmed with ice, and unwrapped a package of sandwiches on his knee and offered me one, i broke loose. silence may be golden, but even old king midas got too big a dose of gold, once upon a time, if one may believe tradition. "i hate to butt into a man's meditations," i said, looking him straight in the eye, "but there's a limit to everything, and you've played right up to it. you've had time, my friend, to remember all your sins and plan enough more to keep you hustling the allotted span; you've been given an opportunity to reconstruct the universe and breed a new philosophy of life. for heaven's sake, _say_ something!" frosty eyed me for a minute, and the muscles at the corners of his mouth twitched. "sure," he responded cheerfully. "i'm something like you; i hate to break into a man's meditations. it looks like snow." "do you think it's going to storm?" i retorted in the same tone; it had been snowing great guns for the last three hours. we both laughed, and frosty unbent and told me a lot about bay state ranch and the country around it. part of the information was an eye-opener; i wished i had known it when dad was handing out that roast to me--i rather think i could have made him cry enough. i tagged the information and laid it away for future reference. as i got the country mapped out in my mind, we were in a huge capital h. the eastern line, toward which we were angling, was a river they call the midas--though i'll never tell you why, unless it's a term ironical. the western line is another river, the joliette, and the cross-bar is a range of hills--they might almost be called mountains--which i had been facing all that morning till the snow came between and shut them off; white divide, it is called, and we were creeping around the end, between them and the midas. it seemed queer that there was no way of crossing, for the bay state lies almost in a direct line south from osage, frosty told me, and the country we were traversing was rough as white divide could be, and i said so to frosty. right here is where i got my first jolt. "there's a fine pass cut through white divide by old mama nature," frosty said, in the sort of tone a man takes when he could say a lot more, but refrains. "then why in heaven's name don't you travel it?" "because it isn't healthy for ragged h folks to travel that way," he said, in the same eloquent tone. "who are the ragged h folks, and what's the matter with them?" i wanted to know--for i smelled a mystery. he looked at me sidelong. "if you didn't look just like the old man," he said, "i'd think yuh were a fake; the ragged h is the brand your ranch is known by--the bay state outfit. and it isn't healthy to travel king's highway, because there's a large-sized feud between your father and old king. how does it happen yuh aren't wise to the family history?" "dad never unbosomed himself to me, that's why," i told him. "he has labored for twenty-five years under the impression that i was a kid just able to toddle alone. he didn't think he needed to tell me things; i know we've got a place called the bay state ranch somewhere in this part of the world, and i have reason to think i'm headed for it. that's about the extent of my knowledge of our interest here. i never heard of the white divide before, or of this particular king. i'm thirsting for information." "well, it strikes me you've got it coming," said frosty. "i always had your father sized up as being closed-mouthed, but i didn't think he made such a thorough job of it as all that. old king has sure got it in for the ragged h--or bay state, if yuh'd rather call us that; and the ragged h boys don't sit up nights thinking kind and loving thoughts about him, either. thirty years ago your father and old king started jangling over water-rights, and i guess they burned powder a-plenty; king goes lame to this day from a bullet your old man planted in his left leg." i dropped the flag and started him off again. "it's news to me," i put in, "and you can't tell me too much about it." "well," he said, "your old man was in the right of it; he owns all the land along honey creek, right up to white divide, where it heads; uh course, he overlooked a bet there; he should have got a cinch on that pass, and on the head uh the creek. but he let her slide, and first he knew old king had come in and staked a claim and built him a shack right in our end of the pass, and camped down to stay. your dad wasn't joyful. the bay state had used that pass to trail herds through and as the easiest and shortest trail to the railroad; and then old king takes it up, strings a five-wired fence across at both ends of his place, and warns us off. i've heard potter tell what warm times there were. your father stayed right here and had it out with him. the bay state was all he had, then, and he ran it himself. perry potter worked for him, and knows all about it. neither old king nor your dad was married, and it's a wonder they didn't kill each other off--potter says they sure tried. the time king got it in the leg your father and his punchers were coming home from a breed dance, and they were feeling pretty nifty, i guess; potter told me they started out with six bottles, and when they got to white divide there wasn't enough left to talk about. they cut king's fence at the north end, and went right through, hell-bent-for-election. king and his men boiled out, and they mixed good and plenty. your father went home with a hole in his shoulder, and old king had one in his leg to match, and since then it's been war. they tried to fight it out in court, and king got the best of it there. then they got married and kind o' cooled off, and pretty soon they both got so much stuff to look after that they didn't have much time to take pot-shots at each other, and now we're enjoying what yuh might call armed peace. we go round about sixty miles, and king's highway is bad medicine. "king owns the stage-line from osage to laurel, where the bay state gets its mail, and he owns kenmore, a mining-camp in the west half uh white divide. we can go around by kenmore, if we want to--but king's highway? nit!" i chuckled to myself to think of all the things i could twit dad about if ever he went after me again. it struck me that i hadn't been a circumstance, so far, to what dad must have been in his youth. at my worst, i'd never shot a man. chapter iii. the quarrel renewed. that night, by a close scratch, we made a little place frosty said was one of the bay state line-camps. i didn't know what a line-camp was, and it wasn't much for style, but it looked good to me, after riding nearly all day in a snow-storm. frosty cooked dinner and i made the coffee, and we didn't have such a bad time of it, although the storm held us there for two days. we sat by the little cook-stove and told yarns, and i pumped frosty just about dry of all he'd ever heard about dad. i hadn't intended to write to dad, but, after hearing all i did, i couldn't help handing out a gentle hint that i was on. when i'd been at the bay state ranch for a week, i wrote him a letter that, i felt, squared my account with him. it was so short that i can repeat every word now. i said: dear dad: i am here. though you sent me out here to reform me, i find the opportunities for unadulterated deviltry away ahead of frisco. i saw our old neighbor, king, whom you may possibly remember. he still walks with a limp. by the way, dad, it seems to me that when you were about twenty-five you "indulged in some damned poor pastimes," yourself. your dutiful son, ellis. dad never answered that letter. montana, as viewed from the bay state ranch in march, struck me as being an unholy mixture of brown, sodden hills and valleys, chill winds that never condescended to blow less than a gale, and dull, scurrying clouds, with sometimes a day of sunshine that was bright as our own sun at home. (you can't make me believe that our california sun bothers with any other country.) i'd been used to a green world; i never would go to new york in the winter, because i hate the cold--and here i was, with the cold of new york and with none of the ameliorations in the way of clubs and theaters and the like. there were the hills along midas river shutting off the east, and hills to the south that frosty told me went on for miles and miles, and on the north stretched white divide--only it was brown, and bleak, and several other undesirable things. when i looked at it, i used to wonder at men fighting over it. i did a heap of wondering, those first few days. taken in a lump, it wasn't my style, and i wasn't particular to keep my opinions a secret. for the ranch itself, it looked to me like a village of corrals and sheds and stables, evidently built with an eye to usefulness, and with the idea that harmony of outline is a sin and not to be tolerated. the house was put up on the same plan, gave shelter to perry potter and the cook, had a big, bare dining-room where the men all ate together without napkins or other accessories of civilization, and a couple of bedrooms that were colder, if i remember correctly, than outdoors. i know that the water froze in my pitcher the first night, and that afterward i performed my ablutions in the kitchen, and dipped hot water out of a tank with a blue dipper. that first week i spent adjusting myself to the simple life, and trying to form an unprejudiced opinion of my companions in exile. as for the said companions, they sort of stood back and sized up my points, good and bad--and i've a notion they laid heavy odds against me, and had me down in the also ran bunch. i overheard one of them remark, when i was coming up from the stables: "here's the son and heir--come, let's kill him!" another one drawled: "what's the use? the bounty's run out." i was convinced that they regarded me as a frost. the same with perry potter, a grizzled little man with long, ragged beard and gray eyes that looked through you and away beyond. i had a feeling that dad had told him to keep an eye on me and report any incipient growth of horse-sense. i may have wronged him and dad, but that is how i felt, and i didn't like him any better for it. he left me alone, and i raised the bet and left him alone so hard that i scarcely exchanged three sentences with him in a week. the first night he asked after dad's health, and i told him the doctor wasn't making regular calls at the house. a day or so after he said: "how do you like the country?" i said: "damn the country!" and closed _that_ conversation. i don't remember that we had any more for awhile. the cowboys were breaking horses to the saddle most of the time, for it was too early for round-up, i gathered. when i sat on the corral fence and watched the fun, i observed that i usually had my rail all to myself and that the rest of the audience roosted somewhere else. frosty miller talked with me sometimes, without appearing to suffer any great pain, but frosty was always the star actor when the curtain rose on a bronco-breaking act. as for the rest, they made it plain that i did _not_ belong to their set, and i wasn't sending them my at home cards, either. we were as haughty with each other as two society matrons when each aspires to be called leader. then a blizzard that lasted five days came ripping down over that desolation, and everybody stuck close to shelter, and amused themselves as they could. the cowboys played cards most of the time--seven-up, or pitch, or poker; they didn't ask me to take a hand, though; i fancy they were under the impression that i didn't know how to play. i never was much for reading; it's too slow and tame. i'd much rather get out and _live_ the story i like best. and there was nothing to read, anyway. i went rummaging in my trunks, and in the bottom of one i came across a punching-bag and a set of gloves. right there i took off my hat to rankin, and begged his pardon for the unflattering names he'd been in the habit of hearing from me. i carried the things down and put up the bag in an empty room at one end of the bunk-house, and got busy. frosty miller came first to see what was up, and i got him to put on the gloves for awhile; he knew something of the manly art, i discovered, and we went at it fast and furious. i think i broke up a game in the next room. the boys came to the door, one by one, and stood watching, until we had the full dozen for audience. before any one realized what was happening, we were playing together real pretty, with the chilly shoulder barred and the social ice gone the way of a dew-drop in the sun. we boxed and wrestled, with much scientific discussion of "full nelsons" and the like, and even fenced with sticks. i had them going there, and could teach them things; and they were the willingest pupils a man ever had--docile and filled with a deep respect for their teacher who knew all there was to know--or, if he didn't, he never let on. before night we had smashed three window-panes, trimmed several faces down considerably, and got pretty well acquainted. i found out that they weren't so far behind the old gang at home for wanting all there is in the way of fun, and i believe they discovered that i was harmless. before that storm let up they were dealing cards to me, and allowing me to get rid of the rest of the forty dollars rankin had overlooked. i got some of it back. i went down and bunked with them, because they had a stove and i didn't, and it was more sociable; perry potter and the cook were welcome to the house, i told them, except at meal-times. and, more than all the rest, i could keep out of range of perry potter's eyes. i never could get used to that watch-willie-grow way he had, or rid myself of the notion that he was sending dad a daily report of my behavior. the next thing, when the weather quit sifting snow and turned on the balmy breezes and the sunshine, i was down in the corrals in my chaps and spurs, learning things about horses that i never suspected before. when i did something unusually foolish, the boys were good enough to remember my boxing and fencing and such little accomplishments, and did not withdraw their favor; so i went on, butting into every new game that came up, and taking all bets regardless, and actually began to wise up a little and to forget a few of my grievances. i was down in the corral one day, saddling shylock--so named because he tried to exact a pound of flesh every time i turned my back or in other ways seemed off my guard--and when i was looping up the latigo i discovered that the alliterative mr. potter was roosting on the fence, watching me with those needle-pointed eyes of his. i wondered if he was about to prepare another report for dad. "do yuh want to be put on the pay-roll?" he asked, without any preamble, when he caught my glance. "yes, if i'm _earning_ wages. 'the laborer is worthy of his hire,' i believe," i retorted loftily. the fact was, i was strapped again--and, though one did not need money on the bay state ranch, it's a good thing to have around. he grinned into his collar. "well," he said, "you've been pretty busy the last three weeks, but i ain't had any orders to hire a boxing-master for the boys. i don't know as that'd rightly come under the head of legitimate expenses; boxing-masters come high, i've heard. are yuh going on round-up?" "sure!" i answered, in an exact copy--as near as i could make it--of frosty miller's intonation. i was making frosty my model those days. he said: "all right--your pay starts on the fifteenth of next month"--which was april. then he got down from the fence and went off, and i mounted shylock and rode away to laurel, after the mail. not that i expected any, for no one but dad knew where i was, and i hadn't heard a word from him, though i knew he wrote to perry potter--or his secretary did--every week or so. really, i don't think a father ought to be so chesty with the only son he's got, even if the son is a no-account young cub. i was standing in the post-office, which was a store and saloon as well, when an old fellow with stubby whiskers and a jaw that looked as though it had been trimmed square with a rule, and a limp that made me know at once who he was, came in. he was standing at the little square window, talking to the postmaster and waving his pipe to emphasize what he said, when a horse went past the door on the dead run, with bridle-reins flying. a fellow rushed out past us--it was his horse--and hit old king's elbow a clip as he went by. the pipe went about ten feet and landed in a pickle-keg. i went after it and fished it out for the old fellow--not so much because i'm filled with a natural courtesy, as because i was curious to know the man that had got the best of dad. he thanked me, and asked me across to the saloon side of the room to drink with him. "i don't know as i've met you before, young man," he said, eying me puzzled. "your face is familiar, though; been in this country long?" "no," i said; "a little over a month is all." "well, if you ever happen around my way--king's highway, they call my place--stop and see me. going to stay long out here?" "i think so," i replied, motioning the waiter--"bar-slave," they call them in montana--to refill our glasses. "and i'll be glad to call some day, when i happen in your neighborhood. and if you ever ride over toward the bay state, be sure you stop." well, say! old king turned the color of a ripe prune; every hair in that stubble of beard stood straight out from his chin, and he looked as if murder would be a pleasant thing. he took the glass and deliberately emptied the whisky on the floor. "john carleton's son, eh? i might 'a' known it--yuh look enough like him. me drink with a son of john carleton? that breed uh wolves had better not come howling around _my_ door. i asked yuh to come t' king's highway, young man, and i don't take it back. you can come, but you'll get the same sort uh welcome i'd give that--" right there i got my hand on his throttle. he was an old man, comparatively, and i didn't want to hurt him; but no man under heaven can call my dad the names he did, and i told him so. "i don't want to dig up that old quarrel, king," i said, shaking him a bit with one hand, just to emphasize my words, "but you've got to speak civilly of dad, or, by the lord! i'll turn you across my knee and administer a stinging rebuke." he tried to squirm loose, and to reach behind him with that suggestive movement that breeds trouble among men of the plains; but i held his arms so he couldn't move, the while i told him a lot of things about true politeness--things that i wasn't living up to worth mentioning. he yelled to the postmaster to grab me, and the fellow tried it. i backed into a corner and held old king in front of me as a bulwark, warranted bullet proof, and wondered what kind of a hornet's-nest i'd got into. the waiter and the postmaster were both looking for an opening, and i remembered that i was on old king's territory, and that they were after holding their jobs. i don't know how it would have ended--i suppose they'd have got me, eventually--but perry potter walked in, and it didn't seem to take him all day to savvy the situation. he whipped out a gun and leveled it at the enemy, and told me to scoot and get on my horse. "scoot nothing!" i yelled back. "what about you in the meantime? do you think i'm going to leave them to clean you up?" he smiled sourly at me. "i've held my own with this bunch uh trouble-hunters for thirty years," he said dryly. "i guess yuh ain't got any reason t' be alarmed. come out uh that corner and let 'em alone." i don't, to this day, know why i did it, but i quit hugging old king, and the other two fell back and gave me a clear path to the door. "king was blackguarding dad, and i couldn't stand for it," i explained to perry potter as i went by. "if you're not going, i won't." "i've got a letter to mail," he said, calm as if he were in his own corral. "you went off before i got a chance to give it to yuh. i'll be out in a minute." he went and slipped the letter into the mail-box, turned his back on the three, and walked out as if nothing had happened; perhaps he knew that i was watching them, in a mood to do things if they offered to touch him. but they didn't, and we mounted our horses and rode away, and perry potter never mentioned the affair to me, then or after. i don't think we spoke on the way to the ranch; i was busy wishing i'd been around in that part of the world thirty years before, and thinking what a lot of fun i had missed by not being as old as dad. a quarrel thirty years old is either mighty stale and unprofitable, or else, like wine, it improves with age. i meant to ride over to king's highway some day, and see how he would have welcomed dad thirty years before. chapter iv. through king's highway. it was a long time before i was in a position to gratify my curiosity, though; between the son and heir, with nothing to do but amuse himself, and a cowboy working for his daily wage, there is a great gulf fixed. after being put on the pay-roll, i couldn't do just as my fancy prompted. i had to get up at an ungodly hour, and eat breakfast in about two minutes, and saddle a horse and "ride circle" with the rest of them--which same is exceeding wearisome to man and beast. for the first time since i left school, i was under orders; and the foreman certainly tried to obey dad's mandate and treat me just as he would have treated any other stranger. i could give it up, of course--but i hope never to see the day when i can be justly called a quitter. first, we were rounding up horses--saddlers that were to be ridden in the round-up proper. we were not more than two or three weeks at that, though we covered a good deal of country. before it was over i knew a lot more than when we started out, and had got hard as nails; riding on round-up beats a gym for putting wire muscles under a man's skin, in my opinion. we worked all around white divide--which was turning a pale, dainty green except where the sandstone cliffs stood up in all the shades of yellow and red. montana, as viewed on "horse round-up," looks better than in the first bleak days of march, and i could gaze upon it without profanity. i even got to like tearing over the newborn grass on a good horse, with a cowboy or two galloping, keen-faced and calm, beside me. it was almost better than slithering along a hard road with a motor-car stripped to the running-gear. when the real thing happened--the "calf round-up"--and thirty riders in white felt hats, chaps, spurs a-jingle, and handkerchief ends flying out in the wind, lined up of a morning for orders, the blood of me went a-jump, and my nerves were all tingly with the pure joy of being alive and atop a horse as eager as hounds in the leash and with the wind of the plains in my face and the grass-land lying all around, yelling come on, and the meadowlarks singing fit to split their throats. there's nothing like it--and i've tried nearly everything in the way of blood-tinglers. skimming through the waves, alean to the wind in a racing-yacht, comes nearest, and even that takes second money when circle-riding on round-up is entered in the race. but this is getting away from my story. we were working the country just north of white divide, when the foreman started me home with a message for perry potter--and i was to get back as soon as possible with the answer. now, here's where i got gay. as i said, we were north of white divide, and the home ranch was south, and to go around either end of that string of hills meant an extra sixty miles to cover each way--a hundred and twenty for the round trip. directly in the way of the proverbial crow's flight lay king's highway, which--if i got through--would put me at the ranch the first day, and back at camp the second; and i rather guessed that would surprise our worthy foreman not a little. i didn't see why it couldn't be done; surely old king wouldn't murder a man just for riding through that pass--that would be bloody-minded indeed! and if i failed--why, i could go around, and no one would be wise to the fact that i had tried it. i headed straight for the pass, which yawned invitingly, with two bare peaks for the jaws, not over six miles away. it was against orders, for perry potter had given the boys to understand that they were not to go that way, and that they were to leave king and his stronghold strictly alone; but i didn't worry about that. when i was fairly in the mouth of the pass, i got down and looked to the cinch, and then rode boldly forward, like a soldier riding up to the cannon's mouth with a smile on his face. oh, i wasted plenty of admiration on one ellis carleton about that time, and rehearsed the bold, biting speech i meant to deliver at old king's very door. so far it was easy sailing. there was a hard-beaten road, and the hills seemed standing back and holding aside their skirts for a free passing. the sun lay warm on their green slopes, and one could fairly smell the grass growing. in the hollows were worlds of blue flowers, with patches here and there a royal purple. i stopped and gathered a handful and stuck them in my buttonhole and under my hatband. i don't know when i have felt so thoroughly satisfied with said ellis carleton--of whom i am overfond of speaking--i even mimicked the meadow-larks, until they watched me with heads tilted, not knowing what to make of such an impertinent fellow. king's highway was glorious; i didn't wonder that dad thought it worth fighting over, and as i went on, farther and farther down this lane made by nature for easy passing, i could see what an immense advantage it would be to take herds through that way. i could see why the bay state men cursed king when they took the rough trail around the end of white divide. after an hour of undisputed riding on this forbidden trail, the pass narrowed rather abruptly till it was not more than a furlong in width; the hills stretched their heads still higher, as if they wanted to see the fun, and the shadow of the eastern rim laid clear across the narrow valley and touched the foot of the opposite slope. i hope i am not going to be called nervous if i tell the truth about things; when i rode into the shadow i stopped whistling a bad imitation of meadow-lark notes. a bit farther and i pulled up, looked all around, and got off and tightened the cinch a bit more. shylock--i always rode him when i could--threw his head around and nearly took a chunk out of my arm, and in reproving him i forgot, for a minute, the ticklish game i was playing. then i loosened my gun--i had learned to carry it inconspicuously under my coat, as did the other boys--made sure it could be pulled without embarrassing delay, and went on. around the next turn a five-wired fence stretched across the trail, with a gate fastened by a chain and padlock. i whistled under my breath, and eyed the lock with extreme disfavor. but i had learned a trick of the cowboys. i pulled the wire off a couple of posts at one side of the gate, laid them flat on the ground, and led shylock over them. then i found a rock, pounded the staples back in place, and went on; only for the tracks, one could not notice that any had passed that way. still, it was a bit ticklish, riding down king's highway alone and with no idea of what lay farther on. but dad had dared go that way, and to fight at the far end; and what dad had not been afraid to tackle, it did not behoove his son to back down from. i made shylock walk the next half-mile, with some notion of saving his wind for an emergency run. of a sudden i rounded a sharp nose of hill and came plump on the palace of the king. it looked a good deal like the bay state ranch--big corrals and sheds and stables, and little place for man to dwell. the house, though, was bigger than ours, and looked more comfortable to live in. and the thing that struck me most was the head which king displayed for strategy. the trail wound between those same sheds and corrals, a gantlet two hundred yards long that one must run or turn back. on either side the bluffs rose sheer, with the buildings crowding close against their base. i didn't wonder frosty called king's highway "bad medicine." it certainly did look like it. i went softly along that trail, turning sharp corners around a shed here, circling a corral there, with my hand within an inch of my gun, and my heart within an inch of my teeth, and you may laugh all you like. no one seemed to be about; the sheds were deserted, and a few horses dozed in a corral that i passed; but human being i saw none. it was evident that king did not consider his enemy worth watching. i passed the last shed and found myself headed straight for the house; i had still to get through its very dooryard before i was in any position to crow, and beyond the house was another fence; i hoped the gate was not locked. shylock pricked up his ears, then laid them back along his neck as if he did not approve the layout, either. but we ambled right along, like a deacon headed for prayer-meeting, and i tried to look in four different directions at one and the same time. for that reason, i didn't see her till she stood right in front of me; and when i did, i stared like an idiot. it was a girl, and she was coming down a path to the trail, with her hands full of flowers, for all the world like a duchess novel. another minute, and i'd have run over her, i guess. she stopped and looked at me from under lashes so thick and heavy they seemed almost pulling her lids shut, and there was something in her eyes that made me go hot and cold, like i was coming down with grippe; when she spoke my symptoms grew worse. "did you wish to see father?" she asked, as if she were telling me to leave the place. "i believe," i rallied enough to answer, "that 'father' would give a good deal to see _me_." then that seemed to shut off our conversation too abruptly to suit me; there are occasions when prickly chills have a horrible fascination for a fellow; this was one of the times. "he's not at home, i'm very sorry to say," she retorted in the same liquid-air voice as before, and turned to go back to the house. i thanked the lord for that, in a whisper, and kept pace with her. it was plain she hated the sight of me, but i counted on her being enough like her dad not to run away. "may i trouble you for a drink of water?" i asked, in the orthodox tone of humility. "there is no need to trouble me; there is the creek, beyond the house; you are welcome to all you want." "thanks." i watched the pink curve of her cheek, and knew she was dying for a chance to snub me still more maliciously. we were at the steps of the veranda now, but still she would not hurry; she seemed to hate even the semblance of running away. "can you direct me to the bay state ranch?" i hazarded. it was my last card, and i let it go with a sigh. she pointed a slim, scornful finger at the brand on shylock's shoulder. "if you are in doubt of the way, mr. carleton, your horse will take you home--if you give him his head." that put a crimp in me worse than the look of her eyes, even. i stared at her a minute, and then laughed right out. "the game's yours, miss king, and i take off my hat to you for hitting straight and hard," i said. "must the feud descend even to the second generation? is it a fight to the finish, and no quarter asked or given?" i had her going then. she blushed--and when i saw the red creep into her cheeks my heart was hardened to repentance. i'd have done it again for the pleasure of seeing her that way. "you are taking a good deal for granted, sir," she said, in her loftiest tone. "we kings scarcely consider the carletons worthy our weapons." "you don't, eh? then, why did you begin it?" i wanted to know. "if you permit me, you started the row before i spoke, even." "i do _not_ permit you." clearly, my lady could be haughty enough to satisfy the most fastidious. "well," i sighed, "i will go my way. i'm a lover of peace, myself; but since you proclaim war, war it must be. i'm not so ungallant as to oppose a lady's wishes. is that gate down there locked?" "figuratively, it's _always_ locked against the carletons," she said. "but i want to go through it _literally_," i retorted. and she just looked at me from under those lashes, and never answered. "well, the air grows chill in king's highway," i shivered mockingly. "if ever i find you on bay state soil, miss king, i shall take much pleasure in teaching you the proper way to treat an enemy." "i shall be greatly diverted, no doubt," was the scornful reply of her--and just then an old lady came to the door, and i lifted my hand grandly in a precise military salute and rode away, wondering which of us had had the best of it. the gate wasn't locked, and as for taking a drink at the creek, i forgot that i was thirsty. i jogged along toward home, and wondered why frosty had not told me that king had a daughter. also, i wondered at her animosity. it never occurred to me that her father, unlike my dad, had probably harped on the carletons until she had come to think we were in league with the old boy himself. her dad's game leg would no doubt argue strongly against us, and keep the feud green in her heart--supposing she had one. on the whole, i was glad i had traveled king's highway. i had discovered a brand-new enemy--and so far in my life enemies had been so scarce as to be a positive diversion. and it was novel and interesting to be so thoroughly hated by a girl. no reason to dodge _her_ net. i rather congratulated myself on knowing one girl who positively refused to smile on demand. she hadn't, once. i got to wondering, that night, if she had dimples. i meant to find out. chapter v. into the lion's mouth. perry potter, when he had read the foreman's note, asked how long since i left camp; when i told him that i was there at daylight, he looked at me queerly and walked off without a word. i didn't say anything, either. i stayed at the ranch overnight, intending to start back the next morning. the round-up would be west of where i had left them, according to the foreman--or wagon-boss, as he is called. logically, then, i should take the trail that led through kenmore, the mining-camp owned by king, and which lay in the heart of white divide ten miles west of king's highway. that, i say, was the logical route--but i wasn't going to take it. i wasn't a bit stuck on that huddle of corrals and sheds, with the trail winding blindly between, and i wasn't in love with the girl or with old king; but, all the same, i meant to go back the way i came, just for my own private satisfaction. while i was saddling shylock, in the opal-tinted sunrise, potter came down and gave me the letter to the wagon-boss, an answer to the one i had brought. "here's some chuck the cook put up for yuh," he remarked, handing me a bundle tied up in a flour-sack. "you'll need it 'fore yuh get through to camp; you'll likely be longer going than yuh was comin'." "think so?" i smiled knowingly to myself and left him staring disapprovingly after me. i could easily give a straight guess at what he was thinking. i jogged along as leisurely as i could without fretting shylock, and, once clear of the home field, headed straight for king's highway. it wasn't the wisest course i could take, perhaps, but it was like to prove the most exciting, and i never was remarkable for my wisdom. it seemed to me that it was necessary to my self-respect to return the way i came--and i may as well confess that i hoped miss king was an early riser. as it was, i killed what time i could, and so spent a couple of hours where one would have sufficed. half a mile out from the mouth of the pass, i observed a human form crowning the peak of a sharp-pointed little butte that rose up out of the prairie; since the form seemed to be in skirts, i made for the spot. shylock puffed up the steep slope, and at last stopped still and looked back at me in utter disgust; so i took the hint and got off, and led him up the rest of the way. "good morning. we meet on neutral ground," i greeted when i was close behind her. "i propose a truce." she jumped a bit, and looked very much astonished to see me there so close. if it had been some other girl--say ethel mapleton--i'd have suspected the genuineness of that surprise; as it was, i could only think she had been very much absorbed not to hear me scrambling up there. "you're an early bird," she said dryly, "to be so far from home." she glanced toward the pass, as though she would like to cut and run, but hated to give me the satisfaction. "well," i told her with inane complacency, "you will remember that 'it's the early bird that catches the worm.'" "what a pretty speech!" she commented, and i saw what i'd done, and felt myself turn a beautiful purple. compare her to a worm! but she laughed when she saw how uncomfortable i was, and after that i was almost glad i'd said it; she _did_ have dimples--two of them--and-- the laugh, however, was no sign of incipient amiability, as i very soon discovered. she turned her back on me and went imperturbably on with her sketching; she was trying to put on paper the lights and shades of white divide--and even a desire to be chivalrous will not permit me to lie and say that she was making any great success of it. i don't believe the lord ever intended her for an artist. "aren't you giving king's highway a much wider mouth than it's entitled to?" i asked mildly, after watching her for a minute. "i should not be surprised," she told me haughtily, "if you some day wished it still wider." "there wouldn't be the chance for fighting, if it was; and i take great pleasure in keeping the feud going." "i thought you were anxious for a truce," she said recklessly, shading a slope so that it looked like the peak of a roof. "i am," i retorted shamelessly. "i'm anxious for anything under the sun that will keep you talking to me. people might call that a flirtatious remark, but i plead not guilty; i wouldn't know how to flirt, even if i wanted to do so." she turned her head and looked at me in a way that i could not misunderstand; it was plain, unvarnished scorn, and a ladylike anger, and a few other unpleasant things. it made me think of a certain star in "the taming of the shrew." "fie, fie! unknit that threatening, unkind brow, and dart not scornful glances from those eyes, to wound thy neighbor and thine enemy," i declaimed, with rather a free adaptation to my own need. her brow positively refused to unknit. "have you nothing to do but spout bad quotations from shakespeare on a hilltop?" she wanted to know, in a particularly disagreeable tone. "plenty; i have yet to win that narrow pass," i said. "hardly to-day," she told me, with more than a shade of triumph. "father is at home, and he heard of your trip yesterday." if she expected to scare me by that! "must our feud include your father? when i met him a month ago, he gave me a cordial invitation to stop, if i ever happened this way." she lifted those heavy lashes, and her eyes plainly spoke unbelief. "it's a fact," i assured her calmly. "i met him one day in laurel, and was fortunate enough to perform a service which earned his gratitude. as i say, he invited me to come and see him; i told him i should be glad to have him visit me at the bay state ranch, and we embraced each other with much fervor." "indeed!" i could see that she persisted in doubting my veracity. "ask your father if we didn't," i said, much injured. i knew she wouldn't, though. a scrambling behind us made me turn, and there was perry potter climbing up to us, his eyes sharper than ever, and his face so absolutely devoid of expression that it told me a good deal. i'll lay all i own he was a good bit astonished at what he saw! as for me, i could have kicked him back to the bottom of the hill--and i probably looked it. "there was something i forgot to put in that note," he said evenly, just touching the brim of his hat in acknowledgment of the girl's presence. "i wrote another one. i'd like ballard to get it as soon as you can make camp--conveniently." his eyes looked through me almost as if i weren't there. my desire to kick him grew almost into mania. i took the note, saw at a glance that it was addressed to me, and said: "all right," in a tone quite different from the one i had been using to tease miss king. he gave me another sharp look, and went back the way he had come, leaving me standing there glaring after him. miss king, i noticed, was sketching for dear life, and her cheeks were crimson. when potter had got to the bottom and was riding away, i unfolded the note and read: don't be a fool. for god's sake, have some sense and keep away from king's highway. i laughed, and miss king looked up inquiringly. following an impulse i've never yet been able to classify, i showed her the note. she read it calmly--i might say indifferently. "he is quite right," she said coldly. "i, too--if i cared enough--would advise you to keep away from king's highway." "but you don't care enough to advise me, and so i shall go," i said--and i had the satisfaction of seeing her teeth come down sharply on her lower lip. i waited a minute, watching her. "you're very foolish," she said icily, and went at her sketching again. i waited another minute; during that time she succeeded in making the pass look weird indeed, and a fearsome place to enter. i got reckless. "you've spoiled that sketch," i said, stooping and taking it gently from her. "give it to me, and it shall be a flag of truce with which i shall win my way through unscathed." she started to her feet then, and her anger was worth facing for the glow it brought to eyes and cheeks, and the tremble that came to her lips. "mr. carleton, you are perfectly detestable!" she cried. "miss king, you are perfectly adorable!" i returned, folding the sketch very carefully, so that it would slip easily into my pocket. "with so authentic a map of the enemy's stronghold, what need i fear? i go--but, on my honor, i shall shortly return." she stood with her fingers clasped tightly in front of her, and watched me lead shylock down that butte--on the side toward the pass, if you are still in doubt of my intentions. when i say she watched me, i am making a guess; but i felt that she was, and it would be hard to disabuse my mind of that belief. and when i started, her fingers had been clinging tightly together. at the bottom i turned and waved my hat--and i know she saw that, for she immediately whirled and took to studying the southern sky-line. so i left her and galloped straight into the lion's den--to use an old simile. i passed through the gate and up to the house, shylock pacing easily along as though we both felt assured of a welcome. old king met me at his door as i was going by; i pulled up and gave him my very cheeriest good morning. he looked at me from under shaggy, gray eyebrows. "you've got your gall, young man, to come this way twice in twenty-four hours," he said grimly. "you can turn around and go back the way you came in." "you asked me to call," i reminded him mildly. "you were not at home yesterday, so i came again." he glanced uneasily over his shoulder, and drew the door shut between himself and whoever was within. "you damn' cur," he growled, "yuh know yuh ain't no friend uh the kings." "i know you're all mighty unneighborly," i said, making me a cigarette in the way that cowboys do. "i asked a young lady--your daughter, i suppose--for a drink of water. she told me to go to the creek." he laughed at that; evidently he approved of his daughter's attitude. "beryl knows how to deal with the likes uh you," he muttered relishfully. "and she hates the carletons bad as i do. get off my place, young man, and do it quick!" "sure!" i assented cheerfully, and jabbed the spurs into shylock--taking good care that he was beaded north instead of south. and it's a fact that, ticklish as was the situation, my first thought was: "so her name's beryl, is it? mighty pretty name, and fits her, too." king wasn't thinking anything so sentimental, i'll wager. he yelled to two or three fellows, as i shot by them near the first corral: "round up that thus-and-how"--i hate to say the words right out--"and bring him back here!" then he sent a bullet zipping past my ear, and from the house came a high, nasal squawk which, i gathered, came from the old party i had seen the day before. i went clippety-clip around those sheds and corrals, till i like to have snapped my head off; i knew shylock could take first money over any ordinary cayuse, and i let him out; but, for all that, i heard them coming, and it sounded as if they were about to ride all over me, they were so close. past the last shed i went streaking it, and my heart remembered what it was made for, and went to work. i don't feel that, under the circumstances, it's any disgrace to own that i was scared. i didn't hear any more little singing birds fly past, so i straightened up enough to look around and see what was doing in the way of pursuit. one glance convinced me that my pursuers weren't going to sleep in their saddles. one of them, on a little buckskin that was running with his ears laid so flat it looked as if he hadn't any, was widening the loop in his rope, and yelling unfriendly things as he spurred after me; the others were a length behind, and i mentally put them out of the race. the gentleman with the businesslike air was all i wanted to see, and i laid low as i could and slapped shylock along the neck, and told him to bestir himself. he did. we skimmed up that trail like a winner on the home--stretch, and before i had time to think of what lay ahead, i saw that fence with the high, board gate that was padlocked. right there i swore abominably--but it didn't loosen the gate. i looked back and decided that this was no occasion for pulling wires loose and leading my horse over them. it was no occasion for anything that required more than a second; my friend of the rope was not more than five long jumps behind, and he was swinging that loop suggestively over his head. i reined shylock sharply out of the trail, saw a place where the fence looked a bit lower than the average, and put him straight at it with quirt and spurs. he would have swung off, but i've ridden to hounds, and i had seen hunters go over worse places; i held him to it without mercy. he laid back his ears, then, and went over--and his hind feet caught the top wire and snapped it like thread. i heard it hum through the air, and i heard those behind me shout as though something unlooked-for had happened. i turned, saw them gathered on the other side looking after me blankly, and i waved my hat airily in farewell and went on about my business. [illustration: "his hind feet caught the top wire and snapped it like thread."] i felt that they would scarcely chase me the whole twelve or fifteen miles of the pass, and i was right; after i turned the first bend i saw them no more. at camp i was received with much astonishment, particularly when ballard saw that i had brought an answer to his note. "yuh must 'a' rode king's highway," he said, looking at me much as perry potter had done the night before. i told him i did, and the boys gathered round and wanted to know how i did it. i told them about jumping the fence, and my conceit got a hard blow there; with one accord they made it plain that i had done a very foolish thing. range horses, they assured me, are not much at jumping, as a rule; and wire-fences are their special abhorrence. frosty miller told me, in confidence, that he didn't know which was the bigger fool, shylock or me, and he hoped i'd never be guilty of another trick like that. that rather took the bloom off my adventure, and i decided, after much thought, that i agreed with frosty: king's highway was bad medicine. i amended that a bit, and excepted beryl king; i did not think she was "bad medicine," however acid might be her flavor. chapter vi. i ask beryl king to dance. if i were just yarning for the fun there is in it, i should say that i was back in king's highway, helping beryl king gather posies and brush up her repartee, the very next morning--or the second, at the very latest. as a matter of fact, though, i steered clear of that pass, and behaved myself and stuck to work for six long weeks; that isn't saying i never thought about her, though. on the very last day of june, as nearly as i could estimate, frosty rode into kenmore for something, and came back with that in his eyes that boded mischief; his words, however, were innocent enough for the most straight-laced. "there's things doing in kenmore," he remarked to a lot of us. "old king has a party of aristocrats out from new york, visiting--terence weaver, half-owner in the mines, and some women; they're fixing to celebrate the fourth with a dance. the women, it seems, are crazy to see a real montana dance, and watch the cowboys _chasse_ around the room in their chaps and spurs and big hats, and with two or three six-guns festooned around their middles, the way you see them in pictures. they think, as near as i could find out, that cowboys always go to dances in full war-paint like that--and they'll be disappointed if said cowboys don't punctuate the performance by shooting out the lights, every so often." he looked across at me, and then is when i observed the mischief brewing in his eyes. "we'll have to take it in," i said promptly. "i'm anxious to see a montana dance, myself." "we aren't in their set," gloomed frosty, with diplomatic caution. "i won't swear they're sending out engraved invitations, but, all the same, we won't be expected." "we'll go, anyhow," i answered boldly. "if they want to see cow-punchers, it seems to me the ragged h can enter a bunch that will take first prize." frosty looked at me, and permitted himself to smile. "uh course, if you're bound to go, ellis, i guess there's no stopping yuh--and some of us will naturally have to go along to see yuh through. king's minions would sure do things to yuh if yuh went without a body-guard." he shook his head, and cupped his hands around a match-blaze and a cigarette, so that no one could tell much about his expression. "i'm bound to go," i declared, taking the cue. "and i think i do need some of you to back me up. i think," i added judicially, "i shall need the whole bunch." the "bunch" looked at one another gravely and sighed. "we'll have t' go, i reckon," they said, just as though they weren't dying to play the unexpected guest. so that was decided, and there was much whispering among groups when they thought the wagon-boss was near, and much unobtrusive preparation. it happened that the wagons pulled in close to the ranch the day before the fourth, intending to lay over for a day or so. we were mighty glad of it, and hurried through our work. i don't know why the rest were so anxious to attend that dance, but for me, i'm willing to own that i wanted to see beryl king. i knew she'd be there--and if i didn't manage, by fair means or foul, to make her dance with me, i should be very much surprised and disappointed. i couldn't remember ever giving so much thought to a girl; but i suppose it was because she was so frankly antagonistic that there was nothing tame about our intercourse. i can't like girls who invariably say just what you expect them to say. when we came to get ready, there was a dress-discussion that a lot of women would find it hard to beat. some of the boys wanted to play up to, the aristocrats' expectations, and wear their gaudiest neckerchiefs, their chaps, spurs, and all the guns they could get their hands on; but i had an idea i thought beat theirs, and proselyted for all i was worth. rankin had packed a lot of dress suits in one of my trunks--evidently he thought montana was some sort of house-party--and i wanted to build a surprise for the good people at king's. i wanted the boys to use those suits to the best advantage. at first they hung back. they didn't much like the idea of wearing borrowed clothes--which attitude i respected, but felt bound to overrule. i told them it was no worse than borrowing guns, which a lot of them were doing. in the end my oratory was rewarded as it deserved; it was decided that, as even my capacious trunks couldn't be expected to hold thirty dress suits, part of the crowd should ride in full regalia. i might "tog up" as many as possible, and said "togged" men must lend their guns to the others; for every man of the "reals" insisted on wearing a gun dangling over each hip. so i went down into my trunks, and disinterred four dress suits and three tuxedos, together with all the appurtenances thereto. oh, rankin was certainly a wonder! there was a gay-colored smoking-jacket and cap that one of the boys took a fancy to and insisted on wearing, but i drew the line at that. we nearly had a fight over it, right there. when we were dressed--and i had to valet the whole lot of them, except frosty, who seemed wise to polite apparel--we were certainly a bunch of winners. modesty forbids explaining just how _i_ appear in a dress suit. i will only say that my tailor knew his business--but the others were fearful and wonderful to look upon. to begin with, not all of them stand six-feet-one in their stocking-feet, or tip the scales at a hundred and eighty odd; likewise their shoulders lacked the breadth that goes with the other measurements. hence my tailor would doubtless have wept at the sight; shoulders drooping spiritlessly, and sleeves turned up, and trousers likewise. frosty miller, though, was like a man with his mask off; he stood there looking the gentleman born, and i couldn't help staring at him. "you've been broken to society harness, old man, and are bridle-wise," i said, slapping him on the shoulder. he whirled on me savagely, and his face was paler than i'd ever seen it. "and if i have--what the hell is it to you?" he asked unpleasantly, and i stammered out some kind of apology. far be it from me to pry into a man's past. i straightened sandy johnson's tie, turned up his sleeves another inch, and we started out. and i will say we were a quaint-looking outfit. perhaps my meaning will be clearer when i say that every one of us wore the soft, white "stetson" of the range-land, and a silk handkerchief knotted loosely around the throat, and spurs and riding-gloves. i've often wondered if the range has ever seen just that wedding of the east and the west before in man's apparel. we'd scarcely got started when the wind caught frosty's coat-tails and slapped them down along the flanks of his horse--an incident that the horse met with stern disapproval. he went straight up into the air, and then bucked as long as his wind held out, the while frosty's quirt kept time with the tails of his coat. when the two had calmed down a bit, the other boys profited by frosty's experience, and tucked the coat-tails snugly under them--and those who wore the tuxedos congratulated themselves on their foresight. we were a merry party, and we were willing to publish the fact. when we had overtaken the others we were still merrier, for the spectacular contingent plumed themselves like peacocks on their fearsomeness, and guyed us conventionally garbed fellows unmercifully. when the thirty of us filed into the long, barn-like hall where they were having the dance, i believe i can truthfully say that we created a sensation. that "ripple of excitement" which we read about so often in connection with belles and balls went round the room. frosty and i led the way, and the rest of the "biscuit-shooter brigade," as the others called us, followed two by two. then came the real wild west show, with their hats tilted far back on their heads and brazen faces which it pained me to contemplate. we arrived during that humming hash which comes just after a number, and every one stared impolitely, and some of them not overcordially. i began to wonder if we hadn't done a rather ill-bred thing, to hurl ourselves so unceremoniously into the merrymakings of the enemy; but i comforted myself with the thought that the dance was given as a public affair, so that we were acting within our technical rights--though i own that, as i looked around upon our crowd, ranged solemnly along the wall, it struck me that we _were_ a bit spectacular. she was there, chatting with some other women, at the far end of the hall, and if she saw me enter the room she did not show any disquietude; from where i stood, she seemed perfectly at ease, and unconscious of anything unusual having occurred. old king i could not see. a waltz was announced--rather, bellowed--and the boys drifted away from me. it was evident that they did not intend to become wall flowers. for myself, it occurred to me that, except my somewhat debatable acquaintance with miss king, i did not know a woman in the room. i called up all my courage and fortitude, and started toward her. i was determined to ask her to dance, and i got some chilly comfort out of the reflection that she couldn't do any worse than refuse; still, that would be quite bad enough, and i will not say that i crossed that room, with three or four hundred eyes upon me, in any oh-be-joyful frame of mind. i rather suspect that my face resembled that plebeian and oft-mentioned vegetable, the beet. i was within ten feet of her, and i was thinking that she couldn't possibly hold that cool, unconscious look much longer, when a hand feminine was extended from the row of silent watchers and caught at my sleeve. "ellie carleton, it's never you!" chirped a familiar voice. i turned, a bit dazed with the unexpected interruption, and saw that it was edith loroman, whom i had last seen in the east the summer before, when i was gyrating through newport and all those places, with barney mactague for chaperon, and whom i had known for long. edith had chosen to be very friendly always, and i liked her--only, i suspected her of being a bit too worldly to suit me. "and why isn't it i? i can't see that my identity is more surprising than yours," i retorted, pulling myself together. it did certainly give me a start to see her there, and looking so exactly as she had always looked. i couldn't think of anything more to say, so, as the music had started, i asked her if she had any dances saved for me. i couldn't decently leave her and carry out my original plan, you see. she laughed at my ignorance, and told me that this was a "frontier" dance, and there were no programs. "you just promise one or two dances ahead," she explained. "as many as you can remember. beryl told me all about how they do here; beryl king is my cousin, you know." i didn't know, but i was content to take her word for it, and asked her for that dance and got it, and she chattered on about everything under the sun, and told all about how they happened to be in montana, and how long they were going to stay, and that mr. weaver had brought his auto, and another fellow--i forget his name--had intended to bring his, but didn't, and that they were going to tour through to helena, on their way home, and it would be such fun, and that if i didn't come over right away to call upon her, she would never forgive me. "there's a drawback," i told her. "i'm not on your cousin's visiting-list; i've never even been introduced to her." "that," said miss edith complacently, "is easily remedied. you know mama well enough, i should think. aunt lodema--funny name, isn't it?--is stopping here all summer, with beryl. beryl has the strangest tastes. she _will_ spend every summer out here with her father, and if any of us poor mortals want a glimpse of her between seasons, we must come where she is. she's a dear, and you must know her, even if you do hold yourself superior to us women. she's almost as much a crank on athletics as you are; you ought to see her on the links, once! that's why i can't understand her running away off here every summer. and, by the way, ellie, what are _you_ doing here--a stranger?" "i'm earning my bread by the sweat of my brow," i told her plainly. "i'm a cowboy--a would-be, i suppose i should say." she looked up at me horrified. "have you--lost--your millions?" she wanted to know. edith loroman was always a straightforward questioner, at any rate. "the millions," i told her, laughing, "are all right, i believe. dad has a cattle-ranch in this part of the world, and he sent me out here to reform me. he meant it as a punishment, but at present i'm getting rather the best of the deal, i think." "and where's barney?" she asked. "one reason i came near not recognizing you was because you hadn't your shadow along." "barney is luxuriating in idleness somewhere," i answered lightly. "one couldn't expect _him_ to turn savage, just because i did. i can't imagine barney working for his daily bread." "i can," retorted miss edith, "every bit as easily as i can imagine you! and, if you'll pardon me, i don't believe a word of it, either." on the whole, i could hardly blame her. as she had always known me, i must have appeared to her somewhat like solomon's lilies. but i did not try to convince her; there were other things more important. i went and made my bow to mrs. loroman, and answered sundry questions--more conventional, i may say, than were those of her daughter. mrs. loroman was one of the best type of society dames, and i will own that i was a bit surprised to find that she was beryl king's aunt. in spite of that indefinable little air of breeding that i had felt in my two meetings with miss king, i had thought of her as distinctly a daughter of the range-land. "i'll introduce you to my cousin and aunt now, if you like," edith offered generously, in an undertone--for the two were not ten feet from us, although miss king had not yet seen fit to know that i was in the room. how a woman can act so deuced innocent, beats me. miss king lowered her chin as much as half an inch, and looked at me as if i were an exceeding commonplace, inanimate object that could not possibly interest her. her aunt, lodema king, was almost as bad, i think; i didn't notice particularly. but miss king's i-do-not-know-you-sir air could not save her; i hadn't schemed like a villain for a week, and ridden twenty-five miles at a good fast clip after a stiff day's work, just to be presented and walk away. i asked her for the next waltz. "the next waltz is promised to mr. weaver," she told me freezingly. i asked for the next two-step. "the next two-step is also promised--to mr. weaver." i began to have unfriendly feelings toward mr. weaver. "will you be good enough to inform what dance is _not_ promised?" i almost finished "to mr. weaver," but i'm not quite a cad, i hope. "really, we haven't programs here to-night," she parried. i played a reckless lead. "i wonder," i said, looking straight down into those eyes of hers, and hoping she couldn't suspect the prickles chasing over me at the very look of them--"i wonder if it's because you're _afraid_ to dance with me?" "are you so--fearsome?" she retorted evenly, and i got back instantly: "it would almost seem so." i had the satisfaction of seeing her lip go in between her teeth. (i should like to say something about those teeth--only it would sound like the advertisement of a dentifrice, for i should be bound to mention pearls once or twice.) "you are flattering yourself, mr. carleton; i am not at all afraid to dance with you," she said--and, oh, the tone of her! "i shall expect you to prove that instantly," i retorted, still looking straight into her face. a quadrille--the old-fashioned kind--was called, and she looked up at me and put out her hand. only an idiot would wonder whether i took it. "this isn't a fair test," i told her, after leading her out in position. "you won't be dancing with me a quarter of the time, you know. only the closest observer may tell, after we once get going, whom you are dancing with." "that," she retorted, with a gleam in her eyes i couldn't--being no lady's man--interpret--"that is a mere quibble, and would not hold in court." "it's going to hold in _this_ court," i answered boldly, and wished i had not so systematically wasted my opportunities in the past--that i had spent more time drinking tea and studying the "infernal feminine." she gave me a quick, puzzling glance, and as we were commanded at that instant to salute our partners, she swept me a half-curtsy that made me grit my teeth, though i tried to make my own bow quite as elaborate and mocking. i couldn't make her out at all during that dance. whenever we came together there was that little air of mockery in every move she made, and yet something in her eyes seemed to invite and to challenge. the first time we were privileged, by the old-fashioned "caller," to "swing our partners," milady would have given me her finger-tips--only i wouldn't have it that way. i held her as close as i dared, and--i don't know but i'm a fool--she didn't seem in any great rage over it. lord, how i did wish i was wise to the ways of women! the next waltz i couldn't have, because she was to dance it with mr. weaver. so i had the fun of sitting there watching them fly around the room, and getting a good-sized dislike of the fellow over it. i don't pretend to be one of those large-minded men who are always painfully unprejudiced. weaver looked like a pretty good sort, and under other circumstances i should probably have liked him, but as it was i emphatically did not. however, i got a waltz, after a heart-breaking delay, and it was worth waiting for. i had felt all along that we could hit it off pretty well together, and we did. we didn't say much--we just floated off into another world--or i did--and there was nothing i wanted to say that i dared say. i call that a good excuse for silence. afterward i asked her for another, and she looked at me curiously. "you're a very hard man to convince, mr. carleton," she told me, with that same queer look in her eyes. i was beginning to get drunk--intoxicated, if you like the word better--on those same eyes; they always affected me, somehow, as if i'd never seen them before; always that same little tingle of surprise went over me when she lifted those heavy fringes of lashes. i'm not psychologist enough to explain this, and i'm strictly no good at introspection; it was that way with me, and that will have to do. i told her she probably would never meet another who required so much convincing, and, after wrangling over the matter politely for a minute, got her to promise me another waltz, said promise to be redeemed after supper. i tried to talk to "aunt lodema," but she would have none of me, and she seemed to think i had more than my share of effrontery to attempt such a thing. mrs. loroman was better, and i filled in fifteen minutes or so very pleasantly with her. after that i went over to edith and got her to sit out a dance with me. the first thing she asked me was about frosty. who was he? and why was he here? and how long had he been here? i told her all i knew about him, and then turned frank and asked her why she wanted to know. "mama hasn't recognized him--yet," she said confidentially, "but i was sure he was the same. he has shaved his mustache, and he's much browner and heavier, but he's fred miller--and why doesn't he come and speak to me?" out of much words, i gathered that she and frosty were, to put it mildly, old friends. she didn't just say there was an engagement between them, but she hinted it; his father had "had trouble"--the vagueness of women!--and edith's mama had turned frosty down, to put it bluntly. frosty had, ostensibly, gone to south africa, and that was the last of him. miss edith seemed quite disturbed over seeing him there in kenmore. i told her that if frosty wanted to stay in the background, that was his privilege and my gain, and she smiled at me vaguely and said of course it didn't really matter. at supper-time our crowd got the storekeeper intimidated sufficiently to open his store and sell us something to eat. the king faction had looked upon us blackly, though there were too many of us to make it safe meddling, and none of us were minded to break bread with them. instead, we sat around on the counter and on boxes in the store, and ate crackers and sardines and things like that. i couldn't help remembering my last fourth, and the banquet i had given on board the _molly stark_--my yacht, named after the lady known to history, whom dad claims for an ancestress--and i laughed out loud. the boys wanted to know the cause of my mirth, and so, with a sardine laid out decently between two crackers in one hand, and a blue "granite" cup of plebeian beer in the other, i told them all about that banquet, and some of the things we had to eat and drink--whereat they laughed, too. the contrast was certainly amusing. but, somehow, i wouldn't have changed, just then, if i could have done so. that, also, is something i'm not psychologist enough to explain. that last waltz with miss king was like to prove disastrous, for we swished uncomfortably close to her father, standing scowling at frosty and some of the others of our crowd near the door. luckily, he didn't see us, and at the far end miss king stopped abruptly. her cheeks were pink, and her eyes looked up at me--wistfully, i could almost say. "i think, mr. carleton, we had better stop," she said hesitatingly. "i don't believe your enmity is so ungenerous as to wish to cause me unpleasantness. you surely are convinced now that i am not afraid of you, so the truce is over." i did not pretend to misunderstand. "i'm going home at once," i told her gently, "and i shall take my spectacular crowd along with me; but i'm not sorry i came, and i hope you are not." she looked at me soberly, and then away. "there is one thing i should like to say," she said, in so low a tone i had to lean to catch the words. "please don't try to ride through king's highway again; father hates you quite enough as it is, and it is scarcely the part of a gentleman to needlessly provoke an old man." i could feel myself grow red. what a cad i must seem to her! "king's highway shall be safe from my vandal feet hereafter," i told her, and meant it. "so long as you keep that promise," she said, smiling a bit, "i shall try to remember mine enemy with respect." "and i hope that mine enemy shall sometimes view the beauties of white divide from a little distance--say half a mile or so," i answered daringly. she heard me, but at that minute that weaver chap came up, and she began talking to him as though he was her long-lost friend. i was clearly out of it, so i told edith and her mother good night, bowed to "aunt lodema" and got the stony stare for my reward, and rounded up my crowd. we passed old king in a body, and he growled something i could not hear; one of the boys told me, afterward, that it was just as well i didn't. we rode away under the stars, and i wished that night had been four times as long, and that beryl king would be as nice to me as was edith loroman. chapter vii. one day too late! i suppose there is always a time when a fellow passes quite suddenly out of the cub-stage and feels himself a man--or, at least, a very great desire to be one. until that fourth of july life had been to me a playground, with an interruption or two to the game. when dad took such heroic measures to instil some sense into my head, he interrupted the game for ten days or so--and then i went back to my play, satisfied with new toys. at least, that is the way it seemed to me. but after that night, things were somehow different. i wanted to amount to something; i was absolutely ashamed of my general uselessness, and i came near writing to dad and telling him so. the worst of it was that i didn't know just what it was i wanted to do, except ride over to that little pinnacle just out from king's highway, and watch for beryl king; that, of course, was out of the question, and maudlin, anyway. on the third day after, as frosty and i were riding circle quite silently and moodily together, we rode up into a little coulée on the southwestern side of white divide, and came quite unexpectedly upon a little picnic-party camped comfortably down by the spring where we had meant to slake our own thirst. of course, it was the kings' house-party; they were the only luxuriously idle crowd in the country. edith and her mother greeted me with much apparent joy, but, really, i felt sorry for frosty; all that saved him from recognition then was the providential near-sightedness of mrs. loroman. i observed that he was careful not to come close enough to the lady to run any risk. aunt lodema tilted her chin at me, and beryl--to tell the truth, i couldn't make up my mind about beryl. when i first rode up to them, and she looked at me, i fancied there was a welcome in her eyes; after that there was anything else you like to name. i looked several times at her to make sure, but i couldn't tell any more what she was thinking than one can read the face of a chinaman. (that isn't a pretty comparison, i know, but it gives my meaning, for, of all humans, chinks are about the hardest to understand or read.) i was willing, however, to spend a good deal of time studying the subject of her thoughts, and got off my horse almost as soon as mrs. loroman and edith invited me to stop and eat lunch with them. that weaver fellow was not present, but another man, whom they introduced as mr. tenbrooke, was sitting dolefully on a rock, watching a maid unpacking eatables. edith told me that "uncle homer"--which was old man king--and mr. weaver would be along presently. they had driven over to kenmore first, on a matter of business. frosty, i could see, was not going to stay, even though edith, in a polite little voice that made me wonder at her, invited him to do so. edith was not the hostess, and had really no right to do that. i tried to get a word with miss beryl, found myself having a good many words with edith, instead, and in fifteen minutes i became as thoroughly disgusted with unkind fate as ever i've been in my life, and suddenly remembered that duty made further delay absolutely impossible. we rode away, with edith protesting prettily at what she was pleased to call my bad manners. for the rest of the way up that coulée frosty and i were even more silent and moody than we had been before. the only time we spoke was when frosty asked me gruffly how long those people expected to stay out here. i told him a week, and he grunted something under his breath about female fortune-hunters. i couldn't see what he was driving at, for i certainly should never think of accusing edith and her mother of being that especial brand of abhorrence, but he was in a bitter mood, and i wouldn't argue with him then--i had troubles of my own to think of. i was beginning to call myself several kinds of a fool for letting a girl--however wonderful her eyes--give me bad half-hours quite so frequently; the thing had never happened to me before, and i had known hundreds of nice girls--approximately. when a fellow goes through a co-ed course, and has a dad whom the papers call financier, he gets a speaking-acquaintance with a few girls. the trouble with me was, i never gave the whole bunch as much thought as i was giving to beryl king--and the more i thought about her, the less satisfaction there was in the thinking. i waited a day or two, and then practically ran away from my work and rode over to that little butte. some one was sitting on the same flat rock, and i climbed up to the place with more haste than grace, i imagine. when i reached the top, panting like the purr of the _yellow peril_--my automobile--when it gets warmed up and going smoothly, i discovered that it was edith loroman sitting placidly, with a camera on her knees, doing things to the internal organs of the thing. i don't know much about cameras, so i can't be more explicit. "if it isn't ellie, looking for all the world like the _virginian_ just stepped down from behind the footlights!" was her greeting. "where in the world have you been, that you haven't been over to see us?" "you must know that the palace of the king is closed against the carletons," i, said, and i'm afraid i said it a bit crossly; i hadn't climbed that unmerciful butte just to bandy commonplaces with edith loroman, even if we were old friends. there are times when new enemies are more diverting than the oldest of old friends. "well, you could come when uncle homer is away--which he often is," she pouted. "every sunday he drives over to kenmore and pokes around his miners and mines, and often terence and beryl go with him, so you could come--" "no, thank you." i put on the dignity three deep there. "if i can't come when your uncle is at home, i won't sneak in when he's gone. i--how does it happen you are away out here by yourself?" "well," she explained, still doing things to the camera, "beryl came out here yesterday, and made a sketch of the divide; i just happened to see her putting it away. so i made her tell me where she got that view-point, and i wanted her to come with me, so i could get a snap shot; it _is_ pretty, from here. but she went over to the mines with mr. weaver, and i had to come alone. beryl likes to be around those dirty mines--but i can't bear it. and, now i'm here, something's gone wrong with the thing, so i can't wind the film. do you know how to fix it, ellie?" i didn't, and i told her so, in a word. edith pouted again--she has a pretty mouth that looks well all tied up in a knot, and i have a slight suspicion that she knows it--and said that a fellow who could take an automobile all to pieces and put it together again ought to be able to fix a kodak. that's the way some women reason, i believe--just as though cars and kodaks are twin brothers. our conversation, as i remember it now, was decidedly flat and dull. i kept thinking of beryl being there the day before--and i never knew; of her being off somewhere to-day with that weaver fellow--and i knew it and couldn't do a thing. i hardly know which was the more unpleasant to dwell upon, but i do know that it made me mighty poor company for edith. i sat there on a near-by rock and lighted cigarettes, only to let them go out, and glowered at king's highway, off across the flat, as if it were the mouth of the bottomless pit. i can't wonder that edith called me a bear, and asked me repeatedly if i had toothache, or anything. by and by she had her kodak in working order again, and took two or three pictures of the divide. edith is very pretty, i believe, and looks her best in short walking-costume. i wondered why she had not ridden out to the butte; beryl had, the time i met her there, i remembered. she had a deep-chested blue roan that looked as if he could run, and i had noticed that she wore the divided skirt, which is so popular among women who ride. i don't, as a rule, notice much what women have on--but beryl king's feet are altogether too small for the least observant man to pass over. edith's feet were well shod, but commonplace. "i wish you'd let me have one of those pictures when they're done," i told her, as amiably as i could. she pushed back a lock of hair. "i'll send you one, if you like, when i get home. what address do you claim, in this wilderness?" i wrote it down for her and went my way, feeling a badly used young man, with a strong inclination to quarrel with fate. edith had managed, during her well-meant efforts at entertaining me, to couple mr. weaver's name all too frequently with that of her cousin. i found it very depressing--a good many things, in fact, were depressing that day. i went back to camp and stuck to work for the rest of that week--until some of the boys told me that they had seen the kings' guests scooting across the prairie in the big touring-car of weaver's, evidently headed for helena. after that i got restless again, and every mile the round-up moved south i took as a special grievance; it put that much greater distance between me and king's highway--and i had got to that unhealthy stage where every mile wore on my nerves, and all i wanted was to moon around that little butte. i believe i should even have taken a morbid pleasure in watching the light in her window o' nights, if it had been at all practicable. chapter viii a fight and a race for life. it was between the spring round-up and the fall, while the boys were employed in desultory fashion at the home ranch, breaking in new horses and the like, and while i was indefatigably wearing a trail straight across country to that little butte--and getting mighty little out of it save the exercise and much heart-burnings--that the message came. a man rode up to the corrals on a lather-gray horse, coming from kenmore, where was a telephone-station connected from osage. i read the message incredulously. dad sick unto death? such a thing had never happened--_couldn't_ happen, it seemed to me. it was unbelievable; not to be thought of or tolerated. but all the while i was planning and scheming to shave off every superfluous minute, and get to where he was. i held out the paper to perry potter, "have some one saddle up shylock," i ordered, quite as if he had been rankin. "and frosty will have to go with me as far as osage. we can make it by to-morrow noon--through king's highway. i mean to get that early afternoon train." the last sentence i sent back over my shoulder, on my way to the house. dad sick--dying? i cursed the miles between us. frisco was a long, a terribly long, way off; it seemed in another world. by then i was on my way back to the corral, with a decent suit of clothes on and a few things stuffed into a bag, and with a roll of money--money that i had earned--in my pocket. i couldn't have been ten minutes, but it seemed more. and frisco was a long way off! "you'd better take the rest of the boys part way," potter greeted dryly as i came up. i brushed past him and swung up into the saddle, feeling that if i stopped to answer i might be too late. i had a foolish notion that even a long breath would conspire to delay me. frosty was already on his horse, and i noticed, without thinking about it at the time, that he was riding a long-legged sorrel, "spikes," that could match shylock on a long chase--as this was like to be. we were off at a run, without once looking back or saying good-by to a man of them; for farewells take minutes in the saying, and minutes meant--more than i cared to think about just then. they were good fellows, those cowboys, but i left them standing awkwardly, as men do in the face of calamity they may not hinder, without a thought of whether i should ever see one of them again. with frosty galloping at my right, elbow to elbow, we faced the dim, purple outline of white divide. already the dusk was creeping over the prairie-land, and little sleepy birds started out of the grasses and flew protesting away from our rush past their nesting-places. frosty spoke when we had passed out of the home-field, even in our haste stopping to close and tie fast the gate behind us. "you don't want to run your horse down in the first ten miles, ellis; we'll make time by taking it easy at first, and you'll get there just as soon." i knew he was right about it, and pulled shylock down to the steady lope that was his natural gait. it was hard, though, to just "mosey" along as if we were starting out to kill time and earn our daily wage in the easiest possible manner. one's nerves demanded an unusual pace--a pace that would soothe fear by its very headlong race against misfortune. once or twice it occurred to me to wonder, just for a minute, how we should fare in king's highway; but mostly my thoughts stuck to dad, and how it happened that he was "critically ill," as the message had put it. crawford had sent that message; i knew from the precise way it was worded--crawford never said _sick_--and crawford was about as conservative a man as one could well be, and be human. he was as unemotional as a properly trained footman; jenks, our butler, showed more feeling. but crawford, if he was conservative, was also conscientious. dad had had him for ten years, and trusted him a million miles farther than he would trust anybody else--for crawford could no more lie than could the multiplication-table; if he said dad was "critically ill," that settled it; dad was. i used to tell barney mactague, when he thought it queer that i knew so little about dad's affairs, that dad was a fireproof safe, and crawford was the combination lock. but perhaps it was the other way around; at any rate, they understood each other perfectly, and no other living man understood either. the darkness flowed down over the land and hid the farther hills; the sky-line crept closer until white divide seemed the boundary of the world, and all beyond its tumbled shade was untried mystery. frosty, a shadowy figure rising and falling regularly beside me, turned his face and spoke again: "we ought to make pochette's crossing by daylight, or a little after--with luck," he said. "we'll have to get horses from him to go on with; these will be all in, when we get that far." "we'll try and sneak through the pass," i answered, putting unpleasant thoughts resolutely behind me. "we can't take time to argue the point out with old king." "sneak nothing," frosty retorted grimly. "you don't know king, if you're counting on that." i came near asking how he expected to get through, then; when i remembered my own spectacular flight, on a certain occasion, i felt that frosty was calmly disowning our only hope. we rode quietly into the mouth of king's highway, our horses stepping softly in the deep sand of the trail as if they, too, realized the exigencies of the situation. we crossed the little stream that is the first baby beginning of honey creek--which flows through our ranch--with scarce a splash to betray our passing, and stopped before the closed gate. frosty got down to swing it open, and his fingers touched a padlock doing business with bulldog pertinacity. clearly, king was minded to protect himself from unwelcome evening callers. "we'll have to take down the wires," frosty murmured, coming back to where i waited. "got your gun handy? yuh might need it before long." frosty was not warlike by nature, and when he advised having a gun handy i knew the situation to be critical. we took down a panel of fence without interruption or sign of life at the house, not more than fifty yards away; frosty whispered that they were probably at supper, and that it was our best time. i was foolish enough to regret going by without chance of a word with beryl, great as was my haste. i had not seen her since that day frosty and i had ridden into their picnic--though i made efforts enough, the lord knows--and i was not at all happy over my many failures. whether it was good luck or bad, i saw her rise up from a hammock on the porch as we went by--for, as i said before, king's house was much closer to the trail than was decent; i could have leaned from the saddle and touched her with my quirt. "mr. carleton"--i was fool enough to gloat over her instant recognition, in the dark like that--"what are you doing here--at this hour? don't you know the risk? and your promise--" she spoke in an undertone, as if she were afraid of being overheard--which i don't doubt she was. but if she had been a delilah she couldn't have betrayed me more completely. frosty motioned imperatively for me to go on, but i had pulled up at her first word, and there i stood, waiting for her to finish, that i might explain that i had not lightly broken my promise; that i was compelled to cut off that extra sixty miles which would have made me, perhaps, too late. but i didn't tell her anything; there wasn't time. frosty, waiting disapprovingly a length ahead, looked back and beckoned again insistently. at the same instant a door behind the girl opened with a jerk, and king himself bulked large and angry in the lamplight. beryl shrank backward with a little cry--and i knew she had not meant to do me a hurt. "come on, you fool!" cried frosty, and struck his horse savagely. i jabbed in my spurs, and shylock leaped his length and fled down that familiar trail to the "gantlet," as i had always called it mentally after that second passing. but king, behind us, fired three shots quickly, one after another--and, as the bullets sang past, i knew them for a signal. a dozen men, as it seemed to me, swarmed out from divers places to dispute our passing, and shots were being fired in the dark, their starting-point betrayed by vicious little spurts of flame. shylock winced cruelly, as we whipped around the first shed, and i called out sharply to frosty, still a length ahead. he turned just as my horse went down to his knees. i jerked my feet from the stirrups and landed free and upright, which was a blessing. and it was then that i swung morally far back to the primitive, and wanted to kill, and kill, with never a thought for parley or retreat. frosty, like the stanch old pal he was, pulled up and came back to me, though the bullets were flying fast and thick--and not wide enough for derision on our part. "jump up behind," he commanded, shooting as he spoke. "we'll get out of this damned trap." i had my doubts, and fired away without paying him much attention. i wanted, more than anything, to get the man who had shot down shylock. that isn't a pretty confession, but it has the virtue of being the truth. so, while frosty fired at the spurts of red and cursed me for stopping there, i crouched behind my dead horse and fought back with evil in my heart and a mighty poor aim. then, just as the first excitement was hardening into deliberate malevolence, came a clatter from beyond the house, and a chorus of familiar yells and the spiteful snapping of pistols. it was our boys--thirty of the biggest-hearted, bravest fellows that ever wore spurs, and, as they came thundering down to us, i could make out the bent, wiry figure of old perry potter in the lead, yelling and shooting wickeder than any one else in the crowd. "ellis!" he shouted, and i lifted up my voice and let him know that, like webster, "i still lived." they came on with a rush that the king faction could not stay, to where i was ambushed between the solid walls of two sheds, with shylock's bulk before me and frosty swearing at my back. "horse hit?" snapped perry potter breathlessly. "i knowed it. just like yuh. get onto this'n uh mine--he's the best in the bunch--and light out--if yuh still want t' catch that train." i came back from the primitive with a rush. i no longer wanted to kill and kill. dad was lying "critically ill" in frisco--and frisco was a long way off! the miles between bulked big and black before me, so that i shivered and forgot my quarrel with king. i must catch that train. i went with one leap up into the saddle as perry potter slid down, thought vaguely that i never could ride with the stirrups so short, but that there was not time to lengthen them; took my feet peevishly out of them altogether, and dashed down, that winding way between king's sheds and corrals while the ragged h boys kept king's men at bay, and the unmusical medley of shots and yells followed us far in the darkness of the pass. at the last fence, where we perforce drew rein to make a free passage for our horses, i looked back, like one mrs. lot. a red glare lit the whole sky behind us with starry sparks, shooting up higher into the low-hanging crimson smoke-clouds. i stared, uncomprehending for a moment; then the thought of her stabbed through my brain, and i felt a sudden horror. "and beryl's back among those devils!" i cried aloud, as i pulled my horse around. "_beryl_"--frosty laid peculiar stress upon the name i had let slip--"isn't likely to be down among the sheds, where that fire is. our boys are collecting damages for shylock, i guess; hope they make a good job of it." i felt silly enough just then to quarrel with my grandmother; i hate giving a man cause for thinking me a love-sick lobster, as i'd no doubt frosty thought me. i led my horse over the wires he had let down, and we went on without stopping to put them back on the posts. it was some time before i spoke again, and, when i did, the subject was quite different; i was mourning because i hadn't the _yellow peril_ to eat up the miles with. "what good would that do yuh?" frosty asked, with a composure i could only call unfeeling. "yuh couldn't get a train, anyway, before the one yuh _will_ get; motors are all right, in their place--but a horse isn't to be despised, either. i'd rather be stranded with a tired horse than a broken-down motor." i did not agree with him, partly because i was not at all pleased with my present mount, and partly because i was not in amiable mood; so we galloped along in sulky silence, while a washed-out moon sidled over our heads and dodged behind cloud-banks quite as if she were ashamed to be seen. the coyotes got to yapping out somewhere in the dark, and, as we came among the breaks that border the missouri, a gray wolf howled close at hand. perry potter's horse, that had shown unmistakable symptoms of disgust at the endless gallop he had been called upon to maintain, shied sharply away from the sound, stumbled from leg-weariness, and fell heavily; for the second time that night i had need to show my dexterity--but, in this case, with perry potter's stirrups swinging somewhere in the vicinity of my knees, the danger of getting caught was not so great. i stood there in the dark loneliness of the silent hills and the howling wolf, and looked down at the brute with little pity and a good deal of resentment. i applied my toe tentatively to his ribs, and he just grunted. frosty got down and led spikes closer, and together we surveyed the heavily breathing, gray bulk in the sand at our feet. "if he was the _yellow peril_, instead of one of your much-vaunted steeds," i remarked tartly, "i could go at him with a wrench and have him in working order again in five minutes; as it is--" i felt that the sentence was stronger uncompleted. "as it is," finished frosty calmly, "you'll just step up on spikes and go on to pochette's. it's only about ten miles, now; spikes is good for it, if you ease him on the hills now and then. he isn't the _yellow peril_, maybe, but he's a good little horse, and he'll sure take yuh through the best he knows." i don't know why, but a lump came up in my throat at the tone of him. i put out my hand and laid it on spikes' wet, sweat-roughened neck. "yes, he's a good little horse, and i beg his pardon for what i said," i owned, still with the ache just back of my palate. "but he can't carry us both, frosty; i'll just have to tinker up this old skate, and make him go on." "yuh can't do it; he's reached his limit. yuh can't expect a common cayuse like him to do more than eighty miles in one shift--at the gait we've been traveling. i'm surprised he's held out so long. yuh take spikes and go on; i'll walk in. yuh know the way from here, and i can't help yuh out any more than to let yuh have spikes. go on--it's breaking day, and yuh haven't got any too much time to waste." i looked at him, at spikes standing wearily on three legs but with his ears perked gamily ahead, and down at the gray, worn-out horse of perry potter's. they have done what they could--and not one seemed to regret the service. i felt, at that moment, mighty small and unworthy, and tempted to reject the offer of the last ounce of endurance from either--for which i was not as deserving as i should have liked to be. "you worked all day, and you've ridden all night, and gone without a mouthful of supper for me," i protested hotly. "and now you want to walk ten beastly miles of sand and hills. i won't--" "your dad cared enough to send for you--" he began, but i would not let him finish. "you're right, frosty," and i wrung his hand. "you're the real thing, and i'd do as much for you, old pal. i'll make that frenchman rub spikes down for an hour, or i'll kill him when i get back." "you won't come back," said frosty bruskly. "see that streak uh yellow, over there? get a move on, if yuh don't want to miss that train--but ease spikes up the hills!" i nodded, pulled my hat down low over my eyes, and rode away; when i did get courage to glance back, frosty still stood where i had left him, looking down at the gray horse. an hour after sunrise i slipped off spikes and watched them lead him away to the stable; he staggered like a man when he has drunk too long and deeply. i swallowed a cup of coffee, mounted a little buckskin, and went on, with pochette's assurance, "don't be afraid to put heem through," ringing in my ears. i was not afraid to put him through. that last forty-eight miles i rode mercilessly--for the demon of hurry was again urging me on. at ten o'clock i rolled stiffly off the buckskin at the osage station, walked more stiffly into the office, and asked for a message. the operator handed me two, and looked at me with much curiosity--but i suppose i was a sight. the first was to tell me that a special would be ready at ten-thirty, and that the road would be cleared for it. i had not thought about a special--osage being so far from frisco; but crawford was a wonder, and he had a long arm. my respect for crawford increased amazingly as i read that message, and i began at once to bully the agent because the special was not ready at that minute to start. the second message was a laconic statement that dad was still alive; i folded it hurriedly and put it out of sight, for somehow it seemed to say a good many nasty things between the words. i wired crawford that i was ready to start and waiting for the special, and then i fumed and continued my bullying of the man in the office; he was not to blame for anything, of course, but it was a tremendous relief to take it out of somebody just then. the special came, on time to a second, and i swung on and told the conductor to put her through for all she was worth--but he had already got his instructions as to speed, i fancy; we ripped down the track a mile a minute--and it wasn't long till we bettered that more than i'd have believed possible. the superintendent's car had been given over to me, i learned from the porter, and would carry me to ogden, where dad's own car, the _shasta_, would meet me. there, too, i saw the hand of crawford; it was not like dad or him to borrow anything unless the necessity was absolute. i hope i may never be compelled to take another such journey. not that i was nervous at the killing pace we went--and it was certainly hair-raising, in places; but every curve that we whipped around on two wheels--approximately--told me that dad was in desperate case indeed, and that crawford was oiling every joint with gold to get me there in time. at every division the crack engine of the shops was coupled on in seconds, rather than minutes, bellowed its challenge to all previous records, and scuttled away to the west; a new conductor swung up the steps and answered patiently the questions i hurled at him, and courteously passed over the invectives when i felt that we were crawling at a snail's pace and wanted him to hurry a bit. at ogden i hustled into the _shasta_ and felt a grain of comfort in its familiar atmosphere, and a sense of companionship in the solemn face of cromwell jones, our porter. i had taken many a jaunt in the old car, with crom, and rankin, and tony, the best cook that ever fed a hungry man, and it seemed like coming home just to throw myself into my pet chair again, with crom to fetch me something cold and fizzy. from him i learned that it was pneumonia, and that if i got there in time it would be considered a miracle of speed and a triumph of faultless railroad system. if i had been tempted to take my ease and to sleep a bit, that settled it for me. the _shasta_ had no more power to lull my fears or to minister to my comfort. i refused to be satisfied with less than a couple of hundred miles an hour, and i was sore at the whole outfit because they refused to accommodate me. still, we got over the ground at such a clip that on the third day, with screech of whistle and clang of bell, we slowed at oakland pier, where a crowd was cheering like the end of a race--which it was--and kodak fiends were underfoot as if i'd been somebody. a motor-boat was waiting, and the race went on across the bay, where crawford met me with the _yellow peril_ at the ferry depot. i was told that i was in time, and when i got my hand on the wheel, and turned the _peril_ loose, it seemed, for the first time since leaving home, that fate was standing back and letting me run things. policemen waved their arms and said things at the way we went up market street, but i only turned it on a bit more and tried not to run over any humans; a dog got it, though, just as we whipped into sacramento street. i remember wishing that frosty was with me, to be convinced that motors aren't so bad after all. it was good to come tearing up the hill with the horn bellowing for a clear track, and to slow down just enough to make the turn between our bronze mastiffs, and skid up the drive, stopping at just the right instant to avoid going clear through the stable and trespassing upon our neighbor's flower-beds. it was good--but i don't believe crawford appreciated the fact; imperturbable as he was, i fancied that he looked relieved when his feet touched the gravel. i was human enough to enjoy scaring crawford a bit, and even regretted that i had not shaved closer to a collision. then i was up-stairs, in an atmosphere of drugs and trained nurses and funeral quiet, and knew for a certainty that i was still in time, and that dad knew me and was glad to have me there. i had never seen dad in bed before, and all my life he had been associated in my mind with calm self-possession and power and perfect grooming. to see him lying there like that, so white and weak and so utterly helpless, gave me a shock that i was quite unprepared for. i came mighty near acting like a woman with hysterics--and, coming as it did right after that run in the _peril_, i gave crawford something of a shock, too, i think. i know he got me by the shoulders and hustled me out of the room, and he was looking pretty shaky himself; and if his eyes weren't watery, then i saw exceedingly, crooked. a doctor came and made me swallow something, and told me that there was a chance for dad, after all, though they had not thought so at first. then he sent me off to bed, and rankin appeared from somewhere, with his abominably righteous air, and i just escaped making another fool scene. but rankin had the sense to take me in hand just as he used to do when i'd been having no end of a time with the boys, and so got me to bed. the stuff the doctor made me swallow did the rest, and i was dead to the world in ten minutes. chapter ix. the old life--and the new. now that i was there, i was no good to anybody. the nurse wouldn't let me put my nose inside dad's door for a week, and i hadn't the heart to go out much while he was so sick. rankin was about all the recreation i had, and he palled after the first day or two. i told him things about montana that made him look painful because he hardly liked to call me a liar to my face; and the funny part was that i was telling him the truth. then dad got well enough so the nurse had no excuse for keeping me out, and i spent a lot of time sitting beside his bed and answering questions. by the time he was sitting up, peevish at the restraint of weakness and doctor's orders, we began to get really acquainted and to be able to talk together without a burdensome realization that we were father and son--and a mighty poor excuse for the son. dad wasn't such bad company, i discovered. before, he had been mostly the man that handled the carving-knife when i dined at home, and that wrote checks and dictated letters to crawford in the privacy of his own den--he called it his study. now i found that he could tell a story that had some point to it, and could laugh at yours, in his dry way, whether it had any point or not. i even got to telling him some of the scrapes i had got into, and about perry potter; dad liked to hear about perry potter. the beauty of it was, he could understand everything; he had lived there himself long enough to get the range view-point. i hate telling a yarn and then going back over it explaining all the fine points. i remember one night when the fog was rolling in from the ocean till you could hardly see the street-lamps across the way, we sat by the fire--dad was always great for big, wood fires--and smoked; and somehow i got strung out and told him about that kenmore dance, and how the boys rigged up in my clothes and went. dad laughed harder than i'd ever heard him before; you see, he knew the range, and the picture rose up before him all complete. i told that same yarn afterward to barney mactague, and there was nothing to it, so far as he was concerned. he said: "lord! they must have been an out-at-heels lot not to have any clothes of their own." now, what do you think of that? well, i went on from that and told dad about my flying trips through king's highway, too--with the girl left out. dad matched his finger-tips together while i was telling it, and afterward he didn't say much; only: "i knew you'd play the fool somehow, if you stayed long enough." he didn't explain, however, just what particular brand of fool i had been, or what he thought of old king, though i hinted pretty strong. dad has got a smooth way of parrying anything he doesn't want to answer straight out, and it takes a fellow with more nerve than i've got to corner him and just make him give up an opinion if he doesn't want to. so i didn't find out a thing about that old row, or how it started--more than what i'd learned at the ragged h, that is. frosty had written me, a week or two after i left, that our fellows had really burned king's sheds, and that perry potter had a bullet just scrape the hair off the top of his head, where he hadn't any to spare. it made him so mad, frosty said, that he wanted to go back and kill, slay, and slaughter--that is frosty's way of putting it. another one of the boys had been hit in the arm, but it was only a flesh wound and nothing serious. so far as they could find out, king's men had got off without a scratch, frosty said; which was another great sorrow to perry potter, who went around saying pointed things about poor markmanship and fellows who couldn't hit a barn if they were locked inside--that kept the boys stirred up and undecided whether to feel insulted or to take it as a joke. i wished that i was back there--until i read, down at the bottom of the last page, that beryl king and her aunt lodema had gone back to the east. the next day i learned the same thing from another source. edith loroman had kept her promise--as i remembered her, she wasn't great at that sort of thing, either--and sent me a picture of white divide just before i left the ranch. somehow, after that, we drifted into letter-writing. i wrote to thank her for the picture, and she wrote back to say "don't mention it"--in effect, at least, though it took three full pages to get that effect--and asked some questions about the ranch, and the boys, and frosty miller. i had to answer that letter and the questions--and that's how it began. it was a good deal of a nuisance, for i never did take much to pen work, and my conscience was hurting me half the time over delayed answers; edith was always prompt; she liked to write letters better than i did, evidently. but when she wrote, the day after i got that letter from frosty, and said that beryl and aunt lodema had just returned and were going to spend the winter in new york and join the giddy whirl, i will own that i was a much better--that is, prompt--correspondent. edith is that kind of girl who can't write two pages without mentioning every one in her set; like those local items from little country towns; a paragraph for everybody. so, having a strange and unwholesome hankering to hear all i could about beryl, i encouraged edith to write long and often by setting her an example. i didn't consider that i was taking a mean advantage of her, either, for she's the kind of girl who boasts about the number of her proposals and correspondents. i knew she'd cut a notch for me on the stick where she counted her victims, but it was worth the price, and i'm positive edith didn't mind. the only drawback was the disgusting frequency with which the words "beryl and terence weaver" appeared; that did rather get on my nerves, and i did ask edith once if terence weaver was the only man in new york. in fact, i was at one time on the point of going to new york myself and taking it out of mr. terence weaver. i just ached to give him a run for his money. but when i hinted it--going to new york, i mean--dad looked rather hurt. "i had expected you'd stay at home until after the holidays, at least," he remarked. "i'm old-fashioned enough to feel that a family should be together christmas week, if at no other time. it doesn't necessarily follow that because there are only two left--" dad dropped his glasses just then, and didn't finish the sentence. he didn't need to. i'd have stayed, then, no matter what string was pulling me to new york. it's so seldom, you see, that dad lowers his guard and lets you glimpse the real feeling there is in him. i felt such a cur for even wanting to leave him, that i stayed in that evening instead of going down to the olympic, where was to be a sort of impromptu boxing-match between a couple of our swiftest amateurs. talking to dad was virtuous, but unexciting. i remember we discussed the profit, loss, and risk of cattle-raising in montana, till bedtime came for dad. then i went up and roasted rankin for looking so damned astonished at my wanting to go to bed at ten-thirty. rankin is unbearably righteous-looking, at times. i used often to wish he'd do something wicked, just to take that moral look off him; but the pedestal of his solemn virtue was too high for mere human temptations. so i had to content myself with shying a shoe his way and asking him what there was funny about me. after dad got well enough to go back to watching his millions grow, and didn't seem to need me to keep him cheered up, life in our house dropped back to its old level--which means that i saw dad once a day, maybe. he gave me back my allowance and took to paying my bills again, and i was free to get into the old pace--which i will confess wasn't slow. the montana incident seemed closed for good, and only frosty's letters and a rather persistent memory was left of it. in a month i had to acknowledge two emotions i hadn't counted on: surprise and disgust. i couldn't hit the old pace. somehow, things were different--or i was different. at first i thought it was because barney mactague was away cruising around the hawaii islands, somewhere, with a party. i came near having the _molly stark_ put in commission and going after him; but dad wouldn't hear of that, and told me i'd better keep on dry land during the stormy months. so i gave in, for i hadn't the heart to go dead against his wishes, as i used to do. besides, he'd have had to put up the coin, which he refused to do. so i moped around the clubs, backed the light-weight champion of the hour for a big match, put up a pile of money on him, and saw it fade away and take with it my trust in champions. dad was good about it, and put up what i'd gone over my allowance without a whimper. then i chased around the country in the _yellow peril_ and won three races down at los angeles, touring down and back with a fellow who had slathers of money, wore blue ties, and talked through his nose. i leave my enjoyment of the trip to your imagination. when i got back, i had the _yellow peril_ refitted and the tonneau put back on, and went in for society. i think that spell lasted as long as three weeks; i quit immensely popular with a certain bunch of widows and the like, and with a system so permeated with tea and bridge that it took a stiff course of high-balls and poker to take the taste out of my mouth. i think it was in march that barney came back; but he came back an engaged young man, so that in less than a week barney began to pall. his fiancée had got him to swear off on poker and prize-fighting and smokers and everything. and i leave it to you if there would be much left of a fellow like barney. all he was free to do--or wanted to do--was sit in a retired corner of the club with _shasta_ water and cigarettes for refreshments, and talk about her, and how it had happened, and the pangs of uncertainty that shot through his heart till he knew for sure. barney's full as tall as i am, and he weighs twenty-five pounds more; and to hear a great, hulking brute like that talking slush was enough to make a man forswear love in all forms forever. he'd show me her picture regular, every time i met him, and expect me to hand out a jolly. she wasn't so much, either. her nose was crooked, and she didn't appear to have any eyebrows to speak of. i'd like to have him see--well, a certain young woman with eyelashes and--oh, well, it wasn't barney's fault that he'd never seen a real beauty, and so was satisfied with his particular her. i began to shy at barney, and avoided him as systematically as if i owed him money; which i didn't. i just couldn't stand for so much monologue with a girl with no eyebrows and a crooked nose for the never-failing subject. my next unaccountable notion was manifested in an unreasoning dislike of rankin. he got to going to some mission-meetings, somewhere down near the barbary coast; i got out of him that much, and that he sometimes led the meetings. rankin can't lie--or won't--so he said right out that he was doing what little he could to save precious souls. that part was all right, of course; but he was so beastly solemn and sanctimonious that he came near sending my soul--maybe it isn't as precious as those he was laboring with--straight to the bad place. every morning when he appeared like the ghost of a puritan ancestor's remorse at my bedside, i swore i'd send him off before night. to look at him you'd think i had done a murder and he was an eye-witness to the deed. still, it's pretty raw to send a man off just because he's the embodiment of punctiliousness and looks virtuously grieved for your sins. in his general demeanor, i admit that rankin was quite irreproachable--and that's why i hated him so. besides, montana had spoiled me for wanting to be dressed like a baby, and i would much rather get my own hat and stick; i never had the chance, though. i'd turn and find him just back of my elbow, with the things in his hands and that damned righteous look on his face, and generally i'd swear he did get on my nerves so. i'm afraid i ruined him for a good servant, and taught him habits of idleness he'll never outgrow; for every morning i'd send him below--i won't state the exact destination, but i have reasons for thinking he never got farther than the servants' hall--with strict--and for the most part profane--orders not to show his face again unless i rang. even at that, i always found him waiting up for me when i came home. oh, there was no changing the ways of rankin. i think it was about the middle of may when my general discontent with life in the old burgh took a virulent form. i'd been losing a lot one way and another, and barney and i had come together literally and with much force when we were having a spurt with our cars out toward ingleside. the yellow peril looked pretty sick when i picked myself out of the mess and found i wasn't hurt except in my feelings. barney's car only had the lamps smashed, and as he had run into me, that made me sore. we said things, and i caught a street-car back to town. barney drove in, about as hot as i was, i guess. so, when i got home and found a letter from frosty, my mind was open for something new. the letter was short, but it did the business and gave me a hunger for the old days that nothing but a hard gallop over the prairie-lands, with the wind blowing the breath out of my nostrils, could satisfy. he said the round-up would start in about a week. that was about all, but i got up and did something i'd never done before. i took the letter and went straight down to dad's private den and interrupted him when he was going over his afternoon letters with crawford. dad was very particular not to be interrupted at such times; his mail-hours were held sacred, and nothing short of a life-or-death matter would have taken me in there--in any normal state of mind. crawford started out of his chair--if you knew crawford that one action would tell you a whole lot--and dad whirled toward me and asked what had happened. i think they both expected to hear that the house was on fire. "the round-up starts next week, dad," i blurted, and then stopped. it just occurred to me that it might not sound important to them. dad matched his finger-tips together. "since i first bought a bunch of cattle," he drawled, "the round-up has never failed to start some time during this month. is it vitally important that it should _not_ start?" "_i've_ got to start at once, or i can't catch it." i fancied, just then, that i detected a glimmer of amusement on crawford's face. i wanted to hit him with something. "is there any reason why it must be caught?" dad wanted to know, in his worst tone, which is almost diabolically calm. "yes," i rapped out, growing a bit riled, "there is. i can't stand this do-nothing existence any longer. you brought me up to it, and never let me know anything about your business, or how to help you run it--" "it never occurred to me," drawled dad, "that i needed help to run my business." "and last spring you rose up, all of a sudden, and started in to cure me of being a drone. the medicine you used was strong; it did the business pretty thoroughly. you've no kick coming at the result. i'm going to start to-morrow." dad looked at me till i began to feel squirmy. i've thought since that he wasn't as surprised as i imagined, and that, on the whole, he was pleased. but, if he was, he was mighty careful not to show it. "you would better give me a list of your debts, then," he said laconically. "i shall see that your allowance goes on just the same; you may want to invest in--er--cattle." "thank you, dad," i said, and turned to go. "and i wish to heaven," he called after me, "that you'd take rankin along and turn him loose out there. he might do to herd sheep. i'm sick of that hark-from-the-tombs face of his. i made a footman of him while you were gone before, rather than turn him off; but i'm damned if i do it again." i stopped just short of the door and grinned back at him. "rankin," i said, "is one of the horrors i'm trying to leave behind, dad." but dad had gone back to his correspondence. "in regard to that clark, marsden, and clark affair, i think, crawford, it would be well--" i closed the door quietly and left them. it was dad's way, and i laughed a little to myself as i was going back to my room to round up rankin and set him to packing. i meant to stand over him with a club this time, if necessary, and see that i got what i wanted packed. the next evening i started again for montana--and i didn't go in dad's private car, either. save for the fact that i had no grievance with him, and that we ate dinner alone together and drank a bottle of extra dry to the success of my pilgrimage, i went much as i had gone before: humbly and unheralded except for a telegram for some one to meet me at osage. rankin, i may say, did not go with me, though i did as dad had suggested and offered to take him along and get him a job herding sheep. the memory of rankin's pained countenance lingers with me yet, and cheers me in many a dark hour when there's nothing else to laugh over. chapter x. i shake hands with old man king. for the second time in my irresponsible career i stood on the station platform at osage and watched the train slide off to the east. it's a blamed fool who never learns anything by experience, and i never have accused myself of being a fool--except at odd times--so i didn't land broke. i had money to pay for several meals, and i looked around for somebody i knew; frosty, i hoped. for the sodden land i had looked upon with such disgust when first i had seen it, the range lay dimpled in all the enticement of spring. where first i had seen dirty snow-banks, the green was bright as our lawn at home. the hilltops were lighter in shade, and the jagged line of hills in the far distance was a soft, soft blue, just stopping short of reddish-purple. i'm not the sort of human that goes wading to his chin in lights and shades and dim perspectives, and names every tone he can think of--especially mauve; they do go it strong on mauve--before he's through. but i did lift my hat to that dimply green reach of prairie, and thanked god i was there. i turned toward the hill that hid the town, and there came frosty driving the same disreputable rig that had taken me first to the bay state. i dropped my suit-case and gripped his hand almost before he had pulled up at the platform. lord! but i was glad to see that thin, brown face of his. "looks like we'd got to be afflicted with your presence another summer," he grinned. "i hope yuh ain't going to claim i coaxed yuh back, because i took particular pains not to. and, uh course, the boys are just dreading the sight of yuh. where's your war-bag, darn yuh?" how was that for a greeting? it suited me, all right. i just thumped frosty on the back and called him a name that it would make a lady faint to hear, and we laughed like a couple of fools. i'm not on oath, perhaps, but still i feel somehow bound to tell all the truth, and not to pass myself off for a saint. so i will say that frosty and i had a celebration, that night; an osage, montana, celebration, with all the fixings. know the brand--because if you don't, i'd hang before i'd tell just how many shots we put through ceilings, or how we rent the atmosphere outside. you see, i was glad to get back, and frosty was glad to have me back; and since neither of us are the fall-on-your-neck-and-put-a-ring-on-your-finger kind, we had to exuberate some other way; and, as frosty, would put it, "we sure did." i can't say we felt quite so exuberant next morning, but we were willing to take our medicine, and started for the ranch all serene. i won't say a word about mauves and faint ambers and umbras, but i do want to give that country a good word, as it looked that morning to me. it was great. there are plenty of places can put it all over that osage country for straight scenery, but i never saw such a contented-looking place as that big prairie-land was that morning. i've seen it with the tears running down its face, and pretty well draggled and seedy; but when we started out with the sun shining against our cheeks and the hills looking so warm and lazy and the hollows kind of smiling to themselves over something, and the prairie-dogs gossiping worse than a ladies' self-culture meeting, i tell you, it all looked good to me, and i told frosty so. "i'd rather be a forty-dollar puncher in this man's land," i enthused, "than a lily-of-the-field somewhere in civilization." "in other words," frosty retorted sarcastically, "you _think_ you prefer the canned vegetables and contentment, as the bible says, to corn-fed beefsteak and homesickness thereby. but you wait till yuh get to the ranch and old perry potter puts yuh through your paces. you'll thank the lord every sundown that yuh _ain't_ a forty-dollar man that has got to drill right along or get fired; you'll pat yourself on the back more than once that you've got a cinch on your job and can lay off whenever yuh feel like it. from all the signs and tokens, us ragged h punchers'll be wise to trade our beds off for lanterns to ride by. your dad's bought a lot more cattle, and they've drifted like hell; we've got to cover mighty near the whole state uh montana and part uh south africa to gather them in." "you're a blamed pessimist," i told him, "and you can't give me cold feet that easy. if you knew how i ache to get a good horse under me--" "thought they had horses out your way," frosty cut in. "a range-horse, you idiot, and a range-saddle. i did ride some on a fancy-gaited steed with a saddle that resembled a porus plaster and stirrups like a lady's bracelet; it didn't fill the aching void a little bit." "well, maybe yuh won't feel any aching void out here," he said, "but if yuh follow round-up this season you'll sure have plenty of other brands of ache." i told him i'd be right with them at the finish, and he needn't to worry any about me. pretty soon i'll show you how well i kept my word. we rode and rode, and handed out our experiences to each other, and got to pochette's that night. i couldn't help remembering the last time i'd been over that trail, and how rocky i felt about things. frosty said he wasn't worried about that walk of his into pochette's growing dim in his memory, either. well, then, we got to pochette's--i think i have remarked the fact. and at pochette's, just unharnessing his team, limped my friend of white divide, old king. funny how a man's view-point will change when there's a girl cached somewhere in the background. not even the memory of shylock's stiffening limbs could bring me to a mood for war. on the contrary, i felt more like rushing up and asking him how were all the folks, and when did beryl expect to come home. but not frosty; he drove phlegmatically up so that there was just comfortable space for a man to squeeze between our rig and king's, hopped out, and began unhooking the traces as if there wasn't a soul but us around. king was looping up the lines of his team, and he glared at us across the backs of his horses as if we were--well, caterpillars at a picnic and he was a girl with nice clothes and a fellow and a set of nerves. his next logical move would be to let out a squawk and faint, i thought; in which case i should have started in to do the comforting, with a dipper of water from the pump. he didn't faint, though. i walked around and let down the neck-yoke, and his eyes followed me with suspicion. "hello, mr. king," i sang out in a brazen attempt to hypnotize him into the belief we were friends. "how's the world using you, these days?" "huh!" grunted the unhypnotized one, deep in his chest. frosty straightened up and looked at me queerly; he said afterward that he couldn't make out whether i was trying to pull off a gun fight, or had gone dippy. but i was only in the last throes of exuberance at being in the country at all, and i didn't give a damn what king thought; i'd made up my mind to be sociable, and that settled it. "range is looking fine," i remarked, snapping the inside checks back into the hame-rings. "stock come through the winter in good shape?" oh, i had my nerve right along with me. "you go to hell," advised king, bringing out each word fresh-coined and shiny with feeling. "i was headed that way," i smiled across at him, "but at the last minute i gave montana first choice; i knew you were still here, you see." he let go the bridle of the horse he was about to lead away to the stable, and limped around so that he stood within two feet of me. "yuh want to--" he began, and then his mouth stayed open and silent. i had reached out and got him by the hand, and gave him a grip--the grip that made all the fellows quit offering their paws to me in frisco. "put it there, king!" i cried idiotically and as heartily as i knew how. "glad to see you. dad's well and busy as usual, and sends regards. how's your good health?" he was squirming good and plenty, by that time, and i let him go. i acted the fool, all right, and i don't tell it to have any one think i was a smart young sprig; i'm just putting it out straight as it happened. frosty stood back, and i noticed, out of the tail of my eye, that he was ready for trouble and expecting it to come in bunches; and i didn't know, myself, but what i was due for new ventilators in my system. but king never did a thing but stand and hold his hand and look at me. i couldn't even guess at what he thought. in half a minute or less he got his horse by the bridle again--with his left hand--and went limping off ahead of us to the stable, saying things in his collar. "you blasted fool," frosty muttered to me. "you've done it real pretty, this time. that old siwash'll cut your throat, like as not, to pay for all those insulting remarks and that hand-shake." "first time i ever insulted a man by shaking hands and telling him i was glad to see him," i retorted. "and i don't think it will be necessary for you to stand guard over my jugular to-night, either. that old boy will take a lot of time to study out the situation, if i'm any judge. you won't hear a peep out of him, and i'll bet money on it." "all right," said frosty, and his tone sounded dubious. "but you're the first ragged h man that has ever walked up and shook hands with the old devil. perry potter himself wouldn't have the nerve." now, that was a compliment, but i don't believe i took it just the way frosty meant i should. i was proud as thunder to have him call me a "ragged h man" so unconsciously. it showed that he really thought of me simply as one of the boys; that the "son and heir" view-point--oh, that had always rankled, deep down where we bury unpleasant things in our memory--had been utterly forgotten. so the tribute to my nerve didn't go for anything beside that. i was a "ragged h man," on the same footing as the rest of them. it's silly owning it, but it gave me a little tingle of pleasure to have one of dad's men call dad's son and heir "a blasted fool." i don't believe the lord made me an aristocrat. we didn't see anything more of king till supper was called. at pochette's you sit down to a long table covered with dark-red mottled oilcloth and sprinkled with things to eat, and watch that your elbow doesn't cause your nearest neighbor to do the sword-swallowing act involuntarily and disastrously with his knife, or--you don't eat. frosty and i had walked down to the ferry-crossing while we waited, and then were late getting into the game when we heard the summons. we went in and sat down just as the chinaman was handing thick cups of coffee around rather sloppily. from force of habit i looked for my napkin, remembered that i was in a napkinless region, and glanced up to see if any one had noticed. just across from me old king was pushing back his chair and getting stiffly upon his feet. he met my eyes squarely--friend or enemy, i like a man to do that--and scowled. "through already?" i reached for the sugar-bowl. "what's it to you, damn yuh?" he snapped, but we could see at a glance that king had not begun his meal. i looked at frosty, and he seemed waiting for me to say something. so i said: "too bad--we ragged h men are such mighty slow eaters. if it's on my account, sit right down and make yourself comfortable. i don't mind; i dare say i've eaten in worse company." he went off growling, and i leaned back and stirred my coffee as leisurely as if i were killing time over a bit of crab in the palace, waiting for my order to come. frosty, i observed, had also slowed down perceptibly; and so we "toyed with the viands" just like a girl in a story--in real life, i've noticed, girls develop full-grown appetites and aren't ashamed of them. king went outside to wait, and i'm sure i hope he enjoyed it; i know we did. we drank three cups of coffee apiece, ate a platter of fried fish, and took plenty of time over the bones, got into an argument over who was lazarus with the fellow at the end of the table, and were too engrossed to eat a mouthful while it lasted. we had the bad manners to pick our teeth thoroughly with the wooden toothpicks, and frosty showed me how to balance a knife and fork on a toothpick--or, perhaps, it was two--on the edge of his cup. i tried it several times, but couldn't make it work. the others had finished long ago and were sitting around next the wall watching us while they smoked. about that time king put his head in at the door, and looked at us. "just a minute," i cheered him. frosty began cracking his prune-pits and eating the meats, and i went at it, too. i don't like prune-pits a little bit. the pits finished, frosty looked anxiously around the table. there was nothing more except some butter that we hadn't the nerve to tackle single-handed, and some salt and a bottle of ketchup and the toothpicks. we went at the toothpicks again; until frosty got a splinter stuck between his teeth, and had a deuce of a time getting it out. "i've heard," he sighed, when the splinter lay in his palm, "that some state dinners last three or four hours; blamed if i see how they work it. i'm through. i lay down my hand right here--unless you're willing to tackle the ketchup. if you are, i stay with you, and i'll eat half." he sighed again when he promised. for answer i pushed back my chair. frosty smiled and followed me out. for the satisfaction of the righteous i will say that we both suffered from indigestion that night, which i suppose was just and right. chapter xi. a cable snaps. our lazy land smiling and dreaming to itself had disappeared; in its stead, the wind howled down the river from the west and lashed the water into what would have looked respectable waves to one who had not been on the ocean and seen the real thing. the new grass lay flat upon the prairies, and chunks of dirt rattled down from the roof of pochette's primitive abiding-place. it is true the sun shone, but i really wouldn't have been at all surprised if the wind had blown it out, 'most any time. pochette himself looked worried when we trooped in to breakfast. (by the way, old king never showed up till we were through; then he limped in and sat down to the table without a glance our way.) while we were smoking, over by the fireplace, pochette came sidling up to us. he was a little skimpy man with crooked legs, a real french cut of beard, and an apologetic manner. i think he rather prided himself upon his familiarity with the english language--especially that part which is censored so severely by editors that only a half-dozen words are permitted to appear in cold type, and sometimes even they must hide their faces behind such flimsy veils as this: d----n. so if i never quote mr. pochette verbatim, you'll know why. "i theenk you will not wish for cross on the reever, no?" he began ingratiatingly. "the weend she blow lak ---- ---- ----, and my boat, she zat small, she ---- ----." i caught king looking at us from under his eyebrows, so i was airily indifferent to wind or water. "sure, we want to cross," i said. "just as soon as we finish our smoke, pochette." "but, mon dieu!" (ever hear tell of a frenchman that didn't begin his sentences that way? in this case, however, pochette really said just that.) "the weend, she blow lak ----" "'a hurricane; bimeby by she blaw some more,'" i quoted bravely. "it's all right, pochette; let her howl. we're going to cross, just the same. it isn't likely you'll have to make the trip for any body else to-day." i didn't mean to, but i looked over toward king, and caught the glint of his unfriendly eyes upon me. also, the corners of his mouth hunched up for a second in what looked like a sneer. but the lord knows i wasn't casting any aspersions on _his_ nerve. he must have taken it that way, though; for he went out when we did and hooked up, and when we drove down to where the little old scow they called a ferry was bobbing like a decoy-duck in the water, he was just behind us with his team. pochette looked at him, and at us, and at the river; and his meager little face with its pointed beard looked like a perturbed gnome--if you ever saw one. "the leetle boat, she not stand for ze beeg load. the weend, she--" "aw, what yuh running a ferry for?" frosty cut in impatiently. "there's a good, strong current on, to-day; she'll go across on a high run." pochette shook his head still more dubiously, till i got down and bolstered up his courage with a small piece of gold. they're all alike; their courage ebbs and flows on a golden tide, if you'll let me indulge in a bit of unnecessary hyperbole. he worked the scow around end on to the bank, so that we could drive on. the team wasn't a bit stuck on going, but frosty knows how to handle horses, and they steadied when he went to their heads and talked to them. we were so busy with our own affairs that we didn't notice what was going on behind us till we heard pochette declaiming bad profanity in a high soprano. then i turned, and he was trying to stand off old king. but king wasn't that sort; he yelled to us to move up and make room, and then took down his whip and started up. pochette pirouetted out of the way, and stood holding to the low plank railing while he went on saying things that, properly pronounced, must have been very blasphemous. king paid about as much attention to him as he would to a good-sized prairie-dog chittering beside its burrow. i reckon he knew pochette pretty well. he got his rig in place and climbed down and went to his horses' heads. "now, shove off, dammit," he ordered, just as if no one had been near bursting a blood-vessel within ten feet of him. pochette gulped, worked the point of his beard up and down like a villain in a second-rate melodrama, and shoved off. the current and the wind caught us in their grip, and we swashed out from shore and got under way. i can't say that trip looked good to me, from the first rod out. of course, the river couldn't rear up and get real savage, like the ocean, but there were choppy little waves that were plenty nasty enough, once you got to bucking them with a blum-nosed old scow fastened to a cable that swayed and sagged in the wind that came howling down on us. and with two rigs on, we filled her from bow to stern; all but about four feet around the edges. frosty looked across to the farther shore, then at the sagging cable, and then at me. i gathered that he had his doubts, too, but he wouldn't say anything. nobody did, for that matter. even pochette wasn't doing anything but chew his whiskers and watch the cable. then she broke, with a snap like a rifle, and a jolt that came near throwing us off our feet. pochette gave a yell and relapsed into french that i'd hate to translate; it would shock even his own countrymen. the ferry ducked and bobbed, now there was nothing to hold its nose steady to the current, and went careering down river with all hands aboard and looking for trouble. we didn't do anything, though; there wasn't anything to do but stay right where we were and take chances. if she stayed right side up we would probably land eventually. if she flopped over--which she seemed trying to do, we'd get a cold bath and lose our teams, if no worse. soon as i thought of that, i began unhooking the traces of the horse nearest. the poor brutes ought at least to have a chance to swim for it. frosty caught on, and went to work, too, and in half a minute we had them free of the wagon and stripped of everything but their bridles. they would have as good a show as we, and maybe better. i looked back to see what king was doing. he was having troubles of his own, trying to keep one of his cayuses on all its feet at once. it was scared, poor devil, and it took all his strength on the bit to keep it from rearing and maybe upsetting the whole bunch. pochette wasn't doing anything but lament, so i went back and unhooked king's horses for him, and took off the harness and threw it in the back of his wagon so they wouldn't tangle their feet in it when it came to a show-down. i don't think he was what you could call grateful; he never looked my way at all, but went on cussing the horse he was holding, for acting up just when he should keep his wits. i went back to frosty, and we stood elbows touching, waiting for whatever was coming. for what seemed a long while, nothing came but wind and water. but i don't mind saying that there was plenty of that, and if either one had been suddenly barred out of the game we wouldn't any of us have called the umpire harsh names. we drifted, slippety-slosh, and the wind ripped holes in the atmosphere and made our eyes water with the bare force of it when we faced the west. and none of us had anything to say, except pochette; he said a lot, i remember, but never mind what. i don't suppose he was mentally responsible at the time. then, a long, narrow, yellow tongue of sand-bar seemed to reach right out into the river and lap us up. we landed with a worse jolt than when we broke away from the cable, and the gray-blue river went humping past without us. frosty and i looked at each other and grinned; after all, we were coming out of the deal better than we had expected, for we were still right side up and on the side of the river toward home. we were a mile or so down river from the trail, but once we were on the bank with our rig, that was nothing. we had landed head on, with the nose of the scow plowed high and dry. being at the front, we went at getting our team off, and our wagon. there was a four or five-foot jump to make, and the horses didn't know how about it, at first. but with one of us pulling, and the other slashing them over the rump, they made it, one at a time. the sand was soft and acted something like quicksand, too, and we hustled them to shore and tied them to some bushes. the bank was steep there, and we didn't know how we were going to make the climb, but we left that to worry over afterward; we still had our rig to get ashore, and it began to look like quite a contract. we went back, with our boot tracks going deep, and then filling up and settling back almost level six steps behind us. frosty looked back at them and scowled. "for sand that isn't quicksand," he said, "this layout will stand about as little monkeying with as any sand i ever met up with. time we make a few trips over it, she's going to be pudding without the raisins. and that's a picnic, with our rig on the main deck, as you might say." we went back and sat swinging our legs off the free board end of the ferry boat, and rolled us a smoke apiece and considered the next move. king was somewhere back between our rig and his, cussing pochette to a fare-you-well for having such a rotten layout and making white men pay good money for the privilege of risking their lives and property upon it. "we'll have to unload and take the wagon to pieces and pack everything ashore--i guess that's our only show," said frosty. we had just given up my idea of working the scow up along the bar to the bank. we couldn't budge her off the sand, and pochette warned us that if we did the wind would immediately commence doing things to us again. frosty's idea seemed the only possible way, so we threw away our cigarettes and got ready for business; the dismembering and carrying ashore of that road-wagon promised to be no light task. frosty yelled to pochette to come and get busy, and went to work on the rig. it looked to me like a case where we were all in the same fix, and personal spite shouldn't count for anything, but king was leaning against the wheel of his buggy, cramming tobacco into his stubby pipe--the same one apparently that i had rescued from the pickle barrel--and, seeing the wind scatter half of it broadcast, as though he didn't care a rap whether he got solid earth beneath his feet once more, or went floating down the river. i wanted to propose a truce for such time as it would take to get us all safe on terra firma, but on second thoughts i refrained. we could get off without his help, and he was the sort of man who would cheerfully have gone to his last long sleep at the bottom of that boiling river rather than accept the assistance of an enemy. the next couple of hours was a season of aching back, and sloppy feet, and grunting, and swearing that i don't much care about remembering in detail. the wind blew till the tears ran down our cheeks. the sand stuck and clogged every move we made till i used to dream of it afterward. if you think it was just a simple little job, taking that rig to pieces and packing it to dry land on our backs, just give another guess. and if you think we were any of us in a mood to look at it as a joke, you're miles off the track. pochette helped us like a little man--he had to, or we'd have done him up right there. old king sat on the ferry-rail and smoked, and watched us break our backs sardonically--i did think i had that last word in the wrong place; but i think not. we did break our backs sardonically, and he watched us in the same fashion; so the word stands as she is. when the last load was safe on the bank, i went back to the boat. it seemed a low-down way to leave a man, and now he knew i wasn't fishing for help, i didn't mind speaking to the old reprobate. so i went up and faced him, still sitting on the ferry-rail, and still smoking. "mr. king," i said politely as i could, "we're all right now, and, if you like, we'll help you off. it won't take long if we all get to work." he took two long puffs, and pressed the tobacco down in his pipe. "you go to hell," he advised me for the second time. "when i want any help from you or your tribe, i'll let yuh know." it took me just one second to backslide from my politeness. "go to the devil, then!" i snapped. "i hope you have to stay on the damn' bar a week." then i went plucking back through the sand that almost pulled the shoes off my feet every step, kicking myself for many kinds of a fool. lord, but i was mad! pochette went back to the boat and old king, after nearly getting kicked into the river for hinting that we ought to pay for the damage and trouble we had caused him. frosty and i weren't in any frame of mind for such a hold-up, and it didn't take him long to find it out. the bank there was so steep that we had to pack my trunk and what other truck had been brought out from osage, up to the top by hand. that was another temper-sweetening job. then we put the wagon together, hitched on the horses, and they managed to get to the top with it, by a scratch. it all took time--and, as for patience, we'd been out of that commodity for so long we hardly knew it by name. the last straw fell on us just as we were loading up. i happened to look down upon the ferry; and what do you suppose that old devil was doing? he had torn up the back part of the plank floor of the ferry, and had laid it along the sand for a bridge. he had made an incline from boat nose to the bar, and had rough-locked his wagon and driven it down. just as we looked, he had come to the end of his bridge, and he and pochette were taking up the planks behind and extending the platform out in front. well! maybe you think frosty and i stood there congratulating the old fox. frosty wanted me to kick him, i remember; and he said a lot of things that sounded inspired to me, they hit my feelings off so straight. if we had had the sense to do what old king was doing, we'd have been ten or fifteen miles nearer home than we were. but, anyway, we were up the bank ahead of him, and we loaded in the last package and drove away from the painful scene at a lope. and you can imagine how we didn't love old king any better, after that experience. chapter xii. i begin to realize. if i had hoped that i'd gotten over any foolishness by spending the fall and winter away from white divide--or the sight of it--i commenced right away to find out my mistake. no sooner did the big ridge rise up from the green horizon, than every scar, and wrinkle, and abrupt little peak fairly shouted things about beryl king. she wasn't there; she was back in new york, and that blasted terence weaver was back there, too, making all kinds of love to her according to the letters of edith. but i hadn't realized just how seriously i was taking it, till i got within sight of the ridge that had sheltered her abiding-place and had made all the trouble. like a fool i had kept telling myself that i was fair sick for the range; for range-horses and range-living; for the wind that always blows over the prairies, and for the cattle that feed on the hills and troop down the long coulée bottoms to drink at their favorite watering-places. i thought it was the boys i wanted to see, and to gallop out with them in the soft sunrise, and lie down with them under a tent roof at night; that i wanted to eat my meals sitting cross-legged in the grass, with my plate piled with all the courses at once and my cup of coffee balanced precariously somewhere within reach. that's what i thought. when things tasted flat in old frisco, i wasn't dead sure why, and maybe i didn't want to be sure why. when i couldn't get hold of anything that had the old tang, i laid it all to a hankering after round-up. even when we drove around the end of white divide, and got up on a ridge where i could see the long arm that stretched out from the east side of king's highway, i wouldn't own up to myself that there was the cause of all my bad feelings. i think frosty knew, all along; for when i had sat with my face turned to the divide, and had let my cigarette go cold while i thought and thought, and remembered, he didn't say a word. but when memory came down to that last ride through the pass, and to shylock shot down by the corral, at last to frosty standing, tall and dark, against the first yellow streak of sunrise, while i rode on and left him afoot beside a half-dead horse, i turned my eyes and looked at his thin, thoughtful face beside me. his eyes met mine for half a minute, and he had a little twitching at the corners of his mouth. "chirk up," he said quietly. "the chances are she'll come back this summer." i guess i blushed. anyway, i didn't think of anything to say that would be either witty or squelching, and could only relight my cigarette and look the fool i felt. he'd caught me right in the solar plexus, and we both knew it, and there was nothing to say. so after awhile we commenced talking about a new bunch of horses that dad had bought through an agent, and that had to be saddle-broke that summer, and i kept my eyes away from white divide and my mind from all it meant to me. the old ranch did look good to me, and perry potter actually shook hands; if you knew him as well as i do you'd realize better what such a demonstration means, coming from a fellow like him. why, even his lips are always shut with a drawstring--from the looks--to keep any words but what are actually necessary from coming out. his eyes have the same look, kind of pulled in at the corners. no, don't ever accuse perry potter of being a demonstrative man, or a loquacious one. i had two days at the ranch, getting fitted into the life again; on the third the round-up started, and i packed a "war-bag" of essentials, took my last summer's chaps down off the nail in the bunk-house where they had hung all that time as a sort of absent-but-not-forgotten memento, one of the boys told me, and started out in full regalia and with an enthusiasm that was real--while it lasted. if you never slept on the new grass with only a bit of canvas between you and the stars; if you have never rolled out, at daylight, and dressed before your eyes were fair open, and rushed with the bunch over to the mess-wagon for your breakfast; if you have never saddled hurriedly a range-bred and range-broken cayuse with a hump in his back and seven devils in his eye, and gone careening across the dew-wet prairie like a tug-boat in a choppy sea; if you have never--well, if you don't know what it's all like, and how it gets into the very bones of you so that the hankering never quite leaves you when you try to give it up, i'm not going to tell you. i can't. if i could, you'd know just how heady it made me feel those first few days after we started out to "work the range." i was fond of telling myself, those days, that i'd been more scared than hurt, and that it was the range i was in love with, and not beryl king at all. she was simply a part of it--but she wasn't the whole thing, nor even a part that was going to be indispensable to my mental comfort. i was a free man once more, and so long as i had a good horse under me, and a bunch of the right sort of fellows to lie down in the same tent with, i wasn't going to worry much over any girl. that, for as long as a week; and that, more than pages of description, shows you how great is the spell of the range-land, and how it grips a man. chapter xiii. we meet once more. i think it was about three weeks that i stayed with the round-up. i didn't get tired of the life, or weary of honest labor, or anything of that sort. i think the trouble was that i grew accustomed to the life, so that the exhilarating effects of it wore off, or got so soaked into my system that i began to take it all as a matter of course. and that, naturally, left room for other things. i know i'm no good at analysis, and that's as close as i can come to accounting for my welching, the third week out. you see, we were working south and west, and getting farther and farther away from--well, from the part of country that i knew and liked best. it's kind of lonesome, leaving old landmarks behind you; so when white divide dropped down behind another range of hills and i couldn't turn in my saddle almost any time and see the jagged, blue sky-line of her, i stood it for about two days. then i rolled my bed one morning, caught out two horses from my string instead of one, told the wagon-boss i was going back to the ranch, and lit out--with the whole bunch grinning after me. as they would have said, they were all "dead next," but were good enough not to say so. or, perhaps, they remembered the boxing-lessons i had given them in the bunk-house a year or more ago. i did feel kind of sneaking, quitting them like that; but it's like playing higher than your logical limit: you know you're doing a fool thing, and you want to plant your foot violently upon your own person somewhere, but you go right ahead in the face of it all. they didn't have to tell me i was acting like a calf that has lost his mother in the herd. (you know he is prone to go mooning back to the last place he was with her, if it's ten miles.) i knew it, all right. and when i topped a hill and saw the high ridges and peaks of white divide stand up against the horizon to the north, i was so glad i felt ashamed of myself and called one ellis carleton worse names than i'd stand to hear from anybody else. still, to go back to the metaphor, i kept on shoving in chips, just as if i had a chance to win out and wasn't the biggest, softest-headed idiot the lord ever made. why, even perry potter almost grinned when i came riding up to the corral; and i caught the fellow that was kept on at the ranch, lowering his left lid knowingly at the cook, when i went in to supper that first night. but i was too far gone then to care much what anybody thought; so long as they kept their mouths shut and left me alone, that was all i asked of them. oh, i was a heroic figure, all right, those days. on a day in june i rode dispiritedly over to the little butte just out from the mouth of the pass. not that i expected to see her; i went because i had gotten into the habit of going, and every nice morning just simply _pulled_ me over that way, no matter how much i might want to keep away. that argues great strength of character for me, i know, but it's unfortunately the truth. i knew she was back--or that she should be back, if nothing had happened to upset their plans. edith had written me that they were all coming, and that they would have two cars, this summer, instead of just one, and that they expected to stay a month. she and her mother, and beryl and aunt lodema, terence weaver--deuce take him!--and two other fellows, and a gertrude--somebody--i forget just who. edith hoped that i would make my peace with uncle homer, so they could see something of me. (if i had told her how easy it was to make peace with "uncle homer," and how he had turned me down, she might not have been quite so sure that it was all my bull-headedness.) she complained that gertrude was engaged to one of the fellows, and so was awfully stupid; and beryl might as well be-- i tore up the letter just there, and the wind, which was howling that day, caught the pieces and took them over into north dakota; so i don't know what else edith may have had to tell me. i'd read enough to put me in a mighty nasty temper at any rate, so i suppose its purpose was accomplished. edith is like all the rest: if she can say anything to make a man uncomfortable she'll do it, every time. this day, i remember, i went mooning along, thinking hard things about the world in general, and my little corner of it in particular. the country was beginning to irritate me, and i knew that if something didn't break loose pretty soon i'd be off somewhere. riding over to little buttes, and not meeting a soul on the way or seeing anything but a bare rock when you get there, grows monotonous in time, and rather gets on the nerves of a fellow. when i came close up to the butte, however, i saw a flutter of skirts on the pinnacle, and it made a difference in my gait; i went up all out of breath, scrambling as if my life hung on a few seconds, and calling myself a different kind of fool for every step i took. i kept assuring myself, over and over, that it was only edith, and that there was no need to get excited about it. but all the while i knew, down deep down in the thumping chest of me, that it wasn't edith. edith couldn't make all that disturbance in my circulatory system, not in a thousand years. she was sitting on the same rock, and she was dressed in the same adorable riding outfit with a blue wisp of veil wound somehow on her gray felt hat, and the same blue roan was dozing, with dragging bridle-reins, a few rods down the other side of the peak. she was sketching so industriously that she never heard me coming until i stood right at her elbow. it might have been the first time over again, except that my mental attitude toward her had changed a lot. "that's better; i can see now what you're trying to draw," i said, looking down over her shoulder--not at the sketch; it might have been a sea view, for all i knew--but at the pink curve of her cheek, which was growing pinker while i looked. she did not glance up, or even start; so she must have known, all along, that i was headed her way. she went on making a lot of marks that didn't seem to fit anywhere, and that seemed to me a bit wobbly and uncertain. i caught just the least hint of a smile twitching the corner of her mouth--i wanted awfully to kiss it! "yes? i believe i have at last got everything--king's highway--in the proper perspective and the proper proportion," she said, stumbling a bit over the alliteration--and no wonder. it was a sentence to stampede cattle; but i didn't stampede. i wanted, more than ever, to kiss--but i won't be like barney, if i can help it. "it's too far off--too unattainable," i criticized--meaning something more than her sketch of the pass. "and it's too narrow. if a fellow rode in there he would have to go straight on through; there wouldn't be a chance to turn back." "ergo, a fellow shouldn't ride in," she retorted, with a composure positively wicked, considering my feelings. "though it does seem that a fellow rather enjoys going straight on through, regardless of anything; promises, for instance." that was the gauntlet i'd been hoping for. from the minute i first saw her there it flashed upon me that she was astonished and indignant that night when she saw frosty and me come charging through the pass, after me telling her i wouldn't do it any more. it looked to me like i'd have to square myself, so i was glad enough of the chance. "sometimes a fellow has to do things regardless of--promises," i explained. "sometimes it's a matter of life and death. if a fellow's father, for instance--" "oh, i know; edith told me all about it." her tone was curious, and while it did not encourage further explanations or apologies, it also lacked absolution of the offense i had committed. i sat down in the grass, half-facing her to better my chance of a look into her eyes. i was consumed by a desire to know if they still had the power to send crimply waves all over me. for the rest, she was prettier even than i remembered her to be, and i could fairly see what little sense or composure i had left slide away from me. i looked at her fatuously, and she looked speculatively at a sharp ridge of the divide as if that sketch were the only thing around there that could possibly interest her. "why do you spend every summer out here in the wilderness?" i asked, feeling certain that nothing but speech could save me from going hopelessly silly. she turned her eyes calmly toward me, and--their power had not weakened, at all events. i felt as if i had taken hold of a battery with all the current turned on. "why, i suppose i like it here in summer. you're here, yourself; don't you like it?" i wanted to say something smart, there, and i have thought of a dozen bright remarks since; but at the time i couldn't think of a blessed thing that came within a mile of being either witty or epigrammatic. love-making was all new to me, and i saw right then that i wasn't going to shine. i finally did remark that i should like it better if her father would be less belligerent and more peaceful as a neighbor. "you told me, last summer, that you enjoyed keeping up the feud," she reminded, smiling whimsically down at me. she made a wrong play there; she let me see that she did remember some things that i said. it boosted my courage a notch. "but that was last summer," i countered. "one can change one's view-point a lot in twelve months. anyway, you knew all along that i didn't mean a word of it." "indeed!" it was evident that she didn't quite like having me take that tone. "yes, 'indeed'!" i repeated, feeling a rebellion against circumstances and at convention growing stronger within me. why couldn't i put her on my horse and carry her off and keep her always? i wondered crazily. that was what i wanted to do. "do you ever mean what you say, i wonder?" she mused, biting her pencil-point like a schoolgirl when she can't remember how many times three goes into twenty-seven. "sometimes. sometimes i mean more." i set my teeth, closed my eyes--mentally--and plunged, insanely, not knowing whether i should come to the surface alive or knock my head on a rock and stay down. "for instance, when i say that some day i shall carry you off and find a preacher to marry us, and that we shall live happily ever after, whether you want to or not, because i shall _make_ you, i mean every word of it--and a lot more." that was going some, i fancy! i was so scared at myself i didn't dare breathe. i kept my eyes fixed desperately on the mouth of the pass, all golden-green in the sunshine; and i remember that my teeth were so tight together that they ached afterward. the point of her pencil came off with a snap. i heard it, but i was afraid to look. "do you? how very odd!" her voice sounded queer, as if it had been squeezed dry of every sort of emotion. "and--edith?" i looked at her then, fast enough. "edith?" i stared at her stupidly. "what the--what's edith got to do with it?" "possibly nothing"--in the same squeezed tone. "men are so--er--irresponsible; and you say you don't always mean--still, when a man writes pages and _pages_ to a girl every week for nearly a year, one naturally supposes--" "oh, look here!" i was getting desperate enough to be a bit rough with her. "edith doesn't care a rap about me, and you know it. and she knows i don't care, and--and if anybody had anything to say, it would be your mr. terence weaver." "_my_ mr. terence weaver?" she was looking down at me sidewise, in a perfectly maddening way. "you are really very--er--funny, mr. carleton." "well," i rapped out between my teeth, "i don't _feel_ funny. i feel--" "no? but, really, you know, you act that way." i saw she was getting all the best of it--and, in my opinion, that would kill what little chance a man might have with a girl. i set deliberately about breaking through that crust of composure, if i did nothing more. "that depends on the view-point," i grinned. "would you think it funny if i carried you off--really, you know--and--er--married you and made you live happy--" "you seem to insist upon the happy part of it, which is not at all--" "necessary?" i hinted. "plausible," she supplied sweetly. "but would you think it funny, if i did?" she regarded her broken pencil ruefully--or pretended to--and pinched her brows together in deep meditation. oh, she was the most maddening bit of young womanhood--but, there, no barney for me. "i--might," she decided at last. "it _would_ be rather droll, you know, and i wonder how you'd manage it; i'm not very tiny, and i rather think it wouldn't be easy to--er--carry me off. would you wear a mask--a black velvet mask? i should insist upon black velvet. and would you say: 'gadzooks, madam! i command you not to scream!' would you?" she leaned toward me, and her eyes--well, for downright torture, women are at times perfectly fiendish. i caught her hand, and i held it, too, in spite of her. that far i was master. "no," i told her grimly. "if i saw that you were going to do anything so foolish as to scream, i should just kiss you, and--kiss you till you were glad to be sensible about it." well, she tried first to look calmly amused; then she tried to look insulted, and to freeze me into sanity. she ended, however, by looking a good bit confused, and by blushing scarlet. i had won that far. i kept her hand held tight in mine; i could feel it squirm to get away, and it felt--oh, thunder! "let's play something else," she said, after a long minute. "i--i never did admire highwaymen particularly, and i must go home." "no, you mustn't," i contradicted. "you must--" she looked at me with those wonderful, heavy-lashed eyes, and her lips had a little quiver as if--oh, i don't know, but i let go her hand, and i felt like a great, hulking brute that had been teasing a child till it cried. "all right," i sighed, "i'll let you go this time. but i warn you, little girl. if--no, _when_ i find you out from king's highway by yourself again, that kidnaping is sure going to come off. the lord intended you to be mrs. ellis carleton. and forty feuds and forty fathers can't prevent it. i don't believe in going against the decrees of providence; a _wise_ providence." she bit her lip at the corner. "you must have a little private providence of your own," she retorted, with something like her old assurance. "i'm sure mine never hinted at such a--a fate for me. and one feud is as good as forty, mr. carleton. if you are anything like your father, i can easily understand how the feud began. the kings and the carletons are fond of their own way." "thy way shall be my way," i promised rashly, just because it sounded smart. "thank you. then there will be no melodramatic abductions in the shadow of white divide," she laughed triumphantly, "and i shall escape a most horrible fate!" she went, still laughing, down to where her horse was waiting. i followed--rather, i kept pace with her. "all the same, i dare you to ride out alone from king's highway again," i defied. "for, if you do, and i find you--" "good-by, mr. carleton. you'd be splendid in vaudeville," she mocked from her saddle, where she had got with all the ease of a cowboy, without any help from me. "black velvet mask and gadzooks, madam--i must certainly tell edith. it will amuse her, i'm sure." "no, you won't tell edith," i flung after her, but i don't know if she heard. she rode away down the steep slope, the roan leaning back stiffly against the incline, and i stood watching her like a fool. i didn't think it would be good policy to follow her. i tried to roll a cigarette--in case she might look back to see how i was taking her last shot. but she didn't, and i threw the thing away half-made. it was a case where smoke wouldn't help me. if i hadn't made my chance any better, i knew i couldn't very well make it worse; but there was mighty little comfort in that reflection. and what a bluff i had put up! carry her off and marry her? lord knows i wanted to, badly enough! but-- chapter xiv. frosty disappears. on the way back to the ranch i overtook frosty mooning along at a walk, with his shoulders humped in the way a man has when he's thinking pretty hard. i had left frosty with the round-up, and i was pretty much surprised to see him here. i didn't feel in the mood for conversation, even with him; but, to be decent, i spurred up alongside and said hello, and where had he come from? there was nothing in that for a man to get uppish about, but he turned and actually glared at me. "i might be an inquisitive son-of-a-gun and ask you the same thing," he growled. "yes, you might," i agreed. "but, if you did, i'd be apt to tell you to depart immediately for a place called gehenna--which is polite for hell." "well, same here," he retorted laconically; and that ended our conversation, though we rode stirrup to stirrup for eight miles. i can't say that, after the first shock of surprise, i gave much time to wondering what brought frosty home. i took it he had had a row with the wagon-boss. frosty is an independent sort and won't stand a word from anybody, and the wagon-boss is something of a bully. the gait they were traveling, out there with the wagons, was fraying the nerves of the whole bunch before i left. and that was all i thought about frosty. i had troubles of my own, about that time. i had put up my bluff, and i kept wondering what i should do if beryl king called me. there wasn't much chance that she would, of course; but, still, she wasn't that kind of girl who always does the conventional thing and the expected thing, and i had seen a gleam in her eyes that, in a man's, i should call deviltry, pure and simple. if i should meet her out somewhere, and she even _looked_ a dare--i'll confess one thing: for a whole week i was mighty shy of riding out where i would be apt to meet her; and you can call me a coward if you like. still, i had schemes, plenty of them. i wanted her--lord knows how i wanted her!--and i got pretty desperate, sometimes. once i saddled up with the fixed determination of riding boldly--and melodramatically--into king's highway, facing old king, and saying: "sir, i love your daughter. let bygones be bygones. dad and i forgive you, and hope you will do the same. let us have peace, and let me have beryl--" or something to that effect. he'd only have done one of two things; he'd have taken a shot at me, or he'd have told me to go to the same old place where we consign unpleasant people. but i didn't tempt him, though i did tempt fate. i went over to the little butte, climbed it pensively, and sat on the flat rock and gazed forlornly at the mouth of the pass. i had the rock to myself, but i made a discovery that set the nerves of me jumping like a man just getting over a--well, a season of dissipation. in the sandy soil next the rock were many confused footprints--the prints of little riding-boots; and they looked quite fresh. she had been there, all right, and i had missed her! i swore, and wondered what she must think of me. then i had an inspiration. i rolled and half-smoked eight cigarettes, and scattered the stubs with careful carelessness in the immediate vicinity of the rock. i put my boots down in a clear spot of sand where they left marks that fairly shouted of my presence. then i walked off a few steps and studied the effect with much satisfaction. when she came again, she couldn't fail to see that i had been there; that i had waited a long time--she could count the cigarette stubs and so form some estimate of the time--and had gone away, presumably in deep disappointment. maybe it would make her feel a little less sure of herself, to know that i was camping thus earnestly on her trail. i rode home, feeling a good deal better in my mind. that night it rained barrelsful. i laid and listened to it, and gritted my teeth. where was all my cunning now? where were those blatant footprints of mine that were to give their own eloquent message? i could imagine just how the water was running in yellow streams off the peak of that butte. then it came to me that, at all events, some of the cigarette-stubs would be left; so i turned over and went to sleep. i wish to say, before i forget it, that i don't think i am deceitful by nature. you see, it changes a fellow a lot to get all tangled up in his feelings over a girl that doesn't seem to care a rap for you. he does things that are positively idiotic at any rate, i did. and i could sympathize some with barney mactague; only, his girl had a crooked nose and no eyebrows to speak of, so he hadn't the excuse that i had. take a girl with eyes like beryl-- a couple of days after that--days when i hadn't the nerve to go near the little butte--frosty drew six months' wages and disappeared without a word to anybody. he didn't come back that night, and the next day perry potter, who knows well the strange freaks cowboys will sometimes take when they have been working steadily for a long time, suggested that i ride over to kenmore and see if frosty was there, and try my powers of persuasion on him--unless he was already broke; in which case, according to perry potter, he would come back without any persuading. perry potter added dryly that it wouldn't be out of my way any, and would only be a little longer ride. i must say i looked at him with suspicion. the way that little dried-up sinner found out everything was positively uncanny. frosty, as i soon discovered, was not in kenmore. he had been, for i learned by inquiring around that he had passed the night there at that one little hotel. also that he had, not more than two hours before--or three, at most--hired a rig and driven on to osage. a man told me that he had taken a lady with him; but, knowing frosty as i did, i couldn't quite swallow that. it was queer, though, about his hiring a rig and leaving his saddle-horse there in the stable. i couldn't understand it, but i wasn't going to buy into frosty's affairs unless i had to. i ate my dinner dejectedly in the hotel--the dinner was enough to make any man dejected--and started home again. chapter xv. the broken motor-car. out where the trail from kenmore intersects the one leading from laurel to and through king's highway, i passed over a little hill and came suddenly upon a big, dark-gray touring-car stalled in the road. in it beryl king sat looking intently down at her toes. i nearly fell off my horse at the shock of it, and then my blood got to acting funny, so that my head felt queer. then i came to, and rode boldly up to her, mentally shaking hands with myself over my good luck. for it was good luck just to see her, whether anything came of it or not. "something wrong with the wheelbarrow?" i asked her, with a placid superiority. she looked up with a little start--she never did seem to feel my presence until i spoke to her--and frowned prettily; but whether at me or at the car, i didn't know. "i guess something must be," she answered quite meekly, for her. "it keeps making the funniest buzz when i start it--and it's mr. weaver's car, and he doesn't know--i--i borrowed it without asking, and--" "that car is all right," i bluffed from my saddle. "it's simply obeying instructions. it comes under the jurisdiction of my private providence, you see. i ordered it that you should be here, and in distress, and grateful for my helping hand." how was that for straight nerve? "well, then, let's have the helping hand and be done. i should be at home, by now. they will wonder--i just went for a--a little spin, and when i turned to go back, it started that funny noise. i--i'm afraid of it. it--might blow up, or--or something." she seemed in a strangely explanatory mood, that was, to say the least, suspicious. either she had come out purposely to torment me, or she was afraid of what she knew was in my mind, and wanted to make me forget it. but my mettle was up for good. i had no notion of forgetting, or of letting her. "i'll do what i can, and willingly," i told her coolly. "it looks like a good car--an accommodating car. i hope you are prepared to pay the penalty--" "penalty?" she interrupted, and opened her eyes at me innocently; a bit _too_ innocently, i may say. "penalty; yes. the penalty of letting me find you outside of king's highway, _alone_," i explained brazenly. she tried a lever hurriedly, and the car growled up at her so that she quit. then she pulled herself together and faced me nonchalantly. "oh-h. you mean about the black velvet mask? i'm afraid--i had forgotten that funny little--joke." with all she could do, her face and her tone were not convincing. i gathered courage as she lost it. "i see that i must demonstrate to you the fact that i am not altogether a joke," i said grimly, and got down from my horse. i don't, to this day, know what she imagined i was going to do. she sat very still; the kind of stillness a rabbit adopts when he hopes to escape the notice of an enemy. i could see that she hardly breathed, even. but when i reached her, i only got a wrench out of the tool-box and yanked open the hood to see what ailed the motor. i knew something of that make of car; in fact, i had owned one before i got the _yellow peril_, and i had a suspicion that there wasn't much wrong; a loosened nut will sometimes sound a good deal more serious than it really is. still, a half-formed idea--a perfectly crazy idea--made me go over the whole machine very carefully to make sure she was all right. when i was through i stood up and found that she was regarding me curiously, yet with some amusement. she seemed to feel herself mistress of the situation, and to consider me as an interesting plaything. i didn't approve that attitude. "at all events," she said when she met my eyes, and speaking as if there had been no break in our conversation, "you are rather a _good_ joke. thank you so much." i put away the wrench, fastened the lid of the tool-box, and then i faced her grimly. "i see mere words are wasted on you," i said. "i shall have to carry you off--beryl king; i _shall_ carry you off if you look at me that way again!" she did look that way, only more so. i wonder what she thought a man was made of, to stand it. i set my teeth hard together. "have you got the--er--the black velvet mask?" she taunted, leaning just the least bit toward me. her eyes--i say it deliberately--were a direct challenge that no man could refuse to accept and feel himself a man after. "mask or no mask--you'll see!" i turned away to where my horse was standing eying the car with extreme disfavor, picked up the reins, and glanced over my shoulder; i didn't know but she would give me the slip. she was sitting very straight, with both hands on the wheel and her eyes looking straight before her. she might have been posing for a photograph, from the look of her. i tied the reins with a quick twist over the saddle-horn and gave him a slap on the rump. i knew he would go straight home. then i went back and stepped into the car just as she reached down and started the motor. if she had meant to run away from me she had been just a second too late. she gave me a sidelong, measuring glance, and gasped. the car slid easily along the trail as if it were listening for what we were going to say. "i shall drive," i announced quietly, taking her hands gently from the wheel. she moved over to make room mechanically, as if she didn't in the least understand this new move of mine. i know she never dreamed of what was really in my heart to do. "you will drive--where?" her voice was politely freezing. "to find that preacher, of course," i answered, trying to sound surprised that she should ask, i sent the speed up a notch. "you--you never would _dare_!" she cried breathlessly, and a little anxiously. "the deuce i wouldn't!" i retorted, and laughed in the face of her. it was queer, but my thoughts went back, for just a flash, to the time barney had dared me to drive the _yellow peril_ up past the cliff house to sutro baths. i had the same heady elation of daredeviltry. i wouldn't have turned back, then, even if i hadn't cared so much for her. she didn't say anything more, and i sent the car ahead at a pace that almost matched the mood i was in, and that brought white divide sprinting up to meet us. the trail was good, and the car was a dandy. i was making straight for king's highway as the best and only chance of carrying out my foolhardy design. i doubt if any bold, bad knight of old ever had the effrontery to carry his lady-love straight past her own door in broad daylight. yet it was the safest thing i could do. i meant to get to osage, and the only practicable route for a car lay through the pass. to be sure, there was a preacher at kenmore; but with the chance of old king being there also and interrupting the ceremony--supposing i brought matters successfully that far--with a shot or two, did not in the least appeal to me. i had made sure that there was plenty of gasoline aboard, so i drove her right along. "i hope your father isn't home," i remarked truthfully when we were slipping into the wide jaws of the pass. "he is, though; and so is mr. weaver. i think you had better jump out here and run home, or it is not a velvet mask you will need, but a mantle of invisibility." i couldn't make much of her tone, but her words implied that even yet she would not take me seriously. "well, i've neither mask nor mantle," i said, "but the way i can fade down the pass will, i think, be a fair substitute for both." she said nothing whatever to that, but she began to seem interested in the affair--as she had need to be. she might have jumped out and escaped while i was down opening the gate--but she didn't. she sat quite still, as if we were only out on a commonplace little jaunt. i wondered if she didn't have the spirit of adventure in her make-up, also. girls do, sometimes. when i had got in again, i turned to her, remembering something. "gadzooks, madam! i command you not to scream," i quoted sternly. at that, for the first time in our acquaintance, she laughed; such a delicious, rollicky little laugh that i felt ready, at the sound, to face a dozen fathers and they all old kings. as we came chugging up to the house, several faces appeared in the doorway as if to welcome and scold the runaway. i saw old king with his pipe in his mouth; and there were aunt lodema and weaver. they were all smiling at the escapade--beryl's escapade, that is--and i don't think they realized just at first who i was, or that i was in any sense a menace to their peace of mind. when we came opposite and showed no disposition to stop, or even to slow up, i saw the smiles freeze to amazement, and then--but i hadn't the time to look. old king yelled something, but by that time we were skidding around the first shed, where shylock had been shot down on my last trip through there. it was a new shed, i observed mechanically as we went by. i heard much shouting as we disappeared, but by that time we were almost through the gantlet. i made the last turn on two wheels, and scudded away up the open trail of the pass. chapter xvi. one more race. a faint toot-toot warned from behind. "they've got out the other car," said beryl, a bit tremulously; and added, "it's a much bigger one than this." i let her out all i dared for the road we were traveling; and then there we were, at that blessed gate. i hadn't thought of it till we were almost upon it, but it didn't take much thought; there was only one thing to do, and i did it. i caught beryl by an arm and pulled her down to the floor of the car, not taking my eyes from the trail, or speaking. then i drove the car forward like a cannon-ball. we hit that gate like a locomotive, and scarcely felt the jar. i knew the make of that motor, and what it could do. the air was raining splinters and bits of lamps, but we went right on as if nothing had happened, and as fast as the winding trail would allow. i knew that beyond the pass the road ran straight and level for many a mile, and that we could make good time if we got the chance. beryl sat half-turned in the seat, glancing back; but for me, i was busy watching the trail and taking the sharp turns in a way to lift the hair of one not used to traveling by lightning. i will confess it was ticklish going, at that pace, and there were places when i took longer chances than i had any right to take. but, you see, i had beryl--and i meant to keep her. that weaver fellow must have had a bigger bump of caution than i, or else he'd never raced. i could hear them coming, but they didn't seem to be gaining; rather, they lost ground, if anything. presently beryl spoke again, still looking back. "don't you think, mr. carleton, this joke has gone far enough? you have demonstrated what you _could_ do, if--" i risked both our lives to glance at her. "this joke," i said, "is going to osage. i want to marry you, and you know it. the lord and this car willing, i'm going to. still, if you really have been deceived in my intentions, and insist upon going back, i shall stop, of course, and give you back to your father. but you must do it now, at once, or--marry me." she gave me a queer, side glance, but she did not insist. naturally i didn't stop, either. we shot out into the open, with the windings of the pass behind, and then i turned the old car loose, and maybe we didn't go! she wasn't a bad sort--but i would have given a good deal, just then, if she had been the _yellow peril_ stripped for a race. i could hear the others coming up, and we were doing all we could; i saw to that. "i think they'll catch us," beryl observed maliciously. "their car is a sixty h.p. mercedes, and this--" "is about a forty," i cut in tartly, not liking the tone of her; "and just plain american make. but don't you fret, my money's on uncle sam." she said no more; indeed, it wasn't easy to talk, with the wind drawing the breath right out of your lungs. she hung onto her hat, and to the seat, and she had her hands full, let me tell you. the purr of their motor grew louder, and i didn't like the sound of it a bit. i turned my head enough to see them slithering along close--abominably close. i glimpsed old king in the tonneau, and weaver humped over the wheel in an unpleasantly businesslike fashion. i humped over my own wheel and tried to coax her up a bit, as if she had been the _yellow peril_ at the wind-up of a close race. for a minute i felt hopeful. then i could tell by the sound that weaver was crowding up. "they're gaining, mr. carleton!" beryl's voice had a new ring in it, and i caught my breath. "can you get here and take the wheel and hold her straight without slowing her?" i asked, looking straight ahead. the trail was level and not a bend in it for half a mile or so, and i thought there was a chance for us. "i've a notion that friend weaver has nerves. i'm going to rattle him, if i can; but whatever happens, don't loose your grip and spill us out. i won't hurt them." her hands came over and touched mine on the wheel. "i've raced a bit myself," she said simply. "i can drive her straight." i wriggled out of the way and stood up, glancing down to make sure she was all right. she certainly didn't look much like the girl who was afraid because something "made a funny noise." i suspected that she knew a lot about motors. a bullet clipped close. beryl set her teeth into her lips, but grittily refrained from turning to look. i breathed freer. "now, don't get scared," i warned, balanced myself as well as i could in the swaying car, and sent a shot back at them. weaver came up to my expectations. he ducked, and the car swerved out of the trail and went wavering spitefully across the prairie. old king sent another rifle-bullet my way--i must have made a fine mark, standing up there--and he was a good shot. i was mighty glad he was getting jolted enough to spoil his aim. weaver came to himself a bit and grabbed frantically for brake and throttle and steering-wheel all at once, it looked like. he was rattled, all right; he must have given the wheel a twist the wrong way, for their car hit a jutting rock and went up in the air like a pitching bronco, and old king sailed in a beautiful curve out of the tonneau. i was glad beryl didn't see that. i watched, not breathing, till i saw weaver scramble into view, and beryl's dad get slowly to his feet and grope about for his rifle; so i knew there would be no funeral come of it. i fancy his language was anything but mild, though by that time we were too far away to hear anything but the faint churning of their motor as their wheels pawed futilely in the air. they were harmless for the present. their car tilted ungracefully on its side, and, though i hadn't any quarrel with weaver, i hoped his big mercedes was out of business. i put away my gun, sat down, and looked at beryl. she was very white around the mouth, and her hat was hanging by one pin, i remember; but her eyes were fixed unswervingly upon the brown trail stretching lazily across the green of the grass-land, and she was driving that big car like an old hand. "well?" her voice was clear, and anxious, and impatient. "it's all right," i said. i took the wheel from her, got into her place, and brought the car down to a six-mile gait. "it's all right," i repeated triumphantly. "they're out of the race--for awhile, at least, and not hurt, that i could see. just plain, old-fashioned mad. don't look like that, beryl!" i slowed the car more. "you're glad, aren't you? and you _will_ marry me, dear?" she leaned back panting a little from the strain of the last half-hour, and did things to her hat. i watched her furtively. then she let her eyes meet mine; those dear, wonderful eyes of hers! and her mouth was half-smiling, and very tender. "you _silly_!" that's every word she said, on my oath. but i stopped that car dead still and gathered her into my arms, and--oh, well, i won't trail off into sentiment, you couldn't appreciate it if i did. it's a mercy weaver's car _was_ done for, or they could have walked right up and got their hands on us before we'd have known it. chapter xvii. the final reckoning. about four o'clock we reached the ferry, just behind a fagged-out team and a light buggy that had in it two figures--one of whom, at least, looked familiar to me. "frosty, by all that's holy!" i exclaimed when we came close enough to recognize a man. "i clean forgot, but i was sent to kenmore this morning to find that very fellow." "don't you know the other?" beryl laughed teasingly. "i was at their wedding this morning, and wished them god-speed. i never dreamed i should be god-speeded myself, directly! i drove edith, over to kenmore quite early in the car, and--" "edith!" "certainly, edith. whom else? did you think she would be left behind, pining at your infidelity? didn't you know they are old, old sweethearts who had quarreled and parted quite like a story? she used to read your letters so eagerly to see if you made any remark about him; you did, quite often, you know. i drove her over to kenmore, and afterward went off toward laurel just to put in the time and not arrive home too soon without her--which might have been awkward, if father took a notion to go after her. i'm so glad we came up with them." she stood up and waved her hand at edith. i shouted reassurances to frosty, who was looking apprehensively back at us. but it was a facer. i had never once suspected them of such a thing. "well," i greeted, when we overtook them and could talk comfortably; "this is luck. when we get across to pochette's you can get in with us, mr. and mrs. miller, and add the desired touch of propriety to _our_ wedding." they did some staring themselves, then, and beryl blushed delightfully--just as she did everything else. she was growing an altogether bewitching bit of femininity, and i kept thanking my private providence that i had had the nerve to kidnap her first and take chances on her being willing. honest, i don't believe i'd ever have got her in any other way. when we stopped at pochette's door the girls ran up and tangled their arms around each other and wasted enough kisses to make frosty and me swear. and they whispered things, and then laughed about it, and whispered some more, and all we could hear was a gurgle of "you dear!" and the like of that. frosty and i didn't do much; we just looked at each other and grinned. and it's long odds we understood each other quite as well as the girls did after they'd whispered and gurgled an hour. we had an early dinner--or supper--and ate fried bacon and stewed prunes--and right there i couldn't keep the joke, but had to tell the girls about how frosty and i had deviled beryl's father, that time. they could see the point, all right, and they seemed to appreciate it, too. after that, we all talked at once, sometimes; and sometimes we wouldn't have a thing to say--times when the girls would look at each other and smile, with their eyes all shiny. frosty and i would look at them, and then at each other; and frosty's eyes were shiny, too. then we went on, with the motor purring love-songs and sliding the miles behind us, while frosty and edith cooed in the tonneau behind us, and didn't thank us to look around or interrupt. beryl and i didn't say much; i was driving as fast as was wise, and sometimes faster. there was always the chance that the other car would come slithering along on our trail. besides, it was enough just to know that this was real, and that beryl would marry me just as soon as we found a preacher. there was no incentive to linger along the road. it yet lacked an hour of sunset when we slid into osage and stopped before a little goods-box church, with a sample of the same style of architecture chucked close against one side. we left the girls with the preacher's wife, and frosty wrote down our ages--beryl was twenty-one, if you're curious--and our parents' names and where we were born, and if we were black or white, and a few other impertinent things which he, having been through it himself, insisted was necessary. then he hustled out after the license, while i went over to the dry-goods and jewelry store to get a ring. i will say that osage puts up a mighty poor showing of wedding-rings. we were married. i suppose i ought to stop now and describe just how it was, and what the bride wore, and a list of the presents. but it didn't last long enough to be clear in my mind. everything is a bit hazy, just there. i dropped the ring, i know that for certain, because it rolled under an article of furniture that looked suspiciously like a folding-bed masquerading as a cabinet, and frosty had to get down on all fours and fish it out before we could go on. and edith put her handkerchief to her mouth and giggled disreputably. but, anyway, we got married. the preacher gave beryl an impressive lily-and-rose certificate, which caused her much embarrassment, because it would not go into any pocket of hers or mine, but must be carried ostentatiously in the hand. i believe edith was a bit jealous of that beflowered roll. _her_ preacher had been out of certificates, and had made shift with a plain, undecorated sheet of foolscap that frosty said looked exactly like a home-made bill of sale. i told edith she could paint some lilies around the edge, and she flounced out with her nose in the air. we had decided that we must go back in the morning and face the music. we had no desire to be arrested for stealing weaver's car, and there was not a man in osage who could be trusted to drive it back. then the girls needed a lot of things; and though frosty had intended to take the next train east, i persuaded him to go back and wait for us. beryl said she was almost sure her father would be nice about it, now there was no good in being anything else. i think that long roll of stiff paper went a long way toward strengthening her confidence; she simply could not conceive of any father being able to resist its appeal and its look of finality. we all got into the car again, and went up to the station, so i might send a wire to dad. it seemed only right and fair to let him know at once that he had a daughter to be proud of. "good lord!" i broke out, when we were nearly to the depot "if that isn't--do any of you notice anything out on the side-track, over there?" i pointed an unsteady finger toward the purple and crimson sunset. "a maroon-colored car, with dark-green--" beryl began promptly. "that's it," i cut in. "i was afraid joy had gone to my head and was making me see crooked. it's dad's car, the _shasta_. and i wonder how the deuce she got _here_!" "probably by the railroad," said edith flippantly. i drove over to the _shasta_, and we stopped. i couldn't for the life of me understand her being, there. i stared up at the windows, and nodded dazedly to crom, grinning down at me. the next minute, dad himself came out on the platform. "so it's you, ellie?" he greeted calmly. "i thought potter wasn't to let you know i was coming; he must be getting garrulous as he grows old. however, since you are here, i'm very glad to see you, my boy." "hello, dad," i said meekly, and helped beryl out. i wasn't at all sure that i was glad to see him, just then. telling dad face to face was a lot different from telling him by telegraph. i swallowed. "dad, let me introduce you to miss--mrs. beryl king--that is, carleton; my _wife_." i got that last word out plain enough, at any rate. dad stared. for once i had rather floored him. but he's a thoroughbred, all right; you can't feaze him for longer than ten seconds, and then only in extreme cases. he leaned down over the rail and held out his hand to her. "i'm very glad to meet you, mrs. beryl king--that is, carleton," he said, mimicking me. "come up and give your dad-in-law a proper welcome." beryl did. i wondered how long it had been since dad had been kissed like that. it made me gulp once or twice to think of all he had missed. frosty and edith came up, then, and edith shook hands with dad and i introduced frosty. five minutes, there on the platform, went for explanations. dad didn't say much; he just listened and sized up the layout. then he led us through the vestibule into the drawing-room. and i knew, from the look of him, that we would get his verdict straight. but it was a relief not to see his finger-tips together. "perry potter wrote me something of all this," he observed, settling himself comfortably in his pet chair. "he said this young cub needed looking after, or king--your father, mrs. carleton--would have him by the heels. i thought i'd better come and see what particular brand of--er-- "as for the motor, i might make shift to take it back myself, seeing potter hasn't got a rig here to meet me. and if you'd like a little jaunt in the _shasta_, you four, you're welcome to her for a couple of weeks or so. i'm not going back right away. ellis has done his da--er--is married and off my hands, so i can take a vacation too. i can arrange transportation over any lines you want, before i start for the ranch. will that do?" i guess he found that it would, from the way edith and beryl made for him. frosty glanced out of the window and motioned to me. i looked, and we both bolted for the door, reaching it just as old king's foot was on the lower step of the platform. weaver, looking like chief mourner at a funeral, was down below in his car. king came up another step, glaring and evidently in a mood for war and extermination. "how d'y' do, king?" dad greeted over my shoulder, before i could say a word. he may not have had his finger-tips together, but he had the finger-tip tone, all right, and i knew it was a good man who would get the better of him. "out looking for strays? come right up; i've got two brand new married couples here, and i need some sane person pretty bad to help me out." there was the faintest possible accent on the _sane_. say, it was the finest thing i had ever seen dad do. and it wasn't what he said, so much as the way he said it. i knew then why he had such, a record for getting his own way. king swallowed hard and glared from dad to me, and then at beryl, who had come up and laid my arm over her shoulder--where it was perfectly satisfied to stay. there was a half-minute when i didn't know whether king would shoot somebody, or have apoplexy. "you're late, father," said beryl sweetly, displaying that blessed certificate rather conspicuously. "if you had only hurried a little, you might have been in time for the we-wedding." i squeezed my arm tight in approval, and came near choking her. king gasped as if somebody had an arm around his neck, too, and was squeezing. "oh, well, you're here now, and it's all right," put in dad easily, as though everything was quite commonplace and had happened dozens of times to us. "crom will have dinner ready soon, though as he and tony weren't notified that there would be a wedding-party here, i can't promise the feast i'd like to. still, there's a bottle or two good enough to drink even _their_ happiness in, homer. just send your chauffeur down to the town, and come in." (good one on weaver, that--and, the best part of it was, he heard it.) king hesitated while i could count ten--if i i counted fast enough--and came in, following us all back through the vestibule. inside, he looked me over and drew his hand down over his mouth; i think to hide a smile. "young man, yuh seem born to leave a path uh destruction behind yuh," he said. "there's a lot uh fixing to be done on that gate--and i don't reckon i ever _will_ find the padlock again." his eyes met the keen, steady look of dad, stopped there, wavered, softened to friendliness. their hands went out half-shyly and met. "kids are sure terrors, these days," he remarked, and they laughed a little. "us old folks have got to stand in the corners when they're around." * * * * * king's highway is open trail. beryl and i go through there often in the _yellow peril_, since dad gave me outright the bay state ranch and all pertaining thereto--except, of course, perry potter; he stays on of his own accord. frosty is father king's foreman, and aunt lodema went back east and stayed there. she writes prim little letters to beryl, once in awhile, and i gather that she doesn't approve of the match at all. but beryl does, and, if you ask me, i approve also. so what does anything else matter? the forfeit by ridgwell cullum author of "the night riders," "the way of the strong," "the trail of the axe," etc. a. l. burt company publishers ------ new york published by arrangement with george w. jacobs & company copyright, , by george w. jacobs & company all rights reserved contents i. at rainbow hill valley ii. conflicting currents iii. trailing the "black tail" iv. the weaker vessel v. the hanging bee vi. the raiders raided vii. outland justice viii. jeff closes the book ix. four years later x. the polo club races xi. elvine van blooren xii. the tempering xiii. the news xiv. the knocking on the door xv. the home-coming xvi. the ranchman xvii. the call to orrville xviii. dug mcfarlane xix. the return home xx. at bud's xxi. the barrier xxii. threatenings xxiii. the hearts of two women xxiv. to spruce crossing xxv. an epic battle xxvi. under the veil xxvii. the round-up the forfeit chapter i at rainbow hill valley a companionable silence prevailed in the room. at intervals it was broken, but only by the rustle of paper or the striking of a match. the heavy breathing, almost amounting to a snore, of one of the two men, and the inarticulate protests of a laboring "rocker" chair--these things were only a part of it. the man at the table was deeply immersed in a miniature sea of calculations. his fair brows were drawn in deep concentration. frequently he was at great pains to relight a pipe which contained nothing but charred remnants of tobacco and a moist, unsmokable mixture which afforded only a somewhat offensive taste and aroma. the partner in this companionship overflowed an undersized "rocker," which withstood, with supreme heroism, the overwhelming forces of its invader. but its sufferings, under the rhythmic rise and fall imposed upon it, found expression at intervals, although they failed to inspire the least sympathy. the heedless giant's whole attention seemed to be absorbed in the personality and effort of his friend. finally the latter raised a pair of deep blue eyes. following upon a sigh, he thrust his papers aside with a brusque movement of relief. then he raised a hand to his broad forehead and smoothed his disheveled fair hair, which seemed to have undergone some upheaval as a result of the mental disturbance his efforts had inspired in the brain beneath. the handsome eyes smiled a reassuring smile into the rugged face of his friend. "well?" he enquired, without seeming to desire a reply. "wal?" echoed the gruff voice of the man in the rocker. "it's done." "so--i guessed." the patient amusement in the twinkling eyes of the man in the rocker was good to see. there was confidence, too, in his regard of the younger man. "can we do it--sure?" he enquired, as the other remained silent. "without a worry." "then dope it out, boy. the easiest thing in the world is handin' out dollars on a right enterprise. i don't know nothin' better--except it is takin' 'em in on the same sort o' play." jeffrey masters smiled more broadly into his friend's good-humored face. "five years back, handing out twenty thousand dollars would have given us a nightmare, even on a right proposition," he said. "it isn't that way now. guess we'll sleep on this thing like new-born babes with our tanks filled right. nat williams is out to sell quick, and if we're bright, it's up to us to buy quick. for twenty thousand dollars," he proceeded, referring to his figures, "we get his house, barns, corrals, and all his rolling stock. his growing crops and machinery. the bunch of old cows and calves he's pleased to call his 'herds.' also three teams of shire-bred heavy draft horses, and six hundred and forty acres of first-class wheat land and grazing that only needs capital and hustle to set right on top. i don't guess it'll worry us any to hand it all it needs that way. this buy will join up my 'o----' territory with your 't.t.' grazing, and will turn the combination into one of the finest ranching propositions west of calthorpe, and one which even montana needs to be proud of." he leaned back in his chair with a certain air of satisfaction. but there was just a shade of anxiety, too, in the glance with which he favored his friend. however, he need have felt no misgivings. bud tristram had none. he understood the keen business brain underlying his friend's tumbled fair hair. moreover, jeff, who was only half the older man's age, was regarded with something like parental affection. they had fought their way up together from obscure beginnings to their present affluence, as the owners of the "t.t." ranch and the "o----" ranch respectively. they had been partners in all but name. now they contemplated a definite deed of that nature. it was a consummation which the older man had looked forward to ever since he first lent a hand to his new and youthful neighbor. it was a consummation which jeffrey, with acute foresight and honest purpose, had set himself to achieve. if the older man regarded him with almost parental affection, that regard was fully reciprocated. the business conference between them had for its purpose their mutual advantage, and both men were perfectly aware of the fact. but the thought that slightly worried the younger man was the ease, the unconcern of his future partner's attitude. it disquieted him because it increased his responsibility. but long ago he had learned the generous nature of the great bud. long ago he had realized his trusting simplicity. now he would have preferred a keen cross-examination of his statement. but none was forthcoming, and he was forced to continue in face of the silent acceptance. "bud, old friend, i wish i could get you interested in--figures. and i guess they surely are interesting, when you apply them to our own concerns." but bud remained unmoved. he stretched himself in an ecstasy of ease, raising his great arms above his grizzled head in profound enjoyment of his bodily comfort. he shook his head. "guess i know a steer. guess i know grass when i see it. i wouldn't say there's a brand in montana i ain't familiar with. but figgers--sums--they're hell. an' i don't guess i'm yearning for hell anyway. figgers is a sort o' paradise to you. you're built that way. say, i don't calc'late to rob you of a thing--not even paradise. we'll take your figgers as they stand." jeffrey masters shook his head. "they're right, sure. but it's no sort of way to talk business." "business talk always makes me sweat." it was quite impossible. jeffrey was growing impatient. a frown settled upon his broad brow, and the man in the rocker watched it with amused eyes. quite suddenly the younger man's impatience broke forth into verbal protest. "say, you make me mad. was there ever such a feller looking for sharps to play him? how do you know i'm not out to beat you? why, i could roll you for every dollar you possess without lying awake five minutes at night. it's not fair, bud. it's not fair to me--to you--to your little nan----" "what's not fair to nan?" bud's twinkling eyes shot round upon the open french window with an alertness scarcely to be expected in a man of such apparent mental indolence. jeffrey's eyes cleared of their hot impatience as they sought a similar direction. the gaze of both men encountered the picture of a brown-eyed, brown-haired girl of exquisite proportions, standing framed in the open window. she was clad in a riding suit of light material, with a long-skirted coat which obviously concealed the divided skirt beneath. her long, brown top boots were white with dust of the trail, and her vicious-looking mexican spurs hung loosely upon her heels. her eyes were bright with intelligence and good humor, and her pretty oval face smiled out from under the wide brim of an ample prairie hat. jeff began to laugh. "it's your crazy old father, nan," he cried. "say, just look at him. feast your eyes on him. can you beat it? here we are right up to our necks in an epoch-making business proposition and he don't concern himself two whoops. was there ever such a bunch of simple trusting folly as is rolled up in that six feet three of good-hearted honesty? _that's_ what's not fair to--nan." the girl came and laid a protecting hand upon the flannel-clad shoulders of her father. just for a moment her laughing eyes gazed affectionately down upon the recumbent form of the only parent she possessed, and whom she idolized. he was stretched out luxuriously, his great be-chapped legs reaching to the table leg as a support to hold the rocker at a comfortable poise. his shirt sleeves were rolled up displaying a pair of arms like legs of mutton. the beadwork wristlets were held fixed in their position by the distended muscles beneath them. she was proud of him, this father who went through the world trusting human nature, and handling cattle as only an artist in his profession can handle them. then her dancing eyes sought the face of jeffrey masters. her smile remained, but a subtle something crept into their depths as she surveyed it. it was the handsome, clean-cut face of a purposeful man. there was a straight-forward directness in the gaze of his blue eyes. it was the face of a man who has no fear, physical or moral. it was almost too uncompromising in its fearlessness. nan knew its every line by heart. she had thought of it, dreamed of it, since the time when she had first realized that a woman's life is wholly incomplete without the care of a man upon her hands. sometimes she had felt that jeffrey masters possessed depths which could never be fathomed. depths of strength, of resource, and all those qualities which make for success. sometimes she even went further, when her analytical faculties--which she possessed in an unusual degree--were most active. she felt that the possession of all these firm qualities had rather smothered, to an extent, the gentler emotions of the human nature in him. he was strong, passionate, with a conscience of an almost puritanical order, and somehow she felt that a little softening, a little leavening of human weakness would have been all to the good. but this understanding made no difference to her woman's regard, unless it were to strengthen it to a sort of gentle worship such as woman is always ready to yield to strength. it required no effort upon her part to picture this man in the heroic mould of a spartan warrior. "'_that_,'" she replied, with a whimsical smile, "is a man, who most generally seems to fancy his own way of doing things." then she shook her head as her arm slipped protectingly around the big man's bronzed neck. "i don't guess a woman's argument ever made a man see things different yet. what's he done, jeff?" jeff laughed without humor. "done?" he exclaimed. then, with a shake of the head: "it's not what he's done. guess it's what he hasn't done, and what he don't seem to figure to do. i'd kind of raised a hope when i saw you in the window. but--well, it was only her father's daughter that came in, i guess." then he drew his papers toward him again, and glanced seriously at the figures. "it's nat's farm," he explained. "and it's the thing we've been waiting on years. we're getting it fixed right, and your bud's just about as much help as a deaf mute at a talking bee. i hand him figgers, and--and he smiles, just smiles. i hand him facts, and--he keeps on smiling. it's the kind of smile you most generally see on a dog-tired feller's face when you hand him a funny story. he don't care a cuss anyway. he's figuring to hand nat ten thousand dollars with no more kick than a government spending public money. he don't kick reasonably or unreasonably, and i'd gamble you a new hat he hasn't a notion what he's getting for it. it makes me feel like a 'hold-up,' and i say it's not fair to me--nor to himself--nor to--you." jeff was serious enough. in such affairs it would have been difficult to find him otherwise. nan understood. these two men had long been her profound study. her smiling regard remained unchanging while the man was talking. when he ceased she bent over her father in a caressing fashion. "he'd lose his bet. he surely would, daddy dear, wouldn't he? but we really need to answer, don't we? he'd think we were both fools, else. he wouldn't like it either. say, daddy, shall--shall i talk?" bud chuckled comfortably. "i'd hate to stop you, nan." nan smiled contentedly, and raised a pair of challenging eyes in the direction of the table. "my daddy thinks i talk too much," she said. "but i s'pose that's my way--most girls talk when they get the chance--just the same as it's his way talking too little. but neither ways suggest a fool, jeff. and anyway the only sort of fool you need to worry with is the fool who don't see and act in a way of his own. my daddy's acting in his own way, and i guess it isn't his way, working overtime with the band playing. if you're dead fixed on having a gamble, it's a new hat to a new and less smelly pipe than you're smoking now, that he knows the inside of this deal to the last cent's worth. but what's more, jeff, he knows you, and knows you couldn't 'hold-up' a sunday-school kiddie without going and telling its teacher first. and now the mail." she left her father's side and moved to the table, a very picture of gentle decision and practice. "three for you, my daddy," she cried, dropping three letters on his chest, where his shirt gaped just below his neck. then she turned about. "only one for you, honest jeff. just one, and i've guessed at the writing till i'm sick." jeff was smiling up with frank amusement. "say, that's great. it's got you beat. well," he added, as he picked up the letter, "i'll just keep you right on guessing. where's yours?" the girl laughed merrily. "had mine. i don't guess any right-acting girl would sit easy in the saddle twelve miles without reading her mail. say----" she paused. the smile had died out of her eyes. jeff's expression had abruptly changed. he was regarding the address on his envelope with startled seriousness. then she went on quickly: "guess i'll wait till you're both through. i'll get right out an' off-saddle. then for supper." in the parlor the silence remained unbroken. it became unduly prolonged. bud finished his mail. jeff was still reading his. it was not a long letter. he had already read it twice through. now he again turned back to its beginning. bud observed him closely. he saw the knitted brows. the curious set of the man's lips. his absorbed interest. nor did he interrupt. he contented himself with that patient waiting which betrayed much of the solid strength of his character. presently jeff looked up. but his eyes did not seek his friend. they were turned upon the open window, his gaze wandering out toward the distant hills, which marked the confines of rainbow hill valley. still the other refrained from speech. finally it was jeff, himself, who broke the silence. "bud," he began, without withdrawing his gaze from the scene beyond the window, "it's a letter from ronald. it's the second word i've had of him in--five years." bud nodded. "the twin." jeff's gaze came slowly, thoughtfully back to bud's face. "sure. we're twins." an unusual softness crept into the eyes of the man at the table. "i'm kind of wondering, bud," he went on presently, "wondering if you get all that means--means to me. i don't know." he passed a hand slowly across his brow, as though to brush aside growing perplexities. "i don't seem to get all it means myself. no, i don't. the whole thing's so queer," he went on, with a nervous, restless movement in his chair. "it sort of seems crazy, too." he laughed meaninglessly. then he suddenly leaned forward with flushed cheeks and hot eyes. "bud, don't think me crazy, but--well, say, i'm only part of me without ronny near. oh, i don't guess that explains. but it's what i feel--and i can't just talk it right. you don't get it? no, of course you don't. i can see it in your eyes. you think i'm right for the foolish-house. listen. is it possible--is it ordinary reason that when twins are born, the nature of one normal child can be divided between the two, one having what the other feller lacks? there, that's how i feel about it. it's the way it is with ronny and me. all that he is not, i am. i haven't one of his better features. say, bud, i'm a pretty cold sort of man. i'd have made a fair sort of puritan if i'd been on earth a century or so ago. i've little enough humor. i don't care for play. i don't care for half the fun most folks see in life. i'd sooner work than eat. and ronny--well, ronny isn't just any of those things. he's just a boy, full of every sort of human notion that's opposite to mine. and i'm crazy for him. say, bud, i love him better than anything in life. if anything happened to that boy, why, i guess all that's worth while in me would die plumb out." he paused. bud's shrewd eyes remained studying the emotion-lit features of this usually unemotional man. he felt he was being admitted to a peep at a soul that was rarely, if ever, bared, and he wondered at the reason. was it a calculated display, or was it the outlet for an emotion altogether too strong for the man's restraint? he inclined to the former belief. "nothin' _has_ happened?" he enquired presently, in his direct fashion. jeff laughed without any visible sign of lightness. "no," he said. then with a deep sigh. "thank god nothing has happened. but----" "then the trouble----?" "the trouble? say, bud, try to get it all as i see it. it's difficult. the boy's away up trapping and shooting--for a living--somewhere in the cathills. he's away there living on hard pan, while i'm here steadily traipsing on with you to a big pile. remember he's my other--half. do you know how i feel? no, you can't. say, he's as merry as i am--dour. he's as fond of life, and play, and the good things of the world as i'm indifferent to 'em. he's reckless--he's _weak_." suddenly jeff's eyes lit. a great passion seemed to surge through his whole body. "bud, i want him here. i want to be always around to help him when he gets bumping into potholes. it's that weakness that sets me crazy when i think. he ain't made for the dreary grind of the life we live. that's why he cut it out when i came here. well there's no grind for him now, and i want to have him come along and share in with me. that's why i'm talking now. from this moment on we're a great proposition in the ranching world, and i want ronny to share in with me." bud nodded. "i get it," he said. then he added: "you're a great feller." "great! cut it out, bud," jeff cried sharply. "it's my love for that other half of me that's talking. that merry bit of a--twin." "an' you're sendin' for him?" jeff shrugged, and depression seemed suddenly to descend upon him. "if i could fix it that way i don't guess i'd have opened my face to hand you all this. but i can't. he's in the cathills, away a hundred and more miles northwest of us. that's all he says. he don't give a mail address. no, bud, i'm going to hunt him out. i'm going to find him, and bring him back. i'll find him sure. we're just one mind an' one body, an'," he added thoughtfully, "i don't guess i'll need a detective bureau to locate him. if he was chasin' around the other end of the world i'd find him--sure. you see, he's the other half of me." bud nodded in sympathy, but made no verbal reply. "see, bud," jeff went on, a moment later. "the spring round-up's through. we're going to fix this deed right away. when the attorneys have robbed us all they need, and nat's handed over, there'll be a good month to haying. that month i'm going to spend in the cathills. i'll be back for the hay." the other eased himself in his rocker. then for some moments no sound broke the silence of the room. "it's been a heavy spring," bud said at last. jeff nodded. his thoughts were away in the cathills. "seems to me," bud went on. "work kind o' worries me some these times." he smiled. "guess the wheels need the dope of leisure. mebbe i ain't as young as you." "no." jeff's attention was still wandering. "guess the cathills is an a'mighty big piece o' country gropin' around in," bud went on. "sure. a hell of a piece. but--it don't signify." "no-o," bud meditated. then he added: "i was kind o' thinkin'." "how?" "why, mebbe two folks chasin' up a pin in a bunch o' grass is li'ble to halve most o' the chances agin either of 'em jabbin' their hands on the business end of it." "two? you mean you're goin' to come along an' help find--ronny?" jeff's eyes were expressing the thanks his lips withheld. bud excused himself. "them cathills is plumb full of fur an' things. say, i ain't handled a gun in weeks." "bud, you're----" the door of the room was abruptly flung open and jeff's words remained unspoken. "supper, folks!" nan's smiling eyes glanced from one to the other. she stood in the doorway compelling them. besides, the memory of jeff's letter was still with her, and she was anxious to observe its later effect. that which she now beheld was obviously satisfactory, and her smile deepened contentedly. chapter ii conflicting currents they were busy days in orrville. but business rarely yielded outward display in its citizens. men talked more. they perhaps moved about more--in their customary leisurely fashion. but any approach to bustle was as foreign to the rule of the township as it would be to a colony of aged snails in a cyclone. it was the custom of orrville to rise early and go to bed late. but this by no means implies any excessive activity. on the contrary. these spells of activity lasted just as long as their accomplishment required. in the interim its citizens returned to a slumber little less profound than that which supervened at night after the last roysterer had been ejected, by force, or persuasion, from the salubrious precincts of ju penrose's saloon. orrville was a ranching township in the northwestern corner of montana lying roughly some twenty miles west of the foothills of the cathill mountains, which, in turn, formed a projecting spur of the main range of the rockies. orrville was the township and ju penrose was the pioneer of its commerce. he was a man of keen instincts for commerce of his own especial brand, and rejoiced in a disreputable past. he possessed a thin, hooked nose of some dimensions, which never failed to cut a way for its owner into the shady secrets of his neighbors. he possessed a temper as amiable and mild as a spring lamb when the stream of prosperity and profit flowed his way, and as vitriolic as a she-wolf in winter, when that stream chanced to become diverted into a neighbor's direction. he was considered a man of some importance in the place. but this was probably the result of the nature of his trade, which, in the eyes of the denizens of the neighborhood, certainly possessed an advantage over such stodgy callings as "dry goods." but besides the all-important thirst-quenching purpose of his establishment, it had become a sort of bureau for large and small transactions of a ranching nature, and a resort where every sort of card game could be freely indulged in, without regard for the limit of the stakes, and had thus gained for itself the subsidiary title amongst its clientele of "ju's poker joint." at the moment ju's usually busy tongue was taking a well-earned rest, and his hawk-like visage was shrouded in a deep, contemplative repose. his always bloodshot eyes were speculative as he surveyed the smoke-laden scene from behind his shabby bar. the place was full of drinkers and gamblers. the hour was past midnight. and he was estimating silently the further spending possibilities of his customers, and consequently considering the advisability of closing down. a group of three ranch hands leaned against the centre of the bar. their glasses were empty and none of them seemed anxious to command their refilling. they were talking earnestly. and their voices were unusually modulated. just beyond these a slight, good-looking man in chapps, with a face of particularly refined but somewhat debauched appearance, was obviously interested in their talk, although he took no part in it. on the other side of them, away at the far end of the bar, leaned a solitary, tough-looking drinker, who seemed to take no interest whatever in his surroundings. every man in the place, the dozen or so occupying the card tables included, was fully armed in the customary fashion prevailing in this distant corner of the ranching world, and it would have needed no second thought to realize that these heavy, loaded weapons were not by any means intended for decorative purposes. "wal, anyways they're a long time fixin' things," observed one of the three at the centre of the bar, with a yawn that displayed a double row of gleaming white teeth. "the boss guessed i'd best wait around, so it ain't a heap o' use kickin'. i'll hev to wait till the durned committee's through, if it takes 'em sittin' as long us a hide-bound hen." "it's allus that-a-way when folks gets on a committee racket, curly," replied one of his friends with a sympathetic grin. "that's just how, dan," agreed the third. "hot air. that's what it is. this tarnation vigilance stunt sets folk whisperin' among 'emselves 'bout the hell goin' to be ladled out to all cattle thieves in general. gives 'em visions of hangin'-bees, an' a sort o' firework display with guns an' things, an' when they hatched out, what's the result? why, a waste o' hot air, an'--no checkens." "'t'so, dan," agreed curly, with easy decision. "the boss is too near relative of a fancy gentleman for to hand out the sort o' dope rustlers need. if us boys had the job we'd fix things quick. you'd see this bum gang kicking air at the end of a rope 'fore ju, here, had time to dope out four fingers of rotgut at the expense of the house." he leered across at the unsmiling face of the saloon-keeper. ju permitted himself to be drawn. "nothin' doin', curly." a solemn shake of the head set his walrus moustache flapping. then he drew a cigar from a top vest pocket and bit the end through, brushing his moustache aside to discover a place in which to deposit it in his mouth. "i'd sure hate to dope out any rotgut on you boys. y'see, i sure got your health at heart. i kind o' love you fellers to death. i'd hate to see you sufferin' at my hands. guess i was raised christian." "was you?" curly's sarcasm achieved the laugh intended, and, as a result of his satisfaction, he flung his last half-dollar on the dingy bar. "make that into three drops of liver souse, an' hand us a smile, ju. your face is sure killin' trade." ju rolled his cigar across his mouth under the curtain of moustache, lit it, and proceeded to push an uncorked bottle across to his customers. "guess it ain't a bad proposition handin' you boys a smile. smiles allus happen easy on foolish faces. seein' i ain't deaf i been listenin' to your talk, an' i ain't made up my mind if you're as bright as you're guessin', or if you're the suckers your talk makes you out. seein' i don't usual take chances, i'll put my dollars on the sucker business. i've stood behind this darned old bar fer ten years, an' i guess for five of 'em i've listened to talk like yours--from fellers like you." he removed the bottle from which the three men had helped themselves to liberal "four fingers," and eyed their glasses askance. "now, you're worritin' over this lousy lightfoot gang. so was the others. so's everybody bin fer five years. an' fer five years this same lousy lightfoot gang has just been helpin' 'emselves to the cattle on the ranches around here--liberal. same as youse fellers have helped yourselves out o' this bottle. an', durin' that time, i ain't heard tell of one o' them boys who's been spoilin' to hang 'em all doin' a thing. not a thing, 'cep' it's lap up whisky to keep up a supply o' hot air. "wal," he proceeded, in his biting fashion, as he thrust the bottle on the shelf and began wiping glasses with a towel that looked to be decomposing for want of soap, "them lousy rustlers is still running their play in the district jest wher', when, an' how they darn please. see? you, curly, are kickin' because your boss dug mcfarlane is too much of a gentleman. wal, if i know a man from a seam-squirrel, i'd sure say dug's got more savee in his whiskers than you got dirt--which is some. if i got things right, this night's sittin's goin' to put paid to the lightfoot gang's account. i'd be glad to say the same of one or two scores three bums have lately run up right here." the offensiveness of his manner left the men quite undisturbed. the place would have been strange to them without it. they accepted it as part of the evening's entertainment. but the allusion to the vigilance committee's efforts brought them into attitudes of close attention. it drew the attention, too, of the cattleman with the refined features, and, equally, that of the tough-looking individual at the far end of the bar. "what are they goin' to do?" demanded dan urgently. ju puffed aggravatingly at his cigar. "do?" he echoed at last, gazing distantly at the card players across the room. "why, what any bunch of savee should ha' done five years ago. put out a great reward." curly snorted in disdain. "see, i tho't it was to be a big play." "you allus was bright," sneered dan. "how's that goin' to fix the lightfoot crowd?" "how?" ju's contempt always found an outlet in the echo of an opponent's interrogation. "say, dan, how old are you? twenty?" "that ain't nuthin' to you," the cowpuncher retorted, with a gesture of hot impatience. "ain't it? wal, mebbe it ain't," ju agreed imperturbably. "but y'see it takes years an' years gettin' the value o' dollars right. i allow ther's folks guesses dollars talks. wal, i'm guessin' they just _holler_. make the wad big enough and ther' ain't nuthin' you can't buy from a wheat binder to a royal princess with a crown o' jools. the only thing you're li'ble to have trouble over is the things natur' fancies handin' you fer--nix. that an' hoss sense. that's pretty well the world to-day, no matter what the sky-pilots an' sunday-school ma'ams dope out in their fancy literature. i know. you offer ten thousand dollars for the hangin' of lightfoot's gang, an', i say right here, there ain't a feller in it from lightfoot--if there is sech a feller--down, who wouldn't make a grab at that wad by givin' the rest of the crowd away. makes you think, don't it? sort o' worries them empty think tanks o' yours." but ju's satisfaction received an unexpected shaking. "some wind," observed the slim, lonely drinker, in the blandest fashion. ju was round on him in a flash, his walrus moustache bristling. "i'm listening," he said, with a calmness which belied his attitude. the other set his glass down on the counter with a bump. "if you're listening," he said, "you have probably understood what i said. you're talking through a fog of cynicism which seems to obscure an otherwise fairly competent intellect. you've plundered so many innocents in your time by purveying an excessive quantity of bluestone disguised under the name of alcohol that your overweening conceit has entirely distorted your perspective till you fancy that your own dregs of human nature constitute the human nature of all the rest of the world, who would entirely resent being classed as your fellows. in a word you need physic, ju." the speaker laughed amiably, and his smile revealed the weakness which was pointed by the signs of debauchery in his good-looking face. ju eyed him steadily. the offense of his words was mitigated by his manner, but ju resented the laugh which went round the entire room at his expense. "see here, bob whitstone," he began, abandoning his glass wiping and supporting himself on his counter, with his face offensively thrust in his opponent's direction, "i ain't got the langwidge you seem to have lapped up with your mother's milk. i don't guess any sucker paid a thousand dollars a year for my college eddication so i could come out here and grow a couple of old beeves and spend my leisure picklin' my food depot in a low down prairie saloon. therefor' i'll ask you to excuse me if i talk in a kind o' langwidge the folks about here most gener'ly understan'. guess you think you know some. maybe you figger to know it all. wal, get this. when you get back home jest stand in front of a fi' cent mirror, if you got one in your bum shanty, an' get a peek at your map, an' ask yourself--when you studied it well--if i couldn't buy you, body an' soul, fer two thousand dollars--cash. i'd sure hate slingin' mud at any feller's features, much less yours, who're a good customer to me, but you're comin' the highbrow, an' you got notions of honor still floatin' around in your flabby thinkin' department sech as was handed you by the guys who ran that thousand dollar college. wal, ef you'll look at yourself honest, an' argue with yourself honest, you'll find them things is sure a shadder of the past which happened somew'eres before you tasted that first dose o' prairie poison which has since become a kind o' habit. it ain't no use in getting riled, bob, it ain't no use in workin' overtime on that college dictionary o' yours to set me crawlin' around among the spit boxes. fac's is fac's. ken you hand me a list o' the things you--you who ain't got two spare cents to push into the mission box, an' who'd willingly sleep in a hog pen if it weren't for a dandy wife who'd got no more sense than to marry you--wouldn't do if i was to hand you out a roll of ten thousand dollars right now--cash? tcha! you think. i know." he turned away in a wave of contemptuous disgust. and as he did so a harsh voice from the other end of the bar held him up. "what about me, ju?" the tough-looking prairie man made his demand with a laugh only a shade less harsh than his speaking voice. ju stood. his desperate, keen face was coldly still as he regarded the powerful frame of his challenger. then his retort came swift and poignant. "you, sikkem? you'd allus _give_ yourself away. get me?" the frigidity of the saloon-keeper's manner was over-powering. the man called sikkem was unequal in words to such a challenge. a flush slowly dyed his lean cheeks, and an angry depression of the brows suggested something passionate and forceful. just for a moment many eyes glanced in his direction. the saloon-keeper was steadily regarding him. there was no suggestion of anger in his attitude, merely cat-like watchfulness. their eyes met. then the cloud abruptly lifted from sikkem's brow, and he laughed with unsmiling, black eyes. the saloon-keeper rinsed a glass and unconcernedly began to wipe it. the incident was allowed to pass. but it was the termination of the discussion, a termination which left ju victor, not because of the rightness of his views, but because there was no man in orrville capable of joining issue with him in debate with any hope of success. action rather than words was the prevailing feature with these people, and, in his way, ju penrose was equal, if not superior, not only in debate, but in the very method these people best understood. a moment later sikkem took his departure. * * * * * * it was well past midnight when the last man turned out of ju's bar. but the crowd had not yet scattered to their various homes. they were gathered in a small, excited cluster gaping up at a big notice pasted on the weather-boarding of the saloon-keeper's shack. ju himself was standing in their midst, right in front of the notice, which had been indited in ink, evidently executed with a piece of flat wood. he was holding up a lantern, and every eye was carefully, and in many instances laboriously, studying the text inscribed. it was a notice of reward. a reward of ten thousand dollars for information leading to the capture of the gang of cattle thieves known as the "lightfoot gang." and it was signed by dug mcfarlane on behalf of the orrville rancher's vigilance committee. "guess ju knowed after all," somebody observed, in a confidential tone to his neighbor. but ju's ears were as long and sharp as his tongue. he flashed round on the instant, his lantern lowered from the level of the notice board. there was a sort of cold triumph in his manner as his eyes fell upon the speaker. "know'd?" he cried sharply. "ain't 'knowin'' my business? psha!" his contempt was withering. then his manner changed back to the triumph which the notice had inspired. "say, it's a great piece of money. it surely is some bunch. ten thousand dollars! gee! his game's up. lightfoot's as good as kickin' his heels agin the breezes. he's played his hand, an'--lost." and somehow no one seemed inclined to add to his statement. nor, which was much more remarkable, contradict it. now that these men had seen the notice with their own eyes the force of all ju had so recently contended came home to them. there was not one amongst that little gathering who did not realize the extent of the odds militating against the rustlers. ten thousand dollars! there was not a man present who did not feel the tremendous power of such a reward. the gathering melted away slowly, and finally bob whitstone was left alone before the gleaming sheet of paper, with ju standing in his doorway. the lantern was at his feet upon the sill. his hands were thrust in the tops of his shabby trousers. he was regarding the "gentleman" rancher meditatively, and his half burnt cigar glowed under the deep intake of his powerful lungs. "it's a dandy bunch, bob, eh?" he demanded presently, in an ironical tone. "guess i'd come nigh sellin' my own father fer--ten thousand dollars. an' i don't calc'late i'd get nightmare neither." then he drew a deep breath which suggested regret. "but--it ain't comin' my way. no. not by a sight." then, after a watchful pause, he continued: "i'm kind o' figgerin' whose way. not mine, or--yours. eh, bob? we could do with it. pity, ain't it?" bob turned. his eyes sought the face in the shadow of the doorway. "i'm no descendant of judas," he said coldly. "no. but--judas didn't sell a gang of murdering cattle rustlers. that ain't judas money." "maybe. but it's blood money all the same." "mighty bad blood that oughter be spilt." bob turned away. his gaze wandered out westward. then his eyes came slowly back to the man in the door-way. "you thought i was talking hot air just now--about a man's price. you didn't like it. well, when i find myself with a price i hope i shan't live to be paid it. that's all." the man in the doorway shook his head. then he spoke slowly, deliberately. and somehow much of the sharpness had gone out of his tone, and the hard glitter of his steely eyes had somehow become less pronounced. "oh, i guess i got your meanin' right, fer all yer thousand dollar langwidge. sure, i took you right away. but--it don't signify a cuss anyways. guess you was born a gentleman, bob, which i wa'an't. an' because you was born an' raised that-a-way you'd surely like to kep right hold o' the notion that folks ken still act as though they'd been weaned on talk of honor an' sichlike. i sez kep a holt on that notion. grip it tight, an' don't never let go on it. grab it same as you would the feller that's yearnin' fer your scalp. if you lose your grip that tow-colored scalp of yours'll be raised sure, an' every penicious breeze that blows 'll get into your think depot and hand you every sort of mental disease ther' ain't physic enough in the world to cure. guess that's plumb right. it don't cut no ice what i think. a feller like me jest thinks the way life happens to boost him. y'see, i ain't had no thousand dollar eddication to make me see things any other ways. life's a mighty tough proposition an' it can't be run on no schedule, an' each feller's got to travel the way he sees with his own two eyes. if he's got the spectacles of a thousand dollar eddication he's an a'mighty lucky feller, an' i'm guessin' they'll help him dodge a whole heap o' muck holes he'd otherwise bury his silly head in. so hang on, boy. grip them darn fool notions so they ain't got a chance. if you let go--wal, you'll get a full-sized peek into a pretty fancy sort o' hell wher' ther' ain't any sort o' chance o' dopin' your visions out o' sight with ju penrose's belly wash. so long." ju picked up his lantern and turned back into his bar, closing and securing his door behind him. then, with keen anticipation and enjoyment, he approached his till and proceeded to count his day's takings. * * * * * * bob whitstone unhitched his horse from ju's tying post. he swung himself into the saddle and rode away,--away toward his outland home under the starlit roof of the plains. it was an almost nightly journey with him now, for the saloon habit had caught him in its toils, and was already holding him firmly. his mood was not easy. he resented ju penrose. he resented all men of his type. he knew him for a crook. he believed he possessed no more conscience than any other habitual criminal. but his resentment was the weak echo of an upbringing which had never intended him for such association, and, in spite of it, the man's personality held him, and its strength dominated him. his way took him out across an almost trackless waste of rich grass-land. somewhere out there, hidden away at the foot of the cathills, lay his homestead, and the wife for whom he had abandoned all that his birth had entitled him to. during the past two years he had learned truly all that he had sacrificed for the greatest of all dreams of youth. but these things, for the moment, were not in his mind. only penrose. ju penrose, whom he had learned to detest and despise out of the educated mind that was his. the man's final homily was entirely lost upon bob. such was his temper that only the gross outrages against the precepts of his youth remained. he only heard the hateful, detestable cynicism, brutally expressed. it was something curious how he only took note of these things, and missed the rough solicitude of ju's final admonishment. but he was young and weak, and a shadow of bitterness had entered his life, which, at his age, should have found no place in it. the miles swept away under his horse's hoofs. already the township, that sparse little oasis of shelter in a desert of grass-land, lay lost behind him in the depths of some hidden trough in the waves of the prairie ocean, the great yellow disc of the moon had cut the horizon and lit his tracks, but its light was still unrevealing and only added charm to the blaze of summer jewels which adorned the soft velvet of the heavens. he glanced back. but almost instantly his eyes were turned again ahead. the night scene of these plains was too familiar to him to excite interest. to him there were simply miles intervening between him and the slumbers he was seeking. the prairie, for all its beauties, spelt toilful days and bitter disappointment for him. wherein then should be discovered its charms? again his mind settled itself upon the events of the evening. price? price? every man, he had been told, had his price. every man and woman. he uttered a sound. it might have been a laugh, but it lacked mirth. it startled his alert horse. it almost seemed to startle the quiet night itself. what was his price? all he knew about price was its payment. he had only been called upon to pay. and he had paid! my god, he had paid! all that had been his. all the wealth, the comfort, the luxury and prospects which had been his in his wealthy father's home, had been the price he had paid for the right, which was the right of every man, to choose for himself, and to take to himself and to wife, the woman who seemed to him to be the one creature in the world who could yield him the happiness which alone was worth while. this talk of a man's price only enraged him the more. he viciously detested ju penrose, and all such creatures who walked the world. well, the reward was out. time would show. if it failed to find the judas he would remind ju. oh, yes, he would remind him. he would wait his time for the reminder. he would wait till the saloon was full, and then--then he would open out his batteries. men were of---- what was that? he had pulled his horse up with a swift tightening of his hand. now the beast stood with head erect, and pricked ears firmly thrust forward. its head was turned southward, and the gush of its distended nostrils warned its rider that his question was shared by a creature whose instincts were even more acute, here, on the prairie, than those of its human master. bob bent down in the saddle the better to obtain the silhouette of the sky-line. the sound which had held him came up on the southern night breeze. it was a low murmur, or rumble, and, to his accustomed ears, it suggested the speeding of hoofs over the green clad earth. he waited for many moments, but the sound only increased. there was no doubt left in his mind now. none at all. he sat up again and glanced swiftly about him. the moonlight had increased, and a silver sheen threw up the surrounding scene into indistinct relief. beyond, to his right, he detected a small patch of scrub and spruce, and, without a second thought, he made for it. a minute later he was out of the saddle beside his horse, screened from view of the plains by a belt of bush. he secured his horse and moved to the fringe of his shelter. here he took up a position facing south, and his view of the plains beyond became uninterrupted. he knew what was coming. instinct warned him. perhaps even it was the wish fathering his belief. he felt it was a certainty that the rustlers were out pursuing their depredations with their customary unchallenged daring. who, he wondered, was the present victim, and what was the extent of the raid? he had not long to wait. the sound grew. it lost its distant continuity and became broken into the distinct hoof beats of large numbers. furthermore, by the sound of it, they would pass right across his front. he had been wise in seeking cover. had he remained---- but speculation gave way before the interest of movement. now the silhouette of the sky-line was dancing before his eyes. in the moonlight he could clearly make out the passing of a driven herd. it came on, losing itself in the shadows of a distant trough. again it appeared. more distinct now. he whistled under his breath. they were coming from the direction of dug mcfarlane's and it was a large herd. they were traveling northwest, which would cut into the hills away to the north of his homestead. they---- but they were almost abreast of him now, and he heard the voices of men urging and cursing. lower he dropped toward the earth the better to ascertain the numbers. but his estimate was uncertain. there were moments when the herd looked very large. there were moments when it looked less. he felt that a conservative estimate would be one hundred perhaps, and some eight or ten men driving them. they were gone as they had come, lumbering rapidly, and as they passed northward the southern breeze carried the sound away. it died out quickly, and for minutes longer than was needed he stood listening, listening. then, at last, he turned back to his horse. in the two years of his sojourn on the land it was the first time he had witnessed the operation of the lightfoot gang, and it left a deep impression upon his mind. a great resentment rose up in him. it was the natural temper of a man who is concerned, in however small a degree, in the cattle industry. and his anger urged him to a greater speed for home, and a greater sympathy for the man who was prepared to accept the judas money offered for the lives of this gang of criminals. chapter iii trailing the "black tail" the woman started. she threw up her head. her wide eyes, wonderful and dark, searched the deep aisles of the shaded pine woods about her. her hair hung loosely in a knot at the nape of her neck, and its intensely dark masses made an exquisite framing for the oval of the handsome face beneath the loose brim of wide prairie hat. the stillness of these wooded slopes of the cathills was profound. they possessed something of the solemnity belonging to the parent range of the rockies beyond. for they were almost primeval. the woman might have belonged to them, her dark beauty so harmonized with its surroundings. yet for all her coloring, for all the buckskin she wore for upper garment, there was nothing in her nature of the outlands which now claimed her. she was of the cities. she was bred and nurtured in the civilized places. the life about her was another life. it was crude and foreign to her. it claimed her by force of circumstance against every instinct and emotion. her searching ceased, and her eyes fixed their steady regard upon a gray-brown object moving amongst the myriad of black stanchions which supported the tousled roof of melancholy green foliage above her. with an almost imperceptible movement one buckskin clad arm reached slowly out toward the small sporting rifle which leaned against an adjacent tree-trunk. her whole poise was tense and steady. there was in her attitude that hard decision which one associates only with the experienced hunter. there was almost too much decision in a woman so obviously young. the weapon was drawn toward her. for one brief moment it was laid across her lap upon the paper-covered book she had been reading. then its butt found its way to a resting place against her soft shoulder. not for an instant had her gaze been diverted from the moving object. now, however, her head inclined forward, and her warm cheek was laid against the cool butt. the sights of the weapon were brought up into line. the pressure of her forefinger was increased upon the trigger. there was a sharp report followed by a swift rush of scampering hoofs amongst the brittle pine cones and needles which carpeted the twilit woods. then, in a flash, all the tense poise gave way to considered but rapid activity. the woman sprang to her feet. she was tall and straight as a willow. her rough canvas skirt was divided. her buckskin shirt was fringed and beaded. she made a picture of active purpose that belied her femininity. in a moment she was in the saddle of the pony which had been dozing a few yards away. her rifle was slung upon one shoulder, and her paper-covered book was thrust within the fastenings of her shirt. she was hot in pursuit of the small black-tailed deer which her shot had wounded. effie bent low in the saddle which she rode astride. her well-accustomed pony twisted and turned, threading its way almost miraculously through the labyrinth of bald tree-trunks. these pot-hunts, which were of such frequent occurrence, were the recreation which alone made life tolerable to its mistress. the woman saw only her quarry. for the rest she left the road to her pony. with slack reins she leaned forward, carrying her featherweight over the horn of the saddle. the woods meant nothing to her. the maze of tree-trunks as they sped by conveyed no threat of danger. she was concerned only with the obviously limping beast which was to provide venison for the pot for the next two weeks to come. her pony gained nothing upon the wounded deer. but it lost no distance either. the scene changed and changed again. the woods yielded to open grass, and again they merged into scattered scrub, through which it was difficult to track their quarry. up hill, down dale, over hummock, through hollow. once more through the dark aisles of aged pine woods. and always northward. time had no place in the woman's mind. excitement, hope, doubt. these occupied her to the full. and above all purpose reigned. twice she drew up to within shot. but she refrained. she was herself as breathless as her quarry, and the shot would probably have been wasted. besides, those pauses of the poor hunted beast carried their own significance to her practised mind. its limping was sore, and now its stumblings were becoming more and more frequent. they had passed an open stretch, a mere cup surrounded by sharp-rising, pine-clad hills. they entered woods on the northernmost slope, and began a climb so severe that pursuer and pursued were brought to a sheer scramble. the toil was terrific, but effie's pony, bred of the tough prairie fibre, clawed up with indomitable courage and endurance. the deer kept its lead by desperate, agonizing effort, and the woman knew that the summit would have exhausted its resources. on they went, on and up, the pace of both ever slackening. one hundred yards only separated them now, and, with almost every stride, the distance was lessening. the summit was in sight. the pony was blowing hard. effie urged him, and the vicious mexican spurs found his flanks. there was no thought of sparing in the girl's mind. if the broncho failed her, then she must finish the chase on foot. another fifty yards or so and the deer would have reached the summit. could she permit it? dared she risk what lay beyond? if the open pine woods continued she might, but--what lay beyond? without further speculation she suddenly flung out of the saddle. her decision was taken. she dared not risk that summit with her pony now rapidly failing. she must chance her own unsteadiness. the pursuit had been hard and breathless. well, she must trust to her nerve. she left her steaming pony and dropped on one knee. with all her mind and will concentrated she drew a deep breath as the rifle was raised to her shoulder. with a stern deliberation she leveled her sights and fired. the spent deer stood, and shook, and then gazed round. there was something dreadful in the appeal of its wistful attitude. for one second the woman closed her eyes. then they opened, and their beauty was full of resolve. again the rifle was at her shoulder. again the sights were leveled. again the weapon spat out its vicious pellet. this time the weapon was lowered for good, and the movement was inspired by the sight of the deer. it quietly dropped upon its knees and rolled over on its side. ten minutes later the body of the deer was securely lashed to the back of the saddle. there was no regret in the heart of the woman as her practised fingers secured the warm body. it was game. fair game, brought down in open chase, and it would provide welcome change in the monotonous diet of her home. besides, the spirit of the hunter gripped her soul. it was the only thing which made life endurable in these drab outlands. at the summit of the hill she breathed a sigh of relief. her judgment and decision were amply proved. nor in any uncertain fashion. the woods ceased in a clean cut, such as is so frequently the case where the pine world reigns. and rearing blankly before her gaze stood a dense barrier of low and heavy green bush. it needed small enough imagination to realize the security which lay in its depths for so small a creature as a wounded deer. for some thoughtful moments effie gazed upon the barrier. then she turned and surveyed her dejected pony. again her decision was taken without hesitation. she stooped and set a pair of hobbles about the tired creature's pasterns, and, leaving him to his own devices, set off to ascertain her whereabouts. * * * * * * but her movements were not without feminine curiosity, added to which was the businesslike desire to familiarize herself with every foot of the country within reach of her home. this was a break into new territory. time was small enough object to her, and, besides, her pony needed time to recuperate from its leg weariness. it required less than ten minutes, however, to banish every other thought from her mind and absorb it in amazement at her discovery. a brief battle with a dense and obstinate scrub found her standing in the centre of a wide sort of bridle path, scored with a dozen or so cattle tracks crowded with the spurs of driven cattle. she stood gazing down at the signs everywhere about her in the loose sand, dumbfounded at the sight. she knew there was no homestead or ranch within miles of this region. was she not bitterly aware that her own home marked the fringe of the cattle world in this direction? slowly there grew in the depths of her heart a feeling of apprehension. the stillness, the remoteness, the tremendous solitude, and yet--those tracks. she stood intent and listening. her ears were straining for a sound. but only there came to her the whispering breezes rustling the mournful foliage of the pine woods behind her. her eyes were raised to the walls of scrub lining the roadway. they searched vainly for a sign. there was none. simply the riot of nature about her, and, at her feet, those tracks. she moved. then swiftly she passed across to the western side of the roadway where the westering sun threw ample shadow. all unconsciously it seemed her movements became almost furtive, furtive and rapid. she passed down the bush-lined way, hugging the grassy edges to avoid leaving trace of her footsteps in the sand. understanding was with her, and that understanding warned her of the jeopardy in which she stood should her presence be advertised. thought, speculation and imagination were a-riot in her now. she was proceeding in the direction the broad cloven hoof marks indicated. what--lay beyond? many minutes passed. breathless minutes of pulsing excitement for the woman who knew only monotony and the drudgery of an outland life. no womanish fears could deter her. she believed and hoped she was on the eve of a great discovery, and such was her reckless desire that nothing could deter her. the aspect of the scrub changed. it became dotted with taller trees. the paler foliage of spruce reared itself, and, here and there, isolated clumps of towering pines threw shadows across her path. then gaps broke up the continuity, but, even so, the view beyond to her left was cut off by remoter growths. once or twice she hazarded her way into them in her search for information, but always she returned to the broad track of the footprints of driven cattle. the pathway rose at a steep incline. it bent away to the right, and, in the distance, it seemed that it must converge upon the sharp cut edge of the great pine woods she had so recently left. with this conclusion came another. the track must terminate abruptly or it must pass back into the great pine bluff. the end, however, was neither of these things. and it was far nearer than she had suspected. the path twisted back into the huge reverse of an s, and finished abruptly at the sharp edge of a wide deep valley. it came upon her almost with a shock. the tracks had abruptly swung westward. she rounded the bend, and, in a moment, found herself gazing out over a wide valley from a dizzy height. her first feeling was that the drop was sheer, precipitate. then realization superseded, and she flung herself full length upon the ground and pressed her way into the shelter of an adjacent bush. the path had not ended. it passed over the brink and continued its way zigzagging down the terrific slope to the valley below. it was this, and the sight of a distant spiral of smoke rising from below, which had flung her into the shelter of the friendly bush. her risk had only been momentary, but even in that moment she had been silhouetted in full view of any chance gaze below. she drew herself toward the edge of the drop. just where she had flung herself it was clean and sheer, and the bush overhung. thus she was left with a full view of the depths below. her dark eyes dwelt upon the zigzagging path. she followed its downward course to the green plain. she tracked it across to the far side of the valley. then she drew a sharp breath, and her eyes widened. the telltale smoke rose from the heart of a woodland bluff, and near by a large herd of cattle was grazing, watched over by three mounted men whose horses were moving slowly over the bright green carpet of grass. she lay quite still, regardless of all but those moving figures, and the dark green bluff. she was watching and waiting for she knew not what. her heart was thumping in her bosom, and her breath came rapidly. there was no question in her mind. in a moment her whole life seemed to have changed. the day had dawned to a contemplation of the monotonous round of drudging routine, only to close with a thrill such as she had never dreamed could be hers. the moments passed; rapid, poignant moments. the sun dipped lower toward the alabaster crests of distant mountain peaks. the peace of the scene suggested nothing of the turbulent thought a-riot behind her wide, dark eyes. what must be done? what could she do--a woman? she felt helpless--so helpless. and yet---- she raised herself upon her elbow and propped her soft cheek upon the palm of her hand. she must think--think. the chance of it all. it was so strange. there lay the secret revealed--the secret which every rancher in the district for years had sought to discover. there was the camp of the lightfoot gang. she had discovered it, had discovered its approach. everything--she, a woman. what could she do with the secret? how could she---- she thought of her husband. but somehow her enthusiasm lessened with the thought. but she needed him. yes. there was no room for any doubt on that score. he must be roused, and convinced. he most be made to see the importance and significance of her discovery, and they must turn it to---- the crack of a rifle startled her. almost on the instant the whistling, tearing of a bullet sounded in the bush to the left of her. her glance was terrified as it turned in the direction. then, in a moment, she was crouching lower as she searched the valley away over by the bluff. in an instant her nerves strung tight. a group of men were standing just within its shadow, and the three horsemen, who had been riding round the cattle, were racing directly toward the foot of the pathway leading out of the valley. she must have been seen when she had stood at the opening. and now---- but there was not a second to lose. she sprang to a crouching position under the bush. another shot rang viciously upon the still air. the bullet tore its way through the bush. this time it was still wider of her hiding place. but already she had begun her retreat--swiftly, and crouching low. she reached the shelter of the barrier just as another bullet whistled overhead. then she set off at a run. and as she ran she calculated the chances. she had a big start, and the horsemen had to face the zigzag climb. if she made no mistakes there was little chance of their discovering her. they could never make that climb before she reached her pony. she increased her pace. her nerves were steadying. strangely her control was wonderful. there was no real fear in her--only tension. now as she ran down the open way her eyes were alert for every landmark, and her woodcraft was sufficiently practised to stand her in good stead. she recognized each feature in the path until she came to the point where she had first entered it in a moment she was battling her way through the thick bush, and the tension she was laboring under took her through it in a fraction of the time her first traversing had been made. her pony was standing within ten yards of the spot at which she had left him. she breathed a great relief. in a moment she had unbuckled the hobbles on his forelegs. then, with the habit of her life on the plains, she tightened the cinchas of the saddle. then she replaced the bit in its mouth. as she swung herself into the saddle the distant plod of hoofs pounding the cattle tracks reached her. for one instant she sat in doubt. then, with a half-thought fear lest her hard pursuit of the wounded deer had left her tough broncho spent, she swung him about and vanished like a ghost into the gloomy depths of the woods. chapter iv the weaker vessel the homestead rested upon the southern slope of a wood-crowned hill, which was merely one of a swarm of hills of lesser or greater magnitude. westward, away in the distance, the silver sheen of the main mountain range still continued to reflect the rainbow tints of a radiant sunset. it was a homestead to associate with hands less than 'prentice. there was neither imagination nor very definite purpose in its planning. it rather gave the impression of the driving of sheer necessity than the enthusiasm of effort toward the achievement of a heartily conceived purpose. furthermore, it bore evident signs of a desire to escape as far as possible the burdens of the life it represented. the squalid two-roomed house was sunk into the backing to the sloping hill. its front and sides were of green logs and a mud plaster. its roof was of a primitive thatch, held secure from winter storms by sapling logs lashed fast across it. the central doorway was filled by a rough-boarded door, and the apertures left for added light were covered with thin cotton material. they were left wide open in summer, and in winter only served to shut out the worst of the driven snows and most of the daylight. the adjacent barn was of far greater extent, but of considerably less degree. still, it was sufficiently weather-proof, which was all that could be reasonably hoped for by the toughened creatures, who found shelter beneath its crazy roof. higher up the slope stood a couple of corrals of sorts. their position was at the southern extremity of the woodland crown, their placing probably inspired by the adjacency of the material required for their construction. below the house stretched a sloping patch of growing wheat, perhaps about thirty acres in extent. this was the real business of the homestead, and, in spite of the crazy fencing of barbed wire about it, it looked to be richly flourishing. for all the general ineffectiveness of the place, however, it was not without significance. for it gave that human touch which at once breaks up the overpowering sensation which never fails to depress in the silent heart of nature's immensity. it spoke of courage, too. the reckless courage of early youth, plunging for the first time into independence. furthermore, it suggested something of the first great sacrifice which the hot tide of love, surging through youthful veins, is prepared to make for the object of its passionate regard. in any case it symbolized the irresistible progress of man's effort when pitted against the passive resistance of nature's most fiercely rugged frontiers. a wonderful harmonious peace reigned over the scene which was bathed in the light of a drooping sun. it was the chastened pastoral peace, than which there is no more perfect in the world. cattle were grazing their way homeward; the cows bearing their burden of laden udders to yield it for the benefit and prosperity of the community; the steers lingering at the banks of the murmuring mountain stream, or standing knee-deep in its waters, their sleek sides sheathed in rolls of fat, only waiting to yield up their humble lives as their contribution to the insatiable demands of the dominant race. two or three horses stood adjacent to the doorway of the humble barn, patiently flickering their long, unkempt tails in a vain effort to ward off the attacks of swarming flies. a few chickens moved about drowsily, just outside the hutch which had been contrived for their nightly shelter. while stretched upon the dusty earth, side by side, lay two great rough-coated dogs slumbering their hours of watch and ward away in the shade, with the indifference of creatures whose vain hopes of battle have been all too long deferred. all of a sudden there came a partial awakening. out of the west, down the slope of a neighboring hill came a figure on horseback. it was moving at a rapid gallop. the horses at the barn turned about and raised their heads watchfully. they whinnied at the approach. the two dogs were on their feet startled into alertness, vain hope rising once more in their fierce hearts. the hens cackled fussily at the prospect of their deferred evening meal. the last of the cattle ambled heavily from the water's edge. it was rather like the obscure movement of a mainspring, setting into motion even the remotest wheel of a mechanism. effie galloped up to the house. nothing of the gentle waking her coming had inspired attracted her observation. her handsome eyes were preoccupied, and their gaze wandered back over the way she had come, searching the distance with the minutest care. finally she dismounted and off-saddled, turning her pony loose to follow the promptings of its own particular requirements. then she set about releasing the carcase of the deer upon her saddle, and bore it away to a lean-to shed at the side of the house. emerging therefrom she picked up her saddle and bridle and took them into the house. then she took up her stand within the doorway and, once more, narrowly searched the surrounding hills with eyes as eager and doubtful as they were beautiful. the calm of evening had settled once more upon the place. the peace of it all was superlative. it was peace to which effie was something more than averse. she dreaded it. for all her two years of life in the meagre home her husband had provided her with, it required all her courage and fortitude to endure it. the hills haunted and oppressed her, and her only hope lay in the active prosecution of her work. she breathed a profound sigh. there was relief in the expression of her face. the drooping corners of her mouth and the tight compression of her well-formed lips told their own story of her emotions. she had passed through an anxious time, and only now was she beginning to feel reassured. yes. all was well, she believed. she had lost her pursuers, thanks to the staunchness of her pony, and her knowledge of the country about her. with another sigh, but this time one of weariness, she left her doorway and moved over to the barn. there was still the dreary round of "chores" to which her life seemed dedicated. * * * * * * a solitary horseman sat gazing out through a leafy barrier across the narrow valley of the little mountain stream. his eyes were fixed upon the dejected homestead on the slope of the hill beyond. he was be-chapped, and carried the usual complement of weapons at his waist. his horse was an unusually fine creature, and well up to the burden it was called upon to bear. nor was that burden a light one, for the man was both massive and muscular. the watchful eyes were deep set in a mahogany-hued setting. it was a hard face, brutal, and the eyes were narrow and cruel. for a long time he sat there regarding the homestead. he beheld the graceful form of the woman as she moved swiftly about her work. judging from his expression, which was by no means pleasant, two emotions were struggling for dominance. for some time doubt held chief place, but slowly it yielded to some more animal emotion. furthermore temptation was urging him, and more than once he lifted his reins, which became a sign of yielding. but all these emotions finally passed. it was evident that some even stronger force was really governing him. for, with a sharp ejaculation that conveyed every feeling suggested by disappointment, he swung his horse about and galloped off in a southeasterly direction--toward orrville. * * * * * * it was past midnight. effie, flushed with an unusual excitement, was gazing up into her husband's face. she was listening almost breathlessly to the story he was telling her. the little living-room, more than half kitchen, was bathed in the yellow light of a small tin kerosene lamp. for the time at least her surroundings, the poverty and drudgery of her life, were forgotten in the absorbing feelings consuming her. "i tell you, effie, i was scared--plumb scared when i saw what it was," bob whitstone ended up. "guess we've known long enough the whole blamed countryside is haunted by cattle rustlers, but--that's the first time i've seen 'em, and i guess it's the first time any one's seen 'em at work. say, i'm not yearning for the experience again." but effie had no interest beyond his story. his feelings on the matter of his experience were of no concern whatever at the moment. there were other things in her mind, things of far greater import. she returned to the rocker chair, which was the luxury of their home, and sat down. there was one thing only in bob's story which mattered to her just now. "ten thousand dollars," she murmured. "_ten thousand_! it's a--fortune." bob moved across to a rough shelf nailed upon the wall and picked up a pipe. "a bit limited," he observed contemptuously, as poured some tobacco dust into the bowl. "i was thinking of--ourselves." the man ceased his operation to gaze swiftly down upon the gently swaying figure in the chair. "what d'you mean, effie?" he demanded sharply. the girl's steady eyes were slowly raised in answer to the challenging tone. they met her husband's without a shadow of hesitation. "it sounds like a fortune to me, who have not handled a dollar that i could spend without careful thought--for two years," she declared with warmth. bob completed the filling of his pipe. he did not answer for a few moments, but occupied himself by lighting it with a reeking sulphur match. "that's a pretty hard remark," he said at last, emitting heavy clouds of smoke between his words. "is it? but--it's just plain facts." "i s'pose it is." the girl had permitted her gaze to wander. it passed from her husband's face to the deplorable surroundings which she had almost grown accustomed to, but which now stood out in her mind with an added sense of hopelessness. the lime-wash over the cracked and broken plaster which filled the gaps between the logs of the walls. the miserable furnishing, much of it of purely home manufacture, thrown up into hideous relief by the few tasteful knickknacks which had been wedding presents from her intimate friends and relatives in the east. the earthen floor, beaten hard and kept scrupulously swept by her own hands. the cook-stove in the corner, with its ill-set stovepipe passing out of a hole in the wall which had been crudely covered with tin to keep out the draughts in winter. the drooping ceiling of cotton material, which sagged in great billows under the thatch of the roof. it was all deplorable to a woman who had known the comfort of an almost luxurious girlhood. into her eyes crept a curious light. it was half resentful, half triumphant. it was wholly absorbed. "suppose? there's no supposition," she cried bitterly. "i have had the experience of it all, the grind. maybe you don't know what it is to a woman, a girl, to find herself cut off suddenly from all the little luxuries she has always been used to. i don't mean extravagances. just the trifling refinements which count for so much in a young woman's life. the position is possible, so long as the hope remains of their return later, perhaps fourfold. but when that hope no longer exists--i guess there's nothing much else that's worth while." the man continued to smoke on for some silent moments. then, as the girl, too, remained silent, he glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes. "you gave up a good deal for me--for this," he said in gentle protest. "but you did it with your eyes open--i mean, to the true facts of my position. say, effie, i didn't hold you up for this thing. i laid every card on the table. my father threatened us both, to our faces, if we persisted in marrying. well, i guess we persisted, and he--why, he just handed us what he promised--the dollars that bought us this--farm. that was all. it was the last cent he figured to pass our way. you know all that, and you never squealed--then. you knew what was in store. i mean--this." he flung out one arm in a comprehensive gesture. "you guessed you'd grit enough to face it--with me. we hoped to win out." then he smiled. "say, i guess i haven't given up a thing--for you, eh? i haven't quit the home of millionaire father where my year's pocket money was more than the income of seventy per cent. of other folks! i, too, did it for this--and you. won't you stick it for me?" the man's appeal was spoken in low earnest tones his eyes were gentle. but the girl kept hers studiously turned from his direction, and it was impossible for him to read that which lay behind them. again some silent moments passed. the girl was gently rocking herself. at last, however, she drew in her feet in a nervous, purposeful movement, and sat forward. "bob," she exclaimed, and now there were earnestness and kindness in the eyes that gazed up at the man, "it's no use for us to talk this way," she cried. "i began it, and i ought to be sorry--real sorry. but i'm not. i wouldn't have acted that way under ordinary circumstances. but it's different now, and it was your own talk made me. you sneered at that ten thousand dollars, which seems to be a fortune to me. ten thousand dollars!" she breathed. "and we haven't ten dollars between us in this--house. bob, it makes me mad when i think of it. you don't care. you don't worry. all yon care for is to get away from it all--from me--and spend your time among the boys in orrville. you've been away ever since dinner to-day, and now it's past midnight. why? why, when there's a hundred and one things to do around this wretched shanty? no--you undertake this thing, and then--spend every moment you can steal--yes, that's the word--steal, hanging around ju penrose's saloon. i'm left to fix things right here--to do the work which you have undertaken. then you sneer when i see a fortune in that ten thousand dollars reward." the girl's swift heat was not without effect. she had not intended to accuse in so straight a fashion. it was the result of long pent-up bitterness, which never needs more than a careless word to hurl into active expression. bob's mild expression of contempt looked to be about to cost him dear. a moody look not untouched with some sort of fear had crept into the man's eyes. now he tried to smooth the threat of storm he saw looming. furthermore, an uncomfortable feeling of his own guilt was possessing him. "but what if it can be called a fortune, effie?" he demanded swiftly. "it don't concern us. i don't guess it's liable to come our way." "why not?" the girl's challenge came short and sharp, and her beautiful eyes were turned upon him full of cold regard. the man was startled. he was even shocked. "how?" he demanded. "i don't get you." the girl sprang from her chair in a movement of sup-pressed excitement. she came toward him, her eyes shining. a glorious ruddy tint shone through the tanning of her fair cheeks. she was good to look at, and bob felt the influence of her beauty at that moment just as he had felt it when, for her, he had first flung every worldly consideration to the four winds. "will you listen, bob? will you listen to me while i tell you all that's been churning around in my head ever since you told me of that reward? you must. you shall. i have lived through a sort of purgatory in these hills for too long not to make my voice heard now--now when there's a chance of making our lives more tolerable. oh, i've had a day while you've been away. it's been a day such as in my craziest moments i've never even dreamed of. bob, i've discovered what they've all been trying to discover for years. i've found lightfoot's camp!" "and then?" the girl's enthusiasm left her husband caught in a wave of apprehension. he saw with a growing sense of horror the meaning of that sudden revolt. this was displayed in his manner. nor was effie unobservant of it. nor unresentful. she shrugged her perfect shoulders with assumed unconcern. "that reward--those ten thousand dollars are mine--ours--if i choose. and--i do choose." there was no mistaking the firmness, the decision in her final words. they came deliberate and hard, and they roused the man to prompt and sharp denial. "you--do--not." he was no longer propped against the table. he was no longer gentle. he stood erect and angry, and their regard was eye to eye. but even so there was no disputing the woman's dominance of personality. the man's eyes, for all their anger, conveyed not a tithe of the other's decision. his whole attitude was subjective to the poise of the woman's beautiful head, her erect, sculptured shoulders. her measuring eyes were full of a fine revolt. there was nothing comparable between them--except their anger. "who can stop me? you?" the scornful challenge rang sharply through the little room. then a silence fraught with intense moment followed upon its heels. the man nodded. his movement was followed by effie's mocking laugh. perhaps bob realized the uselessness, the danger of retaining such an attitude. perhaps his peculiar nature was unequal to the continuous effort the position called for. in a moment he seemed to shrink before those straight gazing eyes, and the light of purpose behind them. when he finally spoke a curious, almost pleading tone blended with the genuine horror in his words. "no, no, effie, you can't--you daren't!" he cried passionately. "do you know what you're doing? do you know what that reward means to you--to us? look at your hands. they're clean, and soft, and white. say, girl, that's blood money, blood money that'll surely stain them with a crimson you'll never wash off 'em all your life. it's blood money. man's blood. human blood. just the same as runs through our veins. oh, say, girl, i've no sort of use for rustlers. they're crooks, and maybe murderers. guess they're everything you can think of, and a sight more. but they're men, and their blood's hot, warm blood the same as yours and mine. and you reckon to chaffer that blood for a price. you're going to sell it--for a price. you're going to do more. yes. you're going to wreck a woman's conscience for life for those filthy, blood-soaked dollars. the price? effie, things are mighty hard with us. maybe they're harder with you than me. but i just can't believe we've dropped so low we can sell the life blood of even a--murderer. i can't believe it. i just can't. that's all. tell 'em, effie. tell 'em all you know and have discovered if you will. tell 'em in the cause of justice. but barter your soul and conscience for filthy blood money--i--bah! it makes me turn sick to think that way." but effie was in no mood to listen to the dictates of squeamish principles from a man who lacked the spirit and power--the will to raise her out of the mire of penury into which he had helped to plunge her. the hours of dreary, hopeless labor; the weeks and months of dismal and grinding poverty had sunk deeply into her soul. no price was too high to pay to escape these things. in a moment her reply was pouring forth in a passionate torrent. "blood money?" she cried. "bob, you're crazier than i'd have thought. where's the difference? i mean between handin' these folks over to justice for justice sake, and taking the reward the folks who're most to benefit by it are ready to hand out to me? say, you can't talk that way, bob. you can't just do it. aren't the folks who carry out the justice in the land paid for it--from the biggest judge to the fellow who handles the levers of the electric chair? doesn't the country hand out thousands of dollars every year for the punishment of offenders, whether it's for the shedding of their life blood, or merely their heart's blood in the cruel horrors of a penitentiary? do you think i'm going to hand out my secret to a bunch of cattlemen for their benefit and profit, and reap no comfort from it for myself in the miserable life i'm condemned to endure? your scruples are just crazy. they're worse. they're selfish. you'd rather see me drudging all the best moments of my life away, so you can lounge around ju penrose's saloon spending dollars you've no right to, than risk your peace of mind on an honest--yes, _honest_--transaction that's going to give me a little of the comfort that you haven't the grit to help me to yourself." the girl was carried away with the force of her own purpose and craving. every word she said was meant from the bottom of her soul. there was not a shadow of yielding. she had no illusions. for two years her heart had been hardening to its present condition, and she would not give up one tittle of the chance that now opened out before her hungry eyes. bob was clay in her hands. he was clay in any hands sufficiently dominating. he knew from the moment he had delivered his appeal, and he had heard only the tones of her reply, that it was he who must yield or complete irrevocably the barrier which had been steadily growing up between them. just for a moment the weakly, obstinate thought had occurred of flinging everything to the winds and of denying her once more with all the force at his command. but the moment passed. it fled before the charm of her presence, and the memory of the loved which he was incapable of shutting out of his heart. he knew he was right, and she was utterly wrong. but he knew, equally well, from her words and attitude, that it was he who must give way, or---- he shook his head with a negative movement which effie was quick enough to realize meant yielding. she wanted him to yield. it would simplify all her purpose. she desired that he should participate in the transaction. "you'll regret it, effie," he said, in his usual easy tones. "you'll regret it so you'll hate to think of this moment all the rest of your life. it's not you talking, my dear, it's just--the experience you've had to go through. can't you see? you've never been like this before. and it isn't you. say, i'd give my right hand it you'd quit the whole thing." but the girl's resolution was unwavering. "you--still refuse--to countenance it?" she demanded. again bob shook his head. but now he moved away and struck a match to relight his pipe. "no," he said. then he slowly puffed out great clouds of smoke. "no, my dear, if you're bent on it." then he moved to the cook-stove and supported one foot upon it. "say--you guess i'm selfish. you guess i haven't acted as i ought to help push our boat along. you reckon i've become a sort of saloon-loafing bum. guess you sort of think i'm just about the limit. well, maybe i'm nothing to shriek about. however, i've told you all i feel. i've told you what you're going to feel--later. meanwhile it's up to me to help you all i know. tell me the whole thing, and i'll do the business for you. i'll see dug mcfarlane for you, and fix things. but it's on one condition." "what is it?" something of the coldness had passed from the girl's eyes. she was smiling because she had achieved her purpose. "why--just this. that i don't touch one single dollar of the price you're to receive for those poor devils' blood. that's all." just for a moment a dull flush surged up under the tan of the girl's cheeks, and her eyes sparkled ominously. then she returned to her rocker with great deliberation. "you're crazy, bob," she said frigidly, but without any other display. "still--just sit around, and--i'll tell you it all." and while the man listened to the story of his wife's adventures his mind went back to the scene in ju penrose's saloon, and the denial he had flung so heatedly at that philosophic cynic. chapter v the hanging bee dug mcfarlane was a picturesque creature. he was big in height and girth. he was also big in mind. and, which was much more important to the people of the orrville ranching world, big in purse. he was grizzled and gray, and his eyes beamed out of a setting which was surely made for such beaming; a setting which possessed no sharp angles or disfiguring hollows, but only the healthy tissue of a well-nourished and wholesome-living man in middle life. as he sat his horse, beside his station foreman, gazing out at the broken line of foothills which marked the approach to the barrier of mountains cutting against the blue, he seemed to display in his bearing something of that dominating personality which few successful men are entirely without. all about them lay the heavy-railed corrals of a distant out-station. just behind stood the rough shanty, which was the bunkhouse for the cowhands employed in this region. the doctor was still within, tending the grievously injured man who had been so badly wounded in the previous night's raid by the rustlers. for the time dug's beaming eyes were shadowed with a concern that was half angry and wholly depressed. they searched the rolling grass-land until the distance was swallowed up by the barrier of hills. he was seeking one reassuring glimpse of the black, hornless herd whose pastures these were. but only disappointment met him on every side. the beautiful, sleek, aberdeen-angus herd, which was his joy and pride, had vanished. they had gone, he knew. they had gone the same way that, during the last five years, hundreds of head of his stock had gone. it was the last straw. "say, lew hank," he said, in a voice of something approaching an emotion he possessed no other means of displaying, "it's beat me bad. it's beat me so bad i don't seem able to think right. we'd a hundred head running on this station. as fine a bunch as ever were bred from the old country's strain. i just feel that mad i could set right in to break things." then, after a long pause during which the station foreman waited silent: "and only last night, while these guys was raising the mischief right here, i was setting around doping out big talk, and raising a mighty big wad for the round-up of the whole darnation gang. can you beat it? i'm sore. sore as hell. say, tell it me again. i don't seem to have it clear." he passed one great muscular hand across his moist forehead, and the gesture was rather one of helplessness. lew hank regarded him with measuring eyes. he knew him so well. in the ten years and more he had worked for him he had studied his every mood. this phase in the great cattleman's character was something new, something rather startling. dug's way was usually volcanic. it was hot and fierce for a while, generally to hollowed by a hearty laugh, rather like the passing of a summer storm. but this, in lew's opinion, was a display of weakness. a sign he neither liked nor respected. the truth was dug mcfarlane had been hit in a direction of which his subordinate had no understanding. that herd of aberdeen-angus cattle had been his plaything. his hobby. he had been devoted to it in a way that would have been absurd to any one but a cattleman. hank decided this unaccustomed weakness must be nipped in the bud. "say, boss, it ain't no use in squealin'," he grumbled, in the hard tones of a man who yields to no feelings of sympathy. his weather-stained face was set and ugly in its expression. "wher's the use in it anyway?" he demanded. "get a look around. there's miles of territory, an' all of it runs into them blamed hills. i got three boys with me. they're right boys, too. i don't guess there's a thing you or me could tell 'em 'bout their work. not a thing. day and night one of 'em's on grazin' guard. them beasties ain't never left to trail off into the hills. wal, i guess that's all we ken do--sure. say, you can't hold up a gang of ten an' more toughs with a single gun in the dead, o' night, 'specially with a hole in your guts same as young syme's had bored into his. i ain't ast once, nor twice, to hev them beasties run into the corrals o' nights, and fed hay, same as in winter. i've ast it fifty times. it's bin up to you, boss. so i say it's no use in squealin'." hank spat over his horse's shoulder, and his thin lips closed with a snap. he was a lean forceful prairieman who possessed, as he would himself have said, no parlor tricks. dug mcfarlane, for all his wealth, for all he had been elected president of the western union cattle breeders' association three years in succession, was no more to him than any other employer who paid wages for work loyally performed. dug regarded his foreman with close attention. he ignored the man's rough manner. but, nevertheless, it was not without effect. "and the other boys?" "was dead asleep in the bunkhouse--same as me. what 'ud you have? they ain't sheep dogs." dug took no umbrage. "and they're out on the trail--right now?" "sure. same as we should be, 'stead o' wastin' hot air around here. say, i guess you're feelin' sore. but i don't guess your feelin's is a circumstance to mine, boss. you ain't bin beat to your face by this lousy gang. i have. an' say, i'm yearnin'--jest gaspin'--to wipe out the score. i don't sort o' care a bit for your loss. that ain't my funeral. but they've beat me plumb out--same as if i was some sucker who ain't never roped an' branded a three-year-old steer since i was pupped. are you comin' along? they struck out northwest. we got that, an' the boys is follerin' hard on their trail. it'll be better'n squealin' around here." there could be no doubt about the man's feelings. they were displayed in every word he spoke. in every glance of his fierce eyes. dug approved him. his manners were nothing. lew was probably the most capable cattleman in his service. he was about to follow his foreman who had swung his horse about to set off northward, when he abruptly flung out an arm, pointing. "that one of your boys--coming in? maybe----" lew screwed up his eyes in the sunlight. his rep came in a moment. "maybe--nuthin'. that ain't one of my boys." then, after a brief, considering pause, in which he narrowly examined the distant horseman's outfit: "sort o' rec'nize him, too. likely he's that bum guy with the dandy wife way up on butte creek. whitstone, ain't it? feller with swell folks way down east, an' who guesses the on'y sort o' farmin' worth a cuss is done in ju penrose's saloon. that's him sure," he added, as the man drew nearer. then he went on musingly. "i guess he's got a lot to dope out. say, them guys must have passed near by his shanty." bob whitstone reined his pony up with a jerk. he was on a mission that inspired no other emotion than that of repulsion and self-loathing. and these things found reflection in his good-looking face. he glanced swiftly from one to the other as he confronted the burly rancher and his station foreman. the latter he did not know, nor was he interested in him. the man he had come to see was dug mcfarlane, who claimed from him, as he did from every man in the district, something in the nature of respect. "guess you'll remember me, sir," he began, in his easy, refined tones. "my name is whitstone--bob whitstone. you granted me certain grazing rights awhile back. it was some two years ago. maybe you'll remember. you did it to help me out. anyway, i came over to see you this morning because--i must. if you can spare half an hour i want to see you privately. it's--important. you've been robbed last night, and--it's about them. the gang, i mean." his pony was still blowing. bob had ridden hard. he had first ridden into orrville, and then followed the rancher out here. he was leaning over in the saddle lounging upon the horn of it. his eyes were gazing curiously, speculatively at the figure of the man who ruled the local cattle industry. he was calculating in his own way what might be the effect of the news he had to impart. what estimate this big man--and bob knew him to be a big man--would have of him when he had told his news and claimed the--blood money? with each moment he shrank smaller and smaller in his own estimation. dug regarded him steadily. "you've got news of them?" bob nodded, and glanced meaningly in the direction of lew hank. "i've seen 'em. but--it's more than that." the rancher turned quickly upon his foreman. "say, just get along into the shack there, and see how the doc's making with young syme. i need a talk with whitstone." it was not without obvious and resentful reluctance that lew hank withdrew. even his hardihood, however, was unequal to resisting so direct an order from his chief. the two men watched him out of earshot. then dug, with almost precipitate haste, turned back to his visitor. "now, sir, i'm ready to hear anything you need to tell me." but bob was thinking of ju penrose as he had thought of him many times since he had listened and yielded to effie's appeal. every man has his price. bob knew now that he, like the rest, had his price. that price a woman had set for him. ju was right--hatefully right. well, he would now refuse to be robbed of one cent of it. he looked up sharply as the other made his demand. "you're offering ten thousand dollars reward for the| capture of the lightfoot gang, mr. mcfarlane?" "that's so." the rancher's regard had deepened. there was a curious light shining in his blue eyes. it was half speculative, half suggestive of growing excitement. it was wholly full of a burning interest. "say, i'd just like to know how i stand." bob laughed that short hard laugh which bears no trace of mirth. "you see, i can put you wise. i can lead you right on to their camp so you can get 'em--while they're sleeping, or any other old way. oh, yes, i'm ready to play my part right up to the limit. it don't matter a thing. i'm not just here to tell you about things. i'm here to lead you to that camp, and take a hand in the hanging when you get busy. you see, i'm a whole hogger. but i want to know how things stand about that ten thousand dollar reward. do i get it? if i get shot up does my wife get it? and when it's paid, do you shout about it? does the gang down orrville way need to know who it was they forgot to hand the name of judas to when he was christened? i don't care a cuss on my own account. it's----" but dug mcfarlane broke in upon the bitter raillery. he had no thought for the man or his feelings, just for one moment it seemed to him that some sort of miracle had happened. and his every thought and feeling was absorbed in it. here, after five years of vain effort, here, after five years of depredations which had almost threatened the cattle industry in the district with complete crippling, here was a man who could lead them to the raiders' hiding-place, could show them how the hanging they all so cordially desired could be brought about. it was stupendous. it was--yes, it was miraculous. his first impulse had been to give way to the excitement which stirred him, but he restrained himself. "ten thousand dollars will be paid by me to the man, or his nominee, privately, if his information leads to the hanging of this gang. say, boy, we ain't goin' to split hairs or play any low games on this lay out. i'm a rich man, an' ten thousand dollars ain't a circumstance so we break up this gang. if we only get one of 'em or part of 'em, the man who shows me their hiding-place, and leads me to it, that man--or his wife--gets my ten thousand dollars. you can have it in writing. but my word goes any old time. now you can get busy and hand me the proposition." the steady eyes, the emphatic tones of this big, straight-dealing rancher silenced the last doubt in bob's lesser mind. he was out to do this dirty work with all his might in the interest of the woman who had inspired it. but he had scarcely been prepared for such simple methods as this man displayed. he had felt that it was for him to barter, to scheme, to secure the dollars effie coveted. a deep sigh escaped him. it may have been relief. it may have been of regret that he must stand before so straight-dealing a personality claiming his thirty pieces of silver. he passed one hand across his perspiring brow and thrust his prairie hat farther back upon his head. he would have preferred, however, to have drawn it down over his eyes to escape the searching gaze from the honest depths of the other's. suddenly, with a gesture of impatience, he began to talk rapidly. "it's no use, mr. mcfarlane, i hate this rotten work," he cried out. "i--i hate it so bad i could just rather bite my tongue out than tell you the things i've got to. it's rotten. i don't know---- say, you don't know me, and i don't guess you care a curse anyway. but i was brought up in a city and taught to believe things were a deal better than i've lately come to think they are. psha! these fellers have got to be hanged when and where we get them. but it hurts me bad to think that i've got to take dollars for handing you their lives. oh, that don't tell you a thing either. you'd say i don't need to take 'em. but i do. i got to take those dollars, if they blister my hands and burn the bones inside 'em. i've got to have 'em, and i'd like to burn 'em, every blazing one. but i've got to have 'em. say, i'll be paid on the nail when the job's done? if i get shot up the money'll be paid to my wife? will you give me your word, sir? your word of honor?" "my word of honor." "say, then come right back with me to my shanty no, best not. we'll ride back to orrville, and i'll hand you all i know as we go. i can quit you before we reach the township. then you can hustle the crowd together and i'll be waiting ready at my shack to play my part--the dirty rotten judas racket." "judas betrayed his--master and friend. are these people your friends? is lightfoot your master?" "heavens! what d'you take me for--a rustler?" "then quit your crazy talk of judas. your duty's plumb clear. your duty's to hand these folks, these bandits, into our hands. the money's a matter of--choice. i'll just hand my man a word or two, and we'll get back orrville way." * * * * * * it was past midnight when bob took up a position squatting on the sill of his own doorway. standing close behind him, leaning against the rough casing, effie looked down upon his huddled figure. her eyes were alight with a power of suppressed excitement. the blood was surging through her young veins, and every nerve was tense with the strain of waiting, of anticipation. but her emotions were by no means shared by her husband. for all her beauty and woman's charm she was different, utterly different from him. she had been brought up to the understanding that she would have to make her own way in the world. all her parents had been able to do for her was to see that she was as fully equipped for the adventure of life as their limited means would permit. those means would die when her chief parent died, and the style in which they had lived left no margin for saving. so, with cool calculation, effie had set about her life's effort. nor had she considered herself unsuccessful in the first spreading of her maiden wings. a millionaire's son! it was a splendid match. it had met with the entire approval of her family. then had come disillusionment. a determined opposition from bob's father. she had been urged to break off the engagement. she even intended to do so. but some how she had miscalculated the nature which her education had been powerless to eradicate. she realized at last when the demands of her campaign made themselves heard, that there was something she had hitherto completely ignored. there was the woman's heart of her. she had most absurdly fallen in love with this first stepping-stone toward the goal of her ambition. it was the absurd uncalculating love of extreme youth. but it was sufficiently impetuous to flout all the reason which her training and upbringing had been calculated to inspire her with. the rest followed in natural sequence, and now, after two years of married penury, she was ready to seize any straw which chance flung in her way as a means of salving that ambition which she now saw, with more perfectly clear vision, was completely upon the rocks. now, in her mind, there were only three matters of concern. would dug mcfarlane come? would they succeed in capturing this lightfoot gang? would she get those ten thousand dollars, which appeared so vast a sum to eyes only accustomed to dwelling upon cents? bob was silent. his whole aspect seemed to have undergone a complete changes. he had returned to her with the story of his interview with dug mcfarlane. he had returned to her with the assurance that he had sold his conscience, his honor, at her bidding, and he hoped she was satisfied. since then he had wrapped himself in a moody silence which had defied her utmost effort to break down. the horses stood ready saddled in the barn. effie was clad in her riding suit. as yet the moon had not risen to reduce the starlit magnificence of the velvet summer night sky. nor was there any sound to warn them that the hours of suspense were nearly over. finally, effie could endure the silence no longer. her dark eyes were intently gazing down upon the bowed figure of the man. they were hard with every bitter woman's emotion. she was full of a fierce, hot resentment against the man who could so obstinately resist the spirit of her longing. "bob," she cried at last, all restraint completely giving way, "do you know what i could do just now more willingly than anything else in the world? i could thrust out my foot and spurn you with it as you might any surly cur which barred your way. i tell you i'm hot with every feeling of contempt for your crazy attitude. you dare to set yourself and your moral scruples between my welfare and the miserable life you've condemned me to. your moral scruples. were there ever such things? morals? ju penrose's saloon day and night--for you. the sluttish drudgery of this wretched place for me. then you dare to place your conscience before my--comfort." "do i?" the man did not look up. his brooding eyes were on the sky-line to the southeast. "i've done as you needed. i've arranged everything with the--hangman. you're going to touch those pleasant dollars. what more are you asking me?" "what more? yes, you've done these things because i've driven you to them. you? you'd rather see me sitting around here starving, a worn wreck of a woman, than lend a willing hand to bettering our lot. oh, yes, you've done these things, and--i hate you for the way you've done them." the man sat up. he shifted his position so that he could gaze up at the splendid creature standing over him. "you don't hate me worse than i hate myself, effie," he said with an exasperating lack of emotion. "say, you feel like kicking me. you feel like treating me like a surly cur. well, i guess you're welcome. i don't guess there's a thing you can do that way can hurt me worse than you've done already." then he smiled. and his smile was more maddening to the woman than his words. "don't worry a thing. you're going to get your dollars if there's anything i can do to help you, and when you've got 'em--why, if the merciful god we've both been brought up to believe in is all we believe him, i shan't be around to watch you dirtying your hands with them." then with a swift, alert movement he raised a warning hand. "h'sh!" for some seconds they remained listening. far away to the southeast a low murmuring note came over the low hills. the girl remained with eyes straining to pierce the starlit monotone. the man rose slowly from his seat. finally he turned about and faced her, and his eyes smiled into hers. "the hanging bee," he said. chapter vi the raiders raided it was the gap where the screen of bush broke off, leaving the barren shoulder overlooking the valley. it was where the hard-beaten, converging cattle-paths hurled themselves over the brink to the wide depths below. the stillness that prevailed was unbroken by a single night sound. even the insect life seemed wrapped in a deep hush of somnolence. as yet the night scavengers had not emerged from their hidings to bay the silvery radiance of a moonlit night. the deep hush beneath the myriad of eyes of night was as beautiful as it was treacherous, for it only cloaked hot, stirring passions ready in a moment to break out into warring chaos. crouching low under the shelter of the screening bush three figures huddled closely. they were peering across the wide gulf, searching with eyes that only half read what lay before them in the starlight. their gaze rested upon one definite spot whose shadowy outline was indicated by the outstretched arm of one of the party. it was a deep woodland bluff, leaning, as it seemed, for support against the far wall of the valley's western slope. after some tense moments the straining eyes beheld the faintest glimmer of artificial light flickering in the depths of its silent heart. so faint was it, at the distance, that, for a while, doubt prevailed. then conviction supervened as each of the watchers recorded his observation and a sigh of certitude made itself heard. the point of light was held by all. it was dwelt upon. it was the verification needed to convey absolute faith in the woman's tale miraculous. perhaps it was the light in some window of a secret abode. perhaps it was the steady flicker of an unscreened camp-fire. perhaps, even, it was the beam of some lantern carelessly set down and left alight. whatever it was it was certainly of human agency, and human agency in these regions had only one interpretation for the minds of those who were watching from the high eastern wall of the valley. presently a woman's voice spoke in the hush of suppressed excitement. her tone was full of an eagerness that hurled her words swiftly upon the still night air. "that's where i marked them down," she whispered. "there--just there. right where that light's shining. somewhere in the heart of that bluff. there was a herd grazing out in front, with three mounted men guarding it. there's no mistake. it's a bee-line right across. and the men who fired up this way came out of those trees. it's steep down these paths. they sort of zigzag their way, but it's a path any horse can make without danger. it just needs care. once in the valley it's a stretch of sweet-grass without a bluff or a break of any sort. there's no slough either. it's just grass. one big flat of sweet-grass." there was no reply from her companions. they were engrossed with the object of their straining scrutiny. presently the woman went on again. "this is where my work quits," she said. then she withdrew her gaze and looked up at the dim outline of the big man nearest her. there was just a shade of eagerness in her manner now. "that's lightfoot's camp, mr. mcfarlane," she assured. "i've done all that's needed. you see, i'm a woman, and i don't guess you need anything more from me. shall i stop right here, or--get back to home?" bob whitstone was watching his wife closely as she addressed herself to the rancher. he noted her tone, her evident anxiety now, and he understood. a curious repulsion surged through him. in the brief two years of his married life no such sensation had ever possessed him. but he recognized it. it was the breaking point. effie no longer held place in his affections. he glanced up at mcfarlane as his deep tones whispered in the silence. "yes, ma'am, get right back to home. there's no need for you to get mussed up with what's goin' to happen. it's man's work, not a woman's. your husband's got my word. you'll find we aren't forgetful." then he drew back under cover, and moved away to where, scattered along the path, well sheltered from view, a large party of dismounted horsemen were awaiting his orders. effie turned to her husband. "you're coming back with me, bob?" she said, almost pleadingly. "it's a long way to home." bob's eyes gazed straight into hers. even in the darkness effie felt something of the coldness of his regard. "are you scared?" he demanded. effie shook her head. "there's nothing to be scared at. but you've nothing to do with--the rest of it." "haven't i?" "you're not going down there with them?" there was a curious sharpness in the woman's whispering voice. bob's cold regard remained unwavering. "i'm leaving nothing to chance. you've got to get your wages. i'm going to see you get them. yes, i'm going--down there." a sudden fierce passion swept through the woman's heart. hot words in retort surged to her lips. but they remained unuttered. a strong effort of restraint checked them. she turned away coldly, her eyes focussing once more upon the tiny point of light across the hollow. "guess you must do as you think," she said, with a shrug. and she remained with her back turned upon the man she was destined never to address again. bob moved away and joined the rest of the vigilantes. they were already in the saddle. dug mcfarlane had given his final orders. in a moment bob surveyed the scene in the dim light. then he turned away to his own horse and sprang into the saddle. mcfarlane saw him and rode up. "you coming along?" he enquired curiously. "sure." "good boy." then he drew a deep breath. "maybe there'll be an empty saddle or two before we've done. but i don't guess that'll need to worry us any. the man who 'passes in' to-night won't have any kick comin'. it's better that way--with your duty done." "yes." the simple monosyllable was strangely expressive, but dug mcfarlane had no understanding of the thought that prompted it. it would have been difficult indeed, even with understanding, to have probed the depths of feeling prompting it. but whitstone was incapable of seeing the broader aspect of anything pertaining to himself. he saw only as his feelings dictated, without logic or reason of any sort. he was of that nature which leans for support upon prejudices absorbed in early youth. principles inculcated through early environment and teaching. he was incapable of testing or questioning their verity. robbed of them he was left floundering. and effie, the woman whom he had married only out of hot, youthful human regard, had so robbed him. effie drew back. she pressed herself close into the bush as the cavalcade sought the path at the edge of the valley. she watched the burly leader vanish over the brink. then, one by one, twenty-five others passed her in review, and were swallowed up by the depths below. she knew none of them personally, but she knew they were all ranchers and ranchmen of varying degree. she knew that each individual had at some time suffered at the hands of the rustlers. that deep in each heart was the craving for a vengeance which possessed small enough thought of justice in it. these men were vigilantes. they were so called not from any desire to enforce law and order, but purely for their own self-defense, the defending of self-interests. they impressed her not from any justice of motive, but from the merciless purpose upon which they were bent. the last to pass over the brink was her husband, a slight figure, almost puny, amongst these hard prairie folk. just for one weak moment she was on the point of raising a protesting voice. just for one moment a womanly softening held her yielding. he was her husband, and memories crowded. but almost as they were born they died. their place was once more taken by the recollection of the life she had been forced to endure for the sake of her first youthful passion. her heart hardened. no impulse had driven her to her present actions. they were the result of a craving she was powerless to resist. her husband must go his way. he must act as he saw fit. for herself she would not forego one tithe of the reward which she believed would help her to that comfort in life for which her soul yearned. with the passing of the vigilantes she moved clear of the bush. she would see this out. home? she had no desire for her home. the night had no terrors for her. nothing had terror for her, except the failure of these men. she flung herself upon the ground and lay with wide eyes searching the remoteness of the valley beyond. her impatience had developed into something almost feverish. she wanted a sign. she wanted assurance. but the world seemed so still, so entirely peaceful. the moments pursued for her a sluggish course. the jeweled sky was an added regret. she desired light, light that she might witness the whole drama she hoped--yes, hoped--would be played out down there in the valley. a sort of dementia had taken possession of her. she had no thought of the blood to be poured out at her bidding. she thought nothing of the strong lives to be given up in sacrifice for her well-being. she thought only of herself, and all that the success of that night's affairs would mean to her. but the dragging minutes extending upward of half an hour wore her fever down. and slowly depression replaced her more tense emotions. it all seemed so long in happening that failure began to loom, and to become a certainty. it was too good to hope. ten thousand dollars! the amount bulked in her mind. it grew greater and greater in its significance as delay thrust hope further and further from her thought. again impatience grew, hot, angry impatience, and drove depression out. what were they doing down there? why did they not surround the bluff? there were enough of them. look! the light was still shining. it was the camp. where that light shone the men lay in hiding. well--it was simple. to her mind there was no need for---- the sound of a rifle shot split the air with significant abruptness. the sound banished the last of her half-angry causing. the moment had come. she raised herself up for no other reason than tense drawn suspense. a second shot. then a rattle of musketry which suggested general conflict. she drew a deep breath. far away in the distance it seemed she heard a sharp cry. it was the final shriek of a human creature in the agony of a mortal wound. then followed the sound of hoarse voices shouting. for some moments nothing in the scene changed. the speck of light shone out twinkling and gleaming like some evil eye. for the rest--there remained the deep twilight marked by the myriads of summer stars. but the cries of men, the trampling of speeding hoofs held her. the breathlessness of the whole thing was upon her now, making it impossible to detach her regard from the main features. the rattle of rifles had become almost incessant. and a few moments later a blaze of light shot up from the far side of the bluff. it grew, licking up the great, sun-dried, resinous pine wood with paralyzing rapidity. another great sheet of flame soared upward further away to the right. then another to the south. a fire trap had been set at the far side of the great bluff, and only the hither side remained open to those seeking shelter within it. effie's gaze was fascinated beyond her control. the vigilantes had planned their coup deliberately and well. the air she was breathing began to reek with the pungent smell of burning. a light smoke haze began to flood the picture. now she beheld moving figures in the lurid glow which backed the scene. they were horsemen. but whether or not they were the vigilantes she could not be certain. they were racing across the open, and the crack of their rifles mingled with the spluttering crackle of the conflagration beyond. never for one moment did the woman withdraw her gaze. the spell of it all was almost painful. she knew that life and death were at grips down there in that cauldron of conflict. and though at moments shudders passed through her body, they were neither shudders of weakness nor womanish horror. her only emotion was excitement, and her nerves were ready to respond in physical expression to every vision her eyes communicated to them. an hour passed thus. the bluff was a furnace, roaring, booming. it lit the valley seemingly from end to end. the night shadows had been swept aside, and the scene lay spread out before her eyes. she saw dismounted riders moving about. she beheld one group; a number of men huddled together, held as though they were prisoners. at last firing altogether ceased and the straggling horsemen began to reassemble in the vicinity of the chief group. then, as the raging fire ate its way through to the hither side of the bluff, and turned the final barrier into a wall of fire, the whole party moved away down the valley with obvious signs of haste. effie gazed after them with widening eyes while the hot breath of the conflagration fanned her cheeks. she was wondering, speculating, and slowly the significance of their movements began to take hold of her. at first she had thought that the movement was inspired by the overpowering heat of the forest fire. she had warned herself of the danger. the grass down there. the flying sparks. but almost in the same breath she realized that there was more, far more in that movement. the grass was far too green in the valley to form any real danger and the bluff was sufficiently isolated. no, there was more in it than the danger of fire. she shivered, although the night air now possessed something of the temperature of a summer noon. all her excitement had passed. she had even forgotten for the time all that the doings of that night meant to her. she was thinking of the deliberate administration of justice as these men understood it. it was crude, deadly, and full of a painful horror, and now, now, in saner moments, she beheld the dawn of emotions which had come all too late. whither were those men riding? whither? and then? ah--she shuddered, and her shudder was full of realization. for well she knew that the men she had seen grouped were living prisoners. living prisoners. how long would they remain so? what would be their end? chapter vii outland justice the noon sun sweltered down through the rank vegetation of the narrow defile. the heat was almost too burdensome to endure. it was moist; it was dank with the reek of decaying matter. the way was a seemingly endless battle against odds. but the travelers were buoyed with the knowledge that it was a short cut, calculated to save them many hours and many miles. bud tristram had pointed the way. furthermore, he had urged jeff to accept and endure the tortures and shortcomings which he knew they must face in the heart of this remote gulch. nor were his warnings unneeded, for nature had set up no inconsiderable defenses. here were swarms of over-grown mosquitoes of a peculiarly vicious type, which covered their horses' flanks in a gray horde, almost obliterating their original colors; and a bleeding mass resulted every time either man raised a hand to the back of his own neck to soothe the fierce irritation of the vicious attacks. then the way itself. it was a narrow gorge almost completely occupied by the muddy bed and boggy shores of a drying mountain creek. it was, in jeff's own words, a "fierce journey." the heat left them drenched in perspiration, and wiltering. the two packhorses fought for their very lives, often hock deep in a sucking mire. while the beasts, who bore the burden of their exacting masters, were driven to battle every inch of the way against a fiercely obstinate rampart of dense grown bush. mercifully the gorge was less than three miles in length. a greater distance must have left the nervous equine mind staggered, and helpless, and beaten. as it was nearly three hours of incessant struggle only served to pass the final barrier. "phew!" jeff masters drew off his hat as they emerged upon the wide opening of a great valley. then he flung himself out of the saddle and began to sweep the blood-inflated mosquitoes from his horse's flanks. bud, with less haste, proceeded to do the same. finally, both men walked round the weary beasts and examined the security of the packs on the led horses. bud pointed down the valley with one outstretched arm. "we'll make that way," he said, his deep eyes dwelling almost affectionately upon the wide stretch of blue-tinted grass. "guess we'll take the high land an' camp fer food." then he turned back to his horse and remounted. jeff silently followed his example and they rode on. for many minutes no word passed between them. each was busy with his own particular thoughts. the deep look of friendly affection was still in bud's eyes. jeff was far less concerned with the wonderful scene slowly unfolding itself as they proceeded than with the purpose of his journey. he knew they had reached the central point from which they were to radiate their search of the labyrinth of hills. his mind was upon the wealth of possibility before them. the difficulties. bud, for the time at least, was concerned only with that which his eyes beheld, and the memories of other days far, far back when he had possessed no greater responsibility than the quest of adventure, and his own safe delivery from the fruits of his unwisdom. it was he who first broke the silence between them. "gee!" he exclaimed, with that curious note of appreciation which that ejaculation can assume. "it's big. say, jeff, it's big an' good to look on. sort of makes you think, too, don't it? jest get a peek that way. them slopes." he indicated the western boundary of the valley rising up, up to great pine-crested heights. "a thousand--two thousand feet. and hills beyond. big hills, with snows you couldn't melt anyhow. over there, too." one great hand waved in the direction of the east. "lesser hills. lesser woods. but--man, it's fine! then ahead. miles an' miles of this queer blue grass which sets fat on cattle inches deep." his words ceased, but his eyes continued to feast, flooding the simple brain behind them with a joy which no words could describe. presently he went on: "makes you feel a'mighty god's a pretty big feller, don't it? guess he jest tumbles things around, an' sets up, an' levels down in a way that wouldn't mean a thing to brains like ours--till he's finished it all, and sort of swep' up tidy. look at them colors, way up there to the west. queer? sure. every sort o' blamed color in a tangle no earthly painter could set out. ain't it a pictur'? it's jest a sort o' pictur' a painter feller's li'ble to spend most of his wholesome nights dreamin' about. an' when he wakes up, why, i don't guess he kin even think like it, an' he sure ain't a hell of a chance to paint that way anyhow. say, d'you make it these things are, or is it jest something he sets in us makes us see 'em that way? he's big--he surely is. i'm glad i come along with you, jeff, boy. y' see, a feller sort o' sits around home, an' sees the same grass, an' brands the same steers, an' thinks the same thinks. ther' ain't nothin' he don't know around home. he gets so life don't seem a thing, an' he jest feels he's running things so as he pleases. he sort o' fergets he's jest a part o' the scenery around. he fergets he's set in that scenery by an a'mighty big hand, same as them all-fired m'squitters we just found, an' kind o' guesses he is that a'mighty hand." he turned his deeply smiling eyes on his companion. "i don't often take on like this, jeff," he apologized, "but the sight o' this place makes me want to shout an' get right out an' thank the good god he's seen fit to let me sit around an' live." but jeff had no means of simple expression such as bud. he could never give verbal expression to the emotions locked away in his heart. those who knew him regarded it as reserve, even hardness. perhaps it was only that shyness which the strongest characters are often most prone to. he ignored the older man's quaintly expressed feelings, and fastened upon the opening he had at last received, and which he had been seeking ever since it had become obvious that bud's knowledge of the great cathill range was almost phenomenal. "you know these parts a heap," he observed. "know 'em?" bud laughed in his deep-throated way, which was only another indication of his buoyant mood. "you'd know 'em, boy, if you'd had a father build up a big pelt trading post right in this valley, an' fer sixteen years o' your life you'd ridden, an' shot, an' hunted over this blue grass, and these hills, for nigh a range of fifty mile. guess i know this territory same as you know the playgrounds o' the college that handed you your knowledge o' figgers. know it? say, you could dump me right down anywhere around here for fifty miles an' more, an' i'd travel straight here same as the birds fly." he laughed again. "when you said you'd the notion of huntin' out your brother, who was huntin' these hills, you give me the excuse i'd been yearnin' to find in years. i wanted to see these hills again. i wanted it bad. guess i was jest crazy fer it. it didn't get me figgerin' long, either, to locate wher' we'd likely find that boy you're lookin' fer. ther' ain't no better huntin' ground than around this valley. it's sort of untouched since my father died, an' i had to quit it and take to punchin' cattle. then ther's that post he built. a dandy place, with nigh everything a pelt hunter needs fer his comfort. we're making for that post right now, an' when we make it i'm guessin' we ain't goin' to chase much farther to locate that twin brother of yours." "but you never----" bud shook his great head, and stretched his ungainly legs with his stirrups thrust out wide. "sure i didn't tell you these things," he nodded, in simple, almost childlike enjoyment. "i never---- say, does nan know you were--raised here?" "surely." then bud went on with an amused twinkle in his eyes. "but i guess nan's like me. it ain't our way worryin' other folks with our troubles. you see, most folks ain't a heap o' time to listen to other folks' troubles. most everybody's jest yearnin' to tell their own." "troubles?" jeff smiled in his own peculiarly shadowy fashion. "you don't seem to figure this valley's any sort of trouble, nor its associations. but maybe there's a bone or two hidden around you don't figure to show me." bud remained silent for some moments. then he gave way to another of his joyous, deep-throated laughs. "no, sirree! ther' ain't no troubles to this valley fer me. none. i got memories i wouldn't sell fer a farm. them wer' days you didn't find trouble in nothin'. no. it's later on you see things diff'rent. make good, an' you see troubles wher' there shouldn't be none. you an' me we're guessin' to make a pile o' dollars, so we could set up a palace on th av'noo, new york, if we was yearnin' that-a-way. i don't reckon there's many fellers 'ud find trouble in such a play as that. wal, i'd be willing enough to turn it all down, an' pitch camp right here among these hills, an' chase pelts for the few dollars needed to keep the wind from rattling my bones--'cep' fer nan." "ah yes--nan. there's nan to think of. and nan's more to you, bud, than anything else in life. say, your little girl's a bright jewel. i don't need to say a word about her value, eh? but some day you're going to lose her. and then?" bud's eyes came round upon him and for some moments encountered jeff's steady regard. then he looked away, and slowly all its simple delight dropped from the strong weather-tanned face, to be replaced by an almost painful dejection. presently he turned again, and, in a moment, jeff found an added interest in the wonderful scene that lay ahead of him. "nan's a fine, good gal," bud declared, with simple earnestness. "guess she's her mother over again--only she's jest nan. nan's more to me than all the dollars in creation, boy. guess you're right. oh, yes, you're right--sure." the man brushed aside the beads of sweat from his broad forehead. "an' nan's goin' to do jest as she notions. she's goin' to live around her home as long as she feels that way. when she don't feel that way she's goin' to quit. when she feels like choosin' a man fer herself--why, i'm goin' to do all i know helpin' her that way. but it's goin' to be her choice, boy. an' when that time comes, why, i'll get right down on my knees an' pray a'mighty god he's the feller for her, an' the man i'm hopin' she'll choose, an' that he wants her, same as she wants him." then he shook his head and a deep sigh escaped him. "but i don't know. it don't seem to me reasonable. y' see, the luck's run all my way so far, an' i don't guess you can keep on dealin' the cards without 'em gettin' right up an' handin' it you plenty--some time." jeff had no reply. something warned him to keep silent. the older man in his earnest simplicity had opened out to him a vista which he felt he had no right to gaze upon. as they jogged steadily along over the blue-green carpet, and the kaleidoscopic coloring of the distant slopes fell away behind them, his whole mental vision became occupied by the sweet picture of a brown-eyed, brown-haired girl. but he was regarding it without any lover's emotions. rather was he regarding it as one who calmly appraises a beautiful jewel he does not covet. he was thinking of nan as he had known her for some five years. from the days of her schoolgirlhood he had watched her develop into a grown woman full of all that was wholesome and winsome. she was her father over again, trustful, simple, fearless, and she was possessed of a whimsical philosophy quite beyond her years. her beauty was undeniable, her gentle kindliness was no less. but the memory of these things made no stirring within him. nan was just a loyal little friend whom he loved and was ready to serve as he might love and help a sister, but regard of her broke off at that. so, as he rode, the pictures of her failed to hold him, and, finally, his roving gaze became caught and held by a sudden and striking anachronism in the scene about him. he claimed bud's attention with a gesture which roused him from his engrossing thought. "fire," he observed. bud's gaze became rivetted on the spot. "yes, it's fire--sure," he admitted. it was a long way ahead. only the trained eyes of prairiemen could have read the sign aright at such a distance. it was a break in the wonderful sea of varying shades of restful green. it was, to them, an ominous dead black patch which broke the sky-line with unmistakable skeleton arms. it was the only remark upon the subject which passed between them, but as they rode on it occupied something more than a passing attention. with jeff his interest was mere curiosity. with bud it was deeper and more significant. had the younger man observed him he might have discovered a curious expression almost amounting to pain in the deep eyes which contemplated the blackened limbs where the fire had wrought its havoc. as they drew nearer it became apparent that the havoc was even greater than they had first supposed. a wide patch of woodland, hundreds of acres in extent, whose upper limits were confined only by the summit of the valley's slope, where it cut the sky-line, had been completely burnt out. nor was it possible to tell if even that limit was the extent of the disaster. bud suddenly reined in his horse as they came abreast of it, and his voice broke with painful sharpness upon the deathly stillness of the world about them. "it's gone," he cried, with a note of deep distress and grievous disappointment. "it's burnt right out to a shell. say----" "what's gone?" the older man glanced round. then his troubled eyes sought the charred remains of the splendid pines once more. "why--the post." then he pointed amongst the charred skeletons. "get a peek right in ther'. see, jeff. them walls; them fallen logs. burnt. burnt right through to the heart of 'em. that's all that's left of the home that sheltered me for the first sixteen years of my life. say, i'm sick--sick to death." jeff left his packhorse and moved forward amongst the blackened limbs. the reek of burnt wood hung heavily upon the air. he threaded his way carefully toward the charred remains of an extensive abode, now plainly visible amongst the black tree trunks. it was a wide rambling structure, and, though burnt to cinders, much of its general shape, and the great logs which had formed its walls, still remained to testify to all it had been under the hands of those who had originally wrought there. jeff glanced back at the man he had left behind. he had not stirred. he sat in the saddle just gazing at the destruction. that was all. so he turned again to the ruins, and, dismounting, he proceeded on foot to explore. * * * * * * they were eyes wide with repulsion and a certain horror that gazed down upon the object at jeff's feet. it was the rotting, charred remains of a human figure. it was beyond recognition, except in so far as its human identity was concerned. the clothes were gone. the flesh was seared and shriveled. the process of incineration was almost complete. after a few fascinated moments his eyes searched further along the remains of the old post wall. another figure lay sprawling on the ground. near by it a heavy pistol had fallen wide. a rifle, too, lay across the second body. every detail was swiftly absorbed by the man's keenly active brain. he stood back from the gutted precincts and gazed speculatively upon the picture. his imagination reconstructed something of what he believed must have occurred in the deep heart of these wrecked woodlands. what of the fire? how had it been started? was it the work of an incendiary? had the heat of the summer sun wrought the mischief? had the hut itself supplied the trouble? none of these questions offered real enlightenment through the answers he could supply. no. he saw the superheated furnace of the woods blazing, and he saw men struggling with all their might to save themselves, and some of their more precious belongings. the reckless daring of those two, perhaps at the last moment, returning to their shelter on one final journey to save some detail of their home. then the awful penalty for their temerity. perhaps overwhelmed by smoke. death--hideous, appalling death. death, a thousand times worse than that which, in the routine of their lives, it was their work to mete out to the valuable fur bearers which yielded them a means of existence. a sudden question, not unaccompanied by fear, swept through his brain. it was a question inspired by the belief that these men were fur hunters. who--who were they? he drew close up to each body in turn, seeking identity where none was discoverable. a sweat broke upon his temples. there was no sign in them. there was no human semblance except for outline. "god! if it should be----" his sentence remained incompleted. a dreadful fear had broken it off. he was gazing down upon the second body, in earnest, horrified contemplation. then to his amazement he was answered by bud's familiar voice. "it ain't the boy we're chasin' up, jeff," he said, with a deep assurance. "how d'you know that?" the demand was incisive, almost rough. "these folks weren't pelt hunters. not by a sight. i bin around." jeff had turned to the speaker, and a great relief shone in his eyes. "what--who were they--then?" he asked sharply. "maybe it was a ranch--of sorts." "of sorts? you mean----?" "rustlers. come right on out of here, an' i'll show you." with gentle insistence he drew his friend away from the painfully fascinating spectacle which held so difficult a riddle. and presently they were again with their horses, which were grazing unconcernedly upon the sweet blue grass which the valley yielded so generously. "well?" there was almost impatience in jeff's monosyllable. for answer bud pointed at a number of rough fences, uneven, crude, makeshift, some distance away. "see them? oh, yes, i guess they're corrals sure. but it don't take a feller who's lived all his life among cattle more'n five seconds to locate their meanin'. they're corrals set up in an a'mighty hurry by folks who hate work o' that sort anyway. an' i'd say, jeff, cattlemen--real cattlemen--don't dump a range down in the heart of the cathills, not even fer this sweet-grass you can see around, when ther's the prairie jest outside. that is cattlemen who got no sort o' reason fer keepin' quit of the--open plains. then ther's bin a big drive away north from here. mebbe they wer' gettin' clear of this fire." under the influence of bud's clear convictions all jeff's fears vanished. he accepted the other's admittedly better understanding of these things all the more readily that he desired earnestly to dispel the last shadows of his momentary doubt. "that's so," he agreed. then he added: "but anyway, our camp's gone." "yes. we'll make camp some'ere else. meanwhiles----" "yes?" "we must follow up the trail." there was irrevocable decision in the older cattleman's tone. and his words had the effect of startling the other. "but--i don't see----" "they're rustlers. ther's their tracks clear as day. this is their hiding. wal, i guess there's jest one thing to be done. it's our duty to track 'em down. our duty to the cattle world, jeff, boy." "but what about--ronald?" bud looked him squarely in the eyes. "we're cattlemen first, jeff. the other'll come later." jeff nodded, but there was a certain reluctance in his manner. his whole heart was set upon the search for his twin brother. he felt that his duty as a cattleman scarcely had the right to claim him at such a time. but the older man's manner made it difficult to protest, and, in deference to him, he felt it would be ungenerous to refuse. after all it only meant perhaps the delay of a day for his own projects. "then we'll feed and water right here, bud," he said resignedly. "we can leave our pack ponies, and ride light. there's five hours of daylight yet." "yes, five hours good. thanks, boy. don't you worry a thing. we'll make this time good. we're goin' to find your ronald--if he's anywheres around these cathills." * * * * * * the more concentrated the character, the more sure its power of moral endurance, so the more acute its suffering under adversity. such penalties lie ambushed for the strong, as though in delight at the immensity of the suffering which can thereby be inflicted. such an ambush was awaiting jeffrey masters. it came with terrifying suddenness. bud was on the lead. the great sea of blue grass had been beaten and crushed by the hoofs of a considerable herd. there was no difficulty, and the pace he made was rapid. but, even so, bud's keen eyes never left the well-defined trail. he was reading it with an understanding which might well have seemed almost superhuman. and as he rode he communicated odd fragments of his reading to the man behind him. "it's queer," he observed once, when they had covered nearly two miles of the track. "ther's a great bunch of horsemen been over this. kind o' seems to me as if ther' was as many horses as steers. they're headin' northeast, too." jeff's eyes were as close upon the trail as bud's, only he read with less understanding. "they seem leading out of the valley," he said. "maybe there's another camp way up further." suddenly bud drew rein, his great body lurching forward in the saddle as his horse "propped" itself to a standstill. jeff's horse followed suit of its own accord. "what's doing?" jeff's demand was accompanied by a keen look into the other's face. bud's eyes were wide with speculation. "they've broke up--hereabouts," he cried. "more'n half the horses have cut out. say, ther'," he went on pointing away to the right. "that's the way they've took, clear across ther' to the east. the herd's gone on with jest a few boys to handle it. say----" "look!" a curious suppressed force rang in jeff's exclamation. he was pointing at a bluff of wide-spreading sturdy trees that grew hard in against the eastern slope of the valley. bud followed the direction indicated, and that which he beheld robbed him of all inclination for further speech. long silent moments passed. moments fraught with poignant, stirring emotions. something painful was slowly creeping into the eyes of both men as they continued to regard this stout cluster of trees. "oaks." the word was muttered. jeff vouchsafed no reply, but led the way toward them at a gallop. they drew up almost in the shadow of the trees, at a point where three hideous things were hanging suspended by rawhide ropes. they were swaying gently, stirred almost imperceptibly under the pressure of the light breeze. bud sat stock still upon his horse. for a moment jeff remained at his side. then the latter stirred. he pressed his horse forward, urging it closer under the overhanging boughs. the animal moved willingly enough for a few yards. then panic suddenly beset it. it shied. it reared and plunged. the fierce reminder of the spur was powerless to affect it beyond driving it to even more strenuous rebellion. the terror-stricken creature would not approach another step in the direction of those ominous swinging bodies. jeff finally leaped from the saddle and released his horse. it turned to bolt, but bud reached its hanging reins and secured it. then he sat still, observing the movements of his companion with strained, intent gaze. jeff passed under the great limbs of the tree. he cautiously approached the first of the hanging bodies. it was hideous. there was a bandage drawn tightly over the dead eyes, but its folds were powerless to disguise the rest of the contorted features. the head was tilted over on one side. its flesh was ghastly, and deep discolorations blotched it from the neck up. the body was clad in the ordinary garb of the prairieman, with the loose waistcoat hanging open over a discolored cotton shirt, and the nether part of it sheathed in dirty moleskin trousers. the ankles were lashed securely together, and the arms firmly pinioned. for some moments jeff stared up at the dead man. his blue eyes were quite unsoftening. there was no real pity in him for the fate of a cattle thief. he understood only the justice of it from the point of view of the cattle grower. so his cold eyes gazed up at the horrid spectacle unflinchingly. after some moments he passed on to the second body. the same conditions prevailed. a colored handkerchief concealed the glazed eyes, and the dropping jaw displayed the blackened cavity beyond the lips. he moved away to the third. its back was turned to him, and the bared head displayed a close mass of fair curling hair. in this instance the bandage over the eyes had fallen from its place, and lay lodged against the raw hide rope about the dead man's neck. he moved round quickly. in a moment he was facing the dreadful dead features. he stood there without a sound. but his eyes had changed from their cold regard to a horror unspeakable. once his lips parted, and there was an automatic effort to moisten them with a parching tongue. he swallowed with a visible effort. but no other movement came from him. the moments passed. hideous, dreadful moments of an agony that was displayed in the drawn lines which had suddenly taken possession of his strong features. it was the face of a man whose soul is seared with the blasting fury of a hell from the sight of which he is powerless to withdraw his terrified gaze. he knew nothing but the agony which smote through his every sense. the world about him, the place, even the hideous swaying remains of a once joyous life that confronted him. he was blind, blind to it all, crushed beneath a burden of agony which left him stupefied. his twin brother ronald was there before him, a dreadful, dead thing, hanged for a--cattle thief. * * * * * * bud gazed from the dead to the living. his deep eyes were full of an understanding which required no words. there was that about the dead, distorted face which was unmistakable. one look into the dreadful eyes of the living had told him all he needed. he, too, stood silently contemplating the swaying figure. but it was only for a moment. then he moved swiftly, actively. as he moved he drew a sheath knife from his belt. he reached up. the steel of the knife gleamed. the next moment the dead thing was in his arms. a low fierce cry suddenly broke the silence of those dreadful shades. "leave him! don't dare, or--i'll kill you!" bud's head turned, and the muzzle of a gun touched his cheek. the blazing eyes behind it shone like coals of fire as they glared into his. but the great bud's purpose was stronger than the madness of the other's agony. "put up your gun, jeff," he said, in a deep gentle voice. "we're jest goin' to hide this poor boy wher' the eyes o' men an' beasts can't see him. we're jest goin' to hide him away wher' mebbe the good god'll watch over him, an' help him, an' surely will forgive him. you ken jest help me, boy, to locate the place, an' when we find it we'll sort o' seal it up, an' you ken hide the key away in your heart so no one'll ever find it. are you goin' to help, jeff?" for answer the gun was abruptly withdrawn. then bud saw the stricken man's hand dash across his eyes, and, as it passed, he realized the moisture of tears upon the back of it. chapter viii jeff closes the book ju penrose was a mild sort of sun-worshipper. but he confined his regard to the single blessings of light and warmth. some of his deity's idiosyncrasies were by no means blessings in his estimation. he blamed the sun for the flies. he blamed it that it made necessary the adoption of light cotton shirts, which required frequent washing. he, furthermore, blamed it for the temperature of drinks in summer time, in a place where no ice was procurable. this he regarded as wholly unfair. then, too, possessing something of an artistic eye, he failed to appreciate the necessity for changing the delicate hues of nature in spring to a monotonous summer tone by the overbearing process of continuing its spring blessing _ad nauseam_. and as for winter, it was perfectly ridiculous to turn off its "hot" tap when it was most needed. yes, there were moments when he certainly felt that he could order matters far more pleasantly if he were given a free hand. still, just now winter was a long way off. so that did not trouble him greatly as he lounged in his doorway, and reposefully contemplated the ruddy noonday light which was endeavoring to lend picturesqueness to a scene which, he assured himself, was an "everlastin' disgrace an' stain on the lousy pretensions of a museum of bum human intellec's." he was referring to the rest of the buildings which comprised the township, as apart from his own "hotel." the word "saloon" had been struck out of his vocabulary, except for use in scornful depreciation of all other enterprises of a character similar to his own. just now he was chewing the cud, and, incidentally, a wad of tobacco, of a partial peace. he felt that the recent break up of the lightfoot gang, so successfully achieved through the agency of hangings and shootings, should certainly contribute to his advantage. he argued that the long-endured threat against orrville removed, money should automatically become easier, and, consequently, a considerable vista of his own personal prosperity opened out before his practical imagination. yes, ju was undoubtedly experiencing a certain mild satisfaction. but somehow his ointment was not without taint. he detected a fly in it. and he hated flies--even in ointment. to understand ju's feelings clearly one must appreciate the fact that he loved dollars better than anything else in the world. and something he hated with equal fervor was to see their flow diverted into any other channel than that of his own pocket. ten thousand of these delectable pieces of highly engraved treasure had definitely flowed into some pocket unknown, as a result of the lightfoot gang episode. the whole transaction he felt was wicked, absolutely wicked. what right had any ten thousand dollars to drift into any unknown pocket? known, yes. that was legitimate. it always left an enterprising individual the sporting chance of dipping a hand into it. but the other was an outrage against commercialism. why, if that sort of thing became the general practice, "how," he asked himself, "was an honest trader to live?" the enquiry was the result of extreme nervous irritation, and he scratched at the roots of his beard in a genuine physical trouble of that nature. he was so engrossed upon his meditations that he entirely failed to observe some mounted strangers debouch upon the market-place from the western end of the township. nor was it until they obstructed his view that he awoke to their presence. then he became aware of two men on two horses, leading two pack ponies. he scrutinized them narrowly without shifting his position, and, long before they reached him, he decided they were strangers. they dismounted in silence and without haste. they went round their horses and loosened cinchas. then they tied the four beasts to the tie-posts in front of the saloon. they approached the saloon-keeper. the larger of the two surveyed the unmoved ju with steady eyes. then he greeted him in deep, easy tones. "howdy," he said. "you run this shanty?" the reflection upon his business house was not lost upon its proprietor. "guess i'm boss of this--hotel." "ah--hotel." bud's gaze wandered over the simple structure. it settled for a moment upon a certain display of debris, bottles, cases, kegs, lying tumbled at an angle of the building. then it came back to ju's hard face, and, in passing, it swept over the weather-boarding of the structure which was plastered thick with paint to rescue it from the ravages of drip from the shingle roof to which there was no guttering. "then i guess we'll get a drink." by a curious movement ju seemed to fall back from his position and become swallowed up by the cavity behind him. and bud and his companion moved forward in his wake. the place was entirely empty of all but the reek of stale tobacco, and the curious, pungent odor of alcohol. the two customers lounged against the shabby bar in that attitude which bespoke saddle weariness. ju stood ready to carry out their orders, his busy, enquiring mind searching for an indication of the strangers' identity. "rye?" he suggested amiably, testing, in his own fashion, their quality. but these men displayed no enthusiasm. "got any lager?" demanded bud. "a long lager, right off the ice." "ice?" there was every sort of emotion in the echo of the word as the saloon-keeper glanced vengefully across at a window through which the sun was pouring. "guess we don't grow ice around these parts, 'cep' when we don't need it, an' i don't guess the railroad's discovered they hatched orrville out yet. we got lager in soak, an' lager by the keg, down in a cool celler. ef these things ain't to your notion i don't guess you need the lager i kep." "we'll have the bottled stuff in soak. long." "ther's jest one size. ef that don't suit, guess you best duplicate." there was no offense in ju's manner. it was just his cold way of placing facts before his customers, when they were strangers. he uncorked the bottles and set them beside the long glasses, and waited while bud poured his out. then he accepted the price and made change. jeff silently poured out his and raised it to his lips. "how, bud." "how." the two men drank and set down their half-emptied glasses. the sharp ears of the saloon-keeper had caught the name "bud," and he now stood racking his fertile brains to place it. but the stranger's identity entirely escaped him. "been times around here, ain't ther'?" bud remarked casually. and ju promptly seized the opportunity. "times? sure. say, i guess you don't belong around. jest passin' thro'?" bud nodded. jeff had moved off toward the window, where he stood gazing out. the saloon-keeper's gaze followed him. "why, yes. we're passin' through," returned bud, without hesitation. "you see, we belong down south in the 't.t.' an' 'o----' country." "that so?" ju reached a box of cigars and thrust them at the new customer. "smoke?" he enquired. his generosity was by no means uncalculated. bud helped himself, and in response to ju's "your friend?" he called across to jeff at the window. but jeff shook his head, and the saloon-keeper was given an opportunity of studying his set features, and the premature lines he saw graven upon them. he withdrew the box and turned his attention to the more amenable bud. "it's a swell country down your ways," he observed cordially. then he added, "you ain't been cussed with a gang o' toughs raidin' stock, neither, same as we have fer the last fi' years. but they're out. oh, yes, they're sure out. yes, siree, you guessed right. ther's sure been some play around here. as neat a hangin' as i've see in thirty-five year tryin' to figger out the sort o' sense stewin' in the think tanks o' the crazy guys who live in cities an' make up po'try about grass. mebbe you've heard all the play?" bud shook his head. he drank up his lager, and took the opportunity of glancing over his glass at jeff's back. then he set his glass down and ordered another bottle for both of them. "no," he observed. "i ain't heard much. i heard there's been some hangin'. the lightfoot gang, eh? seems to me i've heard talk of 'em down our way. so you boys here got in on 'em?" ju set the two fresh bottles on the counter while bud lit his cigar. "that's so," he said with appreciation, and propped his folded arms upon the bar. "it sort o' come sudden, too." he smiled faintly. "it come as i said it would right here in this bar. the boys was settin' around sousing, an' pushin' round the cyards, an' the vigilante committee was settin' on a pow-wow. i was tellin' 'em ef the folks had the sense of a blind louse they'd dope out a reward, an' make it big. i guessed they'd get the gang quick that way. y'see, it don't matter who it is, folks is all after dollars--if there's only enough of 'em. life's jest made up of two sorts o' guys, the fellers with dollars an' them without. wal, i guess it's a sort o' play goes right on all the time. you just raise hell around till you get 'em, the other fellers raise hell till you ain't. it's a sort o' give and take, though i reckon the taking seems to be the general scheme adopted. that's how it comes lightfoot an' his gang got a nasty kink in most o' their necks. it's them dollars. some wise guy around here jest took himself by the neck and squeezed out a present of ten thousand dollars to the feller who'd sell up lightfoot's good-will an' business. what happened? why, it took jest about twenty-four hours for the transaction to be put through. say, ever hear tell of a time when ther' wa'an't some feller waiting ready to grab on to ten thousand dollars? no, sir. you never did. no, nor no one else, 'cep' he spent the whole of his life in the foolish house." "some one betrayed 'em--for ten thousand dollars?" bud's question came with a sharp edge to it. "don't guess 'betray's' the word, mister. it was jest a commercial transaction. you jest need to get a right understanding of them things. when i got something to sell, an' you're yearnin' to dope out the dollars for it--say ten thousand of 'em--why, i don't guess there's anything else to it but a straight business proposition." "so you netted the ten thousand?" enquired bud, in his simplest fashion. "me? gee! say, if them ten thousand dollars had wafted my way i'd have set this city crazy drunk fer a week. no, sir," he added, with a coldly gloomy shake of the head. "that's jest about the pain i'm sufferin' right now. some mighty slick aleck's helped hisself to them dollars, an' i don't know who--nor does anybody else, 'cep' him who paid 'em." bud realized the man's shameless earnestness, but passed it by. he was seeking information. it was what he and jeff had come for. the manner of this man was coldly callous, and he knew that every word he uttered was a lash applied to the bruised soul of the man by the window. irresistible sympathy made him turn about. "here's your lager, jeff," he said, in his easiest fashion. he had no desire that ju should be made aware of the trouble that jeff was laboring under. jeff replied at once. his readiness and even cheerfulness of manner surprised bud. but it relieved him as well. "bully!" he cried, as he came back to the bar. "i was just gettin' a look around at the--city." he turned to ju with his shadowy smile which almost broke bud's heart. "quite a place, eh?" "place? wal, it's got points i allow. so's hell ef you kin look at it right." ju lit a cigar and hid nearly half of it in his capacious mouth. "i'd say," he went on, with a certain satisfaction, "ther's more mush-headed souses in this lay out to the square yard than i've ever heard tell of in any other city. ef it wa'an't that way i couldn't see myself wastin' a valuable life lookin' at grass, hearin' talk of grass, smellin' grass, an' durned nigh eatin' grass. i tell you right here it takes me countin' my legs twice a day to keep me from the delusion i got four, an' every time i got to shake my head at some haf soused bum who's needin' credit i'm scared to death my blamed ears'll start right in flappin'. why, yes, i guess it's some place--if you don't know no other." bud was eager to get to the end of the task he had assumed for his friend. he wanted the facts, all the facts as far as they were available, of the terrible enactments in that valley of his early youth. "an' who antied the price?" he demanded. "who? why, the president of the western union cattle breeders' association--dug mcfarlane." "and you don't know who--accepted it?" it was jeff who put the question, and bud, looking on, saw the steely gleam that lit the man's eyes as he spoke. but ju's amiability was passing. he was getting tired of a subject which dealt with another man's profit. he rolled his cigar across his mouth. "here. guess i best tell you the yarn as we know it. y'see," he added regretfully, "we ain't learned a heap 'cep' jest the racket of it. dug set up the reward overnight. next night twenty-five of the boys rode out with him to the hills. ther' was some guy with 'em leadin'. but none of the boys come up with him. he rode with dug. we've all guessed, but i don't reckon we know, or'll ever know. you see, he got shot up they say by lightfoot himself. however, it don't signify. i got my notions 'bout it, an' anyway i guess they're jest my own. the boys guess it was one of the gang itself. mebbe it was. can't rightly say. after they'd located the camp they set out to surround it. it was in a bluff. the scrap started right away, an' there was a deal o' shootin'. one or two o' the boys got shot up bad. then some one fired the bluff, an' burned 'em right out like a crowd of gophers. after that the scrap came good an' plenty, an' it seems to've lasted nigh an hour. anyways, they got three of 'em. they shot up several others, an' not more than three got clear away." "an' what about lightfoot?" it was bud who spoke. his voice was changed from its usual deep tone. it was sharp, and almost impatient. "they got him," said ju, with a delight so evident that bud felt like killing him for it. "oh, yes, they got him, sure. a dandy gent with his blue eyes an' curly, tow hair. they don't guess that's his right name tho'. but it don't signify. he was the boss all right, all right, an' they took him, an' hanged him with the other two, right out of hand. gee, i'd have give a deal to have seen----" "we'll have to be pushing on now, bud." jeff spoke with his head bent, examining the face of his gold timepiece. bud glanced at him. he could see the ghastly hue of the averted features, and his answer came on the instant. "you git the ponies cinched up, jeff," he said quickly. "i'll be right with you." ju watched jeff hurry out of the bar. then his eyes came searchingly back to bud's grimly set face. "kind o' seems in a hurry, don't he?" he demanded, with a curious look in his hard eyes. "looks sick, too. say, i didn't git his name right. mebbe he's traveling around incog.--ain't that the word?" there was no mistaking the suggestion in the man's half-smiling, half-sneering manner. the ranchman understood it only too well. he understood most of the ways and expressions of the men of the prairie. the hot blood surged under his calm exterior. his gray eyes, so accustomed to smiling, snapped dangerously. but his reply came with the same ease which he had displayed most of the time. "wal, i don't guess ther's no myst'ry 'bout either of us, which you kind o' seem you'd like to think. jeff masters of the 'o----'s' is well enough known to most folks, who got any sort o' knowledge of these parts. an' ther's quite a few folks around here, including dug mcfarlane, li'ble to remember the name of bud tristram, of the 't.t.'s.' but you're sure right in guessin' he's in a hurry to quit. ther's some places, an' some folks, it ain't good to see a heap of. ther's fellers with minds like sinks, an' others with natures like rattlers. neither of them things is as wholesome as a sunday-school, i allow. jeff ain't yearnin' to explore no sinks, human or any other. an' i've generally noticed his favorite pastime is killin' rattlers. so it's jest about the only thing to do--quit this saloon, same as i'm goin' to do. but say, 'fore i go i'd jest like to hand you this. justice is justice, an' we all need to take our dope when it comes our way. but ther' ain't no right on this blamed earth fer any feller to whoop it up at another feller's misdoin's, an' his ultimate undoin'. an' you kin take it how you fancy when i say only the heart of a louse could feel that-a-way--an' that's about the lowest i know how to hand you." bud's eyes were shining dangerously. they were squarely looking into the hard face of the saloon-keeper. not the movement of an eyelid escaped him. he literally seemed to devour the unwholesome picture confronting him. the aggressive chin beard, the continual mastication of the cigar which protruded from the corner of the mouth. there was deadly fury lurking behind ju's cruel eyes. but the looked-for physical display was withheld, and bud finally turned and walked slowly out of the bar. * * * * * * it was some minutes since a word had passed between the two men. jeff had nothing to say, and bud's sympathy was too deep for words. he was waiting for the younger man to fight his battle to its logical end. he knew, only too well, all that jeff had suffered since the moment of that gruesome discovery in the cathills valley. it had been no figure of speech when jeff had described his twin brother as part of himself. the shock the man had received was, to bud's mind, as though his heart had been torn asunder. hanged as a cattle thief! was there anything more dire, more terrible in the imagination of man than to suddenly find that his well-loved brother, twin body of his own, was a cattle thief, possibly a murderer, and had been hanged by his fellow-men? it was a thought to leave the simple bud staggered. and for the victim of the shock it might well mean the mental breaking point. jeff was fighting out his battle with an almost super-human courage. bud knew that. it was written in every detail of his attitude. in the straining of his blue eyes, in the deep knitting of his fair strong brows, in the painful lines ploughing deeper and deeper about his mouth, and the set of his strong jaws. no. there was no thought of breaking in upon the boy's black moments of suffering. he must fight his own battle now, once and for all. when victory had been achieved, then perhaps his sympathy might become helpful. but till then nothing but the necessities of their journey must be allowed to intrude between them. so they rode over the southern trail. the noontide sun scorched the parching earth with a blistering heat, drinking up the last moisture which the tall prairie grass sought to secrete at its attenuated roots. the world about them was unchanged. every scene was similar in its characteristics to all that which had become their lives. yet bud knew that for one of them, at least, the whole of life, and everything pertaining to it, had been completely and terribly distorted. but the character of jeffrey masters was stronger and fiercer than bud knew. for all his suffering there was no yielding in him. there had been moments when his soul had cried out in agony. there had been moments when the hideousness of his weak brother's fall had driven him to the verge of madness. but with each yielding to suffering had come a rally of passionate force that would not be overborne, and gradually mastery supervened. ten miles out of orrville on the homeward journey bud received his first intimation that the battle was waning. it came almost as a shock. they had passed a long stretch of flat grass-land, and were breasting an incline. jeff, on the lead, had reined his horse down to a walk. in a moment they were riding abreast, with bud's pack pony in between them. jeff turned his bloodshot eyes upon his friend, then they turned again to the trail. "there's nothing now, bud, but to get ahead with all our plans and schemes," he said. "we must drive ahead without any looking back. there's still things in life, i guess, that's worth while, and i'd say not the least of 'em is--work." he paused. he had been gazing straight ahead to disguise his effort. now he turned and looked into the face of his friend, and thrust his hat back on his head. "it's been tough, bud. so tough i don't know how i got through. guess i shouldn't have without you. you see, bud, you never said a thing, and--and that saved me. guess i'm sort of tired now. tired of thinking, tired of--everything. but it's over, and now i sort of feel i've got to get busy, or i'll forget how to play the man. i don't guess i'll ever hope to forget. no, i don't want to forget. i couldn't, just as i couldn't forget that there's some one in the world took ten thousand dollars as the price of ronny's poor foolish life. oh, it's pretty bad," he sighed wearily. "but--i've closed the book, bud, and please god i'll never open it again." chapter ix four years later nan tristram smiled to herself as she sat in the comfortable rocker before the open french window which gave on to the wide wooden balcony beyond. the view she had was one of considerable charm, for aston's hotel was situated facing one end of maple avenue, looking straight down its length, which was at once the principal and most beautiful thoroughfare in the picturesque western city of calthorpe. but her smile had nothing to do with anything the prospect yielded her. its beauties were undeniable; she had admitted them to herself many times. but she knew them with that intimacy which robs things of their first absorbing charm. the wide-spreading maple trees, which so softened down the cold beauty of the large stone-fronted residences lining the avenue, were always a source of soothing influence in the excited delight of a visit to this busy and flourishing city. then the vista of lofty hills beyond the far limits of the town, with their purpling tints, their broken facets, their dimly defined woodland belts, they made such a wonderful backing to the civilized foreground. nan tristram loved the place. for her, full of the dreams of youth, calthorpe was the hub of all that suggested life and gaiety. it was the one city she knew. it was the holiday resort of the girl born and bred to the arduous, and sometimes monotonous life of the plains. but it was, in reality, a place of even greater significance. nan saw it only as it appealed to her ardent fancy. but calthorpe was a flourishing and buoyant city of "live" people, who were fully aware of its favorable possibilities as the centre of the richest agricultural region in the whole of the state of montana. it was overflowing with prosperity. the ranching community, and the rich grain growers for miles around, poured their wealth into it, and sought its light-hearted life for the amusement of their families and themselves. its social life was the life of the country, and to take part in it needed the qualification of many acres, or much stock, a bank balance that required no careful scrutiny, and a temperament calculated to absorb readily the joy of living. it was something of this joy of living which was stirring now, lighting the girl's soft brown eyes with that tender whimsical smile which was never very far from them. she was resting after the early excitements of the day. it was her twenty-second birthday, and, in consequence, with so devoted a father, a day of no small importance. she had been warned by that solicitous parent to "go--an' have a sleep, so you don't peter right out when the fun gets good an' plenty." but nan had no use for sleep just now. she had no use for anything that might rob her of one moment of the delight and excitement of the calthorpe cattle week, as it was called. therefore she undutifully abandoned herself to a pleasurable review of events whilst waiting for the next act in the day's play to begin. and what a review it made in her understanding of the life about her. it was four years since her father and jeff masters had signed their partnership, and she knew that to-day, on the second day of _the_ week, the triumph of the great "obar" ranch, which her father and jeffrey masters had so laboriously and patiently built up, was to be completed. now, even while she sat there gazing from her window at the panorama of life passing up and down the broad expanse of maple avenue, the council of the western union cattle breeders' association was sitting for its annual conference and election of officers. and had she not already been confidentially warned that jeff was to be the forthcoming year's president? it was the crowning event in the long dreamed dreams of the two men whom she frankly admitted to herself were nearest and dearest to her. why should she not admit it? her father? ah, yes, her father was the most perfect, kindly, sympathetic father that ever lived. and jeff? a warm thrill swept through her heart and set it beating tumultuously. jeff was her whole sum and substance of life itself. well enough she knew that no other bond than that of friendship existed between them; that no word had ever passed between them which might not have passed in the daily intercourse between brother and sister. but this did not cause her to shrink from the admission. jeff was her whole horizon in life. there was no detail of her focus which was not occupied by the image of the man whom she regarded as the genius of their fortunes. there were moments enough when she realized with something akin to dismay that jeff and she _were_ friends. but her gentle humor always served her at such moments. and there was always the lukewarm consolation that there was no other woman who had even a similar claim. therefore she hugged her secret to herself, and only gazed upon it in such moments of happy dreaming as the present. and just now they were happy moments. how could it be otherwise in a girl so healthy, and with such a depth of human feeling and with such a capacity for sheer enjoyment of the simple pleasures which came her way? what an evening yet confronted her in this brief week of holiday from the claims of the green-brown plains of summer. she must be ready at seven o'clock for the reception at the city hall. she had a new gown for that particular event, which had, amongst others, been bought in new york. it had cost one hundred and thirty dollars, an unthinkable price it had seemed, but dismissed as something too paltry to be considered by the open-handed ranchman whom she claimed as father. she was to assist jeff and her father in receiving the guests, who would represent all the heads of their cattle world, and their friends, and their wives, and their daughters. and after that the banquet, which, since the inauguration of the association, had always taken place, here at aston's hotel. there would be speeches. jeff would speak, and her father--no, she hoped he wouldn't speak. her smile deepened. he had such a way of saying just what came into his funny, simple old head, and such a curious vocabulary. then, after the banquet, the--ball! the girl emitted a deep ecstatic sigh. the ball! it was the crowning glory, and--she had a beautiful new gown for each event. it was a ravishing thought. perhaps a mere man may be forgiven his lack of imagination in his appreciation of such perfect, unutterable delight. but nan had no cloud to obscure her sun. the labor of dressing afresh, three times in one evening without a maid, except the questionable assistance of a hotel chambermaid, had no terrors for her--none whatever. her day-dreaming was interrupted by an immoderate thump on the door. she turned her head at once, her pretty dancing eyes alight with expectancy. "that you, dad?" she called. "sure, nan." then came a fumbling at the door handle. "you can come right in," the girl cried, without moving from her chair. the door was thrust open, and the sunburnt face with its shock of curling iron gray hair and whiskers appeared round it. the deep-set eyes surveyed the room, and took on a look of deep concern. "say, nan," he cried, "you'll never git fixed in time. i jest give you the limit of time before i got around. you see, i didn't fancy you not gettin' a good slep." the girl shook her pretty head and smiled as she observed the careful toilet she felt sure her father had spent the whole afternoon upon. she sprang from her chair and surveyed him critically, with her head judicially poised on one side, and her pretty ripe lips slightly pursed. "everything's bully but that bow tie," she declared, after a considering pause. "just come right here and i'll fix it. say, dad, i envy you men. was there ever a nicer looking suit for men than evening clothes? i'm--kind of proud of my daddy, with his wide chest and good figure. and that white waistcoat. my, but you don't look as if you'd ever branded a calf in your life. it's only your dear handsome face gives you away, and--and the backs of your hands." nan laughed as she retied the tie to her satisfaction, the fashion in which a girl loves to see a bow tied. the man submitted meekly, but with concern for her final remark. "but i scrubbed 'em both--sore," he declared anxiously. "i don't mean they're dirty, daddy," the girl laughed. "was there ever such a simple, simple soul? it's the wholesome mahogany tan which the wind and the sun have dyed them. say, there, get a peek at yourself in that glass." she thrust him toward a wall mirror. "it's not girls only who need a mirror, when a man is good to look at, daddy, is it? honest? it doesn't make you hate yourself, nor feel foolish. i guess there's men folks who'd have you think that way, but if i know anything they'd hate to be without a mirror when they're fixing themselves for a party where there's to be some nice looking women, and where they're to be something better than just a 'stray' blown in." bud laughed at the rapid flow of the girl's banter. but he had by no means forgotten his own concern. "but, say, nan, you hain't got time for foolin' around. you surely hain't. it's haf after five, an' we're due at the city hall seven, sharp. y'see, you ain't like us fellers who don't need no fixin' to speak of. an' you're helpin' us to receive the folks----" nan's delighted laugh rippled through the pleasant room. "oh, my daddy," she cried, with wide, accusing eyes, "you're the best laugh in a month." then she held up one admonishing finger before her dancing eyes. "now the truth. what was the minute you started to make yourself--pretty?" she sat herself upon a table before him with the evident purpose of enjoying to the full the delighted feelings of the moment. bud eyed her steadily. he knew he was to be cornered. nor would it be for the first time. the relation between these two was that of a delightful companionship in which the frequent measuring of wit held no inconsiderable place amidst a deep abiding affection. "say--a touch of the north wind around, nan, eh?" he smiled. "never mind the north wind, daddy," nan laughed. "just when? that's what i need to know now." the man's fingers sought his crisply curling hair. "no, no," cried nan, in pretended alarm, "guess you're going to undo an hour's work that way." bud dropped his hand in real dismay. "guess i plumb forgot. wal, say, since you got to know, i'd say it must ha' bin right after din--i mean luncheon. you see, i'd----" "ah, say three o'clock." nan leaned forward, her pretty face supported on the knuckles of her clasped hands, her elbows resting upon her knees. "oh, daddy--and you aren't due at the party till seven. four hours. four valuable hours sitting around in your dandy new suit of evening clothes. vanity. pure vanity. we're all the same, men who _don't_ need--fixing, and women who _do_. only you men won't admit it. women do. they surely do. any woman's ready to admit she'd rather look nicer than any other woman than be all sorts of a girl other ways. and though they don't ever reckon to admit it, men just feel that way, too. oh, i guess i know. the boys are just yearning for the girls to think there's nothing but big 'thinks' moving around in their well-greased heads. and they'd hate a girl who got the notion they had time to stand around gawking in a mirror to see their clothes set right, or study the look they're going to pour into the china blue eyes of some tow-headed bundle who knows his bank wad down to the last cent." she sighed heavily, but her eyes were literally dancing. "but it's kind of nice that boys act that way," she went on. "it does give a girl a chance to think him all sorts of a god for--a while. say, if she knew things just as they are, where'd she find that scrap of romance which makes life all sunshine and storm clouds, instead of the monotonous gray it really is?" she pointed at the snowy bed laden with the precious costumes she must use before the night was out. "say, wouldn't it be just awful if every girl knew that the man she'd--marked down for her own, worried around with things like that before every party he was to take her to, same as she does? i guess she'll learn it all later when she marries him, and has two folks to worry for instead of one. but, meanwhile, she just dreams that he's dreaming those 'big thinks' that's going, some time, to set a dreaming world wide awake to the mighty 'thinks' she dreams into her beau's head." then she began to laugh, and the infection of it caught her father, who gurgled heavily in chorus. "say, wouldn't it be a real circus if a big, strong man had to act the same as us poor women? i mean when we're scheming to stir up a sensation in the hearts of men, and in the envy depot of other girls, when we enter the portals of a swell social gathering. now jeff. say, my daddy, can you see him sort of mincing across the floor," she cried, springing from her seat and pantomiming across the room, "smiling, and smirking and bowing, this way and that, all done up in fancy bows, and sheeny satins, and--and with combs in his sleek hair to hold it in place, and with a jeweled tiara set on top of it? and then--yes, just a teeny tiny touch of powder on his nose? my word!" a happy chorus of laughter rang through the room as she returned to her seat, bud's coming in great unrestrained gusts. they were like two irresponsible children rather than father and daughter. "oh, dear. and you, too," laughed nan. "we can't leave you out of the picture. being of more mature years i guess you'd sweep in--that's the way--sweep in gowned--at your age you don't dance around in 'frocks'--in something swell, and rich, and of sober hue. oh, dear, oh, dear. guess we'd have to match your mahogany face. wine color, eh? no 'cute little bows for you. just beads and bugles, whatever they are. but we'd let you play around with some tinted mixing of powder for your nose, or--or we'd sure spoil the picture to death. my, i'd die laughing." bud's amusement threatened to burst the white bonds which held his vast neck. "oh, quit it, nan," he cried, with his beaming face rapidly purpling. then he struggled for seriousness. "i didn't get around to listen to your foolin', child." then he bestirred himself to a great display of parental admonishment. "now, see right here, nan, i'll get back in an hour. maybe jeff's fixin' himself the way you said. i can't jest say. but anyways he's the big feller to-night, an' it's up to you to worry out so you can be a credit to him, an' me, an' the 'obar.'" then he came across to her and took her affectionately by the shoulders, and gazed down into her face with twinkling, kindly eyes. "say, you got more to work on than most gals. you sure have, nan. yep. your poor ma was a pictur', an' you're a pictur'. an' i ain't goin' to say which of you had claim for the best framing. anyway, what you have in your pretty face you owe to the dear woman who never had a chance of the framing you can have. so jest remember it, nan--and thank her." nan's eyes had completely sobered at the mention of her dead mother, whom she scarcely remembered, and earnestness and affection replaced all her mirth. "maybe i owe it her," she said, suddenly releasing herself from the heavy hands, and rising from her seat. then she reached up and slipped her soft arms about the man's neck. "and what do i owe to you? nothing? ah, my daddy, i guess you can shake your funny head till you muss up its contents to an addle. i'll not forget what i owe my momma, and just thank her all i know, but i'm thanking you too--just as hard." she tiptoed until she was able to kiss him on the cheek. then her ready smile broke out afresh, and she gently pushed him toward the door. "who is it wasting my time? there," she cried, as she opened the door, and her father vanished through it, "get right out, and don't you dare come back for an hour." the ranchman's laugh echoed down the corridor as he moved away. then nan, practical and sober once more, closed the door and rang for the chambermaid. * * * * * * whatever success could be claimed for the men who had founded and built up the "obar" ranch, and it was more than considerable, the triumph of that night was in no small measure to the credit of nan tristram. but when it was all over, when the last of the three beautiful gowns had been tucked tenderly away in the drawers which were their temporary home, and nan was left to the night solitude in which to go over once more in her secret thoughts each keenly vivid detail of the kaleidoscopic play of events as they had swept past her during the evening, they found her soberly wondering if, after all, the anticipated delight had been realized. was it possible in all that unquestioned success there had been no delight, no real enjoyment at all? it seemed impossible. it was impossible, and she tried to put the thought out of her mind. but it refused to be banished. it returned again--and again, and, in desperation, not untouched with panic, she assured herself that she was tired--very tired, and this silly feeling was the result. then, too, her humor was summoned, and it warned her of the quantity of ice cream she had devoured at the ball. it told her her digestion had suffered in consequence. and this she thought was a pity, because she loved ice cream. but humor was swept aside by a far keener emotion. she scorned the idea of indigestion. she had no pain _there_. but there was pain, a silly ache about her heart which robbed her of all desire for sleep. she tried to console herself by recalling her father's quaintly expressed admiration of her, when he first beheld her in her new and costly gown. what was it? "why, say, nan, when i look at you i sort o' feel as if two fellers had bin at work fixin' you, a po't an' a painter, seems as if they'd set their mushy heads together, an' each had doped out what the other couldn't, till ther' ain't a thing left fer the fancy of plain mule-headed sort o' bussocks like me." curious as his method of expression had been she had understood and thrilled with delight. but almost at once her thoughts flew on to much later when she was gliding through the dancing crowd at the ball. his eyes had followed her everywhere. but there was a change in their expression. to her it was a complete change. to her the simple approval had been replaced by a gleam of sympathetic concern. but this was after--after the first cloud had settled upon her hope of unalloyed enjoyment. perhaps the look had not been there at all. perhaps it was simply her own feelings finding reflection for her where none existed. she became impatient with herself and grasped at the memory of jeff's greeting when she had first appeared in the hotel parlor, equipped for the reception. he had not said much. but that was always jeff's way. but there had been his quick smile of unusual satisfaction. and the words of greeting had sprung quite spontaneously to his lips. "say, nan, you're--you're just great." the hesitation in the middle of it had told her even more than his smiling admiration. it was almost like--and she thrilled as she thought it--a gasp for breath. she strove hard to support herself with these memories, out even as she considered them her mind passed on to the reception, and that stupid ache supervened once more. instantly her focus narrowed down. there were only two figures in it. the rest merely provided a setting for these two. all the lights, the decorations, the beautiful costumes and smiling faces, these became an indistinct blurr, leaving the image of mrs. elvine van blooren and a man standing vividly out. what a wonderful, wonderful picture of radiant womanhood mrs. van blooren had made! even in her trouble nan was generous. the woman was beautiful in a way that poor nan had only dreamed of. the madonna-like features, calm, perfect. the dark hair, superb in the simplicity of its dressing. she remembered that at the first glance it had suggested to her the sheen of a cloudless summer night. and her gown, and her figure. the gown must have cost--ah, nan could not appraise its cost. she had had insufficient experience. her own maximum had been reached only now, and the sum seemed to her as paltry as her father had made it appear. the one certainty that remained with her, however, was that the taste displayed in mrs. van blooren's gown had placed it beyond such a thing as mere material value. and then her heart had seemed to stand still. it appeared that jeff, who was talking to some other people, and she had become aware of mrs. van blooren's presence at the same moment. for when nan glanced in his direction he was gazing fixedly at the newcomer with a look in his steady blue eyes which she had never beheld in them before. oh, yes, there had been no mistaking that look. she knew she was not clever, but she was a woman, and no woman could ever mistake such a look in the eyes of a man. but worse was to follow. there was a respite for her in the activities of the reception. for jeff was as busily occupied as she was. then, too, at the banquet she had ample time to recover from the shock. but the ball came, and they were both released from their duties, and everybody was left free to dance as only the western people love to dance. it was then that her bitter cup was filled to overflowing. jeff danced six times with mrs. van blooren. six times, and one supper extra, while she had to content herself with a miserable two dances with the one man who, to her stood out foremost among all men. it was during the long hours of that dreary ball that she had encountered her father's curious regard, and now she wondered if he had seen what she had seen. if he had understood as she understood. nan wanted to cry. as she lay there on her snowy bed, restless, and wakeful, and troubled, there were certainly moments when her tired eyes filled with tears. but she did not, would not cry. she smiled to herself, and even laughed. she ridiculed herself and made jest of her absurd pretensions. she told herself a hundred times she had no claim upon jeff. he was free to do as he chose, to dance all night with any mrs. van blooren. but when, at last, the first beam of daylight penetrated the light material of the window blinds, and slowly flooded the room, it found nan in a troubled sleep with two great unshed tears slowly welling in the corners of her eyes, and ready to fall heavily and sadly down the perfect moulding of her softly rounded cheeks. chapter x the polo club races the race-track at calthorpe was a matter of no small pride to its citizens. any western city could possess broad and beautiful avenues. any city might well boast hotels of six, eight, or even ten floors, and express elevators, and things of that sort. a cathedral was not unknown even, and electric surface cars. but a race-track--a recognized race-track--which was included in the official western circuit of race meetings, was certainly a matter for more than ordinary pride. such regard was undoubtedly meted out to it, and as a corollary there were prophets in the city who foresaw the later development of a country club, with a golf course, and the provision for every other outdoor sport under its luxurious administration. those who could afford such luxuries pretended to look upon these things as indispensable, and those who couldn't regarded them with simple pride, and lived in the glamour of their reflected glory, and told each other how such things should be administered. such developments, however, were for the future. the race-track existed, and, amongst its many other delights, it supplied the cranks with a text for frequent sermons. it was set in a luxurious woodland dip, well beyond the town limits, and occupied a small flat of rich grass through which a mountain creek wound its ridiculously tortuous course. thus it was provided with the natural resources demanded by a steeplechase course as well as the "flat." it was a toy which the wealth of the neighborhood had been poured out upon with no niggard hand, till it found itself possessed of a miniature grand stand, a paddock and loose boxes, for the use of many a pony whose normal days were spent roaming wild upon the plains. then there was the polo club house and ground, where many of the city's social functions were held. the whole thing was as pretentious as money could make it, and in due proportion it was attractive to the minds of those who believed themselves leaders in their social world. nan tristram understood all this and smiled at it, just as she understood that to absent oneself from the polo club races in cattle week would be to send in one's resignation from the exclusive social circles to which she belonged, a position quite unthinkable for one who sought only the mild excitements which pertain to early youth. the noon following the ball, and all the disturbed moments which it inspired, found nan on the way to the polo club races. her party was riding, and it was an extensive party. there were some twenty and more saddles. luncheon had been sent on ahead, catered for by aston's hotel at jeffrey masters' expense, one of the many social duties which his election to the presidency of the western union cattle breeders' association entitled him to undertake during the cattle week. it was a gay party, mostly made up of young and prosperous ranchmen, and the girls belonging to their little world. nor among them could have been found any one more brightly debonair and attractive than nan tristram. there was never a sign about her of the disquieting thoughts of overnight. such things might never have been. her eyes, so soft and brown, were sparkling with that joy of life which never fails in its attraction even for the most serious mind. she sat her brown mare astride with the easy grace of a born horsewoman. her equipment lacked no detail in its comparison with that of the other women. bud's warning on this point had fallen upon willing and attentive ears when he had handed the girl a signed blank check. and the old man had found ample reward for his generosity in the rivalry amongst the men for his "gal's" escort. the only shadow which fell across his enjoyment had occurred when he beheld jeff leading the cavalcade at the side of mrs. van blooren. but in nan's case it seemed to give not the smallest qualm. her one single purpose seemed to be to obtain a maximum of enjoyment at the side of young bill dugdale, a college-bred youth of more than ordinary repute as a prosperous cattleman. the day was fresh for midsummer. the sky was ruffled with great billowing white summer clouds, and a cool northwest breeze was coming off the mountain tops. the whole world about them was assuming that tawny green of the ripening season, and the trail was sufficiently dusty for its abandonment in favor of the bordering grass. but if midsummer reigned over nature, spring, fresh, radiant spring was in the hearts of those seeking the mild excitement of calthorpe's race-track. nan and young dugdale laughed and chattered their way in the wake of the several couples ahead. dugdale's desire to please was more than evident. and nan was at no time difficult. just now she seemed to enter into the spirit of everything with a zest which sent the man's hopes soaring skyward. once only during the brief ride did the girl give the least sign that her interest lay on anything but her good-looking escort. it was at a moment when dugdale was pointing out to her the humorous inspiration of his own registered cattle brand. "you see, 'b.b.' don't sound much of a scream, miss tristram," he said, in great seriousness. "i don't guess it's likely to set you falling out of your saddle in one wild hysterical whoop of unrestrained mirth. course i'm known by it, same as you're known by the 'obar,' but some of the language the boys fix to my brand 'ud set a baptist minister hollerin' help. say, i can't hand you it all. i just can't, that's all. 'bill's bughouse' is sort of skimmed milk to pea soup. then there's 'bill's boneyard.' that wouldn't offend any one but my foreman. 'busy bee' kind of hands me a credit i don't guess i'm entitled to. but there's others smack of the intelligence of badly raised hogs." then he laughed. "the truth is, when i first pitched camp on lime creek i wasn't as wise to things ranching as a sunday-school committee. i lived mostly on beans an' bacon, and when the boys fell in at night, why, i don't guess there was much beside beans and bacon to keep 'em from falling into a state of coma on my blankets. it generally fixed them right, and i'm bound to say they never seemed to find they couldn't sit a saddle after it. yes, and hit the trail for fifty miles, if there was fresh meat at the end of it. i sort of got known around as 'beans and bacon.' then it was abbreviated to b.b. and so when i registered my brand it just seemed natural to set down b.b." nan's laugh was very genuine. dugdale's ingenuous manner always pleased her. "you hadn't learned prairie hospitality," she said. "you surely were committing a grave offense." the man was full of pretended penitence. "i don't guess that needed _learning_!" he said, with a wry smile. "the boys just handed it to me same as a parson hands a heart-to-heart talk on things you're hatin' to hear about. oh, i was put wise quick. but when you've got just about ten thousand dollars that's telling you you're all sorts of a fool, and you're yearning for 'em to believe you're a twin brother to pierpont morgan, why, you don't feel your hide's made of gossamer, and don't care a cuss if folks start right in to hammer tacks into it for shoe leather." "and the dollars? you convinced them?" nan's eyes were full of humor. "convinced 'em?" the man's eyes opened wide. "say, miss tristram, it was a mighty big argument. oh, yes, and i guess there were times when we come near bein' such bad friends that i wanted to hand 'em right on to the nearest saloon-keeper i could find. but in the end i won. oh, i won. i just told 'em right out what i thought of 'em, and their parents, and their ancestors, and their forthcoming progeny, and--that, seemed to fix things. they got civil then. sort of raised their hats, and--got busy. you'd be astonished if you saw the way they hatched out--after that. you see," he added whimsically, "there's just about only one way of makin' life act the way you need it. set your back teeth into the seat of things, and--hang on." but nan's reply was slow in coming, and her usually ready laugh was not in evidence. his final remark had brought very near the surface all those feelings and thoughts she had striven so hard to bury where they could no longer offend. it seemed to the man that her eyes had grown unnecessarily serious. but then he did not know that there was any unusual interest for her in the fact that jeff masters was escorting mrs. van blooren. when she did speak it was with her gaze fixed upon the couple ahead. "yes, that's it," she said. "hang on. hang on with every ounce of courage and strength you've got. and if you've got to go under, why, i guess it's best done with a smile, eh?" quite abruptly she indicated the woman in front. "i do think she's real beautiful, don't you?" "who?" the man had no concern for anybody at that moment but the girl at his side. "who? say, aren't you just foolish. i was thinking of mrs. van blooren." the man laughed. "i surely am," he declared. "and i've won prizes for thought-reading at parlor games, too." they both laughed. then nan went on with a persistence which was quite lost upon the thought-reader. "who is she? mrs. van blooren?" she demanded. "why, you met her, sure?" then the man added with some significance: "she's riding with jeff masters." "oh, yes. i've met her. i met her last night, and i've seen her many times before." then she added with a shadow of coldness in her manner: "but she doesn't belong to the cattle folk." the man's eyes were following the direction of nan's. "no-o," he said seriously. "guess i'm not wise. they say her husband was a rancher--before he acted foolish an' died." nan's laugh came readily. "that's bright. i don't guess he started running cattle--after." dugdale chuckled explosively. "who's to say?" he cried. then he went on with enthusiasm: "say, wouldn't it be bully to think of? just get a thought of it. flapping around with elegant store wings, rounding up golden steers trimmed with fancy halos, and with jeweled eyes. branding calves of silver with flaming irons and turning 'em out to feed on a pasture of purple grass with emeralds and sapphires for blossoms all growing around. and then----" "think again. say, your taste's just--cheap. but we're talking of mrs. van blooren." "i'm sorry. why, i guess she's daughter to the carruthers's. john d. carruthers. he was principal at st. bude's college. pensioned. guess it's five years since she handed us boys the g. b. and hooked up with a white-gilled hoodlum from down east. he got around here with a wad he'd raised from his father. can't say who his father was. folks guessed he was some millionaire. i don't just know the rights of it. anyway, he left her well enough fixed. gee! fancy a feller acting that way--dying, with a wife like that. wonder what sort of mush he kept in his thinking depot? i'd say folks with sense have to live on the chances fools can't just kick to death. anyway, seeing she's started right in to set her wings rustling again i guess some feller with hoss sense'll be getting busy. they'd make a swell couple," he added with a grin. "jeff's a good-looker." nan nodded. but she made no answer. had the man been less concerned with his match-making suggestions he must have observed the effect of his careless words. nan had paled under the pretty tanning of her rounded cheeks. she was hurt, hurt beyond words, and though she could willingly have cried out she was forced to smother her feelings. the panic of the moment passed, however, and, with a great effort, she was able to give her suggestion its proper value. but somehow, for the rest of the ride, it seemed to her that the sun was less bright, the wind even had become chilly, and altogether there was a curious, enervating world-weariness hanging over everything. by the time they reached the race-track she felt in her simple heart she ought to apologize for having spoiled her escort's ride. but the inclination was only the result of her depression. she even told herself, with a gleam of humor, that if she attempted it she would have to burst into tears. however, the later excitement of the racing helped to revive nan's drooping spirits. the scene was irresistible. the atmosphere. the happy buoyant enjoyment on every side could not long be denied whatever the troubles awaiting more sober moments. there were the sleek and glossy horses. there were the brilliant colors of the jockey's silks. there was the babel of excited voices, the shouting as the horses rushed down the picturesque "straight." then the betting. the lunching. the sun. the blessed sun and gracious woodland slopes shutting in this happy playground of men and women become children again at the touch of pleasure's magic wand. no, for all her anxiety, nan had no power to withstand the charm and delirium of it all. and, for a while, she flung herself into it with an abandon which matched the most reckless. twice she found herself in financial difficulties through reckless betting, and twice the open-handed bud had to come to her assistance. each time his comment was characteristic, and nan laughed at him with the irresponsibility of a child who tastes the delight of gambling for the first time. "say, little gal," bud admonished her, the second time he unrolled his "wad" of bills. "makin' dollars on a race-track's jest about as easy as makin' ice-cream. ther's jest one way of doing it. ast yourself which hoss you're craziest to dope out your money on, an' when you're plumb sure then get right along an' bet on the other feller. meanwhiles think in dollars an' play in cents." and nan's answer reflected her feelings of the moment. "you can't play in cents, my daddy, when it's time to play in dollars. you never know when the time's coming along when even cents are denied you." then before the worshipping parent could add to his advice the girl darted off with her hands full of outspread bills seeking the pool rooms. she had seen the horses cantering over to the post for the half-mile dash. it was a race for legitimate cow-ponies and she knew jeff's "sassafras" was running in it. she meant to bet on jeff's horse. it mattered nothing to her what other horses were running. she knew little enough of their claims. she had one thought in life. anything to do with jeff masters, anything of his was good enough for her to gamble on--even with her life. this was the real, all unconscious nan. it was not in her to give half measure. she had no idea of what she was doing. she had no subtlety or calculation of anything where her love was concerned. she would back jeff to the limit, and stand or fall by it. it was the simple loyalty and devotion which only a woman can yield. on her way to the pool room she encountered jeff himself, and, in the excitement of the moment, clasping her money in both hands, she thrust them out toward him. "say, jeff," she cried, "i'm just crazy. the horses have gone right out to the start now, and--and i'm gasping to put my dollars on sassafras." the man's quiet smile was good to see. and nan warmed under its influence. this was the jeff she had known so long and loved so well. there was no other woman near to have provoked that smile. it was hers. she felt it was all hers, and her eyes shone up into the depths of blue she so loved. "why, nan, i just hate to disappoint you," he said, in a gentle fashion. "but you'll surely be crazy to back my plug with tommy cleveden's 'jack rabbit' in the race. it's a cinch for him. it is so." nan laughed a glad buoyant laugh. "jack rabbit?" she echoed scornfully. "why, he points the toe. guess he'd outrun sassafras if he kept his feet, but he'll never do it. he'll peck. then he'll change his stride. no, jeff. sassafras goes with me." the smile in the man's eyes faded out. he hated the thought of nan losing her money on what he considered a foolish bet. his practical mind could not see under her purpose. "say, nan, just don't you do it," he said persuasively. "we aren't. we're backing jack rabbit for a big roll." "we?" "mrs. van blooren and me." jeff's manner was quite unconcerned. at that instant he had no thought of anything but to dissuade nan from throwing her money away uselessly. and nan. her eyes never wavered for an instant in their regard. their warmth of expression remained. yet it was a cruel blow. perhaps the cruelest that could have been inflicted at such a moment. jeff had inflicted it--jeff of all men. she smiled up at him. oh, how she smiled. her eyes shone like two superb brown diamonds as she forced her money upon him with even greater determination. "take it, jeff. take it," she cried urgently. "say, if you never, never do another thing for me--ever. take it, and, why, i guess every cent of it says sassafras wins. sassafras is your pony, jeff, and i'd back him if he'd only three legs and a fence post." then just the smallest gleam of the woman peeped through. "maybe mrs. van blooren's a pretty bright woman. but i guess i'm wise to horses." jeff hurried away. there was no time to waste. the horses had already assembled at the start. nan watched him go with eyes that had lost their last gleam of sunshine. the mask she had set up before the man had completely fallen. jeff was--was betting for mrs. van blooren! he was betting with her! maybe even they were pooling their bets! oh! for some moments she stood alone where jeff had left her. everybody had rushed to the fence of the enclosure, crowding to witness the race. nan seemed to have forgotten it. it was bud's voice that finally claimed her, and she tried to pull her scattered faculties together. she reached bud's side amongst the crowd, and the old man's shrewd eyes searched her troubled face. "what's amiss, nan?" he demanded, in a tone almost brusque. and the girl responded with a wistful smile. "why, daddy, i've bet all your money on jeff's sassafras, and--and i want him to win more than anything--anything in the world." bud's reply was lost in the sudden shout that went up. it was the start. some one made way for nan, and gently pushed her to a place against the railings. the winning-post was directly in front of her. the full breadth of the track was in her view. she gazed out with eyes that were very near tears. she saw a vista of green and many figures moving beyond the track. she heard the hoarse cries of men, whose desires exceeded their veracity as they shouted the progress of the race. but nothing of what she heard or beheld conveyed anything to her. her heart was aching once more, and her thoughts were heavily oppressed, and all the joy of the day had suddenly been banished. then of a sudden came that greatest of all tonics. that irresistible sensation so powerfully stimulating that no trouble can resist it. the racing horses leaped into her view, and the disjointed shouts welded into one steady roar. nan was caught in the tide of it all. the blood seemed to rush to her head like full rich wine. she added her light cries to the general tumult. "sassafras! sassafras!" she cried, with eyes blind to all but the indistinct cluster of the straining horses. then in her ears rang a cry: "a hundred dollars jack rabbit! a thousand! jack rabbit! jack rabbit!" it was like a douche of cold water. the girl's heart sank. she felt, she knew that jack rabbit had won. then into her ears poured a babel of voices. the roar had died out, and the crowd were waiting for the numbers to go up. nan had no further interest. she turned to seek her father. he was there, not far behind her, and she pushed her way toward him. she smiled bravely as she came up, but the pathos of it was lost on bud. he was craning, and his eyes were on the number board. he did not even see her. "i'm--i'm sort of tired, daddy," she began. but bud held up his hand. there was a rattle at the number board. nan understood. she waited. then it seemed as if the crowd had timed itself for one unanimous shout. "sassafras!" it came with a sort of electric thrill for the girl. in one wild moment all her shadows seemed to clear. "sassafras!" she cried. and her father's deep gray eyes beamed down upon her "you've sure guessed right, little gal," he said. "an' i--hope it was dollar time." at that instant jeff thrust his way through the crowd, and the warmth of his smile flooded the girl's heart with happiness. "say, nan," he cried, holding out his hand with an enthusiasm that was hardly to be expected in one who has lost, "you got us all beat a mile. you surely have. sassafras. my old sassafras. say, who'd 'a' thought it?" nan's hand remained clasped in his, and she seemed to have no desire to withdraw it. jeff looked round into bud's face. "do you know what she's won? do you, nan?" he went on to the girl again. nan laughed. it was all she wanted to do. "not a notion, jeff. i handed you all daddy gave me. how much was it, daddy?" "five hundred." nan's eyes widened in alarm. "five hundred? and i bet it all on--sassafras!" "and you've won nearly five thousand," cried jeff, stirred completely out of himself at the girl's success. "i--i must have been--crazy," she declared, in an awed voice. bud laughed, but his eyes were full of a sympathy that had no meaning for the others. "not crazy, little nan. jest good grit. guess jeff didn't see the pool waitin' around for him to pick up. wal, guess ther's a heap o' folk like him. you played right out for a win, an' you won--by a head." chapter xi elvine van blooren it was the last day of the cattle week. a week which, for at least three people, was fraught with something in the nature of epoch-making events. all that the simple heart of nan tristram had looked forward to, yearned for, had been denied her from the first moment she had beheld that unmistakable lightening up of jeff's eyes on his meeting with elvine van blooren. it had been a revelation of dread. her own secret hopes had been set shaking to their very foundations. and from that moment on, during the rest of the week, brick by brick the whole edifice of them had been set tumbling. by the last day nothing but a pile of debris remained. holiday! it had been a good deal less than holiday. she had looked forward to one all too brief succession of days of delight. jeff, who had been honored by his fellows in the world which was theirs. jeff, the leader in the great industry which absorbed them all. jeff, the man by his very temperament marked out for a worldly success only bounded by the limitations of his personal ambitions. she had been so proud of him. she had been so thankful to be allowed to share in his triumphs. she had shared in them, too--up till that meeting with elvine van blooren at the reception. after that--ah, well, there had been very little after for nan. and the man himself. four days had sufficed to reduce jeff's feelings to a condition of love-sickness such as is best associated with extreme youth. furthermore its hold upon him was deeper, more lasting by reason of the innate strength of his character. as for elvine van blooren it would be less easy to say. her beauty was of a darkly reticent order. hers was the face, the eyes, the manner yielding up few secrets. she rarely imparted confidence even to her mother. and a woman who denies her mother rarely yields confidence to any other human creature. perhaps in her case, however, she had good reason. mrs. john d. carruthers, who possessed a simple erudite professor for a husband, a man who possessed no worldly ambitions of any sort, and who readily accepted his pension from the trustees of st. bude's college at the earliest date, so that he might devote all his riper years to the prosecution of his passion for classical research, was a painful example of worldliness, and a woman who regarded position and wealth before all things. there was little enough sympathy between mother and daughter. mrs. john d. carruthers only saw in elvine's unusual beauty an asset in her schemes of advancement. while elvine displayed a cold disregard for the older woman's efforts, and went her own way. elvine was strong, even as jeffrey masters was strong. but while the man's strength lay in the single purpose of achievement, elvine looked for the ease and luxury which life could legitimately afford her. elvine and her mother possessed far too much in common ever to have sympathy for one another. it was this very attitude which inspired an acrimonious half hour in the somewhat pretentious parlor on maple avenue just before jeff was to pay his farewell call at the close of the cattle week. elvine was occupied with a small note-book on the| pages of which there were many figures. with a small gold pencil she was working out sums, which, apparently, were solely for her own edification. she communicated nothing to her mother, who covertly glanced over at her from the fancy work she was engaged upon at the far side of the room. the room was such as might be found in any of the better middle-class houses in a western city. its furnishing was a trifle ornate. comfortable chairs predominated, and their woodwork shone with an extreme lustre, or were equally aggressive in their modern fictitious mission house style. the carpet and rugs were broadly floral and bright. there was altogether a modernity about the character of it which decidedly belonged to the gray-haired showiness of the wife of john carruthers. for all that, there was nothing absolutely untasteful about elvine's surroundings. the daughter would never have permitted such a thing. it was only modern, extremely modern. that type of modern which belongs to those homes where money is a careful consideration. at last elvine closed her note-book and returned it to the rather large pocketbook which was lying in her lap. her fine eyes were half smiling, and a faint tinge of color deepened her perfect cheeks. she sighed. "we didn't do so badly at the races, momma," she said, more for her own satisfaction than her mother's information. "guess i've got most all of it in and--i'm satisfied." "maybe you are, my dear," came the ungracious response. her mother was bending over her work, nor did she trouble to raise her eyes in her daughter's direction. "that sounds as if somebody else wasn't." elvine raised a pair of beautifully rounded arms above her head and rested the back of her neck upon her clasped hands. the gray head was lifted sharply. a pair of brilliant black eyes shot a disapproving glance across the room. then the mother continued her work, shaking her head emphatically. "what's the use of a few dollars? he's going back to his ranch to-morrow, and--nothing's happened." there was something crude, almost brutal in the manner of it. there was something which on a woman's lips might well have revolted any man. but it was an attitude to which the daughter was used. besides, it saved her any qualms she might otherwise have had in pursuing her own way under the shelter of her mother's roof. "i really can't see what you've to complain of, momma," elvine laughed, without any display of mirth. "i guess if you wanted to marry a man you'd leave him about as much chance as he'd have with a wildcat." then her smile died out. "anyway it doesn't seem to be a matter for other folk to concern themselves with. i'm not a child." "no. but you're going to throw away the chance of a lifetime if you don't act right now. why, girl, jeff masters is the pick of the whole bunch of cattlemen around this district. he's going to be one of the cattle kings of the country, or i don't guess i know a thing. he's right here to your hand, and as tame as a lap-dog. to-morrow he's off again to the ranch, and that girl of his partner's will have him to herself for a year. why, you're crazy to let him go. four years you've lived here since--since----" "i wish you'd stop worrying, momma--and," the girl added with unconcealed resentment, "get on with your knitting." elvine had risen to her feet. she moved swiftly over to the window which gave on to a wide stoop, the roof of which was supported on well-built rag stone columns. she was more angry than her words admitted. her fine eyes were sparkling, her delicately penciled brows were slightly knitted. she made a handsome picture. her wealth of dark hair was carefully dressed, but with the usual consummate simplicity. her figure was superb, with all the ripeness of maturity, but without the smallest inclination toward any gross development. she was statuesque, with all the perfect cunning of nature's art. she was a woman to find favor in any eyes, man's or woman's, and to perform that dual feat was a test which few women could hope to survive. the mother's reply came sharply and without yielding. "it's just four years since you came back to home. five or more since you first married. anyway, you've sat around here for four years having a good time without a thought of the future. you're spending your money, which didn't amount to----" the girl flashed round. "i won't tolerate it. i just won't, momma," she cried, with an energy which brought the other's eyes swiftly to her face. "you've talked of four years wasted, but you don't say a word of the other year, the fifth. it's taken me all that time to--forget what your judgment might have saved me from. oh, yes. you know it just as well as i do. don't blind yourself. i was foolish then, i thought i was in love, and it was the moment when the advice of a woman worth having might have helped me. you urged me in my folly to marry then, the same as you're urging me now. you saw everything you hoped for in that marriage, and you let me plunge myself into a living hell without a single qualm. the result. oh, i've tried to forget. but i can't i haven't forgotten. i never shall forget. but i've learned. i certainly have. i've learned to think wholly for myself--of myself. i don't need advice now. i don't need a thing. you'll never see things my way, and i don't fancy to see them yours. i shall marry. and when i marry again i promise you i'll marry right, and," she laughed bitterly, "i guess i'll hand you the rake off which you're looking for. but," she went on, with a swift, ruthless candor which stung even the worldly heart of the older woman, "i'll make no experimental practice. i'll marry the man i want to, first because i like him, and second, because he's a right man, and can hand me the life i need. maybe that's pretty hard sounding, but i tell you, momma, it's nothing to the hardness that makes you talk the way you do. anyway, i want you to get it fixed in your mind right now i'm no priceless gem in a jewelry store that you're going to sell at the price you figure. i'll dispose of myself when, and to whom, i choose, and my motives will be my own. now we'll quit it, once for all. jeffrey masters is coming right along down the sidewalk." the mother's black eyes snapped angrily. "very well," she exclaimed sharply. "see to it you make good. your father's pension isn't even sufficient for two, and your own money is limited. meanwhile, don't forget the tristram girl's just as pretty as a picture." but elvine's exasperation had passed. there was a slight softening in her eyes as they surveyed the handsome, elaborately dressed gray head and the careful toilet of her unlovely mother. she understood the bitter carping of this disappointed woman. her spirit soared far beyond the lot of the wife of a pensioned school-teacher. she knew, too, that somewhere, lost in some dim recess of a coldly calculating nature, there was a tiny, glowing spot which burned wholly for her. there was an unusual softness in her tone when she replied. "but she needs framing, momma," she said lightly. "and anyway, a girl who lives more or less on the premises with a man for five years or so, and hasn't married him--well, i guess she never will." * * * * * * the whole method of jeff's life was rapidity of thought and swift execution supported by a perfect genius for clear thinking. it was these characteristics which had lifted him so rapidly in the world of cattle he had made his own. it was these which had shown him the possibilities of the now great obar ranch. it might have been claimed for him that he lacked many of the lovable weaknesses of human nature. it might have been said that he was hard, cold. yet such was his passionate ambition beneath a cool, deliberate exterior that it would have been foolish to believe that his outward display was the real man. he was perhaps a powerfully controlled fire, but the hot tide ran strong within him, and the right torch at the right moment might easily stir the depths of him and bring their fiery display to the surface. bud knew him. bud understood something of the deep human tide flowing through his strong veins. once he had seen that tide at the surface, and it had left an impression not easily forgettable. nan, too, was not without understanding of him. but hers was the understanding of her sex for an idol she had set up in her heart. her knowledge of his shortcomings and his best characteristics was perhaps the reflection of her feelings for him, feelings which make it possible for a woman to endow any object of her profound regard with the virtues she would have it possess. to her there was nothing of the iron, relentless, purposeful soul about him. he was just "honest jeff," as she loved to call him. a creature full of kindly thought for others as well as strong in his own personal attitude toward life. for himself jeff knew nothing of the emotions lying dormant within him until some chance happening stirred them from their slumbers and sent them pulsating through his senses. he accepted the tide of life as he found it, and only on his journey, swimming down its many currents, he endeavored by skilful pilotship to avoid the shoals, and seek the beneficent backwaters so that his muscles and courage might be strengthened for the completion of the task he had still before him. elvine van blooren had held the right torch at their first meeting during the cattle week. one look into her beautiful eyes had set his soul aflame, as all the years of his life spent in association with nan tristram had failed to do. did she only know it, the first waltz with him at the subsequent ball had completely made her mistress of his destiny. again with his rapid, clear-thinking mind he had not only promptly admitted this truth to himself, but he reveled in the enchantment of the thought it inspired. he desired it. he regretted only that fortune had so long denied him the contemplation of such delights. he felt he had never before lived. he had merely existed, something more than a physical and mental machine, something less than a man. something of all this stimulated his sensations during that ostensible farewell call upon the woman who had inspired the change. and, as his hungry eyes dwelt upon her great beauty, he became a prey to an impulse that was irresistible. why should this be a farewell? why should there ever be a farewell between them? there could be none. then, to his support came that steady determination which never failed him in crises. there should be no farewell. he was clad in sober conventional garb. there was only the bronzing upon his fair brow and firm cheeks to suggest the open air life that was his. his slim, powerful figure was full of an ease which caught and held, and pleased elvine van blooren's fancy, and awoke in her more material mind something of the dreams which had driven her almost unthinkingly into the arms of her first husband. his fine blue eyes were alight with possibilities which came near to overbalancing the calculations of her mature mind. but, even so, she felt that the ground was so safe under her feet that, even with the background of the past ever in her memory, she could safely indulge her warmth of fancy to its full. they were alone in the little modern parlor. at another time jeff must have observed its atmosphere without enthusiasm, just now he welcomed it. it represented the intimate background of a beautiful woman's life. this was the shrine of the goddess whom he had set up for his own worship. again there was no half measure. they were talking in that intimate fashion which belongs to the period when a man and a woman have made up their minds that there remains no obstacle to the admission of mutual regard. "it's just wonderful to have done it all in so short a time," elvine said in her low even tones. jeff had been talking of the obar ranch which was more precious to him than a schoolboy's first big achievement in the playing fields. he had been talking of it, not in the spirit of vain glory, but out of the deep affection of a strong heart for the child of his own creation. "oh, i guess it would have been wonderful with any other feller for a partner than bud tristram," jeff responded promptly. "as an enterprise, why, i guess it's my thought. as a success, it's bud's genius for setting cattle prospering. say, you can't handle a wide proposition right by reckoning up figures and fixing deeds of sale and partnership. i allow you need to do some thinking that way. but when it's all figgered right, why, the real practical man needs to get busy or the figgers aren't worth the ink an' paper you've used to make 'em. bud's the feller of the obars. i just sit around and talk wise when he needs talk, which i don't guess is frequent." jeff's smile was genuine. there was no false modesty that made him place the credit of the obar's success at bud's door. the credit was bud's. he knew it. and, with frank honesty, was only too ready to admit it, and even advertise it. elvine nodded. her dark eyes were warmly returning his smile. "i like that," she said simply. and she meant it. the blood mounted to the man's brow. he felt that he had forced her to make the admission, and regarded his act with some shame. "say, don't feel you've got to say that," he said earnestly. "you mustn't just think i'm asking your applause. these are simple facts which i can't deny. i'd like to feel the sun just rises and sets around my work, but if i did i'd be the same sort of fool as those pharisee fellers in the bible. bud's a bully feller, and i'll owe him more than i can ever hand him back just as long as i live." elvine was comparing this man's big generosity with her understanding of most of the men she had ever known. she was thinking, too, of days long since passed, and events which even a wide distance of time had not succeeded in rendering mellow. she sighed. somehow "honest jeff" was hurting her in a way she would never have believed any man could hurt her--now. "this bud tristram's daughter--nan. she's a pretty creature," elvine went on, feeling their topic needed changing. jeff's smile deepened. "she's pretty--right through to her soul," came his prompt and earnest response. elvine's eyes observed him closely. she laughed in a challenging fashion. "and she is still her father's daughter?" jeff flushed. her meaning could not be mistaken. his impulse was to speak out of the depth of a strong abiding regard for his friend's "little gal." but he rejected the impulse. time and his own desires were pressing. "oh, i guess she'll marry some fellow some day. maybe he'll be good enough----" "and more than likely he won't." elvine's reply was emphatic. she suddenly sat forward in the deep rocker, and a great earnestness shone in her eyes. "i tell you no woman in this life has a right to be as 'pretty' as you believe her to be," she said with intense bitterness. "if i had my way every girl would be taught to reason for herself on those things in life which make for her well-being. i'd make her think that way before everything else. to me it is the direst cruelty of providence that we should be left to become the prey of our own emotions, and at the mercy of any man of whatever quality who can sufficiently stir them. maybe you do not agree to that. but just think of the awful position that every wretched, physically feeble woman stands in in the life about her. i tell you no girl on her own resources has much better than a dog's chance of getting through life without disaster. our emotions are the most absurdly foolish type it is possible to think of. i guess we can do things with our normal reason which would shame a whole asylum of crazy folk who can't be let run around free. oh, i'd like to know her better, to tell her, to warn her. i don't guess i've ever done good in the world, but i'd like to. if i could save one of my sex from some of the pitfalls lying around, maybe i'd feel i'd been some use." "why not know her better? say, nan's no end of a good sort. she'd be real glad." jeff's invitation sounded lame, even to himself. but he was struggling under an emotion that made words difficult. elvine laughed. "would she? i wonder." then she hurried on lest her observation should be interpreted. "and you're going to quit our city to-morrow for your wonderful ranch. i guess the cattle week's liable to bore folks who've real work in the world--like you. it's just a week of show, and glitter, and ceremony, all those things which have no real place in the world of things that matter. but there, after all, i wonder what are the things that matter. and do they matter anyway? we have no guide. we're just left to grope around and search for ourselves, and every folk's ideas are different from every other folk's. i'm restless. i sort of feel there's so much to be done in the world--if we only knew how, and what." the half-bantering manner of the woman did not disguise her earnestness. jeff shook his head. "guess i can't say. guess none of us can--rightly. but why not come around to the ranch and see things? see if you can worry out an answer. see if you think the work we're doing matters. it certainly does matter to me, to us. but in the world. i don't know. just now i sort of feel it don't. just now i'm wondering whether i'll go back there to-morrow. what do you say?" "i? how can i say?" jeff laughed. "i don't guess there's a thing easier." his eyes were shining as he took in the girl's dark beauty. "seems to me i'm beginning to wonder about the things that matter myself. it's been a bully week. the sort of week some folks would write about in their secret diary. guess i don't keep a secret diary--except somewhere right in here." he tapped his breast. "i don't seem to feel i've ever had such a time, or ever will again, unless----" "unless?" elvine was caught in the mood of the moment. this man was exercising a fascination over her which had nothing to do with the calculations she had laid down for the guidance of her sex. "why, unless i add another week to it." "d'you think you could duplicate it then?" "that just depends on--you." elvine rose from her chair and moved toward the window. jeff, too, left his chair. he stood tall and straight--waiting. her back was turned to him. "it is not for me to say," she replied without turning. "why not?" "your work--in the world." "can wait. there's always--bud tristram." suddenly elvine turned about. her eyes were smiling, and full of a light which had not lived in them for several years. there was not a shadow of calculation in them now. she held out her hand in token of dismissal. "we had some fine rides--together," she said. "my horses are still here." "and--the dances. they were--very pleasant." "maybe they can be danced--again." "good-bye," she said, her beautiful hand lingering in his for a moment. "for the present," jeff added with decision. then he mechanically glanced at his timepiece. his "farewell" call had lasted over two hours. but even so it had been all too short for him. chapter xii the tempering bud was packing in his rooms at aston's hotel. it was late at night. late as it was, however, he had only left nan, engaged at a similar occupation, less than half an hour ago. he had sat talking to her, and watching her with eyes of deep concern while, with infinite care, she bestowed those beautiful gowns which mean so much in a woman's life. his visit to her had not been one of mere companionship. it had been inspired by a sympathy he had no other means of displaying. he had talked to her; by every means in his power he had endeavored to interest her in reminiscence of the week's doings. she listened patiently, almost submissively, for she understood the promptings of his endeavor. but she was too deeply plunged in her own discouragement to display real interest, and it had required every ounce of courage she possessed to prevent herself falling to weeping. nor was bud at fault for a moment. he recognized the trouble lurking in the sweet brown eyes. and with all his might he pretended not to see. so, when his last effort to cheer had proved unavailing, he took his departure under the excuse of his own packing. he knew. of course he knew. had he not watched the progress of events throughout the week? had he not seen for himself how jeff's fancy had been caught? and she was very beautiful, this town-bred woman, beautiful with that healthy, downy complexion which bud found did not fit with his idea of city "raised" women. he almost felt he hated her, yet he knew he had no right to his antagonism. jeff was unpledged, he was free. no woman had any claim on him. not even nan. poor nan. he had hoped to give her seven long days of unalloyed delight. he had only given her seven days of bitter disappointment and disillusion. he set about his packing with furious zest. in a moment, it seemed, his room was in a state of chaos. and all the while, as he bundled garments together and flung them into his grips, his busy thought went on in the only direction in which it seemed capable of moving just now. his mind had gone back to the days before their visit to calthorpe. he remembered the delighted anticipation which nan had displayed. her displays of happy affection for himself in the midst of her own great looking forward. the ravishing hours she had spent in choosing patterns of material, and styles of gown. he remembered the bright sparkling eyes shining, it seemed to him, at all times. that wonderful looking forward. oh, the holiday of it had been nothing. there was only one thing, one thought, which had inspired the child. it was jeff. it was a week that was to see honor done him, and she--she was to join in honoring him. jeff was the whole hub about which her happiness revolved. he was pained. he was angry. and the vision of elvine van blooren's dark beauty haunted him. he admitted it--her beauty. and for all his disquiet, his bitter feeling, he found it impossible to blame the man. yes, for all his exasperation. for all he regarded jeff as a "fool man," he was just enough to remember that nan was his own little daughter, a pretty prairie girl, with nothing of the showy attraction of this city woman. then jeff's attitude toward her. it had never been more than the sheerest friendliness. he reflected bitterly, even, that they might have been simply brother and sister. while the dream of his life was some day to be able to pour out the wealth he was storing up into the out-stretched palms of their children. well, it was a dream. and now it had come tumbling about his feet, and it almost looked to him as if poor little nan's heart was to be buried beneath the debris. he flung his evening suit, which nan had so much admired, into the gaping jaws of a large leather grip, with a disregard that more than illustrated his feelings. then he strove to close the grip tucking in the projecting oddments of silk-lined cloth without the least consideration for their well-being. he felt he never wanted to wear such things again, never wanted even to see them. he and nan belonged to the prairie, not to a city. that was good enough for them. what was the use----? but his reflections were interrupted by the abrupt appearance of jeff himself. bud looked up as the door was unceremoniously thrust open, and his regard was quite unshaken by the depths of his feelings. it displayed a mute question, however. jeff began at once. "i saw the light through your transom, bud, so i just came right in." jeff was a shade paler than usual. there was a look of some doubt in his blue eyes. and his manner hinted at a decision taken. a decision that had not been arrived at without some considerable exercise of mind. slowly, as he regarded him, all bud's bitterness subsided. if nan were his daughter, this man was almost a son to him. "say, old friend, i'm--i'm not going back home with you to-morrow," jeff went on. he stirred with a suggestion of nervousness, and then flung himself upon the old man's littered-up bed. "i just can't, an' that's a fact. i want to stop around here for a while. i got to." he paused as though awaiting an answer, but none was forthcoming. only was there that steady regard from the man beyond the still open grip. bud was not thinking of the announcement. jeff was certainly a "good-looker," and he was beginning to understand something of the attraction he must have for a woman like elvine van blooren. he was slim and muscular, with a keen face of decision and strength. then, was he not on the rising wave which must ever appeal to the maturer mind of a widow, however young? his disappointment rose again and threatened to find expression. but he thrust it aside and struggled to remember only his regard for the man. "d'you mind?" jeff's question came nervously. did he mind? it was a weak question. coming from jeff it sounded foolish. bud smiled, and his quiet sense of humor saved him from himself. "why, if you feel that way i don't guess you need worry a thing, jeff." then he added: "guess nan an' me'll get right along home. but it don't need to cut no ice. i take it you're askin' me to fix things right at the obars till you get around. that so?" jeff nodded. he was feeling that he was doing something mean, even brutal. he knew that what he contemplated must result in the bitterest disappointment to his old friend. he had well enough known throughout their partnership bud's yearning desire that he should marry nan. well, such a course was unthinkable now. somehow it had never seemed really possible. he was troubled, grievously troubled, but he was determined now to act in the only honest way. he was determined that bud should know the truth--at all costs. "i'd be thankful to you, bud." "you don't need to say a word. it's fixed." for some moments no other word was spoken. there was awkwardness. but it was with jeff alone. he feared the result of what he must tell. "you're--packing?" he said presently. bud sat himself heavily into a rocker. "yep. lestways i don't guess nan 'ud call it that way." he raked his curly iron-gray hair with his strong fingers, and gazed ruefully at the chaos. "maybe i can help some." bud shook his head, and his smile was good. "guess one darn fool's enough playin' this game. when're you coming along to--home?" "maybe a week." the reply was prompt. "an'--you'll bring her along with you?" the eyes of the two men met. each was reading the other like an open book. jeff shook his head. somehow there was nothing absurd to him in bud's suggestion. there was nothing startling even in the probing of his secret with so much directness. "i haven't asked her--yet." then it was that the big heart of the friend, who was almost a father, made itself apparent. "but you're goin' to, jeff. an' she's goin' to take you. say, jeff, she's one lucky woman." in a moment the tide of the younger man's feelings was set flowing. in a moment the egoism of the lover made a generous nature forget all else but the passion that absorbed him. in a moment the thought that this man was nan's father, and that the dearest wish of his life was that he, jeff, should marry his daughter, was forgotten. "lucky? but you got it wrong, bud," jeff cried, sitting erect, his face flushed with the passionate stirring of ills strong heart. "it's i who'll be lucky, if she don't turn me down. man, i'm not worth the dust on her shoes. i'm not fit to lackey for her. nor--nor is any other feller. say, bud," he went on, leaning impressively forward, his eyes shining with his passion, "i'm just crazy to death for her. and--and i can't just help it. i'd go through hell's flames for her, man, i'd----" "say, boy, don't worry that-a-way. jest marry her instead," bud broke in with his gentlest smile. "you're all sorts of a boy, jeff, and i don't figger you got call to talk about the dust of any woman's shoes. but i guess ther's times when it's good fer a man to feel he ain't as big as he's told. anyways, you get right ahead, and leave me to the obars. i ain't goin' to fail you now, any more than any other time." then he rumpled his stubbly hair again, and it was an action that suggested heavy thought. "say," he went on, a moment later, his eyes looking squarely into the face of the other, "we're hittin' the trail good an' early to-morrow. guess you best let me say 'good-bye' to nan for you. that so?" jeff nodded. he understood. and somehow the bigness of this man made him almost despise himself. "then i guess i'll get right on with my--packin'." * * * * * * they were standing on the stoop of aston's hotel. in front of them the broad avenue opened out with its central walk, between an aisle of wide-spreading maple trees bathed in the early morning sun. a spring wagon was already moving away, piled up with baggage. the saddle horses were ready, held by one of the hotel servants. nan, in her riding costume, was waiting while her father exchanged a few parting words with the hotel manager. "guess you're right. it's been a darn good week this year. the best in my memory. i'd say the conference was a heap better attended, an' the weather's been just great. we got through a deal o' legislation, too. guess things are goin' to hum, with the obars at the head of 'em this year. our big play is to be dealin' with rustlers. we got a hell of a piece o' leeway to make up. four years ago we guessed we'd got 'em fixed where we wanted 'em. but they hatched out since like a brood o' wolf cubs. so long." "mr. masters is stopping on for a while," the manager observed, with that intimate touch which he always practiced with his more influential customers of the cattle world. "why, yes." bud's eyes were watching nan as she mounted her pony, carefully held by a solicitous barn-hand. under other circumstances the man's attention would have afforded him amusement. just now he was regretting the manager's remark. "y'see, ther's a deal to fix. seein' he's president this year, why, i guess it's up to him to kep his ladle busy in the soup." he moved off the stoop and took his horse from the waiting man. he swung himself into the saddle with an agility which belied his years. he waved one great hand in response to the manager's deferential bow, and turned his horse away. in a moment bud and nan were riding side by side down the wide avenue. it was a long time before either attempted to break the silence between them. they had even reached the outskirts of the city before nan broached the subject from which her father admittedly shrank. "i'm glad jeff didn't get up to see us off," she said imply. then she laughed softly. "y'see, daddy, there's times for most things; and 'good-byes' in the early morning are a bit like cold baths in winter." bud eyed his daughter with a quick sidelong glance, and then continued his survey of the trail ahead as it lifted over a gentle grassy slope. they were passing the last houses of the town, and ahead lay the tawny fields which made the country one of the greatest pastures in the world. "ther'd been no sort o' sense his turning out around sun-up to see us folks off. it ain't goin' to be weeks before he gets back home." "no." nan's smile remained, and bud, for all his avoidance of it, was aware that was so. it was a smile that cut him to the heart, and yet he was simple man enough to find relief in it. "there'll be a deal for him to fix before he gets back home," nan went on. she spoke in the earnest fashion of deep consideration. bud glanced round at her again, steadying his powerful horse to permit her pony to push its nose ahead. her manner had startled him. but he refrained from the folly of replying. he had that in his mind to impart the thought of which nearly broke his heart. but it must be told, and by him. and a passionate desire to lighten the blow made him watch desperately for the best opportunity. but he was dealing with a nature stronger, deeper, more honest and clear-sighted than he knew. he was dealing with a woman who could sacrifice all to the well-being and happiness of those she loved. with nan self held a particularly subservient place to every other emotion. and when it did manage to obtrude itself it was her way to fight her battle alone, at a time when no prying eyes were there to witness her sufferings. to the daylight she presented a pair of sweet brown smiling eyes, and lips as full, and ripe, and firm as though no shadow of doubt and unhappiness had ever crossed her path. she went on rapidly, speaking as though the matter under consideration were fully accepted between them. "it's queer how things fix themselves the way you don't guess," she said reflectively. "just one week, and they're changed around in a way that makes you wonder if you aren't dreaming. it's sort of like the indian summer, isn't it? there's the beautiful light of the full sun on colors that set you 'most crazy with delight. pictures that make you feel providence is just the biggest painter ever set brush to canvas. then, with a shiver of wind from the north, down the leaves tumble, and right on top of 'em comes the snow, and then you're moving around in a sort of crystal fairy web, and wonder when you'll wake up. a week ago jeff didn't even know her; she wasn't in the world so far as he knew. now he's going to marry her." nan stated the fact without a tremor of voice, without a shadow of hesitation. the sunny smile was entirely without a cloud. her father stared down at her from his superior height with eyes wide with astonishment and something of alarm. "say, did jeff tell you?" he asked sharply. nan shook her head. "then how in hell d'you know it all? say----" "how d'you know anything that affects you here, daddy?" the girl retorted, gently indicating her soft rounded bosom with one gauntleted hand. then her smile broke out again, and the man's trouble was further increased. "y'see, i don't mind saying things to you. you're my daddy and momma all rolled into one. and there's sure a heap of you for two," she smiled up at him. "maybe you don't always say all the things you feel, but it don't keep me guessing long. you'd a heap of terr'ble, terr'ble things on your mind to say to me on this ride. oh, and they weighed heavy. your poor worried face had lost all its smile, and your eyes just looked as if you'd been lying awake nights an' nights, an' you'd seen every sort of nightmare ever thought of in the world of dreams. it made me kind of sorry, and i just couldn't wait for you to make that big talk you figgered on." bud was gazing far out ahead at the brilliant sky-line where the crests of grass-land cut the line in perfect undulations. nan's gently drawn sigh was like the stab of a knife in his heart. his feelings at that moment were too deep for words. and so the girl went on in a voice that struck fresh chords of sympathy in the soul of the man who idolized her. "it seems to me, my daddy, that we often think things that a great big someone don't guess are good for us to think. we sort of set up hopes we've no right to. an' when we do, why, we've got to be handed our lessons. sometimes the lesson is pretty tough, sometimes i don't guess it's a deal worse than a pin-prick. anyway, lessons aren't joyous things at best, not even pin-pricks. well, if folks are right they'll just learn their lessons all they can without kicking, and if they get a hunch on, why, i don't figger it's likely to make 'em harder. i've been learning my lesson a whole week now, and, yes, i've got it right. oh, i've had to work. it hasn't been easy. and somehow, my daddy, all these lovely, lovely gowns, and the thought of the generous hands that gave them to me, have helped me to learn quicker, and--better." she paused again. their horses were ambling leisurely along over the sandy trail. they moved together, side by side, in a closeness of companionship which perhaps symbolized that of their riders. "i jest don't know what to say, nan. i surely don't," bud lumbered at last with a half-bewildered drawing together of his heavy brows. "it don't seem i ken even think right--about it." nan gazed up into his big troubled face with the frank eyes that looked wholly untroubled. "don't try, my daddy. guess i've done all that's necessary that way. maybe i know just how you're feeling, because i know how i'm feeling. god's been good to me all my years. he's given me a daddy who's the best in the world. a daddy who's taught me by his own example how to be strong and fight the little battles i guess it's meant for us to fight. oh, i won't say it hasn't hurt," she went on, with a catch in her voice. "you see, i loved jeff. i love him now, and i'll go right on loving him to the end. and it's because i love him i want to help him now--and always. you won't think me a fool girl, my daddy, will you, but--but--i won't hate elvine van blooren. i'm--i'm going to try so hard to like her, and--and anyway, with all my might, i'm going to help them both. d'you guess jeff would let me get his house ready for--his wife?" the father's reply came with a violence which he calculated should conceal an emotion which his manhood forbade, but which only helped to reveal it the more surely to the clear eyes of the girl at his side. "hell take the bunch--the whole of 'em!" he cried fiercely. then he added weakly: "you're nigh breakin' my heart all to pieces." but nan's smile suddenly became radiant, as she turned her brown eyes away from the spectacle of her father's trouble to the distant horizon ahead. she shook her head. "no, my daddy. i allow it feels that way just now. i've felt that way, too. but it's just god's tempering. and when it's through, why i guess our hearts'll be made of good metal, strong and steady to do the work he'd have us do. and that's just all we can ask, isn't it?" chapter xiii the news nan rode up to the veranda of the ranch house and sprang lightly from the saddle. her pony's flanks were caked with sweat. the days now, as they approached july, were blistering, and the work of the great ranch was heavy for everybody. nan had constituted herself jeff's substitute during his absence, and performed his share of the labor with a skill and efficiency which astonished even her father. she was a little weary just now. the heat was trying. four weeks of continuous effort, four weeks of day-long saddle work, superintending the distant out-stations, the pasture fencing, the re-branding, which never seemed to come to an end, the hundred and one little duties which always cropped up unexpectedly; these things, in conjunction with the intense heat and the constant trouble which she held safely screened behind her smiling eyes, were not without effect upon her, although display was only permitted when no other eyes were present to witness her weakness. it was the ranch house dinner time. bud was due, as was the return of the men who belonged to the home station. nan released the cinchas of her saddle and removed her pony's bridle. then, with a sharp pat upon the creature's quarters, she sent it strolling off toward the open pasture, in which the windmill pump kept the string of watering tubs ready for the thirsty world about it. she watched the animal as it flung itself down for a roll. its ungainly, thrusting legs held her interest. then, as it scrambled to its feet and shook itself, and headed for the water, she seated herself in a low wicker chair and wiped the dust from her long riding boots with the silk handkerchief she wore loosely tied about her neck. a few moments later her brown eyes were gazing fixedly out at the shimmer of heat which hovered low over the distant horizon. she was meditating deeply, her tired body yielding to the greater activity of her thought. the scene was lost to her. her gaze sped beyond the maze of corrals, and the more distant patchwork of fenced pastures to the western boundary of her beloved rainbow hill valley. there was nothing but grass, endless grass, until the purple line of the wood-clad mountains was reached. and here it was that her regard found a resting place. but even so she was unaware of it, for her thoughts were miles away in another direction. her courage had reaped its natural harvest. her labors had yielded her a peace of mind which at one time had seemed impossible. she could reflect calmly now, if not without a world of regret and sadness. just now, in the brief interval of waiting for her father for their midday meal, her relaxed body permitted her thoughts to wander toward the city where jeff was still held captive by toils she herself had been unable to weave about him. she had had her desire. she had pressed her less willing father into her service, and through him she had obtained the right to see that jeff's house was made ready. it had been a labor of love in its highest sense, for not one single detail of her efforts but had been a fresh laceration of her loyal soul. in her mind it was never possible to shut out the memory that everything that was for jeff was also for a woman who had plucked the only fruit she had ever coveted with her whole heart. there had been moments of reward, however, a reward which perhaps a lesser spirit might never have known. it was the passionate satisfaction that her hands, her love, were able to minister to the well-being of the man she loved, for all that another woman occupied her place in his heart. feelings such as these filled her heart now. they had so filled it that morning during her hour of superintending the work of the builders engaged upon the reconstruction of jeff's house. this was nearly completed, and somehow she felt when all the preparations were finished the last support must be banished forever. then there would be nothing left her but to watch, perhaps from afar, the happiness of the other woman basking in the love for which she would willingly have given her life. there were moments when her spirit furiously rebelled, when she felt that the sacrifice was too great, when the limits of human endurance forbade submission to her lot. they were moments when mad jealousy rose up and threatened her bulwark of spiritual resistance. and at such time her battle was furious and hard, and she emerged therefrom scarred and suffering, but with a spirit unbroken and even strengthened. then her pride, a small gentle thing, added its quota to her support. no one should pity her, no one should ever, ever know anything of the sufferings she endured. no, not even her beloved father. so her smile, even her ready laughter, was enlisted in her support, and the manner of her discussion of the work on jeff's house was an education in courageous acting. but her father remained wholly undeceived. he saw with a vision rendered doubly acute by perfect sympathy. he read through every smile to the tears lying behind it. he noted the change in the tone of the laugh. he missed nothing of the painful abstraction at odd moments when nan believed she was wholly unobserved. nor did he misinterpret the language these things expressed. but for all his heart bled for the girl--and in his moments of solitude he bitterly cursed the woman who had robbed him of a son, and heaped every scathing epithet of his rough vocabulary upon the head of the man himself--he gave no sign that the fair world about them concealed shadowed corners, or that the life which was theirs was not one triumph of eternal delight. thus was nan helped, all unconscious of the help so given. so she was able to play the part her courage and gentleness of spirit had assigned to her. presently a horseman came within sight, out of the northwest. it was the direction of jeff's ranch house. a moment of deliberate scrutiny revealed the man's identity. it was lal hobhouse, second foreman of the obar, the man who, before the amalgamation, was jeff's foreman. nan wondered what was bringing him in at this hour. usually his visits to their headquarters were made in the evening when the work of the day was completed. the man rode up and found nan interestedly waiting to receive him. there was a touch of anxiety in her tone as she greeted him. "no trouble, lal?" she demanded, as the man reined up his pony. the direct manner of the girl was largely the result of her new responsibilities. lal hobhouse was a lean-faced specimen of sun-dried manhood. his appearance suggested all wires and indifference to the nicenesses of life. his long moustache drooped mournfully below his square chin. and his fierce black eyes were full of a violent heat, rendered more savage for its bottling up during his long ride. "trouble?" then he exploded with a furious oath, and his volcanic temper drowned the sunburn of his cheek under a living heat. "them rustlers. them lousy bums," he cried almost choking. "that bunch o' yearlings--shorthorn yearlings, miss. thirty of 'em--picked right out of the bush corrals where we'd got 'em for re-brandin'. say, bud--your father, miss," he corrected himself. "he ain't around?" but nan's interest was in the work of the rustlers. not in his final inquiry. her pretty eyes were wide and hard with the anger his news had inspired. "the shorthorn yearlings, lal?" she demanded. "our prize stock?" "sure, miss. them. that's them. god blister their filthy carkises! may they stew in hell!" he spat over his horse's shoulder as though to emphasize his furious disgust but his forcefulness was displeasing. "guess you best off-saddle," nan said coolly. "father'll be along right now. you'll need food. say, what boys you got out there?" she inquired as the man slipped out of the saddle and began to unfasten the cinchas. "why, just the same four damn fools, an'--sikkem." "and they're following up the trail?" "sure." the man flung off the saddle and his horse mouched away. "psha!" he cried, turning his fierce eyes upon nan. "what's the use anyway?" his gesture was one of helpless disgust. "they're out. bin out since daylight. an' i guess they've as much chance roundin' that crowd up as they would huntin' bugs in a hundred acre pasture. sikkem's about the brightest. but he ain't no sort o' good after a bunch of rustlers. i wouldn't trust him with a dead mule o' mine anyway. the boss hangs to him as if he was the on'y blamed cowpuncher east o' the mountains because he's handy. i don't like him, miss, an'---- say, how did them rustlers know 'bout them calves? ther's two hundred head o' beeves out there, an' they passed 'em right over fer the shorthorns." the man's argument and distrust of the man sikkem made a deep impression on nan. she had listened to some of the latter before. but jeff's predilection for the dark-faced half greaser had left her sceptical of lal's opinion. now, however, she was seriously impressed. at that moment bud himself rode up at a gallop, and behind him rode four of the home station boys. the pace at which he came was unusual, and nan's troubled eyes promptly sought his face. instantly her greeting died upon her lips, which tightened ominously. his usually steady gray eyes were hot and fierce, and his face was set. the comfortable lines about his mouth were drawn hard and deep. she needed no word to tell her that further trouble was abroad. he scarcely waited for his horse to come to a halt. he was out of the saddle in a moment, and his great figure towered before the foreman, whom he took in with an angry stare. "what's brought you in?" he demanded, with a dangerous calm. then the calm broke before his storm of feeling. "don't tell me ther's trouble around your layout, too," he cried, without waiting for reply. then he turned on nan, who was still on the veranda. "say, nan, they done it. the rotten swines have done it. they shot 'jock' up!" "the highland bull?" nan gasped. "yes. that's it." bud laughed furiously. "that bull i imported last fall for three thousand dollars," he went on, turning back to the foreman. "they shot him up and drove off his twenty-five cows from the coyote bluff pastures. dirty spite an' meanness. the white-livered scum!" then with a fierce oath the usually even-tempered bud hurled his wrath upon the waiting man. "gorl darn it, you're standin' around like a barbed wire fence post. what in hell's brought you around now? what they done your way?" his manner roused the foreman to a soreness he wasn't slow in showing. "jest thirty shorthorn yearlings," he said without any attempt to soften the blow. "jest thirty--prize stock." the announcement had an unlooked-for effect. where nan expected another furious display bud remained silent. his eyes were wide as they stared into the foreman's. but no word came. then, after a few moments, he began to laugh and nan understood. she felt it was either that, or--her father would break something. "well, i go plumb to hell!" he cried at last. and nan felt relieved at the sound of his voice. the next moment lal hobhouse was pouring out his story with a redundant selection from his choicest vocabulary of abusive epithet, which was impartially divided between the rustlers and the cowhands under his charge. nan waited patiently, her eyes studying her father's face. but whatever his feelings he permitted them no further display, and, at the conclusion of the story, instead of offering comment, or reverting to his own discoveries, he turned to his daughter with a smile. "food on, nan?" he inquired, in his easy way. "guess i'm needin' food--pretty bad. maybe we'll feel better after." then he turned to the men who stood around. "git on down to the bunkhouse an' feed, boys. one o' you grab my plug. after, we'll get around out with lal here. i----" he broke off as nan darted away down the veranda. the mail man had just clattered up to the front of the house, and she had gone to meet him. bud passed his horse on to one of the men, and, with heavy strides, clanking with the rattle of his heavy mexican spurs, his leather chapps creaking as he moved, he mounted the veranda and made his way into the house. * * * * * * nan entered the parlor with her hands full of mail. the meal was laid ready, and a colored girl was setting the chairs in their places. "i'll jest get a clean up, nan," her father said, without a single trace of his recent display. "guess i'm full of dust." he passed through the little room like some overwhelming mammoth. he seemed altogether too vast for the small home, which had never grown with his other worldly possessions. nan watched him go. then she laid the mail down on a side table and began to sort it out. there were a number of letters for jeff. these she set carefully aside in a pile by themselves for redirection. there were several addressed in girlish hands to herself. for bud there were only a few. she glanced over the superscription of each. one or two were easily recognized business letters. there was a paper, however, addressed in jeff's hand, and a letter of considerable bulk. these were what she had been looking for. she pushed the bunkhouse mail aside, and regarded reflectively the outer covering of jeff's letter to her father. it was not the first he had received from jeff during the four weeks since their return home. but its bulk this time was out of the ordinary, and the carefully folded news sheet was more than interesting. it awakened every doubt, every fear to which she had been a prey. the rapid beating of her heart left her with a choking sensation. vivid imagination was at work, and she was reading in fancy under those covers that which, sooner or later, she knew she must read in fact. these were bad moments for the girl, moments which found her again struggling with that self which left her little enough peace. perhaps the struggle lasted five minutes. perhaps less. at any rate it seemed an eternity to nan before the hired girl announced the meal. nan sighed as she moved from the side table on which the mail was spread out. "give father a call," she said, and took up a position at the open french window. her back was turned when bud responded to the summons. the cold sluice he had just indulged in seemed to have entirely restored his equanimity. his voice came cheerily. "guess we best set in, little gal," he said, moving to his place at the table. "we'll need to get busy after." nan turned. she watched maimie deposit the hot dishes. then, when the girl had withdrawn, she took her place opposite her father. "there's a deal of mail for jeff," she said, as she sat down. "there's some for you, too, daddy. there's a letter and--a newspaper. maybe you'd feel like reading them right away. guess there won't be time after." with all her might she struggled for indifference. with all her might she desired that her father should miss the fears which prompted her. but she only succeeded in telling him of them in every word she spoke. bud agreed readily. he rose and fetched his letter--and the newspaper which nan so feared. nan went on with her food. her father tore open the covering of the letter. she was watching him covertly and silently whilst he read page after page. she was searching for confirmation of her worst fears. she was torturing herself. bud's dissimulation was never great. nan watched the play of his expression. there was no smile. as the silent moments passed his brow became heavier. the furrow deepened between his eyes, and once there came that rather helpless raising of his hand to his forehead. then, too, she observed the compression of his lips, and the occasional dilation of his nostrils. each observation carried conviction, and the weight upon her heart grew almost insupportable. finally he laid the letter down and went on with his meal. but he did not even glance at the wrappered newspaper. in self-defense nan was forced to break the silence. if it had remained she felt she must scream. instead she smiled over at him, and indicated the newspaper. "the _calthorpe times_, isn't it?" she said without a tremor. "can't say." the harsh tone was intended to convey indifference. "won't you open it?" she asked. "maybe jeff's marked a piece." then bud gave a display such as nan had never witnessed in him before. "say, ain't we never to get food a feller ken eat?" he cried. "that nigger slut needs firin' right away. guess she couldn't cook a dry hash on a round-up. i'm quittin'. this stew 'ud choke a she-wolf." his eyes were hot. he thrust his plate away from him and pushed back his chair. but nan's calmness defeated his almost childlike subterfuge. "say, my daddy, you don't need to quit. sure," she added, a pathetic smile lighting her brown eyes, "i guess the stew's pretty good to any hungry folks, and maimie's just the dandiest cook anywhere around." she paused. bud stood yearning for five minutes of unrestrained blasphemy as he read the understanding lying behind her words. "i don't guess it's the food worrying, or maimie's cooking," nan went on, almost at once. "it's your letter. maybe there's a heap of things in it you aren't yearning to hand over to me." a sigh escaped her. "will i tell you of them? maybe one'll be sufficient. it's the one worrying you most. it's--it's his marriage. it's fixed. the date--i mean." then she pointed at the unopened paper. "likely it's in that. and that's why he's sent it. shall i see?" she reached out and picked up the offending packet, and, with a swift movement, ripped the fastening open with one finger. without a word she unfolded the sheet, seeking a marked passage. it was there, as she knew it would be. it was found in a twinkling. no one could have missed it. heavy ink outlined it in the column of "city chatter," and she read the paragraph aloud without a tremor of voice. her deliberateness nearly drove the ranchman to distraction. "the friends of mrs. john d. carruthers will be interested to learn that the marriage of her daughter, mrs. elvine van blooren, widow of the late robert van blooren, to jeffrey masters, of the celebrated 'obar' ranch, and this year's president of the western union cattle breeders' association, is to be solemnized at the church of st. mary in this city on august th next. the rev. claude i. carston, m. a., will----" there was more of it, much more, referring in the usual local journalistic fashion to the "happy event," and dwelling upon the important "social standing" of the bride and bridegroom. but nan read no further then. there was no need to. was not the completeness of her disaster contained in those lines? the courage of the front she displayed before the sympathetic eyes of her father was superlative. there was just a pause. it was the tragic pause under a staggering blow. then she forced a smile into the brave eyes, which never for a moment fell before the other's regard. "there! there, my daddy," she said, with a studied calm which did not conceal the dry-throated swallow which accompanied the words. "i guess it was how i thought. you were scared. scared to tell me." she shook her head. "it's--it's not very brave, is it? i wonder why you were scared? you needn't have been. folks don't need to be scared of--anything. what you need most is just to--to grit your teeth and--die hard." her manner was becoming abstracted. it seemed as if she were addressing herself, warning herself, and fighting down a weakness which was threatening to overwhelm her. presently she went on, while the man stood by utterly robbed of the power to comfort her: "august the fourth," she murmured. "august--that's six weeks from now. six weeks of--sunshine and--and warmth. when the harvest's ripening, and all the world's just--glad. and he'll be glad, and--and happy, too. yes, jeff will be very, very happy because--she's going to make him happy." quite suddenly she started up from her chair. a dreadful panic had leaped to her eyes. the delicious, healthy color had been swept from her pretty downy cheeks. the corners of her sweet mouth were drooping, and her hands were held out in a gesture of despairing appeal. "daddy, daddy, he will--he will be happy, won't he?" she cried. "i--i just need him to be happy, more--yes, more than anything in the world. sure, sure, she'll make him happy? oh, if she doesn't!" still the man looked on, a helpless spectator of the girl's suffering. nor did it seem that his own was any less. but nan seemed to realize the weakness in her momentary display. her hands dropped to her side. there was even a visible effort in the manner in which she strove for self-mastery. her smooth brow puckered in an intense frown, and, to bud, it almost seemed that she was literally clenching her teeth to hold back the passionate distress which was seeking to find expression. after a moment something of full self-possession seemed to return to her. she smiled. but it was a smile that lacked conviction. a smile that almost broke her father's heart. "tell me, daddy," she pleaded. "do you think--he'd--he'd have me be a--a bridesmaid? would it sort of help him any?" she hurried on. "you see, i--i want him to be real happy. i want him to feel that we just love him, and that--that--we're just glad for him, and--and nothing in the world else matters--to anybody. i'm so----" there was a little catch of breath. the words she would have spoken died upon her lips. she reeled. every vestige of color left her pretty face, and her eyes half closed. just for one weak instant her hands groped behind her for the chair. then, the next, bud was at her side, and one strong arm was supporting her. "don't, nan!" he cried, in his heavy cumbersome way. and the sound of his deep voice alone served to ward off the encroachment of that final weakness which, in spite of all her courage, the girl was at last compelled to yield to. bud drew her to him, and one hand smoothed her pretty brown hair with rough tenderness. for a moment her head rested against his broad bosom. then a deep sigh came, and nan looked up, smiling into the steady gray eyes gazing down at her, through a mist of welling tears. "my dear--dear old daddy," she murmured, as the tears finally overflowed and slowly rolled down her cheeks. chapter xiv the knocking on the door it seemed like the hand of destiny that elvine van blooren should wander across the path of jeffrey masters at a moment when all the fruits of his ambition seemed to be falling into his outspread-hands. it was surely the work of fate that instant recognition of her desirability leaped in his heart, so that some six weeks later they should set out on their life's journey together on the eastward bound mail train, which bore, in its foremost van, the mails for the world outside, gathered in from every district in the region of calthorpe. their happiness was perfect. in six weeks' time the metamorphosis in the woman had been as complete as it was in the case of the man. for the man it seemed that life had opened out an entirely new vista. he had warmed under the influence of his new passion. the angles in his character seemed to have softened. achievement had receded into its due proportion in his focus. the world had become peopled with warm living creatures whose strivings were now a source of sympathy to him. life no longer moved about him detached, unappealing. so with the woman. elvine van blooren's past was her own. whatever it was she hugged it to herself, and the very process of doing so had helped to harden her. but she possessed fires she had wilfully hidden, even from herself. for four years she had lived a life of desperate calculation against all those things she most dreaded, till she felt she had converted herself into a machine free from all trammeling emotions, equipped solely to execute the purpose she had set her mind on. these fires were awakened early. their awakening had been all unknown to her. yet she had admitted them when she had warned her mother that she intended to "like" the man she ultimately married. all subconsciously she had "liked" jeffrey masters from their first formal meeting. further acquaintance had deepened her liking. the keen eyes possessed strong qualities of appeal. the decision of his clean-cut face suggested all that strength which appealed to her. the culmination was reached long before the appointed day of their wedding. it came at the moment he definitely asked her to become his wife. it had been a moment to her than which she had dreamed of nothing more sublime. the flood-gates had been literally forced open before a tide of sudden passion, which left her gasping, and something incredulous. where was all the result of her years of hard calculation? where was that machine upon which she had gazed with so much confident pride? it had only served her just so long as was required to realize that jeffrey masters was sufficiently desirable to fulfil the purposes of the life she had marked out for herself. then, the primitive woman in her had abandoned herself to the glowing fires burning deep within her young heart. thus the bond held them both through delicious days, which so little time before had seemed impossible to either. thus the time drew on toward the golden day of consummation. and with each passing day firmer and firmer, more and more irresistible, grew the ties under which they were held. as the local press had foreshadowed, the event of their marriage proved of primary social importance. all calthorpe speeded them upon their life's journey, and the east-bound mail bore them away with the echo of cheery farewells, and every other form of speeding, dying pleasantly away behind them. so, too, the snake-like string of coaches bore the burden of destiny in the great uninteresting, padlocked baskets and bags which contained the mail. the days of the honeymoon had been carefully thought out by elvine. her wishes had been supreme. toronto was their first destination. a city whose bright, pleasant life appealed to her more, perhaps, even than any of the great cities of the greater world. perfect happiness was theirs from the moment of their departure eastward. no cloud drifted in sight during their first day in the great hotel from which they intended to view the life of toronto. then came the second morning, and the--mail. they occupied a suite of rooms upon the first floor of the hotel. it overlooked the wide portico which supported a deep balcony devoted to their sole use. jeff was alone in the luxurious sitting-room when the mail was brought in by a waiter. he was glancing down the morning paper while he waited for elvine, who was preparing for a morning round of the stores. his attention for the news he read was less than scant. it is doubtful if he read more than the head-lines, and these only with partial understanding. his mind was upon the beautiful woman in the adjacent apartment arraying herself with all the arts of a woman in love for the benefit of the man whose regard is alone worth while. his eyes were smiling unconsciously; something of the keenness of his whole expression had become lost under their new expression. dressed in the simple garb of civilization he had little about him, beyond the intense sunburn of his face, to remind one of the urgent young ranchman who had first planned the combination which was to develop into the famous obar ranch. at the arrival of the mail he flung his paper aside. then he picked up each letter in turn, examined the address, and set aside, in a separate pile, those addressed to his wife. of his own there were only four, and, of these, only the one addressed in bud's cumbersome handwriting interested him seriously. before opening it he pierced and lit a cigar. he felt that from its bulk the letter must contain important reports from the ranch, and, coming at such a time, would need the steadying influence of a cigar to enable him to give them the consideration necessary. he lounged back in the big chair and leisurely tore open the envelope. * * * * * * the door communicating with the principal bedroom opened noiselessly. elvine entered the sitting-room, accompanied by that delightful rustle of silk which is quite irresistible to male ears. at all times a beautiful woman, just now she was incomparable. a joy of life lit every feature, endowing her with an animation of expression unrecognizable in her a few short weeks ago. there was a melting lustre in her dark eyes, a gentleness in the smiling corners of her irresistible mouth. her cheeks, even, seemed to have gained an added softness of contour. while the masses of dark hair revealed beneath her hat shone with the burnish of the raven's wing. her husband had turned on the instant. his cigar was flung aside. a moment later he was on his feet, and his arms, full of vital impulse, came near to destroying the perfection of her toilet. the woman made no protest under the embrace. it told her so many things she wanted to know. it told her of the love she now so frankly desired. it told her, too, that the efforts on her toilet had not been ill-spent. presently jeff stood back, holding her at arm's length, while his hungry eyes devoured every feature of the face that had taught him so much of the real meaning of life. "splendid--just splendid!" he exclaimed. "my--gown?" the smile was enticing. the man laughed out of the buoyancy of his heart. "no--you!" he cried, leaning forward for the embrace she had invited. a moment later he stood back again, and elvine's eyes fell upon the mail lying upon the table. "some for me?" she inquired, moving toward it. jeff nodded. then his smile died out. his gaze had fallen upon his own open letter. it was lying upon the table near the pile set aside for his wife, just where he had flung it down at the moment of her entrance. "quite a few," he said. the unsmiling nature of his response had caught elvine's attention. but she picked up her letters and glanced hastily through them. a moment later her eyes came back to his face. "aren't you going to finish yours?" she inquired. she was seeking the meaning of that suddenly banished smile. it was almost with eagerness that the man caught at the opportunity. "it's from bud, and--i guess it's important. i've only two or three pages more." he picked the letter up and sorted the sheets into order. elvine watched him. she wanted to ask a dozen questions. but she put none of them. "he's your partner," was all she said. "yep," he nodded, with his eyes on the pages. then elvine voiced something of her real feelings of the moment. "i just hate mail," she said, with what seemed unnecessary force, as she began to draw on her gloves. "it always worries me to death. i think it scares me. makes me think of death, or disaster, or--or bills and things." she laughed. "maybe it's my pessimistic nature makes me feel that way. when things are all sunshiny and fine, why, it kind of feels to me there are clouds around. nasty, mean, hateful shadows lurking, full of----" "hell for some one, eh?" there was a wry twist to the man's lips as he smiled his reply. "guess that's how it is with mine," he went on. "i'll just read these pages, and then we'll get going. eh?" the woman's watchful eye smiled assent and she continued to draw her gloves on. but her observation of him seemed to gather intensity the moment he became absorbed in the clumsy, unskilled handwriting. the last vestige of his smile had gone. his fair brows had knitted in a troubled frown. he seemed to read eagerly but intently, absorbed to an unusual degree. she realized the seriousness of that letter. and for some curious reason alarm supervened. he had spoken of it easily, but his manner of reading denied his spoken word. the silent moments irked her. the rustle of the paper in his hands. a feeling of foreboding grew, a feeling she knew was foolish, but which at the same time was irresistible. she found herself speculating as to the contents of the letter. she strove to review all the possibilities which the great obar ranch could offer for disaster. and her mind drifted back over years to a memory that gave her not a shadow of comfort. the last button of her gloves had been secured when the refolding of the letter came. jeff deliberately, but abstractedly, returned it to its cover. his smile was scarcely a happy one when he finally looked up. "i'm through, sweetheart," he said. "shall we----?" but elvine's feelings would no longer be denied. "serious as all that?" she demanded. the next moment she would have given worlds to have been able to recall the words. "i'm afraid it is--in a way." elvine had no option but to continue the subject. she spoke with real feeling. "may i know, dear?" she appealed. "you see, jeff, things often read worse than they are. maybe i can help. i've a clearer head than you'd guess." the man's cheeks flushed. he had distressed her, frightened her, and the thought of it annoyed him. he stepped toward her, his hands outheld. she responded, and her hands were caught in his firm warm clasp. "say, i'm just sorry. i surely am. guess i've no sort of right scaring you. anyway, there's nothing to be scared about. just a bunch of rustlers----" "cattle thieves?" the woman's whole expression had become transformed. the announcement had shocked her out of her self-possession. her smile had fled. her eyes were wide, and their dark depths were full of a horror that seemed quite uncalled for. even her cheeks had lost their delicate bloom. her gaze was held fast by the man's steady regard. it was almost a fascinated stare held under some powerful hypnotic influence. the man was at a loss. but he promptly claimed the fault to himself. "don't just worry a thing, evie," he cried, in real distress. "it don't amount to anything. and anyway you don't need to worry. we can deal with it. i best tell you right away. you see, it's their second play since i've been from home. bud's feeling sore. first it was a great imported bull they shot up while they ran off his cows, and a dandy bunch of yearling prize stock. now--now it's a swell bunch of fifty beeves that had been fattening for the buyers. the loss don't hurt. oh, no, it's not that." he paused. somehow their hands fell apart, and, to the woman, now recovering herself, it was as though some shadow had thrust itself between them. she waited, vaguely troubled. somehow speech for the moment had become impossible to her. she was thinking, thinking far back amidst scenes she had no desire to recall. her husband went on. his manner had lost all the contrition he had displayed at alarming her. it was abstracted. he too seemed to be thinking deeply, far away amidst scenes which afforded him only the deepest pain. "i've just thought," he said. then he raised one strong hand and passed it across his broad forehead. he drew a profound sigh. "say, i wonder," he went on reflectively. "it's things bud's said in his yarn. suspicions. they brought up all sorts of queer things to my mind." the smile he essayed was a hopeless failure. then, in a moment, all doubt seemed to pass away and he spoke with quick, keen decision. "i'll have to tell you, evie. you'd sort of made me forget. these days have been the happiest i've ever known, and you've made 'em so. that's how i forgot to tell you of things i guess you ought to know." but the woman before him had no desire for his present mood. she smilingly shook her head in a decided negative. the last thing she desired was anything in the nature of a confidence. "is there any need--now?" she asked. then she smiled. "the stores are waiting." but she had yet to learn the real character of the man whom she had married. she had yet to understand the meaning of the simple sobriquet "honest jeff," which nan tristram had long since bestowed upon him. he was not the man to be turned from a decision once taken. the decision on this occasion was arrived at through the depth of the passionate devotion which controlled his every thought. his love for elvine made his purpose only the more irrevocable. "i think they had best wait a shade longer," he said with a shadowy smile. "you see, evie, i kind of figure there's things that matter more than just gathering in the fancy goods money'll buy--even for you. guess i owe you most everything a man can give, the same as you feel toward me. that's how marriage--marriage like ours--seems to me. as far as i can make it there's not going to be a thing on my conscience toward you. i'd have told you this before, only--only you just drove it right out of my head with the sight of your beautiful face, the sound of your voice, which i just love, and the thought that you--you were to be my wife. you see," he went on simply, "i hadn't room in my head for anything else." his manner was so firmly gentle that elvine's protest melted before it. after all it was very sweet, and--and---- she drew a chair forward and sat down. but her smile hid her real feelings. confidences, confessions, even from a husband, were repugnant to her. jeff remained standing. he gazed for a few silent moments in the direction of the open window. the expression of his blue eyes suggested a deep, searching introspection. he might have been searching for an opening. again, he might simply have been reviewing scenes which stirred his innermost soul with their horror and pain. at last, however, elvine made a half impatient movement. instantly the blue eyes turned in her direction, and their expression startled her. they were full of a stony, passionless regard. not for her, but inspired by the thought behind them. she shivered under their gaze and their impression upon her was never afterward obliterated. "it's four years past now," he began, in a voice she scarcely recognized. "these rustlers brought it all back to me. say, evie, i had a twin brother, ronald. maybe that won't convey much. i sort of loved him--better than myself. that's all. he was a bit queer. i mean he just didn't care a heap for running along the main trail of things. he was apt to get all mussed up running around byways. well, when bud and i fixed up the obar partnership, i was just crazy to hunt ronny down, and hand him a share. bud's a great feller, and i told him. i knew whereabouts the boy had staked out, and, figuring we'd earned a vacation, bud and i set out to round him up, and hand him a piece which i guessed would keep him with me the rest of his life." he paused. he drew a deep breath, and his eyes, hard as marble, had turned again in the direction of the window. elvine was held even against herself. the expression of his eyes, even more than the curious sharpness of his voice, troubled her, alarmed her. "i'm not going to yarn more than necessary," he went on after a moment. "there isn't any need. i just want to give you the deadly facts. as i said, i knew his layout, where he was--supposed to be trapping pelts. supposed. bud had been raised in the district, so he acted scout. he made the location and found him. d'you know how?" there was a restrained fierceness in the sharp demand. the woman shook her head. any word would have seemed out of place. "hanging by the neck to the bough of a tree." "jeff, don't!" the woman gasped. but now there was a smile in the man's eyes. it was a terrible smile which drove every vestige of color from his wife's cheeks. "i had to tell you," he cried harshly. "they hanged him for a cattle thief. he was one. oh, yes. he was one. that's why i had to tell you." the woman's eyes were wide with a sudden terror to which the man remained oblivious. "but you said----" "i said he was pelt hunting. so he'd told me. so i believed. but he wasn't. say, he was a cattle rustler running a big gang who'd played hell with the district. he'd been running it for nigh five years. he'd beaten 'em to a mush, all that time, till a reward was offered. a reward of ten thousand dollars. that fixed him. there was some one knew wanted that reward, and--got it." there was a sudden movement in the room. elvine had abruptly risen from her chair. she moved away. she crossed to the window, and stood with her back turned, and so had thrust herself into her husband's focus. "it's--it's a terrible--dreadful story," came her faltering comment. "terrible? dreadful?" the man emitted a sound that might have been a laugh. a shudder passed down the woman's back as it fell upon her ears. "but it's nothing to the reality, evie. oh, i've no sympathy for his crimes. i hate rustlers like the poison they are. but he was twin to me, and i loved him. it made no difference to me. you see, he was part of me. now--now i only hope the good god'll let me come up with the man who took the price of his blood. for four years i've dreamed that way, and i guess it don't matter if it's fifty more. i'll never change. there's some one, somewhere, who's lower down than the worst cattle rustler ever lived." there was no response as the man ceased speaking. elvine had not stirred from her place at the window. the moments passed. swift, poignant moments, in which two people were enduring an agony of recollection. the man's relentless expression never changed. his eyes were gazing straight ahead. and though his vision was obstructed by the perfect contours of his wife's figure, he was gazing through her, and beyond her, upon a scene which had for its central interest the suspended figure of a man with his head lolling forward and sideways, and his dead eyes bulging from their sockets. elvine never stirred. her gaze was upon the crowded thoroughfare beyond. but like her husband, she was gazing through and beyond. she was watching the tongues of flame as they licked up the resinous trunks and foliage of a great pine bluff. at length it was the woman's voice broke the silence. "where--where did this all happen?" the question was the verbal expression of a despairing hope. the voice, however, was steady. "in the cathills." "the lightfoot gang?" "yes. that's what he called it. you knew of them?" there was a slight movement of the woman's shoulders. it was the faintest possible shrug. "everybody in calthorpe heard of them." then she turned and faced him. the mask with which she confronted him was perfect. her dark beauty was unimpaired by a sign of emotion. even her cheeks had returned to their customary delicate bloom. her eyes shone with a world of sympathy as she came toward him. "jeff, don't think of it all--now, dear. it's too, too dreadful. guess i was wrong to let you tell me. i certainly was. it's past. it's done with. nothing can ever bring him back to you. to dwell upon it, to think and feel that way, will only serve to embitter your life. say, try, jeff. i'll help you, dear. i will. sure. sure. won't you try, for--my sake?" the man took her hands in his. he drew her toward him. the strained expression of his eyes melted before her perfect beauty. "i'll try, evie," he said, without conviction. then he kissed her. after a while she looked up. "and the stores, jeff?" the man smiled down in response. "sure--the stores." chapter xv the home-coming six weeks of all she had ever hoped for, dreamed of, in the lean years of heart starvation. the complete devotion of a strong man, a man who held a place in the world she knew. every luxury wealth could purchase at her disposal, even to satiation. her every whim ministered to, and even anticipated. this was something of the ripe fruit literally heaped into elvine's lap. she had longed for it, schemed for it, and providence had permitted all her efforts complete success. now, with those six weeks behind her, she gazed upon the balance-sheet. she looked for the balance of happiness. to her horror it was blotted out, smudged out of all recognition. oh, yes, the figures had been entered, but now they were completely obscured. it was the last stage of her journey to her new home. it was a journey being made in the saddle. their baggage, a large number of trunks loaded with the precious gleanings from the great stores during the honeymoon, had been sent on ahead by wagon. there was nothing, so far as could be seen, to rob the home-coming of its proper sense of delight. yet delight was more than far off. elvine was a prey to a hopelessness which nothing seemed able to relieve. summer was not yet over, although the signs of the coming fall were by no means lacking. the hard trail, like some carefully set out terra-cotta ribbon upon a field of tawny green, took them through a region of busy harvesting. the tractors and threshers were busily engaged in many directions. great stacks of straw testified to the ample harvest in progress. fall ploughing had already begun, and high-wheeled wagons bore their burden of produce toward the distant elevators. then, too, human freight passed them, happy, smiling freight of old and young, whose sun-scorched faces reflected something of the joy of life and general prosperity prevailing. a radiant sun looked down upon the scenes through which they passed. it was the wonderful ripening god almost worshipped of these people who lived by the fruits of the earth. jeffrey masters understood it all, and reveled in the pleasant senses it stirred. for he, too, lived by the fruits of the earth, although his harvest was garnered in the flesh of creature kind. elvine looked on with eyes that beheld but saw nothing of that which inspired her husband. remembrance claimed her. too well she remembered. and gladly would she have shut out such sights altogether, for more and more surely they crushed her already depressed spirits to a depth from which it seemed impossible to raise them. nor was her beautiful face without some reflection of this. her smile was ready for the man at her side. she laughed and talked in a manner so care-free that he could never have suspected. but in repose, when no eyes were upon her, a lurking, hunted dread peered furtively out of her dark eyes, and the fine-drawn lines gathered about her shapely lips, and seriously marred the serenity of their youthful contours. she had one purpose now, one only. it was to ward off the blow which she knew might fall at any moment when she reached her new home. the threat of it was with her always. it drove her to panic in the dark of night. it left her watchful and fearful in the light of day. at all times the memory of her husband's words dinned through her brain like the haunt of some sickening melody. "now i only hope the good god'll let me come up with the man who took the price of his blood." it had been spoken coldly. it had been spoken with an intensity of bitterness that left an impression as hard as flint. the tone had set her shuddering. then the look in those cold blue eyes when at last she had turned confronting them. no, there had been no mercy in them. no mercy, she told herself, for--anybody. at that moment she had known that the earth could hold no future peace for her. she felt that fate had passed sentence on her, and she was powerless to stay its execution. her husband demanded vengeance upon the man who had accepted the price of his brother's blood. for the moment she had been stunned. then had risen up in her a desperate courage. she would fight. she would fight for herself, she would fight for the love which all unbidden, all undesired, had come to her. then, in the end, if defeat should overtake her, she would, yes, she could, submit to the punishment his hand should mete out to her. strangely, from that moment her love for this man seemed to increase a thousandfold. he grew in her heart a towering colossus of worship. the primitive in her bowed down before his image ready to yield to his lightest word, while, by every art, she was ready to cajole and foster his love. it was all she knew, understood. it was the woman in her who possessed no other weapons of defense. she loved him, she desired him, then nothing was too small to cling to with the wild hope of the drowning. when the day came that he should turn and rend her soul she could submit. but until that day she would cling to every straw that offered. while the scenes through which they were passing preoccupied the man, the silence of the wide plains left elvine to her fears. the great breadth of the world about her added to her hopelessness. and after a silence which had become unduly protracted, she took refuge in talk for which she had no real desire. "it's beautiful, but--oppressive," she said, and the words were the inspiration of genuine thought. but the man was like one who has spent a world of love and devotion upon carving a beautiful setting and is now about to complete his work by securing in place the crowning jewel. he had no room for any feeling of oppression. he shook his head. "say, evie," he cried, "i just can't allow you the word 'oppressive.' i just can't. look--look right out there toward the hills we're making. take the colors as they heap up to the distance. every shade, i guess, from green to purple. it makes me feel good. it gives me room to stretch myself. it sort o' sweeps away a whole heap of fusty city smells, and gives us something a deal more worth breathing. it's a man's place. and it's full of man's work. guess providence got busy an' set it all out for us. providence guessed we'd have to use it. but providence didn't just guess how far crazy human nature really was. she didn't foresee we'd gather around in the musty dump-holes we call cities. she didn't figure on our tastes for the flesh-pots, and the indulgence of the senses she'd handed us. but then providence knows her power to fix us right when she feels that way." then he spread out his arms with an inexpressible suggestion of longing. "say, i'm crazy--plumb crazy to get the first peek at that dandy home i've had fixed for you." the woman's eyes sought her husband's with a smile that was a caress. "you're good to me, jeff," she said. then she added: "so good." her smile deepened. "you'd hand me the world with--with a fence around it, if i asked. why? why are you like that?" it was the love in her seeking reassurance. nor was she disappointed. "why?" the man laughed. and the sound of it was good to hear. it was deep, and seemed to come from the depths of his soul. his blue eyes shone with a world of devotion. "guess i love you--just that," he said. then he pointed at the distant hills. "i can't tell you all i feel, elvie," he said, "but get those hills. see them. there, that peak, sitting right up over its fellows, with a cap of snow on it i don't guess the sun could ever melt. that's thousands of feet up. i'd say man's foot was never set there, nor bird's, nor animal's either. well, if that peak was a throne it 'ud give you pleasure to occupy, why, i guess i'd just go the limit to have you sit there." elvine was gazing at the mountain crest, but she was not thinking of it. she was thinking of the love which the extravagant words expressed, and she was wondering at the bigness of it. she was caught in its power, and it thrilled her with an even greater appreciation of her danger. what would be the result upon such a nature as this man's when--he knew? "i believe you would," she said, her eyes coming back to the strong, flushed face. then she added: "now." "now?" there was a quick lifting in the man's fair brows. there was incredulity in his tone. to him it seemed impossible, the implied doubt in her final word. "i don't change easy, elvie," he protested. "i kind of get things hard. it's my way, and it's no doing of mine. life's a full-sized proposition, and i don't guess we can see far through it. but i can't imagine a thing that could come before you in my thoughts." "i'd like to think that. i'd like to feel that," elvine returned. she was smiling up into his eyes. "you see, jeff, i was kind of thinking. we're young now. we've been together just six weeks. maybe you'll get used to me later. men do get used to women till they become sort of part of the furniture. oh, i guess their love goes right on, but--but they wouldn't feel like starting in to fence in the north pole, or--or hitch up niagara to their wife's buggy just because she fancied that way. say, jeff, when i lose your love i just lose everything in the world. you--you won't ever let me lose it, will you?" jeff shook his head, and smiled in the confidence of feelings. "don't ever talk that way. don't ever think like that," he urged her. then, as their horses ambled side by side up the last gentle incline before they dropped down to the great plain of the rainbow hill valley, which was the setting of the obar ranch, he drew nearer and reached out one arm and gently encircled her waist. "guess you're feeling like me just now, evie. do you know what i mean? we're getting home. home--yours and mine. well, say, that home is in my mind now, and it's full to the brim of thoughts of you. you're in it--everywhere. you're part of it. you're just part of me. i can't see any future without you. it don't seem to me there could be any. i don't doubt. i guess the thought of it don't scare me a thing. maybe with you it's different. maybe you're scared such happiness can't last. but i tell you it can--it will. you're with me now and always, and i can't see a shadow that could come between us." "none? no, none, none!" the woman forced conviction into her final denial, and, for a moment, she permitted herself to yield to the reassuring embrace. then she started up and released herself. "oh, jeff!" she cried. "i just pray all the time that nothing shall ever rob me of your love. night and day i pray that way. if i were to lose you, i--i think nothing else would much matter." the man smiled with supreme confidence. they had reached the top of the hill, and he set his horse into a canter. "you're just going to live right on--for me, sweetheart," he cried. "be yourself. just yourself. the frank, honest woman i know and love. if ever the shadows you fear come to worry us, they'll have to be of your own creating. we have nothing to fear from the future, nothing at all. we'll just drive right on down the clear trail of life. it's only in the byways there's any ugly dumps. look!" he suddenly flung out one arm, pointing ahead where the great obar plains rolled away toward the hills below them. "that's the ranch. there. that one there is bud's homestead, and the other to the right's your--our home. say, it's good to see--mighty good!" * * * * * * nan gazed upon the result of her labors and decided that it was good. bud was observing her in his unobtrusive way. they were together in the new parlor of the home which jeff had had reconstructed under nan's most careful supervision. the girl had put forth her greatest effort, greater even than she herself realized, for it had been inspired by a desire that jeff and his wife should never realize the pain and bitter disappointment she had endured. now, as she surveyed each detail in her final tour of inspection, she convinced herself that nothing, nothing she could think of had been forgotten. even the city-bred elvine could find no fault with any detail of it. she and bud were standing side by side rather like two children gazing in awed wonder at some undreamed of splendor suddenly discovered in a familiar playground, every square foot of which they had believed themselves familiar with. "i--don't think i've forgotten a thing," nan said, in a tone subdued by her weight of responsibility. "not a thing," agreed bud, with a perfect disregard for any consequences his statement might have. he was utterly unchanged. he had made no preparation to receive the bride and bridegroom in their home. he was just the cattleman nothing could change him from. his gray flannel shirt was agape over his sunburned chest. his leather chapps creaked as he moved, his vicious spurs clanked. then, too, the curling iron-gray hair of his bared head was innocent of all extra combing. with nan it was different. she had striven to rid herself of every sign of the prairie to which she belonged. she was dressed with consummate care. every jealous feeling of the woman in her had cried out for her rights, and those rights were that her successful rival should be unable to sneer at or pity her. the result was a delightful picture that filled bud's heart with admiration. and for perhaps the thousandth time he silently anathematized the blind folly of the man who had wilfully cast his eyes in another direction. nan seated herself in one of the luxuriously inviting armchairs, while bud insinuated his huge form on to the polished surface of a large central table. "you know, daddy, i sort of feel like a feller who's guessed the right answer to a question he hadn't a notion of. maybe you won't get just how i mean." the smile in her pretty eyes changed to a deep seriousness. "you know when i was a little teeny girl all mud and overall, that never could keep me within measurable distance of being clean, you used to talk to me just as if you were speaking your thoughts aloud. guess it was about the time poor momma died, or maybe soon after. i kind of remember you were squatting indian fashion on the veranda of our shack, i'd been busy in the hopes of drowning myself in a half dry mud hole, and had mostly succeeded in absorbing more of the dirt than seemed good for a single meal. guess i must have started to cry, and you'd reached out and grabbed me, and fetched me up on your lap, and were handing me a few words you reckoned to cheer me up with. do you remember them, my daddy? i don't guess you do. i didn't till a while later, and then i didn't figure out their meaning till i went to school. you said, 'tears is only for kiddies an' grown women. kiddies mostly cry because they don't understand, an' grown women because they do. anyway, neither of 'em need to cry, if they only get busy an' think a while. ther' ain't a thing in this life calls for a tear from a living soul, not even a stomachful of moist mud, 'cos, you see, ther's someone who fixes everything the way it should go, an' it's the right way. so we'll jest give you a dose of physic to help boost the show along.'" she glanced round her with smiling eyes at the tastefully arrayed furnishings of the parlor. "this has been the dose of physic i gave myself, and--and i feel better for it. i had the mud, and, why, the tears came just as they did before. maybe if i'd been able to think right i wouldn't have shed them. but i just couldn't think right then. but i've thought since, and the physic's helped me. do--do you think he'll like it all?" the contemplative gaze of her father was full of gentle amusement. "sure he will--if he ain't changed any." nan shook her head. "jeff couldn't change. even marriage couldn't change jeff. you see, jeff's got notions of life which are just part of him. maybe he'll soften some in ways and things, but his notions'll remain, and they'll stand right out in all he does." but bud remained without conviction. "a good woman can set a big man hunting a halo," he said. "an' i allow he's li'ble to find it, if she don't weaken in her play. but a bad woman--why, i guess a bad woman can send him down quicker than most things in life, once she tucks herself into a corner of his life depot." "but jeff would never fall in love with a bad woman." nan protested swiftly, an odd little pucker of anxiety gathering between her brows. "i--i'm sure his wife's a good woman." "an' i ain't any sort o' reason to think diff'rent." "but you do think--that way." nan's understanding of her father was wide. it could scarcely have been otherwise, since he had been her sole companion for so many years. but bud was to be drawn no further. "ther' ain't no accounting fer how folks think when they ain't out on a joy trip," he grumbled, as he moved across to the open window, and stood gazing out over the trail from the northeast. then all further discussion was abandoned in a small wave of excitement. he was pointing down the trail. "say, they're coming right along now. an'----" but nan was at his side. something of the color had faded out of her cheeks, and she clung to her father's arm as she gazed along the narrow winding road. her breath was coming rapidly. for all her courage, now that the moment of great trial had arrived, she felt very weak, very helpless. bud understood. he released his arm from her nervous clasp, and placed it gently about her shoulders. "it's jeff setting the gait," he said. "i'd say he's crazy to get home." then he added as though to himself: "guess i'd as lief seen her on the lead." but nan gave no heed to his words. the soul of the girl was in her eyes, which were full of a deep terror and yearning. she had schooled herself for this meeting how she had schooled herself! and now it seemed beyond her powers to live up to that schooling. never for a moment did she withdraw her gaze. it was held fascinated, perhaps against her will. they came on, riding at an almost racing gallop, and finally drew up with their horses fighting against the restraining bits. bud and nan were on the veranda. bud's attitude was one of almost shy reserve. nan was smiling a welcome such as a moment before would have seemed quite impossible. but her schooling had finally triumphed in the crisis, and her loyalty to her generous love had vanquished every baser feeling. it was her hands which clasped those of the city woman before she sprang lightly from the saddle. it was her steady voice spoke the first words of welcome. "say, you sure must be tired with your journey," she said. "come right in to--your new home." bud had averted his eyes the moment she began to speak. he could not witness that greeting. his courage was unequal to it. instead he greeted jeff in his own fashion, as though nothing unusual had occurred. "nan's got everything through for you same as you asked. after you've eaten, why, i guess we'll need to make some talk. things have been moving, boy. guess we'll need to get busy." nan had taken elvine into the house, and one of the barn-hands was waiting to take the horses. jeff leaped from the saddle. once in the company of his partner, with all the atmosphere of the world to which he belonged about him, all the excitement of his home-coming seemed to drop from him. he even seemed to have forgotten that this was the final great event of his new life--the bringing of his bride to the home he had prepared for her. but nan's estimate of him was right. jeff's was a nature that could not be changed, even by his marriage. his love, his marriage, elvine; these things were, in reality, merely episodes. delightful episodes. before all things his work claimed him. "you mean the--rustlers?" the two men were facing each other on the wide veranda. the trailing wild cucumber vines tempered the blaze of sunlight and left the atmosphere of the veranda cool. jeff mopped the beads of perspiration from his forehead under his wide hat, which had been thrust back on his head. "that's so." bud's eyes were following the horses as they moved away in the wake of the barn-hand. "it's pretty bad?" "an' gettin' worse." bud's eyes came back to his partner's face. they gazed steadily into it. "can't you tell me--now? evie's in there with nan," he added significantly. bud shook his head. "it's a big yarn, an' needs time. but----" he paused, searching the other's face. "go right on." jeff read through the pause. he waited, his lips firmly set. bud cleared his throat. "i've got to say these things later if i don't say 'em now, jeff, boy. what i need to tell 'll make you sore, an' i don't guess it's the best sort o' welcome making you sore at your home-comin'. it's the worst of the yarn anyway, an' i kind o' feel it's best spitting out the worst right away. we're up against a gang, a slick gang, organized right, same as----" he hesitated. but the younger man seemed to have no similar scruples. "the gang my brother ran." bud nodded. "some of 'em got clear away--that time." "and you figure after giving things time to get forgotten they've gathered up a crowd of toughs and started in on this district?" "it seems that way." "how?" "system," bud declared sharply. "they're takin' a steady toll of us, an' other folks in the district. we trailed 'em to the hills, an'--lost 'em. say, if we don't handle 'em it means----" "something like ruin for the--obar." jeff's manner was shorn of any equivocation. he spoke with almost ruthless force, but the coldness of tone was incomparable with the steely light in his blue eyes. after a moment's silence he turned away. he stood looking back over the trail he had just left, and bud regarded his keen profile, waiting. he felt there was nothing more for him to say at the moment. at last the other turned in his quick, decided fashion as the sound of the women's voices reached them from within the parlor. "will you stop and eat with us?" he asked bluntly. bud shook his head. "not now, jeff, boy. this is your home-coming." "yes. well, i'll get around your place to-morrow morning, bud. we can make big talk then." chapter xvi the ranchman the cool night breeze died out under the increasing heat of the early sun. away to the west gossamer melted upon the hillsides. the mountain tops stood out under their eternal snows, above the lower cloud belts. the summer dews on thirsty foliage dried up before their mission was completed. but the wide prairie world stood up refreshed to withstand the day's heat yet to come. elvine masters was on the veranda of her new home gazing after the receding figure of her husband, who had just left her to discuss with his partner those vital things which they had touched upon at the moment of his arrival yesterday. everywhere about her the busy life of the ranch was stirring. inside the house the maids were at work garnishing the home which nan had already left spotless. the corrals, which stood out from the shelter of a wood bluff, were claiming attention from several cow-hands. sounds reached her from the region of the bunkhouse, away to the right. then at the barns, and other ranch buildings, the voices of men implied the work that was going forward in their region. away in the distance isolated horsemen were moving about in the apparently aimless fashion of all fence riders, while, dotted about, small bands of cattle proceeded leisurely with the endless task of endeavoring to satisfy the craving of insatiable appetites. the woman's farewell smile had left her eyes cold as she surveyed the scene. there was no sign of the expressed delight with which she had followed nan at her first inspection of her new home. the recollection of it had even left her. only a certain sense of the irony of it all occupied her. that, and a painful wonder as to when the dread under which she labored would materialize into the shattering of every hope within her heart. presently a "hand" appeared leading a saddle horse. he was a youngster, a "barn-hand" who only worked around cattle in times of pressure. but he possessed all the air of a cowpuncher, which he ultimately purposed to become. elvine watched his leisurely approach, and remembered the days when she would have saddled her own pony. the boy displayed no sign of deference. he stood before her chewing a straw with all the unconcern of his kind, his arm linked through the reins, and his hands thrust into the tops of his trousers. he was probably not more than thirteen years of age, but he possessed all the independence bred in the calling of the cattle world. elvine broke in upon his meditative curiosity as he surveyed the new mistress of the ranch. "what's your name, boy?" she demanded, in a tone of authority. but the youngster was not to be startled out of his leisurely regard. an amiable smile upon his unclean face was the preliminary result of the question. "pete, ma'am," he replied after a moment. "an' around this bum lay-out i mostly reckon to have to do the stunts other folks don't notion." "chore boy?" "wal, mebbe that's how i figger on the pay roll. i allow i ain't allus called that way." the smile had left his eyes. he was talking with the frank candor of one unused to being taken notice of. there was a deep curiosity in the look with which he surveyed her. he had already been told that the boss's wife was a "swell piece," and his youthful mind was eager to verify the opinion. "how do they call you then?" elvine took the reins and threw them back over the horse's head, and examined the cinching of the saddle with the touch of experience. "mostly a 'mule-headed bussock,' ma'am. sometimes i allow they change it to 'slap-sided hoboe,' or somethin' more fancy. but that's jest the ignorant bums that ain't got no more learnin' than'll let 'em lose their cents reg'lar at 'draw.' ther's others who don't jest use langwidge--only their feet. then ther's the foreman, lal hobhouse. mebbe you ain't acquainted yet--you bein' new around these parts. he's a fine bully feller till he gits mad. then he's mean, ma'am. guess he's most as mean as a skunk. he needs watching if you want to get on a racket. i don't guess he ever laffed in his life. not even at a cirkis. yep. he's a holy terror when he's mad. he cowhided me t'other day so i ain't sat right in a week. if he was to start in to fix you that way, why----" "i don't guess he'll cowhide me," said elvine quickly, as she swung herself into the saddle. "i'm not likely go on a racket." then she leaned forward over the horn of the saddle, and smiled down into the unclean face gawking up at her. "how'd you fancy looking after my horses and saddle and things? i mean just look after them for me, and nothing else?" the boy's eyes lit. "bully!" he cried eagerly. "that way i wouldn't have to wash lousy clothes for the bunkhouse. would i? then they wouldn't be able to fire rocks at me when i sassed 'em. bully!" "i'll speak to lal hobhouse about it." the hope died out of the boy's eyes. "you won't tell him wot i said, ma'am?" he pleaded. "you see, i was jest settin' you wise, you bein' new around here. it ain't friendly not to put folks wise, is it? he's a bully feller sure, ma'am, an' i ain't got a word agin him. i hain't reely. i wouldn't 'a' sed a word if i'd tho't----" "don't you worry, boy," elvine cried, as she turned her horse about. "i wouldn't give you away. i wouldn't give anybody away--now. you see, you never know how things of that sort can come back on you." the obvious relief in the boy's dirty face was more than sufficient to bring back the smile to elvine's eyes, which, for the moment, had become almost painfully serious. but as she rode away leaving the boy gawking after her she quickly returned to the mood which had only been broken by the interlude. it was an interlude not easily forgotten, however. it had brought home to her a fresh revelation. and it had come in the boy's final appeal not to give him away. a fierce sense of shame surged through her heart. it communicated itself to her eyes, and displayed itself further in the deep flush on her beautiful cheeks. yet its reason must have remained obscure to any observer. she rode on urging her pony to a gait which set him reaching at his bit. she sat her saddle in a fashion which belonged solely to the prairie. the long stirrups and straight limb. the lightness, and that indescribable something which suggests the single personality of horse and rider. she had no intention of returning to the ranch house until the noonday meal, and meanwhile it was her purpose to explore something of the vast domain which her husband controlled. it was curious that her purpose should lead her thus. for somehow all sense of delight in these possessions had passed from her. at one time the thought of his thousands upon thousands of acres had filled her with a world of desire, and pride that she was to share in them. but not now. with every furlong she covered her mood depressed, and her sense of dread increased. she felt as though she were surveying from a great distance the details of the prize she had coveted, but the possession of which was denied her. this--this was the wealth her husband had bestowed upon her, she told herself bitterly, and some greater power, some fatalistic power, purposed to snatch it from her before it reached her hands. she rode straight for the rising land of the foothills. it almost seemed as though she were drawn thither by some magnetic influence. she had formed no definite decision to travel that way. perhaps it was the result of a subconscious realization of the monotony of the rolling tawny grass-land on the flat. the distant view of grazing cattle failed to break it. the occasional station shack and corral. the hills rose up in sharp contrast and great variety. there were the woodland bluffs. there were little trickling streams. there was that sense of the wild beyond. perhaps it was all this. or perhaps it was the call of a memory, which drew her beyond her power of resistance. she had long since left all beaten trails, and her way took her over the wiry growth of seeding grass. she had arrived at the bank of a narrow reed-grown creek, which meandered placidly in the deeps of a trough between two waves of grass-land. it had been her intention to cross it, but the marshy nature of its bed deterred her. so she rode on until the rising ground abruptly mounted and merged into the two great hills which formed the portals through which the stream had found an outlet from its mountain prison to the freedom of the plains beyond. for a moment she paused at the edge of a woodland bluff which mounted the slope to her right, and crowned the hillock with a thatch of dark green pine foliage. she gazed up with questioning eyes. and the familiarity of the tattered foliage left her without enthusiasm for its beauty. then she gazed ahead along the course of the stream. and it was obvious that she was in some doubt as to whether she should still proceed. after a moment of deep consideration she lifted her reins and her horse moved forward. then, suddenly, he was still again, held with a tightened rein. the soft but rapid plod of galloping hoofs came out of the distance. it was coming toward her from the hills, and an unaccountable but overwhelming desire to beat a hasty retreat took possession of her. but the action never matured. she was still facing the hills when a horseman emerged from a narrow pathway which split up converging bluffs. he was riding at a great pace, and was heading straight for the bank of the river where she had paused. elvine remained where she was. she made no effort either to proceed or retreat. somehow curiosity had caught her up and left her with no other emotion. she regarded the stranger with searching eyes. at the moment his features were too indistinct to obtain an impression. but his general appearance left nothing to question. he was a cow-hand without a doubt. his open shirt and loose waistcoat, his chapps, and the plaited rawhide rope which hung from the horn of his saddle. these were sufficient evidence. but for the rest, the wide flapping brim of his hat left her no estimate of the face beneath it. he came on. he even swerved his horse on one side as though to pass her without pausing. elvine's pony stirred restlessly in a desire to join the stranger. then, in a flash, the whole position was changed. the man reined up his horse with a heavy "yank" which almost flung it on its haunches, and a pair of fierce black eyes were staring into the woman's face with a light of startled recognition shining in their depths. "you!" he cried, without any other form of greeting. and into the word he flung a world of harsh meaning. elvine's reply was a blank stare, which had in it not a fraction of the recognition he displayed. not for an instant did her regard waver. it was full of a haughty displeasure at the nature of the greeting. nor did she deign reply. the man sat for a moment as though incredulous. then he thrust his hat back from his head, displaying the brutal ugliness of his face. elvine observed the coarse moustache, the lean cheeks, the low forehead and vicious eyes. the lips were hidden behind their curtain of hair. "say, kind o' fergotten--ain't yer?" he demanded. then the woman's perfectly fitting riding suit seemed to attract his attention. "gee," he exclaimed, "wher' you get that dandy rig?" but even as he spoke a change in his expression came when he recognized the horse elvine was riding. suddenly he raised one hand and smoothed the tangle of moustache with a downward gesture. it was a gesture implying complete lack of comprehension. "well, i'm darned!" "you'll be more than that if you don't pass on to your work, whatever that may be." the coldness of the woman's tone matched the light in her dark eyes. every ounce of her courage had been summoned to meet the situation. but the man displayed not the slightest regard for the threat. the incredulity of his expression changed. and the change was subtle. it was perfectly apparent, however, to the woman. and she nerved herself for what was to come. an evil smile grew in the piercing black eyes, as the man regarded the beauty which, with him, was a long stored up memory. "say, when d'you quit orrville way?" he cried derisively. "maybe you hadn't a heap o' use for it when your man, bob, got shot up. maybe you didn't need to stop around after you got your hands on the dollars i guess he left lying around. say, it beats hell meetin' you this way." but elvine was no longer laboring under the shock of the encounter. she had no longer any thought of the remoteness of the spot, or the obviously brutish man with whom she was confronted. she set about dealing with the situation with a desperate courage. "i don't know if you're mad, or only--drunk," she said, with icy sharpness. "but you're on my husband's land, and i suppose you work for him. what's your name? i need to know it so i can tell him of your insolence. jeffrey masters is not the man to allow his wife to be insulted with impunity by one of his cattlemen. it will be my business to see to it that he is told--everything. you were riding that way." she pointed the way she had come. "i s'pose toward the ranch house. let me pass!" she moved her horse as though to proceed. there was no sign of fear in her. no haste. at that moment her dignity was superb. every word she had spoken had been calculated, and the sting she had conveyed with her information had not been overdone. she looked for its effect, which came with a dramatic change in the man's whole demeanor. his evil face lost its smile, and, in a moment, he had bared his bristling head. but even as elvine beheld these things she understood the curious expression which he seemed powerless to banish from his ferretty eyes. "you're mrs. masters, ma'am?" the fellow cried. "say, ma'am, i'm just kind o' knocked all of a mush. i hadn't a notion. i truly hadn't. guess i took you for a leddy i kind o' remember up orrville way. an' the likeness is jest that o' two beans. i'm beat, ma'am, beat sore. i wouldn't have offered you insult for a farm. i'm sorry. i'd heerd the boss's wife was around, but i didn't figger i----" then he replaced his hat, and made as though to pass on. but he remained where he was. "y'see, i was ridin' in about last night. we lost another bunch. on'y ten cows and their calves, but i had to make a report." "another raid?" in a moment the woman caught him up. and her attitude had taken on a calculated change. the man observed her interest, and took prompt advantage of it. "yep. an' things are lookin' pretty bad. this gang's jest workin' how, an' when, an' wher' they fancy. if the boss 'ud on'y listen to me he'd leave no stock around the outstations. it's devilish luck, ma'am, that's what it is--devilish." elvine remained lost in thought, and the man's narrow eyes never left the profile she presented to him. when she turned to him again, however, his whole attitude was one of bland humility. "you can ride back to your station," she declared, with perfect authority. "i'll convey your report. what's your name? you didn't give it me." "sikkem. sikkem bruce. i'm out at spruce crossing, back ther' in the hills. it's jest a piece. mebbe three miles, wher' this stream makes a joining with the gophir creek. say----" "well?" elvine inquired as he paused. "you ain't makin' no complaint to the boss, ma'am? it was jest a darn fool mistake of mine. it surely was. i ken see it was. i can't figger how i mistook you fer the lady i was thinkin' of. y'see, she was no account anyway. she was jest one o' them vampire sorts who'd sell her soul fer a price, yep, and sell any man's life that way, too. y'see, that's how i come to know her. she handed over a bunch o' guys, scallawags, sure, who didn't need nothin' better, fer the price o' ten thousand dollars. she corralled the information, an' drove her weak-livered man to do the lousy work. i tell you, ma'am, a woman who gits that low is pretty mean. you was sure right to figger on an insult when i guessed you was that 'piece.' but i didn't mean it that way, i sure didn't." the marble coldness of elvine's face as she listened to the man's words gave no indication of any feeling behind it. at the end, however, she forced a smile to her lips. "you can forget it," she said. then she added deliberately: "i shall not inform my husband." "thank you, ma'am. then i guess i'll get right on back--if you'll carry in the report. y'see, we're huntin' the trail. that-a-way i'll be able to join up with the boys." "yes." the man hesitated as though waiting for her to depart first, but as she made no movement, and offered no further word, he was forced to the initiative. with an astonishing deference, which, perhaps, was even too elaborate, he wheeled his horse about and rode off. elvine watched him until he was swallowed up by the narrow pathway between the bluffs, then she turned back and rode slowly homeward. but the face which was now turned down the river was no longer the face which had confronted sikkem bruce. it was ghastly. it was the face of a soul-tortured woman. "she was jest one of them vampire sorts who'd sell her soul fer a price, yes, an' sell any man's life that way, too." the words, even the tones of the man's voice dinned in her brain, and she knew that the legions of fate had appeared upon a fresh horizon. chapter xvii the call to orrville the windows were wide open. voices from within the parlor reached nan. she was waiting on the veranda. waiting for the long council of men-folk to reach its conclusion. she had elected to remain outside. she knew that the future well-being of the obar ranch was being considered by men whose sole regard that well-being was. and somehow the woman in her demanded that in all the vital affairs of life it was the will of the men-folk which should rule. but her self-denial was strained to breaking as the interminable minutes grew, and, at last, she abandoned her principles to her woman's curiosity, and slipped into the room. she knew well enough that none of those present would resent her intrusion. and, anyway, it was hard to stand by when her whole interest was absorbed in the decisions to be arrived at. she passed round the room and took up a position on the arm of her father's chair. no one spoke to her. scarcely an eye turned in her direction. and something of the impressiveness of it all caught the girl's imagination. there was the dear familiar room with its simple furnishing, and its poignant associations. it was part of her life. it was certainly part of her father's and jeff's. then there was the warm sunlight pouring in through the open windows. it lit the tanned, strong faces of the men, and searched the weak spots in their toil-worn equipment. there was not a weak face among them. and nan felt comfort in the thought that theirs was the decision. the face of jay pendick, their own headman, with its small, alert dark eyes reflected the intentness of his mind. his capacity had been tried over and over again in his long years of service. then lal hobhouse, the best-hated man on the countryside for his ruthless genius in obtaining work from those under him, and the driving force of jeff's side of the partnership. her father, wise and silent, except for his heavy breathing. and lastly jeff, full of a hard determination to beat the game in which he was engaged. so keen was the interest of the gathering that bud alone was smoking. but then bud regarded tobacco as a necessary adjunct to soundness of judgment. he slipped an arm about nan's waist as she took up her position at his side. jeff was seated at the centre table, a position strongly reminiscent to the girl of a smaller gathering some four years back, when he had occupied the position of leadership in the enterprise which had had such successful results for them all. jay was poised upon the edge of a small chair which suggested immediate peril under his forceful and scarcely elegant methods when discussing the doings of rustlers, and imparting his opinion upon all and sundry of their class. lal disdained all parlor attitude. he was squatting against the edge of the table without the least consideration for its somewhat trifling powers of endurance. but jeff was talking, and nan's whole attention was swiftly caught and held by the man whose words and actions were at all times irresistible to her. he was talking slowly and clearly with that shadow of a drawl which was his way when his decision was arrived at. "say, it's as clear as don't matter we're up against an experienced and organized proposition," he said. "i don't guess this is any kind of scallawag outfit of toughs which just get around and duff a bunch, and hit the trail for safety till the froth they've raised dies down again. it's orrville repeating itself." he paused thoughtfully. his eyes were regarding the table before him. when he raised them again they were full of a peculiar light which shone in bud's direction. "ther's features in the game carry a parallel to that play, and i guess they point the fact that the fellers of that gang who got away at their round-up have got around this region now, and figure to carry on the same play right here. you'll get that, bud--sure." bud nodded. "well, it's up to us," jeff went on, as though the other's agreement had left his course of action clear. "maybe ther's states marshalls around, and a pretty bunch of deputies lying behind sheriff hank killick, but there never was an official gang these folk couldn't beat a mile. guess they're not duffing the private property of hank killick, or any of his boys. we best get busy our own way, which is the way dug mcfarlane took nearly five years to dream out." his blue eyes had grown colder and harder while he talked. there was a bite, too, in the manner in which he referred to the doings in orrville of four years ago. there was a curious curl to his firm lips, which, to nan's mind, suggested a painful smile. and she disliked it. she disliked his whole manner, which, just now, was none of the jeff she had always known. bud read deeper. and that which he read carried him back to an unforgettable scene in the cathills, when a twin stood gazing upon its other half, hanging by the neck dead under the shade of a wide-spreading tree. "it's up to us to set up a reward, bud," jeff went on, in the same passionless fashion. "a big reward. we've got to make it so some amateur judas is ready to sell his friends. it'll cost us a piece, but it's the way to fix things. and anyway it's going to be worth it, sure. i allow we'll need to hand out the story of reward good. it's got to reach this gang itself. an' if i guess right, and there's toughs from orrville way running this lay-out, why, they aren't li'ble to have forgotten what happened that time. we'll break the gang, or--we'll get 'em." there was something unrelenting, and even vicious, in the manner in which he gripped the pencil in his hand and dug the pointed lead and crushed it against the surface of the table. nan drew a deep sigh of relief as he finished speaking, and turned gladly as her father removed his pipe and cleared his throat. "an' the reward. how much?" he questioned. the answer flashed back at him like the slash of a knife. "ten thousand dollars!" in that answer jeff's voice was unrecognizable to nan. his whole expression, too, seemed to have undergone some subtle change. she sat groping for the meaning of it all, and somehow regretted she had not remained out on the veranda. bud inclined his head and replaced his pipe in corner of his mouth. "it goes," he declared. then he lumbered out of his chair. "that all?" he inquired. and by his manner and tone nan knew that he, too, had been affected by the things which had troubled her. "not quite." jeff turned on his own foreman. he had lost none his intensity. "that reward goes," he said sharply. "get the exact amount. ten thousand dollars. not a cent more or less. hand it out everywhere. meanwhile i'll see to it the notices are printed, and we'll have 'em set up wherever the eyes of these scum are likely to get peeking around." then he emitted a sound like a laugh, but there was no mirth in his eyes. nor in his manner. "we'll locate the best trees for a hanging, and we'll set 'em up there." nan moved over to an open window as the two headmen took their departure. bud had taken up a position against the cold iron stove. jeff alone retained his seat, during the few silent moments which followed. with the departure of the men, however, he looked up from a letter he had withdrawn from his pocket. "say, bud," he said without emotion, "guess the presidency of the western union's going to claim me right away. i'll need to make orrville right off." "orrville?" bud's eyes were sharply scrutinizing. "sure." jeff's indifference was obviously assumed. nan's questioning eyes passed uncertainly from jeff to her father. there was something between these two she did not understand. orrville? it was when he had been speaking of orrville all that intensity of bitterness had been so apparent in jeff. she received no enlightenment, however. "what's the play at--orrville?" bud's question had a suggestion of anxiety in it. jeff rose from his chair. he passed one hand wearily across his brow and smoothed back his lank fair hair. "oh, it's just arbitration," he said. "the parties agree to take my decision in some grazing rights instead of handing good dollars over to the law. it's dug. dug mcfarlane, and a feller called peters. peters figgers he's got rights on dug's land, and--well, dug just guesses he hasn't." "when are you starting?" nan inquired, from her place at the window. "i'll need to get off early to-morrow." jeff's eyes were on the girl. the change in them had become pronounced. warmth had replaced frigidity, and the smile in them was real now. "it's tough on top of my home-coming, eh, nan? maybe evie'll feel lonesome too--when i tell her. still, these things are part of the game, and i can't weaken on 'em. it's these toughs around i'm worrying 'll scare her. i was kind of wondering if you'd----" "you don't need to worry a thing." nan's smile was full of a staunch reassurance. and her readiness came with a spontaneity which had nothing to do with jeff's wife. it was the result of her delight and pride in this man himself who was called upon, and looked to, for leadership, in this little world of theirs. "you'll----" "i'll handle things here for you, jeff." nan gave him no chance to make his appeal. "elvine shall be as safe as we can make her. she can come right over here till you get back, or i'll sleep at your place. it shall be just as she feels. she shan't be lonesome, and i guess my daddy an' me we're equal to any crowd of rustlers." the genuineness, even enthusiasm of the girl was quite transparent. nor was the man insensible to it. for all his preoccupation he realized something of his debt to these people, to nan. it was a debt he had never attempted to pay, and now its rapid mounting made even ultimate payment seem doubtful. "you're pretty good to me, nan," was all he trusted himself to say. nan shook her head in smiling denial. "women need to help each other in--these parts." but jeff did not accept her excuse. "maybe that's so," he said thoughtfully. "but it don't alter things a little bit. i'd just like to feel i deserved it. but i don't and can't feel that way. some day----" he laughed and made a helpless gesture. "but why talk? it's too easy, and it's mighty cheap anyway. i----" but nan was pointing out of the window. she welcomed a sudden diversion. "it's elvine coming right along over." then, as jeff craned forward: "say, she's a dandy horsewoman. get a look at her. gracious, she might have been born in the saddle." but jeff had not waited. he was out on the veranda to greet his wife as she came. and just for one instant nan caught a glimpse of the light in his eyes which the sight of elvine had conjured. all the coldness she had witnessed that morning, all the merciless purpose, even the simple friendliness he had displayed toward her. these were gone. their place had been taken by a light of passionate regard for the woman who had yielded herself to him. for a moment it seemed as if her own emotions must stifle her. but the next she was within the room again, her eyes merrily dancing, talking to the parent she adored. "say, you daddy of mine," she said, almost boisterously, "haven't you work to be done, the same as i have? shame on you for dallying. shame on us both. come right along, sir. come right along at once." then, as he moved toward the window, "no, no, you dear blundering daddy, not that way! that's reserved. the back door for us, sure. come along." and the great bud permitted himself to be hustled from the room through the kitchen way. nan's effort was only partially successful. in a few moments the fugitives were urgently recalled to hear the news of the disaster at spruce crossing, which elvine had brought with her. and during the discussion which followed nan was forced to stand by while the handsome woman who had supplanted her occupied the centre of attention. somehow the news which held the others, drawing forth hot condemnation from bud, and the bitter comment of jeff, for once left nan cold. somehow it seemed so small a thing compared with that other disaster which was always with her. her whole attention was held by jeff and his wife. not a detail of expression or emotion, as the swift words flowed between them, was lost upon her. and the exquisite pain of it all was excruciating. the great love of the man was so apparent. there was a moment, even, just as jeff and elvine were about to take their departure, when nan could have almost cried out. it had followed upon an expression of elvine's dislike and fear of the man who conveyed the news to her. jeff took up her complaint in no half-hearted fashion, and, somehow, the injustice of his attitude and his obvious thought for his wife alone brought the girl's hot resentment very near the surface. "yes," he said. "he's a tough, sure. i've kept him on because he's one of the brightest cow-hands east of the mountains. but you're right, evie. and i can't stand for you being scared by the 'hands' on my ranch. i'll have to get rid of him." then, as he sat in the saddle with elvine on her pony at his side, he had taken in nan and her father in a smiling, comprehensive glance. "i guess evie's some sport acting the way she's done," he declared with a lover's pride. "i allow we owe her a heap of thanks, eh, bud?" bud nodded. "we're mighty grateful, ma'am," he declared, heartily in his formal way. "guess we all thank you, sure." then he turned to jeff more directly. "i'll get busy right away. that'll leave you free to get right on doping out that reward notice this afternoon, an' generally fixing things before you make the trail to-morrow morning." then they had taken their departure. and with their going nan hastily returned to the parlor. bud followed her almost on the instant. he had moved with incredible swiftness, which is often the way of heavy men under stress of feeling. already the tears were gathering in the girl's eyes when his words fell upon her ears. "say, little gal," he said, with a deep note of sympathy in his rumbling tones, "we're bein' hit up pretty bad since jeff bro't her back home. maybe we're feelin' 'bout as foolish as we're lookin'. but we're goin' to beat the game--sure, eh? we're goin' to beat it because we're built that way, an'--we got the grit to do it." * * * * * * the horses were walking leisurely over the summer grass. the house was less than two miles distant. there was no immediate hurry. besides, elvine was reading the letter which jeff had handed her in reply to her inquiry as to the contemplated journey which bud had mentioned. jeff was observing her closely as she read. there were no doubts in his mind. he was not even seeking the effect of the letter. he was dwelling with a lover's delight upon the picture she made. nor was his approval extravagant. any one must have admitted the justice of it. nan had admitted it when she beheld her in a prairie saddle, on a prairie pony, with only the wide wealth of grass-land for her setting. elvine in the saddle suggested a single identity between horse and rider. her riding suit was expensively simple, and cut as only such suits can be cut. the figure beneath it was displayed to its fullest advantage. there was no studied pose. just the perfection of horsemanship which demands an intimate freedom at all times. then her dark head under her carefully adjusted prairie hat. the shining masses of hair, obvious in their wealth even under careful dressing. the softly healthy cheeks, and the perfect profile as she pored over the letter in her hand. presently elvine looked up. she did not turn at once to the husband at her side. her gaze was directed ahead. it ignored the scene of undulating plain, and the distant ramparts of wooded hills. it saw nothing but the images in her own brain, and the conjured thoughts of a troubled heart and conscience. "you see it's important," jeff said, with a feeling that the news in the letter had caused disappointment. "i s'pose it is." there was a curious lack of interest in the woman manner. her tone was listless. "i'm afraid i'll have to go." the man felt he was apologizing, and it seemed absurd that apology should be required. then he reminded her. "you see, these things come with my work as president. it's pretty good if you think. guess i'll only be from home one night." "you _must_ go--i s'pose?" the man's eyes widened. "sure." "but it seems unfair you should be put to all this for nothing." jeff shook his head. "why, i don't guess it's any worry. besides, it's an honor. you see, evie, i'm out all i know to set up a big position for you. and it's these calls as president of the western union are going to fix things the way i'd have them." his eyes had somehow become serious. there was even a lack of his recent warmth in them. he had not expected any protest from his wife. a shade of disappointment at his going perhaps. but that was all. "you're at the call of anybody around to settle disputes?" "only where the interests of cattle-raising are affected." elvine handed him back the letter. she did not turn to him. a curious set to her lips warned jeff that in some way his contemplated journey was adversely affecting her. nor was it merely the disappointment he had been prepared for. he felt there was need to say more, though the need of it was obscure. it had never been his way to appeal, but he resigned himself to the reflection that his life had been entirely changed by his marriage. he was no longer responsible only to himself. with an effort he flung aside an inclination to resentment. "say, evie," he cried, "it's a bit tough on you having to leave you even for a day just as we've got back to home. it's that way with me, too. i just don't fancy going a small bit. but i daren't refuse dug mcfarlane. he's one of the biggest men around, and i'll need all the friends i can round up. there's another thing. i've got it back of my mind later on to form a trust amongst the growers, and dug's a most important concern in such a scheme. i'd be crazy to refuse. why, i just couldn't refuse anyway. you're going to help me, dear, aren't you? i've talked to bud and nan, and fixed things so you won't be lonesome. nan's promised to sleep in the house with you, so you shan't feel that way. or you could go over to her. it's just one night, that's all." it may have been his obvious sincerity, it may have been that the woman's objections were really the result of disappointment only. at any rate a distinct change came over her, and she turned to him with a smile. "i'm just too selfish, jeff," she cried. "but--but it did seem hard--at first. go? of course you must go. and you're not to worry about me. nor is nan. i wouldn't have her come over for me for anything, and i'm not going to sleep out of my home, either. you needn't be scared i'll be lonesome. i've got all this beautiful world around me, and all your interests. and rustlers? why, i'm not scared of the worst rustlers living." a delighted sense of gratitude replaced jeff's every other feeling. "say," he cried, with a sudden vehemence, "you've good grit, evie. you're a bully soul. you're the sort would set a man crazy to corral the world, and set it at your feet. i'll get right back quick. i won't wait an hour more than i need." elvine's decision had been forced upon her, but once having taken it she threw something more into her words than the mere encouragement that seemed necessary. "no," she declared, her eyes shining. "you're not even to hurry back. get right through with your work, or any schemes you have to arrange while you're there, before you think of me." then her voice softened to a great tenderness. "i want you to win through in everything you undertake, jeff. i don't care now for a thing else in the world. you do believe that, don't you? oh, jeff, i want you always to believe that. whatever may come in our life together, i want you always to know i love you better--better than the whole world, and your--your happiness is just my happiness. without your happiness i can never be happy. it was selfishness made me demur at first. you believe that, don't you? i have always been very, very selfish. it was nothing else. you don't think there was anything else, do you? i sort of feel i'd always have you in my sight, near me. i'm happy then, because i feel nothing can ever come between us. when you're away, i don't know, but it sort of seems as if shadows grow up threatening me. i felt that way this morning. i felt that way when i read your letter. but these things just shan't be. i love you with all that's in me, and--you love me. nothing shall ever come between us. say that's so, jeff. nothing. nothing." the man responded with all a lover's impetuosity. he gave her to the full that reassurance of which she stood in need. but for all his sincerity it was as useless as if it had been left unspoken. the letter from dug mcfarlane at orrville, the recognition of her by the man sikkem bruce, had warned elvine that the sands of her time of happiness were running out. she felt she knew that a gape of despair was already yawning at her feet. chapter xviii dug mcfarlane the aroma of cigars blended delightfully with the fragrant evening air. through the cool green lacing of the creeper the sun poured the last of its golden rays into the wide stoop. the mists were already gathering upon the lower slopes of the hills, and a deep purpling seemed to be steadily embracing the whole of the great mountain range. two men were lounging comfortably in wide wicker chairs on the veranda. they were resting bodies that rarely knew fatigue in the strenuous life that was theirs. but then the day was closing, and one of them had come a long saddle journey. whisky stood on a table at the elbow of dug mcfarlane. jeffrey masters had coffee near by. outside the veranda a smudge fire in a bucket was doing battle with attacking mosquitoes, while its thin spiral of smoke served as a screen upon the still air to shut out the view of the disheveled township of orrville. dug mcfarlane, opulent, of middle life and massive proportions, was in strong contrast to his guest. the american-scot was something of a product of the soil. he was of the type which forces its way up from the smallest of small beginnings, a type which decides early upon a career in life, and which deviates not one step from the set course. he was a man of one idea--cattle. he knew nothing beyond--cattle. cattle was the sum and substance of his celibate life. he was an old type of ranchman whose waking hours were devoted to a physical labor which left no room for anything else. but jeff knew that for all his roughness of manner and speech, a roughness which left his own partner, bud, a man of education and refinement beside him, he counted his wealth, as he, jeff, could only hope to count his in the distant years to come. jeff was his guest for the night, and the dispute upon which he was to arbitrate was to be settled upon the arrival of the man peters. and while they waited they talked of the thing which was their mutual interest. the land and its produce, whether animal or vegetable, was their beginning and end. they discussed every prospect from the overwhelming competition of the argentine, to the rapid transformation of grazing pastures into golden wheat fields. their interest seemed endless, and it seemed only to require the non-appearance of peters for their talk to continue until sleep overtook them. but the break came in the flow of their "shop" at the mention of the name of peters. jeff was curious to hear about him. "who is this peters, anyway?" he demanded. "he's not down in the stock register, and nobody seems to have found him except you." dug's reply came with a great laugh. his very bright gray eyes were full of a good humor beneath his pronounced black brows. "peters? why, i guess peters 'ud make a funeral procession laff. you've never seen him? you don't know him? no. sure you wouldn't. nor you wouldn't find him registered. y'see, they don't register mixed farm stock. anyways, he got me laffin' all the time. but he's bright--oh, yep, he's bright, sure. he's a little feller. to git him right you need to think of a buck louse with a think-box developed abnormal. he's a great amusin' little cuss when you see him on his patch of land. you'd think he was runnin' a cirkis he's so busy fixin' things wrong. i'd like him fine if it wa'an't fer his habits. i can't stand the feller who eats the top of his fingers raw, an' sings hymns o' sunday in a voice that never oughter been handed out to anything livin' that hadn't the sense to choke itself at birth." "is that the reason of the dispute?" jeff asked with smile. dug grinned and shook his head. "no, siree," he cried. "it ain't a thing to do with it. but i guess we'll keep clear of the dispute till he gets around. y'see, this arbitration game needs to be played good. i'd hate to get ahead of the little cuss by settin' out my case in private. nope. i hain't got a thing agin that grasshopper. not a thing, and i jest need to get this thing straightened right, even if it goes agin me. that's why we fixed on appealin' to you rather than the law. y'see, i could buy up a decision at law, which peters knows, so we decided on the right judgment of a straight feller. say, what in----!" dug sprang from his chair with a forcible oath. jeff, too, was on his feet. there was a frantic clatter beyond the screen of creeper. a string of hoarse invective in a human voice. the hammering of horses' hoofs and the sound of tin being battered in a wanton riot. dug broke into a great laugh as he thrust his head out. "well, i be----!" he cried. jeff joined in his laugh. an absurdly small man was clinging desperately to the saddle of an absurdly large horse, which was rearing and plunging in a wild effort to shed its rider and bolt from the neighborhood of the overturned smudge-fire bucket. what a wealth of terror reigned. the gray-headed little man's face matched the hue of his hair. his short arms were grabbing frantically at his horse's neck. his eyes were full of a piteous appeal, and his savage-looking spurs were firmly grappling his steed's flanks. the wretched horse was shaking in every limb. its eyes were bulging, and the fierce snorts of his gushing nostrils had the force of escaping steam. before any assistance could be offered by the onlookers the climax was reached and passed. elias peters rolled slowly out of the saddle and reached the ground with a heavy flop. then, while its recent burden gathered himself up, quite unhurt and smiling amiably in relief, the horse contentedly mouched off toward a patch of inviting grass. "guess i'm kind o' late, mr. mcfarlane," elias apologized. "an' it seems i've bust up your fire-bucket some," he added ruefully. then with cheery optimism: "it was hustling to get here. i didn't jest see it. still, i got around." "you sure have," grinned dug. then he indicated his companion. "this is mr. jeffrey masters, president of the western union. if you'll come right along in we ken get things fixed up. meanwhiles i'll jest have a 'hand' round-up your plug an' feed him hay." * * * * * * another chair was brought from the house and elias peters was ensconced therein. he was a gray little man. gray from head to foot, it seemed. his hair, his eyes, his skin, his whiskers, his shirt, his loose jacket over it, his trousers. even the top-boots he wore, which, had doubtless once been black. everything about him was gray. dug pressed whisky on him. "take your time," he had said, in his easy, cordial fashion. "ther' ain't no sort o' hurry. it's li'ble to shake a boy o' your years foolin' around in the dust when you'd oughter be in the saddle." "that's just it, mr. mcfarlane," came the prompt, distressed complaint. "what in the nature o' blamed things made me act that way?" "jest the--nature o' things, i guess." the little man's eyes twinkled. "guess you mean ther's folks who ain't in their right element in the saddle, an'--i'm one of 'em." then he turned on jeff, whose whole interest had been quite absorbed in a personality which dug had described as being reminiscent of a "buck louse." "say, mr. masters, guess you ain't never tried any stunt like raisin' kebbiges on a hog ranch? no, sure you ain't. ther's jest one feller runnin' loose on this planet 'ud act that way, an' that's me. guess i bin doin' it all my life," he added, thoughtfully chewing a forefinger. "i was built for, an' raised in a fifth rate city, an' i got the ideas an' ambitions of the president of a republic. ther' ain't a blamed thing i can't do but i want to do. an' the worst of it is ther's a sort o' restless spirit in me jest sets me so crazy to do it i can't resist makin' the jump. that's how i come to buy up a bum homestead up toward the hills here, an' got the notion i could make a pile runnin' a mixed farm that way. that's how i come to get outside a hoss when i'd be safer inside. that's how i come to--'break' a deal more prairie land than i could ever sow or harvest. that's how i bought machinery for a thousand acre farm when i'd only got a half a mile. that's how i come to run a bunch of cows without settin' up fencin' around my crops. that's how i bo't the whole blamed lay-out without verifyin' the darned law feller's statement i'd got grazin' rights on mr. mcfarlane's grass--which is the thing i came right here to yarn about when i got mixed up with that unnatural hell, which i've learned since was only set up to amuse the skitters. kind o' makes me feel if i was to set fer my pictur' i'd sure come out a shipwreck at sea, or some other darn fool kind of unpleasantness." jeff was forced to echo the laugh which dug indulged in without restraint. it seemed cruel in face of the strange little man's serious distress. but its only effect upon him was to produce an inquiring glance of profound but unresentful astonishment. "guess i must 'a' said something," he protested mildly. "seems to me i most generly do, with mr. mcfarlane around." then he smiled in his wintry fashion, which was quite powerless to add warmth to his curious aspect of grayness. "guess he must ha' been born laffin'--p'raps," he added thoughtfully. "it's a dandy thing bein' born laffin'. i don't reckon i ever got that luck. it's more likely my moma got lost in a fog the day i was born. can't account noways fer things otherwise." dug pushed the whisky bottle at him as a set-off to his own uncontrolled mirth, and in a few moments contrived to subdue his paroxysms sufficiently to start the business in hand. "now, masters," he said, as soon as the diminutive elias had ministered adequately to his glass, "we've got a curious proposition to set before you. it's jest one of them things which crops up in a country like this, where a whole heap o' the laws happens along through custom. an' like all sech customs, ther's li'ble to be a tarnation lot of friction lyin' around if we can't get a right settlement. now, if we go to the courts it's goin' to be a mighty big scrap, eatin' up a hell of a pile of dollars. an' if you're wise to the ways of the law fellers you ken just about figger the verdict is goin' to come along to the feller with the biggest wad. in this case i guess i'm the feller with the biggest wad. now, ther's no sort o' bad blood between peters an' me, 'cep' it is he will sing hymns outrageous on a sunday. still, i ain't goin' to let that cut no ice. i'm out for a square decision between us by a feller that don't know the meanin' of graft. i don't care a cuss who gets it. but i ain't goin' to be bluffed by any fancy legal readings of a position by city lawyers who don't know the north end of a steer goin' south from the cluckin' proposition of a blind hen motherin' a litter o' dormice. peters here'll give you his case, seein' he's plaintiff, in an elegant flow of warm air, an' when he's through i'll sort of hand you a counterblast. an' when we finished you'll hand out your dope on the subject, that is if we ain't talked you into a home for incurable arbitrators. you'll get busy right away, peters." the rancher's manner was irresistible in its breezy frankness and generosity. jeff wondered at him. any man of modern business methods, he felt, would have jumped at the advantage which his wealth would have given him in the law courts over so insignificant a person as elias peters. the whole situation inspired in him the feeling that he was in the presence of a really big man. a man who deserved every fraction of his success. nor was there any doubt as to the little gray man's feelings as he took a drink of whisky, and fixed his small eyes upon the weather and years-lined features of his adversary. "guess you've made me feel 'bout as big as an under-fed skitter," he complained. "you make me sort o' feel i want to tell you to keep your darn grazin' rights till i ken hand you a bunch of bills such as i'd like to pass on to an honest man. but i don't guess i'm goin' to do it. y'see, i just can't afford it. if i can't graze my stock on your grass they got to starve, or i got to get out. an', seein' i doped all my wad into this lay-out, it 'ud well-nigh mean ruin to act that way." then he turned to jeff, who was almost bewildered at the curious attitude toward each other of these men. "now, i ain't got a fancy yarn to hand you," he went on, fumbling in his pockets. "i jest got my papers, here, as i got 'em from the law fellers. you best take 'em, an' after we done get a look into 'em." he passed them across. "now these are the fac's of how i bo't, why i bo't, an' who i bo't from. the place is a haf section, an' they asked five thousand odd dollars for it. it was a bum sort o' homestead, an' belonged to a widder woman who'd got her man shot up by some rustlers workin' around this country. they went by the name of whitstone, but their real name, by them papers, was van blooren----" "what name?" jeff's voice broke sharply in upon the little man. "van blooren." "go on." jeff's eyes were gazing out through the lacing of creeper. he was no longer regarding the man's unemotional gray features. "wal, the place wa'an't worth the five thousand, 'cep' fer one clause in them papers. this widder woman owned a right to graze up to two hundred head o' stock on mr. mcfarlane's range. there was no mention o' lease, nor nothin' to talk of payin' fer it. the right was in the deed of sale, clear an' unquestioned. you'll see it right there in them papers. wal, i'm runnin' a hundred of stock, and the half section is under cultivation. now, mr. mcfarlane comes on me with the news that this widder woman had no such rights to sell, an' that she and her man were only allowed to graze their stock on his grass to help them out. he's acted white over it so far, an' ain't taken no sort of action. he's jest let my fool cows an' their calves run around chewin' till their jaws is tired, which is a white way of seein' things. all he's handed me is that i ain't got no right, an' the thing stands pending your decision. he says the whole proposition is jest business. he's got to safeguard the values of his property. now, sir, i claim them rights by right of that deed, an' if ther's any case it's between that van blooren widder an' mr. mcfarlane. you got my papers, an'--wal, how d'you guess i stand?" the little man's eyes were anxious as he made his final appeal. but no satisfaction was forthcoming at the moment. jeff's head was bent over the papers he had been handed. his eyes were hidden. he seemed wholly engrossed upon the various clauses in the deed. finally he spoke without looking up. "there's no deed granting grazing rights executed by mr. mcfarlane here," he said. before peters could reply, dug broke in. "ther' never was one made," he said easily. "i don't guess you'll find it ther'--'less you use trick eyes. here--say, peters has given you his story right. i ain't no kick comin' to a word of it. but this thing has more sides to it than you'd fancy. now, i don't just care a cuss peters' grazin' two hundred, or five hundred head of stock on my pastures. but if peters bo't rights an' ken prove it, why, he's the right to sell 'em on to any feller who comes along, which kind o' turns my ranch into common land. nothin' doin'. no, siree!" jeff had abandoned his search of the papers. nor was he regarding either of the men. his eyes were directed through the lacing of creeper, his gaze concentrated upon the purple vista of the hills. his brows were depressed with profound thought. nor were the blue depths of his eyes easy. peters' whole attention was upon the rancher. "now, see right here, masters," dug went on, after a deeply considering pause. "i got a story to tell you i'd have liked to hold up, an' the reason i hate handin' it you is jest a sort o' fool sense of honor. howsum, when folks git gay i can't see you're right to hold your hand. now, them rights are sold by the law fellers of that widder woman, an', i guess, actin' under her instructions. now, she knows she don't own no rights to sell. wal, i allow she's on the crook." "crook?" jeff's interrogation came swiftly, in a harsh voice utterly unlike his own. then his eyes came round to the face of the rancher. there was something deadly in the steadiness of their regard. "this widow," he said. "her name is van blooren. what is her first name, and the first name of her--husband?" before dug could reply peters pointed at the deeds of sale. "guess her full name's writ ther'," he said. "elvine van blooren. sort of queer name, ain't it? it sort o' hit me that way when i first see it. kind o' good name fer a--crook." jeff's eyes dropped to the papers again as dug gave the other information required. "the man's name was robert--bob. called hisself when he was here. y'see, his paw was some swell guy who guessed his son had made some darn fool marriage. an' i allow he was wise. howbe, their names an' sech don't cut no ice." "no." jeff's monosyllable brought dug's gaze swiftly in his direction. the next moment they were looking squarely into each other's eyes, and, as far as jeff was concerned, peters was entirely forgotten. "will you tell me all you know of--this woman?" jeff said, after a moment. "i guess it'll be necessary--before we're through." "sure. that's how i figgered." a momentary tension seemed to have been relaxed. dug once more settled himself at his ease. "'tain't a pretty yarn, when you come to think," he said, his brows contracting under his feelings. "men are jest men, an' i guess you don't generly expect more'n a stink from a skunk. but with women it's diff'rent. when a feller thinks of women, he thinks of his mother, or sweetheart, or his wife. an' when he thinks that way, why, i don't guess he figgers to find bad wher' he reckoned ther' was only good. howsum, it kind o' seems to me human nature's as li'ble to set a feller cryin' as laffin' most times. this thing come over that lightfoot gang. we got most of 'em, and those we got if they wa'an't pumped full of lead out of hand they was hanged. sort o' queer, too, the way we got 'em. i'd set up a reward. ten thousand dollars. it was right out o' my own bank roll. wal, i set it up--the notice o' reward--one night, an' next day got the news we was all yearnin' for. bob whitstone, as he called himself, brought it right along to me. i hadn't no use fer the feller up to then. he was weak-kneed. and, in a way, had fallen fer ju penrose's rye. he'd come to me once before on the subject o' these all-fired grazin' rights. y'see, he'd been tryin' to git ahead raisin' wheat in a country where ther' was only a market fer cattle an' rye whisky. anyway, he cut most o' the wheat racket, an' guessed he'd travel the same road as other folks, an' asked me for permission to graze. i was kind o' sorry about him, an' his good-lookin' wife--both city-raised folk--an' i did as he ast. i said he could graze up to two hundred head. git a line on that. them rights was verbal between him an' me to help him out. ther' wa'an't no sort o' deed, an' he knew it wa'an't no saleable proposition. wal, when he come along in with his news i set him right through it, an' i allow, before i quit him, i got the notion that fer all his addled ways there was a heap to him i hadn't guessed. he started by sayin' he'd located the rustlers, got their camp set in the hills, an' could hand over the whole blamed bunch right away quick. that was elegant. but i ast him how it come he'd on'y located 'em twelve hours after i'd set up a ten thousand dollar reward. y'see, they'd been rustlin' around fi' years. wal, to cut a long yarn, i got the whole thing out of him in quick time--he was like a kid in my hands. he hadn't located that camp, he wasn't goin' to touch a cent of them ten thousand. he called it 'blood money,' an' cussed it good an' plenty with an elegant flow. it was his wife. yes, siree, it was the woman driving the man. she'd located them rustlers by chance only the day before, while he was around ju's place sousin' rye. when he got home an told her of the reward, she was nigh crazy to git her hands on the dollars. seems to me ther' must have been a mighty scrap-up. i guess she told him of his ways, an' what he'd brought her to--in a way some women-folk can. i didn't git it all clear. y'see, he did his best to screen her. anyways, she made him promise to fix things so she touched those dollars. an' that's why he come to me. ther's jest one thing stuck in my head so i can't lose it. it was his last words to me about it. he says, says he, see here, mr. mcfarlane, i need one favor out o' you. i want to go with you on this racket, an' if ther's any mercy in the god of heaven, he'll let me get my dose when the shootin' starts. effie--that's how he called his wife--wants them dollars, an' you'll see she gets 'em. but for me i just couldn't ever live around a woman who'd handled that blood money! he didn't use them words. they're mine. but it's 'bout how he put it. wal, when the play was over he'd had his wish. he was dropped plumb in his tracks. then i handed his widder the dollars. she ain't around these parts now so it don't matter handin' you the story of it. maybe she's married agin. she was some picture woman. but anyway i'd say right here, the woman who could take the price of men's lives would be low enough to bluff a boy like peters here out of his stock of dollars on a play like these rights. an' that's why i reckon this thing's been done on the crook." he reached round for his glass and took a deep drink in the silence that followed his story. then, as neither the man who was to arbitrate, nor peters, attempted to break it, he went on: "guess a reward's jest a reward, an' you can't kick at the feller who comes along an' grabs a holt on it. but when a woman, young, a good-looker, an' eddicated, an' refined, gits grabbin', why, it makes you see sulphur an' brimstone, an' horns an' hoofs when your thoughts are full o' buzzin' white wings an' harps, an' halos an' things. git me? i guess stealin' dollars out o' a citizen's pocket-book wouldn't be a circumstance to a female of that nature. say, i ain't got rid o' the stink of it yet, though it happened four years ago." the man's contempt and loathing were intense. he had offered the reward, paid it, he had led the vigilantes in the hanging. but these things were simply part of the justice of man as he saw it, and rightly administered. the silent moments slipped by. jeffrey masters was sitting erect in his chair. a marble coldness seemed to have settled itself upon his keen face. peters was waiting for that decision he desired. dug mcfarlane, with more understanding, realized that something was wrong. he, too, remained silent, however. at last jeff stirred. his gaze shifted. it turned half vaguely upon the little man peters. then it seemed to drift unmeaningly toward the rancher. a moment later it fell upon the papers he was so tightly gripping. it was then that realization seemed to come upon him. he reached out and handed the deeds to their owner. a moment later he was on his feet, and had moved across to the front of the veranda, where he stood, slim, erect, and with his back turned upon the others. he cleared his throat and spoke in a steady voice. "i can only hand you a decision on the intention as apart from the legal aspect of the case," he said judicially. "it's clear to me no saleable rights were given. there was no transaction over them. the widow of this man had no rights to sell. if disinterested advice is acceptable i should urge this. it's in view, i guess, of mcfarlane's expressed indifference to peters' cattle grazing on his land. let peters acknowledge he has no rights. then let mcfarlane enter into an agreement that peters can run his stock on his land, the right being non-transferable. i should put the whole thing in writing." "an' a darn good an' honest decision, too," cried dug heartily. the shadow of a beatific smile passed over peters' small features. "bully!" he murmured. then he added: "but i sort o' feel we both oughter set the law on that--she devil." jeff turned abruptly. his movement was almost electrical. "i shouldn't," he said sharply. dug caught a glimpse of the desperate light in his eyes. "why not?" there was a dash of resentment in peters' tone. but jeff was spared a reply. dug anticipated him with an oath. "gol darn you, because she's--a woman!" he cried, with a fierce warmth. "hell take it you ken have your rights. that's enough, i guess. i'll have the papers wrote, an' have you sign 'em to-morrow. meanwhile i'm sick to death of the whole blamed thing. i quit right here." his intention was plain enough. he meant there should be no misunderstanding it. and the little man, peters, took his dismissal without demur. the moment peters had safely negotiated the saddle and vanished in a cloud of dust, dug pressed the whisky bottle upon his guest. jeff almost mechanically accepted it. he gulped down a stiff drink of neat spirit. dug watched him. "guess you're feelin' pretty darn saddle weary," he said kindly. jeff flung himself into his chair without replying. dug returned to his seat and gazed out at the yellow and purple afterglow of sunset. "say, maybe you'd feel like handin' me the reason you wouldn't set the law on to that--woman?" he went on presently. the question was by no means idle. it was inspired by the man's genuinely kindly nature. somehow, he felt that he had been responsible for that which he had seen, still saw, in this man's eyes. but he was wholly unprepared for the reply forthcoming. it came promptly. each word came distinctly, deliberately, in a voice of bitter coldness. the tragedy of it left the rancher speechless. "because i married elvine van blooren just over six weeks ago." chapter xix the return home a long day of anxiety and fevered apprehension merged into a night of terror. it was the outcome of a conviction that was irresistible. the shadow of disaster was marching hard upon her heels. nor had she the power to avoid it. as night came on elvine remained alone in her twilit bedroom. she had no desire to come into contact with the servants, she had no desire for human companionship of any sort. so, with the fading light, she betook herself to the bedroom. but there was no relief. it was haunted to-night, teeming with the fancies of a dreading imagination. it seemed to her like the cell of a condemned prisoner. the day had passed heavily, drearily. every moment of it had been filled with the thought that jeff was on his way to orrville. on his way to meet dug mcfarlane. on his way to meet the one man in whose hands her whole fate lay. he alone knew the source of the ten thousand dollars which she had carried back to her paternal home as the net result of her first marriage. he alone knew it to be the price of the blood of men, amongst whom was the twin brother of her present husband. memory was alive, and full of a poignant torture. it brought back to her the scene when she had driven her first husband to help her to the money she had desired to possess. he had spoken, in his horror and anger, of "blood money," of "judas," and she would not hear. she had derided him, she had lashed him with the scorn of an unbridled tongue, she had turned upon him in her selfish craving, without a thought of any principle. now she understood what she had done, but she only understood because of the threat which overshadowed her. it was no spiritual awakening. it was again the self in her, threatened in its desires as a result of her earlier wanton actions. her motives, even the picture of the carnage in that hidden valley, which came back to her unbidden, had no power to add to the hopelessness of her feelings. every emotion was wrapped in the thought that she was about to be robbed of all the fruits of the one great passion of her life. she had one desire now, one motive in life only. it was the man she had married. the man she had designed to marry for the station and wealth he could offer her, and who had almost instantly become the centre of her whole life. nothing of any worldly consideration counted any longer. there was nothing could interest her of which he did not occupy the centre of the focus. self dominated still, but it was a more human type of self, which had, perhaps, some rightful claim on human sympathy. the shadows grew, and the wide airy room was filled with a hundred added terrors which claimed reality in the troubled brain. the silence of the world about her became a threat. the darkening of the cloudless sky beyond the open window. she sat on, refusing to invoke the aid of lamp-light to banish the gathering legions of her dread. she knew it was impossible to banish them. oh, she had no physical fear of the world about her. what was there to fear? did she not know it all? had she not lived it all before? the two wide open windows invited her. she moved to one of them, and drew a chair so that she could rest upon the sill and gaze out into the space so perfectly jeweled. and the cool night air fanned her cheeks, and seemed to relieve the fever that was raging behind her hot eyes. the morrow. there was no other concern with her now but--the morrow. to-morrow jeff would return. to-morrow she would know the worst, she would know if the purpose of fate were for or against her. oh, that to-morrow! and in the meantime there were interminable hours of darkness to endure, when sleep was impossible. and after that the daylight, when she must fear every eye that was turned in her direction, when every moment brought nearer the possibility of the end for her of all things in the world which mattered. the night wore on. midnight came and passed. she had not moved again. her straining eyes had watched the starry groups as they set beyond the horizon. there was no moon to create shadows upon the wide, rolling pasture before her. everything was in shadow, just as her every thought was similarly enwrapped. there was no relief anywhere. once she heard a sound that set her jarred nerves hammering. it was a distant sound, and, to her fancy, it was the rapid beat of horse's hoofs sweeping across the wide valley. but it died out. she had been caught by the thought of the possibility of her husband's return, suddenly, in the night. she pictured for one brief instant the headlong race of the man to charge her with the crime of his brother's life. she saw that keen, stern face with its cold blue eyes and the grimly tightened lips. she had seen some such expression there before, and she knew there were depths within his soul which she had never probed, and hoped that she might never have to probe. it was the mystery of these unknown depths which had inspired her passion. it was because of that cognizance of something unusual, profound, in his personality that he had first become so completely desirable. then as she grew to know him, so she found she knew him less, and desired to know him more. her love and worship of him was of the primitive. it was such as is the love of all women when inspired by an emotion not untouched by fear. so, when the sounds of hoof-beats broke the night silence, she became panic-stricken, because such a return, at such an hour, could have but one meaning. then the sounds passed, and her nerves steadied, and presently a stirring night breeze rustled the lank grass. it came over the plain toward her. it reached her window and fanned her cheeks with its chill breath. then it passed, sighing round an angle of the house. then, in its wake, came the plaintive dole of a scavenging coyote. the combination, to her fancy, was an echo of her feelings. it was the sigh of despair, and the cry of a lost soul. presently the drowse of utter weariness descended upon her. the dread of thought remained heavily overshadowing, but a certain distortion displayed the reaching of limits beyond which human power could not go, even in suffering. it was a merciful nature asserting itself. her eyes closed, slowly, gently, with a drowsy helplessness. once her elbow slipped from the sill of the window and awoke her. a somnolent thought that she would go to bed passed dully through her mind. but she did not act upon it. she propped her head upon her hand once more, and, in a moment, everything was forgotten. she awoke with a start. there was no drowse in her wakefulness now. her eyes were wide, and her thoughts alert. the sensation of a blow, a light, unforceful blow was still tingling through her nerves. the blow, it seemed, had fallen upon her forehead, and she thrust a hand up mechanically to the spot. but the action yielded her no enlightenment. there was no pain, no sign. she peered through the open window and realized that the moon had risen. she stared at it, and presently it occurred to her that she must have slept, and, by the position of the moon above the horizon, for at least an hour. then her thoughts returned to the blow which had awakened her, and the conclusion followed that it must have been the result of the half-blind flight of one of those great winged beetles. she closed the window abruptly. she closed the second one. then, having drawn the curtains, she fumbled for the matches and lit the candles upon her dressing bureau. it was her intention to search for the intruding beetle, and then retire. but her search terminated abruptly. it terminated even as it began. that which had struck her was lying almost at her feet upon the soft rug on which she stood, and within a yard of where she had been sitting. it was a piece of paper tied about a small ball of soil. she stared down at it for some startled moments. the effects of her dread were still upon her, and they set up a sort of panic which made her fearful of touching the missile. but it could not remain there uninspected. there could be no thought of retiring without learning the meaning of what lay there on the floor. gingerly she stooped with a candle in her hand. she stooped lower, but making no attempt to touch the thing which had disturbed her. the candle revealed a folded sheet of white paper. a string bound it round the rooted portion of a grass tuft. after a few moments she reached out and picked it up. the next moment she was standing erect at her bureau, and with a pair of scissors she severed the string and dropped the grass tuft to the floor. the paper was folded and thumb-marked by dirty hands. with shaking fingers and tense nerves she deliberately unfolded it. it was a note, and she read it eagerly. "you sold the lives of men for a price. you had it your way then. we're goin' to have our way now. you'll pay for that deal the only way we know." * * * * * * elvine sat watching the scenes of the work of the range. the men were returning from distant points making for the ranch house where their evening meal was awaiting them at the bunkhouse. teams were moving toward the barns, and barn-hands were watering those which had already returned. there was a general stir everywhere. certain stock was being corralled and hayed for the night. in the hay corral men were busy cutting and hauling feed. there was no loneliness, no solitude. the business of so great an enterprise as the obar ranch involved many hands, and seemingly endless work. but elvine watched these things without interest. in her present state of mind they meant nothing to her, they could mean nothing. she was waiting, waiting in a perfect fever for the home-coming of her husband. strangely, too, she was not without a glimmer of hope. somehow the belief had taken possession of her that had jeff learned anything of her story he must have been home before this. it seemed to her that he must have flung every consideration to the winds, and rushed in fevered haste to denounce her as the murderess of his twin brother. the mysterious note which had been flung in through her open window had left her sleepless for the rest of the night, but, even so, now, in the broad light of day, it was only relatively alarming. the other terror overwhelmed it. the sun was already tinting the hilltops with ruddy, golden hues. the frigid snow-caps no longer wore their sheen of alabaster. there was a golden radiance everywhere, a suggestion of a perfect peace, such as the woman felt could never again find place in her heart. she turned her eyes from the splendor of the scene in silent protest. the green of the wide-spreading valley, even the dark purple shadows of the lower mountain slopes were better in harmony with her mood. but even these she denied in her nervous irritation, and again, and yet again, her searching gaze was flung out to the northwest along the trail over which she knew her husband must come. the waiting seemed endless. and the woman's heart literally stood still when at last she detected an infinitesimal flurry of dust away on the far distance of the trail. a mad desire surged through her to flee for hiding to those vast purple solitudes she knew to lie in the heart of the hills. she remained where she was, however. she stirred not a muscle. she was powerless to do so. what, what had the coming of the man for her? it was the one absorbing question which occupied her whole brain and soul. the dust flurry grew to a long trail in the wake of a horseman. in five minutes he stood out ahead of it, clear to the eye. in ten his identity was distinguishable. and, presently he rode swiftly at a gallop past the ranch buildings and drew up before the house. the rack of that moment was superlative. the woman's hands clenched and her finger nails dug into the soft flesh of her palms. there was no greeting upon her lips. she only had power to stare; her wide beautiful eyes were searching the face of the man she loved, searching it as the criminal in the dock might search the face of the judge about to pass sentence. her tongue was ready for its release. pent words lay deep in her soul for an outpouring at the lightest sign. but these things were dependent, dependent upon the reading she found in the man's eyes. the horse stood drooping at the termination of its effort. the man sprang from the saddle. a barn-hand took the beast away to its stable. elvine's tongue remained almost cleaving to the roof of her mouth. the man's fair brows were depressed. his eyes were sternly cold. and not once did they turn in her direction. he spoke in his usual tone to the barn-hand. he issued his orders without a sign of emotion. elvine could stand no more. she stirred. then slowly she passed within the house. presently jeff's step sounded on the veranda. it was quick. there was nothing lagging in it. the woman gripped the back of a chair in the living-room in which she had taken refuge. she was seeking support. the man entered the room. nor did he remove his hat. he stood just within the window opening, and his eyes, cold as the gleam of the mountain glaciers, regarded her steadily. "i see you understand," he said. "you realized what must happen when i visited dug mcfarlane in the matter of peters, who bought your dead husband's farm. you knew it when you read that letter i gave you. and so you protested. so you assured me of--your regard." he came a step nearer. the movement was almost involuntary. "i have prayed to god that some day he might bring me face to face with the person who sold my brother's life. he has granted me my prayer. but it never entered my wildest dreams that it could be the woman i married. i never questioned your past. to me it was sufficient that you had taught me the meaning of love. to me you must be all you seemed. no more, no less. god help me, i had no imagination to tell me that so fair a body could contain so foul a heart. were you not my wife, were you a man, i should know how to deal with that which lies between us. as it is you must thank the difference in our sex for that which nothing else could have done for you. as yet i have not had the time to arrange the details of our future. to-morrow, perhaps, things will have cleared in my mind. i shall sleep to-night over at bud's----" "oh, jeff, jeff, have mercy. i----" "mercy? mercy?" a sudden fire blazed up where only a frigid light had shone. the man's tones were alive with a fury of passion. "did you have mercy? was there one merciful, womanly emotion in your cruel, selfish heart when you sent those men, that man to his death for ten thousand filthy dollars? pray to god for mercy, not to me." a curious sullen light dawned in the woman's eyes. but even as it dawned it faded with the man's movement to depart. "you--you won't leave me?" she pleaded. "oh, jeff, i love you so. what i did was in ignorance, in cruel, selfish longing. i had been reduced to the life of a drudge without hope, without even a house fit for existence. i believed i had honest right. i believed even that my act was a just one. jeff, jeff, don't leave me, don't drive me out of your life. i cannot bear it. anything, anything but that. my god, i don't deserve it. i don't--true. jeff--jeff!" her final appeal came as the man, without a word, passed through the open window. she followed him in a desperate hope. but the hope was vain. she saw him mount the fresh horse which had been brought round and left at the tying post. as he turned the beast about to depart, just for one instant he looked in her direction. "i will see you again in the morning. by that time i shall have decided what is best for us both." he waited for no more. there was nothing to wait for. he lifted the reins and his horse set off. the dust rose up and screened him from view. once more elvine was standing on the veranda. once more her gaze was following the trail of rising dust. but there was no fever of suspense in her beautiful eyes now. there were not even tears. the blow had fallen. fate had caught up with her. its merciless onrush had overwhelmed her. she was crushed. she was broken under its sledge-hammer blow. she stood drooping, utterly, utterly broken and spiritless before the man's swift, brief indictment and action. the end had come. nor had it anything of the end she had visualized in her dread. it was ten times more cruel than she had even dared to dream. chapter xx at bud's supper was over when jeff arrived. he came straight into the room where the colored girl had just finished clearing the table. nan was returning a few odds and ends to their places. bud had already lit his evening pipe preparatory to settling down for the brief interim before turning in for the night. there was no preamble. there was no sign of emotion, even at the moment of his arrival. jeff launched his request at father and daughter in a voice such as he might have used in the most commonplace of affairs. it was a request to be put up for the night. but both bud and nan were startled. nan's cheeks paled, and imagination gripped her. she said nothing. with bud to be startled was to instantly resort to verbal expression. "wot's wrong?" he demanded. then the storm broke. it broke almost immoderately before these two who were the intimates of jeff's life. all that had been withheld before dug mcfarlane, all which he had refused to display before the wife he had set up for his worship, jeff had no scruples in laying before these two. it was the sure token of the relations between them, relations of perfect trust and sympathy. bud sat gazing at the outward sign of the passionate fires he had always known to lie smouldering in the depths of this man's soul. nan stood paralyzed before such violence. both knew that hell was raging under the storm of emotion. both knew that the wounds inflicted upon this man's strong heart were well-nigh mortal. the whole story was told, broken, disjointed. for the first time nan learned the result of the search for an erring twin brother, and her horror was unbounded. a heart full of tenderness bled for the man whose sufferings she was witnessing. the story of elvine's own actions filled her with revolting, yet with pity. it was not in her to condemn easily. she felt that such acts were beyond her powers of judgment. the man's grief, his bitter, passionate resentment smote her beyond any sufferings she had ever known herself. elvine absorbed all the anger she could bestow, but even so it was infinitesimal beside the harvest of grief which the sight of this man's suffering yielded her. that was the paramount emotion of the moment with her. that, and the injustice she deemed to have been meted out to him. it was not until the great crescendo of the man's storm of grief had passed that nan bethought herself of the need in which he stood. nor was that need apparent until his whole note had changed to a moody bitterness with which he regarded the future. then she understood the demon that was knocking at the door of his soul. immediately her decision was taken. she left the two men together and went to make the necessary preparations for this refugee's accommodation. curiously enough, these preparations were not complete for nearly an hour, at the time, in fact, that it was her father's habit to seek his bed. when she returned to the parlor the place was full of the reek of bud's tobacco, but it was only from the one pipe. neither of the men were talking when she entered the room, and her glance passed swiftly from one to the other. she moved over to where jeff was sitting with his back turned to her, and stood behind his chair. "everything's fixed for you, jeff," she said. "but--but maybe you don't feel like turning in yet. my daddy usually goes at this time, and--he's had a hard day." bud looked across at her. his pipe was removed from his mouth for the purpose of protest. but the protest remained unspoken in face of the meaning he beheld in the girl's brown eyes. instead he rose heavily from his rocker. "say, jest take your time, jeff, boy," he said. "guess you'll need to think hard before mornin'. i don't guess it's your way to jump at things. i ain't never see you jump yet. anyway, when you're thinkin', boy, it'll be best to remember that a woman's jest a woman, an' her notions ain't allus our notions." nan came over to him, and he rested one great arm about her shoulders, and stooped and kissed her. "good-night, little gal," he said. "maybe jeff'll excuse me. an' maybe you ken tell him some o' them things that don't come easy to me. so long, jeff. i'll sure see you in the mornin' before you quit." he stood uncertainly for a moment with his arm upon nan's shoulders. he seemed to want to say more, and was at a loss how to say it. finally he stuck his pipe back into his mouth with a savage thrust and lumbered heavily from the room. nan understood. she knew he was laboring under profound emotion, and a feeling of self-disgust at his own inability to help his partner and friend. as the door closed she moved over to the table and leaned against it. jeff's back was toward her, and his face was turned in the direction of the window, across which the curtains had not yet been drawn. he was leaning forward, his gaze intent and straight ahead out into the black night beyond. his elbows were on his knees, and his hands were clasped, and hanging between them. to the sympathetic heart of nan there was despair in every line of his attitude. she nerved herself to carry out her decisions. "jeff!" there was no movement in response. but a reply came. it was in the tone of a man indifferent to everything but the thought teeming through his brain. "well?" "why did you come around here--to-night?" the question achieved its purpose. the man abandoned his attitude in a movement of fierce resentment. he swung round on the questioner, his eyes hot with feeling. "because i guess i need to sleep somewhere. because nothing on earth could make me share roof with the woman who's my wife. gee, my wife! say, nan, the thought of it nearly sets me crazy." "does it? you didn't feel that way--two nights ago." the man's eyes met the girl's incredulously. "how can you talk that way?" he demanded roughly. "i didn't know a thing then. i thought she was all she seemed. maybe i was just a blind fool, crazy with love. anyway--i hadn't learned the hell lying around her heart." "i s'pose there is hell lying around her heart?" nan's words were provocative. yet they were spoke in such a tone of simplicity as to rob them of all apparent intent. jeff was in no mood for patience. swift resentment followed upon his incredulous stare. "do you need me to give it you all again?" he cried fiercely. "it don't need savvee to grip things." then his voice rose. "and to think those dollars have fed her, and clothed her, a body as fair as an angel's, and a heart as foul as hell." then his tone dropped as if he were afraid of the sound of his own voice. "say, thank god i kept my hands off her. if she'd been a man----" he left his sentence unfinished. in her mind nan completed it. but aloud she gave it another ending. "if she'd been a man i don't guess she'd have been there to have you lay hands on her." there was a new note in the girl's tones. but it passed jeff by. "no," he said with almost foolish seriousness. "say, jeff," the girl went on gently, a moment later, "aren't you acting a teeny bit crazy over this? i mean talking of souls foul as hell. and--an' not sharing the same roof with the woman you've sworn to love, and--and cherish as long as you both live. she hasn't done a thing wrong by you since you said--an' meant that. she hasn't done a thing wrong anyway." the denial was so gentle yet so decided. had there been heat in it it must have been ineffective. as it was jeff stared incredulously and speechless, and the girl went on: "you think i'm wrong," she said. "maybe you think i'm crazy, same as i guess this thing's made you feel." she shook her head. "i'm not--sure. take us here. maybe i'm chasing around through the hills. chance runs me plumb into the camp of these rustlers who're cutting into your profits on the obar. i come right in and hand you the story. you and bud round up a bunch of boys and i take you to where the camp's hidden. you hold 'em up, and you hang them. well, i guess the pleasantest moment of that racket for you would be to get back to home and hand me a bunch of dollars. say, i can see you doing it. i can see your smile. i can hear you sayin': 'take 'em, little nan, an' buy yourself some swell fixing.' and say, jeff, i wouldn't have done a thing less than your evie's done. that's how i'd say now, acting as you are, you aren't the 'honest jeff' i've always known. you're not fair to evie, you aren't just--before god." the man made a gesture of fierce impatience. he seemed on the verge of a furious outburst. but the steady light of nan's eyes was upon him. for some moments he gazed into their sweet depths, and their courage, their steadfastness, seemed to abash him. he flung out his arms in a helpless gesture of appeal. "nan, nan!" he cried, in a voice of hopelessness. "i can't argue it. i just can't. i can't see things right. i sure nearly am crazed. the only thing i can see is the blood of poor ronny on her--her hands. the hands i've held in mine. the hands i've kissed. oh, was there ever so foul----" "yes, jeff, there was. there is." nan's voice was low but thrilling with deep feeling. she moved forward from her place at the table with a little rush. the rustle of her skirts only ceased as she fell upon her knees at the man's side, and her warm brown hands clasped themselves upon the strong arm propped upon his knee. "it's a far, far fouler thing, this thing you've got fixed in your mind to do. oh, jeff, dear, if i could speak the things as i feel them. but i can't. it's all inside me mussed up and maybe foolish. but, oh, i know i'm right i want to tell you something, and i don't just know how." her eyes were gazing up into his, the soft brown eyes of the beautiful soul within. she strove to compel his gaze, but it moodily withheld its regard. "jeff, you'll kill poor evie. you'll break her heart by robbing her of all you've brought into her life through your love. say, can't you see it all? and you'll do it for a shadow. yes, it's a shadow, an ugly shadow, this crazy thought of yours for a brother who was just a low-down cattle rustler, same as these toughs you're making a bid of ten thousand dollars to see hanged the same as he was. think of it, jeff. she's just a woman, weak and helpless, and you're going to rob her of all that makes her life worth while. would you act that way by a mother, or--or a sister? and she's your wife, jeff, who's given you all a loving woman has to give. i could tell you of the things this means to you, and the schemes and plans you've sort of set your heart on, but i don't need to. i just want you to see what you're doing by her, and all the time she's done you no wrong. do you get that, dear? evie's never done you a wrong, and in return you're going to do all you know to kill her heart dead." "done me no wrong?" there was a desperate sort of sneer in the words. they were the words of a man who is robbed of denial but still protests. but nan rejected even that. she swiftly flung it back in her sense of the injustice of it. "it's as i said, jeff. just as i said," she declared solemnly. she drew a deep breath. she was about to take a plunge which might bear her she knew not whither. "oh, i could get mad with you for that. i could so, jeff. i know the story of it. you've told it yourself, and i don't guess you've spared her any. but you're blinding yourself because you're crazy to do so. you're blinding yourself to all sense of justice to defend a wretched scallawag who happened to be your brother. say, you're trying to fix on your wife, the woman who loves you, and who you guess you love, all the dirt you should heap on the worthless man who lived by theft, and maybe, even, was a murderer. say, don't speak. not just a single word. guess you can say all you need when i'm through," she cried, as the man, with eyes ablaze, sought to break in. "when i'm through i'll listen. say, bring this right home here. we're being robbed by cattle thieves. i don't guess they're better or worse than your brother. what if he'd been one of this gang? if you'd got this gang, with him in it? would you've let him go and hanged the others? tell me. tell me right here and now." the man sprang from his seat. he moved away to the window. "you're talking foolish," he flung over his shoulder. "it's not the position. my brother's deserts aren't in question. it's evie's act. my wife's act. you're a woman and defend her. how could you be expected to see a man's point of view?" "there can be no man's point of view in it," nan cried warmly. "i guess there's just one point. the point of right and justice. in justice she's not done a thing to make you act this way. for your sake, for hers, for the sake of justice you'll have to go back to her." the man swung round. "you'd have me go back to her?" he cried in fierce derision. "say, you're crazy! go back to her feeling as i do?" "feeling as you've no right to feel," nan retorted swiftly. then in a flash her voice changed, dropping to a note of deep tenderness and sympathy. "say, jeff, won't you go back? won't you?" she pleaded. "think of all it means to her, to you. think of a poor woman driven to the depths of despair for a shadow you've nursed in your brain these years. that's what it comes to. i know. oh, jeff, as sure as ther's just a great big god above us you'll pay for it if you don't. you surely will." the man shifted his gaze. the lids of his eyes drooped and hid from the waiting girl all that passionate feeling he had not hesitated to display. she wondered as she waited. she was fearful, too. in the man every sort of emotion was surging through him in a chaotic tangle. nothing seemed clear; anger, revolting, even hatred, all fought for place. and through it all the pleading tones of the girl would not be denied. after a moment he suddenly flung out his arms. "i--i just can't, nan!" he cried desperately. a wave of relief swept through nan's heart. he was yielding, and she knew it. his manner had completely and abruptly changed. she drew nearer to him. every honest art of persuasion was in her tender manner. all self was forgotten in that moment of spiritual purpose. "but you can--if you will," she said, her brown eyes uplifted to his. "there isn't a thing you can't do--and you will. and this is so small, jeff. so small. just think of that great big god somewhere up above waiting, waiting to help you. he's always waiting to help us--any of us. ask him. ask his help. he'll give it you. he surely will. and he can clear away all this dreadful feeling. it'll pass right away easy. i know. he's done things for me. you just can't guess how much. say, jeff, and when he's fixed you right, feeling that way, he'll show you, and tell you more. he'll show you that evie's act was not hers, but--his. it was just his way of bringing ronny's punishment back to you. you see, jeff, ronny was part of you. you said so. and oh, he's wiser than you an' me. and he figures this thing is best so. it's a little cross, such a teeny one, he's set you to bear, and if you're the man i know and believe in, why, you'll just carry it without a squeal. then later you'll understand, and--you'll be real glad for it. will you--will you go back to her--to-morrow, jeff?" nan waited almost breathlessly. she was watching him with a gaze that searched every detail of his face. she saw the strong veins at his temples standing out, the usually clear eyes stained and bloodshot. she saw him raise one hand wearily to his forehead, and pass it back over his hair. she knew the movement so well. the sight of it thrilled her. there was little about him she did not know and understand. "you've made it seem i'll have to, nan," he said with desperate reluctance. for a moment a strange feeling of weakness came over the girl. but she resolutely thrust it aside. "it's not me, jeff," she disclaimed. "you know it's not me. and you'll--promise?" he nodded. "i'll go back to her, because--of you." a curious look of fear crept into the girl's eyes. "you'll go back, because--of her," she persisted. the man shook his head. "anyway--i'll go back." the words were roughly spoken. but nan accepted them. it was all she could hope for. and--well, she had done her best. she sighed deeply. she glanced about her. for a moment they dwelt upon the man who was denied her. the man in whom she saw all that could ever make life worth while. "good-night, jeff." her voice was very low and soft. "good-night, nan." then with a sudden outburst, as forceful as it was spontaneous: "god, if the world were only made up of women like you!" but the door had closed. and as nan crept to her bedroom, unrestrained tears coursed down her soft cheeks. the full force of the irony of it all was too great for her. he was going back to elvine, and--she had sent him. chapter xxi the barrier jeff was abroad at daylight. even bud, whose habit was sunrise, had not yet wakened from his heavy slumbers. but nan was stirring. she heard jeff moving, and she saw him beyond her window. she saw him bring his horse from the barn, saddled and bridled. in a moment he had mounted and ridden away. then she dressed, and, for the rest, wondered at the possible outcome of it all. half an hour later the sun rose and the day's work began. when jeff reached his home it was still wrapped in the habit of night. there was no one and nothing stirring, for, as yet, only the golden glow of the eastern sky promised the coming of day. his mood was bitter. but his purpose was calculated and deliberate. he had given his promise in answer to nan's irresistible pleading. but otherwise the man was completely unchanged. he moved away down to the corrals, and leaned against the great lateral rails which closed the entrance. the beasts within were chewing the cud, and still picking at the remains of their overnight feed. they were a goodly sight to eyes that understood the meaning of such things. it was only one of a number of corrals similarly crowded with beasts, that were, for various reasons, herded in shelter at night. these were a few, a very few of the vast numbers which bore the familiar "o----" brand. there were the outlying stations which harbored their hundreds. there were the pastures with their complement of breeding cows. then there were the herds of two- and three-year-olds roaming the plains at their will, fattening for the buyers who came at intervals. thoughts of these things compelled jeff now. and he saw what nan had saved him from. wreck had been threatening in the course he had marked out for himself at first. how could prosperity have maintained under the conditions he would have imposed? even now, under the modification which nan had appealed for, he failed to see the continuation of that success he had striven so hard for. the incentive was no longer in him, he told himself. where lay the use, the purpose in it all? the future? that dream future which had come to him could never mature now. it was no longer a dream. it was nightmare. he wondered why he had yielded to nan's entreaty. it all seemed so purposeless now in the broad light of day. he could force himself to live with his wife--under the same roof. perhaps in time he could even meet her in daily intercourse. she might even become a factor in the great work of the obar. but the joy of achievement had been snatched from him. all that he had foreseen might be achieved in the work, even. but the process would have been completely robbed of its inspiration, and was therefore not to be counted worth while. the thought of the woman's regard for him left him cold. he dwelt upon it. suddenly he wondered. two days ago he could not have thought of it without a thrill. now it meant--nothing. he remembered nan's appeal. why--why had it affected him last night? it had not been because of--evie. nan had talked of justice--duty. he could see no appeal in either now. why should he be forced to observance of the laws of justice, or--duty toward a woman who----? he stirred restlessly. his attention was drawn to his horse. he moved over to it and off-saddled. then he returned to his place at the corral. the sun was just breaking the horizon. he heard sounds of life coming from the bunkhouse. nan's appeal no longer convinced him--now that he was away from her. but--he had pledged his word. he could not break his word to nan, although he longed--madly longed to resaddle his horse and ride away, and leave behind him forever this place which had suddenly become so full of bitter memories. no--he had pledged his word. soon he must once more confront his wife. he reviewed the possibilities. the night long he had spent in considering the position he intended to place before her. would she accept it? and--what then? the long days of work, unlit by any hope of the future. the process of building, building, which all men desire, without that spark of delight which inspires the desire. just the drudgery of it. the resulting wealth and commercial power of it maybe, but not one moment of the joy with which only two days before he had regarded the broad vista of the future. now the smell of cooking reached him from the bunkhouse. several men were moving down toward the corrals. he passed on toward the house. a moment or so later he stood on the veranda gazing out at the streaming cattle as they moved toward the wide home pastures, under the practised hands of the ranchmen. it was a sight to inspire any cattleman, and, for a moment, the brooding eyes of the master of it all lit with a flash of their former appreciation. but the change was fleeting. the blue depths clouded again. the question once more flashed through his brain--what--what was the use of it all? none, none at all. every dream had been swept from his waking thoughts. every enchanting emotion was completely dead. the woman who had inspired the rose-tinted glasses through which he had gazed upon the future no longer had power so to inspire him. by her own action she had taken herself out of his life. she could never again become a part of it. he would live on with her, under the same roof, a mockery of the life which their marriage imposed upon them. he had pledged that to nan, and he would not break his word to--nan. but love? his love was gone. it was dead. and he knew that the ashes of that once passionate fire could never be stirred into being again. there was a rustle of skirts behind him. he heard, but did not turn. a fierce passion was rising to his brain, and he dared not turn until he had forced it under restraint. "you have come back, jeff?" the voice was low and soft. there was something tragically humble in its tone. the man turned. "yes, evie." then he added: "i told you i would." his voice was gentler than he knew. the harshness of their previous meeting had gone out of it. nor was he aware of the change, nor of the reason, although in his mind was the memory of his promise to nan. "and you'll tell me your decision--now?" the humility was heart-breaking. nor was the man unaffected by it. he looked into the beautiful face, for the dark eyes were averted. then his gaze dropped to the charming figure daintily clad in a simple morning frock of subtle attraction. but his eyes came back to the face with its crowning of beautiful dark hair, nor was there any change in their expression as a result of their survey. "as well now as later." "what is it?" for the first time jeff found himself gazing into the wide dark eyes. there was pain in them. apprehension. there were the signs about them of long sleepless nights. he shut the sight of these things out by the process of turning away to observe the general movement going on in the near distance. "guess there's no use to say a deal," he said, a curiously moody note taking possession of his voice. "if i did, why, i'd likely say a whole heap more than a man may say to his wife. guess the right an' wrong of things had best lie in our hearts. you know just what you did, and why you did it. i know what you did, an' can only guess why you did it. i don't figger any talk could convince either of us different to how we think and feel. maybe there's someone knows the rights of this thing better than either of us. that being so, i allow he'll ultimately fix things as he intends. meanwhile it's for us to do as we feel, just so far as our personal earthly concerns go." the coldness in his voice had grown, and it left evie with a complete sense of hopelessness that was harder to bear than any fears which violence of language might have inspired. his pause was prolonged. she made no effort to break it, she dared not break it. for the man, he was gathering the threads of what he had to say so as to deliver it concretely. he feared to prolong this interview. in view of his decision he must not risk any violent outbreak such as his feelings were even now striving to force upon him. "maybe you'll remember what i said to you about ronny just after we were--married. i don't guess you'll have forgotten, seeing things are as they are. what i said then stands now. if you'd been a man i'd have shot you down in your tracks when i got to home last night. that should say all that need be said about how i'm feeling now. you aren't a man, and you're my wife. well--you're still my wife. that means it's up to me to keep you as though this thing hadn't broken things up. i intend to act as right as i can by you. this is your home. you must use it, if you feel that way. the obar has to go on. it's your means of living. it's my means of living. then there are others concerned in it. for these reasons i shall carry on things, and your knowledge of this sort of work should hand you a reasonable share in the running of this place. if you feel you can act this way, without remembering we're man and wife, why, i guess we can agree to live our--separate--lives under the same roof. if you don't feel you can do this, why, you need to say so right here an' now, an' state your wishes. i'll do my best to carry them through, provided you understand our lives are separate from now on. do you get that?" did she get it? could there be any mistaking those cold tones, that ruthless decision? from slightly behind him elvine had stood watching with straining eyes the still figure, speaking with so obvious a repression of feeling, his eyes steadily fixed upon the distant horizon. once or twice an ominous flush had suddenly flamed up in her eyes. a deep flush had stained her cheeks. but as he ceased speaking the same shrinking, the same humility marked her attitude. she knew instinctively she dared not say the things she was yearning to pour out. she knew instinctively that any such course would at once break down that thin veneer of restraint he was exercising. and for perhaps the first time in her life she stood awed and cowed by a man. but this woman was the slave of her passions, and she knew it. it was this now that made a coward of her. with all the power of self in her she had abandoned herself to her love for her husband. and, with slavish submission, she was prepared to accept his words rather than banish herself out of his presence altogether. a mad, wild hope lay somewhere deep down in her heart that some day he could be made to forget. that some day, through what looked to her like endless days of devotion and help, she might win back something of what she had lost. she knew her own attraction. she knew her own powers. might there not then be hope in the dim future? she had no pride where jeff was concerned. she wanted him. his love was all life to her now. if she had followed the natural course which should have been hers and refused his proposal, she would have been closing the door, finally, upon all that made life possible. if she submitted there still remained to her the vaguest possible shadow of hope. this was her thought and motive in the crisis with which she was faced, and her calculations were made out of her yearning, and without true understanding of the man with whom she was dealing. jeff awaited her decision under an enforced calm. "it's for you to say," she said, after some moments. "nor is the choice mine. i shall obey. you've said i can help in the work. maybe it's my right. i'll claim that right anyway. it's the only right i'll claim. i've only one other thing to say, and maybe you'll let me speak it this once." "go on." "i didn't guess i was doing wrong. i don't know now i did wrong. anyway, if what i did was wrong it's against god's laws and not man's. maybe you've a right to punish me. i don't know. anyway, my life and interests are bound to yours, and i want you to know every effort of mine will be to further--your interests. this has made no change in me--that way. you can trust me as you'd trust yourself. i'm not here to squeal for any mercy from you, jeff. and maybe some day you'll--understand. i guess your breakfast's ready. i'll have mine later." * * * * * * later in the day elvine rode out from the ranch house. nor did she concern herself with her object, nor her course, beyond a wild desire for the solitude of the hills. the full torture of the new life, on the threshold of which she now stood, had not come upon her until after the effects of her interview with her husband had had time to calm down. then to remain in the house, which had become a sort of prison to her, was made impossible. she must get out. she must break into activity. she felt that occupation alone could save her reason. so she struck out for the hills. their claim of earlier days was upon her. the hills, and their wooded valleys. their brooding calm, their dark shadows, their mysterious silence. these things claimed her mood. she rode recklessly across the wide spread of rainbow-hill valley. she had no thought for the horse under her. she would have welcomed the pitfalls which mighty have robbed her of the dreadful consciousness of the disaster which had overwhelmed her. she was striving to flee from thoughts from which she knew there was no escape. she was striving to lose herself in the activities of the moment. the switchback of the plain rose and fell under her horse's busy hoofs. it rose higher, and ever higher, as she approached the western slopes. she left the fenced pastures behind her, and the last signs of the life to which she was now committed. before her the woodlands rose up shrouded in their dark foliage. the mourning aspect of the pines suited her temper; she felt as though their drooping boughs were in harmony with the bereavement of her soul. she plunged amidst the serried aisles of leafless trunks with something like welcome for their shadows. she rode on regardless of distance and direction. from the crest of a hill she looked down upon narrow mountain creek surging between borders of pale green foliage. the sound of the waters came up to her, and the wilderness of it all appealed, as, at that moment, nothing else could have appealed. she pressed her blowing horse forward, and rode down to the banks so densely overgrown. she leaped from the saddle. she relieved her horse of its saddle and flung herself upon the mossy ground in the shelter of a cluster of spruce. the humid heat was oppressive. the tumbling waters were unable to stir the atmosphere. but their music was soothing, and the sight of their turbulent rush seemed to hold sympathy for her troubled heart. and so she lay there, her head propped upon a supporting hand, and yielded herself to the sway of her emotions. after a while tears dimmed her eyes. they overflowed down her cheeks. she had reached the end of endurance before yielding to her woman's pitiful weakness. time had no meaning now. place had lost its influence. she saw nothing, knew nothing but the trouble which had robbed her of all she lived for. then came the inevitable. her tears eventually relaxed the tension of her nerves, and, after several ineffectual attempts to keep them open, the weight of the atmosphere closed her eyes and yielded her the final mercy of sleep. * * * * * * elvine awoke with a start. she awoke with the conviction of the presence of the man she had met in the hill regions before. she knew some one was near her, but, for the moment---- yes. she sat up. a pair of brown eyes were gazing down into hers. then came the voice, and it was low, and gentle. it had nothing startling in it. "why, say, an' i've been hunting your trail this hour, taking you for--some one else." nan had been standing with her arm linked through her horse's reins. now she relinquished them, and flung herself upon the ground before the startled woman. elvine stared at her with unease in her dark eyes. nor did she gain reassurance from the pretty face with its soft brown hair, and the graceful figure beneath its brown cloth riding suit. yet she was not insensible to the companionship. her greater fears had been of the man, sikkem, who had been in her waking thoughts. "you were following my tracks?" she demanded uncertainly. nan's eyes grew grave. "i certainly was. though i didn't guess they were yours. say, you must have crossed the tracks i was following," she added thoughtfully. "did you see anybody? four fellers? mighty tough-looking citizens, an' strangers?" the frankness of the girl reestablished confidence. elvine sat up. "no," she said. then the wonder of it possessed her. "but you--you alone were following on the tracks of four tough strangers?" she cried incredulously. nan smiled. her smile was pretty. it was a confident, wise little smile. "sure," she said. "i saw them, and it was up to me. you see, evie, we folks out here kind of need to think diff'rent. a girl can't just help being a girl, but when rustlers are around, raising small cain with her men-folks' goods, why, she's got to act the way they would when they light on a suspicious trail. i was guessing that track would lead me somewhere. but," she added with a grimace, "i wasn't as smart as i figgered. you must have crossed it, an' i lost 'em." "but can't you get back to it? maybe i can help some. i've followed a trail before," elvine added, in a tone which nan understood better than the other knew. but the girl shook her head. "my plug is tired, and there's the chase back to home. i guess we'll leave 'em, and just--report. but there's something doing. i mean something queer. these folk don't reckon to show themselves in daytime, and i guess they were traveling from the direction of spruce crossing." "that's where the man sikkem's stationed," said elvine. "sure. but i don't guess they been near his shanty. they wouldn't fancy gettin' around sikkem's lay-out in daytime. you see, he's--sudden." nan's confidence was not without its effect. but elvine was less sure. "this sikkem. i don't like him. but----" nan dismissed the matter in her own way. "sikkem's been on the ranch nigh three years. he's a cattleman first, and hates rustlers worse than poison. but he's tough. oh, he's tough, all right. i wouldn't gamble a pea-shuck he hasn't quite a dandy bunch of notches on his gun. but we're used to his sort." then she went on in a reflective fashion as though hollowing out a train of thought inspired by the man under discussion: "sort o' seems queer the way we see things. right here on the prairie we mostly take folks on trust, an' treat 'em as we find 'em. maybe they're wanted for all sorts of crimes. maybe they done a turn in penitentiary. maybe they even shot up folk cold. these things don't signify a cent with us so they handle cattle right, and are ready to push lead into any bunch of rustlers lyin' around. guess it's environment makes us that way. the prairie's so mighty wide it helps us folks to get wide." evie was watching the play of the girl's expressive eyes. "i wonder--if you're right." "mostly, i guess." "mostly?" nan nodded. "it isn't easy to condemn amongst folks on the prairie," she said with a sigh. elvine shook her head. her eyes were turned from the girl. they were staring down into the turbulent stream. "i don't think i've found it that way." "how?" the interrogation was natural. but it brought elvine's eyes sharply to the girl's, and, for a moment, they gazed steadily into each other's. then the woman's graceful shoulders went up. "i see you know." "and--you aren't mad with me for knowing? you aren't mad with jeff for me knowing? i wanted you to know i knew. i wanted to tell you i knew, only i didn't just know how to tell you. then i wanted to tell you--something else." there was simple sincerity in every word the girl spoke. the light in her eyes was shining with truth. elvine saw it, and knew these things were so, and, in her loneliness of heart, in her brokenness of spirit, she welcomed the chance of leaning for support upon a soul so obviously strong and sympathetic. she yielded now as she would never have believed it possible to yield. suddenly she raised her hands to her head and pressed her fingers to her temples. "oh, i--i don't know what to do. i sort of feel i just can't--can't stop around. and yet---- oh, i love him so i can't, daren't leave him altogether. you can't understand, child, no one can. you--oh, you've never known what love is, my dear. i'm mad--mad for him. and--and i can never come into his life again." she dropped her hands from her head in a movement that to nan seemed as though she were wringing them. nan's own heart was thumping in her bosom. she, too, could have cried out. but her eyes steadily, and almost tenderly, regarded the woman who had taken jeff from her. "you must stop around," she said in a low, firm tone. "say, evie, i don't guess i'm bright, or clever, or anything like that. i don't reckon i know things different to other folk. but just think how it would be if you went away now. you'd never see jeff again, maybe, and he'd never know just how you love him. you see, men-folk are so queer, too. maybe jeff's right, and you and me are wrong. maybe we're right, and he's all wrong. i can't say. but i tell you jeff needs you now--more than ever. he don't know it, maybe. but he wants you, and if you love him you'll just--stand by. oh, i could tell you of a thousand ways you can help him. a thousand ways you can show him your love without telling him. it means a hard fight for you. i know. and maybe you'll think he isn't worth it. but he is--to you. you love him. and any man a woman loves is worth to her every sacrifice she can make. i don't know. maybe you got to be punished, not by us folk, not for what you done to jeff. but someone guesses you got to be punished, and this is the way he's fixed it. say, evie, you won't let go of things, will you? maybe you can't see ahead just now. but you will--later. you love jeff, and he just loves you, though he's sort of blind to it now. but he loves you, an' no one else. he wouldn't act the way he's doing if it weren't so. i sort of felt i must say all this to you. i--i don't know why--just. but i won't ever talk like this again. i haven't a right, i know. but i don't mean harm. i don't sure. and if you'll let me help you anyway i can i'll--be real glad." chapter xxii threatenings the offer of reward for the rustlers operating in rainbow hill valley was without the desired effect. it was worse. the men against whom it was directed received it with deliberate but secretly expressed contempt. nor did chance serve the masters of the obar, as four years before she had served dug mcfarlane. nor was the failure due to lack of effort. bud left no stone unturned. and jeff--well, jeff did all a man could. the hills were scoured, and the deeps and hidden hollows of the greater foothills. the notices of reward were sent broadcast, even penetrating to the orrville country. they were set up as jeff had promised, on tree trunks in the remoter hills where any chance eye might discover them. where undoubtedly the men who constituted the gang must sooner or later discover them. the only response was a continuation of the raids. but a distinct change had taken place in the method of these. whereas, originally, they had been directed against not only the obar ranch, but wherever opportunity offered in the district, they now fastened their vampire clutches upon the obar only, and, finally, on only one section of its territory: the land which belonged to jeff's side of the partnership. so marked was this that it could not be missed. the partners were out at a distant station where they had been urgently summoned. a young "hand" had been wounded, a nasty flesh wound in the arm. he had been bringing in a small bunch of steers which had strayed to a distant hollow in the hills. it had been overnight. he was held up, and shot by three outlaws, and his cattle run off. it was bud who voiced the thought of both partners immediately after a close interrogation of the injured man. "looks like some low-bred son-of-a-hobo owes you a reckonin' he's yearnin' to git quit of, jeff," he said, the moment they were alone. "they're workin' this way all the time. they ain't so much as smelt around the old 't.t.' territory in days. d'you make it that way?" jeff nodded. "sure." but he made no attempt to throw enlightenment. "guess you signed the reward." bud watched the shadowed serious face of his friend. "maybe it's that." there was something like indifference in the younger man's manner. perhaps it was this manner which stirred bud's impatience and drove him to resentment. "say," he cried, in fiercely vibrant tones, "d'you know what it is i got in my head? it's the 'hands' on our range. sure. ther's some lousy guy on the obar working in with the gang. cowpunchers are a mongrel lot anyway. ther' ain't one but 'ud souse the sacrament wine ef the passon wa'an't lookin' on. i guess we'll need to chase up the penitentiary re-cord of every blamed thief on our pay-roll. maybe the cinch we're lookin' fer lies that way." "it's curious." "curious? gee, it's rotten!" the old man's patience completely gave way. "see right here, jeff. i ain't rattled. not a thing. but ther's got to be some guts put into this thing, an' you an' me's got to find 'em. see? i'm sick to death. right here an' now i tell you ther's goin' to be a rotten piece of trouble around this lay-out, an' i'm goin' to be in it--right up to my back teeth." it was perhaps the first time bud had displayed impatience with the man who had always been the leading spirit of their enterprise. the truth was, something seemed to have gone out of jeff. he neglected nothing. he spared himself no pains. his physical efforts seemed even to have become greater as the days passed. frequently, now, night as well as day found him in the saddle watching over their interests. he had become a sort of restless spirit urging forward the work, and watching, watching with the lynx eyes dreaded so much by the men who served him. but for all that something had certainly gone out of him, and bud knew and feared its going. if bud knew and feared the change, he also knew the cause of it. neither he nor nan were blind to the drama silently working out in the other household. it was bitterly plain and almost heart-breaking to the onlookers. the same roof sheltered husband and wife. but no unnecessary word was spoken between them. their meals were taken apart. they were as completely and coldly separate as though they occupied opposite poles. and the girl who recognized these things, and the man who watched them, only wondered how long it must be before the final disaster came upon them. jeff's moods had become extraordinarily variable. there were moments when his moroseness became threatening. the canker at his heart was communicating itself to his whole outlook, and herein lay the failure in his work. it was the realization of all this which stirred bud's impatience. he knew that unless a radical change was quickly brought about, the vaunted obar had certainly reached and probably passed its zenith. finally, he opened his heart to the sure sympathy of nan. he had purposely taken her with him on a boundary inspection amongst the foothills. they were riding through a silent hollow where quiet seemed to lie on the top of everything. even their horses' hoofs failed to make an impression upon it. peace was crowding the woodland slopes, a peace profound and unbreakable. "the obar's struck a mighty bad patch, nan," he said abruptly. "ef things kep hittin' their present gait, why, i don't jest see wher' we're to strike bottom. the pinch ain't yet, but you can't never kick out a prop without shakin' the whole darned buildin' mighty bad. an' that's how the obar's fixed. ther's a mighty big punch gone plumb out o' jeff's fight, an', well, i guess we're needin' all our punch to fix the things crowdin' around us." "you mean the rustlers?" nan drove to the heart things without hesitation. "sure. them an'--other things." the girl nodded. she knew the other things without asking. "jeff's in a heap of--trouble," she said with a sigh. "an' looks like carryin' us along with him--ef we ain't watchin' around." "we've always kind of leaned on jeff." "most folks are ready to lean, nan. it sort o' saves 'em a deal of trouble." "yes. till you kick the prop away." "sure. our prop's been kicked away, an' we've jest got to git right up on to our hind legs an'--git busy. the leanin' racket's played out fer us. we got to hand jeff a prop now, an' see it don't git kicked away. see?" for some moments the girl's gaze searched straight ahead of her down the valley. and into her eyes there grew a gentle light of enthusiasm. suddenly she turned upon the great figure on its horse beside her. "we've stood up on our own years, daddy--before jeff came along. we can stand now, can't we? i guess we're not going to fail jeff now he's in trouble. jeff's been all for us. we're going to be all for him. he needs us, daddy, and--i'm glad in a way. say, my heart nigh breaks every time i peek into his poor sad an' troubled face. jeff's just beating his soul dead. and if the obar gets wrong, it'll sure be the end of everything for him. it mustn't, daddy. things mustn't go wrong. 'deed they mustn't. it's up to us. you must show me how, daddy. you're wise to it all. you're strong. you know. show me. put me wise, an' i'll--take jeff's place." the girl's words came full of a passionate sincerity. there were no half measures in this child of the prairie. her love was given, a wealth of generous feeling and loyal self-sacrifice. her father read with a rare understanding. and in his big heart, so rough, so warm, he cursed with every forceful epithet of his vocabulary the folly of the man he had marked out for a son. "we'll make good, or--bust," he said, with a warmth that almost matched the girl's. then he pointed ahead where the hollow opened out, and a large clump of trees marked dividing ways. "i guessed you'd best see this. it's one o' them notions o' jeff's. that play ain't worth a cent." "ah!" they rode up to the bluff in silence. and after a moment's search bud drew rein before a heavy tree trunk, to which was secured a printed sheet. he pointed at it, and, for a while, neither spoke. nan was taking in the disfigurements with which it was covered, and she read the words written across it in bold but illiterate characters: "we're wise to her. she don't git no second chanst." the rest of the disfigurings were mischievous, and of almost indecent character. "does jeff know?" nan's question was almost a whisper. "i ain't told him." bud's reply was one of doubt. "he--he ought to be told." then bud suddenly abandoned the restraint he had been exercising. "oh ----! ther' ain't no use. he can't do a thing. he wouldn't do a thing. i tell you we're jest suckin'-kids in this racket. we got to lie around crazy enough to fancy we're goin' to git the drop on these bums. what a country! what a cuss of a lay-out wher' you got to set around watching a darnation gang o' toughs whittlin' away your work till they got you beat to a mush. here, i'm goin' to start right in. i'm goin' to get around calthorpe. the sheriff's got to git busy, an' earn his monthly pay check. we'll hev to raise vigilantes. i tell you they'll break us else. ef jeff can't see, why, he'll hev to be made to. blast their louse-bound souls to hell!" and nan welcomed the outburst. rough, coarse, violent. it did not matter. what mattered to her was the purpose. the purpose which she hoped and prayed would help jeff. she had no thought for themselves. their end of the enterprise never came into her considerations. she was thinking of jeff. solely of jeff--the man she loved better than her life. * * * * * * the change in elvine was no less marked than it was in jeff. but it was a change in a wholly different direction. she was deeply subdued, even submissive in her attitude. but now after the first crisis and its accompanying pain, a general relief was apparent. a relief which anything but indicated the hopelessness which had at the first overwhelmed her. she was not hopeless. therein lay the key of the matter. from the time when she had passed through those moments of frenzied despair, after jeff's return from orrville, her decision had been taken with lightning celerity. her back was to the wall, and she meant to fight for all she yearned, desired, by every art she possessed. she knew nothing of the reason which had made her husband return to her. it was sufficient that he had done so. it gave her the vague, wild hope she needed, and with all her might she intended to set herself to the task of winning back her position in his regard. she was not logical. had she been, she must have accepted the alternative of freedom offered her, and, on a liberal allowance, betaken herself to some selfish, worldly life which might have appealed to her. no, she was not logical. had she been, she would never have loved this man as she now knew better than ever she loved him. she was not logical, but she had courage. it was the same courage which had driven her to fight for that which she had desired years ago. she was going to fight now. and again it was for selfish motives. only this time they took the form of the love of the man she| had married. she set to work from the very start. her attractions she knew were great. jeff must be made to realize them. he must be made to realize all a woman could mean in this life which was theirs. she would unobtrusively study his interests to the last degree. his position in the ranching world would give her ample scope in this. then there was the work of the ranch. here her earlier experiences would help her materially. so she laid for herself a deliberate campaign. always counting that his lightest command was her law, and nothing must be permitted to display her desire to break down the barrier he had set up between them. two days of deep consideration showed her her course. and once having marked it out she set about following it. her house was her first care. it must be ordered as no other house of its kind was ordered. she thought of every expressed wish of his during their brief engagement and honeymoon, and sorted it into its place in scheme. then came her place in the work of the range. this was more difficult to take at once by reason of lack of precedent. but by tactful watchfulness she felt it could be accomplished. her first step must be to impress on lal hobhouse her intention, and, in this, even sooner than she had dared to hope, she managed to secure a footing. once her mind was set to achieve a purpose her capacity was beyond all question, and in these troublous times of rustlers the foreman was more than content to welcome her aid. throughout these days she rarely obtruded herself upon the man she desired most in the world. he might almost have been non-existent. the rare moments in which he spoke to her were met with a cool reserve on her part, which left nothing to be desired, and gave no opportunity for the reopening of those matters which had brought about the position. indeed, elvine had more than reason to be satisfied with her work. she felt at last that the worst was over, and now it remained for her to win back, step by step, the lost ground, until she had restored herself to her position. it could be done. it should be done, she told herself. she admitted no crime against him. then where was the justice of it? anyway, that fierce dread was off her mind. she knew the worst now. she no longer stood on the brink of an abyss of doubt---- she was in her bedroom considering these things. it was a golden evening and the setting sun was shining athwart her windows. quite suddenly the simple sewing in her fingers dropped upon her lap, and her startled eyes turned upon the wide view of the valley bathed in the perfect evening light. was she no longer standing upon that brink? the question flashed through her mind as she remembered an incident until then completely lost in the greater issues. it was the threat of that scrawled note which had been flung in at that very window. she even remembered the sensation of the blow which had awakened her on the night of torture during which she had waited for jeff's return from orrville. she sprang to her feet. every other thought was swept from her mind. and, for a moment, fresh panic stirred her veins. the words of that message. they were unforgettable. "you sold the lives of men for a price. you had your way then. we're goin' to have our way now. you'll pay for that deal the only way we know." the only way we know! her memory flew to the man sikkem. oh, she knew him. she had recognized him on the instant of their meeting. she knew he came from orrville. she had seen him there. but---- was he one of the original orrville gang, all unsuspected, or, at least, if not unsuspected, _unknown_ to be? while she pondered the subject she heard her husband's arrival. she heard him cross the veranda and, pass into the house. then again she took up the thread of her thought. this man sikkem. if he were one of the orrville gang, what was more likely than that he should have sent that threat? if he sent it, what more likely than that he was one of the gang of rustlers operating here? if he were one of them, then what added significance did it give threat? a wave of sudden excitement replaced the panic of a moment before. "the only way we know." did that mean raiding her husband's stock and endeavoring so to ruin the obar? it looked like it. it would account for what was being done. but no. that might be part of what was contained in the threat. but not all. the only way we know! the only way this class of man understood paying off a score was different from that. with these men it was always a life for a life. whose? hers? it might be. the sun had sunk beyond the mountain peaks. in the adjoining living-room she heard the clatter of supper things. jeff was having his meal in the solitude which had become their habit. if it were her life they intended it would not much matter. but was it? would they punish her that way? to her it did not suggest the refinement of cruelty which would appeal to them. no, there were other signs. their purpose looked to be to ruin the obar, and then--what then? rob her of the man she loved? it could be done. it would be easy, and surely the refinement of it would appeal to natures so ruthless. her sewing had dropped to the floor. mechanically she picked it up. then and there she purposed to break in upon her husband's meal. but she hesitated, and the impulse passed. instead, she went to a drawer in her bureau and withdrew the folded paper. she read it over and returned to her seat. decision was lacking. her interpretation of the threat had taken strong hold upon her, but she could not decide what best to do. her fine eyes were troubled as she gazed out into the growing dusk. dared she go to him? would he listen? but once more her thoughts were diverted. the sound of a great clatter of hoofs reached her from the other side of the house. some one had ridden up to the veranda at a great pace. who? and what could the urgency be at such an hour? she heard jeff moving in the living-room. she heard him pass out on to the veranda. then curiosity, perhaps apprehension, urged her. she passed to the window beyond her bureau, which was near the angle of the building, and leaned out of it. ordinary tones on the veranda would reach her there. she waited, breathing lightly lest her hearing should be impaired. a strange voice was talking. she could not place it. it was rough, and the language was rough. no doubt it was one of the "hands" from some outlying point. "they got him through the chest, an' i guess he's goin' to pass in. he sez to me, 'ride like hell an' fetch the boss. tell him i got 'em plumb wher' he wants 'em. i located their lay-out. i ain't got above an hour or so to tell him in. just hike an' ride like ----!'" then came jeff's voice cold and undisturbed. "where is he?" "why, by his shack at spruce crossing. he jest got in, an' nigh fell plumb in his tracks out o' the saddle. i don't guess any feller but sikkem could ha' done it. he's tough--mighty tough." sikkem! elvine moved from the window. sikkem! her heart was pounding in her bosom, and, for a moment, her brain seemed in a whirl. sikkem had discovered the raiders and was willing to give them away. in a flash she was back in orrville, and her mind was searching amongst shadowy memories that had suddenly become acute. sikkem! sikkem! no. she must see jeff. she must tell him of--sikkem. she must warn him, and show him her note. a sudden, crushing foreboding descended upon her, and she hurried toward the door. in a few seconds she was on the veranda confronting her husband. for a moment her courage well-nigh failed her. jeff was standing with his back turned toward the sunset. the ranchman was no longer there. he had gone to the barn to order a fresh saddle horse for the master of the obar. apparently jeff had turned to repass into the house. his fair strong face, serious and cold, was turned directly upon the beautiful figure of his wife, and it was the coldness of it that daunted her now. "well?" the bitterness of that frigid, surprised inquiry was crushing. elvine looked into his eyes for one single shadow of softening. she could find none. it shocked the hope she had been steadily building in her heart. she had no words in which to answer. she stood thus for one uncertain moment. then she thrust out her hand. it contained the threatening message. "will you read that--at once?" his cold regard dropped from her face. the man noted the dirty paper in her soft white hand. then he took it. nor did their hands come into contact. "is it a matter of importance?" elvine could have cried out with the stab of the question. only some matter of vital importance justified her action in his eyes. her gaze was averted to hide her pain. "i should not have come to you otherwise." the man moved to the edge of the veranda to obtain more of the dying light. at that moment the ranchman approached with two saddle horses. elvine scrutinized him carefully. he was a complete stranger to her. jeff had read the note. he stood regarding the ranchman. suddenly his voice broke sharply. "leave my horse at the tying post. wait for me at the barn." he watched the man secure his horse. then he watched him return to the barn. nor did he speak again till he was out of earshot. at last he turned back to the waiting woman. "who sent this? when did you get it? how?" the questions came rapidly. "it came the night you were at orrville. it was flung in through the open window late at night. i'd fallen asleep in my chair--waiting. it hit me on the face. they'd made it fast around a grass-tuft." "who sent it?" "it must have been the man, sikkem, who's just sent in word to you he's--shot up." "sikkem? why?" suddenly the restraint elvine was exercising gave way. even her husband's deliberate coldness was powerless to stem the tide of conviction which had steadily mounted up within her. the one thought in her mind was that he stood in danger. her reason was slight enough, but her love accentuated her intuition. she saw in her mind the claiming of the toll these men demanded, and to her swift imagination the picture of her husband's murder was complete before her eyes. "sikkem comes from orrville. he was there--four years ago. there was more than suspicion attached to him. my first day here i met him. maybe you'll remember. he knew me at once. i don't guess there was any mistake. and i knew him. when he heard i was--married to you he pretended he'd mistaken me for--some one else. and when he explained who, and his feelings against that woman--it was me he was describing--i knew he was, as was suspected, one of the lightfoot gang at orrville. sikkem wrote that note. i could stake my life on it. and--now he's sent for you. he's asking you to go out to spruce crossing--at night. a distant, lonely point in the hills. he says he's mortally wounded. he has found the rustlers hiding. of course he has. he's known all along. nor do i believe he's wounded. he--and the others--think the only way to get back on me is--through you. they mean to kill you. who's the boy who brought in word?" "a new 'hand' we've taken on to replace the boy who was shot up two days back." "one of the gang." the woman spoke with a decision she did not realize. but her belief had become conviction. no shadow of doubt remained. jeff gazed thoughtfully down at the note. when he raised his eyes his regard had undergone a shadow of change. there was less coldness in them. he shrugged. "guess we'll leave that at present. why all this now?" "because your life's in danger. that's how i figure." there was a deep note of urgency in the woman's voice. her eyes were alight with a sudden, unmistakable emotion. but even if the man realized these things he ignored them. "my life?" there was something cruelly biting in the reflection. "and all this time you knew--sikkem. you knew we were being raided." "i----" elvine broke off. she had no reply. there could be no reply. why, she wondered in sudden horror, had she not told of this thing before? she stood with downcast eyes before the accusing glance of the man. then, after a moment's pause, a sound escaped his lips. and in it was every thinkable expression of condemnation and contempt. "tchah!" he turned away and strode across to his horse. the woman's voice came to him low, despairing, appealing. "for god's sake, jeff, don't go! you won't go! they'll kill you! oh, god! jeff! oh!" the final exclamation came in a sort of moan as the man swung himself into the saddle, and, without a word, turned his horse and rode away. chapter xxiii the hearts of two women the figure was silent, motionless upon the veranda. the eyes were dull and lifeless. it was as though paralysis held the woman in its grip. "tchah!" the echo of that fierce expletive remained. it rang through heart and brain. its sting was hot. it seared its way through the life channels and blasted all hope. was there ever such contempt, such scorn, such repulsion, concentrated in one single ejaculation! it told the woman everything. it told of a failure so complete that hope became an emotion driven forever from her heart. it told her that the usury of life was beyond all belief. it told her that the interest demanded for every pledged moment was without pity, or mercy, or justice. now she knew how she had pawned, and, oh god, the interest which was being torn from her! her gaze remained upon the angle of the barn around which her husband had vanished. she was waiting for him to reappear. she was waiting to see if he would ride off in spite of her warning. but she was unaware of the thought prompting her. all she knew, all she felt, was the contempt, the scorn, the distrust he had hurled at her. the western sky had faded to a pallid yellow. the distance was losing itself in the rising purple shadows. already the dark patches of woodlands were assuming that ghostly vagueness which belongs to twilight. the ranch was wrapped in a deep repose. a sense of rest had fallen upon the great valley. all life seemed satisfied with its long day's effort and desired only the peace of night. but the quiet suddenly gave way before a fresh clatter of movement. hoofs once more beat on the sun-baked soil. two figures grew out of the twilight from behind the barn, and the woman knew that her warning had gone for naught. she watched them until they were swallowed up by the growing dusk. the last dim outline blurred itself into the pasture. then she stirred. a deep sigh was heavily breathed. then, in a moment, the paralysis fell from her. the dullness of her eyes gave place to a sheen of excitement, and her perfect cheeks assumed a faint, hectic flush. for one brief moment she glanced back into the house. then she glanced down at her own clothing. she was still clad in the riding suit which had become her daily wear. the survey seemed to satisfy her, for she left the veranda at a run, and made her way toward the barn. perhaps five minutes later she, too, became lost in the growing twilight, and her horse's hoofs awoke anew the echoes of the place. but her way did not lie in the track of the others. her horse was racing headlong in the direction of nan's home. bud and nan were just finishing their supper when elvine broke in upon them. she came with a rush and a clatter which brought nan out on to the veranda in hurry of anxious inquiry. bud was behind her, but his movements lacked her impulse. elvine was out of the saddle. she stood on the veranda, a figure of wild-eyed appeal. "jeff! oh, he's gone. nan, they'll--they'll kill him! i know it. i'm certain. and i warned him. i warned him. but--oh!" she covered her face with her hands. it was a movement inspired by the memory of his scorn. nan's responsive heart was caught by the other's emotion. but above it leaped a fear which she was powerless to deny. jeff? jeff in danger? she flung out an arm. her small hand gripped the other with a force that was incredible. "what d'you mean?" she cried, almost fiercely. "don't stand there like a fool. who is going to harm jeff?" the sharp authority, so prompt, so unexpected, dragged the distraught woman into some command of herself. she raised her head. her eyes were hot with unshed tears. they looked into nan's, so urgent, yet so full of a steadfast sanity. "it's sikkem," she cried, steadying herself. "he's sent in to say he's badly shot up. he says he's located the rustlers' camp and must hand jeff the news before--while he has time. jeff's gone out there, and--sikkem's one of the gang and escaped from orrville four years ago." "how d'you know?" it was bud's heavy voice put the question. it was full of stern command. "i've seen him. i know him, and--he knows me. he--he wrote this and sent it me." elvine thrust the crumpled note at bud. her gesture was almost desperate. "when did he send it?" again came bud's command. "days ago." "an' jeff--didn't know till--now?" "i was afraid to tell him--then." bud and nan read the note by the parlor lamplight. a bitter imprecation broke from the man's lips. "guess i don't get it--yet," he said. but nan was quicker. "he's gone to spruce crossing--to sikkem?" she cried, her eyes hot as they dwelt on the shaking woman before her. "don't wait talking. it don't matter the right of things. you, daddy, get our horses fixed and round up a bunch of boys from the bunkroom. jeff's in danger, an' it's up to us. maybe evie'll tell me while you go." something of the great bud's feelings was displayed in the celerity of his movements. he was gone before nan had finished speaking. the two women were left facing each other. seconds passed without a word. the gentle nan no longer looked out of the brown eyes. they were hot, resentful. nor would any one have recognized in the anxious-eyed woman before her the beautiful creature who had first stirred jeffrey masters out of his years of celibate thought. without a word nan turned back to the parlor. when she reappeared she was buckling a revolver belt about her slim waist. the two heavy holsters it supported were almost incongruous on so slight a figure. elvine watched her. the girl's deliberation was in deep contrast to her own emotions. then, too, the sympathy which had fled from nan's brown eyes left them full of hard resolve. "you--are not going?" elvine said, pointing at the weapons. nan's surprise was genuine. "jeff's in danger." "but you--a woman? you can't help. you might even----" "jeff's in danger." nan repeated the words with an emphasis there could be no mistaking. and as the final syllable escaped her pretty lips became firmly compressed. elvine regarded her for a silent moment or two. a strange new sensation was stirring within her. nan's attitude had brought it into being. her earlier emotions receded before this new feeling. and, strangely enough, she remembered some words her mother had once spoken to her. it was at a time before she had engaged herself to her husband. "but jeff--is nothing to you," she said abruptly. there was a new ring in the voice in which she spoke. "is he?" nan's eyes looked straight into the wife's. there was no smile in them. there was no emotion lying behind them that elvine could read. they were steady, unflinching. that was all. sounds came up from the ranch buildings. voices reached them plainly. and among them bud's dominating tones were raised above all. nan's eyes were drawn in the direction, but her gaze only encountered the moonless night. "what is he--to you?" elvine's demand was strident. she was roused from her sense of her own sufferings, her own misery. the newly awakened emotion had leaped to proportions which threatened to overwhelm all others. nan's eyes came back to her face. there was something almost reckless in their regard. there was even a suggestion of derision in them, a suggestion of triumph. but it was not the triumph over a rival. it was the triumph of one who realizes her conquest over self. "everything!" she cried. then she added almost to herself: "everything i can think of, have ever dreamed of in life." then suddenly her voice rose to a ring of ecstasy. it was the abundance, the purity of her love, the certainty of victory over self which inspired it. "ah, evie, don't be rattled with what i'm telling you. ther' surely is no need. you want to be mad with me. guess you needn't to be. jeff don't know it. he never will know it. i've never had a hope of him since he met you. he's always been just yours. i don't guess you need to worry a thing that way. the worrying's for me. i've loved him since ever i was a child: since ever he came here. well, you figure he's in danger--so it's up to those who love him to do. you see, i--well, i just love him with my whole soul." she turned away. the reception of her confession seemed to concern her not at all. out of the darkness loomed her father's great figure. he was leading nan's horse as well as his own. the girl leaped into the saddle, and he passed his own reins up to her. "i shan't be haf a minit," he said. "i need my guns. the boys are waitin' by the barn." he passed into the house. then nan observed elvine. she, too, had leaped into the saddle. nor could the girl help being struck by the manner of her action. "you're goin' back home?" she cried. elvine shook her head resolutely. "how--then?" the wife suddenly urged her horse. it came right up to nan's with an almost spasmodic jump, driven by a vicious jab of the woman's spurred heel. the dark eyes were lit with an angry fire as she leaned forward in the saddle. her words came in a voice of passionate jealousy. "you love him, so you go to him, ready to face anything--for him. do you think i don't love him? do you think i'm not ready to dare for him--anything? your love gives you that right. what of mine? does mine give me no right? say, child, your fool conceit runs away with you. i tell you you don't know what love is. you say you love him with your whole soul. and you are content to live without him. psha! your soul must be a poor enough thing. i tell you life means nothing to me without him. i can't and won't live without him." * * * * * * the black earth sped under the horses' hoofs. the stars shone like dew on the velvet pall of night. bud led, as he always led in the things practical which belonged to his life. he needed no thought for guidance on that night journey. unerring instinct served him across those wide plains. spruce crossing might have possessed a beacon light, so straight, so unerring was the lead he offered those behind him. now, perhaps, more than ever, all his great skill was put forth. for he had listened to the complete, if halting, story of the man's wife, and shared with her the conviction of treachery. for the time, at least, all consideration for the woman was thrust aside. he offered no words of blame. his concern was simply the succor of his friend. nan was ready to follow him whithersoever he led. she was ready to obey his lightest command, for she understood his skill. she had no thought for anything but the man she loved. no possibilities of mischance, no threat to herself could find place in her thought. for her jeff's well-being was her single concern. elvine rode beside her, step for step. she had told her story as they rode. after that silence between them prevailed. it was a silence fraught with an emotion too deep for any words. a fierce jealousy mingled with her passionate longing. her world was empty of all but two figures. the man she loved, and the girl who had confessed her love with all the strength of a great, simple courage. whatever the night might bring forth, whatever tragedy might be in store, she scarcely had thought for anything but her own almost mad resolve. this girl, this child of the plains, should obtain no advantage. she was prepared to yield all for the succor of the husband who had scorned her--even to life itself. chapter xxiv to spruce crossing the eyes of the night were there alone to see. it was as well. there are moments in men's lives when it is best that it should be so. passions are not always sane. they are not always human. so it was with jeffrey masters. the change in him had been rapid. it was almost magical. always one who lacked something of the softer human qualities, he yet must have been counted a man of balance. if sympathy, sentiment, were never his strong points, he was by no means lacking in loyalty, kindliness, rightness of purpose. all his life, achievement, achievement under the strictest canons of honesty, or moral scruple, had been the motive urging him. he had seen neither to the right nor to the left of these things. then had come the woman into his life and the lighting of those natural fires which belong to all human life. he yielded to them, and the suddenness of it all seemed to sweep away every cooler method which had always governed him. there had been no thought, no calculation in his yielding, such as might have been expected. he was the victim of his own temperament. his powerful restraint had been suddenly relaxed. and, for the time, he had been completely overwhelmed by the intensity of his passion. but this passion for the woman who had so suddenly entered his life was merely the opening of vials of emotion hitherto held sealed. it was no radical transformation. all that had been his before still remained, buried perhaps for the moment under the avalanche of feeling, but nevertheless still occupying its place. these things could not be swept away. they could not be destroyed. they would remain when the passionate fires had completely burned themselves out. but the unlooked-for had happened. these fires had not been permitted to burn themselves out. they had been extinguished, deluged out of existence when the idol of his worship was flung headlong from its pedestal by the complete revolt of his moral being. his prejudices, his instincts, matured through years of effort, were the stronger part of him, and the conflict was decided before it began. the shock of discovery had brought a terrible reaction. his love was killed under the blow. and though for a while the sense of overwhelming disaster had been crushing, the measure of that disaster was taken swiftly. it left him disillusioned, it left him harder, colder. but it left him sane. these things were not all, however. on this night he had approached far nearer the hell which only a woman can create for a man than his first discovery had borne him. the irony of it was perfect. out of her great love for him, solely in his interest, in a great desire to shield him from a danger she saw threatening him, she had contrived to convince him that she had been as ready to sacrifice him, his interests, the interests of his friends, as she had been to accept the price offered for the blood of his twin brother. so the eyes of the night looked down upon the haunting figure of a man who knew neither mercy, nor pity, nor hope. the world of human happiness had closed its doors upon him, and his whole spirit and body demanded a fierce retaliation. that was the mood which looked out of his coldly shining eyes. that was the mood which drove the horse under him at a headlong gait, and left his spurs blood-stained upon his heels. that was the mood that left him caring nothing for any danger that might lurk under cover of the starlit dark of night. the fierceness of his temper demanded outlet. bodily outlet. active conflict. anything, so that a burning lust for hurt should be satisfied. he cared nothing at all for himself. no bodily suffering could compare with the anguish of mind he had passed through, was still passing through. and so he rode headlong till the youth accompanying him was hard put to it to keep pace with him. the hammering of the horses' hoofs upon the sun-baked earth was a fitting accompaniment to his mood. the sigh of the night breezes through the trees was no less desolate than his heart. nor was the darkness one whit more dark than the stream of thought which flowed through his hot brain. not one word did he exchange with the man behind him. in truth the youth who had brought the summons had no part in the thing that was happening, at least not in jeffrey masters' mind. there was no one besides himself in this. there was just himself and his goal--whatever that might bring forth--with a wild, almost insane desire to act fiercely and without mercy should opportunity offer. the land rose and fell, from hill to valley, from valley to hill. the way lay through avenues of bluff-lined grass, or across hollows of virgin pasture. trickling mountain streams barred the way, only to be passed without a thought of their depth, or the dangers of their treacherous, sodden banks. the mountain barrier ahead, looming darkly forbidding in the starlight, with its mazing hollows and woodland crowns, was incapable of inspiration at the moment. there are moments when nature's profoundest awe is powerless to affect the mind of man. these were such moments. the whole mind of jeffrey masters was absorbed till there was no room for any influence which did not arise out of the burden of his bitterness. but if he were indifferent to his surroundings, the man riding hard behind him moved with eyes and ears fully alert. that which he was seeking would have been impossible to tell. nevertheless every shadow seemed to possess interest, every night sound to possess some quality worth remarking. not for an instant, after the hills had been entered, did his vigilance relax. spruce crossing lay deep in the hills, a clearing to the south of the junction of converging mountain streams. it was a mere cattle station, neither better nor worse than several others lying on the outskirts of the obar territory. yet it was important that it headed a valley running north and south amongst the hills, where the grass was sweet, and rich, and fattening, one of those surprise natural pastures which the hills love to yield occasionally to those who seek out their wealth. a glimmer of light, like some distant star fallen to earth from its velvet setting above, marked the station, house. it was visible at a great distance down the flat stretch of the valley. the ranchman's horse was headed directly for it, and the animal moved readily, eagerly now, nor were the spurs needed to urge him further. the instinct of its journey's end was sufficient to encourage its flagging spirits. the distant light grew brighter. it took on the rectangular form of a window opening in a log-built hut. jeffrey masters had fixed his gaze upon it, and so the shadowy scene about him passed all unnoticed. he saw nothing of the darker objects lying on the ground adjacent to his way. the slumbering kine which bore his brand remained all unheeded. he had no thought for them. his course took him over a track which passed down a land between two fenced pastures. these, too, were stocked with fattening steers, or with the brood cows and their attendant calves. at another time, under other conditions, these things would have held for him an absorbing interest. now they concerned him not at all. the dark pastures gave place to a number of corrals, also lost in the summer night. a dog barked. then, in a moment, its sharp yelps became silent, and the stillness became once more unbroken except for the hard pounding hoofs of the two horsemen approaching. a few moments later these sounds ceased as the dark outline of the station house itself took shape. for a few seconds jeff gazed at the window opening where the light from within was still shining. a sound had caught and held his attention. it came from within the hut, and there was no mistaking it. it was the sound inspired by physical suffering, and the voice that uttered it was a man's. he sprang out of the saddle and turned to hand his horse to the man who had accompanied him. but he found himself standing alone. with a shrug of the shoulders he left his horse and turned at once to the hut. just for an instant he hesitated once more. it was his thought to look in through the window. the hesitation passed. the next moment he passed along the lateral log walls to the far end of the building where he knew the door to be situated. the door was closed. he placed his hand on the heavy wooden latch. a second passed. he glanced over his shoulder. it had occurred to him to wonder at the sudden going of the youth who had accompanied him. but there was neither sight nor sound of the vanished youth. he raised the latch and swung the door open. chapter xxv an epic battle the station house was extensive. it was a bunkhouse of lesser dimensions. jeff's eyes moved swiftly over the dim interior. the remoter corners of the place were shadowed. but the light was sufficient to yield him a view of four squalid bunks on which the many-hued blankets were tumbled. the walls bore signs of personal effort at decoration. there were photographs over each bunk, tacked up and disfigured by flies. there were odd prints pasted on the rough log walls, the seams of which were more or less adequately filled with mud to keep the weather out. there were two rough window openings, one in each side wall. the only entrance or exit was the door at the northern end, through which he had approached. at the other end, directly opposite this, an oil lamp was shedding its feeble rays through a well-smoked chimney glass. it was standing on a small improvised table which divided two bunks set on wooden trestles. the whole interior was perhaps thirty feet in length and twelve feet wide, a roomy, unkempt shanty, which served its simple purpose as a shelter for men unused to any of the comforts of life. the object which caught and held jeff's instant attention was the figure of the man seated on the side of one of the bunks, beside the table on which the lamp stood. it was the figure of sikkem bruce, bearing no trace whatever of any mortal injury, and with a look of wide-eyed surprise upon his evil countenance. jeff moved up the room. he approached without haste. his eyes were steady, and his expression one of tight-lipped determination. there was something coldly commanding in his attitude. his fair, bronzed features, keen, set, displayed no weakening. his body seemed poised ready for everything that could possibly happen. the latent power and vigor of his movements were tremendous. he carried no weapons of defense in view, and his dress was a simple loose jacket over a cotton shirt, and, for nether garments, a pair of loose riding breeches which terminated in soft leather top-boots. sikkem's eyes were on him the whole time. there was even some slight apprehension in them at the sight of that swift, voiceless approach. jeff came to a halt before him, and it was the ranch hand who found speech most necessary. "say, i didn't guess you was gettin' around to-night, boss," he said with some show of ease. "no?" "i sure didn't." jeff's retort flashed out. "then what did you send that youngster in for with mouthful of durned lies?" sikkem stared. but his look was unconvincing. moments passed before his reply came, and in those moments the keen eyes of his employer were busy. the man was still in the working kit of a cowpuncher. even to the chapps, and the prairie hat crushed down on his ugly bullet head. then, too, his pair of guns were still strapped about his waist. none of these things escaped jeff, any more than did the fellow's clumsy regard. he wondered how much truth--if any--lay behind that mask of wicked eyes and brutish features. "i'm waiting." jeff's demand came with a rasp. the man's delay in reply had conveyed all he wanted to know of the truth in him. "wot youngster? i tell you i didn't send no one in." there was truculence in the denial. "wot's the lies?" the ranchman was no match for the keen mind of his employer. in brute force he might have been more than his equal. but even that was doubtful. while he was speaking jeff moved. up to that moment he had been facing the foreman with his back turned toward the distant door. now his movement placed him against the table with his back to the other empty bunk, and his focus took in not only the man before him, but the shadowy outline of the distant half-open door. "it's the boy we took on the other day at--your recommendation. your recommendation. get me? guess he came with the yarn you were shot to death. you'd located the rustlers' camp. you needed to see me quick." jeff's words came swiftly. then after a pause he added: "you didn't send him along? who did?" as jeff watched the man's deliberate shake of the head he became aware of a muffled sound, somewhere away beyond the door. it was faint, but, to him, unmistakable. he gave no sign. "where are the other boys?" he demanded. "out on cattle guard." the movement beyond the door again penetrated the silence of the hut. now it was that the ranchman made his mistake. only for an instant did he turn his head and eyes in the direction of the sound. but it was sufficient. jeff's voice rasped again. "stand up, darn you! stand up!" sikkem's gaze came back abruptly, and on the instant his right hand flew to his waist for his guns. but the muzzle of jeff's revolver was within a foot of his head, and behind it his coldly shining eyes. sikkem's hand dropped from his waist. he stood up. the law of the gun was powerfully ingrained upon his mind. "loose those guns at your waist--quick! let 'em drop on the bunk! quick, or i'll pump you full of lead!" the deadliness of jeff's command was irresistible. the power of that leveled gun indisputable. the buckle was loosened, and the weapons fell on the blankets behind the ranchman. "now push your hands up! right up!" the command was obeyed on the instant, but the look which accompanied the movement was as deadly as human passion could make it. "back away! back to the far end! sharp!" sikkem moved. but his movement was not rapid enough. jeff urged him. in the pause jeff's straining ears caught again the sound of movement, and he wondered why development was not precipitated. perhaps---- but sikkem had nearly reached the distant wall, and, at that instant, a whistle shrilled through the building. jeff knew he was trapped. but, with a wonderful sense of detachment, mind and body worked almost electrically. his revolver spat out its vicious report. for the fraction of a second he held the smoking lamp poised in his other hand. then, like a shooting star, it flew through the adjacent window and fell extinguished amidst the crash of its own glass. it was at the complete fall of darkness that the door slammed closed, and half a dozen shots rang out through the building, followed by the "plonk" of the bullets embedding themselves in the solid logs immediately behind where the rancher had been standing. but jeff was no longer there. there had been a simultaneous clatter of falling bunk boards. there was the rustling of straw. then a sound of scrambling, and, after that, a dead silence. the darkness was complete except for the faint silhouette of the windows against the dim starlight beyond them. jeff had taken the big chance. what remained now must be met as circumstance permitted. the blood in him was fired. the savage delight of battle. he would sell the last breath in his body at the highest price he could make his enemies pay. he had walked into a trap laid by the rustlers, headed, perhaps, by sikkem bruce, with his eyes wide open, and some almost insane yearning made him glad. now he crouched down against the wall beside the table. he had flung up a barrier of straw palliasse before him. it was not as a protection against gun-fire, but to screen his movements should his opponents produce a light. then, too, there was another thought in his mind. the place became alive with sounds, voiceless, muffled sounds of cautious movement. it was the movement of men who know that death is lurking at every turn. nor could they tell whence it was most likely to come. it was a moment of tense and straining nerves wherein the wit of one man had discounted the elaborate plan to murder of those whose indifference to death only shrank from the contemplation of their own. jeff's eyes strained against the darkness. the windows stood out in silhouette. from these he had no fear. he knew, and he knew that these ruffians would know, the dangers attending themselves from any attack upon him from such a direction. the advantage would be entirely his, since he had possessed himself of sikkem's complete arsenal. he knew it was for him to await the fire of these men, every shot of which would yield him a sure target. a flash broke the blackness ahead of him. the bullet sank into the woodwork just above his head with a vicious splash. but he refrained from reply. another crack split the silence, and the wall to the left of him flung back its response. still he offered no reply. his eyes were searching, searching. and a surge of excitement suddenly thrilled him. two shots came on the same instant. one slithered hotly in the flesh of his shoulder, but the other struck wide of him. the wound gave him no concern. every sense, every faculty was concentrated on one thought, on one object. a dim, fine-drawn but uneven line of shadowy light had grown out of the darkness to his now accustomed eyes. it was vague, so vague that it required the greatest concentration to detect. but he recognized it for what it was, and a savage delight possessed him as he observed that there were breaks in its continuity. the line was waist high, and lateral, and he interpreted it to suit himself. he raised his gun and took steady aim at one of the breaks. his shot was deliberate, careful, since the sight of his weapon, even the weapon itself, remained invisible in the dark. he fired, and dropped himself prone behind his barrier. a bitter curse followed by a groan of pain was the answer to his shot. then, where that break in the shadowy line of light had been, now the line was unbroken. a fierce glee permeated him. the curse, the moan had been music to him. but it only required a second before he had the enemy's retort. it came with a fusillade. and every shot seemed to find practically the same spot on the wall. he knew that the flash of his gun had been the target. he knew he had only escaped by a fraction of time. his shoulder stung him. but his will, his savage yearning for the continuance of the fight, left him disregarding. there was more to come, and he knew it. nor did he care how much. the blood was hot in his brain. no pain, nothing mattered. again he searched along that lateral line of light. he was reaching out far beyond his retreat. he had stealthily crawled to the left of the table. again his weapon was raised against another break in that telltale line of light, this time at a point where the angle of the building must be. a moment passed while he judged his aim. it was by no means easy. instinct was his only guide. that instinct which belongs to the man accustomed to the constant use of a revolver. his shot rang out. again came a cry, inarticulate, fierce. then followed the sound of a falling body. then he let loose a second shot. but even as it sped he had his answer. four tongues of flame leaped out at him in the darkness, and four bullets smote viciously into the wood behind him. his second shot had cost him a sharp penalty. the flesh of his forearm had been ripped by one of those four bullets and he felt the trickle of warm blood over the unscored flesh. he crouched behind his barrier. the joy of battle for the highest stakes for which a man can play was undiminished in him. the wounds he had received left him all unconcerned. in the thrill of the moment he had no time for them. the desire to kill was strong, and he knew he could already count two victims. but the general in him was foremost, even in the excitement of battle. the number of his opponents, their next move. these things concerned him seriously. he searched the line of light with eager eyes. he listened to the sound of movement. these things were all he had to rely on, and on their accurate reading depended his chances of victory or defeat, with its certainty of swift death. in two places there ware still definite breaks in the line. he knew he had accounted for two of the enemy. originally a volley of six shots had come at him. there were two unaccounted for. where were these? they were not standing. he looked for no depths of subtlety in the methods of these men. he understood their ruffianism too well. therefore the sound of movement that reached him suggested the obvious result of their first failure. it was the presage of an attack at close quarters. he listened intently. the sounds were of shuffling bodies, moving uncertainly, possibly fearful of contact with obstruction which might betray them. and he calculated they were approaching low down along the side walls, thus hoping to offer the least target possible. if they reached him the chances would be all against him. they must not reach him. his decision was promptly taken. he raised one of sikkem's guns. it was heavy, and a sense of pleasure filled him as he felt the enormous bore of the muzzle with one finger. stealthily he raised himself to his full height behind his barrier. he leveled his gun at a spot just below the right hand window, where the wall rose up out of the floor. there was no obstacle intervening. a moment later the crack of the gun burst through the silence. then, on the instant, he flung himself prone across the table. his answer came like lightning. four shots. and three of them harmlessly tore their way into the bowels of the woodwork. the fourth had come from the direction in which he had aimed. a fierce spasm of pain through his chest blinded him mentally and physically for the moment. but, by an almost superhuman effort, he recovered himself. he knew he was hit, and hit badly. something seemed to have broken inside him, just under his left armpit. he forced himself to an upright position and flung out his gun arm. his eyes were again on the line of light. a fury of recklessness was urging him. there were the breaks, and he blazed at each in turn, carefully, deliberately. a moment later two shots came from the right and left of him, and he dropped down behind his barrier, but not before he had heard the death-cries of fierce blasphemy at the far end of the room. he lay behind his shelter breathing hard and suffering an agony of physical pain. the sweat poured down his forehead. it seemed to him that everything was somehow receding from him, even the sense of his own danger. in these feelings he realized how near he was to defeat, and with all his will he set himself to conquer his weakness. a few moments passed. his pain eased. then, with all the recklessness of the gambler, he prepared for his final throw. he was certain he had accounted for four of the enemy. four. he calculated there were still two remaining. he shifted his position, moving himself clear of his shelter. a hell of suffering was endured in the process, and the sweat poured out afresh upon his forehead. he gritted his teeth with superlative determination and flung back the dreadful faintness seeking to smother his powers. he raised himself to a sitting posture. he sought support from the wall behind him. then, with unbroken nerve, he raised both sikkem's guns, one in each hand. without a tremor he held them, and his aim took in the two points at which he felt the remaining foe were advancing upon him. oh, for one moment of light wherein to assure himself! but the thought passed as it came, followed by a wild, simple hope that one of his shots might find its billet. he pressed the trigger in each hand. he fired rapidly. he fired until both guns were empty. then he flung them to the ground with a clatter. for an instant he thrilled at the sound of a cry of pain, and the fierce accompanying blasphemy. then he flung himself down and crawled to his retreat behind the palliasse, convinced that the cry was in the voice of sikkem bruce. his sufferings were well-nigh unendurable. his very breathing caused him an exquisite pain. he even found himself wondering how much longer he could endure. but his work was not yet finished. if he must die he would die fighting. now, blending with fresh sounds of movement along the side walls, another sound added its threat to the quiet of the room. it came from behind the straw palliasse. there was heavy breathing, almost gasping. there was a distinct gritting of teeth. but there was also a sound of the effort which caused these things in the wounded man. there was a sharp ripping and tearing, the rustle of straw and--something else. the movements were hasty, desperately hasty. movements which suggested the defender's realization of the narrow limits of time before his powers would become completely exhausted. these things lasted a matter of seconds only. then the threat broke. the quiet was shocked into desperate action. there was the shout of human voices. there was the rush and scramble of feet. then, in the midst of the tumult, a great tongue of flame leaped up from the heart of the straw palliasse. its fierce, ruddy light revealed the faces of two men leaping to the attack of the wounded defender. they were within a yard of their goal. but even as they were closing upon him they reeled back before the new terror whose dread was overwhelming even in face of their murderous lust. the flame shot up toward the roof. jeff staggered to his feet bearing in his arms the blazing bundle. higher he raised it. higher and higher, till the devouring flame licked at the parched thatch of grass roof above. it caught in a second. the flames swept up along the rough rafters till they reached the pitch of the roof. in a moment great billows of smoke were rolling out of the dry crevices. just for one instant, before the fog closed down upon the whole interior, jeff beheld the result of his work. the men had fled toward the closed door, and, on the ground, against the far wall, he had a glimpse of five bodies lying crumpled up where his guns had laid them. suddenly a great shout reached him from without. "ho, jeff! ho, boy!" it was a deep-throated roar which drowned the hiss and crackle of the blazing straw. jeff's answer rang through the burning structure with all the power of his lungs. "the door! bust it! quick, bud! bust it, an' stand clear!" for answer there was a crash on the woodwork outside. he waited for no more. with a wild rush through the blinding, choking fog of smoke he charged down the room. with all his might he flung the blazing palliasse from his scorched hands. he had no idea of the direction in which it went. his one desire now was to reach the door as it gave under the sledge-hammer attacks of the men outside. he heard a crash and rending of woodwork. he could see nothing. he was incapable of further effort. the end had come all too soon. he staggered blindly, helplessly. his tottering limbs gave under him. suffocation gripped him by the throat. he was conscious of the rush of a figure toward him. the sound of his name shrieked in a woman's voice. then there were shots fired. he heard them. and it seemed there were many of them, and the sound was blurred, and vague, and distant from his ears. he fell. he knew he fell. for hours it seemed to him he continued to fall in an abyss of blackness that was wholly horrifying. it was a blackness peopled with hideous invisible shadows. so impenetrable was the inky void that even sound had no place in it. chapter xxvi under the veil there was no moon. only a starry sheen lit the night. a wonderful peace had descended upon the hills. the quiet was the hush of the still prairie night. teeming maybe with restless life; but it was a life invisible, and rarely audible. nevertheless the hush was merely a veil. a veil which concealed, but had no power to sweep away the garnered harvest of violent human passions. the figure of a man lay stretched upon his back on the bank of the river. his head was carefully pillowed. a covering had been spread over the upper body, as though to hide that which lay beneath, rather than yield warmth and comfort on the summer night. the covering was a coat, a woman's coat, and the owner of it sat crouching over her charge. nan stirred. she reached out and tucked the long skirts of the coat under the man's shoulders with that mother instinct at once so solicitous, so tender. she shifted her position which had become cramped with her long vigil. these were moments of darkness, literal and mental. her anxiety and dread were almost overwhelming. the waiting seemed interminable. she raised her eyes from her yearning regard of the still, bandaged head with its pale features. she sighed, as she turned them in another direction, toward an object lying beneath the shadow of a great red willow near by. it was a dark object, huddled and, like the other, quite still. a curious sort of fascination held her for some moments, then, almost reluctantly, as though impelled by the trend of her feelings, her gaze wandered in the direction whence was wafted toward her a pungent reek of burning. it was the dimly outlined skeleton of the station house, roofless and partly fallen, white-ashed and still faintly smoking. for long moments she regarded this sign of the destruction which had been wrought. nor was the sigh which escaped her wholly of regret. a deep stirring was in her heart. she was thinking of the heroic battle which the station home had witnessed. she was thinking of the desperate odds one man had faced within those four walls. she was thinking, too, of the victory which ultimately had been his. but the cost. she shuddered. and her eyes came back to the white upturned features of the man before her. she started. the man's eyes were open. tenderly she raised a hand and smoothed the cold forehead with its soft palm. tears of emotion had gathered in her eyes on the instant. but they did not overflow down her cheeks. the eyes closed again. the lids moved slowly, as though reluctant to perform their office. the girl literally held her breath. would they open again? or---- her question was answered almost on the instant. they reopened. this time even more widely. they were staring straight up at the starlit sky, quite unmoving. there was no consciousness in them, and barely life. nan waited for some long apprehensive moments. her heart was full of a wild, new-born hope. but fear held her, too. at last she moved. she withdrew herself gently but swiftly. then she stood up, a picture of dapper womanhood in the white shirt-waist and loose riding breeches which the coat spread over the man's body should have held concealed. a moment later the darkness swallowed her up as she sped down the trail which passed near by. with her going there crept into the man's vacant eyes the first real sign of life. five minutes later the girl was back at his side. but she had not returned alone. bud was with her, and together they bent over the prostrate form. the girl was kneeling. she had gently taken possession of one of the bandaged hands lying inert at the man's side. tenderly enough she held it between her own soft palms and chafed it, while her shining eyes, yielding all the secrets of her devoted heart, gazed yearningly down into his. "jeff!" she murmured, in a low, eager tone. "jeff!" there was no response. the eyes were fixed and staring. bud had less scruples in his anxious impatience. "say, that ain't no sort o' way to wake him, nan," he whispered hoarsely. then in his deep gruff voice he displayed his better understanding. "say, jeff! you ken hear me, boy. you're jest foolin'. say, hark to this. you beat 'em. you beat 'em single-handed, an' shot 'em plumb down." curiously enough there was almost instant result, and bud's satisfaction became evident. the staring eyes relaxed their regard of the starry heavens. the lids flickered, then the eyes themselves turned in the direction whence came those sonorous tones. "you ken hear?" bud's words came on the instant, and were full of triumph. then he turned to the girl who had promptly relinquished jeff's hand. "we ain't got a thing to hand him, 'cep' it's water," he said half-angrily. "we can't jest move him, not nothin', till the boys git along with the wagon, an' that blamed dope merchant gits around. what in hell ken we do?" "wait." nan's finality robbed her father of his complaint. "guess we'll hev to. say----" "yes?" "do you guess he ken talk if he feels that way?" but nan was no longer giving him any attention. all her thoughts, all her being was for the man before them. a faint tinge of color was creeping under his skin, up to the soft white wrapping fastened about his fire-scorched forehead. even in the starlight it was plainly visible to the girl's eager eyes. there was something else, too. the look in his eyes had completely changed. to nan there was something approaching the shadow of a smile. she moved close to his side so that she could reach out and give him support. then she gave the father at her side his orders. "get water, dad--quick!" she demanded. bud demurred. "i only got my hat," he said helplessly. "it'll do. but get it." bud moved away, with the heavy haste of two hundred and ten pounds of mental disturbance. the moment he had gone a faint sigh escaped the injured man. nan held her breath. would he--speak? she would give worlds to hear the sound of his voice, she had believed him dying. now a wild hope surged. if he would--could speak, it seemed to her simple logic that he must--live. "nan!" the word was distinct, but, oh, the weakness of voice. the girl thrilled. "yes, jeff. i'm here. i'm right beside you." "tell me--things." the girl's heart sank. in a flash she remembered all there was to tell. why had his first thoughts on returning life been of these--things? yet it was like him--so like him. she drew a deep breath and resorted to subterfuge. "it's as dad shouted at you just now, jeff. you beat them all--lone-handed. but you mustn't talk. don't worry about them. guess they're not worth it. you've been shot up, jeff, an' dad an' i we've just fixed you the best we know, an' the boys have gone right in for a wagon, an' a doctor. the doc's got to get in from moose creek, twenty miles away. that's what scares me." the smile in the man's eyes had deepened. "don't--get--scared, nan. i'm--not dying." the girl thrilled at the assurance in the tired voice. but the thrill passed as swiftly as it came. she knew what would follow when jeff had gathered sufficient strength. sure enough he went on presently: "i remember everything--till--i dropped," he said haltingly. "what happened--after--that? y'see--i--heard--firing." nan glanced helplessly about her. if only her father would return with the water! it might help her. she felt that she could not, could not tell him the things he was demanding of her. but again came his demand, and in the tone of it was a sound of peevish impatience. "what--happened--after--nan? i need--to know." "it all came of a rush. i can't just tell it right." the man's eyes closed again. he remained silent so long that nan's apprehensions reawakened. she even forgot her panic at his persistence. "jeff! jeff!" her call to him was almost a whisper. but the man heard. his eyes opened at once. "yes, nan?" the girl laughed a little hysterically. "i--i--was----" "you thought i----" "yes, yes. but you are--better? sure?" the man's head turned deliberately toward her. there was astonishing vigor in the movement. "ther's things broke inside me, nan," he said, in a voice that was growing stronger. "a rib, i guess. maybe it's my shoulder. the others--guess they're just nothing. now tell me--the things i asked. how did you happen to git around? start that way." a sense of relief helped the girl. he had given her an opportunity which she seized upon. "oh, jeff, it was just thanks to evie. i guess she saved your life." "how?" the girl's enthusiasm received a set-back in his tone. "she came right along over to us, and told us--everything--the moment you'd gone. we followed you just as hard as the horses could lay foot to the ground. dad an' me, and six of the boys." "what did evie do?" "she came along--too." "wher' is she?" nan made no answer. the question was repeated more sharply. "wher' is she?" "she's under that red willow--yonder." the girl's voice was low. her words were little more than a whisper. "is she--hurt?" "she's--dead." at that moment bud reappeared bearing a hat full clear river water. nan looked up. "how can we give it him?" she questioned. somehow the importance of the water had lessened in her mind. jeff answered the question himself. "i don't need it, bud," he said. then he added as an afterthought: "thanks." nan looked up at her father who stood doubtfully by. "set it down, daddy. then get right along an' look out for the doc, an' the wagon. hustle 'em along." bud obeyed unquestioningly. he felt that nan's understanding of the situation was better than any ideas of his. he set the hat down for the water to percolate through the soft felt at its leisure. then he moved on. the moment he was out of earshot jeff's voice broke the silence once more. "nan?" "yes, jeff?" "wher's the red willow? how far away?" "a few yards." "can you help me up?" the question came after a long considering pause. it came with a certain eagerness. but nan remonstrated with all her might. "no, no, jeff," she cried, in serious alarm. "you mustn't. true you mustn't. it'll kill you to move now." her appeal was quite without effect. "then i'll have to do it myself." jeff's obstinate decision was immovable, and in the end the girl was forced to give way. the sick man endured five minutes of the intensest agony in the effort required. twice he nearly fainted, but, in the end, he stood beside the somewhat huddled figure under the red willow, gasping under the excruciation of internal pains. "i can lie here, nan," he said. "will you--help me?" exerting all her strength the girl helped him to the ground. the position he had chosen was close to the still form of his dead wife. once he was safely resting again, nan breathed her relief. he looked up at her, and something like a smile was in his blue eyes. "thanks, nan. say--i'll need that coat of yours--later. will you go along--and get it?" nan moved away. she needed no second bidding. nor did she return until the man's voice summoned her. "nan!" he called. she came to him at once bearing her coat in her hands. for a second, surprise widened her eyes. he was no longer where she had left him. he had moved a few yards away. and she wondered how he had been capable of the unassisted effort. then she glanced swiftly at the dead woman. the covering over the body had been moved. she was certain. it had been replaced differently from the way she had arranged it. she offered no comment, but busied herself spreading her coat over the man's bared chest, where the rough bandages had been fastened with her father's aid. again she seated herself on the ground beside him, but now his face was turned from her. it was toward the still figure a few yards away. "tell me the rest now, nan," he said. "she did her--best--to--save me." "more than her best. say, jeff, she loved you better than life. that's why she's--there." "tell me." a new note had crept into his demand. there was a hush in his voice which gave his words a curious tenderness, reverence even for the woman they were speaking of. "guess it must have been over in a minute. oh, say, it was just the biggest, blindest, most tremendous thing. it was too awful. she was so beautiful, too. and then the love in it. i kind of shiver when i think of it. we heard your shout, jeff. evie came right along with us. she insisted. you see, i'd made her mad. i'd blamed her to her face. i--i'm sorry now. but, my, she was brave, and how she loved you! well, when bud heard your shout i guess it didn't take him more than a minute to beat in the door they'd fastened. him an' the boys. the rest took seconds. we stood clear, as you said, guessing you meant a run for it. the place was ablaze. when the door fell we saw it all. you were near it. beyond you were two men. sikkem was one. they were against the far wall, sideways from the door. they had guns in their hands. they meant finishing you anyway, whatever happened after. but there was a bundle of blazing stuff in front of them, an' it seemed to worry them quite a deal. you started for the door. they got busy to use their guns right away. then something happened. we'd forgot evie. guess we were plumb staggered. something rushed past us, into that blazing hut. it was evie, an' she managed to get between you and them just as you dropped. she fell where she stood. it was the shots they'd meant for you. then bud opened on 'em, the boys did too, and after that we dragged you and evie out. oh, jeff, she just didn't want to live without you." a great sob broke from the girl, and it found an echo deep down in the man's heart. nan buried her face in her hands, and the sound of her sobs alone broke the stillness. the man offered no comment. he made no movement. he lay there with his clear eyes gazing at the silhouette of that still dark figure against the mysterious sheen of night. his look gave no key to his thoughts or emotions. his own physical sufferings even found no expression in them. but thoughts were stirring, deep thoughts and emotions which were his alone, and would remain his alone until the end. chapter xxvii the round-up bud's great bulk blocked the window opening on to the veranda. it was his favorite vantage point in leisure. the after breakfast pipe usually found him there. his evening pipe, when the sun was dipping toward the glistening, fretted peaks of the hills, rarely found him elsewhere. it was the point from which, in a way, he was able to view the whole setting of the life that was his. the winter had come and gone, vanishing amidst the howling gales of snow and sleet which never fail to herald the approach of the open season. it is almost like the last furious onslaught of a despairing and defeated foe. now the world was abeat with swift pulsations in fibre and nerve. the wide valley of rainbow hill was stirring with the vigor of renewed life. man, beast, fowl, foliage. it was the same. spring was in the blood. spring was in the sap. and all the world was fresh and ready for the call of the coming year. the spring round-up was in full swing with all its ceaseless toil for the ranching world. already the pastures were crowded with stock brought in from distant valleys and grazings. numberless calves answered their mothers' calls, and hung to their sides in panic at the commotion in the midst of which they found themselves. already hundreds of them had endured the terrors of the searing irons which left them indelibly marked as the property of the great obar ranch, while hundreds more were awaiting the same process. and the irons and forges were kept going all day. just as was the largely augmented band of cattlemen. in ones and twos these hardy ruffians, many of them "toughs" who worked at no other time of the year, scoured every hill, and valley, and plain, however remote in the vast region. theirs it was to locate the strays to whatever ranch they belonged, and bring them in to home pastures. the sorting would be made after and the distribution. for the whole of the round-up was a commonwealth amongst the growers, and each and everybody was called upon to do his adequate share in the work. bud was glad. nor was it without good reason. the busy life was the life he lived for. and the busy life had been made possible and complete by the events of the previous summer. he was physically weary and yearning for the supper which was still awaiting nan's return. but if he were physically tired the feeling did not extend beyond his muscles. his thoughts were busy as his eyes gazed out upon the scenes of life and movement which were going on. just now he was thinking of the girl, impatient at the delay of her return from the pastures, where she was superintending the sorting for the morrow's branding. thinking of her quickly carried him to thoughts of his partner and friend, and thus, by degrees, his mind went back to the events of the last summer which had left the present operations free from the threat which had then overshadowed all their efforts. it had been a bad time, a bad time for them all. but for jeff--ah, it had been touch and go. how near, perhaps, it was only now, after long months had passed, and a proper perspective had been obtained, that the full extent of his narrow escape could be estimated. it had been christmas before jeff was completely out of the hands of the surgeon they had had to obtain from calthorpe. for three months of that time he had hovered between life and death. nor had his trouble been confined solely to his physical hurts. no, these had been sore: they had been grievous in the extreme. three times wounded, and his face, and hands, and arms badly burned. but half of his trouble had been the mental sufferings he had endured as a result of his marriage, and the final tragedy of evie's death. now, as bud looked back on that time, two things stood out beyond all the rest. it was the desperate courage--even madness he called it--of jeff, and the superlative devotion of nan. he had by no means understood all that jeff had achieved at the moment of his rescue. it was not till long after, by a process of close questioning, that the magnitude of it became plain. then the marvel of it dawned on him. the courage, the madness of it. jeff had rid the district of the whole gang of rustlers single-handed. he had shot five of them to death, and the last two had fallen victims to his own, bud's, gun after they had been wounded by jeff. then had followed that period when nan had stepped into the picture. with pride, and a great satisfaction, he remembered her weeks and months of devotion to the injured man. her sleepless, tireless watch. her skill and patient tenderness. these things had been colossal. to him it had been a vision of a mother's tender care for an ailing child. and the thought of it now stirred him to a touch of bitterness in his feelings toward his partner and friend. to bud there could only be one possible end to such a wealth of devotion as his little nan had displayed, but it seemed that all his ideas on the subject must be wrong. to his uncomprehending mind they seemed no nearer to each other than in the days before a mad passion had seized upon jeff for the woman he had married. bud was very human. his patience had its limits, and just now they seemed to have been reached. he admitted this to himself frankly. he told himself he had "no durned patience with the bunch." and the bunch included both nan and jeff. he felt that nan, too, must be to blame in some way. he had "no durned patience with the bunch." therein lay the key-note of his mixed feelings. here everything was prospering but the one thing above all others upon which he had set his heart. he felt as though he must "butt in" and put matters right himself. how, he did not attempt to suggest. but he felt that if he did not do so, or something or other did not occur to precipitate matters, the "whole durned shootin' match was li'ble to peter." this was how he saw things. this was how he felt, as he awaited nan's return from the pastures. she came at last. she rode up and passed her weary horse to a barn-hand who promptly waited upon her. she was covered with dust to her waist. her top-boots were white with it. but her cheeks were as fresh as peach bloom, and her soft eyes shone with all a ranchman's enthusiasm at the most exhilarating period of the year. "one hundred an' forty-two young obars to-day, my daddy," she cried out exuberantly. "ther' don't seem any end to last year's crop. say, jeff's just crazy to death about things." "he surely is." the old man's reply was tinged by a reflection of his thoughts. but his eyes lit nevertheless. nan regarded him seriously. "most men get a grouch when they're kept waiting food," she observed slily. "say, come right in an' you'll soon feel the world's a mighty good place to live in." instantly bud's humor improved. "guess you do your best to make it that way." the girl laughed as she led the way in. "that surely is a pretty nice talk, my daddy. guess i'll take advantage of it, an' keep you waiting another three minutes while i get rid of the dust." her father nodded. "jeff comin' up?" he inquired. the girl shook her head. for a moment the smiling eyes were hidden beneath their lids. "not for supper. he's gone on to the branding 'pinch.'" she was gone before her father could reply, and he was left to his own reflections, which were still further inspired by impatience. well enough he knew the arduous nature of the work. had he not been at it himself since the first streak of dawn? but he felt that jeff was going beyond the bounds of necessity. even beyond the bounds of reason. however, he was not given much time to nurse any imaginary grievance. for nan reappeared after a surprisingly short interval, and the transformation she had achieved was not a little startling. her dusty riding suit had given place to a pretty house frock of some softly clinging material which restored to her at once the charm of her essential femininity. the pretty brown of her eyes, and the wavy softness of her hair became indescribably charming in such a setting. bud regarded her with warm approval, and his spirits rose. "jeff's coming right up after he's eaten," she said, as they look their places at the table. "he's getting the food he needs at the bunkhouse. he guesses he hasn't time to get supper right." "ah." the announcement gave bud more pleasure than his monosyllable admitted. his eyes once more took in the picture nan made as she sat behind the steaming coffee urn at the head of the table. and somehow the change she had made became less startling. the meal was the customary ranch supper. the table was simply loaded with cold meats, and sweets, and cakes of varied description. the fare was homely but plentiful, and, to these simple-living people, it was all that was required. bud helped himself liberally, while nan poured out the fragrant coffee. "we ought to be through in a week now," nan said, passing a heavy china cup of coffee across to her father. "jeff figures we're well up on average in spite of the stock we lost last summer. it's pretty good to think--after that time. say, daddy, we owe jeff a pretty big thing." the old man looked up with a smile. "guess the owin' ain't all with us," he said, with his mouth full. nan paused in the act of sipping her coffee. her eyes were full of incredulity. "i don't understand, daddy," she said frankly. "we owe more to jeff than ever. much more. he came pretty near handing over his poor life so the obar might prosper. he cleared out that gang who would have done the obar to death. a man can't give more to--his friends." bud remained unconvinced. he shook his great head and his smile deepened to a twinkle of real amusement. "that's so," he said. "but he didn't just give that poor life of his. i allow he was ready to because--because, wal, i guess he's built in a right fashion. we owed him for that sure. but i 'low he's been paid in a way it don't fall to every feller's lot to git paid. you paid that score for us both, an' if ther's any debt left over to be paid, why i guess i'm ready to pay it." he chuckled. "you know, nan, woman's a ticklish proposition. ther's wise highbrows guess they handed out all ther' is to say 'bout women-folk, an' i figger some has used elegant langwidge, an' made pretty talk. but they ain't said it all, an' ain't never likely to ef they was to yarn the whole way from here to hell an' back. i'm gettin' older most every day, an' maybe i oughter git wiser. but ef i was to live till the great round-up i don't guess i'd ever learn the limits of a woman's self-sacrifice fer them she takes the notion to mother. an' it don't matter if it's her own folk, or her beau, or her man, or some pestilential kid she's rescued from drownin' in a churn of cream she's jest fixed ready fer butter makin'. wot jeff don't owe you fer haulin' him right back into the midst of life, why i guess you couldn't find with one of them things crazy highbrows wastes otherwise valuable lives in lookin' at bugs with." nan laughed, but her denial came swiftly. "jeff doesn't owe me a thing," she declared. "the wasn't a soul else around to nurse him. i'd have hated handing him on to you." then she sighed, but her eyes shone with a light which her father well enough understood. "i--i needed to nurse him. if i hadn't been able to, why, i think i'd have just died. but he don't owe me a thing--not a thing." bud took a great gulp of coffee and set his cup down with a clatter. his deep gurgling laugh was good to hear. "that ain't no argyment," he cried, his deep eyes twinkling. "you've jest said the things i hadn't savvee to put into words right. woman's jest a sort of angel come right down from heaven on a snowflake. she sure is. ther' ain't no reason to her. set her around a sick bed with physic she ken hand on to the feller lyin' there, an' ther' ain't no limit to wot she can do. it's a passion. you can't blame her. she's fixed that way. she'll just nurse that feller in a way that makes him feel he wants to start right in trundlin' a wooden hoop, or blowin' a painted trumpet, hanging on to her hand, same as he did before he quit actin' foolish on his mother's lap. it kind o' seems to me a mortal wonder women don't set their men-folk actin' queer settin' aside a railroad track guessin' they're advertisements fer a new hair-wash, or some other fancy dope. i guess women is the greatest proposition ever step out o' the garden of eden--someways." nan laughed happily. "that's spoiled it, daddy," she cried. "why not leave it at the garden of eden?" bud laughingly shook his head. "why for should i?" he retorted. "if they're angels they ain't all halo an' wings. anyway, she did step out o' the garden. an' though the committee ast her to vacate, i allow it was a mighty good thing fer the human race, or we'd all be eatin' grass still, or some other perfectly ridiculous cattle feed. no siree! she ain't all halo an' wings, or us men 'ud be settin' around all the time shoutin' hymns doleful instead of enjoyin' ourselves lyin' awake at nights figgerin' to beat the other feller's play. woman's jest woman, an' the diff'rences in her is just what a mighty tough world makes of her. maybe she's foolish. maybe she ain't. anyway, she's got most things agin her to make her that way, an' it seems to me a yeller dawg don't have much the worst of the game. no. i guess woman's jest woman, an' us men needs to git right on our knees and thank providence that is so." bud reattacked his supper. there had been impatience as well as amiability in his denial. for all his regard for his partner he could not allow nan her absurd self-effacement without protest. none knew better than he the extent of his debt to jeff for ridding the obar of the rustlers. but jeff, he also knew, owed his life to the devotion, the skill, the love of this girl upon whom he had no claim. he remained silent now, lost in thoughts he dared not impart to nan, and the girl herself had nothing to say. she, too, was thinking. but there was no impatience in her thoughts. she was thinking of a moment which had occurred down at the pastures. a moment just before her return home to supper. to her it had been a moment of compensation for everything which she had ever suffered, a moment when the whole aspect of her life had been suddenly changed to a radiant vision of happiness. she had been standing beside jeff watching the work of the boys within the pastures. their talk had all been of the business of the day. there had been no other sign between them. the old comradeship alone seemed to prevail. then they had turned away, with their talk silenced. they had moved toward their horses which were standing in the shadow of a small bluff. just as they came up jeff had paused, and turned, and looked down at her from his superior height. she would never forget that look. it was the look she had seen in his eyes when he first gazed on the beauty of the woman he had married. her heart was set thumping in her bosom as she thought of it now. a deep flush surged to her cheeks, and she kept her head studiously bent over her plate. then had followed a great impulsive abandoning of his usual reserve. it had been so unusual in him, but to nan so natural. it seemed as though of a sudden some great barrier between them had been thrust aside by emotions beyond the man's control. he had flung out his hands toward her, and, before she knew what was happening, she felt their passionate pressure under the buckskin gauntlets she was wearing. then had come words, rapid, even disjointed; again to her so natural, yet strange, awkward on the lips of this man. "say, little nan," he cried, "we've won out. look at 'em. the pastures. they're full. fuller than we ever guessed they'd be after last year. things are running same as we've dreamed. the obar's going up--up. and--it's all too late." on the warm impulse of the moment she had answered him without a second thought. "why--why is it too late?" her hands were still held in his passionate grasp. he laughed a bitter, mirthless laugh. "why, because--because i've wakened out of a passionate nightmare to realize all i've--lost." she had abruptly withdrawn her hands. she remembered the curious chill which suddenly seemed to pass through her body. but she answered him simply, earnestly. "you mustn't blame yourself for all you've lost, jeff," she said. "maybe evie loved you better than you knew. but she--she, too, was to blame. you must try to forget." then had happened something so startling that even now she could hardly credit it. jeff had turned away. his face was toward the hills where the setting sun still lit the fastnesses in which lay the fateful spruce crossing. his words came shortly, simply. "i wasn't thinking of--evie," he said. "the memory of her, of all that, has gone--forever." oh, the bewilderment of that moment. nan remembered the absurdity of her reply now with something very like panic: "who--what--were you thinking of then?" "who--what?" the man's eyes lit with a deep, passionate yearning. "why, little nan, the only person who is ever in my thoughts now--you." it had come so simply yet so full of scarcely restrained passion. would she ever forget? never, never. her emotions had been beyond words. she wanted to weep. she wanted to laugh. but more than all she wanted to flee before he could utter another word. she turned to her horse without a word. in a moment she was in the saddle, and had turned the creature about to ride off. but jeff's voice stayed her. "say, little nan, i----" he broke off. "oh, i guess i'll eat at the bunkhouse. i haven't time for supper right. i've got to get down to the branding pinch. say, nan," a sudden deep urging had filled his voice, and he came to her horse's side and laid a detaining hand upon its reins. "can i come along up--later? i didn't mean to make you mad. true. i couldn't help it. i---- may i come along--after i get through?" it had been utterly impossible for her to make articulate reply. her emotions were too deep, too overwhelming. she had simply nodded her head. and in that trifling movement she knew she had conveyed a sign beyond all misunderstanding. after that the woman had impelled her. she hurriedly rode off, fearing she knew not what. she knew she fled, incontinently fled. and her first act on arrival home had been to rid herself of the almost mannish suit in which she worked, so that jeff, when he made his appearance, might find her the woman she really was. the voices of the men on the veranda reached nan within the parlor. she did not want to listen. she told herself so. besides, she had a perfect right to remain where she was. and, anyway, bud had no secrets from her. so she placed herself beyond the chance of observation, and remained quiet lest she should lose a word of what the voices were saying. bud was talking. his tone and words rumbled pleasantly upon the evening air. his talk was of the round-up. it was the talk of a man wedded to the life of the western plains. it was the talk of a man who is conscious of success achieved in spite of great difficulties and trials. there was a deep note of satisfaction in all he said. jeff's voice sounded at intervals. a lighter note. his answers were precise, as was his way. but they lacked the enthusiasm of the other. it was as though his thoughts were traveling far afield, while his ears subconsciously conveyed the other's talk to a brain ready to formulate adequate reply. apparently, however, this abstraction impressed itself upon the other at last, for presently nan heard her father challenge him in his direct fashion. "feelin' beat, eh?" nan pictured the steady gaze of her father's deep-set inquiring eyes as he put the question. "no." the reply came without hesitation. it was simple, definite. again the picture presented itself to nan. jeff, she felt, was gazing out into the twilight, absorbed in the thoughts which held him. she knew the attitude. she had seen it so often before. it was bud's voice which broke the silence that followed. "guess the work's pretty tough," he said. "you don't need to fergit you bin a mighty sick man. if you do, why, you'll be li'ble to find yourself on nan's hands again." "i couldn't wish for better." the reply had come on the instant. it must have warned even bud that he had found a key to the man's abstraction. "that's so--sure." the emphasis was unmistakable. nan waited almost breathlessly in a delicious condition of apprehension. "wher's nan?" jeff's demand came sharply. "som'eres around inside." "i came up to see her." "so?" "yes." the lowing of the cattle in the pastures was dying with the deepening twilight. the calves seemed to have found their mothers and all was contentment. nan glad of the growing shadows. for her, obscurity the only thing just now. jeff's voice again broke the silence. there was something utterly simple in the manner of his words. "i love nan, bud," he said. "i want to tell her so. if she'd marry me, i don't guess there'd be a thing left worth asking for. but i don't guess she will. why should she? i'm not worth her. gee! but i want her bad." nan buried her face in her hands. then she drew back, back, far into the dusk of the room. but she could not escape the voices. bud's answer came slowly, deliberately. there was a curious note of emotion in it. "you sure aren't. no man is. ther' ain't a feller on earth worthy my little nan. but it's up to her. guess she's around inside som'eres." there was the sound of swift footsteps on the veranda. nan drew further back into the room. the far wall alone stayed her progress. the door was to her hand, but she made no attempt to avail herself of it. oh, those delicious moments of terror. it seemed to her as if every joy of life was concentrated in them. her breath came pantingly. the moments became insupportable. suddenly a figure, tall, slim, filled the open window. swift as a flash the mind of the girl went back to the long months of nursing when he had lain helpless in her hands. he had been hers then in his helplessness. now, in his full manhood's strength, he was coming to her again. a choking sensation seized her, a mist grew before her eyes. "nan!" the tone of it the softness. the thrilling passion. "yes, jeff." the answer was low, almost inaudible. nor did the man have to search the darkened room. the love which he had for so long thrust aside was--waiting for him. team editorial note: randy adams, the author of this book, wrote from first-hand experience. as a young man he spent years traildriving cattle from texas to markets in the 's and 's. project gutenberg's library contains several of his other books. reed anthony, cowman an autobiography by andy adams [illustration: the cowman] to captain john t. lytle secretary of the texas cattle raisers' association fort worth, texas contents i. in retrospect ii. my apprenticeship iii. a second trip to port sumner iv. a fatal trip v. summer of ' vi. sowing wild oats vii. "the angel" viii. the "lazy l" ix. the school of experience x. the panic of ' xi. a prosperous year xii. clear fork and shenandoah xiii. the centennial year xiv. establishing a new ranch xv. harvest home xvi. an active summer xvii. foreshadows xviii. the beginning of the boom xix. the cheyenne and arapahoe cattle company xx. holding the fort xxi. the fruits of conspiracy xxii. in conclusion chapter i in retrospect i can truthfully say that my entire life has been spent with cattle. even during my four years' service in the confederate army, the greater portion was spent with the commissary department, in charge of its beef supplies. i was wounded early in the second year of the war and disabled as a soldier, but rather than remain at home i accepted a menial position under a quartermaster. those were strenuous times. during lee's invasion of pennsylvania we followed in the wake of the army with over a thousand cattle, and after gettysburg we led the retreat with double that number. near the close of the war we frequently had no cattle to hold, and i became little more than a camp-follower. i was born in the shenandoah valley, northern virginia, may , . my father was a thrifty planter and stockman, owned a few slaves, and as early as i can remember fed cattle every winter for the eastern markets. grandfather anthony, who died before i was born, was a scotchman who had emigrated to the old dominion at an early day, and acquired several large tracts of land on an affluent of the shenandoah. on my paternal side i never knew any of my ancestors, but have good cause to believe they were adventurers. my mother's maiden name was reed; she was of a gentle family, who were able to trace their forbears beyond the colonial days, even to the gentry of england. generations of good birth were reflected in my mother; and across a rough and eventful life i can distinctly remember the refinement of her manners, her courtesy to guests, her kindness to child and slave. my boyhood days were happy ones. i attended a subscription school several miles from home, riding back and forth on a pony. the studies were elementary, and though i never distinguished myself in my classes, i was always ready to race my pony, and never refused to play truant when the swimming was good. evidently my father never intended any of his boys for a professional career, though it was an earnest hope of my mother that all of us should receive a college education. my elder brother and i early developed business instincts, buying calves and accompanying our father on his trading expeditions. once during a vacation, when we were about twelve and ten years old, both of us crossed the mountains with him into what is now west virginia, where he bought about two hundred young steers and drove them back to our home in the valley. i must have been blessed with an unfailing memory; over fifty years have passed since that, my first trip from home, yet i remember it vividly--can recall conversations between my father and the sellers as they haggled over the cattle. i remember the money, gold and silver, with which to pay for the steers, was carried by my father in ordinary saddle-bags thrown across his saddle. as occasion demanded, frequently the funds were carried by a negro man of ours, and at night, when among acquaintances, the heavy saddle-bags were thrown into a corner, every one aware of their contents. but the great event of my boyhood was a trip to baltimore. there was no railroad at the time, and as that was our market for fat cattle, it was necessary to drive the entire way. my father had made the trip yearly since i could remember, the distance being nearly two hundred miles, and generally carrying as many as one hundred and fifty big beeves. they traveled slowly, pasturing or feeding grain on the way, in order that the cattle should arrive at the market in salable condition. one horse was allowed with the herd, and on another my father rode, far in advance, to engage pasture or feed and shelter for his men. when on the road a boy always led a gentle ox in the lead of the beeves; negro men walked on either flank, and the horseman brought up the rear. i used to envy the boy leading the ox, even though he was a darky. the negro boys on our plantation always pleaded with "mars" john, my father, for the privilege; and when one of them had made the trip to baltimore as a toll boy he easily outranked us younger whites. i must have made application for the position when i was about seven years old, for it seemed an age before my request was granted. my brother, only two years older than i, had made the trip twice, and when i was twelve the great opportunity came. my father had nearly two hundred cattle to go to market that year, and the start was made one morning early in june. i can distinctly see my mother standing on the veranda of our home as i led the herd by with a big red ox, trembling with fear that at the final moment her permission might be withdrawn and that i should have to remain behind. but she never interfered with my father, who took great pains to teach his boys everything practical in the cattle business. it took us twenty days to reach baltimore. we always started early in the morning, allowing the beeves to graze and rest along the road, and securing good pastures for them at night. several times it rained, making the road soft, but i stripped off my shoes and took it barefooted through the mud. the lead ox was a fine, big fellow, each horn tipped with a brass knob, and he and i set the pace, which was scarcely that of a snail. the days were long, i grew desperately hungry between meals, and the novelty of leading that ox soon lost its romance. but i was determined not to show that i was tired or hungry, and frequently, when my father was with us and offered to take me up behind him on his horse, i spurned his offer and trudged on till the end of the day. the mere driving of the beeves would have been monotonous, but the constant change of scene kept us in good spirits, and our darkies always crooned old songs when the road passed through woodlands. after the beeves were marketed we spent a day in the city, and my father took my brother and me to the theatre. although the world was unfolding rather rapidly for a country boy of twelve, it was with difficulty that i was made to understand that what we had witnessed on the stage was but mimicry. the third day after reaching the city we started on our return. the proceeds from the sale of the cattle were sent home by boat. with only two horses, each of which carried double, and walking turn about, we reached home in seven days, settling all bills on the way. that year was a type of others until i was eighteen, at which age i could guess within twenty pounds of the weight of any beef on foot, and when i bought calves and yearling steers i knew just what kind of cattle they would make at maturity. in the mean time, one summer my father had gone west as far as the state of missouri, traveling by boat to jefferson city, and thence inland on horseback. several of our neighbors had accompanied him, all of them buying land, my father securing four sections. i had younger brothers growing up, and the year my oldest brother attained his majority my father outfitted him with teams, wagons, and two trusty negro men, and we started for the nearest point on the ohio river, our destination being the new lands in the west. we embarked on the first boat, drifting down the ohio, and up the other rivers, reaching the ultima thule of our hopes within a month. the land was new; i liked it; we lived on venison and wild turkeys, and when once we had built a log house and opened a few fields, we were at peace with the earth. but this happy existence was of short duration. rumors of war reached us in our western elysium, and i turned my face homeward, as did many another son of virginia. my brother was sensible enough to remain behind on the new farm; but with nothing to restrain me i soon found myself in st. louis. there i met kindred spirits, eager for the coming fray, and before attaining my majority i was bearing arms and wearing the gray of the confederacy. my regiment saw very little service during the first year of the war, as it was stationed in the western division, but early in it was engaged in numerous actions. i shall never forget my first glimpse of the texas cavalry. we had moved out from corinth, under cover of darkness, to attack grant at pittsburg landing. when day broke, orders were given to open out and allow the cavalry to pass ahead and reconnoitre our front. i had always felt proud of virginian horsemanship, but those texans were in a class by themselves. centaur-like they sat their horses, and for our amusement, while passing at full gallop, swung from their saddles and picked up hats and handkerchiefs. there was something about the texans that fascinated me, and that sunday morning i resolved, if spared, to make texas my future home. i have good cause to remember the battle of shiloh, for during the second day i was twice wounded, yet saved from falling into the enemy's hands. my recovery was due to youth and a splendid constitution. within six weeks i was invalided home, and inside a few months i was assigned to the commissary department with the army in virginia. it was while in the latter service that i made the acquaintance of many texans, from whom i learned a great deal about the resources of their state,--its immense herds of cattle, the cheapness of its lands, and its perpetual summer. during the last year of the war, on account of their ability to handle cattle, a number of texans were detailed to care for the army's beef supply. from these men i received much information and a pressing invitation to accompany them home, and after the parole at appomattox i took their address, promising to join them in the near future. on my return to the old homestead i found the place desolate, with burnt barns and fields laid waste. the shenandoah valley had experienced war in its dread reality, for on every hand were the charred remains of once splendid homes. i had little hope that the country would ever recover, but my father, stout-hearted as ever, had already begun anew, and after helping him that summer and fall i again drifted west to my brother's farm. the war had developed a restless, vagabond spirit in me. i had little heart to work, was unsettled as to my future, and, to add to my other troubles, after reaching missouri one of my wounds reopened. in the mean time my brother had married, and had a fine farm opened up. he offered me every encouragement and assistance to settle down to the life of a farmer; but i was impatient, worthless, undergoing a formative period of early manhood, even spurning the advice of father, mother, and dearest friends. if to-day, across the lapse of years, the question were asked what led me from the bondage of my discontent, it would remain unanswered. possibly it was the advantage of good birth; surely the prayers of a mother had always followed me, and my feet were finally led into the paths of industry. since that day of uncertainty, grandsons have sat upon my knee, clamoring for a story about indians, the war, or cattle trails. if i were to assign a motive for thus leaving a tangible record of my life, it would be that my posterity--not the present generation, absorbed in its greed of gain, but a more distant and a saner one--should be enabled to glean a faint idea of one of their forbears. a worthy and secondary motive is to give an idea of the old west and to preserve from oblivion a rapidly vanishing type of pioneers. my personal appearance can be of little interest to coming generations, but rather what i felt, saw, and accomplished. it was always a matter of regret to me that i was such a poor shot with a pistol. the only two exceptions worthy of mention were mere accidents. in my boyhood's home, in virginia, my father killed yearly a large number of hogs for the household needs as well as for supplying our slave families with bacon. the hogs usually ran in the woods, feeding and thriving on the mast, but before killing time we always baited them into the fields and finished their fattening with peas and corn. it was customary to wait until the beginning of winter, or about the second cold spell, to butcher, and at the time in question there were about fifty large hogs to kill. it was a gala event with us boys, the oldest of whom were allowed to shoot one or more with a rifle. the hogs had been tolled into a small field for the killing, and towards the close of the day a number of them, having been wounded and requiring a second or third shot, became cross. these subsequent shots were usually delivered from a six-shooter, and in order to have it at hand in case of a miss i was intrusted with carrying the pistol. there was one heavy-tusked five-year-old stag among the hogs that year who refused to present his head for a target, and took refuge in a brier thicket. he was left until the last, when we all sallied out to make the final kill. there were two rifles, and had the chance come to my father, i think he would have killed him easily; but the opportunity came to a neighbor, who overshot, merely causing a slight wound. the next instant the stag charged at me from the cover of the thickety fence corner. not having sense enough to take to the nearest protection, i turned and ran like a scared wolf across the field, the hog following me like a hound. my father risked a running shot, which missed its target. the darkies were yelling, "run, chile! run, mars' reed! shoot! shoot!" when it occurred to me that i had a pistol; and pointing it backward as i ran, i blazed away, killing the big fellow in his tracks. the other occasion was years afterward, when i was a trail foreman at abilene, kansas. my herd had arrived at that market in bad condition, gaunted from almost constant stampedes at night, and i had gone into camp some distance from town to quiet and recuperate them. that day i was sending home about half my men, had taken them to the depot with our wagon, and intended hauling back a load of supplies to my camp. after seeing the boys off i hastened about my other business, and near the middle of the afternoon started out of town. the distance to camp was nearly twenty miles, and with a heavy load, principally salt, i knew it would be after nightfall when i reached there. about five miles out of town there was a long, gradual slope to climb, and i had to give the through team their time in pulling to its summit. near the divide was a small box house, the only one on the road if i remember rightly, and as i was nearing it, four or five dogs ran out and scared my team. i managed to hold them in the road, but they refused to quiet down, kicking, rearing, and plunging in spite of their load; and once as they jerked me forward, i noticed there was a dog or two under the wagon, nipping at their heels. there was a six-shooter lying on the seat beside me, and reaching forward i fired it downward over the end gate of the wagon. by the merest accident i hit a dog, who raised a cry, and the last i saw of him he was spinning like a top and howling like a wolf. i quieted the team as soon as possible, and as i looked back, there was a man and woman pursuing me, the latter in the lead. i had gumption enough to know that they were the owners of the dog, and whipped up the horses in the hope of getting away from them. but the grade and the load were against me, and the next thing i knew, a big, bony woman, with fire in her eye, was reaching for me. the wagon wheel warded her off, and i leaned out of her reach to the far side, yet she kept abreast of me, constantly calling for her husband to hurry up. i was pouring the whip into the horses, fearful lest she would climb into the wagon, when the hub of the front wheel struck her on the knee, knocking her down. i was then nearing the summit of the divide, and on reaching it, i looked back and saw the big woman giving her husband the pommeling that was intended for me. she was altogether too near me yet, and i shook the lines over the horses, firing a few shots to frighten them, and we tore down the farther slope like a fire engine. there are two events in my life that this chronicle will not fully record. one of them is my courtship and marriage, and the other my connection with a government contract with the indian department. otherwise my life shall be as an open book, not only for my own posterity, but that he who runs may read. it has been a matter of observation with me that a plain man like myself scarcely ever refers to his love affairs. at my time of life, now nearing my alloted span, i have little sympathy with the great mass of fiction which exploits the world-old passion. in no sense of the word am i a well-read man, yet i am conscious of the fact that during my younger days the love story interested me; but when compared with the real thing, the transcript is usually a poor one. my wife and i have now walked up and down the paths of life for over thirty-five years, and, if memory serves me right, neither one of us has ever mentioned the idea of getting a divorce. in youth we shared our crust together; children soon blessed and brightened our humble home, and to-day, surrounded by every comfort that riches can bestow, no achievement in life has given me such great pleasure, i know no music so sweet, as the prattle of my own grandchildren. therefore that feature of my life is sacred, and will not be disclosed in these pages. i would omit entirely mention of the indian contract, were it not that old friends may read this, my biography, and wonder at the omission. i have no apologies to offer for my connection with the transaction, as its true nature was concealed from me in the beginning, and a scandal would have resulted had i betrayed friends. then again, before general amnesty was proclaimed i was debarred from bidding on the many rich government contracts for cattle because i had served in the confederate army. smarting under this injustice at the time the indian contract was awarded, i question if i was thoroughly _reconstructed._ before our disabilities were removed, we ex-confederates could do all the work, run all the risk, turn in all the cattle in filling the outstanding contracts, but the middleman got the profits. the contract in question was a blanket one, requiring about fifty thousand cows for delivery at some twenty indian agencies. the use of my name was all that was required of me, as i was the only cowman in the entire ring. my duty was to bid on the contract; the bonds would be furnished by my partners, of which i must have had a dozen. the proposals called for sealed bids, in the usual form, to be in the hands of the department of the interior before noon on a certain day, marked so and so, and to be opened at high noon a week later. the contract was a large one, the competition was ample. several other texas drovers besides myself had submitted bids; but they stood no show--_i had been furnished the figures of every competitor._ the ramifications of the ring of which i was the mere figure-head can be readily imagined. i sublet the contract to the next lowest bidder, who delivered the cattle, and we got a rake-off of a clean hundred thousand dollars. even then there was little in the transaction for me, as it required too many people to handle it, and none of them stood behind the door at the final "divvy." in a single year i have since cleared twenty times what my interest amounted to in that contract and have done honorably by my fellowmen. that was my first, last, and only connection with a transaction that would need deodorizing if one described the details. but i have seen life, have been witness to its poetry and pathos, have drunk from the cup of sorrow and rejoiced as a strong man to run a race. i have danced all night where wealth and beauty mingled, and again under the stars on a battlefield i have helped carry a stretcher when the wails of the wounded on every hand were like the despairing cries of lost souls. i have seen an old demented man walking the streets of a city, picking up every scrap of paper and scanning it carefully to see if a certain ship had arrived at port--a ship which had been lost at sea over forty years before, and aboard of which were his wife and children. i was once under the necessity of making a payment of twenty-five thousand dollars in silver at an indian village. there were no means of transportation, and i was forced to carry the specie in on eight pack mules. the distance was nearly two hundred miles, and as we neared the encampment we were under the necessity of crossing a shallow river. it was summer-time, and as we halted the tired mules to loosen the lash ropes, in order to allow them to drink, a number of indian children of both sexes, who were bathing in the river, gathered naked on either embankment in bewilderment at such strange intruders. in the innocence of these children of the wild there was no doubt inspiration for a poet; but our mission was a commercial one, and we relashed the mules and hurried into the village with the rent money. i have never kept a diary. one might wonder that the human mind could contain such a mass of incident and experiences as has been my portion, yet i can remember the day and date of occurrences of fifty years ago. the scoldings of my father, the kind words of an indulgent mother, when not over five years of age, are vivid in my memory as i write to-day. it may seem presumptuous, but i can give the year and date of starting, arrival, and delivery of over one hundred herds of cattle which i drove over the trail as a common hand, foreman, or owner. yet the warnings of years--the unsteady step, easily embarrassed, love of home and dread of leaving it--bid me hasten these memoirs. even my old wounds act as a barometer in foretelling the coming of storms, as well as the change of season, from both of which i am comfortably sheltered. but as i look into the inquiring eyes of a circle of grandchildren, all anxious to know my life story, it seems to sweeten the task, and i am encouraged to go on with the work. chapter ii my apprenticeship during the winter of - i corresponded with several of my old comrades in texas. beyond a welcome which could not be questioned, little encouragement was, with one exception, offered me among my old friends. it was a period of uncertainty throughout the south, yet a cheerful word reached me from an old soldier crony living some distance west of fort worth on the brazos river. i had great confidence in my former comrade, and he held out a hope, assuring me that if i would come, in case nothing else offered, we could take his ox teams the next winter and bring in a cargo of buffalo robes. the plains to the westward of fort griffin, he wrote, were swarming with buffalo, and wages could be made in killing them for their hides. this caught my fancy and i was impatient to start at once; but the healing of my reopened wound was slow, and it was march before i started. my brother gave me a good horse and saddle, twenty-five dollars in gold, and i started through a country unknown to me personally. southern missouri had been in sympathy with the confederacy, and whatever i needed while traveling through that section was mine for the asking. i avoided the indian territory until i reached fort smith, where i rested several days with an old comrade, who gave me instructions and routed me across the reservation of the choctaw indians, and i reached paris, texas, without mishap. i remember the feeling that i experienced while being ferried across red river. that watercourse was the northern boundary of texas, and while crossing it i realized that i was leaving home and friends and entering a country the very name of which to the outside world was a synonym for crime and outlawry. yet some of as good men as ever it was my pleasure to know came from that state, and undaunted i held a true course for my destination. i was disappointed on seeing fort worth, a straggling village on the trinity river, and, merely halting to feed my mount, passed on. i had a splendid horse and averaged thirty to forty miles a day when traveling, and early in april reached the home of my friend in paolo pinto county. the primitive valley of the brazos was enchanting, and the hospitality of the edwards ranch was typical of my own virginia. george edwards, my crony, was a year my junior, a native of the state, his parents having moved west from mississippi the year after texas won her independence from mexico. the elder edwards had moved to his present home some fifteen years previous, carrying with him a stock of horses and cattle, which had increased until in he was regarded as one of the substantial ranchmen in the brazos valley. the ranch house was a stanch one, built at a time when defense was to be considered as well as comfort, and was surrounded by fine cornfields. the only drawback i could see there was that there was no market for anything, nor was there any money in the country. the consumption of such a ranch made no impression on the increase of its herds, which grew to maturity with no demand for the surplus. i soon became impatient to do something. george edwards had likewise lost four years in the army, and was as restless as myself. he knew the country, but the only employment in sight for us was as teamsters with outfits, freighting government supplies to fort griffin. i should have jumped at the chance of driving oxen, for i was anxious to stay in the country, and suggested to george that we ride up to griffin. but the family interposed, assuring us that there was no occasion for engaging in such menial work, and we folded our arms obediently, or rode the range under the pretense of looking after the cattle. i might as well admit right here that my anxiety to get away from the edwards ranch was fostered by the presence of several sisters of my former comrade. miss gertrude was only four years my junior, a very dangerous age, and in spite of all resolutions to the contrary, i felt myself constantly slipping. nothing but my poverty and the hopelessness of it kept me from falling desperately in love. but a temporary relief came during the latter part of may. reports came down the river that a firm of drovers were putting up a herd of cattle for delivery at fort sumner, new mexico. their headquarters were at belknap, a long day's ride above, on the brazos; and immediately, on receipt of the news, george and i saddled, and started up the river. the elder edwards was very anxious to sell his beef-cattle and a surplus of cow-horses, and we were commissioned to offer them to the drovers at prevailing prices. on arriving at belknap we met the pioneer drover of texas, oliver loving, of the firm of loving & goodnight, but were disappointed to learn that the offerings in making up the herd were treble the drover's requirements; neither was there any chance to sell horses. but an application for work met with more favor. mr. loving warned us of the nature of the country, the dangers to be encountered, all of which we waived, and were accordingly employed at forty dollars a month in gold. the herd was to start early in june. george edwards returned home to report, but i was immediately put to work, as the junior member of the firm was then out receiving cattle. they had established a camp, and at the time of our employment were gathering beef steers in loving's brand and holding the herd as it arrived, so that i was initiated into my duties at once. i was allowed to retain my horse, provided he did his share of the work. a mule and three range horses were also allotted to me, and i was cautioned about their care. there were a number of saddle mules in the remuda, and mr. loving explained that the route was through a dry country, and that experience had taught him that a mule could withstand thirst longer than a horse. i was a new man in the country, and absorbed every word and idea as a sponge does water. with the exception of roping, i made a hand from the start. the outfit treated me courteously, there was no concealment of my past occupation, and i soon had the friendship of every man in the camp. it was some little time before i met the junior partner, charlie goodnight, a strapping young fellow of about thirty, who had served all through the war in the frontier battalion of texas rangers. the comanche indians had been a constant menace on the western frontier of the state, and during the rebellion had allied themselves with the federal side, and harassed the settlements along the border. it required a regiment of mounted men to patrol the frontier from red river to the coast, as the comanches claimed the whole western half of the state as their hunting grounds. early in june the herd began to assume its required numbers. george edwards returned, and we naturally became bunkies, sharing our blankets and having the same guard on night-herd. the drovers encouraged all the men employed to bring along their firearms, and when we were ready to start the camp looked like an arsenal. i had a six-shooter, and my bunkie brought me a needle-gun from the ranch, so that i felt armed for any emergency. each of the men had a rifle of some make or other, while a few of them had as many as four pistols,--two in their belts and two in saddle holsters. it looked to me as if this was to be a military expedition, and i began to wonder if i had not had enough war the past few years, but kept quiet. the start was made june , , from the brazos river, in what is now young county, the herd numbering twenty-two hundred big beeves. a chuck-wagon, heavily loaded with supplies and drawn by six yoke of fine oxen, a remuda of eighty-five saddle horses and mules, together with seventeen men, constituted the outfit. fort sumner lay to the northwest, and i was mildly surprised when the herd bore off to the southwest. this was explained by young goodnight, who was in charge of the herd, saying that the only route then open or known was on our present course to the pecos river, and thence up that stream to our destination. indian sign was noticed a few days after starting. goodnight and loving both read it as easily as if it had been print,--the abandoned camps, the course of arrival and departure, the number of horses, indicating who and what they were, war or hunting parties--everything apparently simple and plain as an alphabet to these plainsmen. around the camp-fire at night the chronicle of the comanche tribe for the last thirty years was reviewed, and their overbearing and defiant attitude towards the people of texas was discussed, not for my benefit, as it was common history. then for the first time i learned that the comanches had once mounted ten thousand warriors, had frequently raided the country to the coast, carrying off horses and white children, even dictating their own terms of peace to the republic of texas. at the last council, called for the purpose of negotiating for the return of captive white children in possession of the comanches, the assembly had witnessed a dramatic termination. the same indignity had been offered before, and borne by the whites, too weak to resist the numbers of the comanche tribe. in this latter instance, one of the war chiefs, in spurning the remuneration offered for the return of a certain white girl, haughtily walked into the centre of the council, where an insult could be seen by all. his act, a disgusting one, was anticipated, as it was not the first time it had been witnessed, when one of the texans present drew a six-shooter and killed the chief in the act. the hatchet of the comanche was instantly dug up, and had not been buried at the time we were crossing a country claimed by him as his hunting ground. yet these drovers seemed to have no fear of an inferior race. we held our course without a halt, scarcely a day passing without seeing more or less fresh sign of indians. after crossing the south fork of the brazos, we were attacked one morning just at dawn, the favorite hour of the indian for a surprise. four men were on herd with the cattle and one near by with the remuda, our night horses all securely tied to the wagon wheels. a feint attack was made on the commissary, but under the leadership of goodnight a majority of us scrambled into our saddles and rode to the rescue of the remuda, the chief objective of the surprise. two of the boys from the herd had joined the horse wrangler, and on our arrival all three were wickedly throwing lead at the circling indians. the remuda was running at the time, and as we cut through between it and the savages we gave them the benefit of our rifles and six-shooter in passing. the shots turned the saddle stock back towards our camp and the mounted braves continued on their course, not willing to try issues with us, although they outnumbered us three to one. a few arrows had imbedded themselves in the ground around camp at the first assault, but once our rifles were able to distinguish an object clearly, the indians kept well out of reach. the cattle made a few surges, but once the remuda was safe, there was an abundance of help in holding them, and they quieted down before sunrise. the comanches had no use for cattle, except to kill and torture them, as they preferred the flesh of the buffalo, and once our saddle stock and the contents of the wagon were denied them, they faded into the dips of the plain. the journey was resumed without the delay of an hour. our first brush with the noble red man served a good purpose, as we were doubly vigilant thereafter whenever there was cause to expect an attack. there was an abundance of water, as we followed up the south fork and its tributaries, passing through buffalo gap, which was afterward a well-known landmark on the texas and montana cattle trail. passing over the divide between the waters of the brazos and concho, we struck the old butterfield stage route, running by way of fort concho to el paso, texas, on the rio grande. this stage road was the original staked plain, surveyed and located by general john pope in . the route was originally marked by stakes, until it became a thoroughfare, from which the whole of northwest texas afterward took its name. there was a ninety-six mile dry drive between the headwaters of the concho and horsehead crossing on the pecos, and before attempting it we rested a few days. here indians made a second attack on us, and although as futile as the first, one of the horse wranglers received an arrow in the shoulder. in attempting to remove it the shaft separated from the steel arrowhead, leaving the latter imbedded in the lad's shoulder. we were then one hundred and twelve miles distant from fort concho, the nearest point where medical relief might be expected. the drovers were alarmed for the man's welfare; it was impossible to hold the herd longer, so the young fellow volunteered to make the ride alone. he was given the best horse in the remuda, and with the falling of darkness started for fort concho. i had the pleasure of meeting him afterward, as happy as he was hale and hearty. the start across the arid stretch was made at noon. every hoof had been thoroughly watered in advance, and with the heat of summer on us it promised to be an ordeal to man and beast. but loving had driven it before, and knew fully what was before him as we trailed out under a noonday sun. an evening halt was made for refreshing the inner man, and as soon as darkness settled over us the herd was again started. we were conscious of the presence of indians, and deceived them by leaving our camp-fire burning, but holding our effects closely together throughout the night, the remuda even mixing with the cattle. when day broke we were fully thirty miles from our noon camp of the day before, yet with the exception of an hour's rest there was never a halt. a second day and night were spent in forging ahead, though it is doubtful if we averaged much over a mile an hour during that time. about fifteen miles out from the pecos we were due to enter a cañon known as castle mountain gap, some three or four miles long, the exit of which was in sight of the river. we were anxious to reach the entrance of this cañon before darkness on the third day, as we could then cut the cattle into bunches, the cliffs on either side forming a lane. our horses were as good as worthless during the third day, but the saddle mules seemed to stand grief nobly, and by dint of ceaseless effort we reached the cañon and turned the cattle loose into it. this was the turning-point in the dry drive. that night two men took half the remuda and went through to horsehead crossing, returning with them early the next morning, and we once more had fresh mounts. the herd had been nursed through the cañon during the night, and although it was still twelve miles to the river, i have always believed that those beeves knew that water was at hand. they walked along briskly; instead of the constant moaning, their heads were erect, bawling loud and deep. the oxen drawing the wagon held their chains taut, and the commissary moved forward as if drawn by a fresh team. there was no attempt to hold the herd compactly, and within an hour after starting on our last lap the herd was strung out three miles. the rear was finally abandoned, and when half the distance was covered, the drag cattle to the number of fully five hundred turned out of the trail and struck direct for the river. they had scented the water over five miles, and as far as control was concerned the herd was as good as abandoned, except that the water would hold them. horsehead crossing was named by general pope. there is a difference of opinion as to the origin of the name, some contending that it was due to the meanderings of the river, forming a horse's head, and others that the surveying party was surprised by indians and lost their stock. none of us had slept for three nights, and the feeling of relief on reaching the pecos, shared alike by man and beast, is indescribable. unless one has endured such a trial, only a faint idea of its hardships can be fully imagined--the long hours of patient travel at a snail's pace, enveloped by clouds of dust by day, and at night watching every shadow for a lurking savage. i have since slept many a time in the saddle, but in crossing that arid belt the one consuming desire to reach the water ahead benumbed every sense save watchfulness. all the cattle reached the river before the middle of the afternoon, covering a front of five or six miles. the banks of the pecos were abrupt, there being fully one hundred and twenty-five feet of deep water in the channel at the stage crossing. entrance to the ford consisted of a wagon-way, cut through the banks, and the cattle crowded into the river above and below, there being but one exit on either side. some miles above, the beeves had found several passageways down to the water, but in drifting up and down stream they missed these entrances on returning. a rally was made late that afternoon to rout the cattle out of the river-bed, one half the outfit going above, the remainder working around horsehead, where the bulk of the herd had watered. i had gone upstream with goodnight, but before we reached the upper end of the cattle fresh indian sign was noticed. there was enough broken country along the river to shelter the redskins, but we kept in the open and cautiously examined every brake within gunshot of an entrance to the river. we succeeded in getting all the animals out of the water before dark, with the exception of one bunch, where the exit would require the use of a mattock before the cattle could climb it, and a few head that had bogged in the quicksand below horsehead crossing. there was little danger of a rise in the river, the loose contingent had a dry sand-bar on which to rest, and as the indians had no use for them there was little danger of their being molested before morning. we fell back about a mile from the river and camped for the night. although we were all dead for sleep, extra caution was taken to prevent a surprise, either goodnight or loving remaining on guard over the outfit, seeing that the men kept awake on herd and that the guards changed promptly. charlie goodnight owned a horse that he contended could scent an indian five hundred yards, and i have never questioned the statement. he had used him in the ranger service. the horse by various means would show his uneasiness in the immediate presence of indians, and once the following summer we moved camp at midnight on account of the warnings of that same horse. we had only a remuda with us at the time, but another outfit encamped with us refused to go, and they lost half their horses from an indian surprise the next morning and never recovered them. i remember the ridicule which was expressed at our moving camp on the warnings of a horse. "injun-bit," "man-afraid-of-his-horses," were some of the terms applied to us,--yet the practical plainsman knew enough to take warning from his dumb beast. fear, no doubt, gives horses an unusual sense of smell, and i have known them to detect the presence of a bear, on a favorable wind, at an incredible distance. the night passed quietly, and early the next morning we rode to recover the remainder of the cattle. an effort was also made to rescue the bogged ones. on approaching the river, we found the beeves still resting quietly on the sand-bar. but we had approached them at an angle, for directly over head and across the river was a brake overgrown with thick brush, a splendid cover in which indians might be lurking in the hope of ambushing any one who attempted to drive out the beeves. two men were left with a single mattock to cut out and improve the exit, while the rest of us reconnoitered the thickety motte across the river. goodnight was leery of the thicket, and suggested firing a few shots into it. we all had long-range guns, the distance from bank to bank was over two hundred yards, and a fusillade of shots was accordingly poured into the motte. to my surprise we were rewarded by seeing fully twenty indians skulk out of the upper end of the cover. every man raised his sights and gave them a parting volley, but a mesquite thicket, in which their horses were secreted, soon sheltered them and they fell back into the hills on the western side of the river. with the coast thus cleared, half a dozen of us rode down into the river-bed and drove out the last contingent of about three hundred cattle. goodnight informed us that those indians had no doubt been watching us for days, and cautioned us never to give a comanche an advantage, advice which i never forgot. on our return every one of the bogged cattle had been freed except two heavy beeves. these animals were mired above the ford, in rather deep water, and it was simply impossible to release them. the drovers were anxious to cross the river that afternoon, and a final effort was made to rescue the two steers. the oxen were accordingly yoked, and, with all the chain available, were driven into the river and fastened on to the nearest one. three mounted drivers had charge of the team, and when the word was given six yoke of cattle bowed their necks and threw their weight against the yokes; but the quicksand held the steer in spite of all their efforts. the chain was freed from it, and the oxen were brought around and made fast again, at an angle and where the footing was better for the team. again the word was given, and as the six yoke swung round, whips and ropes were plied amid a general shouting, and the team brought out the steer, but with a broken neck. there were no regrets, and our attention was at once given to the other steer. the team circled around, every available chain was brought into use, in order to afford the oxen good footing on a straight-away pull with the position in which the beef lay bogged. the word was given for an easy pull, the oxen barely stretched their chains, and were stopped. goodnight cautioned the drivers that unless the pull was straight ahead another neck would be broken. a second trial was made; the oxen swung and weaved, the chains fairly cried, the beef's head went under water, but the team was again checked in time to keep the steer from drowning. after a breathing spell for oxen and victim, the call was made for a rush. a driver was placed over every yoke and the word given, and the oxen fell to their knees in the struggle, whips cracked over their backs, ropes were plied by every man in charge, and, amid a din of profanity applied to the struggling cattle, the team fell forward in a general collapse. at first it was thought the chain had parted, but as the latter came out of the water it held in its iron grasp the horns and a portion of the skull of the dying beef. several of us rode out to the victim, whose brain lay bare, still throbbing and twitching with life. rather than allow his remains to pollute the river, we made a last pull at an angle, and the dead beef was removed. we bade horsehead crossing farewell that afternoon and camped for the night above dagger bend. our route now lay to the northwest, or up the pecos river. we were then out twenty-one days from belknap, and although only half way to our destination, the worst of it was considered over. there was some travel up and down the pecos valley, the route was even then known as the chisum trail, and afterward extended as far north as fort logan in colorado and other government posts in wyoming. this cattle trace should never be confounded with the chisholm trail, first opened by a half-breed named jesse chisholm, which ran from red river station on the northern boundary of texas to various points in kansas. in cutting across the bends of the rio pecos we secured water each day for the herd, although we were frequently under the necessity of sloping down the banks with mattocks to let the cattle into the river. by this method it often took us three or four hours to water the herd. until we neared fort sumner precaution never relaxed against an indian surprise. their sign was seen almost daily, but as there were weaker outfits than ours passing through we escaped any further molestation. the methods of handling such a herd were a constant surprise to me, as well as the schooling of these plainsmen drovers. goodnight had come to the plains when a boy of ten, and was a thorough master of their secrets. on one occasion, about midway between horsehead crossing and our destination, difficulty was encountered in finding an entrance to the river on account of its abrupt banks. it was late in the day, and in order to insure a quiet night with the cattle water became an urgent necessity. our young foreman rode ahead and found a dry, sandy creek, its bed fully fifty yards wide, but no water, though the sand was damp. the herd was held back until sunset, when the cattle were turned into the creek bed and held as compactly as possible. the heavy beeves naturally walked back and forth, up and down, the sand just moist enough to aggravate them after a day's travel under a july sun. but the tramping soon agitated the sands, and within half an hour after the herd had entered the dry creek the water arose in pools, and the cattle drank to their hearts' content. as dew falls at night, moisture likewise rises in the earth, and with the twilight hour, the agitation of the sands, and the weight of the cattle, a spring was produced in the desert waste. fort sumner was a six-company post and the agency of the apaches and navajos. these two tribes numbered over nine thousand people, and our herd was intended to supply the needs of the military post and these indians. the contract was held by patterson & roberts, eligible by virtue of having cast their fortunes with the victor in "the late unpleasantness," and otherwise fine men. we reached the post on the th of july. there was a delay of several days before the cattle were accepted, but all passed the inspection with the exception of about one hundred head. these were cattle which had not recuperated from the dry drive. some few were footsore or thin in flesh, but taken as a whole the delivery had every earmark of an honest one. fortunately this remnant was sold a few days later to some colorado men, and we were foot-loose and free. even the oxen had gone in on the main delivery, and harnesses were accordingly bought, a light tongue fitted to the wagon, and we were ready to start homeward. mules were substituted for the oxen, and we averaged forty miles a day returning, almost itching for an indian attack, as we had supplied ourselves with ammunition from the post sutler. the trip had been a financial success (the government was paying ten cents a pound for beef on foot), friendly relations had been established with the holders of the award, and we hastened home to gather and drive another herd. chapter iii a second trip to fort sumner on the return trip we traveled mainly by night. the proceeds from the sale of the herd were in the wagon, and had this fact been known it would have been a tempting prize for either bandits or indians. after leaving horsehead crossing we had the advantage of the dark of the moon, as it was a well-known fact that the comanches usually choose moonlight nights for their marauding expeditions. another thing in our favor, both going and returning, was the lightness of travel westward, it having almost ceased during the civil war, though in ' it showed a slight prospect of resumption. small bands of indians were still abroad on horse-stealing forays, but the rich prizes of wagon trains bound for el paso or santa fé no longer tempted the noble red man in force. this was favorable wind to our sail, but these plainsmen drovers predicted that, once traffic westward was resumed, the comanche and his ally would be about the first ones to know it. the redskins were constantly passing back and forth, to and from their reservation in the indian territory, and news travels fast even among savages. we reached the brazos river early in august. as the second start was not to be made until the latter part of the following month, a general settlement was made with the men and all reëngaged for the next trip. i received eighty dollars in gold as my portion, it being the first money i ever earned as a citizen. the past two months were a splendid experience for one going through a formative period, and i had returned feeling that i was once more a man among men. all the uncertainty as to my future had fallen from me, and i began to look forward to the day when i also might be the owner of lands and cattle. there was no good reason why i should not, as the range was as free as it was boundless. there were any quantity of wild cattle in the country awaiting an owner, and a good mount of horses, a rope, and a branding iron were all the capital required to start a brand. i knew the success which my father had made in virginia before the war and had seen it repeated on a smaller scale by my elder brother in missouri, but here was a country which discounted both of those in rearing cattle without expense. under the best reasoning at my command, i had reached the promised land, and henceforth determined to cast my fortunes with texas. rather than remain idle around the loving headquarters for a month, i returned with george edwards to his home. altogether too cordial a welcome was extended us, but i repaid the hospitality of the ranch by relating our experiences of trail and indian surprise. miss gertrude was as charming as ever, but the trip to sumner and back had cooled my ardor and i behaved myself as an acceptable guest should. the time passed rapidly, and on the last day of the month we returned to belknap. active preparations were in progress for the driving of the second herd, oxen had been secured, and a number of extra fine horses were already added to the saddle stock. the remuda had enjoyed a good month's rest and were in strong working flesh, and within a few days all the boys reported for duty. the senior member of the firm was the owner of a large number of range cattle, and it was the intention to round up and gather as many of his beeves as possible for the coming drive. we should have ample time to do this; by waiting until the latter part of the month for starting, it was believed that few indians would be encountered, as the time was nearing for their annual buffalo hunt for robes and a supply of winter meat. this was a gala occasion with the tribes which depended on the bison for food and clothing; and as the natural hunting grounds of the comanches and kiowas lay south of red river, the drovers considered that that would be an opportune time to start. the indians would no doubt confine their operations to the first few tiers of counties in texas, as the robes and dried meat would tax the carrying capacity of their horses returning, making it an object to kill their supplies as near their winter encampment as possible. some twenty days were accordingly spent in gathering beeves along the main brazos and clear fork. our herd consisted of about a thousand in the straight ranch brand, and after receiving and road-branding five hundred outside cattle we were ready to start. sixteen men constituted our numbers, the horses were culled down until but five were left to the man, and with the previous armament the start was made. never before or since have i enjoyed such an outing as this was until we struck the dry drive on approaching the pecos river. the absence of the indians was correctly anticipated, and either their presence elsewhere, preying on the immense buffalo herds, or the drift of the seasons, had driven countless numbers of that animal across our pathway. there were days and days that we were never out of sight of the feeding myriads of these shaggy brutes, and at night they became a menace to our sleeping herd. during the day, when the cattle were strung out in trail formation, we had difficulty in keeping the two species separated, but we shelled the buffalo right and left and moved forward. frequently, when they occupied the country ahead of us, several men rode forward and scattered them on either hand until a right of way was effected for the cattle to pass. while they remained with us we killed our daily meat from their numbers, and several of the boys secured fine robes. they were very gentle, but when occasion required could give a horse a good race, bouncing along, lacking grace in flight. our cook was a negro. one day as we were nearing buffalo gap, a number of big bulls, attracted by the covered wagon, approached the commissary, the canvas sheet of which shone like a white flag. the wagon was some distance in the rear, and as the buffalo began to approach it they would scare and circle around, but constantly coming nearer the object of their curiosity. the darky finally became alarmed for fear they would gore his oxen, and unearthed an old creedmoor rifle which he carried in the wagon. the gun could be heard for miles, and when the cook opened on the playful denizens of the plain, a number of us hurried back, supposing it was an indian attack. when within a quarter-mile of the wagon and the situation became clear, we took it more leisurely, but the fusillade never ceased until we rode up and it dawned on the darky's mind that rescue was at hand. he had halted his team, and from a secure position in the front end of the wagon had shot down a dozen buffalo bulls. pure curiosity and the blood of their comrades had kept them within easy range of the murderous creedmoor; and the frenzied negro, supposing that his team might be attacked any moment, had mown down a circle of the innocent animals. we charged and drove away the remainder, after which we formed a guard of honor in escorting the commissary until its timid driver overtook the herd. the last of the buffalo passed out of sight before we reached the headwaters of the concho. in crossing the dry drive approaching the pecos we were unusually fortunate. as before, we rested in advance of starting, and on the evening of the second day out several showers fell, cooling the atmosphere until the night was fairly chilly. the rainfall continued all the following day in a gentle mist, and with little or no suffering to man or beast early in the afternoon we entered the cañon known as castle mountain gap, and the dry drive was virtually over. horsehead crossing was reached early the next morning, the size of the herd making it possible to hold it compactly, and thus preventing any scattering along that stream. there had been no freshets in the river since june, and the sandy sediment had solidified, making a safe crossing for both herd and wagon. after the usual rest of a few days, the herd trailed up the pecos with scarcely an incident worthy of mention. early in november we halted some distance below fort sumner, where we were met by mr. loving,--who had gone on to the post in our advance,--with the report that other cattle had just been accepted, and that there was no prospect of an immediate delivery. in fact, the outlook was anything but encouraging, unless we wintered ours and had them ready for the first delivery in the spring. the herd was accordingly turned back to bosque grande on the river, and we went into permanent quarters. there was a splendid winter range all along the pecos, and we loose-herded the beeves or rode lines in holding them in the different bends of the river, some of which were natural inclosures. there was scarcely any danger of indian molestation during the winter months, and with the exception of a few severe "northers" which swept down the valley, the cattle did comparatively well. tents were secured at the post; corn was purchased for our saddle mules; and except during storms little or no privation was experienced during the winter in that southern climate. wood was plentiful in the grove in which we were encamped, and a huge fireplace was built out of clay and sticks in the end of each tent, assuring us comfort against the elements. the monotony of existence was frequently broken by the passing of trading caravans, both up and down the river. there was a fair trade with the interior of mexico, as well as in various settlements along the rio grande and towns in northern new mexico. when other means of diversion failed we had recourse to sumner, where a sutler's bar and gambling games flourished. but the most romantic traveler to arrive or pass during the winter was captain burleson, late of the confederacy. as a sportsman the captain was a gem of the first water, carrying with him, besides a herd of nearly a thousand cattle, three race-horses, several baskets of fighting chickens, and a pack of hounds. he had a large mexican outfit in charge of his cattle, which were in bad condition on their arrival in march, he having drifted about all winter, gambling, racing his horses, and fighting his chickens. the herd represented his winnings. as we had nothing to match, all we could offer was our hospitality. captain burleson went into camp below us on the river and remained our neighbor until we rounded up and broke camp in the spring. he had been as far west as el paso during the winter, and was then drifting north in the hope of finding a market for his herd. we indulged in many hunts, and i found him the true gentleman and sportsman in every sense of the word. as i recall him now, he was a lovable vagabond, and for years afterward stories were told around fort sumner of his wonderful nerve as a poker player. early in april an opportunity occurred for a delivery of cattle to the post. ours were the only beeves in sight, those of captain burleson not qualifying, and a round-up was made and the herd tendered for inspection. only eight hundred were received, which was quite a disappointment to the drovers, as at least ninety per cent of the tender filled every qualification. the motive in receiving the few soon became apparent, when a stranger appeared and offered to buy the remaining seven hundred at a ridiculously low figure. but the drovers had grown suspicious of the contractors and receiving agent, and, declining the offer, went back and bought the herd of captain burleson. then, throwing the two contingents together, and boldly announcing their determination of driving to colorado, they started the herd out past fort sumner with every field-glass in the post leveled on us. the military requirements of sumner, for its own and indian use, were well known to the drovers, and a scarcity of beef was certain to occur at that post before other cattle could be bargained for and arrive. my employers had evidently figured out the situation to a nicety, for during the forenoon of the second day out from the fort we were overtaken by the contractors. of course they threw on the government inspector all the blame for the few cattle received, and offered to buy five or six hundred more out of the herd. but the shoe was on the other foot now, the drovers acting as independently as the proverbial hog on ice. the herd never halted, the contractors followed up, and when we went into camp that evening a trade was closed on one thousand steers at two dollars a head advance over those which were received but a few days before. the oxen were even reserved, and after delivering the beeves at sumner we continued on northward with the remnant, nearly all of which were the burleson cattle. the latter part of april we arrived at the colorado line. there we were halted by the authorities of that territory, under some act of quarantine against texas cattle. we went into camp on the nearest water, expecting to prove that our little herd had wintered at fort sumner, and were therefore immune from quarantine, when buyers arrived from trinidad, colorado. the steers were a mixed lot, running from a yearling to big, rough four and five year olds, and when goodnight returned from sumner with a certificate, attested to by every officer of that post, showing that the cattle had wintered north of latitude , a trade was closed at once, even the oxen going in at the phenomenal figures of one hundred and fifty dollars a yoke. we delivered the herd near trinidad, going into that town to outfit before returning. the necessary alterations were made to the wagon, mules were harnessed in, and we started home in gala spirits. in a little over thirty days my employers had more than doubled their money on the burleson cattle and were naturally jubilant. the proceeds of the trinidad sale were carried in the wagon returning, though we had not as yet collected for the second delivery at sumner. the songs of the birds mixed with our own as we traveled homeward, and the freshness of early summer on the primitive land, as it rolled away in dips and swells, made the trip a delightful outing. fort sumner was reached within a week, where we halted a day and then started on, having in the wagon a trifle over fifty thousand dollars in gold and silver. at sumner two men made application to accompany us back to texas, and as they were well armed and mounted, and numbers were an advantage, they were made welcome. our winter camp at bosque grande was passed with but a single glance as we dropped down the pecos valley at the rate of forty miles a day. little or no travel was encountered en route, nor was there any sign of indians until the afternoon of our reaching horsehead crossing. while passing dagger bend, four miles above the ford, goodnight and a number of us boys were riding several hundred yards in advance of the wagon, telling stories of old sweethearts. the road made a sudden bend around some sand-hills, and the advance guard had passed out of sight of the rear, when a fresh indian trail was cut; and as we reined in our mounts to examine the sign, we were fired on. the rifle-shots, followed by a flight of arrows, passed over us, and we took to shelter like flushed quail. i was riding a good saddle horse and bolted off on the opposite side of the road from the shooting; but in the scattering which ensued a number of mules took down the road. one of the two men picked up at the post was a german, whose mule stampeded after his mates, and who received a galling fire from the concealed indians, the rest of us turning to the nearest shelter. with the exception of this one man, all of us circled back through the mesquite brush and reached the wagon, which had halted. meanwhile the shooting had attracted the men behind, who charged through the sand-dunes, flanking the indians, who immediately decamped. security of the remuda and wagon was a first consideration, and danger of an ambush prevented our men from following up the redskins. order was soon restored, when we proceeded, and shortly met the young german coming back up the road, who merely remarked on meeting us, "dem injuns shot at me." the indians had evidently not been expecting us. from where they turned out and where the attack was made we back-trailed them in the road for nearly a mile. they had simply heard us coming, and, supposing that the advance guard was all there was in the party, had made the attack and were in turn themselves surprised at our numbers. but the warning was henceforth heeded, and on reaching the crossing more indian sign was detected. several large parties had evidently crossed the river that morning, and were no doubt at that moment watching us from the surrounding hills. the cañon of castle mountain gap was well adapted for an indian ambush; and as it was only twelve miles from the ford to its mouth, we halted within a short distance of the entrance, as if encamping for the night. all the horses under saddle were picketed fully a quarter mile from the wagon,--easy marks for poor lo,--and the remuda was allowed to wander at will, an air of perfect carelessness prevailing in the camp. from the sign which we had seen that day, there was little doubt but there were in the neighborhood of five hundred indians in the immediate vicinity of horsehead crossing, and we did everything we could to create the impression that we were tender-feet. but with the falling of darkness every horse was brought in and we harnessed up and started, leaving the fire burning to identify our supposed camp. the drovers gave our darky cook instructions, in case of an attack while passing through the gap, never to halt his team, but push ahead for the plain. about one third of us took the immediate lead of the wagon, the remuda following closely, and the remainder of the men bringing up the rear. the moon was on the wane and would not rise until nearly midnight, and for the first few miles, or until we entered the cañon, there was scarce a sound to disturb the stillness of the night. the sandy road even muffled the noise of the wagon and the tramping of horses; but once we entered that rocky cañon, the rattling of our commissary seemed to summon every comanche and his ally to come and rob us. there was never a halt, the reverberations of our caravan seeming to reëcho through the gap, resounding forward and back, until our progress must have been audible at horsehead crossing. but the expected never happens, and within an hour we reached the summit of the plain, where the country was open and clear and an attack could have been easily repelled. four fresh mules had been harnessed in for the night, and striking a free gait, we put twenty miles of that arid stretch behind us before the moon rose. a short halt was made after midnight, for a change of teams and saddle horses, and then we continued our hurried travel until near dawn. some indistinct objects in our front caused us to halt. it looked like a caravan, and we hailed it without reply. several of us dismounted and crept forward, but the only sign of life was a dull, buzzing sound which seemed to issue from an outfit of parked wagons. the report was laid before the two drovers, who advised that we await the dawn, which was then breaking, as it was possible that the caravan had been captured and robbed by indians. a number of us circled around to the farther side, and as we again approached the wagons in the uncertain light we hailed again and received in reply a shot, which cut off the upper lobe of one of the boys' ears. we hugged the ground for some little time, until the presence of our outfit was discovered by the lone guardian of the caravan, who welcomed us. he apologized, saying that on awakening he supposed we were indians, not having heard our previous challenge, and fired on us under the impulse of the moment. he was a well-known trader by the name of "honey" allen, and was then on his way to el paso, having pulled out on the dry stretch about twenty-five miles and sent his oxen back to water. his present cargo consisted of pecans, honey, and a large number of colonies of live bees, the latter having done the buzzing on our first reconnoitre. at his destination, so he informed us, the pecans were worth fifty cents a quart, the honey a dollar a pound, and the bees one hundred dollars a hive. after repairing the damaged ear, we hurried on, finding allen's oxen lying around the water on our arrival. i met him several years afterward in denver, colorado, dressed to kill, barbered, and highly perfumed. he had just sold eighteen hundred two-year-old steers and had twenty-five thousand dollars in the bank. "son, let me tell you something," said he, as we were taking a drink together; "that pecos country was a dangerous region to pick up an honest living in. i'm going back to god's country,--back where there ain't no injuns." yet allen died in texas. there was a charm in the frontier that held men captive. i always promised myself to return to virginia to spend the declining years of my life, but the fulfillment never came. i can now realize how idle was the expectation, having seen others make the attempt and fail. i recall the experience of an old cowman, laboring under a similar delusion, who, after nearly half a century in the southwest, concluded to return to the scenes of his boyhood. he had made a substantial fortune in cattle, and had fought his way through the vicissitudes of the frontier until success crowned his efforts. a large family had in the mean time grown up around him, and under the pretense of giving his children the advantages of an older and established community he sold his holdings and moved back to his native borough. within six months he returned to the straggling village which he had left on the plains, bringing the family with him. shortly afterwards i met him, and anxiously inquired the cause of his return. "well, reed," said he, "i can't make you understand near as well as though you had tried it yourself. you see i was a stranger in my native town. the people were all right, i reckon, but i found out that it was me who had changed. i tried to be sociable with them, but honest, reed, i just couldn't stand it in a country where no one ever asked you to take a drink." a week was spent in crossing the country between the concho and brazos rivers. not a day passed but indian trails were cut, all heading southward, and on a branch of the clear fork we nearly ran afoul of an encampment of forty teepees and lean-tos, with several hundred horses in sight. but we never varied our course a fraction, passing within a quarter mile of their camp, apparently indifferent as to whether they showed fight or allowed us to pass in peace. our bluff had the desired effect; but we made it an object to reach fort griffin near midnight before camping. the comanche and his ally were great respecters, not only of their own physical welfare, but of the henri and spencer rifle with which the white man killed the buffalo at the distance of twice the flight of an arrow. when every advantage was in his favor--ambush and surprise--lo was a warrior bold; otherwise he used discretion. chapter iv a fatal trip before leaving fort sumner an agreement had been entered into between my employers and the contractors for a third herd. the delivery was set for the first week in september, and twenty-five hundred beeves were agreed upon, with a liberal leeway above and below that number in case of accident en route. accordingly, on our return to loving's ranch active preparations were begun for the next drive. extra horses were purchased, several new guns of the most modern make were secured, and the gathering of cattle in loving's brand began at once, continuing for six weeks. we combed the hills and valleys along the main brazos, and then started west up the clear fork, carrying the beeves with us while gathering. the range was in prime condition, the cattle were fat and indolent, and with the exception of indian rumors there was not a cloud in the sky. our last camp was made a few miles above fort griffin. military protection was not expected, yet our proximity to that post was considered a security from indian interference, as at times not over half the outfit were with the herd. we had nearly completed our numbers when, one morning early in july, the redskins struck our camp with the violence of a cyclone. the attack occurred, as usual, about half an hour before dawn, and, to add to the difficulty of the situation, the cattle stampeded with the first shot fired. i was on last guard at the time, and conscious that it was an indian attack i unslung a new sharp's rifle and tore away in the lead of the herd. with the rumbling of over two thousand running cattle in my ears, hearing was out of the question, while my sense of sight was rendered useless by the darkness of the morning hour. yet i had some very distinct visions; not from the herd of frenzied beeves, thundering at my heels, but every shade and shadow in the darkness looked like a pursuing comanche. once i leveled my rifle at a shadow, but hesitated, when a flash from a six-shooter revealed the object to be one of our own men. i knew there were four of us with the herd when it stampeded, but if the rest were as badly bewildered as i was, it was dangerous even to approach them. but i had a king's horse under me and trusted my life to him, and he led the run until breaking dawn revealed our identity to each other. the presence of two other men with the running herd was then discovered. we were fully five miles from camp, and giving our attention to the running cattle we soon turned the lead. the main body of the herd was strung back for a mile, but we fell on the leaders right and left, and soon had them headed back for camp. in the mean time, and with the breaking of day, our trail had been taken up by both drovers and half a dozen men, who overtook us shortly after sun-up. a count was made and we had every hoof. a determined fight had occurred over the remuda and commissary, and three of the indians' ponies had been killed, while some thirty arrows had found lodgment in our wagon. there were no casualties in the cow outfit, and if any occurred among the redskins, the wounded or killed were carried away by their comrades before daybreak. all agreed that there were fully one hundred warriors in the attacking party, and as we slowly drifted the cattle back to camp doubt was expressed by the drovers whether it was advisable to drive the herd to its destination in midsummer with the comanches out on their old hunting grounds. a report of the attack was sent into griffin that morning, and a company of cavalry took up the indian trail, followed it until evening, and returned to the post during the night. approaching a government station was generally looked upon as an audacious act of the redskins, but the contempt of the comanche and his ally for citizen and soldier alike was well known on the texas frontier and excited little comment. several years later, in broad daylight, they raided the town of weatherford, untied every horse from the hitching racks, and defiantly rode away with their spoil. but the prevailing spirits in our camp were not the kind to yield to an inferior race, and, true to their obligation to the contractors, they pushed forward preparations to start the herd. within a week our numbers were completed, two extra men were secured, and on the morning of july , , we trailed out up the clear fork with a few over twenty-six hundred big beeves. it was the same old route to the southwest, there was a decided lack of enthusiasm over the start, yet never a word of discouragement escaped the lips of men or employers. i have never been a superstitious man, have never had a premonition of impending danger, always rather felt an enthusiasm in my undertakings, yet that morning when the flag over fort griffin faded from our view, i believe there was not a man in the outfit but realized that our journey would be disputed by indians. nor had we long to wait. near the juncture of elm creek with the main clear fork we were again attacked at the usual hour in the morning. the camp was the best available, and yet not a good one for defense, as the ground was broken by shallow draws and dry washes. there were about one hundred yards of clear space on three sides of the camp, while on the exposed side, and thirty yards distant, was a slight depression of several feet. fortunately we had a moment's warning, by several horses snorting and pawing the ground, which caused goodnight to quietly awake the men sleeping near him, who in turn were arousing the others, when a flight of arrows buried themselves in the ground around us and the war-whoop of the comanche sounded. ever cautious, we had studied the situation on encamping, and had tied our horses, cavalry fashion, to a heavy rope stretched from the protected side of the wagon to a high stake driven for the purpose. with the attack the majority of the men flung themselves into their saddles and started to the rescue of the remuda, while three others and myself, detailed in anticipation, ran for the ravine and dropped into it about forty yards above the wagon. we could easily hear the exultations of the redskins just below us in the shallow gorge, and an enfilade fire was poured into them at short range. two guns were cutting the grass from underneath the wagon, and, knowing the indians had crept up the depression on foot, we began a rapid fire from our carbines and six-shooters, which created the impression of a dozen rifles on their flank, and they took to their heels in a headlong rout. once the firing ceased, we hailed our men under the wagon and returned to it. three men were with the commissary, one of whom was a mere boy, who was wounded in the head from an arrow during the first moment of the attack, and was then raving piteously from his sufferings. the darky cook, who was one of the defenders of the wagon, was consoling the boy, so with a parting word of encouragement we swung into our saddles and rode in the direction of dim firing up the creek. the cattle were out of hearing, but the random shooting directed our course, and halting several times, we were finally piloted to the scene of activity. our hail was met by a shout of welcome, and the next moment we dashed in among our own and reported the repulse of the indians from the wagon. the remuda was dashing about, hither and yon, a mob of howling savages were circling about, barely within gunshot, while our men rode cautiously, checking and turning the frenzied saddle horses, and never missing a chance of judiciously throwing a little lead. there was no sign of daybreak, and, fearful for the safety of our commissary, we threw a cordon around the remuda and started for camp. although there must have been over one hundred indians in the general attack, we were still masters of the situation, though they followed us until the wagon was reached and the horses secured in a rope corral. a number of us again sought the protection of the ravine, and scattering above and below, we got in some telling shots at short range, when the redskins gave up the struggle and decamped. as they bore off westward on the main clear fork their hilarious shoutings could be distinctly heard for miles on the stillness of the morning air. an inventory of the camp was taken at dawn. the wounded lad received the first attention. the arrowhead had buried itself below and behind the ear, but nippers were applied and the steel point was extracted. the cook washed the wound thoroughly and applied a poultice of meal, which afforded almost instant relief. while horses were being saddled to follow the cattle, i cast my eye over the camp and counted over two hundred arrows within a radius of fifty yards. two had found lodgment in the bear-skin on which i slept. dozens were imbedded in the running-gear and box of the wagon, while the stationary flashes from the muzzle of the cook's creedmoor had concentrated an unusual number of arrows in and around his citadel. the darky had exercised caution and corded the six ox-yokes against the front wheel of the wagon in such a manner as to form a barrier, using the spaces between the spokes as port-holes. as he never varied his position under the wagon, the indians had aimed at his flash, and during the rather brief fight twenty arrows had buried themselves in that barricade of ox-yokes. the trail of the beeves was taken at dawn. this made the fifth stampede of the herd since we started, a very unfortunate thing, for stampeding easily becomes a mania with range cattle. the steers had left the bed-ground in an easterly direction, but finding that they were not pursued, the men had gradually turned them to the right, and at daybreak the herd was near elm creek, where it was checked. we rode the circle in a free gallop, the prairie being cut into dust and the trail as easy to follow as a highway. as the herd happened to land on our course, after the usual count the commissary was sent for, and it and the remuda were brought up. with the exception of wearing hobbles, the oxen were always given their freedom at night. this morning one of them was found in a dying condition from an arrow in his stomach. a humane shot had relieved the poor beast, and his mate trailed up to the herd, tied behind the wagon with a rope. there were several odd oxen among the cattle and the vacancy was easily filled. if i am lacking in compassion for my red brother, the lack has been heightened by his fiendish atrocities to dumb animals. i have been witness to the ruin of several wagon trains captured by indians, have seen their ashes and irons, and even charred human remains, and was scarce moved to pity because of the completeness of the hellish work. death is merciful and humane when compared to the hamstringing of oxen, gouging out their eyes, severing their ears, cutting deep slashes from shoulder to hip, and leaving the innocent victim to a lingering death. and when dumb animals are thus mutilated in every conceivable form of torment, as if for the amusement of the imps of the evil one, my compassion for poor lo ceases. it was impossible to send the wounded boy back to the settlements, so a comfortable bunk was made for him in the wagon. late in the evening we resumed our journey, expecting to drive all night, as it was good starlight. fair progress was made, but towards morning a rainstorm struck us, and the cattle again stampeded. in all my outdoor experience i never saw such pitchy darkness as accompanied that storm; although galloping across a prairie in a blustering rainfall, it required no strain of the imagination to see hills and mountains and forests on every hand. fourteen men were with the herd, yet it was impossible to work in unison, and when day broke we had less than half the cattle. the lead had been maintained, but in drifting at random with the storm several contingents of beeves had cut off from the main body, supposedly from the rear. when the sun rose, men were dispatched in pairs and trios, the trail of the missing steers was picked up, and by ten o'clock every hoof was in hand or accounted for. i came in with the last contingent and found the camp in an uproar over the supposed desertion of one of the hands. yankee bill, a sixteen-year-old boy, and another man were left in charge of the herd when the rest of us struck out to hunt the missing cattle. an hour after sunrise the boy was seen to ride deliberately away from his charge, without cause or excuse, and had not returned. desertion was the general supposition. had he not been mounted on one of the firm's horses the offense might have been overlooked. but the delivery of the herd depended on the saddle stock, and two men were sent on his trail. the rain had freshened the ground, and after trailing the horse for fifteen miles the boy was overtaken while following cattle tracks towards the herd. he had simply fallen asleep in the saddle, and the horse had wandered away. yankee bill had made the trip to sumner with us the fall before, and stood well with his employers, so the incident was forgiven and forgotten. from elm creek to the beginning of the dry drive was one continual struggle with stampeding cattle or warding off indians. in spite of careful handling, the herd became spoiled, and would run from the howl of a wolf or the snort of a horse. the dark hour before dawn was usually the crucial period, and until the arid belt was reached all hands were aroused at two o'clock in the morning. the start was timed so as to reach the dry drive during the full of the moon, and although it was a test of endurance for man and beast, there was relief in the desert waste--from the lurking savage--which recompensed for its severity. three sleepless nights were borne without a murmur, and on our reaching horsehead crossing and watering the cattle they were turned back on the mesa and freed for the time being. the presence of indian sign around the ford was the reason for turning loose, but at the round-up the next morning the experiment proved a costly one, as three hundred and sixty-three beeves were missing. the cattle were nervous and feverish through suffering from thirst, and had they been bedded closely, stampeding would have resulted, the foreman choosing the least of two alternatives in scattering the herd. that night we slept the sleep of exhausted men, and the next morning even awaited the sun on the cattle before throwing them together, giving the indian thieves full ten hours the start. the stealing of cattle by the comanches was something unusual, and there was just reason for believing that the present theft was instigated by renegade mexicans, allies in the war of ' . three distinct trails left the range around the crossing, all heading south, each accompanied by fully fifty horsemen. one contingent crossed the pecos at an indian trail about twenty-five miles below horsehead, another still below, while the third continued on down the left bank of the river. yankee bill and "mocho" wilson, a one-armed man, followed the latter trail, sighting them late in the evening, but keeping well in the open. when the comanches had satisfied themselves that but two men were following them, small bands of warriors dropped out under cover of the broken country and attempted to gain the rear of our men. wilson was an old plainsman, and once he saw the hopelessness of recovering the cattle, he and yankee bill began a cautious retreat. during the night and when opposite the ford where the first contingent of beeves crossed, they were waylaid, while returning, by the wily redskins. the nickering of a pony warned them of the presence of the enemy, and circling wide, they avoided an ambush, though pursued by the stealthy comanches. wilson was mounted on a good horse, while yankee bill rode a mule, and so closely were they pursued, that on reaching the first broken ground bill turned into a coulee, while mocho bore off on an angle, firing his six-shooter to attract the enemy after him. yankee bill told us afterward how he held the muzzle of his mule for an hour on dismounting, to keep the rascal from bawling after the departing horse. wilson reached camp after midnight and reported the hopelessness of the situation; but morning came, and with it no yankee bill in camp. half a dozen of us started in search of him, under the leadership of the one-armed plainsman, and an hour afterward bill was met riding leisurely up the river. when rebuked by his comrade for not coming in under cover of darkness, he retorted, "hell, man, i wasn't going to run my mule to death just because there were a few comanches in the country!" in trailing the missing cattle the day previous, i had accompanied mr. loving to the second indian crossing. the country opposite the ford was broken and brushy, the trail was five or six hours old, and, fearing an ambush, the drover refused to follow them farther. with the return of yankee bill safe and sound to camp, all hope of recovering the beeves was abandoned, and we crossed the pecos and turned up that river. an effort was now made to quiet the herd and bring it back to a normal condition, in order to fit it for delivery. with indian raids, frenzy in stampeding, and an unavoidable dry drive, the cattle had gaunted like rails. but with an abundance of water and by merely grazing the remainder of the distance, it was believed that the beeves would recover their old form and be ready for inspection at the end of the month of august. indian sign was still plentiful, but in smaller bands, and with an unceasing vigilance we wormed our way up the pecos valley. when within a day's ride of the post, mr. loving took wilson with him and started in to fort sumner. the heat of august on the herd had made recovery slow, but if a two weeks' postponement could be agreed on, it was believed the beeves would qualify. the circumstances were unavoidable; the government had been lenient before; so, hopeful of accomplishing his mission, the senior member of the firm set out on his way. the two men left camp at daybreak, cautioned by goodnight to cross the river by a well-known trail, keeping in the open, even though it was farther, as a matter of safety. they were well mounted for the trip, and no further concern was given to their welfare until the second morning, when loving's horse came into camp, whinnying for his mates. there were blood-stains on the saddle, and the story of a man who was cautious for others and careless of himself was easily understood. conjecture was rife. the presence of the horse admitted of several interpretations. an indian ambush was the most probable, and a number of men were detailed to ferret out the mystery. we were then seventy miles below sumner, and with orders to return to the herd at night six of us immediately started. the searching party was divided into squads, one on either side of the pecos river, but no results were obtained from the first day's hunt. the herd had moved up fifteen miles during the day, and the next morning the search was resumed, the work beginning where it had ceased the evening before. late that afternoon and from the east bank, as goodnight and i were scanning the opposite side of the river, a lone man, almost naked, emerged from a cave across the channel and above us. had it not been for his missing arm it is doubtful if we should have recognized him, for he seemed demented. we rode opposite and hailed, when he skulked back into his refuge; but we were satisfied that it was wilson. the other searchers were signaled to, and finding an entrance into the river, we swam it and rode up to the cave. a shout of welcome greeted us, and the next instant wilson staggered out of the cavern, his eyes filled with tears. he was in a horrible physical condition, and bewildered. we were an hour getting his story. they had been ambushed by indians and ran for the brakes of the river, but were compelled to abandon their horses, one of which was captured, the other escaping. loving was wounded twice, in the wrist and the side, but from the cover gained they had stood off the savages until darkness fell. during the night loving, unable to walk, believed that he was going to die, and begged wilson to make his escape, and if possible return to the herd. after making his employer as comfortable as possible, wilson buried his own rifle, pistols, and knife, and started on his return to the herd. being one-armed, he had discarded his boots and nearly all his clothing to assist him in swimming the river, which he had done any number of times, traveling by night and hiding during the day. when found in the cave, his feet were badly swollen, compelling him to travel in the river-bed to protect them from sandburs and thorns. he was taken up behind one of the boys on a horse, and we returned to camp. wilson firmly believed that loving was dead, and described the scene of the fight so clearly that any one familiar with the river would have no difficulty in locating the exact spot. but the next morning as we were nearing the place we met an ambulance in the road, the driver of which reported that loving had been brought into sumner by a freight outfit. on receipt of this information goodnight hurried on to the post, while the rest of us looked over the scene, recovered the buried guns of wilson, and returned to the herd. subsequently we learned that the next morning after wilson left loving had crawled to the river for a drink, and, looking upstream, saw some one a mile or more distant watering a team. by firing his pistol he attracted attention to himself and so was rescued, the indians having decamped during the night. to his partner, mr. loving corroborated wilson's story, and rejoiced to know that his comrade had also escaped. everything that medical science could do was done by the post surgeons for the veteran cowman, but after lingering twenty-one days he died. wilson and the wounded boy both recovered, the cattle were delivered in two installments, and early in october we started homeward, carrying the embalmed remains of the pioneer drover in a light conveyance. the trip was uneventful, the traveling was done principally by night, and on the arrival at loving's frontier home, six hundred miles from fort sumner, his remains were laid at rest with masonic honors. over thirty years afterward a claim was made against the government for the cattle lost at horsehead crossing. wilson and i were witnesses before the commissioner sent to take evidence in the case. the hearing was held at a federal court, and after it was over, wilson, while drinking, accused me of suspecting him of deserting his employer,--a suspicion i had, in fact, entertained at the time we discovered him at the cave. i had never breathed it to a living man, yet it was the truth, slumbering for a generation before finding expression. chapter v summer of ' the death of mr. loving ended my employment in driving cattle to fort sumner. the junior member of the firm was anxious to continue the trade then established, but the absence of any protection against the indians, either state or federal, was hopeless. texas was suffering from the internal troubles of reconstruction, the paternal government had small concern for the welfare of a state recently in arms against the union, and there was little or no hope for protection of life or property under existing conditions. the outfit was accordingly paid off, and i returned with george edwards to his father's ranch. the past eighteen months had given me a strenuous schooling, but i had emerged on my feet, feeling that once more i was entitled to a place among men. the risk that had been incurred by the drovers acted like a physical stimulant, the outdoor life had hardened me like iron, and i came out of the crucible bright with the hope of youth and buoyant with health and strength. meanwhile there had sprung up a small trade in cattle with the north. baxter springs and abilene, both in kansas, were beginning to be mentioned as possible markets, light drives having gone to those points during the present and previous summers. the elder edwards had been investigating the new outlet, and on the return of george and myself was rather enthusiastic over the prospects of a market. no indian trouble had been experienced on the northern route, and although demand generally was unsatisfactory, the faith of drovers in the future was unshaken. a railroad had recently reached abilene, stockyards had been built for the accommodation of shippers during the summer of , while a firm of shrewd, far-seeing yankees made great pretensions of having established a market and meeting-point for buyers and sellers of texas cattle. the promoters of the scheme had a contract with the railroad, whereby they were to receive a bonus on all cattle shipped from that point, and the texas drovers were offered every inducement to make abilene their destination in the future. the unfriendliness of other states against texas cattle, caused by the ravages of fever imparted by southern to domestic animals, had resulted in quarantine being enforced against all stock from the south. matters were in an unsettled condition, and less than one per cent of the state's holdings of cattle had found an outside market during the year , though ranchmen in general were hopeful. i spent the remainder of the month of october at the edwards ranch. we had returned in time for the fall branding, and george and i both made acceptable hands at the work. i had mastered the art of handling a rope, and while we usually corralled everything, scarcely a day passed but occasion occurred to rope wild cattle out of the brush. anxiety to learn soon made me an expert, and before the month ended i had caught and branded for myself over one hundred mavericks. cattle were so worthless that no one went to the trouble to brand completely; the crumbs were acceptable to me, and, since no one else cared for them and i did, the flotsam and jetsam of the range fell to my brand. had i been ambitious, double that number could have been easily secured, but we never went off the home range in gathering calves to brand. all the hands on the edwards ranch, darkies and mexicans, were constantly throwing into the corrals and pointing out unclaimed cattle, while i threw and indelibly ran the figures " " on their sides. i was partial to heifers, and when one was sighted there was no brush so thick or animal so wild that it was not "fish" to my rope. in many instances a cow of unknown brand was still followed by her two-year-old, yearling, and present calf. under the customs of the country, any unbranded animal, one year old or over, was a maverick, and the property of any one who cared to brand the unclaimed stray. thousands of cattle thus lived to old age, multiplied and increased, died and became food for worms, unowned. the branding over, i soon grew impatient to be doing something. there would be no movement in cattle before the following spring, and a winter of idleness was not to my liking. buffalo hunting had lost its charm with me, the contentious savages were jealous of any intrusion on their old hunting grounds, and, having met them on numerous occasions during the past eighteen months, i had no further desire to cultivate their acquaintance. i still owned my horse, now acclimated, and had money in my purse, and one morning i announced my intention of visiting my other comrades in texas. protests were made against my going, and as an incentive to have me remain, the elder edwards offered to outfit george and me the following spring with a herd of cattle and start us to kansas. i was anxious for employment, but assuring my host that he could count on my services, i still pleaded my anxiety to see other portions of the state and renew old acquaintances. the herd could not possibly start before the middle of april, so telling my friends that i would be on hand to help gather the cattle, i saddled my horse and took leave of the hospitable ranch. after a week of hard riding i reached the home of a former comrade on the colorado river below austin. a hearty welcome awaited me, but the apparent poverty of the family made my visit rather a brief one. continuing eastward, my next stop was in washington county, one of the oldest settled communities in the state. the blight of reconstruction seemed to have settled over the people like a pall, the frontier having escaped it. but having reached my destination, i was determined to make the best of it. at the house of my next comrade i felt a little more at home, he having married since his return and being naturally of a cheerful disposition. for a year previous to the surrender he and i had wrangled beef for the confederacy and had been stanch cronies. we had also been in considerable mischief together; and his wife seemed to know me by reputation as well as i knew her husband. before the wire edge wore off my visit i was as free with the couple as though they had been my own brother and sister. the fact was all too visible that they were struggling with poverty, though lightened by cheerfulness, and to remain long a guest would have been an imposition; accordingly i began to skirmish for something to do--anything, it mattered not what. the only work in sight was with a carpet-bag dredging company, improving the lower brazos river, under a contract from the reconstruction government of the state. my old crony pleaded with me to have nothing to do with the job, offering to share his last crust with me; but then he had not had all the animosities of the war roughed out of him, and i had. i would work for a federal as soon as any one else, provided he paid me the promised wage, and, giving rein to my impulse, i made application at the dredging headquarters and was put in charge of a squad of negroes. i was to have sixty dollars a month and board. the company operated a commissary store, a regular "pluck-me" concern, and i shortly understood the incentive in offering me such good wages. all employees were encouraged and expected to draw their pay in supplies, which were sold at treble their actual value from the commissary. i had been raised among negroes, knew how to humor and handle them, the work was easy, and i drifted along with all my faculties alert. before long i saw that the improvement of the river was the least of the company's concern, the employment of a large number of men being the chief motive, so long as they drew their wages in supplies. true, we scattered a few lodgments of driftwood; with the aid of a flat-bottomed scow we windlassed up and cut out a number of old snags, felled trees into the river to prevent erosion of its banks, and we built a large number of wind-dams to straighten or change the channel. it seemed to be a blanket contract,--a reward to the faithful,--and permitted of any number of extras which might be charged for at any figures the contractors saw fit to make. at the end of the first month i naturally looked for my wages. various excuses were made, but i was cordially invited to draw anything needed from the commissary. a second month passed, during which time the only currency current was in the form of land certificates. the commonwealth of texas, on her admission into the union, retained the control of her lands, over half the entire area of the state being unclaimed at the close of the civil war. the carpet-bag government, then in the saddle, was prodigal to its favorites in bonuses of land to any and all kinds of public improvement. certificates were issued in the form of scrip calling for sections of the public domain of six hundred and forty acres each, and were current at from three to five cents an acre. the owner of one or more could locate on any of the unoccupied lands of the present state by merely surveying and recording his selection at the county seat. the scrip was bandied about, no one caring for it, and on the termination of my second month i was offered four sections for my services up to date, provided i would remain longer in the company's employ. i knew the value of land in the older states, in fact, already had my eye on some splendid valleys on the clear fork, and accepted the offered certificates. the idea found a firm lodgment in my mind, and i traded one of my six-shooters even for a section of scrip, and won several more in card games. i had learned to play poker in the army,--knew the rudiments of the game at least,--and before the middle of march i was the possessor of certificates calling for thirty sections of land. as the time was drawing near for my return to palo pinto county, i severed my connection with the dredging company and returned to the home of my old comrade. i had left my horse with him, and under the pretense of paying for feeding the animal well for the return trip, had slipped my crony a small gold piece several times during the winter. he ridiculed me over my land scrip, but i was satisfied, and after spending a day with the couple i started on my return. evidences of spring were to be seen on every hand. my ride northward was a race with the season, but i outrode the coming grass, the budding trees, the first flowers, and the mating birds, and reached the edwards ranch on the last day of march. any number of cattle had already been tendered in making up the herd, over half the saddle horses necessary were in hand or promised, and they were only awaiting my return. i had no idea what the requirements of the kansas market were, and no one else seemed to know, but it was finally decided to drive a mixed herd of twenty-five hundred by way of experiment. the promoters of the abilene market had flooded texas with advertising matter during the winter, urging that only choice cattle should be driven, yet the information was of little value where local customs classified all live stock. a beef was a beef, whether he weighed eight or twelve hundred pounds, a cow was a cow when over three years old, and so on to the end of the chapter. from a purely selfish motive of wanting strong cattle for the trip, i suggested that nothing under three-year-olds should be used in making up the herd, a preference to be given matured beeves. george edwards also favored the idea, and as our experience in trailing cattle carried some little weight, orders were given to gather nothing that had not age, flesh, and strength for the journey. i was to have fifty dollars a month and furnish my own mount. horses were cheap, but i wanted good ones, and after skirmishing about i secured four to my liking in return for one hundred dollars in gold. i still had some money left from my wages in driving cattle to fort sumner, and i began looking about for oxen in which to invest the remainder. having little, i must be very careful and make my investment in something staple; and remembering the fine prices current in colorado the spring before for work cattle, i offered to supply the oxen for the commissary. my proposal was accepted, and accordingly i began making inquiry for wagon stock. finally i heard of a freight outfit in the adjoining county east, the owner of which had died the winter before, the administrator offering his effects for sale. i lost no time in seeing the oxen and hunting up their custodian, who proved to be a frontier surveyor at the county seat. there were two teams of six yoke each, fine cattle, and i had hopes of being able to buy six or eight oxen. but the surveyor insisted on selling both teams, offering to credit me on any balance if i could give him security. i had never mentioned my land scrip to any one, and wishing to see if it had any value, i produced and tendered the certificates to the surveyor. he looked them over, made a computation, and informed me that they were worth in his county about five cents an acre, or nearly one thousand dollars. he also offered to accept them as security, assuring me that he could use some of them in locating lands for settlers. but it was not my idea to sell the land scrip, and a trade was easily effected on the twenty-four oxen, yokes, and chains, i paying what money i could spare and leaving the certificates for security on the balance. as i look back over an eventful life, i remember no special time in which i felt quite as rich as the evening that i drove into the edwards ranch with twelve yoke of oxen chained together in one team. the darkies and mexicans gathered about, even the family, to admire the big fellows, and i remember a thrill which shivered through me as miss gertrude passed down the column, kindly patting each near ox as though she felt a personal interest in my possessions. we waited for good grass before beginning the gathering. half a dozen round-ups on the home range would be all that was necessary in completing the numbers allotted to the edwards ranch. three other cowmen were going to turn in a thousand head and furnish and mount a man each, there being no occasion to road-brand, as every one knew the ranch, brands which would go to make up the herd. an outfit of twelve men was considered sufficient, as it was an open prairie country and through civilized tribes between texas and kansas. all the darkies and mexicans from the home ranch who could be spared were to be taken along, making it necessary to hire only three outside men. the drive was looked upon as an experiment, there being no outlay of money, even the meal and bacon which went into the commissary being supplied from the edwards household. the country contributed the horses and cattle, and if the project paid out, well and good; if not there was small loss, as they were worth nothing at home. the th of april was set for starting. three days' work on the home range and we had two thousand cattle under herd, consisting of dry or barren cows and steers three years old or over, fully half the latter being heavy beeves. we culled back and trimmed our allotment down to sixteen hundred, and when the outside contingents were thrown in we had a few over twenty-eight hundred cattle in the herd. a mexican was placed in charge of the remuda, a darky, with three yoke of oxen, looked after the commissary, and with ten mounted men around the herd we started. five and six horses were allotted to the man, each one had one or two six-shooters, while half a dozen rifles of different makes were carried in the wagon. the herd moved northward by easy marches, open country being followed until we reached red river, where we had the misfortune to lose george edwards from sickness. he was the foreman from whom all took orders. while crossing into the chickasaw nation it was necessary to swim the cattle. we cut them into small bunches, and in fording and refording a whole afternoon was spent in the water. towards evening our foreman was rendered useless from a chill, followed by fever during the night. the next morning he was worse, and as it was necessary to move the herd out to open country, edwards took an old negro with him and went back to a ranch on the texas side. several days afterward the darky overtook us with the word that his master would be unable to accompany the cattle, and that i was to take the herd through to abilene. the negro remained with us, and at the first opportunity i picked up another man. within a week we encountered a country trail, bearing slightly northwest, over which herds had recently passed. this trace led us into another, which followed up the south side of the washita river, and two weeks after reaching the nation we entered what afterward became famous as the chisholm trail. the chickasaw was one of the civilized tribes; its members had intermarried with the whites until their identity as indians was almost lost. they owned fine homes and farms in the washita valley, were hospitable to strangers, and where the aboriginal blood was properly diluted the women were strikingly beautiful. in this same valley, fifteen years afterward, i saw a herd of one thousand and seven head of corn-fed cattle. the grain was delivered at feed-lots at ten cents a bushel, and the beeves had then been on full feed for nine months. there were no railroads in the country and the only outlet for the surplus corn was to feed it to cattle and drive them to some shipping-point in kansas. compared with the route to fort sumner, the northern one was a paradise. no day passed but there was an abundance of water, while the grass simply carpeted the country. we merely soldiered along, crossing what was then one of the no-man's lands and the cherokee outlet, never sighting another herd until after entering kansas. we amused ourselves like urchins out for a holiday, the country was full of all kinds of game, and our darky cook was kept busy frying venison and roasting turkeys. a calf was born on the trail, the mother of which was quite gentle, and we broke her for a milk cow, while "bull," the youngster, became a great pet. a cow-skin was slung under the wagon for carrying wood and heavy cooking utensils, and the calf was given a berth in the hammock until he was able to follow. but when bull became older he hung around the wagon like a dog, preferring the company of the outfit to that of his own mother. he soon learned to eat cold biscuit and corn-pone, and would hang around at meal-time, ready for the scraps. we always had to notice where the calf lay down to sleep, as he was a black rascal, and the men were liable to stumble over him while changing guards during the night. he never could be prevailed on to walk with his mother, but followed the wagon or rode in his hammock, and was always happy as a lark when the recipient of the outfit's attentions. we sometimes secured as much as two gallons of milk a day from the cow, but it was pitiful to watch her futile efforts at coaxing her offspring away from the wagon. we passed to the west of the town of wichita and reached our destination early in june. there i found several letters awaiting me, with instructions to dispose of the herd or to report what was the prospect of effecting a sale. we camped about five miles from abilene, and before i could post myself on cattle values half a dozen buyers had looked the herd over. men were in the market anxious for beef cattle with which to fill army and indian contracts, feeders from eastern states, shippers and speculators galore, cowmen looking for she stuff with which to start new ranches, while scarcely a day passed but inquiry was made by settlers for oxen with which to break prairie. a dozen herds had arrived ahead of us, the market had fairly opened, and, once i got the drift of current prices, i was as busy as a farmer getting ready to cut his buckwheat. every yoke of oxen was sold within a week, one ranchman took all the cows, an army contractor took one thousand of the largest beeves, feeders from iowa took the younger steers, and within six weeks after arriving i did not have a hoof left. in the mean time i kept an account of each sale, brands and numbers, in order to render a statement to the owners of the cattle. as fast as the money was received i sent it home by drafts, except the proceeds from the oxen, which was a private matter. i bought and sold two whole remudas of horses on speculation, clearing fifteen of the best ones and three hundred dollars on the transactions. the facilities for handling cattle at abilene were not completed until late in the season of ' , yet twenty-five thousand cattle found a market there that summer and fall. the drive of the present year would triple that number, and every one seemed pleased with future prospects. the town took on an air of frontier prosperity; saloons and gambling and dance halls multiplied, and every legitimate line of business flourished like a green bay tree. i made the acquaintance of every drover and was generally looked upon as an extra good salesman, the secret being in our cattle, which were choice. for instance, northern buyers could see three dollars a head difference in three-year-old steers, but with the average texan the age classified them all alike. my boyhood knowledge of cattle had taught me the difference, but in range dealing it was impossible to apply the principle. i made many warm friends among both buyers and drovers, bringing them together and effecting sales, and it was really a matter of regret that i had to leave before the season was over. i loved the atmosphere of dicker and traffic, had made one of the largest sales of the season with our beeves, and was leaving, firm in the conviction that i had overlooked no feature of the market of future value. after selling the oxen we broke some of our saddle stock to harness, altered the wagon tongue for horses, and started across the country for home, taking our full remuda with us. where i had gone up the trail with five horses, i was going back with twenty; some of the oxen i had sold at treble their original cost, while none of them failed to double my money--on credit. taking it all in all, i had never seen such good times and made money as easily. on the back track we followed the trail, but instead of going down the washita as we had come, we followed the chisholm trail to the texas boundary, crossing at what was afterward known as red river station. from there home was an easy matter, and after an absence of four months and five days the outfit rode into the edwards ranch with a flourish. chapter vi sowing wild oats the results from driving cattle north were a surprise to every one. my employers were delighted with their experiment, the general expense of handling the herd not exceeding fifty cents a head. the enterprise had netted over fifty-two thousand dollars, the saddle horses had returned in good condition, while due credit was given me in the general management. from my sale accounts i made out a statement, and once my expenses were approved it was an easy matter to apportion each owner his just dues in the season's drive. this over i was free to go my way. the only incident of moment in the final settlement was the waggish contention of one of the owners, who expressed amazement that i ever remitted any funds or returned, roguishly admitting that no one expected it. then suddenly, pretending to have discovered the governing motive, he summoned miss gertrude, and embarrassed her with a profusion of thanks, averring that she alone had saved him from a loss of four hundred beeves. the next move was to redeem my land scrip. the surveyor was anxious to buy a portion of it, but i was too rich to part with even a single section. during our conversation, however, it developed that he held his commission from the state, and when i mentioned my intention of locating land, he made application to do the surveying. the fact that i expected to make my locations in another county made no difference to a free-lance official, and accordingly we came to an agreement. the apple of my eye was a valley on the clear fork, above its juncture with the main brazos, and from maps in the surveyor's office i was able to point out the locality where i expected to make my locations. he proved an obliging official and gave me all the routine details, and an appointment was made with him to report a week later at the edwards ranch. a wagon and cook would be necessary, chain carriers and flagmen must be taken along, and i began skirmishing about for an outfit. the three hired men who had been up the trail with me were still in the country, and i engaged them and secured a cook. george edwards loaned me a wagon and two yoke of oxen, even going along himself for company. the commissary was outfitted for a month's stay, and a day in advance of the expected arrival of the surveyor the outfit was started up the brazos. each of the men had one or more private horses, and taking all of mine along, we had a remuda of thirty odd saddle horses. george and i remained behind, and on the arrival of the surveyor we rode by way of palo pinto, the county seat, to which all unorganized territory to the west was attached for legal purposes. our chief motive in passing the town was to see if there were any lands located near the juncture of the clear fork with the mother stream, and thus secure an established corner from which to begin our survey. but the records showed no land taken up around the confluence of these watercourses, making it necessary to establish a corner. under the old customs, handed down from the spanish to the texans, corners were always established from natural landmarks. the union of creeks arid rivers, mounds, lagoons, outcropping of rock, in fact anything unchangeable and established by nature, were used as a point of commencement. in the locating of spanish land grants a century and a half previous, sand-dunes were frequently used, and when these old concessions became of value and were surveyed, some of the corners had shifted a mile or more by the action of the wind and seasons on the sand-hills. accordingly, on overtaking our outfit we headed for the juncture of the brazos and clear fork, reaching our destination the second day. the first thing was to establish a corner or commencement point. some heavy timber grew around the confluence, so, selecting an old patriarch pin oak between the two streams, we notched the tree and ran a line to low water at the juncture of the two rivers. other witness trees were established and notched, lines were run at angles to the banks of either stream, and a hole was dug two feet deep between the roots of the pin oak, a stake set therein, and the excavation filled with charcoal and covered. a legal corner or commencement point was thus established; but as the land that i coveted lay some distance up the clear fork, it was necessary first to run due south six miles and establish a corner, and thence run west the same distance and locate another one. the thirty sections of land scrip would entitle me to a block of ground five by six miles in extent, and i concluded to locate the bulk of it on the south side of the clear fork. a permanent camp was now established, the actual work of locating the land requiring about ten days, when the surveyor and edwards set out on their return. they were to touch at the county seat, record the established corners and file my locations, leaving the other boys and me behind. it was my intention to build a corral and possibly a cabin on the land, having no idea that we would remain more than a few weeks longer. timber was plentiful, and, selecting a site well out on the prairie, we began the corral. it was no easy task; palisades were cut twelve feet long and out of durable woods, and the gate-posts were fourteen inches in diameter at the small end, requiring both yoke of oxen to draw them to the chosen site. the latter were cut two feet longer than the palisades, the extra length being inserted in the ground, giving them a stability to carry the bars with which the gateway was closed. ten days were spent in cutting and drawing timber, some of the larger palisades being split in two so as to enable five men to load them on the wagon. the digging of the narrow trench, five feet deep, in which the palisades were set upright, was a sore trial; but the ground was sandy, and by dint of perseverance it was accomplished. instead of a few weeks, over a month was spent on the corral, but when it was finished it would hold a thousand stampeding cattle through the stormiest night that ever blew. after finishing the corral we hunted a week. the country was alive with game of all kinds, even an occasional buffalo, while wild and unbranded cattle were seen daily. none of the men seemed anxious to leave the valley, but the commissary had to be replenished, so two of us made the trip to belknap with a pack horse, returning the next day with meal, sugar, and coffee. a cabin was begun and completed in ten days, a crude but stable affair, with clapboard roof, clay floor, and ample fireplace. it was now late in september, and as the usual branding season was at hand, cow-hunting outfits might be expected to pass down the valley. the advantage of corrals would naturally make my place headquarters for cowmen, and we accordingly settled down until the branding season was over. but the abundance of mavericks and wild cattle was so tempting that we had three hundred under herd when the first cow-hunting outfits arrived. at one lake on what is now known as south prairie, in a single moonlight night, we roped and tied down forty head, the next morning finding thirty of them unbranded and therefore unowned. all tame cattle would naturally water in the daytime, and anything coming in at night fell a victim to our ropes. a wooden toggle was fastened with rawhide to its neck, so it would trail between its forelegs, to prevent running, when the wild maverick was freed and allowed to enter the herd. after a week or ten days, if an animal showed any disposition to quiet down, it was again thrown, branded, and the toggle removed. we corralled the little herd every night, adding to it daily, scouting far and wide for unowned or wild cattle. but when other outfits came up or down the valley of the clear fork we joined forces with them, tendering our corrals for branding purposes, our rake-off being the mavericks and eligible strays. many a fine quarter of beef was left at our cabin by passing ranchmen, and when the gathering ended we had a few over five hundred cattle for our time and trouble. fine weather favored us and we held the mavericks under herd until late in december. the wild ones gradually became gentle, and with constant handling these wild animals were located until they would come in of their own accord for the privilege of sleeping in a corral. but when winter approached the herd was turned free, that the cattle might protect themselves from storms, and we gathered our few effects together and started for the settlements. it was with reluctance that i left that primitive valley. somehow or other, primal conditions possessed a charm for me which, coupled with an innate love of the land and the animals that inhabit it, seemed to influence and outline my future course of life. the pride of possession was mine; with my own hands and abilities had i earned the land, while the overflow from a thousand hills stocked my new ranch. i was now the owner of lands and cattle; my father in his palmiest days never dreamed of such possessions as were mine, while youth and opportunity encouraged me to greater exertions. we reached the edwards ranch a few days before christmas. the boys were settled with and returned to their homes, and i was once more adrift. forty odd calves had been branded as the increase of my mavericking of the year before, and, still basking in the smile of fortune, i found a letter awaiting me from major seth mabry of austin, anxious to engage my services as a trail foreman for the coming summer. i had met major seth the spring before at abilene, and was instrumental in finding him a buyer for his herd, and otherwise we became fast friends. there were no outstanding obligations to my former employers, so when a protest was finally raised against my going, i had the satisfaction of vouching for george edwards, to the manner born, and a better range cowman than i was. the same group of ranchmen expected to drive another herd the coming spring, and i made it a point to see each one personally, urging that nothing but choice cattle should be sent up the trail. my long acquaintance with the junior edwards enabled me to speak emphatically and to the point, and i lectured him thoroughly as to the requirements of the abilene market. i notified major mabry that i would be on hand within a month. the holiday season soon passed, and leaving my horses at the edwards ranch, i saddled the most worthless one and started south. the trip was uneventful, except that i traded horses twice, reaching my destination within a week, having seen no country en route that could compare with the valley of the clear fork. the capital city was a straggling village on the banks of the colorado river, inert through political usurpation, yet the home of many fine people. quite a number of cowmen resided there, owning ranches in outlying and adjoining counties, among them being my acquaintance of the year before and present employer. it was too early by nearly a month to begin active operations, and i contented myself about town, making the acquaintance of other cowmen and their foremen who expected to drive that year. new orleans had previously been the only outlet for beef cattle in southern texas, and even in the spring of ' very few had any confidence of a market in the north. major mabry, however, was going to drive two herds to abilene, one of beeves and the other of younger steers, dry cows, and thrifty two-year-old heifers, and i was to have charge of the heavy cattle. both herds would be put up in llano county, it being the intention to start with the grass. mules were to be worked to the wagons, oxen being considered too slow, while both outfits were to be mounted seven horses to the man. during my stay at austin i frequently made inquiry for land scrip. nearly all the merchants had more or less, the current prices being about five cents an acre. there was a clear distinction, however, in case one was a buyer or seller, the former being shown every attention. i allowed the impression to circulate that i would buy, which brought me numerous offers, and before leaving the town i secured twenty sections for five hundred dollars. i needed just that amount to cover a four-mile bend of the clear fork on the west end of my new ranch,--a possession which gave me ten miles of that virgin valley. my employer congratulated me on my investment, and assured me that if the people ever overthrew the reconstruction usurpers the public domain would no longer be bartered away for chips and whetstones. i was too busy to take much interest in the political situation, and, so long as i was prosperous and employed, gave little heed to politics. major mabry owned a ranch and extensive cattle interests northwest in llano county. as we expected to start the herds as early as possible, the latter part of february found us at the ranch actively engaged in arranging for the summer's work. there were horses to buy, wagons to outfit, and hands to secure, and a busy fortnight was spent in getting ready for the drive. the spring before i had started out in debt; now, on permission being given me, i bought ten horses for my own use and invested the balance of my money in four yoke of oxen. had i remained in palo pinto county the chances were that i might have enlarged my holdings in the coming drive, as in order to have me remain several offered to sell me cattle on credit. but so long as i was enlarging my experience i was content, while the wages offered me were double what i received the summer before. we went into camp and began rounding up near the middle of march. all classes of cattle were first gathered into one herd, after which the beeves were cut separate and taken charge of by my outfit. we gathered a few over fifteen hundred of the latter, all prairie-raised cattle, four years old or over, and in the single ranch brand of my employer. major seth had also contracted for one thousand other beeves, and it became our duty to receive them. these outside contingents would have to be road-branded before starting, as they were in a dozen or more brands, the work being done in a chute built for that purpose. my employer and i fully agreed on the quality of cattle to be received, and when possible we both passed on each tender of beeves before accepting them. the two herds were being held separate, and a friendly rivalry existed between the outfits as to which herd would be ready to start first. it only required a few days extra to receive and road-brand the outside cattle, when all were ready to start. as major seth knew the most practical route, in deference to his years and experience i insisted that he should take the lead until after red river was crossed. i had been urging the chisholm trail in preference to more eastern ones, and with the compromise that i should take the lead after passing fort worth, the two herds started on the last day of march. there was no particular trail to follow. the country was all open, and the grass was coming rapidly, while the horses and cattle were shedding their winter coats with the change of the season. fine weather favored us, no rains at night and few storms, and within two weeks we passed fort worth, after which i took the lead. i remember that at the latter point i wrote a letter to the elder edwards, inclosing my land scrip, and asking him to send a man out to my new ranch occasionally to see that the improvements were not destroyed. several herds had already passed the fort, their destination being the same as ours, and from thence onward we had the advantage of following a trail. as we neared red river, nearly all the herds bore off to the eastward, but we held our course, crossing into the chickasaw nation at the regular chisholm ford. a few beggarly indians, renegades from the kiowas and comanches on the west, annoyed us for the first week, but were easily appeased with a lame or stray beef. the two herds held rather close together as a matter of mutual protection, as in some of the encampments were fully fifty lodges with possibly as many able-bodied warriors. but after crossing the washita river no further trouble was encountered from the natives, and we swept northward at the steady pace of an advancing army. other herds were seen in our rear and front, and as we neared the kansas line several long columns of cattle were sighted coming in over the safer eastern routes. the last lap of the drive was reached. a fortnight later we went into camp within twelve miles of abilene, having been on the trail two months and eleven days. the same week we moved north of the railroad, finding ample range within seven miles of town. herds were coming in rapidly, and it was important to secure good grazing grounds for our cattle. buyers were arriving from every territory in the northwest, including california, while the usual contingent of eastern dealers, shippers, and market-scalpers was on hand. it could hardly be said that prices had yet opened, though several contracted herds had already been delivered, while every purchaser was bearing the market and prophesying a drive of a quarter million cattle. the drovers, on the other hand, were combating every report in circulation, even offering to wager that the arrivals of stock for the entire summer would not exceed one hundred thousand head. cowmen reported en route with ten thousand beeves came in with one fifth the number, and sellers held the whip hand, the market actually opening at better figures than the summer before. once prices were established, i was in the thick of the fight, selling my oxen the first week to a freighter, constantly on the skirmish for a buyer, and never failing to recognize one with whom i had done business the summer before. in case major mabry had nothing to suit, the herd in charge of george edwards was always shown, and i easily effected two sales, aggregating fifteen hundred head, from the latter cattle, with customers of the year previous. but my zeal for bartering in cattle came to a sudden end near the close of june. a conservative estimate of the arrivals then in sight or known to be en route for abilene was placed at one hundred and fifty thousand cattle. yet instead of any weakening in prices, they seemed to strengthen with the influx of buyers from the corn regions, as the prospects of the season assured a bountiful new crop. where states had quarantined against texas cattle the law was easily circumvented by a statement that the cattle were immune from having wintered in the north, which satisfied the statutes--as there was no doubt but they had wintered somewhere. steer cattle of acceptable age and smoothness of build were in demand by feeders; all classes in fact felt a stimulus. my beeves were sold for delivery north of cheyenne, wyoming, the buyers, who were ranchmen as well as army contractors, taking the herd complete, including the remuda and wagon. under the terms, the cattle were to start immediately and be grazed through. i was given until the middle of september to reach my destination, and at once moved out on a northwest course. on reaching the republican river, we followed it to the colorado line, and then tacked north for cheyenne. reporting our progress to the buyers, we were met and directed to pass to the eastward of that village, where we halted a week, and seven hundred of the fattest beeves were cut out for delivery at fort russell. by various excuses we were detained until frost fell before we reached the ranch, and a second and a third contingent of beeves were cut out for other deliveries, making it nearly the middle of october before i was finally relieved. with the exception of myself, a new outfit of men had been secured at abilene. some of them were retained at the ranch of the contractors, the remainder being discharged, all of us returning to cheyenne together, whence we scattered to the four winds. i spent a week in denver, meeting charlie goodnight, who had again fought his way up the pecos route and delivered his cattle to the contractors at fort logan. continuing homeward, i took the train for abilene, hesitating whether to stop there or visit my brother in missouri before returning to texas. i had twelve hundred dollars with me, as the proceeds of my wages, horses, and oxen, and, feeling rather affluent, i decided to stop over a day at the new trail town. i knew the market was virtually over, and what evil influence ever suggested my stopping at abilene is unexplainable. but i did stop, and found things just as i expected,--everybody sold out and gone home. a few trail foremen were still hanging around the town under the pretense of attending to unsettled business, and these welcomed me with a fraternal greeting. two of them who had served in the confederate army came to me and frankly admitted that they were broke, and begged me to help them out of town by redeeming their horses and saddles. feed bills had accumulated and hotel accounts were unpaid; the appeals of the rascals would have moved a stone to pity. the upshot of the whole matter was that i bought a span of mules and wagon and invited seven of the boys to accompany me overland to texas. my friends insisted that we could sell the outfit in the lower country for more than cost, but before i got out of town my philanthropic venture had absorbed over half my savings. as long as i had money the purse seemed a public one, and all the boys borrowed just as freely as if they expected to repay it. i am sure they felt grateful, and had i been one of the needy no doubt any of my friends would have shared his purse with me. it was a delightful trip across the indian territory, and we reached sherman, texas, just before the holidays. every one had become tired of the wagon, and i was fortunate enough to sell it without loss. those who had saddle horses excused themselves and hurried home for the christmas festivities, leaving a quartette of us behind. but before the remainder of us proceeded to our destinations two of the boys discovered a splendid opening for a monte game, in which we could easily recoup all our expenses for the trip. i was the only dissenter to the programme, not even knowing the game; but under the pressure which was brought to bear i finally yielded, and became banker for my friends. the results are easily told. the second night there was heavy play, and before ten o'clock the monte bank closed for want of funds, it having been tapped for its last dollar. the next morning i took stage for dallas, where i arrived with less than twenty dollars, and spent the most miserable christmas day of my life. i had written george edwards from denver that i expected to go to missouri, and asked him to take my horses and go out to the little ranch and brand my calves. there was no occasion now to contradict my advice of that letter, neither would i go near the edwards ranch, yet i hungered for that land scrip and roundly cursed myself for being a fool. it would be two months and a half before spring work opened, and what to do in the mean time was the one absorbing question. my needs were too urgent to allow me to remain idle long, and, drifting south, working when work was to be had, at last i reached the home of my soldier crony in washington county, walking and riding in country wagons the last hundred miles of the distance. no experience in my life ever humiliated me as that one did, yet i have laughed about it since. i may have previously heard of riches taking wings, but in this instance, now mellowed by time, no injustice will be done by simply recording it as the parting of a fool and his money. chapter vii "the angel" the winds of adversity were tempered by the welcome extended me by my old comrade and his wife. there was no concealment as to my financial condition, but when i explained the causes my former crony laughed at me until the tears stood in his eyes. nor did i protest, because i so richly deserved it. fortunately the circumstances of my friends had bettered since my previous visit, and i was accordingly relieved from any feeling of intrusion. in two short years the wheel had gone round, and i was walking heavily on my uppers and continually felt like a pauper or poor relation. to make matters more embarrassing, i could appeal to no one, and, fortified by pride from birth, i ground my teeth over resolutions that will last me till death. any one of half a dozen friends, had they known my true condition, would have gladly come to my aid, but circumstances prevented me from making any appeal. to my brother in missouri i had previously written of my affluence; as for friends in palo pinto county,--well, for the very best of reasons my condition would remain a sealed book in that quarter; and to appeal to major mabry might arouse his suspicions. i had handled a great deal of money for him, accounting for every cent, but had he known of my inability to take care of my own frugal earnings it might have aroused his distrust. i was sure of a position with him again as trail foreman, and not for the world would i have had him know that i could be such a fool as to squander my savings thoughtlessly. what little correspondence i conducted that winter was by roundabout methods. i occasionally wrote my brother that i was wallowing in wealth, always inclosing a letter to gertrude edwards with instructions to remail, conveying the idea to her family that i was spending the winter with relatives in missouri. as yet there was no tacit understanding between miss gertrude and me, but i conveyed that impression to my brother, and as i knew he had run away with his wife, i had confidence he would do my bidding. in writing my employer i reported myself as busy dealing in land scrip, and begged him not to insist on my appearance until it was absolutely necessary. he replied that i might have until the th of march in which to report at austin, as my herd had been contracted for north in williamson county. major mabry expected to drive three herds that spring, the one already mentioned and two from llano county, where he had recently acquired another ranch with an extensive stock of cattle. it therefore behooved me to keep my reputation unsullied, a rather difficult thing to do when our escapade at sherman was known to three other trail foremen. they might look upon it as a good joke, while to me it was a serious matter. had there been anything to do in washington county, it was my intention to go to work. the dredging company had departed for newer fields, there was no other work in sight, and i was compelled to fold my hands and bide my time. my crony and i blotted out the days by hunting deer and turkeys, using hounds for the former and shooting the animals at game crossings. by using a turkey-call we could entice the gobblers within rifle-shot, and in several instances we were able to locate their roosts. the wild turkey of texas was a wary bird, and although i have seen flocks of hundreds, it takes a crafty hunter to bag one. i have always loved a gun and been fond of hunting, yet the time hung heavy on my hands, and i counted the days like a prisoner until i could go to work. but my sentence finally expired, and preparations were made for my start to austin. my friends offered their best wishes,--about all they had,--and my old comrade went so far as to take me one day on horseback to where he had an acquaintance living. there we stayed over night, which was more than half way to my destination, and the next morning we parted, he to his home with the horses, while i traveled on foot or trusted to country wagons. i arrived in austin on the appointed day, with less than five dollars in my pocket, and registered at the best hotel in the capital. i needed a saddle, having sold mine in wyoming the fall before, and at once reported to my employer. fortunately my arrival was being awaited to start a remuda and wagon to williamson county, and when i assured major mabry that all i lacked was a saddle, he gave me an order on a local dealer, and we started that same evening. at last i was saved. with the opening of work my troubles lifted like a night fog before the rising sun. even the first view of the remuda revived my spirits, as i had been allotted one hundred fine cow-horses. they had been brought up during the winter, had run in a good pasture for some time, and with the opening of spring were in fine condition. many trail men were short-sighted in regard to mounting their outfits, and although we had our differences, i want to say that major mabry and his later associates never expected a man to render an honest day's work unless he was properly supplied with horses. my allowance for the spring of was again seven horses to the man, with two extra for the foreman, which at that early day in trailing cattle was considered the maximum where kansas was the destination. many drovers allowed only five horses to the man, but their men were frequently seen walking with the herd, their mounts mingling with the cattle, unable to carry their riders longer. the receiving of the herd in williamson county was an easy matter. four prominent ranchmen were to supply the beeves to the number of three thousand. nearly every hoof was in the straight ranch brand of the sellers, only some two hundred being mixed brands and requiring the usual road-branding. in spite of every effort to hold the herd down to the contracted number, we received one hundred and fifty extra; but then they were cattle that no justifiable excuse could be offered in refusing. the last beeves were received on the d of the month, and after cutting separate all cattle of outside brands, they were sent to the chute to receive the road-mark. major mabry was present, and a controversy arose between the sellers and himself over our refusal to road-brand, or at least vent the ranch brands, on the great bulk of the herd. too many brands on an animal was an objection to the shippers and feeders of the north, and we were anxious to cater to their wishes as far as possible. the sellers protested against the cattle leaving their range without some mark to indicate their change of ownership. the country was all open; in case of a stampede and loss of cattle within a few hundred miles they were certain to drift back to their home range, with nothing to distinguish them from their brothers of the same age. flesh marks are not a good title by which to identify one's property, where those possessions consist of range cattle, and the law recognized the holding brand as the hall-mark of ownership. but a compromise was finally agreed upon, whereby we were to run the beeves through the chute and cut the brush from their tails. in a four or five year old animal this tally-mark would hold for a year, and in no wise work any hardship to the animal in warding off insect life. in case of any loss on the trail my employer agreed to pay one dollar a head for regathering any stragglers that returned within a year. the proposition was a fair one, the ranchmen yielded, and we ran the whole herd through the chute, cutting the brush within a few inches of the end of the tail-bone. by tightly wrapping the brush once around the blade of a sharp knife, it was quick work to thus vent a chuteful of cattle, both the road-branding and tally-marking being done in two days. the herd started on the morning of the th. i had a good outfit of men, only four of whom were with me the year before. the spring could not be considered an early one, and therefore we traveled slow for the first few weeks, meeting with two bad runs, three days apart, but without the loss of a hoof. these panics among the cattle were unexplainable, as they were always gorged with grass and water at bedding time, the weather was favorable, no unseemly noises were heard by the men on guard, and both runs occurred within two hours of daybreak. there was a half-breed mexican in the outfit, a very quiet man, and when the causes of the stampedes were being discussed around the camp-fire, i noticed that he shrugged his shoulders in derision of the reasons advanced. the half-breed was my horse wrangler, old in years and experience, and the idea struck me to sound him as to his version of the existing trouble among the cattle. he was inclined to be distant, but i approached him cautiously, complimented him on his handling of the remuda, rode with him several hours, and adroitly drew out his opinion of what caused our two stampedes. as he had never worked with the herd, his first question was, did we receive any blind cattle or had any gone blind since we started? he then informed me that the old spanish rancheros would never leave a sightless animal in a corral with sound ones during the night for fear of a stampede. he cautioned me to look the herd over carefully, and if there was a blind animal found to cut it out or the trouble would he repeated in spite of all precaution. i rode back and met the herd, accosting every swing man on one side with the inquiry if any blind animal had been seen, without results until the drag end of the cattle was reached. two men were at the rear, and when approached with the question, both admitted noticing, for the past week, a beef which acted as if he might be crazy. i had them point out the steer, and before i had watched him ten minutes was satisfied that he was stone blind. he was a fine, big fellow, in splendid flesh, but it was impossible to keep him in the column; he was always straggling out and constantly shying from imaginary objects. i had the steer roped for three or four nights and tied to a tree, and as the stampeding ceased we cut him out every evening when bedding down the herd, and allowed him to sleep alone. the poor fellow followed us, never venturing to leave either day or night, but finally fell into a deep ravine and broke his neck. his affliction had befallen him on the trail, affecting his nervous system to such an extent that he would jump from imaginary objects and thus stampede his brethren. i remember it occurred to me, then, how little i knew about cattle, and that my wrangler and i ought to exchange places. since that day i have always been an attentive listener to the humblest of my fellowmen when interpreting the secrets of animal life. another incident occurred on this trip which showed the observation and insight of my half-breed wrangler. we were passing through some cross-timbers one morning in northern texas, the remuda and wagon far in the lead. we were holding the herd as compactly as possible to prevent any straying of cattle, when our saddle horses were noticed abandoned in thick timber. it was impossible to leave the herd at the time, but on reaching the nearest opening, about two miles ahead, i turned and galloped back for fear of losing horses. i counted the remuda and found them all there, but the wrangler was missing. thoughts of desertion flashed through my mind, the situation was unexplainable, and after calling, shooting, and circling around for over an hour, i took the remuda in hand and started after the herd, mentally preparing a lecture in case my wrangler returned. while nooning that day some six or seven miles distant, the half-breed jauntily rode into camp, leading a fine horse, saddled and bridled, with a man's coat tied to the cantle-strings. he explained to us that he had noticed the trail of a horse crossing our course at right angles. the freshness of the sign attracted his attention, and trailing it a short distance in the dewy morning he had noticed that something attached to the animal was trailing. a closer examination was made, and he decided that it was a bridle rein and not a rope that was attached to the wandering horse. from the freshness of the trail, he felt positive that he would overtake the animal shortly, but after finding him some difficulty was encountered before the horse would allow himself to be caught. he apologized for his neglect of duty, considering the incident as nothing unusual, and i had not the heart even to scold him. there were letters in the pocket of the coat, from which the owner was identified, and on arriving at abilene the pleasure was mine of returning the horse and accoutrements and receiving a twenty-dollar gold piece for my wrangler. a stampede of trail cattle had occurred some forty miles to the northwest but a few nights before our finding the horse, during which the herd ran into some timber, and a low-hanging limb unhorsed the foreman, the animal escaping until captured by my man. on approaching fort worth, still traveling slowly on account of the lateness of the spring, i decided to pay a flying visit to palo pinto county. it was fully eighty miles from the fort across to the edwards ranch, and appointing one of my old men as segundo, i saddled my best horse and set out an hour before sunset. i had made the same ride four years previously on coming to the country, a cool night favored my mount, and at daybreak i struck the brazos river within two miles of the ranch. an eventful day followed; i reeled off innocent white-faced lies by the yard, in explaining the delightful winter i had spent with my brother in missouri. fortunately the elder edwards was not driving any cattle that year, and george was absent buying oxen for a fort griffin freighter. good reports of my new ranch awaited me, my cattle were increasing, and the smile of prosperity again shed its benediction over me. no one had located any lands near my little ranch, and the coveted addition on the west was still vacant and unoccupied. the silent monitor within my breast was my only accuser, but as i rode away from the edwards ranch in the shade of evening, even it was silenced, for i held the promise of a splendid girl to become my wife. a second sleepless night passed like a pleasant dream, and early the next morning, firmly anchored in resolutions that no vagabond friends could ever shake, i overtook my herd. after crossing red river, the sweep across the indian country was but a repetition of other years, with its varying monotony. once we were waterbound for three days, severe drifts from storms at night were experienced, delaying our progress, and we did not reach abilene until june . we were aware, however, of an increased drive of cattle to the north; evidences were to be seen on every hand; owners were hanging around the different fords and junctions of trails, inquiring if herds in such and such brands had been seen or spoken. while we were crossing the nations, men were daily met hunting for lost horses or inquiring for stampeded cattle, while the regular trails were being cut into established thoroughfares from increasing use. neither of the other mabry herds had reached their destination on our arrival, though major seth put in an appearance within a week and reported the other two about one hundred miles to the rear. cattle were arriving by the thousands, buyers from the north, east, and west were congregating, and the prospect of good prices was flattering. i was fortunate in securing my old camp-ground north of the town; a dry season had set in nearly a month before, maturing the grass, and our cattle took on flesh rapidly. buyers looked them over daily, our prices being firm. wintered cattle were up in the pictures, a rate war was on between all railroad lines east of the mississippi river, cutting to the bone to secure the western live-stock traffic. three-year-old steers bought the fall before at twenty dollars and wintered on the kansas prairies were netting their owners as high as sixty dollars on the chicago market. the man with good cattle for sale could afford to be firm. at this juncture a regrettable incident occurred, which, however, proved a boon to me. some busybody went to the trouble of telling major mabry about my return to abilene the fall before and my subsequent escapade in texas, embellishing the details and even intimating that i had squandered funds not my own. i was thirty years old and as touchy as gunpowder, and felt the injustice of the charge like a knife-blade in my heart. there was nothing to do but ask for my release, place the facts in the hands of my employer, and court a thorough investigation. i had always entertained the highest regard for major mabry, and before the season ended i was fully vindicated and we were once more fast friends. in the mean time i was not idle. by the first of july it was known that three hundred thousand cattle would be the minimum of the summer's drive to abilene. my extensive acquaintance among buyers made my services of value to new drovers. a commission of twenty-five cents a head was offered me for effecting sales. the first week after severing my connection with major seth my earnings from a single trade amounted to seven hundred and fifty dollars. thenceforth i was launched on a business of my own. fortune smiled on me, acquaintances nicknamed me "the angel," and instead of my foolishness reflecting on me, it made me a host of friends. cowmen insisted on my selling their cattle, shippers consulted me, and i was constantly in demand with buyers, who wished my opinion on young steers before closing trades. i was chosen referee in a dozen disputes in classifying cattle, my decisions always giving satisfaction. frequently, on an order, i turned buyer. northern men seemed timid in relying on their own judgment of texas cattle. often, after a trade was made, the buyer paid me the regular commission for cutting and receiving, not willing to risk his judgment on range cattle. during the second week in august i sold five thousand head and bought fifteen hundred. every man who had purchased cattle the year before had made money and was back in the market for more. prices were easily advanced as the season wore on, whole herds were taken by three or four farmers from the corn regions, and the year closed with a flourish. in the space of four months i was instrumental in selling, buying, cutting, or receiving a few over thirty thousand head, on all of which i received a commission. i established a camp of my own during the latter part of august. in order to avoid night-herding his cattle the summer before, some one had built a corral about ten miles northeast of abilene. it was a temporary affair, the abrupt, bluff banks of a creek making a perfect horseshoe, requiring only four hundred feet of fence across the neck to inclose a corral of fully eight acres. the inclosure was not in use, so i hired three men and took possession of it for the time being. i had noticed in previous years that when a drover had sold all his herd but a remnant, he usually sacrificed his culls in order to reduce the expense of an outfit and return home. i had an idea that there was money in buying up these remnants and doing a small jobbing business. frequently i had as many as seven hundred cull cattle on hand. besides, i was constantly buying and selling whole remudas of saddle horses. so when a drover had sold all but a few hundred cattle he would come to me, and i would afford him the relief he wanted. cripples and sore-footed animals were usually thrown in for good measure, or accepted at the price of their hides. some buyers demanded quality and some cared only for numbers. i remember effecting a sale of one hundred culls to a settler, southeast on the smoky river, at seven dollars a head. the terms were that i was to cut out the cattle, and as many were cripples and cost me little or nothing, they afforded a nice profit besides cleaning up my herd. when selling my own, i always priced a choice of my cattle at a reasonable figure, or offered to cull out the same number at half the price. by this method my herd was kept trimmed from both ends and the happy medium preserved. i love to think of those good old days. without either foresight or effort i made all kinds of money during the summer of . our best patrons that fall were small ranchmen from kansas and nebraska, every one of whom had coined money on their purchases of the summer before. one hundred per cent for wintering a steer and carrying him less than a year had brought every cattleman and his cousin back to abilene to duplicate their former ventures. the little ranchman who bought five hundred steers in the fall of was in the market the present summer for a thousand head. demand always seemed to meet supply a little over half-way. the market closed firm, with every hoof taken and at prices that were entirely satisfactory to drovers. it would seem an impossibility were i to admit my profits for that year, yet at the close of the season i started overland to texas with fifty choice saddle horses and a snug bank account. surely those were the golden days of the old west. my last act before leaving abilene that fall was to meet my enemy and force a personal settlement. major mabry washed his hands by firmly refusing to name my accuser, but from other sources i traced my defamer to a liveryman of the town. the fall before, on four horses and saddles, i paid a lien, in the form of a feed bill, of one hundred and twenty dollars for my stranded friends. the following day the same man presented me another bill for nearly an equal amount, claiming it had been assigned to him in a settlement with other parties. i investigated the matter, found it to be a disputed gambling account, and refused payment. an attempt was made, only for a moment, to hold the horses, resulting in my incurring the stableman's displeasure. the outcome was that on our return the next spring our patronage went to another _bran_, and the story, born in malice and falsehood, was started between employer and employee. i had made arrangements to return to texas with the last one of major mabry's outfits, and the wagon and remuda had already started, when i located my traducer in a well-known saloon. i invited him to a seat at a table, determined to bring matters to an issue. he reluctantly complied, when i branded him with every vile epithet that my tongue could command, concluding by arraigning him as a coward. i was hungering for him to show some resistance, expecting to kill him, and when he refused to notice my insults, i called the barkeeper and asked for two glasses of whiskey and a pair of six-shooters. not a word passed between us until the bartender brought the drinks and guns on a tray. "now take your choice," said i. he replied, "i believe a little whiskey will do me good." chapter viii the "lazy l" the homeward trip was a picnic. counting mine, we had one hundred and fifty saddle horses. all surplus men in the employ of major mabry had been previously sent home until there remained at the close of the season only the drover, seven men, and myself. we averaged forty miles a day returning, sweeping down the plains like a north wind until red river station was reached. there our ways parted, and cutting separate my horses, we bade each other farewell, the main outfit heading for fort worth, while i bore to the westward for palo pinto. major seth was anxious to secure my services for another year, but i made no definite promises. we parted the best of friends. there were scattering ranches on my route, but driving fifty loose horses made traveling slow, and it was nearly a week before i reached the edwards ranch. the branding season was nearly over. after a few days' rest, an outfit of men was secured, and we started for my little ranch on the clear fork. word was sent to the county seat, appointing a date with the surveyor, and on arriving at the new ranch i found that the corrals had been in active use by branding parties. we were soon in the thick of the fray, easily holding our own, branding every maverick on the range as well as catching wild cattle. my weakness for a good horse was the secret of much of my success in ranching during the early days, for with a remuda of seventy picked horses it was impossible for any unowned animal to escape us. our drag-net scoured the hills and valleys, and before the arrival of the surveyor we had run the " " on over five hundred calves, mavericks, and wild cattle. different outfits came down the brazos and passed up the clear fork, always using my corrals when working in the latter valley. we usually joined in with these cow-hunting parties, extending to them every possible courtesy, and in return many a thrifty yearling was added to my brand. except some wild-cattle hunting which we had in view, every hoof was branded up by the time the surveyor arrived at the ranch. the locating of twenty sections of land was an easy matter. we had established corners from which to work, and commencing on the west end of my original location, we ran off an area of country, four miles west by five south. new outside corners were established with buried charcoal and stakes, while the inner ones were indicated by half-buried rock, nothing divisional being done except to locate the land in sections. it was a beautiful tract, embracing a large bend of the clear fork, heavily timbered in several places, the soil being of a rich, sandy loam and covered with grass. i was proud of my landed interest, though small compared to modern ranches; and after the surveying ended, we spent a few weeks hunting out several rendezvous of wild cattle before returning to the edwards ranch. i married during the holidays. the new ranch was abandoned during the winter months, as the cattle readily cared for themselves, requiring no attention. i now had a good working capital, and having established myself by marriage into a respectable family of the country, i found several avenues open before me. among the different openings for attractive investment was a brand of cattle belonging to an estate south in comanche county. if the cattle were as good as represented they were certainly a bargain, as the brand was offered straight through at four dollars and a half a head. it was represented that nothing had been sold from the brand in a number of years, the estate was insolvent, and the trustee was anxious to sell the entire stock outright. i was impressed with the opportunity, and early in the winter george edwards and i rode down to look the situation over. by riding around the range a few days we were able to get a good idea of the stock, and on inquiry among neighbors and men familiar with the brand, i was satisfied that the cattle were a bargain. a lawyer at the county seat was the trustee, and on opening negotiations with him it was readily to be seen that all he knew about the stock was that shown by the books and accounts. according to the branding for the past few years, it would indicate a brand of five or six thousand cattle. the only trouble in trading was to arrange the terms, my offer being half cash and the balance in six months, the cattle to be gathered early the coming spring. a bewildering list of references was given and we returned home. within a fortnight a letter came from the trustee, accepting my offer and asking me to set a date for the gathering. i felt positive that the brand ought to run forty per cent steer cattle, and unless there was some deception, there would be in the neighborhood of two thousand head fit for the trail. i at once bought thirty more saddle horses, outfitted a wagon with oxen to draw it, besides hiring fifteen cow-hands. early in march we started for comanche county, having in the mean time made arrangements with the elder edwards to supply one thousand head of trail cattle, intended for the kansas market. an early spring favored the work. by the th of the month we were actively engaged in gathering the stock. it was understood that we were to have the assistance of the ranch outfit in holding the cattle, but as they numbered only half a dozen and were miserably mounted, they were of little use except as herders. all the neighboring ranches gave us round-ups, and by the time we reached the home range of the brand i was beginning to get uneasy on account of the numbers under herd. my capital was limited, and if we gathered six thousand head it would absorb my money. i needed a little for expenses on the trail, and too many cattle would be embarrassing. there was no intention on my part to act dishonestly in the premises, even if we did drop out any number of yearlings during the last few days of the gathering. it was absolutely necessary to hold the numbers down to five thousand head, or as near that number as possible, and by keeping the ranch outfit on herd and my men out on round-ups, it was managed quietly, though we let no steer cattle two years old or over escape. when the gathering was finished, to the surprise of every one the herd counted out fifty-six hundred and odd cattle. but the numbers were still within the limits of my capital, and at the final settlement i asked the privilege of cutting out and leaving on the range one hundred head of weak, thin stock and cows heavy in calf. i offered to tally-mark and send after them during the fall branding, when the trustee begged me to make him an offer on any remnant of cattle, making me full owner of the brand. i hesitated to involve myself deeper in debt, but when he finally offered me the "lazy l" brand outright for the sum of one thousand dollars, and on a credit, i never stuttered in accepting his proposal. i culled back one hundred before starting, there being no occasion now to tally-mark, as i was in full possession of the brand. this amount of cattle in one herd was unwieldy to handle. the first day's drive we scarcely made ten miles, it being nearly impossible to water such an unmanageable body of animals, even from a running stream. the second noon we cut separate all the steers two years old and upward, finding a few under twenty-three hundred in the latter class. this left three thousand and odd hundred in the mixed herd, running from yearlings to old range bulls. a few extra men were secured, and some progress was made for the next few days, the steers keeping well in the lead, the two herds using the same wagon, and camping within half a mile of each other at night. it was fully ninety miles to the edwards ranch; and when about two thirds the distance was covered, a messenger met us and reported the home cattle under herd and ready to start. it still lacked two days of the appointed time for our return, but rather than disappoint any one, i took seven men and sixty horses with the lead herd and started in to the ranch, leaving the mixed cattle to follow with the wagon. we took a day's rations on a pack horse, touched at a ranch, and on the second evening reached home. my contingent to the trail herd would have classified approximately seven hundred twos, six hundred threes, and one thousand four years old or over. the next morning the herd started up the trail under george edwards as foreman. it numbered a few over thirty-three hundred head and had fourteen men, all told, and ninety-odd horses, with four good mules to a new wagon. i promised to overtake them within a week, and the same evening rejoined the mixed herd some ten miles back down the country. calves were dropping at an alarming rate, fully twenty of them were in the wagon, their advent delaying the progress of the herd. by dint of great exertion we managed to reach the ranch the next evening, where we lay over a day and rigged up a second wagon, purposely for calves. it was the intention to send the stock cattle to my new ranch on the clear fork, and releasing all but four men, the idle help about the home ranch were substituted. in moving cattle from one range to another, it should always be done with the coming of grass, as it gives them a full summer to locate and become attached to their new range. when possible, the coming calf crop should be born where the mothers are to be located, as it strengthens the ties between an animal and its range by making sacred the birthplace of its young. from instinctive warnings of maternity, cows will frequently return to the same retreat annually to give birth to their calves. it was about fifty miles between the home and the new ranch. as it was important to get the cattle located as soon as possible, they were accordingly started with but the loss of a single day. two wagons accompanied them, every calf was saved, and by nursing the herd early and late we managed to average ten miles between sunrise and sunset. the elder edwards, anxious to see the new ranch, accompanied us, his patience with a cow being something remarkable. when we lacked but a day's drive of the clear fork it was considered advisable for me to return. once the cattle reached the new range, four men would loose-herd them for a month, after which they would continue to ride the range and turn back all stragglers. the veteran cowman assumed control, and i returned to the home ranch, where a horse had been left on which to overtake the trail herd. my wife caught several glimpses of me that spring; with stocking a new ranch and starting a herd on the trail i was as busy as the proverbial cranberry-merchant. where a year before i was moneyless, now my obligations were accepted for nearly fourteen thousand dollars. i overtook the herd within one day's drive of red river. everything was moving nicely, the cattle were well trail-broken, not a run had occurred, and all was serene and lovely. we crossed into the nations at the regular ford, nothing of importance occurring until we reached the washita river. the indians had been bothering us more or less, but we brushed them aside or appeased their begging with a stray beef. at the crossing of the washita quite an encampment had congregated, demanding six cattle and threatening to dispute our entrance to the ford. several of the boys with us pretended to understand the sign language, and this resulted in an animosity being engendered between two of the outfit over interpreting a sign made by a chief. after we had given the indians two strays, quite a band of bucks gathered on foot at the crossing, refusing to let us pass until their demand had been fulfilled. we had a few carbines, every lad had a six-shooter or two, and, summoning every mounted man, we rode up to the ford. the braves outnumbered us about three to one, and it was easy to be seen that they had bows and arrows concealed under their blankets. i was determined to give up no more cattle, and in the powwow that followed the chief of the band became very defiant. i accused him and his band of being armed, and when he denied it one of the boys jumped a horse against the chief, knocking him down. in the mêlée, the leader's blanket was thrown from him, exposing a strung bow and quiver of arrows, and at the same instant every man brought his carbine or six-shooter to bear on the astonished braves. not a shot was fired, nor was there any further resistance offered on the part of the indians; but as they turned to leave the humiliated chief pointed to the sun and made a circle around his head as if to indicate a threat of scalping. it was in interpreting this latter sign that the dispute arose between two of the outfit. one of the boys contended that i was to be scalped before the sun set, while the other interpreted the threat that we would all he scalped before the sun rose again. neither version troubled me, but the two fellows quarreled over the matter while returning to the herd, until the lie was passed and their six-shooters began talking. fortunately they were both mounted on horses that were gun-shy, and with the rearing and plunging the shots went wild. every man in the outfit interfered, the two fellows were disarmed, and we started on with the cattle. no interference was offered by the indians at the ford, the guards were doubled that night, and the incident was forgotten within a week. i simply mention this to give some idea of the men of that day, willing to back their opinions, even on trivial matters, with their lives. "i'm the quickest man on the trigger that ever came over the trail," said a cowpuncher to me one night in a saloon in abilene. "you're a blankety blank liar," said a quiet little man, a perfect stranger to both of us, not even casting a glance our way. i wrested a six-shooter from the hand of my acquaintance and hustled him out of the house, getting roundly cursed for my interference, though no doubt i saved human life. on reaching stone's store, on the kansas line, i left the herd to follow, and arrived at abilene in two days and a half. only some twenty-five herds were ahead of ours, though i must have passed a dozen or more in my brief ride, staying over night with them and scarcely ever missing a meal on the road. my motive in reaching abilene in advance of our cattle was to get in touch with the market, secure my trading-corrals again, and perfect my arrangements to do a commission business. but on arriving, instead of having the field to myself, i found the old corrals occupied by a trio of jobbers, while two new ones had been built within ten miles of town, and half a dozen firms were offering their services as salesmen. there was a lack of actual buyers, at least among my acquaintances, and the railroads had adjusted their rates, while a largely increased drive was predicted. the spring had been a wet one, the grass was washy and devoid of nutriment, and there was nothing in the outlook of an encouraging nature. yet the majority of the drovers were very optimistic of the future, freely predicting better prices than ever before, while many declared their intention of wintering in case their hopes were not realized. by the time our herd arrived, i had grown timid of the market in general and was willing to sell out and go home. i make no pretension to having any extra foresight, probably it was my outstanding obligations in texas that fostered my anxiety, but i was prepared to sell to the first man who talked business. our cattle arrived in good condition. the weather continued wet and stormy, the rank grass harbored myriads of flies and mosquitoes, and the through cattle failed to take on flesh as in former years. rival towns were competing for the trail business, wintered cattle were lower, and a perfect chaos existed as to future prices, drovers bolstering and pretended buyers depressing them. within a week after their arrival i sold fifteen hundred of our heaviest beeves to an army contractor from fort russell in dakota. he had brought his own outfit down to receive the cattle, and as his contract called for a million and a half pounds on foot, i assisted him in buying sixteen hundred more. the contractor was a shrewd yankee, and although i admitted having served in the confederate army, he offered to form a partnership with me for supplying beef to the army posts along the upper missouri river. he gave me an insight into the profits in that particular trade, and even urged the partnership, but while the opportunity was a golden one, i was distrustful of a northern man and declined the alliance. within a year i regretted not forming the partnership, as the government was a stable patron, and my adopted state had any quantity of beef cattle. my brother paid me a visit during the latter part of june. we had not seen each other in five years, during which time he had developed into a prosperous stockman, feeding cattle every winter on his missouri farm. he was anxious to interest me in corn-feeding steers, but i had my hands full at home, and within a week he went on west and bought two hundred colorado natives, shipping them home to feed the coming winter. meanwhile a perfect glut of cattle was arriving at abilene, fully six hundred thousand having registered at stone's store on passing into kansas, yet prices remained firm, considering the condition of the stock. many drovers halted only a day or two, and turned westward looking for ranges on which to winter their herds. barely half the arrivals were even offered, which afforded fair prices to those who wished to sell. before the middle of july the last of ours was closed out at satisfactory prices, and the next day the outfit started home, leaving me behind. i was anxious to secure an extra remuda of horses, and, finding no opposition in that particular field, had traded extensively in saddle stock ever since my arrival at abilene. gentle horses were in good demand among shippers and ranchmen, and during my brief stay i must have handled a thousand head, buying whole remudas and retailing in quantities to suit, not failing to keep the choice ones for my own use. within two weeks after george edwards started home, i closed up my business, fell in with a returning outfit, and started back with one hundred and ten picked saddle horses. after crossing red river, i hired a boy to assist me in driving the remuda, and i reached home only ten days behind the others. i was now the proud possessor of over two hundred saddle horses which had actually cost me nothing. to use a borrowed term, they were the "velvet" of my trading operations. i hardly feel able to convey an idea of the important rôle that the horses play in the operations of a cowman. whether on the trail or on the ranch, there is a complete helplessness when the men are not properly mounted and able to cope with any emergency that may arise. on the contrary, and especially in trail work, when men are well mounted, there is no excuse for not riding in the lead of any stampede, drifting with the herd on the stormiest night, or trailing lost cattle until overtaken. owing to the nature of the occupation, a man may be frequently wet, cold, and hungry, and entitled to little sympathy; but once he feels that he is no longer mounted, his grievance becomes a real one. the cow-horse subsisted on the range, and if ever used to exhaustion was worthless for weeks afterward. hence the value of a good mount in numbers, and the importance of frequent changes when the duties were arduous. the importance of good horses was first impressed on me during my trips to fort sumner, and i then resolved that if fortune ever favored me to reach the prominence of a cowman, the saddle stock would have my first consideration. on my return it was too early for the fall branding. i made a trip out to the new ranch, taking along ample winter supplies, two extra lads, and the old remuda of sixty horses. the men had located the new cattle fairly well, the calf crop was abundant, and after spending a week i returned home. i had previously settled my indebtedness in comanche county by remittances from abilene, and early in the fall i made up an outfit to go down and gather the remnant of "lazy l" cattle. taking along the entire new remuda, we dropped down in advance of the branding season, visited among the neighboring ranches, and offered a dollar a head for solitary animals that had drifted any great distance from the range of the brand. a camp was established at some corrals on the original range, extra men were employed with the opening of the branding season, and after twenty days' constant riding we started home with a few over nine hundred head, not counting two hundred and odd calves. little wonder the trustee threatened to sue me; but then it was his own proposition. on arriving at the edwards ranch, we halted a few days in order to gather the fruits of my first mavericking. the fall work was nearly finished, and having previously made arrangements to put my brand under herd, we received two hundred and fifty more, with seventy-five thrifty calves, before proceeding on to the new ranch on the clear fork. on arriving there we branded the calves, put the two brands under herd, corralling them at night and familiarizing them with their new home, and turning them loose at the end of two weeks. moving cattle in the fall was contrary to the best results, but it was an idle time, and they were all young stuff and easily located. during the interim of loose-herding this second contingent of stock cattle, the branding had been finished on the ranch, and i was able to take an account of my year's work. the "lazy l" was continued, and from that brand alone there was an increase of over seventeen hundred calves. with all the expenses of the trail deducted, the steer cattle alone had paid for the entire brand, besides adding over five thousand dollars to my cash capital. who will gainsay my statement that texas was a good country in the year ? chapter ix the school of experience success had made me daring. and yet i must have been wandering aimlessly, for had my ambition been well directed, there is no telling to what extent i might have amassed a fortune. opportunity was knocking at my gate, a giant young commonwealth was struggling in the throes of political revolution, while i wandered through it all like a blind man led by a child. precedent was of little value, as present environment controlled my actions. the best people in texas were doubtful of ever ridding themselves of the baneful incubus of reconstruction. men on whose judgment i relied laughed at me for acquiring more land than a mere homestead. stock cattle were in such disrepute that they had no cash value. many a section of deeded land changed owners for a milk cow, while surveyors would no longer locate new lands for the customary third, but insisted on a half interest. ranchmen were so indifferent that many never went off their home range in branding the calf crop, not considering a ten or twenty per cent loss of any importance. yet through it all--from my virginia rearing--there lurked a wavering belief that some day, in some manner, these lands and cattle would have a value. but my faith was neither the bold nor the assertive kind, and i drifted along, clinging to any passing straw of opinion. the indians were still giving trouble along the texas frontier. a line of government posts, extending from red river on the north to the rio grande on the south, made a pretense of holding the comanches and their allies in check, while this arm of the service was ably seconded by the texas rangers. yet in spite of all precaution, the redskins raided the settlements at their pleasure, stealing horses and adding rapine and murder to their category of crimes. hence for a number of years after my marriage we lived at the edwards ranch as a matter of precaution against indian raids. i was absent from home so much that this arrangement suited me, and as the new ranch was distant but a day's ride, any inconvenience was more than recompensed in security. it was my intention to follow the trail and trading, at the same time running a ranch where anything unfit for market might be sent to mature or increase. as long as i could add to my working capital, i was content, while the remnants of my speculations found a refuge on the clear fork. during the winter of - very little of importance transpired. several social letters passed between major mabry and myself, in one of which he casually mentioned the fact that land scrip had declined until it was offered on the streets of the capital as low as twenty dollars a section. he knew i had been dabbling in land certificates, and in a friendly spirit wanted to post me on their decline, and had incidentally mentioned the fact for my information. some inkling of horse sense told me that i ought to secure more land, and after thinking the matter over, i wrote to a merchant in austin, and had him buy me one hundred sections. he was very anxious to purchase a second hundred at the same figure, but it would make too serious an inroad into my trading capital, and i declined his friendly assistance. my wife was the only person whom i took into confidence in buying the scrip, and i even had her secrete it in the bottom of a trunk, with strict admonitions never to mention it unless it became of value. it was not taxable, the public domain was bountiful, and i was young enough man those days to bide my time. the winter proved a severe one in kansas. nearly every drover who wintered his cattle in the north met with almost complete loss. the previous summer had been too wet for cattle to do well, and they had gone into winter thin in flesh. instead of curing like hay, the buffalo grass had rotted from excessive rains, losing its nutritive qualities, and this resulted in serious loss among all range cattle. the result was financial ruin to many drovers, and even augured a lighter drive north the coming spring. early in the winter i bought two brands of cattle in erath county, paying half cash and getting six months' time on the remainder. both brands occupied the same range, and when we gathered them in the early spring, they counted out a few over six thousand animals. these two contingents were extra good cattle, costing me five dollars a head, counting yearlings up, and from them i selected two thousand steer cattle for the trail. the mixed stuff was again sent to my clear fork ranch, and the steers went into a neighborhood herd intended for the kansas market. but when the latter was all ready to start, such discouraging reports came down from the north that my friends weakened, and i bought their cattle outright. my reputation as a good trader was my capital. i had the necessary horses, and, straining my credit, the herd started thirty-one hundred strong. the usual incidents of flood and storm, of begging indians and caravans like ourselves, formed the chronicle of the trip. before arriving at the kansas line we were met by solicitors of rival towns, each urging the advantages of their respective markets for our cattle. the summer before a small business had sprung up at newton, kansas, it being then the terminal of the santa fé railway. and although newton lasted as a trail town but a single summer, its reputation for bloodshed and riotous disorder stands notoriously alone among its rivals. in the mean time the santa fé had been extended to wichita on the arkansas river, and its representatives were now bidding for our patronage. abilene was abandoned, yet a rival to wichita had sprung up at ellsworth, some sixty-five miles west of the former market, on the kansas pacific railway. the railroads were competing for the cattle traffic, each one advertising its superior advantages to drovers, shippers, and feeders. i was impartial, but as wichita was fully one hundred miles the nearest, my cattle were turned for that point. wichita was a frontier village of about two thousand inhabitants. we found a convenient camp northwest of town, and went into permanent quarters to await the opening of the market. within a few weeks a light drive was assured, and prices opened firm. fully a quarter-million less cattle would reach the markets within the state that year, and buyers became active in securing their needed supply. early in july i sold the last of my herd and started my outfit home, remaining behind to await the arrival of my brother. the trip was successful; the purchased cattle had afforded me a nice profit, while the steers from the two brands had more than paid for the mixed stuff left at home on the ranch. meanwhile i renewed old acquaintances among drovers and dealers, major mabry among the former. in a confidential mood i confessed to him that i had bought, on the recent decline, one hundred certificates of land scrip, when he surprised me by saying that there had been a later decline to sixteen dollars a section. i was unnerved for an instant, but major mabry agreed with me that to a man who wanted the land the price was certainly cheap enough,--two and a half cents an acre. i pondered over the matter, and as my nerve returned i sent my merchant friend at austin a draft and authorized him to buy me two hundred sections more of land scrip. i was actually nettled to think that my judgment was so short-sighted as to buy anything that would depreciate in value. my brother arrived and reported splendid success in feeding colorado cattle. he was anxious to have me join forces with him and corn-feed an increased number of beeves the coming winter on his missouri farm. my judgment hardly approved of the venture, but when he urged a promised visit of our parents to his home, i consented and agreed to furnish the cattle. he also encouraged me to bring as many as my capital would admit of, assuring me that i would find a ready sale for any surplus among his neighbors. my brother returned to missouri, and i took the train for ellsworth, where i bought a carload of picked cow-horses, shipping them to kit carson, colorado. from there i drifted into the fountain valley at the base of the mountains, where i made a trade for seven hundred native steers, three and four years old. they were fine cattle, nearly all reds and roans. while i was gathering them a number of amusing incidents occurred. the round-ups carried us down on to the main arkansas river, and in passing pueblo we discovered a number of range cattle impounded in the town. i cannot give it as a fact, but the supposition among the cowmen was that the object of the officials was to raise some revenue by distressing the cattle. the result was that an outfit of men rode into the village during the night, tore down the pound, and turned the cattle back on the prairie. the prime movers in the raid were suspected, and the next evening when a number of us rode into town an attempt was made to arrest us, resulting in a fight, in which an officer was killed and two cowboys wounded. the citizens rallied to the support of the officers, and about thirty range men, including myself, were arrested and thrown into jail. we sent for a lawyer, and the following morning the majority of us were acquitted. some three or four of the boys were held for trial, bonds being furnished by the best men in the town, and that night a party of cowboys reëntered the village, carried away the two wounded men and spirited them out of the country. pueblo at that time was a unique town. live-stock interests were its main support, and i distinctly remember gann's outfitting store. at night one could find anywhere from ten to thirty cowboys sleeping on the counters, the proprietor turning the keys over to them at closing time, not knowing one in ten, and sleeping at his own residence. the same custom prevailed at gallup the saddler's, never an article being missed from either establishment, and both men amassing fortunes out of the cattle trade in subsequent years. the range man's patronage had its peculiarities; the firm of wright, beverly & co. of dodge city, kansas, accumulated seven thousand odd vests during the trail days. when a cow-puncher bought a new suit he had no use for an unnecessary garment like a vest and left it behind. it was restored to the stock, where it can yet be found. early in august the herd was completed. i accepted seven hundred and twenty steers, investing every cent of spare money, reserving only sufficient to pay my expenses en route. it was my intention to drive the cattle through to missouri, the distance being a trifle less than six hundred miles or a matter of six weeks' travel. four men were secured, a horse was packed with provisions and blankets, and we started down the arkansas river. for the first few days i did very little but build air castles. i pictured myself driving herds from texas in the spring, reinvesting the proceeds in better grades of cattle and feeding them corn in the older states, selling in time to again buy and come up the trail. i even planned to send for my wife and baby, and looked forward to a happy reunion with my parents during the coming winter, with not a cloud in my roseate sky. but there were breakers ahead. an old military trail ran southeast from fort larned to other posts in the indian territory. over this government road had come a number of herds of texas cattle, all of them under contract, which, in reaching their destination, had avoided the markets of wichita and ellsworth. i crossed their trail with my colorado natives,--the through cattle having passed a month or more before,--never dreaming of any danger. ten days afterward i noticed a number of my steers were ailing; their ears drooped, they refused to eat, and fell to the rear as we grazed forward. the next morning there were forty head unable to leave the bed-ground, and by noon a number of them had died. i had heard of texas fever, but always treated it as more or less a myth, and now it held my little herd of natives in its toils. by this time we had reached some settlement on the cottonwood, and the pioneer settlers in kansas arose in arms and quarantined me. no one knew what the trouble was, yet the cattle began dying like sheep; i was perfectly helpless, not knowing which way to turn or what to do. quarantine was unnecessary, as within a few days half the cattle were sick, and it was all we could do to move away from the stench of the dead ones. a veterinary was sent for, who pronounced it texas fever. i had previously cut open a number of dead animals, and found the contents of their stomachs and manifolds so dry that they would flash and burn like powder. the fever had dried up their very internals. in the hope of administering a purgative, i bought whole fields of green corn, and turned the sick and dying cattle into them. i bought oils by the barrel, my men and myself worked night and day, inwardly drenching affected animals, yet we were unable to stay the ravages of death. once the cause of the trouble was located,--crossing ground over which texas cattle had passed,--the neighbors became friendly, and sympathized with me. i gave them permission to take the fallen hides, and in return received many kindnesses where a few days before i had been confronted by shotguns. this was my first experience with texas fever, and the lessons that i learned then and afterward make me skeptical of all theories regarding the transmission of the germ. the story of the loss of my colorado herd is a ghastly one. this fever is sometimes called splenic, and in the present case, where animals lingered a week or ten days, while yet alive, their skins frequently cracked along the spine until one could have laid two fingers in the opening. the whole herd was stricken, less than half a dozen animals escaping attack, scores dying within three days, the majority lingering a week or more. in spite of our every effort to save them, as many as one hundred died in a single day. i stayed with them for six weeks, or until the fever had run through the herd, spent my last available dollar in an effort to save the dumb beasts, and, having my hopes frustrated, sold the remnant of twenty-six head for five dollars apiece. i question if they were worth the money, as three fourths of them were fever-burnt and would barely survive a winter, the only animals of value being some half dozen which had escaped the general plague. i gave each of my men two horses apiece, and divided my money with them, and they started back to colorado, while i turned homeward a wiser but poorer man. whereas i had left wichita three months before with over sixteen thousand dollars clear cash, i returned with eighteen saddle horses and not as many dollars in money. my air-castles had fallen. troubles never come singly, and for the last two weeks, while working with the dying cattle, i had suffered with chills and fever. the summer had been an unusually wet one, vegetation had grown up rankly in the valley of the arkansas, and after the first few frosts the very atmosphere reeked with malaria. i had been sleeping on the ground along the river for over a month, drinking impure water from the creeks, and i fell an easy victim to the prevailing miasma. nearly all the texas drovers had gone home, but, luckily for me, jim daugherty had an outfit yet at wichita and invited me to his wagon. it might be a week or ten days before he would start homeward, as he was holding a herd of cows, sold to an indian contractor, who was to receive the same within two weeks. in the interim of waiting, still suffering from fever and ague, i visited around among the few other cow-camps scattered up and down the river. at one of these i met a stranger, a quiet little man, who also had been under the weather from malaria, but was then recovering. he took an interest in my case and gave me some medicine to break the chills, and we visited back and forth. i soon learned that he had come down with some of his neighbors from council grove; that they expected to buy cattle, and that he was banker for the party. he was much interested in everything pertaining to texas; and when i had given him an idea of the cheapness of lands and live stock in my adopted state, he expressed himself as anxious to engage in trailing cattle north. a great many texas cattle had been matured in his home county, and he thoroughly understood the advantages of developing southern steers in a northern climate. many of his neighbors had made small fortunes in buying young stock at abilene, holding them a year or two, and shipping them to market as fat cattle. the party bought six hundred two-year-old steers, and my new-found friend, the banker, invited me to assist in the receiving. my knowledge of range cattle was a decided advantage to the buyers, who no doubt were good farmers, yet were sadly handicapped when given pick and choice from a texas herd and confined to ages. i cut, counted, and received the steers, my work giving such satisfaction that the party offered to pay me for my services. it was but a neighborly act, unworthy of recompense, yet i won the lasting regard of the banker in protecting the interests of his customers. the upshot of the acquaintance was that we met in town that evening and had a few drinks together. neither one ever made any inquiry of the other's past or antecedents, both seeming to be satisfied with a soldier's acquaintance. at the final parting, i gave him my name and address and invited him to visit me, promising that we would buy a herd of cattle together and drive them up the trail the following spring. he accepted the invitation with a hearty grasp of the hand, and the simple promise "i'll come." those words were the beginning of a partnership which lasted eighteen years, and a friendship that death alone will terminate. the indian contractor returned on time, and the next day i started home with daugherty's outfit. and on the way, as if i were pursued by some unrelenting nemesis, two of my horses, with others, were stolen by the indians one night when we were encamped near red river. we trailed them westward nearly fifty miles, but, on being satisfied they were traveling night and day, turned back and continued our journey. i reached home with sixteen horses, which for years afterwards, among my hands and neighbors, were pointed out as anthony's thousand-dollar cow-ponies. there is no denying the fact that i keenly felt the loss of my money, as it crippled me in my business, while my ranch expenses, amounting to over one thousand dollars, were unpaid. i was rich in unsalable cattle, owned a thirty-two-thousand-acre ranch, saddle horses galore, and was in debt. my wife's trunk was half full of land scrip, and to have admitted the fact would only have invited ridicule. but my tuition was paid, and all i asked was a chance, for i knew the ropes in handling range cattle. yet this was the second time that i had lost my money and i began to doubt myself. "you stick to cows," said charlie goodnight to me that winter, "and they'll bring you out on top some day. i thought i saw something in you when you first went to work for loving and me. reed, if you'll just imbibe a little caution with your energy, you'll make a fortune out of cattle yet." chapter x the panic of ' i have never forgotten those encouraging words of my first employer. friends tided my finances over, and letters passed between my banker friend and myself, resulting in an appointment to meet him at fort worth early in february. there was no direct railroad at the time, the route being by st. louis and texarkana, with a long trip by stage to the meeting point. no definite agreement existed between us; he was simply paying me a visit, with the view of looking into the cattle trade then existing between our respective states. there was no obligation whatever, yet i had hopes of interesting him sufficiently to join issues with me in driving a herd of cattle. i wish i could describe the actual feelings of a man who has had money and lost it. never in my life did such opportunities present themselves for investment as were tendered to me that winter. no less than half a dozen brands of cattle were offered to me at the former terms of half cash and the balance to suit my own convenience. but i lacked the means to even provision a wagon for a month's work, and i was compelled to turn my back on all bargains, many of which were duplicates of my former successes. i was humbled to the very dust; i bowed my neck to the heel of circumstances, and looked forward to the coming of my casual acquaintance. i have read a few essays on the relation of money to a community. none of our family were ever given to theorizing, yet i know how it feels to be moneyless, my experience with texas fever affording me a post-graduate course. born with a restless energy, i have lived in the pit of despair for the want of money, and again, with the use of it, have bent a legislature to my will and wish. all of which is foreign to my tale, and i hasten on. during the first week in february i drove in to fort worth to await the arrival of my friend, calvin hunter, banker and stockman of council grove, kansas. several letters were awaiting me in the town, notifying me of his progress, and in due time he arrived and was welcomed. the next morning we started, driving a good span of mules to a buckboard, expecting to cover the distance to the brazos in two days. there were several ranches at which we could touch, en route, but we loitered along, making wide detours in order to drive through cattle, not a feature of the country escaping the attention of my quiet little companion. the soil, the native grasses, the natural waters, the general topography of the country, rich in its primal beauty, furnished a panorama to the eye both pleasing and exhilarating. but the main interest centred in the cattle, thousands of which were always in sight, lingering along the watercourses or grazing at random. we reached the edwards ranch early the second evening. in the two days' travel, possibly twenty thousand cattle came under our immediate observation. all the country was an open range, brands intermingling, all ages and conditions, running from a sullen bull to seven-year-old beeves, or from a yearling heifer to the grandmother of younger generations. my anxiety to show the country and its cattle met a hearty second in mr. hunter, and abandoning the buckboard, we took horses and rode up the brazos river as far as old fort belknap. all cattle were wintering strong. turning south, we struck the clear fork above my range and spent a night at the ranch, where my men had built a second cabin, connecting the two by a hallway. after riding through my stock for two days, we turned back for the brazos. my ranch hands had branded thirty-one hundred calves the fall before, and while riding over the range i was delighted to see so many young steers in my different brands. but our jaunt had only whetted the appetite of my guest to see more of the country, and without any waste of time we started south with the buckboard, going as far as comanche county. every day's travel brought us in contact with cattle for sale; the prices were an incentive, but we turned east and came back up the valley of the brazos. i offered to continue our sightseeing, but my guest pleaded for a few days' time until he could hear from his banking associates. i needed a partner and needed one badly, and was determined to interest mr. hunter if it took a whole month. and thereby hangs a tale. the native texan is not distinguished for energy or ambition. his success in cattle is largely due to the fact that nearly all the work can be done on horseback. yet in that particular field he stands at the head of his class; for whether in montana or his own sunny texas, when it comes to handling cattle, from reading brands to cutting a trainload of beeves, he is without a peer. during the palmy days of the cherokee strip, a texan invited captain stone, a kansas city man, to visit his ranch in tom green county and put up a herd of steers to be driven to stone's beef ranch in the cherokee outlet. the invitation was accepted, and on the arrival of the kansas city man at the texan's ranch, host and guest indulged in a friendly visit of several days' duration. it was the northern cowman's first visit to the lone star state, and he naturally felt impatient to see the cattle which he expected to buy. but the host made no movement to show the stock until patience ceased to be a virtue, when captain stone moved an adjournment of the social session and politely asked to be shown a sample of the country's cattle. the two cowmen were fast friends, and no offense was intended or taken; but the host assured his guest there was no hurry, offering to get up horses and show the stock the following day. captain stone yielded, and the next morning they started, but within a few miles met a neighbor, when all three dismounted in the shade of a tree. commonplace chat of the country occupied the attention of the two texans until hunger or some other warning caused one of them to look at his watch, when it was discovered to be three o'clock in the afternoon. it was then too late in the day to make an extensive ride, and the ranchman invited his neighbor and guest to return to the ranch for the night. another day was wasted in entertaining the neighbor, the northern cowman, in the meantime, impatient and walking on nettles until a second start was made to see the cattle. it was a foggy morning, and they started on a different route from that previously taken, the visiting ranchman going along. unnoticed, a pack of hounds followed the trio of horsemen, and before the fog lifted a cougar trail was struck and the dogs opened in a brilliant chorus. the two texans put spurs to their horses in following the pack, the cattle buyer of necessity joining in, the chase leading into some hills, from which they returned after darkness, having never seen a cow during the day. one trivial incident after another interfered with seeing the cattle for ten days, when the guest took his host aside and kindly told him that he must be shown the cattle or he would go home. "you're not in a hurry, are you, captain?" innocently asked the texan. "all right, then; no trouble to show the cattle. yes, they run right around home here within twenty-five miles of the ranch. show you a sample of the stock within an hour's ride. you can just bet that old tom green county has got the steers! sugar, if i'd a-known that you was in a hurry, i could have shown you the cattle the next morning after you come. captain, you ought to know me well enough by this time to speak your little piece without any prelude. you yankees are so restless and impatient that i seriously doubt if you get all the comfort and enjoyment out of life that's coming to you. make haste, some of you boys, and bring in a remuda; captain stone and i are going to ride over on the middle fork this morning. make haste, now; we're in a hurry." in due time i suppose i drifted into the languorous ways of the texan; but on the occasion of mr. hunter's first visit i was in the need of a moneyed partner, and accordingly danced attendance. once communication was opened with his northern associates, we made several short rides into adjoining counties, never being gone over two or three days. when we had looked at cattle to his satisfaction, he surprised me by offering to put fifty thousand dollars into young steers for the kansas trade. i never fainted in my life, but his proposition stunned me for an instant, or until i could get my bearings. the upshot of the proposal was that we entered into an agreement whereby i was to purchase and handle the cattle, and he was to make himself useful in selling and placing the stock in his state. a silent partner was furnishing an equal portion of the means, and i was to have a third of the net profits. within a week after this agreement was perfected, things were moving. i had the horses and wagons, men were plentiful, and two outfits were engaged. early in march a contract was let in parker county for thirty-one hundred two-year-old steers, and another in young for fourteen hundred threes, the latter to be delivered at my ranch. george edwards was to have the younger cattle, and he and mr. hunter received the same, after which the latter hurried west, fully ninety miles, to settle for those bought for delivery on the clear fork. in the mean time my ranch outfit had gathered all our steer cattle two years old and over, having nearly twenty-five hundred head under herd on my arrival to receive the three-year-olds. this amount would make an unwieldy herd, and i culled back all short-aged twos and thin steers until my individual contingent numbered even two thousand. the contracted steers came in on time, fully up to the specifications, and my herd was ready to start on the appointed day. every dollar of the fifty thousand was invested in cattle, save enough to provision the wagons en route. my ranch outfit, with the exception of two men and ten horses, was pressed into trail work as a matter of economy, for i was determined to make some money for my partners. both herds were to meet and cross at red river station. the season was favorable, and everything augured for a prosperous summer. at the very last moment a cloud arose between mr. hunter and me, but happily passed without a storm. the night before the second herd started, he and i sat up until a late hour, arranging our affairs, as it was not his intention to accompany the herds overland. after all business matters were settled, lounging around a camp-fire, we grew reminiscent, when the fact developed that my quiet little partner had served in the union army, and with the rank of major. i always enjoy a joke, even on myself, but i flashed hot and cold on this confession. what! reed anthony forming a partnership with a yankee major? it seemed as though i had. fortunately i controlled myself, and under the excuse of starting the herd at daybreak, i excused myself and sought my blankets. but not to sleep. on the one hand, in the stillness of the night and across the years, came the accusing voices of old comrades. my very wounds seemed to reopen and curse me. did my sufferings after pittsburg landing mean nothing? a vision of my dear old mother in virginia, welcoming me, the only one of her three sons who returned from the war, arraigned me sorely. and yet, on the other hand, this man was my guest. on my invitation he had eaten my salt. for mutual benefit we had entered into a partnership, and i expected to profit from the investment of his money. more important, he had not deceived me nor concealed anything; neither did he know that i had served in the confederate army. the man was honest. i was anxious to do right. soldiers are generous to a foe. while he lay asleep in my camp, i reviewed the situation carefully, and judged him blameless. the next morning, and ever afterward, i addressed him by his military title. nearly a year passed before major hunter knew that he and his texas partner had served in the civil war under different flags. my partner returned to the edwards ranch and was sent in to fort worth, where he took stage and train for home. the straight two-year-old herd needed road-branding, as they were accepted in a score or more brands, which delayed them in starting. major hunter expected to sell to farmers, to whom brands were offensive, and was therefore opposed to more branding than was absolutely necessary. in order to overcome this objection, i tally-marked all outside cattle which went into my herd by sawing from each steer about two inches from the right horn. as fast as the cattle were received this work was easily done in a chute, while in case of any loss by stampede the mark would last for years. the grass was well forward when both herds started, but on arriving at red river no less than half a dozen herds were waterbound, one of which was george edwards's. a delay of three days occurred, during which two other herds arrived, when the river fell, permitting us to cross. i took the lead thereafter, the second herd half a day to the rear, with the almost weekly incident of being waterbound by intervening rivers. but as we moved northward the floods seemed lighter, and on our arrival at wichita the weather settled into well-ordered summer. i secured my camp of the year before. major hunter came down by train, and within a week after our arrival my outfit was settled with and sent home. it was customary to allow a man half wages returning, my partner approving and paying the men, also taking charge of all the expense accounts. everything was kept as straight as a bank, and with one outfit holding both herds separate, expenses were reduced to a minimum. major hunter was back and forth, between his home town and wichita, and on nearly every occasion brought along buyers, effecting sales at extra good prices. cattle paper was considered gilt-edge security among financial men, and we sold to worthy parties a great many cattle on credit, the home bank with which my partners were associated taking the notes at their face. matters rocked along, we sold when we had an opportunity, and early in august the remnant of each herd was thrown together and half the remaining outfit sent home. a drive of fully half a million cattle had reached kansas that year, the greater portion of which had centred at wichita. we were persistent in selling, and, having strong local connections, had sold out all our cattle long before the financial panic of ' even started. there was a profitable business, however, in buying herds and selling again in small quantities to farmers and stockmen. my partners were anxious to have me remain to the end of the season, doing the buying, maintaining the camp, and holding any stock on hand. in rummaging through the old musty account-books, i find that we handled nearly seven thousand head besides our own drive, fifteen hundred being the most we ever had on hand at any one time. my active partner proved a shrewd man in business, and in spite of the past our friendship broadened and strengthened. weeks before the financial crash reached us he knew of its coming, and our house was set in order. when the panic struck the west we did not own a hoof of cattle, while the horses on hand were mine and not for sale; and the firm of hunter, anthony & co. rode the gale like a seaworthy ship. the panic reached wichita with over half the drive of that year unsold. the local banks began calling in money advanced to drovers, buyers deserted the market, and prices went down with a crash. shipments of the best through cattle failed to realize more than sufficient to pay commission charges and freight. ruin stared in the face every texan drover whose cattle were unsold. only a few herds were under contract for fall delivery to indian and army contractors. we had run from the approaching storm in the nick of time, even settling with and sending my outfit home before the financial cyclone reached the prairies of kansas. my last trade before the panic struck was an individual account, my innate weakness for an abundance of saddle horses asserting itself in buying ninety head and sending them home with my men. i now began to see the advantages of shrewd and far-seeing business associates. when the crash came, scarce a dozen drovers had sold out, while of those holding cattle at wichita nearly every one had locally borrowed money or owed at home for their herds. when the banks, panic-stricken themselves, began calling in short-time loans, their frenzy paralyzed the market, many cattle being sacrificed at forced sale and with scarce a buyer. in the depreciation of values from the prices which prevailed in the early summer, the losses to the texas drovers, caused by the panic, would amount to several million dollars. i came out of the general wreck and ruin untouched, though personally claiming no credit, as that must be given my partners. the year before, when every other drover went home prosperous and happy, i returned "broke," while now the situation was reversed. i spent a week at council grove, visiting with my business associates. after a settlement of the year's business, i was anxious to return home, having agreed to drive cattle the next year on the same terms and conditions. my partners gave me a cash settlement, and outside of my individual cattle, i cleared over ten thousand dollars on my summer's work. major hunter, however, had an idea of reëntering the market,--with the first symptom of improvement in the financial horizon in the east,--and i was detained. the proposition of buying a herd of cattle and wintering them on the range had been fully discussed between us, and prices were certainly an incentive to make the venture. in an ordinary open winter, stock subsisted on the range all over western kansas, especially when a dry fall had matured and cured the buffalo-grass like hay. the range was all one could wish, and major hunter and i accordingly dropped down to wichita to look the situation over. we arrived in the midst of the panic and found matters in a deplorable condition. drovers besought and even begged us to make an offer on their herds, while the prevailing prices of a month before had declined over half. major hunter and i agreed that at present figures, even if half the cattle were lost by a severe winter, there would still be money in the venture. through financial connections east my partners knew of the first signs of improvement in the money-centres of the country. as i recall the circumstances, the panic began in the east about the middle of september, and it was the latter part of october before confidence was restored, or there was any noticeable change for the better in the monetary situation. but when this came, it found us busy buying saddle horses and cattle. the great bulk of the unsold stock consisted of cows, heifers, and young steers unfit for beef. my partners contended that a three-year-old steer ought to winter anywhere a buffalo could, provided he had the flesh and strength to withstand the rigors of the climate. i had no opinions, except what other cowmen had told me, but was willing to take the chances where there was a reasonable hope of success. the first move was to buy an outfit of good horses. this was done by selecting from half a dozen remudas, a trail wagon was picked up, and a complement of men secured. once it was known that we were in the market for cattle, competition was brisk, the sellers bidding against each other and fixing the prices at which we accepted the stock. none but three-year-old steers were taken, and in a single day we closed trades on five thousand head. i received the cattle, confining my selections to five road and ten single-ranch brands, as it was not our intention to rebrand so late in the season. there was nothing to do but cut, count, and accept, and on the evening of the third day the herd was all ready to start for its winter range. the wagon had been well provisioned, and we started southwest, expecting to go into winter quarters on the first good range encountered. i had taken a third interest in the herd, paying one sixth of its purchase price, the balance being carried for me by my partners. major hunter accompanied us, the herd being altogether too large and unwieldy to handle well, but we grazed it forward with a front a mile wide. delightful fall weather favored the cattle, and on the tenth day we reached the medicine river, where, by the unwritten law of squatter's rights, we preëmpted ten miles of its virgin valley. the country was fairly carpeted with well-cured buffalo-grass; on the north and west was a range of sand-dunes, while on the south the country was broken by deep coulees, affording splendid shelter in case of blizzards or wintry storms. a dugout was built on either end of the range. major hunter took the wagon and team and went to the nearest settlement, returning with a load of corn, having contracted for the delivery of five hundred bushels more. meanwhile i was busy locating the cattle, scattering them sparsely over the surrounding country, cutting them into bunches of not more than ten to twenty head. corrals and cosy shelters were built for a few horses, comfortable quarters for the men, and we settled down for the winter with everything snug and secure. by the first of december the force was reduced to four men at each camp, all of whom were experienced in holding cattle in the winter. lines giving ample room to our cattle were established, which were to be ridden both evening and morning in any and all weather. two texans, both experts as trailers, were detailed to trail down any cattle which left the boundaries of the range. the weather continued fine, and with the camps well provisioned, the major and i returned to the railroad and took train for council grove. i was impatient to go home, and took the most direct route then available. railroads were just beginning to enter the west, and one had recently been completed across the eastern portion of the indian territory, its destination being south of red river. with nothing but the clothes on my back and a saddle, i started home, and within twenty-four hours arrived at denison, texas. connecting stages carried me to fort worth, where i bought a saddle horse, and the next evening i was playing with the babies at the home ranch. it had been an active summer with me, but success had amply rewarded my labors, while every cloud had disappeared and the future was rich in promise. chapter xi a prosperous year an open winter favored the cattle on the medicine river. my partners in kansas wrote me encouragingly, and plans were outlined for increasing our business for the coming summer. there was no activity in live stock during the winter in texas, and there would be no trouble in putting up herds at prevailing prices of the spring before. i spent an inactive winter, riding back and forth to my ranch, hunting with hounds, and killing an occasional deer. while visiting at council grove the fall before, major hunter explained to our silent partner the cheapness of texas lands. neither one of my associates cared to scatter their interests beyond the boundaries of their own state, yet both urged me to acquire every acre of cheap land that my means would permit. they both recited the history and growth in value of the lands surrounding the grove, telling me how cheaply they could have bought the same ten years before,--at the government price of a dollar and a quarter an acre,--and that already there had been an advance of four to five hundred per cent. they urged me to buy scrip and locate land, assuring me that it was only a question of time until the people of texas would arise in their might and throw off the yoke of reconstruction. at home general opinion was just the reverse. no one cared for more land than a homestead or for immediate use. no locations had been made adjoining my ranch on the clear fork, and it began to look as if i had more land than i needed. yet i had confidence enough in the advice of my partners to reopen negotiations with my merchant friend at austin for the purchase of more land scrip. the panic of the fall before had scarcely affected the frontier of texas, and was felt in only a few towns of any prominence in the state. there had been no money in circulation since the war, and a financial stringency elsewhere made little difference among the local people. true, the kansas cattle market had sent a little money home, but a bad winter with drovers holding cattle in the north, followed by a panic, had bankrupted nearly every cowman, many of them with heavy liabilities in texas. there were very few banks in the state, and what little money there was among the people was generally hoarded to await the dawn of a brighter day. my wife tells a story about her father, which shows similar conditions prevailing during the civil war. the only outlet for cotton in texas during the rebellion was by way of mexico. matamoros, near the mouth of the rio grande, waxed opulent in its trade of contrabrand cotton, the texas product crossing the river anywhere for hundreds of miles above and being freighted down on the mexican side to tide-water. the town did an immense business during the blockade of coast seaports, twenty-dollar gold pieces being more plentiful then than nickels are to-day, the cotton finding a ready market at war prices and safe shipment under foreign flags. my wife's father was engaged in the trade of buying cotton at interior points, freighting it by ox trains over the mexican frontier, and thence down the river to matamoros. once the staple reached neutral soil, it was palmed off as a local product, and the federal government dared not touch it, even though they knew it to be contrabrand of war. the business was transacted in gold, and it was mr. edwards's custom to bury the coin on his return from each trading trip. my wife, then a mere girl and the oldest of the children at home, was taken into her father's confidence in secreting the money. the country was full of bandits, either government would have confiscated the gold had they known its whereabouts, and the only way to insure its safety was to bury it. after several years trading in cotton, mr. edwards accumulated considerable money, and on one occasion buried the treasure at night between two trees in an adjoining wood. unexpectedly one day he had occasion to use some money in buying a cargo of cotton, the children were at a distant neighbor's, and he went into the woods alone to unearth the gold. but hogs, running in the timber, had rooted up the ground in search of edible roots, and edwards was unable to locate the spot where his treasure lay buried. fearful that possibly the money had been uprooted and stolen, he sent for the girl, who hastily returned. as my wife tells the story, great beads of perspiration were dripping from her father's brow as the two entered the woods. and although the ground was rooted up, the girl pointed out the spot, midway between two trees, and the treasure was recovered without a coin missing. mr. edwards lost confidence in himself, and thereafter, until peace was restored, my wife and a younger sister always buried the family treasure by night, keeping the secret to themselves, and producing the money on demand. the merchant at austin reported land scrip plentiful at fifteen to sixteen dollars a section. i gave him an order for two hundred certificates, and he filled the bill so promptly that i ordered another hundred, bringing my unlocated holdings up to six hundred sections. my land scrip was a standing joke between my wife and me, and i often promised her that when we built a house and moved to the clear fork, if the scrip was still worthless she might have the certificates to paper a room with. they were nicely lithographed, the paper was of the very best quality, and they went into my wife's trunk to await their destiny. had it been known outside that i held such an amount of scrip, i would have been subjected to ridicule, and no doubt would have given it to some surveyor to locate on shares. still i had a vague idea that land at two and a half cents an acre would never hurt me. several times in the past i had needed the money tied up in scrip, and then i would regret having bought it. after the loss of my entire working capital by texas fever, i was glad i had foresight enough to buy a quantity that summer. and thus i swung like a pendulum between personal necessities and public opinion; but when those long-headed yankee partners of mine urged me to buy land, i felt once more that i was on the right track and recovered my grasp. i might have located fifty miles of the valley of the clear fork that winter, but it would have entailed some little expense, the land would then have been taxable, and i had the use of it without outlay or trouble. an event of great importance to the people of texas occurred during the winter of - . the election the fall before ended in dispute, both great parties claiming the victory. on the meeting of the legislature to canvass the vote, all the negro militia of the state were concentrated in and around the capitol building. the reconstruction régime refused to vacate, and were fighting to retain control; the best element of the people were asserting in no unmistakable terms their rights and bloodshed seemed inevitable. the federal government was appealed to, but refused to interfere. the legislature was with the people, and when the latter refused to be intimidated by a display of force, those in possession yielded the reins, and governor coke was inaugurated january , ; and thus the prediction of my partners, uttered but a few mouths before, became history. major hunter came down again about the last of february. still unshaken in his confidence in the future of texas, he complimented me on securing more land scrip. he had just returned from our camps on the medicine river, and reported the cattle coming through in splendid condition. gray wolves had harassed the herd during the early winter; but long-range rifles and poison were furnished, and our men waged a relentless war on these pirates along the medicine. cattle in texas had wintered strong, which would permit of active operations beginning earlier than usual, and after riding the range for a week we were ready for business. it was well known in all the surrounding country that we would again be in the market for trail cattle, and offerings were plentiful. these tenders ran anywhere from stock cattle to heavy beeves; but the market which we were building up with farmers at council grove required young two and three year old steers. it again fell to my province to do the buying, and with the number of brands for sale in the country i expected, with the consent of my partners, to make a new departure. i was beginning to understand the advantages of growing cattle. my holdings of mixed stock on the clear fork had virtually cost me nothing, and while they may have been unsalable, yet there was a steady growth and they were a promising source of income. from the results of my mavericking and my trading operations i had been enabled to send two thousand young steers up the trail the spring before, and the proceeds from their sale had lifted me from the slough of despond and set me on a financial rock. therefore my regard for the eternal cow was enhancing. home prices were again ten dollars for two-year-old steers and twelve for threes. instead of buying outright at these figures, my proposition was to buy individually brands of stock cattle, and turn over all steers of acceptable ages at prevailing prices to the firm of hunter, anthony & co. in making up trail herds. we had already agreed to drive ten thousand head that spring, and my active partner readily saw the advantages that would accrue where one had the range and outfit to take care of the remnants of mixed stock. my partners were both straining their credit at home, and since it was immaterial to them, i was given permission to go ahead. this method of buying might slightly delay the starting of herds, and rather than do so i contracted for three thousand straight threes in erath county. this herd would start ten days in advance of any other, which would give us cattle on the market at wichita with the opening of the season. my next purchase was two brands whose range was around the juncture of the main brazos and clear fork, adjoining my ranch. these cattle were to be delivered at our corrals, as, having received the three-year-olds from both brands the spring before, i had a good idea how the stock ought to classify. a third brand was secured up the clear fork, adjacent to my range, supposed to number about three thousand, from which nothing had been sold in four years. this latter contingent cost me five dollars a head, but my boys knew the brand well enough to know that they would run forty per cent steer cattle. in all three cases i bought all right and title to the brand, giving them until the last day of march to gather, and anything not tendered for count on receiving, the tail went with the hide. from these three brands i expected to make up the second herd easily. with no market for cattle, it was safe to count on a brand running one third steers or better, from which i ought to get twenty-five per cent of age for trail purposes. long before any receiving began i bought four more brands outright in adjoining counties, setting the day for receiving on the th of april, everything to be delivered on my ranch on the clear fork. there were fully twenty-five thousand cattle in these seven brands, and as i had bought them all half cash and the balance on six months' time, it behooved me to be on the alert and protect my interests. a trusty man was accordingly sent from my ranch to assist in the gathering of each of the four outside brands, to be present at all round-ups, to see that no steer cattle were held back, and that the dropping calves were cared for and saved. this precaution was not taken around my ranch, for any animal which failed to be counted my own men would look out for by virtue of ownership of the brand. my saddle horses were all in fine condition, and were cut into remudas of ninety head each, two new wagons were fitted up, and all was ready to move. the erath county herd was to be delivered to us on the th of march. george edwards was to have charge, and he and major hunter started in ample time to receive the cattle, the latter proving an apt scholar, while the former was a thorough cowman. in the mean time i had made up a second outfit, putting a man who had made a number of trips with me as foreman in charge, and we moved out to the clear fork. the first herd started on the d, major hunter accompanying it past the edwards ranch and then joining us on my range. we had kept in close touch with the work then in progress along the brazos and clear fork, and it was probable that we might be able to receive in advance of the appointed day. fortunately this happened in two cases, both brands overrunning all expectations in general numbers and the quantity of steer cattle. these contingents were met, counted, and received ten miles from the ranch, nothing but the steers two years old and upward being brought in to the corrals. the third brand, from west on the clear fork, came in on the dot, and this also surprised me in its numbers of heavy steer cattle. from the three contingents i received over thirteen thousand head, nearly four thousand of which were steers of trail age. on the first day of april we started the second herd of thirty-five hundred twos and threes, the latter being slightly in the majority, but we classified them equally. major hunter was pleased with the quality of the cattle, and i was more than satisfied with results, as i had nearly five hundred heavy steers left which would easily qualify as beeves. estimating the latter at what they ought to net me at wichita, the remnants of stock cattle cost me about a dollar and a half a head, while i had received more cash than the amount of the half payment. the beef steers were held under herd to await the arrival of the other contingents. if they fell short in twos and threes, i had hopes of finding an outlet for my beeves with the last herd. the young stuff and stock cattle were allowed to drift back on their own ranges, and we rested on our oars. we had warning of the approach of outside brands, several arriving in advance of appointment, and they were received at once. as before, every brand overran expectations, with no shortage in steers. my men had been wide awake, any number of mature beeves coming in with the mixed stock. as fast as they arrived we cut all steers of desirable age into our herd of beeves, sending the remnant up the river about ten miles to be put under loose herd for the first month. fifteen-thousand cattle were tendered in the four brands, from which we cut out forty-six hundred steers of trail age. the numbers were actually embarrassing, not in stock cattle, but in steers, as our trail herd numbered now over five thousand. the outside outfits were all detained a few days for a settlement, lending their assistance, as we tally-marked all the stock cattle before sending them up the river to be put under herd. this work was done in a chute with branding irons, running a short bar over the holding-brand, the object being to distinguish animals received then from what might be gathered afterward. there were nearly one hundred men present, and with the amount of help available the third herd was ready to start on the morning of the th. it numbered thirty-five hundred, again nearly equal in twos and threes, my ranch foreman having charge. with the third herd started, the question arose what to do with the remnant of a few over sixteen hundred beeves. to turn them loose meant that with the first norther that blew they would go back to their own range. major hunter suggested that i drive an individual herd. i tried to sell him an interest in the cattle, but as their ages were unsuited to his market, he pleaded bankruptcy, yet encouraged me to fill up the herd and drive them on my own account. something had to be done. i bought sixty horses from the different outfits then waiting for a settlement, adding thirty of my own to the remuda, made up an outfit from the men present, rigged a wagon, and called for a general round-up of my range. two days afterward we had fifteen hundred younger steers of my own raising in the herd, and on the th of the month the fourth one moved out. a day was lost in making a general settlement, after which major hunter and i rode through the mixed cattle under herd, finding them contentedly occupying nearly ten miles of the valley of the clear fork. calves were dropping at the rate of one hundred a day, two camps of five men each held them on an ample range, riding lines well back from the valley. the next morning we turned homeward, passing my ranch and corrals, which but a few days before were scenes of activity, but now deserted even by the dogs. from the edwards ranch we were driven in to fort worth, and by the middle of the month reached wichita. no herds were due to arrive for a month. my active partner continued on to his home at the grove, and i started for our camps on the medicine river. the grass was coming with a rush, the cattle were beginning to shed their winter coats, and our men assured me that the known loss amounted to less than twenty head. the boys had spent an active winter, only a few storms ever bunching the cattle, with less than half a dozen contingents crossing the established lines. even these were followed by our trailers and brought back to their own range; and together with wolfing the time had passed pleasantly. an incident occurred at the upper camp that winter which clearly shows the difference between the cow-hand of that day and the modern bronco-buster. in baiting for wolves, many miles above our range, a supposed trail of cattle was cut by one of the boys, who immediately reported the matter to our texas trailer at camp. they were not our cattle to a certainty, yet it was but a neighborly act to catch them, so the two men took up the trail. from appearances there were not over fifteen head in the bunch, and before following them many miles, the trailer became suspicious that they were buffalo and not cattle. he trailed them until they bedded down, when he dismounted and examined every bed. no cow ever lay down without leaving hair on its bed, so when the texan had examined the ground where half a dozen had slept, his suspicions were confirmed. declaring them buffalo, the two men took up the trail in a gallop, overtaking the band within ten miles and securing four fine robes. there is little or no difference in the tracks of the two animals. i simply mention this, as my patience has been sorely tried with the modern picturesque cowboy, who is merely an amateur when compared with the men of earlier days. i spent three weeks riding the range on the medicine. the cattle had been carefully selected, now four and five years old, and if the season was favorable they would be ready for shipment early in the fall. the lower camp was abandoned in order to enlarge the range nearly one third, and after providing for the wants of the men, i rode away to the southeast to intercept the chisholm trail where it crossed the kansas line south of wichita. the town of caldwell afterward sprang up on the border, but at this time among drovers it was known as stone's store, a trading-post conducted by captain stone, afterward a cowman, and already mentioned in these memoirs. several herds had already passed on my arrival; i watched the trail, meeting every outfit for nearly a week, and finally george edwards came snailing along. he reported our other cattle from seven to ten days behind, but was not aware that i had an individual herd on the trail. edwards moved on to wichita, and i awaited the arrival of our second outfit. a brisk rivalry existed between the solicitors for ellsworth and wichita, every man working faithfully for his railroad or town, and at night they generally met in social session over a poker game. i never played a card for money now, not that my morals were any too good, but i was married and had partners, and business generally absorbed me to such an extent that i neglected the game. i met the second herd at pond creek, south in the cherokee outlet, and after spending a night with them rode through to wichita in a day and night. we went into camp that year well up the arkansas river, as two outfits would again hold the four herds. our second outfit arrived at the chosen grazing grounds on time, the men were instantly relieved, and after a good carouse in town they started home. the two other herds came in without delay, the beeves arriving on the last of the month. barely half as many cattle would arrive from texas that summer, as many former drovers from that section were bankrupt on account of the panic of the year before. yet the market was fairly well supplied with offerings of wintered texans, the two classes being so distinct that there was very little competition between them. my active partner was on hand early, reporting a healthy inquiry among former customers, all of whom were more than pleased with the cattle supplied them the year before. by being in a position to extend a credit to reliable men, we were enabled to effect sales where other drovers dared not venture. business opened early with us. i sold fifteen hundred of my heaviest beeves to an army contractor from wyoming. my active partner sold the straight three-year-old herd from erath county to an ex-governor from nebraska, and we delivered it on the republican river in that state. small bunches of from three to five hundred were sold to farmers, and by the first of august we had our holdings reduced to two herds in charge of one outfit. when the hipping season began with our customers at the grove, trade became active with us at wichita. scarcely a week passed but major hunter sold a thousand or more to his neighbors, while i skirmished around in the general market. when the outfit returned from the republican river, i took it in charge, went down on the medicine, and cut out a thousand beeves, bringing them to the railroad and shipping them to st. louis. i never saw fatter cattle in my life. when we got the returns from the first consignment, we shipped two trainloads every fortnight until our holding's on the medicine were reduced to a remnant. a competent bookkeeper was employed early in the year, and in keeping our accounts at wichita, looking after our shipments, keeping individual interests, by brands, separate from the firm's, he was about the busiest man connected with the summer's business. aside from our drive of over thirteen thousand head, we bought three whole herds, retailing them in small quantities to our customers, all of which was profitable. i bought four whole remudas on personal account, culled out one hundred and fifty head and sold them at a sacrifice, sending home the remaining two hundred saddle horses. i found it much cheaper and more convenient to buy my supply of saddle stock at trail terminals than at home. once railroad connections were in operation direct between kansas and texas, every outfit preferred to go home by rail, but i adhered to former methods for many years. in summing up the year's business, never were three partners more surprised. with a remnant of nearly one hundred beeves unfit for shipment, the medicine river venture had cleared us over two hundred per cent, while the horses on hand were worth ten dollars a head more than what they had cost, owing to their having wintered in the north. the ten thousand trail cattle paid splendidly, while my individual herd had sold out in a manner, leaving the stock cattle at home clear velvet. a programme was outlined for enlarging our business for the coming year, and every dollar of our profits was to be reinvested in wintering and trailing cattle from texas. next to the last shipment, the through outfit went home, taking the extra two hundred saddle horses with it, the final consignment being brought in to wichita for loading out by our ranch help. the shipping ended in october. my last work of the year was the purchase of seven thousand three-year-old steers, intended for our medicine river range. we had intentionally held george edwards and his outfit for this purpose, and cutting the numbers into two herds, the medicine river lads led off for winter quarters. we had bought the cattle worth the money, but not at a sacrifice like the year before, neither would we expect such profits. it takes a good nerve, but experience has taught me that in land and cattle the time of the worst depression is the time to buy. major hunter accompanied the herds to their winter quarters, sending edwards with his outfit, after their arrival on the medicine, back to texas, while i took the train and reached home during the first week in november. chapter xii clear fork and shenandoah i arrived home in good time for the fall work. the first outfit relieved at wichita had instructions to begin, immediately on reaching the ranch, a general cow-hunt for outside brands. it was possible that a few head might have escaped from the clear fork range and returned to their old haunts, but these would bear a tally-mark distinguishing them from any not gathered at the spring delivery. my regular ranch hands looked after the three purchased brands adjoining our home range, but an independent outfit had been working the past four months gathering strays and remnants in localities where i had previously bought brands. they went as far south as comanche county and picked up nearly one hundred "lazy l's," scoured the country where i had purchased the two brands in the spring of , and afterward confined themselves to ranges from which the outside cattle were received that spring. they had made one delivery on the clear fork of seven hundred head before my return, and were then away on a second cow-hunt. on my reaching the ranch the first contingent of gathered cattle were under herd. they were a rag-tag lot, many of them big steers, while much of the younger stuff was clear of earmark or brand until after their arrival at the home corrals. the ranch help herded them by day and penned them at night, but on the arrival of the independent outfit with another contingent of fifteen hundred the first were freed and the second put under herd. counting both bunches, the strays numbered nearly a thousand head, and cattle bearing no tally-mark fully as many more, while the remainder were mavericks and would have paid the expenses of the outfit for the past four months. i now had over thirty thousand cattle on the clear fork, holding them in eleven brands, but decided thereafter to run all the increase in the original " ." this rule had gone into effect the fall previous, and i now proposed to run it on all calves branded. never before had i felt the necessity of increasing my holdings in land, but with the number of cattle on hand it behooved me to possess a larger acreage of the clear fork valley. a surveyor was accordingly sent for, and while the double outfit was branding the home calf crop, i located on the west end of my range a strip of land ten miles long by five wide. at the east end of my ranch another tract was located, five by ten miles, running north and taking in all that country around the junction of the clear fork with the mother brazos. this gave me one hundred and fifty sections of land, lying in the form of an immense lazy l, and i felt that the expense was justified in securing an ample range for my stock cattle. my calf crop that fall ran a few over seven thousand head. they were good northern texas calves, and it would cost but a trifle to run them until they were two-year-olds; and if demand continued in the upper country, some day a trail herd of steers could easily be made up from their numbers. i was beginning to feel rather proud of my land and cattle; the former had cost me but a small outlay, while the latter were clear velvet, as i had sold thirty-five hundred from their increase during the past two years. once the surveying and branding was over, i returned to the edwards ranch for the winter. the general outlook in texas was for the better; quite a mileage of railroad had been built within the state during the past year, and new and prosperous towns had sprung up along their lines. the political situation had quieted down, and it was generally admitted that a reconstruction government could never again rear its head on texas soil. the result was that confidence was slowly being restored among the local people, and the press of the state was making a fight for recognition, all of which augured for a brighter future. living on the frontier and absent the greater portion of the time, i took little interest in local politics, yet could not help but feel that the restoration of self-government to the best elements of our people would in time reflect on the welfare of the state. since my advent in texas i had been witness to the growth of fort worth from a straggling village in the spring of to quite a pretentious town in the fall of . ever since the partnership was formed i had been aware of and had fostered the political ambitions of the firm's silent member. he had been prominently identified with the state of kansas since it was a territory, had held positions of trust, and had been a representative in congress, and all three of us secretly hoped to see him advanced to the united states senate. we had fully discussed the matter on various occasions, and as the fall elections had gone favorably, the present was considered the opportune time to strike. the firm mutually agreed to stand the expense of the canvass, which was estimated on a reasonable basis, and the campaign opened with a blare of trumpets. assuming the rôle of a silent partner, i had reports furnished me regularly, and it soon developed that our estimate on the probable expense was too low. we had boldly entered the canvass, our man was worthy, and i wrote back instructing my partners to spare no expense in winning the fight. there were a number of candidates in the race and the legislature was in session, when an urgent letter reached me, urging my presence at the capital of kansas. the race was narrowing to a close, a personal consultation was urged, and i hastened north as fast as a relay of horses and railroad trains could carry me. on my arrival at topeka the fight had almost narrowed to a financial one, and we questioned if the game were worth the candle. yet we were already involved in a considerable outlay, and the consultation resulted in our determination to win, which we did, but at an expense of a little over four times the original estimate, which, however, afterward proved a splendid investment. i now had hopes that we might enlarge our operations in handling government contracts. major hunter saw possibilities along the same line, and our silent partner was awakened to the importance of maintaining friendly relations with the interior and war departments, gathering all the details in contracting beef with the government for its indian agencies and army posts in the west. up to date this had been a lucrative field which only a few texas drovers had ventured into, most of the contractors being northern and eastern men, and usually buying the cattle with which to fill the contracts near the point of delivery. i was impatient to get into this trade, as the indian deliveries generally took cows, and the army heavy beef, two grades of cattle that at present our firm had no certain demand for. also the market was gradually moving west from wichita, and it was only a question of a few years until the settlements of eastern kansas would cut us off from our established trade around the grove. i had seen abilene pass away as a market, wichita was doomed by the encroachments of agriculture, and it behooved us to be alert for a new outlet. i made up my mind to buy more land scrip. not that there had been any perceptible improvement in wild lands, but the general outlook justified its purchase. my agent at austin reported scrip to be had in ordinary quantities at former prices, and suggested that i supply myself fully, as the new administration was an economical one, and once the great flood of certificates issued by the last reconstruction régime were absorbed, an advance in land scrip was anticipated. i accordingly bought three hundred sections more, hardly knowing what to do with it, yet i knew there was an empire of fine grazing country between my present home and the pecos river. if ever the comanches were brought under subjection there would be ranches and room for all; and our babies were principally boys. major hunter came down earlier than usual. he reported a clear, cold winter on the medicine and no serious drift of cattle, and expressed the belief that we would come through with a loss not exceeding one per cent. this was encouraging, as it meant fat cattle next fall, fit for any market in the country. it was yet too early to make any move towards putting up herds for the trail, and we took train and went down the country as far as austin. there was always a difference in cattle prices, running from one to two dollars a head, between the northern and southern parts of the state. both of us were anxious to acquaint ourselves with the different grades, and made stops in several intervening counties, looking at cattle on the range and pricing them. we spent a week at the capital city and met all the trail drovers living there, many of whom expected to put up herds for that year southeast on the colorado river. "shanghai" pierce had for some time been a prominent figure in the markets of abilene and wichita, driving herds of his own from the extreme coast country. but our market required a better quality than coasters and mexican cattle, and we turned back up the country. before leaving the capital, major hunter and i had a long talk with my merchant friend over the land scrip market, and the latter urged its purchase at once, if wanted, as the issue afloat was being gradually absorbed. already there had been a noticeable advance in the price, and my partner gave me no peace until i bought, at eighteen dollars a section, two hundred certificates more. its purchase was making an inroad on my working capital, but the major frowned on my every protest, and i yielded out of deference to his superior judgment. returning, we stopped in bell county, where we contracted for fifteen thousand two and three year old steers. they were good prairie-raised cattle, and we secured them at a dollar a head less than the prices prevailing in the first few counties south of red river. major hunter remained behind, arranging his banking facilities, and i returned home after my outfits. before leaving bell county, i left word that we could use fifty good men for the trail, but they would have to come recommended by the ranchmen with whom we were dealing. we expected to make up five herds, and the cattle were to be ready for delivery to us between the th and th of march. i hastened home and out to the ranch, gathered our saddle stock, outfitted wagons, and engaged all my old foremen and twenty trusty men, and we started with a remuda of five hundred horses to begin the operations of the coming summer. receiving cattle with me was an old story by this time, and frequently matters came to a standstill between the sellers and ourselves. we paid no attention to former customs of the country; all cattle had to come up full-aged or go into the younger class, while inferior or knotty stags were turned back as not wanted. scarcely a day passed but there was more or less dispute; but we proposed paying for them, and insisted that all cattle tendered must come up to the specifications of the contract. we stood firm, and after the first two herds were received, all trouble on that score passed, and in making up the last three herds there was actually a surplus of cattle tendered. we used a road brand that year on all steers purchased, and the herds moved out from two to three days apart, the last two being made up in coryell, the adjoining county north. george edwards had charge of the rear herd. there were fourteen days between the first and the last starts, a fortnight of hard work, and we frequently received from ten to thirty miles distant from the branding pens. i rode almost night and day, and edwards likewise, while major hunter kept all the accounts and settled with the sellers. as fast as one herd was ready, it moved out under a foreman and fourteen men, one hundred saddle horses, and a well-stocked commissary. we did our banking at belton, the county seat, and after the last herd started we returned to town and received quite an ovation from the business men of the village. we had invested a little over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cattle in that community, and a banquet was even suggested in our honor by some of the leading citizens. most of the contracts were made with merchants, many of whom did not own a hoof of cattle, but depended on their customers to deliver the steers. the business interests of the town were anxious to have us return next year. we declined the proposed dinner, as neither major hunter nor myself would have made a presentable guest. a month or more had passed since i had left the ranch on the clear fork, the only clothes i had were on my back, and they were torn in a dozen places from running cattle in the brush. my partner had been living in cow-camps for the past three weeks, and preferred to be excused from receiving any social attentions. so we thanked our friends and started for the railroad. major hunter went through to the grove, while i stopped at fort worth. a buckboard from home was awaiting me, and the next morning i was at the edwards ranch. a relay team was harnessed in, and after counting the babies i started for the clear fork. by early evening i was in consultation with my ranch foreman, as it was my intention to drive an individual herd if everything justified the venture. i never saw the range on the clear fork look better, and the books showed that we could easily gather two thousand twos and threes, while the balance of the herd could be made up of dry and barren cows. all we lacked was about thirty horses, and my ranch hands were anxious to go up the trail; but after riding the range one day i decided that it would be a pity to disturb the pastoral serenity of the valley. it was fairly dotted with my own cattle; month-old calves were playing in groups, while my horse frequently shied at new-born ones, lying like fawns in the tall grass. a round-up at that time meant the separation of mothers from their offspring and injury to cows approaching maternity, and i decided that no commercial necessity demanded the sacrifice. then again it seemed a short-sighted policy to send half-matured steers to market, when no man could bring the same animals to a full development as cheaply as i could. barring contagious diseases, cattle are the healthiest creatures that walk the earth, and even on an open range seldom if ever does one voluntarily forsake its birthplace. i spent two weeks on the ranch and could have stayed the summer through, for i love cattle. our lead herd was due on the kansas state line early in may, so remaining at the edwards ranch until the last possible hour, i took train and reached wichita, where my active partner was awaiting me. he had just returned from the medicine river, and reported everything serene. he had made arrangements to have the men attend all the country round-ups within one hundred miles of our range. several herds had already reached wichita, and the next day i started south on horseback to meet our cattle at caldwell on the line, or at pond creek in the cherokee outlet. it was going to be difficult to secure range for herds within fifteen miles of wichita, and the opinion seemed general that this would be the last year that town could hope to hold any portion of the texas cattle trade. on arriving at pond creek i found that fully half the herds were turning up that stream, heading for great bend, ellsworth, ellis, and nickerson, all markets within the state of kansas. the year before nearly one third the drive had gone to the two first-named points, and now other towns were offering inducements and bidding for a share of the present cattle exodus. our lead herd arrived without an incident en route. the second one came in promptly, both passing on and picking their way through the border settlements to wichita. i waited until the third one put in an appearance, leaving orders for it and the two rear ones to camp on some convenient creek in the outlet near caldwell. arrangements were made with captain stone for supplying the outfits, and i hurried on to overtake the lead herds, then nearing wichita. an ample range was found but twenty miles up the arkansas river, and the third day all the bell county men in the two outfits were sent home by train. the market was much the same as the year before: one herd of three thousand two-year-olds was our largest individual sale. early in august the last herd was brought from the state line and the through help reduced to two outfits, one holding cattle at wichita and the other bringing in shipments of beeves from the medicine river range. the latter were splendid cattle, fatted to a finish for grass animals, and brought top prices in the different markets to which they were consigned. omitting details, i will say it was an active year, as we bought and sold fully as many more as our drive amounted to, while i added to my stock of saddle horses an even three hundred head. an amusing incident occurred with one of my men while holding cattle that fall at wichita. the boys were in and out of town frequently, and one of them returned to camp one evening and informed me that he wanted to quit work, as he intended to return to wichita and kill a man. he was a good hand and i tried to persuade him out of the idea, but he insisted that it was absolutely necessary to preserve his honor. i threatened to refuse him a horse, but seeing that menace and persuasion were useless, i ordered him to pick my holdings of saddle stock, gave him his wages due, and told him to be sure and shoot first. he bade us all good-by, and a chum of his went with him. about an hour before daybreak they returned and awoke me, when the aggrieved boy said: "mr. anthony, i didn't kill him. no, i didn't kill him. he's a good man. you bet he's a game one. oh, he's a good man all right." that morning when i awoke both lads were out on herd, and i had an early appointment to meet parties in town. major hunter gave me the story immediately on my arrival. the boys had located the offender in a store, and he anticipated the fact that they were on his trail. as our men entered the place, the enemy stepped from behind a pile of clothing with two six-shooters leveled in their faces, and ordered a clerk to relieve the pair of their pistols, which was promptly done. once the particulars were known at camp, it was looked upon as a good joke on the lad, and whenever he was asked what he thought of mr. blank, his reply invariably was, "he's a good man." the drive that year to the different markets in kansas amounted to about five hundred thousand cattle. one half this number were handled at wichita, the surrounding country absorbing them to such an extent that when it came time to restock our medicine river range i was compelled to go to great bend to secure the needed cattle. all saddle horses, both purchased and my own remudas, with wagons, were sent to our winter camps by the shipping crew, so that the final start for texas would be made from the medicine river. it was the last of october that the last six trains of beeves were brought in to the railroad for shipment, the season's work drawing to an end. meanwhile i had closed contracts on ten thousand three-year-old steers at "the bend," so as fast as the three outfits were relieved of their consignment of beeves they pulled out up the arkansas river to receive the last cattle of the year. it was nearly one hundred miles from wichita, and on the arrival of the shipping crews the herds were received and started south for their winter range. major hunter and i accompanied the herds to the medicine, and within a week after reaching the range the two through outfits started home with five wagons and eight hundred saddle horses. it was the latter part of november when we left our winter camps and returned to the grove for the annual settlement. our silent partner was present, and we broke the necks of a number of champagne bottles in properly celebrating the success of the year's work. the wintered cattle had cleared the dutchman's one per cent, while every hoof in the through and purchased herds was a fine source of profit. congress would convene within a week, and our silent partner suggested that all three of us go down to washington and attend the opening exercises. he had already looked into the contracting of beef to the government, and was particularly anxious to have my opinion on a number of contracts to be let the coming winter. it had been ten years since i left my old home in the shenandoah valley, my parents were still living, and all i asked was time enough to write a letter to my wife, and buy some decent clothing. the trio started in good time for the opening of congress, but once we sighted the potomac river the old home hunger came on me and i left the train at harper's ferry. my mother knew and greeted me just as if i had left home that morning on an errand, and had now returned. my father was breaking with years, yet had a mental alertness that was remarkable and a commercial instinct that understood the value of a texas cow or a section of land scrip. the younger members of the family gathered from their homes to meet "texas" anthony, and for ten continuous days i did nothing but answer questions, running from the color of the baby's eyes to why we did not drive the fifteen thousand cattle in one herd, or how big a section of country would one thousand certificates of land scrip cover. my visit was broken by the necessity of conferring with my partners, so, promising to spend christmas with my mother, i was excused until that date. at the war and interior departments i made many friends. i understood cattle so thoroughly that there was no feature of a delivery to the government that embarrassed me in the least. a list of contracts to be let from each department was courteously furnished us, but not wishing to scatter our business too wide, we submitted bids for six indian contracts and four for delivery to army posts on the upper missouri river. two of the latter were to be northern wintered cattle, and we had them on the medicine river; but we also had a sure market on them, and it was a matter of indifference whether we secured them or not. the indian contracts called for cows, and i was anxious to secure as many as possible, as it meant a market for the aging she stuff on my ranch. heretofore this class had fulfilled their mission in perpetuating their kind, had lived their day, and the weeds grew rankly where their remains enriched the soil. the bids would not be opened until the middle of january, and we should have notice at once if fortunate in securing any of the awards. the holiday season was approaching, major hunter was expected at home, and the firm separated for the time being. chapter xiii the centennial year i returned to texas early in january. quite a change had come over the situation since my leaving home the spring before. except on the frontier, business was booming in the new towns, while a regular revolution had taken place within the past month in land values. the cheapness of wild lands had attracted outside capital, resulting in a syndicate being formed by northern capitalists to buy up the outstanding issue of land scrip. the movement had been handled cautiously, and had possibly been in active operation for a year or more, as its methods were conducted with the utmost secrecy. options had been taken on all scrip voted to corporations in the state and still in their possession, agents of the syndicate were stationed at all centres where any amount was afloat, and on a given day throughout the state every certificate on the market was purchased. the next morning land scrip was worth fifty dollars a section, and on my return one hundred dollars a certificate was being freely bid, while every surveyor in the state was working night and day locating lands for individual holders of scrip. this condition of affairs was largely augmented by a boom in sheep. san antonio was the leading wool market in the state, many clips having sold as high as forty cents a pound for several years past on the streets of that city. free range and the high price of wool was inviting every man and his cousin to come to texas and make his fortune. money was feverish for investment in sheep, flock-masters were buying land on which to run their bands, and a sheepman was an envied personage. up to this time there had been little or no occasion to own the land on which the immense flocks grazed the year round, yet under existing cheap prices of land nearly all the watercourses in the immediate country had been taken up. personally i was dumfounded at the sudden and unexpected change of affairs, and what nettled me most was that all the land adjoining my ranch had been filed on within the past month. the clear fork valley all the way up to fort griffin had been located, while every vacant acre on the mother brazos, as far north as belknap, was surveyed and recorded. i was mortified to think that i had been asleep, but then the change had come like a thief in the night. my wife's trunk was half full of scrip, i had had a surveyor on the ground only a year before, and now the opportunity had passed. but my disappointment was my wife's delight, as there was no longer any necessity for keeping secret our holdings in land scrip. the little tin trunk held a snug fortune, and next to the babies, my wife took great pride in showing visitors the beautiful lithographed certificates. my ambition was land and cattle, but now that the scrip had a cash value, my wife took as much pride in those vouchers as if the land had been surveyed, recorded, and covered with our own herds. i had met so many reverses that i was grateful for any smile of fortune, and bore my disappointment with becoming grace. my ranch had branded over eight thousand calves that fall, and as long as it remained an open range i had room for my holdings of cattle. there was no question but that the public domain was bountiful, and if it were necessary i could go farther west and locate a new ranch. but it secretly grieved me to realize that what i had so fondly hoped for had come without warning and found me unprepared. i might as well have held title to half a million acres of the clear fork valley as a paltry hundred and fifty sections. little time was given me to lament over spilt milk. on the return from my first trip to the clear fork, reports from the war and interior departments were awaiting me. two contracts to the army and four to indian agencies had been awarded us, all of which could be filled with through cattle. the military allotments would require six thousand heavy beeves for delivery on the upper missouri river in dakota, while the nation's wards would require thirteen thousand cows at four different agencies in the indian territory. my active partner was due in fort worth within a week, while bonds for the faithful fulfillment of our contracts would be executed by our silent partner at washington, d.c. these awards meant an active year to our firm, and besides there was our established trade around the grove, which we had no intention of abandoning. the government was a sure market, and as long as a healthy demand continued in kansas for young cattle, the firm of hunter, anthony & co. would be found actively engaged in supplying the same. major hunter arrived under a high pressure of enthusiasm. by appointment we met in fort worth, and after carefully reviewing the situation we took train and continued on south to san antonio. i had seen a herd of beeves, a few years before, from the upper nueces river, and remembered them as good heavy cattle. there were two dollars a head difference, even in ages among younger stock, between the lower and upper counties in the state, and as it was pounds quantity that we wanted for the army, it was our intention to look over the cattle along the nueces river before buying our supply of beeves. we met a number of acquaintances in san antonio, all of whom recommended us to go west if in search of heavy cattle, and a few days later we reached uvalde county. this was the section from which the beeves had come that impressed me so favorably; i even remembered the ranch brands, and without any difficulty we located the owners, finding them anxious to meet buyers for their mature surplus cattle. we spent a week along the frio, leona, and nueces rivers, and closed contracts on sixty-one hundred five to seven year old beeves. the cattle were not as good a quality as prairie-raised north texas stock, but the pounds avoirdupois were there, the defects being in their mongrel colors, length of legs, and breadth of horns, heritages from the original spanish stock. otherwise they were tall as a horse, clean-limbed as a deer, and active on their feet, and they looked like fine walkers. i estimated that two bits a head would drive them to red river, and as we bought them at three dollars a head less than prevailing prices for the same-aged beeves north of or parallel to fort worth, we were well repaid for our time and trouble. we returned to san antonio and opened a bank account. the th of march was agreed on to receive. two remudas of horses would have to be secured, wagons fitted up, and outfits engaged. heretofore i had furnished all horses for trail work, but now, with our enlarging business, it would be necessary to buy others, which would be done at the expense of the firm. george edwards was accordingly sent for, and met us at waco. he was furnished a letter of credit on our san antonio bank, and authorized to buy and equip two complete outfits for the uvalde beeves. edwards was a good judge of horses, there was an abundance of saddle stock in the country, and he was instructed to buy not less than one hundred and twenty-five head for each remuda, to outfit his wagons with four-mule teams, and announce us as willing to engage fourteen men to the herd. once these details were arranged for, major hunter and myself bought two good horses and struck west for coryell county, where we had put up two herds the spring before. our return met with a flood of offerings, prices of the previous year still prevailed, and we let contracts for sixty-five hundred three-year-old steers and an equal number of dry and barren cows. we paid seven dollars a head for the latter, and in order to avoid any dispute at the final tender it was stipulated that the offerings must be in good flesh, not under five nor over eight years old, full average in weight, and showing no evidence of pregnancy. under local customs, "a cow was a cow," and we had to be specific. we did our banking at waco for the coryell herds. hastening north, our next halt was in hood county, where we bought thirty-three hundred two-year-old steers and three thousand and odd cows. this completed eight herds secured--three of young steers for the agricultural regions, and five intended for government delivery. we still lacked one for the indian bureau, and as i offered to make it up from my holdings, and on a credit, my active partner consented. i was putting in every dollar at my command, my partners were borrowing freely at home, and we were pulling together like a six-mule team to make a success of the coming summer's work. it was now the middle of february, and my active partner went to fort worth, where i did my banking, to complete his financial arrangements, while i returned to the ranch to organize the forces for the coming campaign. all the latter were intrusted to me, and while i had my old foremen at my beck and call, it was necessary to employ five or six new ones. with our deliveries scattered from the indian territory to the upper missouri river, as well as our established trade at the grove, two of us could not cover the field, and george edwards had been decided on as the third and trusted man. in a practical way he was a better cowman than i was, and with my active yankee partner for a running mate they made a team that would take care of themselves in any cow country. a good foreman is a very important man in trail work. the drover or firm may or may not be practical cowmen, but the executive in the field must be the master of any possible situation that may arise, combining the qualities of generalship with the caution of an explorer. he must be a hail-fellow among his men, for he must command by deserving obedience; he must know the inmost thoughts of his herd, noting every sign of alarm or distress, and willingly sacrifice any personal comfort in the interest of his cattle or outfit. i had a few such men, boys who had grown up in my employ, several of whom i would rather trust in a dangerous situation with a herd than take active charge myself. no concern was given for their morals, but they must be capable, trustworthy, and honest, as they frequently handled large sums of money. all my old foremen swore by me, not one of them would accept a similar situation elsewhere, and in selecting the extra trail bosses their opinion was valued and given due consideration. not having driven anything from my ranch the year before, a fine herd of twos, threes, and four-year-old steers could easily be made up. it was possible that a tenth and individual herd might be sent up the country, but no movement to that effect was decided on, and my regular ranch hands had orders only to throw in on the home range and gather outside steer cattle and dry cows. i had wintered all my saddle horses on the clear fork, and once the foremen were decided on, they repaired to the ranch and began outfitting for the start. the coryell herds were to be received one week later than the beef cattle, and the outfits would necessarily have to start in ample time to meet us on our return from the upper nueces river country. the two foremen allotted to hood county would start a week later still, so that we would really move north with the advance of the season in receiving the cattle under contract. only a few days were required in securing the necessary foremen, a remuda was apportioned to each, and credit for the commissary supplies arranged for, the employment of the men being left entirely to the trail bosses. taking two of my older foremen with me, i started for fort worth, where an agreeable surprise awaited me. we had been underbidden at the war department on both our proposals for northern wintered beeves. the fortunate bidder on one contract was refused the award,--for some duplicity in a former transaction, i learned later,--and the secretary of war had approached our silent partner to fill the deficiency. six weeks had elapsed, there was no obligation outstanding, and rather than advertise and relet the contract, the head of the war department had concluded to allot the deficiency by private award. major hunter had been burning the wires between fort worth and washington, in order to hold the matter open until i came in for a consultation. the department had offered half a cent a pound over and above our previous bid, and we bribed an operator to reopen his office that night and send a message of acceptance. we had ten thousand cattle wintering on the medicine river, and it would just trim them up nicely to pick out all the heavy, rough beeves for filling an army contract. when we had got a confirmation of our message, we proceeded on south, accompanied by the two foremen, and reached uvalde county within a week of the time set for receiving. edwards had two good remudas in pastures, wagons and teams secured, and cooks and wranglers on hand, and it only remained to pick the men to complete the outfits. with three old trail foremen on the alert for good hands while the gathering and receiving was going on, the help would be ready in ample time to receive the herds. gathering the beeves was in active operation on our arrival, a branding chute had been built to facilitate the work, and all five of us took to the saddle in assisting ranchmen in holding under herd, as we permitted nothing to be corralled night or day. the first herd was completed on the th, and the second a day later, both moving out without an hour's delay, the only instructions being to touch at great bend, kansas, for final orders. the cattle more than came up to expectations, three fourths of them being six and seven years old, and as heavy as oxen. there was something about the days of the open range that left its impression on animals, as these two herds were as uniform in build as deer, and i question if the same country to-day has as heavy beeves. three days were lost in reaching coryell county, where our outfits were in waiting and twenty others were at work gathering cattle. the herds were made up and started without a hitch, and we passed on to hood county, meeting every date promptly and again finding the trail outfits awaiting us. leaving my active partner and george edwards to receive the two herds, i rode through to the clear fork in a single day. a double outfit had been at work for the past two weeks gathering outside cattle and had over a thousand under herd on my arrival. everything had worked out so nicely in receiving the purchased herds that i finally concluded to send out my steers, and we began gathering on the home range. by making small round-ups, we disturbed the young calves as little as possible. i took charge of the extra outfit and my ranch foreman of his own, one beginning on the west end of my range, the other going north and coming down the brazos. at the end of a week the two crews came together with nearly eight thousand cattle under herd. the next day we cut out thirty-five hundred cows and started them on the trail, turning free the remnant of she stuff, and began shaping up the steers, using only the oldest in making up thirty-two hundred head. there were fully two thousand threes, the remainder being nearly equally divided between twos and fours. no road branding was necessary; the only delay in moving out was in provisioning a wagon and securing a foreman. failing in two or three quarters, i at last decided on a young fellow on my ranch, and he was placed in charge of the last herd. great bend was his destination, i instructed him where to turn off the chisholm trail,--north of the salt fork in the cherokee outlet,--and he started like an army with banners. i rejoined my active partner at fort worth. the hood county cattle had started a week before, so taking george edwards with us, we took train for kansas. major hunter returned to his home, while edwards and i lost no time in reaching the medicine river. a fortnight was spent in riding our northern range, when we took horses and struck out for pond creek in the outlet. the lead herds were due at this point early in may, and on our arrival a number had already passed. a road house and stage stand had previously been established, the proprietor of which kept a register of passing herds for the convenience of owners. none of ours were due, yet we looked over the "arrivals" with interest, and continued on down the trail to red fork. the latter was a branch of the arkansas river, and at low water was inclined to be brackish, and hence was sometimes called the salt fork, with nothing to differentiate it from one of the same name sixty miles farther north. there was an old indian trading post at red fork, and i lay over there while edwards went on south to meet the cows. his work for the summer was to oversee the deliveries at the indian agencies, major hunter was to look after the market at the bend, and i was to attend to the contracts at army posts on the upper missouri. our first steer herd to arrive was from hood county, and after seeing them safely on the great bend trail at pond creek, i waited for the other steer cattle from coryell to arrive. both herds came in within a day of each other, and i loitered along with them, finally overtaking the lead one when within fifty miles of the bend. in fair weather it was a delightful existence to loaf along with the cattle; but once all three herds reached their destination, two outfits held them, and i took the hood county lads and dropped back on the medicine. our ranch hands had everything shaped up nicely, and by working a double outfit and making round-ups at noon, when the cattle were on water, we quietly cut out three thousand head of our biggest beeves without materially disturbing our holdings on that range. these northern wintered cattle were intended for delivery at fort abraham lincoln on the missouri river in what is now north dakota. the through heavy beeves from uvalde county were intended for fort randall and intermediate posts, some of them for reissue to various indian agencies. the reservations of half a dozen tribes were tributary to the forts along the upper missouri, and the government was very liberal in supplying its wards with fresh beef. the medicine river beeves were to be grazed up the country to fort lincoln. we passed old fort larned within a week, and i left the outfit there and returned to the bend. the outfit in charge of the wintered cattle had orders to touch at and cross the missouri river at fort randall, where i would meet them again near the middle of july. the market had fairly opened at great bend, and i was kept busy assisting major hunter until the arrival of the uvalde beef herds. both came through in splendid condition, were admired by every buyer in the market, and passed on north under orders to graze ten miles a day until reaching their destination. by this time the whereabouts of all the indian herds were known, yet not a word had reached me from the foreman of my individual cattle after crossing into the nations. it was now the middle of june, and there were several points en route from which he might have mailed a letter, as did all the other foremen. herds, which crossed at red river station a week after my steers, came into the bend and reported having spoken no " " cattle en route. i became uneasy and sent a courier as far south as the state line, who returned with a comfortless message. finally a foreman in the employ of jess evens came to me and reported having taken dinner with a " " outfit on the south canadian; that the herd swam the river that afternoon, after which he never hailed them again. they were my own dear cattle, and i was worrying; i was overdue at fort randall, and in duty bound to look after the interests of the firm. major hunter came to the rescue, in his usual calm manner, and expressed his confidence that all would come out right in the end; that when the mystery was unraveled the foreman would be found blameless. i took a night train for the north, connected with a boat on the missouri river, and by finally taking stage reached fort randall. the mental worry of those four days would age an ordinary man, but on my arrival at the post a message from my active partner informed me that my cattle had reached dodge city two weeks before my leaving. then the scales fell from my eyes, as i could understand that when inquiries were made for the salt fork, some wayfarer had given that name to the red fork; and the new dodge trail turned to the left, from the chisholm, at little turkey, the first creek crossed after leaving the river. the message was supplemented a few days later by a letter, stating that dodge city would possibly be a better market than the bend, and that my interests would be looked after as well as if i were present. a load was lifted from my shoulders, and when the wintered cattle passed randall, the whole post turned out to see the beef herd on its way up to lincoln. the government line of forts along the missouri river had the whitest lot of officers that it was ever my good fortune to meet. i was from texas, my tongue and colloquialisms of speech proclaimed me southern-born, and when i admitted having served in the confederate army, interest and attention was only heightened, while every possible kindness was simply showered on me. the first delivery occurred at fort lincoln. it was a very simple affair. we cut out half a dozen average beeves, killed, dressed, and weighed them, and an honest average on the herd was thus secured. the contract called for one and a half million pounds on foot; our tender overran twelve per cent; but this surplus was accepted and paid for. the second delivery was at fort pierre and the last at randall, both of which passed pleasantly, the many acquaintances among army men that summer being one of my happiest memories. leaving randall, we put in to the nearest railroad point returning, where thirty men were sent home, after which we swept down the country and arrived at great bend during the last week in september. my active partner had handled his assignment of the summer's work in a masterly manner, having wholesaled my herd at dodge city at as good figures as our other cattle brought in retail quantities at the bend. the former point had received three hundred and fifty thousand texas cattle that summer, while every one conceded that great bend's business as a trail terminal would close with that season. the latter had handled nearly a quarter-million cattle that year, but like abilene, wichita, and other trail towns in eastern kansas, it was doomed to succumb to the advance guard of pioneer settlers. the best sale of the year fell to my active partner. before the shipping season opened, he sold, range count, our holdings on the medicine river, including saddle stock, improvements, and good will. the cattle might possibly have netted us more by marketing them, but it was only a question of time until the flow of immigration would demand our range, and major hunter had sold our squatter's rights while they had a value. a new foreman had been installed on our giving up possession, and our old one had been skirmishing the surrounding country the past month for a new range, making a favorable report on the eagle chief in the outlet. by paying a trifling rental to the cherokee nation, permission could be secured to hold cattle on these lands, set aside as a hunting ground. george edwards had been rotting all summer in issuing cows at indian agencies, but on the first of october the residue of his herds would be put in pastures or turned free for the winter. major hunter had wound up his affairs at the bend, and nothing remained but a general settlement of the summer's work. this took place at council grove, our silent partner and edwards both being present. the profits of the year staggered us all. i was anxious to go home, the different outfits having all gone by rail or overland with the remudas, with the exception of the two from uvalde, which were property of the firm. i had bought three hundred extra horses at the bend, sending them home with the others, and now nothing remained but to stock the new range in the cherokee outlet. edwards and my active partner volunteered for this work, it being understood that the uvalde remudas would be retained for ranch use, and that not over ten thousand cattle were to be put on the new range for the winter. our silent partner was rapidly awakening to the importance of his usefulness in securing future contracts with the war and indian departments, and vaguely outlining the future, we separated to three points of the compass. chapter xiv establishing a new ranch i hardly knew fort worth on my return. the town was in the midst of a boom. the foundations of many store buildings were laid on monday morning, and by saturday night they were occupied and doing a land-office business. lots that could have been bought in the spring for one hundred dollars were now commanding a thousand, while land scrip was quoted as scarce at twenty-five cents an acre. i hurried home, spoke to my wife, and engaged two surveyors to report one week later at my ranch on the clear fork. big as was the state and boundless as was her public domain, i could not afford to allow this advancing prosperity to catch me asleep again, and i firmly concluded to empty that little tin trunk of its musty land scrip. true enough, the present boom was not noticeable on the frontier, yet there was a buoyant feeling in the air that betokened a brilliant future. something enthused me, and as my creed was land and cattle, i made up my mind to plunge into both to my full capacity. the last outfit to return from the summer's drive was detained on the clear fork to assist in the fall branding. another one of fifteen men all told was chosen from the relieved lads in making up a surveying party, and taking fifty saddle horses and a well-stocked commissary with us, we started due west. i knew the country for some distance beyond fort griffin, and from late maps in possession of the surveyors, we knew that by holding our course, we were due to strike a fork of the mother brazos before reaching the staked plain. holding our course contrary to the needle, we crossed the double mountain fork, and after a week out from the ranch the brakes which form the border between the lowlands and the llano estacado were sighted. within view of the foothills which form the approach of the famous plain, the salt and double mountain forks of the brazos are not over twelve miles apart. we traveled up the divide between these two rivers, and when within thirty miles of the low-browed borderland a halt was called and we went into camp. from the view before us one could almost imagine the feelings of the discoverer of this continent when he first sighted land; for i remember the thrill which possessed our little party as we looked off into either valley or forward to the menacing staked plain in our front. there was something primal in the scene,--something that brought back the words, "in the beginning god created the heavens and the earth." men who knew neither creed nor profession of faith felt themselves drawn very near to some great creative power. the surrounding view held us spellbound by its beauty and strength. it was like a rush of fern-scents, the breath of pine forests, the music of the stars, the first lovelight in a mother's eye; and now its pristine beauty was to be marred, as covetous eyes and a lust of possession moved an earth-born man to lay hands on all things created for his use. camp was established on the double mountain fork. many miles to the north, a spur of the plain extended eastward, in the elbow of which it was my intention to locate the new ranch. a corner was established, a meridian line was run north beyond the salt fork and a random one west to the foothills. after a few days one surveyor ran the principal lines while the other did the cross-sectioning and correcting back, both working from the same camp, the wagon following up the work. antelope were seen by the thousands, frequently buffaloes were sighted, and scarcely a day passed but our rifles added to the larder of our commissary supplies. within a month we located four hundred sections, covering either side of the double mountain fork, and embracing a country ten miles wide by forty long. coming back to our original meridian line across to the salt fork, the work of surveying that valley was begun, when i was compelled to turn homeward. a list of contracts to be let by the war and interior departments would be ready by december , and my partners relied on my making all the estimates. there was a noticeable advance of fully one dollar a head on steer cattle since the spring before, and i was supposed to have my finger on the pulse of supply and prices, as all government awards were let far in advance of delivery. george edwards had returned a few days before and reported having stocked the new ranch in the outlet with twelve thousand steers. the list of contracts to be let had arrived, and the two of us went over them carefully. the government was asking for bids on the delivery of over two hundred thousand cattle at various posts and agencies in the west, and confining ourselves to well-known territory, we submitted bids on fifteen awards, calling for forty-five thousand cattle in their fulfillment. our estimates were sent to major hunter for his approval, who in turn forwarded them to our silent partner at washington, to be submitted to the proper departments. as the awards would not be made until the middle of january, nothing definite could be done until then, so, accompanied by george edwards, i returned to the surveying party on the salt fork of the brazos. we found them busy at their work, the only interruption having been an indian scare, which only lasted a few days. the men still carried rifles against surprise, kept a scout on the lookout while at work, and maintained a guard over the camp and remuda at night. during my absence they had located a strip of country ten by thirty miles, covering the valley of the salt fork, and we still lacked three hundred sections of using up the scrip. the river, along which they were surveying, made an abrupt turn to the north, and offsetting by sections around the bend, we continued on up the valley for twenty miles or until the brakes of the plain made the land no longer desirable. returning to our commencement point with still one hundred certificates left, we extended the survey five miles down both rivers, using up the last acre of scrip. the new ranch was irregular in form, but it controlled the waters of fully one million acres of fine grazing land and was clothed with a carpet of nutritive grasses. this was the range of the buffalo, and the instinct of that animal could be relied on in choosing a range for its successor, the texas cow. the surveying over, nothing remained but the recording of the locations at the county seat to which for legal purposes this unorganized country was attached. all of us accompanied the outfit returning, and a gala week we spent, as no less than half a dozen buffalo robes were secured before reaching fort griffin. deer and turkey were plentiful, and it was with difficulty that i restrained the boys from killing wantonly, as they were young fellows whose very blood yearned for the chase or any diverting excitement. we reached the ranch on the clear fork during the second week in january, and those of the outfit who had no regular homes were made welcome guests until work opened in the spring. my calf crop that fall had exceeded all expectations, nearly nine thousand having been branded, while the cattle were wintering in splendid condition. there was little or nothing to do, a few hunts with the hounds merely killing time until we got reports from washington. in spite of all competition we secured eight contracts, five with the army and the remainder with the indian bureau. then the work opened in earnest. my active partner was due the first of february, and during the interim george edwards and i rode a circle of five counties in search of brands of cattle for sale. in the course of our rounds a large number of whole stocks were offered us, but at firmer prices, yet we closed no trades, though many brands were bargains. it was my intention to stock the new ranch on the double mountain fork the coming summer, and if arrangements could be agreed on with major hunter, i might be able to repeat my success of the summer of ' . emigration to texas was crowding the ranches to the frontier, many of them unwillingly, and it appealed to me strongly that the time was opportune for securing an ample holding of stock cattle. the appearance of my active partner was the beginning of active operations, and after we had outlined the programme for the summer and gone through all the details thoroughly, i asked for the privilege of supplying the cows on the indian contracts. never did partners stand more willingly by each other than did the firm of hunter, anthony & co., and i only had to explain the opportunity of buying brands at wholesale, sending the young steers up the trail and the aging, dry, and barren cows to indian agencies, to gain the hearty approval of the little yankee major. he was entitled to a great deal of credit for my holdings in land, for from his first sight of texas, day after day, line upon line, precept upon precept, he had urged upon me the importance of securing title to realty, while its equivalent in scrip was being hawked about, begging a buyer. now we rejoiced together in the fulfillment of his prophecy, as i can lay little claim to any foresight, but am particularly anxious to give credit where credit is due. with an asylum for any and all remnants of stock cattle, we authorized george edwards to close trades on a number of brands. taking with us the two foremen who had brought beef herds out of uvalde county the spring before, the major and i started south on the lookout for beeves. the headwaters of the nueces and its tributaries were again our destination, and the usual welcome to buyers was extended with that hospitality that only the days of the open range knew and practiced. we closed contracts with former customers without looking at their cattle. when a ranchman gave us his word to deliver us as good or better beeves than the spring before, there was no occasion to question his ability, and the cattle never deceived. there might arise petty wrangles over trifles, but the general hungering for a market among cowmen had not yet been satiated, and they offered us their best that we might come again. we placed our contracts along three rivers and over as many counties, limiting the number to ten thousand beeves of the same ages and paying one dollar a head above the previous spring. one of our foremen was provided with a letter of credit, and the two were left behind to make up three new and complete outfits for the trail. this completed the purchase of beef cattle. two of our contracts called for northern wintered beeves, which would be filled out of our holdings in the cherokee outlet. we again stopped in central texas, but prices were too firm, and we passed on west to san saba and lampasas counties, where we effected trades on nine thousand five hundred three-year-old steers. my own outfits would drop down from the clear fork to receive these cattle, and after we had perfected our banking arrangements the major returned to san antonio and i started homeward. george edwards had in the mean time bargained for ten brands, running anywhere from one to five thousand head, paying straight through five to seven dollars, half cash and the balance in eight months, everything to be delivered on the clear fork. we intentionally made these deliveries late--during the last week in march and the first one in april--in order that major hunter might approve of the three herds of cows for indian delivery. once i had been put in possession of all necessary details, edwards started south to join major hunter, as the receiving of the nueces river beeves was set for from the th to the th of march. i could see a busy time ahead. there was wood to haul for the branding, three complete outfits to start for the central part of the state, new wagons to equip for the trail, and others to care for the calf crop while en route to the double mountain fork. there were oxen to buy in equipping teams to accompany the stock cattle to the new ranch, two yoke being allowed to each wagon, as it was strength and not speed that was desired. my old foremen rallied at a word and relieved me of the lesser details of provisioning the commissaries and engaging the help. trusty men were sent to oversee and look out for my interests in gathering the different brands, the ranges of many of them being fifty to one hundred miles distant. the different brands were coming from six separate counties along the border, and on their arrival at my ranch we must be ready to receive, brand, and separate the herds into their respective classes, sending two grades to market and the remnant to their new home at the foot of the staked plain. the condition of the mules must be taken into consideration before the army can move, and in cattle life the same reliance is placed on the fitness for duty of the saddle horses. i had enough picked ones to make up a dozen remudas if necessary, and rested easy on that score. the date for receiving arrived and found us all ready and waiting. the first herd was announced to arrive on the th of march. i met it ten miles from the ranch. my man assured me that the brand as gathered was intact and that it would run fifty per cent dry cows and steers over two years old. a number of mature beeves even were noticeable and younger steers were numerous, while the miscellany of the herd ran to every class and condition of the bovine race. two other brands were expected the next day, and that evening the first one to arrive was counted and accepted. the next morning the entire herd was run through a branding chute and classified, all steers above a yearling and dry and aging cows going into one contingent and the mixed cattle into another. in order to save horseflesh, this work was easily done in the corrals. by hanging a gate at the exit of the branding chute, a man sat overhead and by swinging it a variation of two feet, as the cattle trailed through the trough in single file, the herd was cut into two classes. those intended for the trail were put under herd, while the stock cattle were branded into the " " and held separate. the second and third herds were treated in a similar manner, when we found ourselves with over eleven thousand cattle on hand, with two other brands due in a few days. but the evening of the fourth day saw a herd of thirty-three hundred steers on its way to kansas, while a second one, numbering two hundred more than the first, was lopped off from the mixed stuff and started west for the double mountain fork. the situation was eased. a conveyance had been sent to the railroad to meet my partner, and before he and edwards arrived two other brands had been received. a herd of thirty-five hundred dry cows was approved and started at once for the indian territory, while a second one moved out for the west, cleaning up the holdings of mixed stuff. the congestion was again relieved, and as the next few brands were expected to run light in steers, everything except cows was held under herd until all had been received. the final contingent came in from wise county and were shaped up, and the last herd of cows, completing ten thousand five hundred, started for the washita agency. i still had nearly sixty-five hundred steers on hand, and cutting back all of a small overplus of thin light cows, i had three brands of steers cut into one herd and four into another, both moving out for dodge city. this left me with fully eight thousand miscellany on hand, with nothing but my ranch outfit to hold them, close-herding by day and bedding down and guarding them by night. settlements were made with the different sellers, my outstanding obligations amounting to over one hundred thousand dollars, which the three steer herds were expected to liquidate. my active partner and george edwards took train for the north. the only change in the programme was that major hunter was to look after our deliveries at army posts, while i was to meet our herds on their arrival in dodge city. the cows were sold to the firm, and including my individual cattle, we had twelve herds on the trail, or a total of thirty-nine thousand five hundred head. on the return of the first outfit from the west, some three weeks after leaving, the herd of stock cattle was cut in two and started. but a single man was left on the clear fork, my ranch foreman taking one herd, while i accompanied the other. it requires the patience of a saint to handle cows and calves, two wagons to the herd being frequently taxed to their capacity in picking up the youngsters. it was a constant sight to see some of the boys carrying a new-born calf across the saddle seat, followed by the mother, until camp or the wagon was reached. i was ashamed of my own lack of patience on that trip, while irritable men could while away the long hours, nursing along the drag end of a herd of cows and their toddling offspring. we averaged only about ten miles a day, the herds were large and unwieldy, and after twelve days out both were scattered along the salt fork and given their freedom. leaving one outfit to locate the cattle on the new range, the other two hastened back to the clear fork and gathered two herds, numbering thirty-five hundred each, of young cows and heifers from the ranch stock. but a single day was lost in rounding-up, when they were started west, half a day apart, and i again took charge of an outfit, the trip being an easy one and made in ten days, as the calves were large enough to follow and there were no drag cattle among them. on our arrival at the new ranch, the cows and heifers were scattered among the former herds, and both outfits started back, one to look after the clear fork and the other to bring through the last herd in stocking my new possessions. this gave me fully twenty-five thousand mixed cattle on my new range, relieving the old ranch of a portion of its she stuff and shaping up both stocks to better advantage. it was my intention to make my home on the clear fork thereafter, and the ranch outfit had orders to build a comfortable house during the summer. the frontier was rapidly moving westward, the indian was no longer a dread, as it was only a question of time until the comanche and his ally would imitate their red brethren and accept the dole of the superior race. i was due in dodge city the first of june, the ranches would take care of themselves, and touching at the edwards ranch for a day, i reached "dodge" before any of the herds arrived. here was a typical trail town, a winter resort for buffalo hunters, no settlement for fifty miles to the east, and an almost boundless range on which to hold through texas cattle. the business was bound to concentrate at this place, as all other markets were abandoned within the state, while it was easily accessible to the mountain regions on the west. it was the logical meeting point for buyers and drovers; and while the town of that day has passed into history as "wicked dodge," it had many redeeming features. the veneer of civilization may have fallen, to a certain extent, from the wayfaring man who tarried in this cow town, yet his word was a bond, and he reverenced the pure in womanhood, though to insult him invited death. george edwards and major hunter had become such great chums that i was actually jealous of being supplanted in the affections of the yankee major. the two had been inseparable for months, visiting at the grove, spending a fortnight together at the beef ranch in the outlet, and finally putting in an appearance at dodge. headquarters for the summer were established at the latter point, our bookkeeper arrived, and we were ready for business. the market opened earlier than at more eastern points. the bulk of the sales were made to ranchmen, who used whole herds where the agricultural regions only bought cattle by the hundreds. it was more satisfactory than the retail trade; credit was out of the question, and there was no haggling over prices. cattle companies were forming and stocking new ranges, and an influx of english and scotch capital was seeking investment in ranches and live stock in the west,--a mere forerunner of what was to follow in later years. our herds began arriving, and as soon as an outfit could be freed it was started for the beef ranch under george edwards, where a herd of wintered beeves was already made up to start for the upper missouri river. major hunter followed a week later with the second relieved outfit, and our cattle were all moving for their destinations. the through beef herds from the upper nueces river had orders to touch at old fort larned to the eastward, edwards drifted on to the indian agencies, and i bestirred myself to the task of selling six herds of young cattle at dodge. once more i was back in my old element, except that every feature of the latter market was on an enlarged scale. two herds were sold to one man in colorado, three others went under contract to the republican river in nebraska, and the last one was cut into blocks and found a market with feeders in kansas. long before deliveries were concluded to the war or interior departments, headquarters were moved back to the grove, my work being done. in the interim of waiting for the close of the year's business, our bookkeeper looked after two shipments of a thousand head each from the beef ranch, while i visited my brother in missouri and surprised him by buying a carload of thoroughbred bulls. arrangements were made for shipping them to fort worth during the last week in november, and promising to call for them, i returned to the grove to meet my partners and adjust all accounts for the year. chapter xv harvest home the firm's profits for the summer of ' footed up over two hundred thousand dollars. the government herds from the cherokee outlet paid the best, those sent to market next, while the through cattle remunerated us in the order of beeves, young steers, and lastly cows. there was a satisfactory profit even in the latter, yet the same investment in other classes paid a better per cent profit, and the banking instincts of my partners could be relied on to seek the best market for our capital. there was nothing haphazard about our business; separate accounts were kept on every herd, and at the end of the season the percentage profit on each told their own story. for instance, in the above year it cost us more to deliver a cow at an agency in the indian territory than a steer at dodge city, kansas. the herds sold in colorado had been driven at an expense of eighty-five cents a head, those delivered on the republican river ninety, and every cow driven that year cost us over one dollar a head in general expense. the necessity of holding the latter for a period of four months near agencies for issuing purposes added to the cost, and was charged to that particular department of our business. george edwards and my active partner agreed to restock our beef ranch in the outlet, and i returned to missouri. i make no claim of being the first cowman to improve the native cattle of texas, yet forty years' keen observation has confirmed my original idea,--that improvement must come through the native and gradually. climatic conditions in texas are such that the best types of the bovine race would deteriorate if compelled to subsist the year round on the open range. the strongest point in the original spanish cattle was their inborn ability as foragers, being inured for centuries to drouth, the heat of summer, and the northers of winter, subsisting for months on prickly pear, a species of the cactus family, or drifting like game animals to more favored localities in avoiding the natural afflictions that beset an arid country. in producing the ideal range animal it was more important to retain those rustling qualities than to gain a better color, a few pounds in weight, and a shortening of horns and legs, unless their possessor could withstand the rigors of a variable climate. nature befriends the animal race. the buffalo of montana could face the blizzard, while his brother on the plains of texas sought shelter from the northers in cañons and behind sand-dunes, guided by an instinct that foretold the coming storm. i accompanied my car of thoroughbred bulls and unloaded them at the first station north of fort worth. they numbered twenty-five, all two-year-olds past, and were representative of three leading beef brands of established reputation. others had tried the experiment before me, the main trouble being in acclimation, which affects animals the same as the human family. but by wintering them at their destination, i had hopes of inuring the importation so that they would withstand the coming summer, the heat of which was a sore trial to a northern-bred animal. accordingly i made arrangements with a farmer to feed my car of bulls during the winter, hay and grain both being plentiful. they had cost me over five thousand dollars, and rather than risk the loss of a single one by chancing them on the range, an additional outlay of a few hundred dollars was justified. limiting the corn fed to three barrels to the animal a month, with plenty of rough feed, ought to bring them through the winter in good, healthy form. the farmer promised to report monthly on their condition, and agreeing to send for them by the first of april, i hastened on home. my wife had taken a hand in the building of the new house on the clear fork. it was quite a pretentious affair, built of hewed logs, and consisted of two large rooms with a hallway between, a gallery on three sides, and a kitchen at the rear. each of the main rooms had an ample fireplace, both hearths and chimneys built from rock, the only material foreign to the ranch being the lumber in the floors, doors, and windows. nearly all the work was done by the ranch hands, even the clapboards were riven from oak that grew along the mother brazos, and my wife showed me over the house as though it had been a castle that she had inherited from some feudal forbear. i was easily satisfied; the main concern was for the family, as i hardly lived at home enough to give any serious thought to the roof that sheltered me. the original buildings had been improved and enlarged for the men, and an air of prosperity pervaded the anthony ranch consistent with the times and the success of its owner. the two ranches reported a few over fifteen thousand calves branded that fall. a dim wagon road had been established between the ranches, by going and returning outfits during the stocking of the new ranch the spring before, and the distance could now be covered in two days by buckboard. the list of government contracts to be let was awaiting my attention, and after my estimates had been prepared, and forwarded to my active partner, it was nearly the middle of december before i found time to visit the new ranch. the hands at double mountain had not been idle, snug headquarters were established, and three line camps on the outskirts of the range were comfortably equipped to shelter men and horses. the cattle had located nicely, two large corrals had been built on each river, and the calves were as thrifty as weeds. gray wolves were the worst enemy encountered, running in large bands and finding shelter in the cedar brakes in the cañons and foothills which border on the staked plain. my foreman on the double mountain ranch was using poison judiciously, all the line camps were supplied with the same, and an active winter of poisoning wolves was already inaugurated before my arrival. long-range rifles would supplement the work, and a few years of relentless war on these pests would rid the ranch of this enemy of live stock. together my foreman and i planned for starting an improved herd of cattle. a cañon on the west was decided on as a range, as it was well watered from living springs, having a valley several miles wide, forming a park with ample range for two thousand cattle. the bluffs on either side were abrupt, almost an in closure, making it an easy matter for two men to loose-herd a small amount of stock, holding them adjoining my deeded range, yet separate. the survival of the fittest was adopted as the rule in beginning the herd, five hundred choice cows were to form the nucleus, to be the pick of the new ranch, thrift and formation to decide their selection. solid colors only were to be chosen, every natural point in a cow was to be considered, with the view of reproducing the race in improved form. my foreman--an intelligent young fellow--was in complete sympathy, and promised me that he would comb the range in selecting the herd. the first appearance of grass in the spring was agreed on as the time for gathering the cows, when he would personally come to the clear fork and receive the importation of bulls, thus fully taking all responsibility in establishing the improved herd. by this method, unless our plans miscarried, in the course of a few years we expected to be raising quarter-bloods in the main ranch stock, and at the same time retaining all those essential qualities that distinguish the range-raised from the domestic-bred animal. on my return to the clear fork, which was now my home, a letter from my active partner was waiting, informing me that he and edwards would reach texas about the time the list of awards would arrive. they had been unsuccessful in fully stocking our beef ranch, securing only three thousand head, as prices were against them, and the letter intimated that something must be done to provide against a repetition of this unforeseen situation. the ranch in the outlet had paid us a higher per cent on the investment than any of our ventures, and to neglect fully stocking it was contrary to the creed of hunter, anthony & co. true, we were double-wintering some four thousand head of cattle on our cherokee range, but if a fair allowance of awards was allotted the firm, requiring northern wintered cattle in filling, it might embarrass us to supply the same when we did not have the beeves in hand; it was our business to have the beef. at the appointed time the buckboard was sent to fort worth, and a few days later major hunter and our main segundo drove up to the clear fork. omitting all preludes, atmosphere, and sunsets, we got down to business at once. if we could drive cattle to dodge city and market them for eighty-five cents, we ought to be able to deliver them on our northern range for six bits, and the horses could be returned or sold at a profit. if any of our established trade must be sacrificed, why, drop what paid the least; but half stock our beef ranch? never again! this was to be the slogan for the coming summer, and, on receiving the report from washington, we were enabled to outline a programme for the year. the gradually advancing prices in cattle were alarming me, as it was now perceptible in cows, and in submitting our bids on indian awards i had made the allowance of one dollar a head advance over the spring before. in spite of this we were allotted five contracts from the interior department and seven to the army, three of the latter requiring ten thousand northern wintered beeves,--only oversold three thousand head. major hunter met my criticisms by taking the ground that we virtually had none of the cattle on hand, and if we could buy southern stock to meet our requirements, why not the three thousand that we lacked in the north. our bids had passed through his hands last; he knew our northern range was not fully stocked, and had forwarded the estimates to our silent partner at washington, and now the firm had been assigned awards in excess of their holdings. but he was the kind of a partner i liked, and if he could see his way clear, he could depend on my backing him to the extent of my ability and credit. the business of the firm had grown so rapidly that it was deemed advisable to divide it into three departments,--the army, the indian, the beef ranch and general market. major hunter was specially qualified to handle the first division, the second fell to edwards, and the last was assumed by myself. we were to consult each other when convenient, but each was to act separately for the firm, my commission requiring fifteen thousand cattle for our ranch in the outlet, and three herds for the market at dodge city. our banking points were limited to fort worth and san antonio, so agreeing to meet at the latter point on the st of february for a general consultation, we separated with a view to feeling the home market. our man edwards dropped out in the central part of the state, my active partner wished to look into the situation on the lower nueces river, and i returned to the headwaters of that stream. during the past two summers we had driven five herds of heavy beeves from uvalde and adjoining counties, and while we liked the cattle of that section, it was considered advisable to look elsewhere for our beef supply. within a week i let contracts for five herds of two and three year old steers, then dropped back to the colorado river and bought ten thousand more in san saba and mcculloch counties. this completed the purchases in my department, and i hastened back to san antonio for the expected consultation. neither my active partner nor my trusted man had arrived, nor was there a line to indicate where they were or when they might be expected, though major hunter had called at our hotel a few days previously for his mail. the designated day was waning, and i was worried by the non-appearance of either, when i received a wire from austin, saying they had just sublet the indian contracts. the next morning my active partner and edwards arrived. the latter had met some parties at the capital who were anxious to fill our indian deliveries, and had wired us in the firm's name, and major hunter had taken the first train for austin. both returned wreathed in smiles, having sublet our awards at figures that netted us more than we could have realized had we bought and delivered the cattle at our own risk. it was clear money, requiring not a stroke of work, while it freed a valuable man in outfitting, receiving, and starting our other herds, as well as relieving a snug sum for reinvestment. our capital lay idle half the year, the spring months were our harvest, and, assigning edwards full charge of the cattle bought on the colorado river, we instructed him to buy for the dodge market four herds more in adjoining counties, bringing down the necessary outfits to handle them from my ranch on the clear fork. previous to his return to san antonio my active partner had closed contracts on thirteen thousand heavy beeves on the frio river and lower nueces, thus completing our purchases. a healthy advance was noticeable all around in steer cattle, though hardly affecting cows; but having anticipated a growing appreciation in submitting our bids, we suffered no disappointment. a week was lost in awaiting the arrival of half a dozen old foremen. on their arrival we divided them between us and intrusted them with the buying of horses and all details in making up outfits. the trails leading out of southern texas were purely local ones, the only established trace running from san antonio north, touching at fort griffin, and crossing into the nations at red river station in montague county. all our previous herds from the uvalde regions had turned eastward to intercept this main thoroughfare, though we had been frequently advised to try a western outlet known as the nueces cañon route. the latter course would bring us out on high tablelands, but before risking our herds through it, i decided to ride out the country in advance. the cañon proper was about forty miles long, through which ran the source of the nueces river, and if the way were barely possible it looked like a feasible route. taking a pack horse and guide with me, i rode through and out on the mesa beyond. general mckinzie had used this route during his indian campaigns, and had even built mounds of rock on the hills to guide the wayfarer, from the exit of the cañon across to the south llano river. the trail was a rough one, but there was grass sufficient to sustain the herds and ample bed-grounds in the valleys, and i decided to try the western outlet from uvalde. an early, seasonable spring favored us with fine grass on which to put up and start the herds, all five moving out within a week of each other. i promised my foremen to accompany them through the cañon, knowing that the passage would be a trial to man and beast, and asked the old bosses to loiter along, so that there would be but a few hours' difference between the rear and lead herds. i received sixteen thousand cattle, and the four days required in passing through nueces cañon and reaching water beyond were the supreme physical test of my life. it was a wild section, wholly unsettled, between low mountains, the river-bed constantly shifting from one flank of the valley to the other, while cliffs from three to five hundred feet high alternated from side to side. in traveling the first twenty-five miles we crossed the bed of the river twenty-one times; and besides the river there were a great number of creeks and dry arroyos putting in from the surrounding hills, so that we were constantly crossing rough ground. the beds of the streams were covered with smooth, water-worn pebbles, white as marble, and then again we encountered limestone in lava formation, honeycombed with millions of sharp, up-turned cells. some of the descents were nearly impossible for wagons, but we locked both hind wheels and just let them slide down and bounce over the boulders at the bottom. half-way through the cañon the water failed us, with the south fork of the llano forty miles distant in our front. we were compelled to allow the cattle to pick their way over the rocky trail, the herds not over a mile apart, and scarcely maintaining a snail's pace. i rode from rear to front and back again a dozen times in clearing the defile, and noted that splotches of blood from tender-footed cattle marked the white pebbles at every crossing of the river-bed. on the evening of the third day, the rear herd passed the exit of the cañon, the others having turned aside to camp for the night. two whole days had now elapsed without water for the cattle. i had not slept a wink the two previous nights. the south fork of the llano lay over twenty miles distant, and although it had ample water two weeks before, one of the foremen and i rode through to it that night to satisfy ourselves. the supply was found sufficient, and before daybreak we were back in camp, arousing the outfits and starting the herds. in the spring of the old military trail, with its rocky sentinels, was still dimly defined from nueces cañon north to the mckinzie water-hole on the south llano. the herds moved out with the dawn. thousands of the cattle were travel-sore, while a few hundred were actually tender-footed. the evening before, as we came out into the open country, we had seen quite a local shower of rain in our front, which had apparently crossed our course nearly ten miles distant, though it had not been noticeable during our night's ride. the herds fell in behind one another that morning like columns of cavalry, and after a few miles their stiffness passed and they led out as if they had knowledge of the water ahead. within two hours after starting we crossed a swell of the mesa, when the lead herd caught a breeze from off the damp hills to the left where the shower had fallen the evening before. as they struck this rise, the feverish cattle raised their heads and pulled out as if that vagrant breeze had brought them a message that succor and rest lay just beyond. the point men had orders to let them go, and as fast as the rear herds came up and struck this imaginary line or air current, a single moan would surge back through the herd until it died out at the rear. by noon there was a solid column of cattle ten miles long, and two hours later the drag and point men had trouble in keeping the different herds from mixing. without a halt, by three o'clock the lead foremen were turning their charges right and left, and shortly afterward the lead cattle were plunging into the purling waters of the south llano. the rear herds turned off above and below, filling the river for five miles, while the hollow-eyed animals gorged themselves until a half dozen died that evening and night. leaving orders with the foremen to rest their herds well and move out half a day apart, i rode night and day returning to uvalde. catching the first stage out, i reached san antonio in time to overtake major hunter, who was awaiting the arrival of the last beef herd from the lower country, the three lead ones having already passed that point. all trail outfits from the south then touched at san antonio to provision the wagons, and on the approach of our last herd i met it and spent half a day with it,--my first, last, and only glimpse of our heavy beeves. they were big rangy fellows many of them six and seven years old, and from the general uniformity of the herd, i felt proud of the cowman that my protégé and active partner had developed into. major hunter was anxious to reach home as soon as possible, in order to buy in our complement of northern wintered cattle; so, settling our business affairs in southern texas, the day after the rear beeves passed we took train north. i stopped in the central part of the state, joining edwards riding night and day in covering his appointments to receive cattle; and when the last trail herd moved out from the colorado river there were no regrets. hastening on home, on my arrival i was assured by my ranch foreman that he could gather a trail herd in less than a week. my saddle stock now numbered over a thousand head, one hundred of which were on the double mountain ranch, seven remudas on the trail, leaving available over two hundred on the clear fork. i had the horses and cattle, and on the word being given my ranch foreman began gathering our oldest steers, while i outfitted and provisioned a commissary and secured half a dozen men. on the morning of the seventh day after my arrival, an individual herd, numbering thirty-five hundred, moved out from the clear fork, every animal in the straight ranch brand. an old trail foreman was given charge, dodge city was the destination, and a finer herd of three-year-olds could not have been found in one brand within the boundaries of the state. this completed our cattle on the trail, and a breathing spell of a few weeks might now be indulged in, yet there was little rest for a cowman. not counting the contracts to the indian bureau, sublet to others, and the northern wintered beeves, we had, for the firm and individually, seventeen herds, numbering fifty-four thousand five hundred cattle on the trail. in order to carry on our growing business unhampered for want of funds, the firm had borrowed on short time nearly a quarter-million dollars that spring, pledging the credit of the three partners for its repayment. we had been making money ever since the partnership was formed, and we had husbanded our profits, yet our business seemed to outgrow our means, compelling us to borrow every spring when buying trail herds. in the mean time and while we were gathering the home cattle, my foreman and two men from the double mountain ranch arrived on the clear fork to receive the importation of bulls. the latter had not yet arrived, so pressing the boys into work, we got the trail herd away before the thoroughbreds put in an appearance. a wagon and three men from the home ranch had gone after them before my return, and they were simply loafing along, grazing five to ten miles a day, carrying corn in the wagon to feed on the grass. their arrival found the ranch at leisure, and after resting a few days they proceeded on to their destination at a leisurely gait. the importation had wintered finely,--now all three-year-olds,--but hereafter they must subsist on the range, as corn was out of the question, and the boys had brought nothing but a pack horse from the western ranch. this was an experiment with me, but i was ably seconded by my foreman, who had personally selected every cow over a month before, and this was to make up the beginning of the improved herd. i accompanied them beyond my range and urged seven miles a day as the limit of travel. i then started for home, and within a week reached dodge city, kansas. headquarters were again established at dodge. fortunately a new market was being developed at ogalalla on the platte river in nebraska, and fully one third the trail herds passed on to the upper point. before my arrival major hunter had bought the deficiency of northern wintered beeves, and early in june three herds started from our range in the outlet for the upper missouri river army posts. we had wintered all horses belonging to the firm on the beef ranch, and within a fortnight after its desertion, the young steers from the upper nueces river began arriving and were turned loose on the eagle chief, preempting our old range. one outfit was retained to locate the cattle, the remaining ones coming in to dodge and returning home by train. george edwards lent me valuable assistance in handling our affairs economically, but with the arrival of the herds at dodge he was compelled to look after our sub-contracts at indian agencies. the latter were delivered in our name, all money passed through our hands in settlement, so it was necessary to have a man on the ground to protect our interests. with nothing but the selling of eight herds of cattle in an active market like dodge, i felt that the work of the summer was virtually over. one cattle company took ten thousand three-year-old steers, two herds were sold for delivery at ogalalla, and the remaining three were placed within a month after their arrival. the occupation of the west was on with a feverish haste, and money was pouring into ranches and cattle, affording a ready market to the drover from texas. nothing now remained for me but to draw the threads of our business together and await the season's settlement in the fall. i sold all the wagons and sent the remudas to our range in the outlet, while from the first cattle sold the borrowed money was repaid. i visited ogalalla to acquaint myself with its market, looked over our beef ranch in the cherokee strip during the lull, and even paid the different indian agencies my respects to perfect my knowledge of the requirements of our business. our firm was a strong one, enlarging its business year by year; and while we could not foresee the future, the present was a harvest home to hunter, anthony & co. chapter xvi an active summer the summer of closed with but a single cloud on the horizon. like ourselves, a great many cattlemen had established beef ranches in the cherokee outlet, then a vacant country, paying a trifling rental to that tribe of civilized indians. but a difference of opinion arose, some contending that the cherokees held no title to the land; that the strip of country sixty miles wide by two hundred long set aside by treaty as a hunting ground, when no longer used for that purpose by the tribe, had reverted to the government. some refused to pay the rent money, the council of the cherokee nation appealed to the general government, and troops were ordered in to preserve the peace. we felt no uneasiness over our holdings of cattle on the strip, as we were paying a nominal rent, amounting to two bits a head a year, and were otherwise fortified in possession of our range. if necessary we could have secured a permit from the war department, on the grounds of being government contractors and requiring a northern range on which to hold our cattle. but rather than do this, major hunter hit upon a happy solution of the difficulty by suggesting that we employ an indian citizen as foreman, and hold the cattle in his name. the major had an old acquaintance, a half-breed cherokee named laflors, who was promptly installed as owner of the range, but holding beeves for hunter, anthony & co., government beef contractors. i was unexpectedly called to texas before the general settlement that fall. early in the summer, at dodge, i met a gentleman who was representing a distillery in illinois. he was in the market for a thousand range bulls to slop-feed, and as no such cattle ever came over the trail, i offered to sell them to him delivered at fort worth. i showed him the sights around dodge and we became quite friendly, but i was unable to sell him his requirements unless i could show the stock. it was easily to be seen that he was not a range cattleman, and i humored him until he took my address, saying that if he were unable to fill his wants in other western markets he would write me later. the acquaintance resulted in several letters passing between us that autumn, and finally an appointment was made to meet in kansas city and go down to texas together. i had written home to have the buckboard meet us at fort worth on october , and a few days later we were riding the range on the brazos and clear fork. in the past there never had been any market for this class of drones, old age and death being the only relief, and from the great number of brands that i had purchased during my ranching and trail operations, my range was simply cluttered with these old cumberers. their hides would not have paid freighting and transportation to a market, and they had become an actual drawback to a ranch, when the opportunity occurred and i sold twelve hundred head to the illinois distillery. the buyer informed me that they fattened well; that there was a special demand for this quality in the export trade of dressed beef, and that owing to their cheapness and consequent profit they were in demand for distillery feeding. fifteen dollars a head was agreed on as the price, and we earned it a second time in delivering that herd at fort worth. many of the animals were ten years old, surly when irritated, and ready for a fight when their day-dreams were disturbed. there was no treating them humanely, for every effort in that direction was resented by the old rascals, individually and collectively. the first day we gathered two hundred, and the attempt to hold them under herd was a constant fight, resulting in every hoof arising on the bed-ground at midnight and escaping to their old haunts. i worked as good a ranch outfit of men as the state ever bred, i was right there in the saddle with them, yet, in spite of every effort, to say nothing of the profanity wasted, we lost the herd. the next morning every lad armed himself with a prod-pole long as a lance and tipped with a sharp steel brad, and we commenced regathering. thereafter we corralled them at night, which always called for a free use of ropes, as a number usually broke away on approaching the pens. often we hog-tied as many as a dozen, letting them lie outside all night and freeing them back into the herd in the morning. even the day-herding was a constant fight, as scarcely an hour passed but some old resident would scorn the restraint imposed upon his liberties and deliberately make a break for freedom. a pair of horsemen would double on the deserter, and with a prod-pole to his ear and the pressure of a man and horse bearing their weight on the same, a circle would be covered and toro always reëntered the day-herd. one such lesson was usually sufficient, and by reaching corrals every night and penning them, we managed, after two weeks' hard work, to land them in the stockyards at fort worth. the buyer remained with and accompanied us during the gathering and en route to the railroad, evidently enjoying the continuous performance. he proved a good mixer, too, and returned annually thereafter. for years following i contracted with him, and finally shipped on consignment, our business relations always pleasant and increasing in volume until his death. returning with the outfit, i continued on west to the new ranch, while the men began the fall branding at home. on arriving on the double mountain range, i found the outfit in the saddle, ironing up a big calf crop, while the improved herd was the joy and pride of my foreman. an altitude of about four thousand feet above sea-level had proved congenial to the thoroughbreds, who had acclimated nicely, the only loss being one from lightning. two men were easily holding the isolated herd in their cañon home, the sheltering bluffs affording them ample protection from wintry weather, and there was nothing henceforth to fear in regard to the experiment. i spent a week with the outfit; my ranch foreman assured me that the brand could turn out a trail herd of three-year-old steers the following spring and a second one of twos, if it was my wish to send them to market. but it was too soon to anticipate the coming summer; and then it seemed a shame to move young steers to a northern climate to be matured, yet it was an economic necessity. ranch headquarters looked like a trapper's cave with wolf-skins and buffalo-robes taken the winter before, and it was with reluctance that i took my leave of the cosy dugouts on the double mountain fork. on returning home i found a statement for the year and a pressing invitation awaiting me to come on to the national capital at once. the profits of the summer had exceeded the previous one, but some bills for demurrage remained to be adjusted with the war and interior departments, and my active partner and george edwards had already started for washington. it was urged on me that the firm should make themselves known at the different departments, and the invitation was supplemented by a special request from our silent partner, the senator, to spend at least a month at the capital. for years i had been promising my wife to take her on a visit to virginia, and now when the opportunity offered, womanlike, she pleaded her nakedness in the midst of plenty. i never had but one suit at a time in my life, and often i had seen my wife dressed in the best the frontier of texas afforded, which was all that ought to be expected. a day's notice was given her, the eldest children were sent to their grandparents, and taking the two youngest with us, we started for fort worth. i was anxious that my wife should make a favorable impression on my people, and in turn she was fretting about my general appearance. out of a saddle a cowman never looks well, and every effort to improve his personal appearance only makes him the more ridiculous. thus with each trying to make the other presentable, we started. we stopped a week at my brother's in missouri, and finally reached the shenandoah valley during the last week in november. leaving my wife to speak for herself and the remainder of the family, i hurried on to washington and found the others quartered at a prominent hotel. a less pretentious one would have suited me, but then a united states senator must befittingly entertain his friends. new men had succeeded to the war and interior departments, and i was properly introduced to each as the texas partner of the firm of hunter, anthony & co. within a week, several little dinners were given at the hotel, at which from a dozen to twenty men sat down, all feverish to hear about the west and the cattle business in particular. already several companies had been organized to engage in ranching, and the capital had been over-subscribed in every instance; and actually one would have supposed from the chat that we were holding a cattle convention in the west instead of dining with a few representatives and government officials at washington. i soon became the object of marked attention. possibly it was my vocabulary, which was consistent with my vocation, together with my ungainly appearance, that differentiated me from my partners. george edwards was neat in appearance, had a great fund of western stories and experiences, and the two of us were constantly being importuned for incidents of a frontier nature. both my partners, especially the senator, were constantly introducing me and referring to me as a man who, in the course of ten years, had accumulated fifty thousand cattle and acquired title to three quarters of a million acres of land. i was willing to be a sociable fellow among my friends, but notoriety of this character was offensive, and in a private lecture i took my partners to task for unnecessary laudation. the matter was smoothed over, our estimates for the coming year were submitted, and after spending the holidays with my parents in virginia, i returned to the capital to await the allotments for future delivery of cattle to the army and indian service. pending the date of the opening of the bids a dinner was given by a senator from one of the southern states, to which all members of our firm were invited, when the project was launched of organizing a cattle company with one million dollars capital. the many advantages that would accrue where government influence could be counted on were dwelt upon at length, the rapid occupation of the west was cited, the concentration of all indian tribes on reservations, and the necessary requirements of beef in feeding the same was openly commented on as the opportunity of the hour. i took no hand in the general discussion, except to answer questions, but when the management of such a company was tendered me, i emphatically declined. my partners professed surprise at my refusal, but when the privacy of our rooms was reached i unburdened myself on the proposition. we had begun at the foot of the hill, and now having established ourselves in a profitable business, i was loath to give it up or share it with others. i argued that our trade was as valuable as realty or cattle in hand; that no blandishments of salary as manager could induce me to forsake legitimate channels for possibilities in other fields. "go slow and learn to peddle," was the motto of successful merchants; i had got out on a limb before and met with failure, and had no desire to rush in where angels fear for their footing. let others organize companies and we would sell them the necessary cattle; the more money seeking investment the better the market. major hunter was western in his sympathies and coincided with my views, the senator was won over from the enterprise, and the project failed to materialize. the friendly relations of our firm were slightly strained over the outcome, but on the announcement of the awards we pulled together again like brothers. in the allotment for delivery during the summer and fall of , some eighteen contracts fell to us,--six in the indian bureau and the remainder to the army, four of the latter requiring northern wintered beeves. a single award for fort buford in dakota called for five million pounds on foot and could be filled with southern cattle. others in the same department ran from one and a half to three million pounds, varying, as wanted for future or present use, to through or wintered beeves. the latter fattened even on the trail and were ready for the shambles on their arrival, while southern stock required a winter and time to acclimate to reach the pink of condition. the government maintained several distributing points in the new northwest, one of which was fort buford, where for many succeeding years ten thousand cattle were annually received and assigned to lesser posts. this was the market that i knew. i had felt every throb of its pulse ever since i had worked as a common hand in driving beef to fort sumner in . the intervening years had been active ones, and i had learned the lessons of the trail, knew to a fraction the cost of delivering a herd, and could figure on a contract with any other cowman. leaving the arrangement of the bonds to our silent partner, the next day after the awards were announced we turned our faces to the southwest. february was agreed on for the meeting at fort worth, so picking up the wife and babies in virginia, we embarked for our texas home. my better half was disappointed in my not joining in the proposed cattle company, with its officers, its directorate, annual meeting, and other high-sounding functions. i could have turned into the company my two ranches at fifty cents an acre, could have sold my brand outright at a fancy figure, taking stock in lieu for the same, but i preferred to keep them private property. i have since known other cowmen who put their lands and cattle into companies, and after a few years' manipulation all they owned was some handsome certificates, possibly having drawn a dividend or two and held an honorary office. i did not then have even the experience of others to guide my feet, but some silent monitor warned me to stick to my trade, cows. leaving the family at the edwards ranch, i returned to fort worth in ample time for the appointed meeting. my active partner and our segundo had become as thick as thieves, the two being inseparable at idle times, and on their arrival we got down to business at once. the remudas were the first consideration. besides my personal holdings of saddle stock, we had sent the fall before one thousand horses belonging to the firm back to the clear fork to winter. thus equipped with eighteen remudas for the trail, we were fairly independent in that line. among the five herds driven the year before to our beef ranch in the outlet, the books showed not over ten thousand coming four years old that spring, leaving a deficiency of northern wintered beeves to be purchased. it was decided to restock the range with straight threes, and we again divided the buying into departments, each taking the same division as the year before. the purchase of eight herds of heavy beeves would thus fall to major hunter. austin and san antonio were decided on as headquarters and banking points, and we started out on a preliminary skirmish. george edwards had an idea that the indian awards could again be relet to advantage, and started for the capital, while the major and i journeyed on south. some former sellers whom we accidentally met in san antonio complained that we had forsaken them and assured us that their county, medina, had not less than fifty thousand mature beeves. they offered to meet any one's prices, and major hunter urged that i see a sample of the cattle while en route to the uvalde country. if they came up to requirements, i was further authorized to buy in sufficient to fill our contract at fort buford, which would require three herds, or ten thousand head. it was an advantage to have this delivery start from the same section, hold together en route, and arrive at their destination as a unit. i was surprised at both the quality and the quantity of the beeves along the tributaries of the frio river, and readily let a contract to a few leading cowmen for the full allotment. my active partner was notified, and i went on to the headwaters of the nueces river. i knew the cattle of this section so well that there was no occasion even to look at them, and in a few days contracted for five herds of straight threes. while in the latter section, word reached me that edwards had sublet four of our indian contacts, or those intended for delivery at agencies in the indian territory. the remaining two were for tribes in colorado, and notifying our segundo to hold the others open until we met, i took stage back to san antonio. my return was awaited by both major hunter and edwards, and casting up our purchases on through cattle, we found we lacked only two herds of cows and the same of beeves. i offered to make up the indian awards from my ranches, the major had unlimited offerings from which to pick, and we turned our attention to securing young steers for the open market. our segundo was fully relieved and ordered back to his old stamping-ground on the colorado river to contract for six herds of young cattle. it was my intention to bring remudas down from the clear fork to handle the cattle from uvalde and medina counties, but my active partner would have to look out for his own saddle stock for the other beef herds. hurrying home, i started eight hundred saddle horses belonging to the firm to the lower country, assigned two remudas to leave for the double mountain ranch, detailed the same number for the clear fork, and authorized the remaining six to report to edwards on the colorado river. this completed the main details for moving the herds. there was an increase in prices over the preceding spring throughout the state, amounting on a general average to fully one dollar a head. we had anticipated the advance in making our contracts, there was an abundance of water everywhere, and everything promised well for an auspicious start. only a single incident occurred to mar the otherwise pleasant relations with our ranchmen friends. in contracting for the straight threes from uvalde county, i had stipulated that every animal tendered must be full-aged at the date of receiving; we were paying an extra price and the cattle must come up to specifications. major hunter had moved his herds out in time to join me in receiving the last one of the younger cattle, and i had pressed him into use as a tally clerk while receiving. every one had been invited to turn in stock in making up the herd, but at the last moment we fell short of threes, when i offered to fill out with twos at the customary difference in price. the sellers were satisfied. we called them by ages as they were cut out, when a row threatened over a white steer. the foreman who was assisting me cut the animal in question for a two-year-old, major hunter repeated the age in tallying the steer, when the owner of the brand, a small ranchman, galloped up and contended that the steer was a three-year-old, though he lacked fully two months of that age. the owner swore the steer had been raised a milk calf; that he knew his age to a day; but major hunter firmly yet kindly told the man that he must observe the letter of the contract and that the steer must go as a two-year-old or not at all. in reply a six-shooter was thrown in the major's face, when a number of us rushed in on our horses and the pistol was struck from the man's hand. an explanation was demanded, but the only intelligent reply that could be elicited from the owner of the white steer was, "no g---- d---- yankee can classify my cattle." one of the ranchmen with whom we were contracting took the insult off my hands and gave the man his choice,--to fight or apologize. the seller cooled down, apologies followed, and the unfortunate incident passed and was forgotten with the day's work. a week later the herds on the colorado river moved out. major hunter and i looked them over before they got away, after which he continued on north to buy in the deficiency of three thousand wintered beeves, while i returned home to start my individual cattle. the ranch outfit had been at work for ten days previous to my arrival gathering the three-year-old steers and all dry and barren cows. on my return they had about eight thousand head of mixed stock under herd and two trail outfits were in readiness, so cutting them separate and culling them down, we started them, the cows for dodge and the steers for ogalalla, each thirty-five hundred strong. two outfits had left for the double mountain range ten days before, and driving night and day, i reached the ranch to find both herds shaped up and ready for orders. both foremen were anxious to strike due north, several herds having crossed red river as far west as doan's store the year before; but i was afraid of indian troubles and routed them northeast for the old ford on the chisholm trail. they would follow down the brazos, cross over to the wichita river, and pass about sixty miles to the north of the home ranch on the clear fork. i joined them for the first few days out, destinations were the same as the other private herds, and promising to meet them in dodge, i turned homeward. the starting of these last two gave the firm and me personally twenty-three herds, numbering seventy-six thousand one hundred cattle on the trail. an active summer followed. each one was busy in his department. i met major hunter once for an hour during the spring months, and we never saw each other again until late fall. our segundo again rendered valuable assistance in meeting outfits on their arrival at the beef ranch, as it was deemed advisable to hold the through and wintered cattle separate for fear of texas fever. all beef herds were routed to touch at headquarters in the outlet, and thence going north, they skirted the borders of settlement in crossing kansas and nebraska. where possible, all correspondence was conducted by wire, and with the arrival of the herds at dodge i was kept in the saddle thenceforth. the demand for cattle was growing with each succeeding year, prices were firmer, and a general advance was maintained in all grades of trail stock. on the arrival of the cattle from the colorado river, i had them reclassed, sending three herds of threes on to ogalalla. the upper country wanted older stock, believing that it withstood the rigors of winter better, and i trimmed my sail to catch the wind. the cows came in early and were started west for their destination, the rear herds arrived and were located, while dodge and ogalalla howled their advantages as rival trail towns. the three herds of two-year-olds were sold and started for the cherokee strip, and i took train for the west and reached the platte river, to find our cattle safely arrived at ogalalla. near the middle of july a wyoming cattle company bought all the central texas steers for delivery a month later at cheyenne, and we grazed them up the south platte and counted them out to the buyers, ten thousand strong. my individual herds classed as pan-handle cattle, exempt from quarantine, netted one dollar a head above the others, and were sold to speculators from the corn regions on the western borders of nebraska. one herd of cows was intended for the southern and the other for the uncompahgre utes, and they had been picking their way through and across the mountains to those agencies during the summer mouths. late in august both deliveries were made wholesale to the agents of the different tribes, and my work was at an end. all unsold remudas returned to dodge, the outfits were sent home, and the saddle stock to our beef ranch, there to await the close of the summer's drive. chapter xvii foreshadows i returned to texas early in september. my foreman on the double mountain ranch had written me several times during the summer, promising me a surprise on the half-blood calves. there was nothing of importance in the north except the shipping of a few trainloads of beeves from our ranch in the outlet, and as the bookkeeper could attend to that, i decided to go back. i offered other excuses for going, but home-hunger and the improved herd were the main reasons. it was a fortunate thing that i went home, for it enabled me to get into touch with the popular feeling in my adopted state over the outlook for live stock in the future. up to this time there had been no general movement in cattle, in sympathy with other branches of industry, notably in sheep and wool, supply always far exceeding demand. there had been a gradual appreciation in marketable steers, first noticeable in , and gaining thereafter about one dollar a year per head on all grades, yet so slowly as not to disturb or excite the trade. during the fall of , however, there was a feeling of unrest in cattle circles in texas, and predictions of a notable advance could be heard on every side. the trail had been established as far north as montana, capital by the millions was seeking investment in ranching, and everything augured for a brighter future. that very summer the trail had absorbed six hundred and fifty thousand cattle, or possibly ten per cent of the home supply, which readily found a market at army posts, indian agencies, and two little cow towns in the north. investment in texas steers was paying fifty to one hundred per cent annually, the whole northwest was turning into one immense pasture, and the feeling was general that the time had come for the lone star state to expect a fair share in the profits of this immense industry. cattle associations, organized for mutual protection and the promotion of community interests, were active agencies in enlarging the texas market. national conventions were held annually, at which every live-stock organization in the west was represented, and buyer and seller met on common ground. two years before the cattle raisers' association of texas was formed, other states and territories founded similar organizations, and when these met in national assembly the cattle on a thousand hills were represented. no one was more anxious than myself that a proper appreciation should follow the enlargement of our home market, yet i had hopes that it would come gradually and not excite or disturb settled conditions. in our contracts with the government, we were under the necessity of anticipating the market ten months in advance, and any sudden or unseen change in prices in the interim between submitting our estimates and buying in the cattle to fill the same would be ruinous. therefore it was important to keep a finger on the pulse of the home market, to note the drift of straws, and to listen for every rumor afloat. lands in texas were advancing in value, a general wave of prosperity had followed self-government and the building of railroads, and cattle alone was the only commodity that had not proportionally risen in value. in spite of my hopes to the contrary, i had a well-grounded belief that a revolution in cattle prices was coming. daily meeting with men from the northwest, at dodge and ogalalla, during the summer just passed, i had felt every throb of the demand that pulsated those markets. there was a general inquiry for young steers, she stuff with which to start ranches was eagerly snapped up, and it stood to reason that if this reckless northern demand continued, its influence would soon be felt on the plains of texas. susceptible to all these influences, i had returned home to find both my ranches littered with a big calf crop, the brand actually increasing in numbers in spite of the drain of trail herds annually cut out. but the idol of my eye was those half-blood calves. out of a possible five hundred, there were four hundred and fifty odd by actual count, all big as yearlings and reflecting the selection of their parents. i loafed away a week at the cañon camp, rode through them daily, and laughed at their innocent antics as they horned the bluffs or fought their mimic fights. the double mountain ranch was my pride, and before leaving, the foreman and i outlined some landed additions to fill and square up my holdings, in case it should ever be necessary to fence the range. on my return to the clear fork, the ranch outfit had just finished gathering from my own and adjoining ranges fifteen hundred bulls for distillery feeding. the sale had been effected by correspondence with my former customer, and when the herd started the two of us drove on ahead into fort worth. the illinois man was an extensive dealer in cattle and had followed the business for years in his own state, and in the week we spent together awaiting the arrival of his purchase, i learned much of value. there was a distinct difference between a range cowman and a stockman from the older western states; but while the occupations were different, there was much in common between the two. through my customer i learned that western range cattle, when well fatted, were competing with grass beeves from his own state; that they dressed more to their gross weight than natives, and that the quality of their flesh was unsurpassed. as to the future, the illinois buyer could see little to hope for in his own country, but was enthusiastic over the outlook for us ranchmen in the southwest. all these things were but straws which foretold the course of the wind, yet neither of us looked for the cyclone which was hovering near. i accompanied the last train of the shipment as far as parsons, kansas, where our ways parted, my customer going to peoria, illinois, while i continued on to the grove. both my partners and our segundo were awaiting me, the bookkeeper had all accounts in hand, and the profits of the year were enough to turn ordinary men's heads. but i sounded a note of warning,--that there were breakers ahead,--though none of them took me seriously until i called for the individual herd accounts. with all the friendly advantages shown us by the war and interior departments, the six herds from the colorado river, taking their chances in the open market, had cleared more money per head than had the heavy beeves requiring thirty-three per cent a larger investment. in summing up my warning, i suggested that now, while we were winners, would be a good time to drop contracting with the government and confine ourselves strictly to the open market. instead of ten months between assuming obligations and their fulfillment, why not reduce the chances to three or four, with the hungry, clamoring west for our market? the powwow lasted several days. finally all agreed to sever our dealings with the interior department, which required cows for indian agencies, and confine our business to the open market and supplying the army with beef. our partner the senator reluctantly yielded to the opinions of major hunter and myself, urging our loss of prestige and its reflection on his standing at the national capital. but we countered on him, arguing that as a representative of the west the opportunity of the hour was his to insist on larger estimates for the coming year, and to secure proportionate appropriations for both the war and interior departments, if they wished to attract responsible bidders. if only the ordinary estimates and allowances were made, it would result in a deficiency in these departments, and no one cared for vouchers, even against the government, when the funds were not available to meet the same on presentation. major hunter suggested to our partner that as beef contractors we be called in consultation with the head of each department, and allowed to offer our views for the general benefit of the service. the senator saw his opportunity, promising to hasten on to washington at once, while the rest of us agreed to hold ourselves in readiness to respond to any call. edwards and i returned to texas. the former was stationed for the winter at san antonio, under instructions to keep in touch with the market, while i loitered between fort worth and the home ranch. the arrival of the list of awards came promptly as usual, but beyond a random glance was neglected pending state developments. an advance of two dollars and a half a head was predicted on all grades, and buyers and superintendents of cattle companies in the north and west were quietly dropping down into texas for the winter, inquiring for and offering to contract cattle for spring delivery at dodge and ogalalla. i was quietly resting on my oars at the ranch, when a special messenger arrived summoning me to washington. the motive was easily understood, and on my reaching fort worth the message was supplemented by another one from major hunter, asking me to touch at council grove en route. writing edwards fully what would be expected of him during my absence, i reached the grove and was joined by my partner, and we proceeded on to the national capital. arriving fully two weeks in advance of the closing day for bids, all three of us called and paid our respects to the heads of the war and interior departments. on special request of the secretaries, an appointment was made for the following day, when the senator took major hunter and me under his wing and coached us in support of his suggestions to either department. there was no occasion to warn me, as i had just come from the seat of beef supply, and knew the feverish condition of affairs at home. the appointments were kept promptly. at the interior department we tarried but a few minutes after informing the secretary that we were submitting no bids that year in his division, but allowed ourselves to be drawn out as to the why and wherefore. major hunter was a man of moderate schooling, apt in conversation, and did nearly all the talking, though i put in a few general observations. we were cordially greeted at the war office, good cigars were lighted, and we went over the situation fully. the reports of the year before were gone over, and we were complimented on our different deliveries to the army. we accepted all flatteries as a matter of course, though the past is poor security for the future. when the matter of contracting for the present year was broached, we confessed our ability to handle any awards in our territory to the number of fifty to seventy-five thousand beeves, but would like some assurance that the present or forthcoming appropriations would be ample to meet all contracts. our doubts were readily removed by the firmness of the secretary when as we arose to leave, major hunter suggested, by way of friendly advice, that the government ought to look well to the bonds of contractors, saying that the beef-producing regions of the west and south had experienced an advance in prices recently, which made contracting cattle for future delivery extremely hazardous. at parting regret was expressed that the sudden change in affairs would prevent our submitting estimates only so far as we had the cattle in hand. three days before the limit expired, we submitted twenty bids to the war department. our figures were such that we felt fully protected, as we had twenty thousand cattle on our northern range, while advice was reaching us daily from the beef regions of texas. the opening of proposals was no surprise, only seven falling to us, and all admitting of southern beeves. within an hour after the result was known, a wire was sent to edwards, authorizing him to contract immediately for twenty-two thousand heavy steer cattle and advance money liberally on every agreement. duplicates of our estimates had been sent him the same day they were submitted at the war office. our segundo had triple the number of cattle in sight, and was then in a position to act intelligently. the next morning major hunter and i left the capital for san antonio, taking a southern route through virginia, sighting old battlefields where both had seen service on opposing sides, but now standing shoulder to shoulder as trail drovers and army contractors. we arrived at our destination promptly. edwards was missing, but inquiry among our bankers developed the fact that he had been drawing heavily the past few days, and we knew that all was well. a few nights later he came in, having secured our requirements at an advance of two to three dollars a head over the prices of the preceding spring. the live-stock interests of the state were centring in the coming cattle convention, which would be held at fort worth in february. at this meeting heavy trading was anticipated for present and future delivery, and any sales effected would establish prices for the coming spring. from the number of northern buyers that were in texas, and others expected at the convention, edwards suggested buying, before the meeting, at least half the requirements for our beef ranch and trail cattle. major hunter and i both fell in with the idea of our segundo, and we scattered to our old haunts under agreement to report at fort worth for the meeting of the clans. i spent two weeks among my ranchmen friends on the headwaters of the frio and nueces rivers, and while they were fully awake to the advance in prices, i closed trades on twenty-one thousand two and three year old steers for march delivery. it was always a weakness in me to overbuy, and in receiving i could never hold a herd down to the agreed numbers, but my shortcomings in this instance proved a boon. on arriving at fort worth, the other two reported having combed their old stamping-grounds of half a dozen counties along the colorado river, and having secured only fifteen thousand head. every one was waiting until after the cattle convention, and only those who had the stock in hand could be induced to talk business or enter into agreements. the convention was a notable affair. men from montana and intervening states and territories rubbed elbows and clinked their glasses with the texans to "here's to a better acquaintance." the trail drovers were there to a man, the very atmosphere was tainted with cigar smoke, the only sounds were cattle talk, and the nights were wild and sleepless. "i'll sell ten thousand pan-handle three-year-old steers for delivery at ogalalla," spoken in the lobby of a hotel or barroom, would instantly attract the attention of half a dozen men in fur overcoats and heavy flannel. "what are your cattle worth laid down on the platte?" was the usual rejoinder, followed by a drink, a cigar, and a conference, sometimes ending in a deal or terminating in a friendly acquaintance. i had met many of these men at abilene, wichita, and great bend, and later at dodge city and ogalalla, and now they had invaded texas, and the son of a prophet could not foretell the future. our firm never offered a hoof, but the three days of the convention were forewarnings of the next few years to follow. i was personally interested in the general tendency of the men from the upper country to contract for heifers and young cows, and while the prices offered for northern delivery were a distinct advance over those of the summer before, i resisted all temptations to enter into agreements. the northern buyers and trail drovers selfishly joined issues in bearing prices in texas; yet, in spite of their united efforts, over two hundred thousand cattle were sold during the meeting, and at figures averaging fully three dollars a head over those of the previous spring. the convention adjourned, and those in attendance scattered to their homes and business. between midnight and morning of the last day of the meeting, major hunter and i closed contracts for two trail herds of sixty-five hundred head in erath and comanche counties. within a week two others of straight three-year-olds were secured,--one in my home county and the other fifty miles northwest in throckmorton. this completed our purchases for the present, giving us a chain of cattle to receive from within one county of the rio grande on the south to the same distance from red river on the north. the work was divided into divisions. one thousand extra saddle horses were needed for the beef herds and others, and men were sent south, to secure them. all private and company remudas had returned to the clear fork to winter, and from there would be issued wherever we had cattle to receive. a carload of wagons was bought at the fort, teams were sent in after them, and a busy fortnight followed in organizing the forces. edwards was assigned to assist major hunter in receiving the beef cattle along the lower frio and nueces, starting in ample time to receive the saddle stock in advance of the beeves. there was three weeks' difference in the starting of grass between northern and southern texas, and we made our dates for receiving accordingly, mine for medina and uvalde counties following on the heels of the beef herds from the lower country. from the th of march i was kept in the saddle ten days, receiving cattle from the headwaters of the frio and nueces rivers. all my old foremen rendered valuable assistance, two and three herds being in the course of formation at a time, and, as usual, we received eleven hundred over and above the contracts. the herds moved out on good grass and plenty of water, the last of the heavy beeves had passed north on my return to san antonio, and i caught the first train out to join the others in central texas. my buckboard had been brought down with the remudas and was awaiting me at the station, the colorado river on the west was reached that night, and by noon the next day i was in the thick of the receiving. when three herds had started, i reported in comanche and erath counties, where gathering for our herds was in progress; and fixing definite dates that would allow edwards and my partner to arrive, i drove on through to the clear fork. under previous instructions, a herd of thirty-five hundred two-year-old heifers was ready to start, while nearly four thousand steers were in hand, with one outfit yet to come in from up the brazos. we were gathering close that year, everything three years old or over must go, and the outfits were ranging far and wide. the steer herd was held down to thirty-two hundred, both it and the heifers moving out the same day, with a remnant of over a thousand three-year-old steers left over. the herd under contract to the firm in the home county came up full in number, and was the next to get away. a courier arrived from the double mountain range and reported a second contingent of heifers ready, but that the steers would overrun for a wieldy herd. the next morning the overplus from the clear fork was started for the new ranch, with orders to make up a third steer herd and cross red river at doan's. this cleaned the boards on my ranches, and the next day i was in throckmorton county, where everything was in readiness to pass upon. this last herd was of clear fork cattle, put up within twenty-five miles of fort griffin, every brand as familiar as my own, and there was little to do but count and receive. road-branding was necessary, however; and while this work was in progress, a relay messenger arrived from the ranch, summoning me to fort worth posthaste. the message was from major hunter, and from the hurried scribbling i made out that several herds were tied up when ready to start, and that they would be thrown on the market. i hurried home, changed teams, and by night and day driving reached fort worth and awakened my active partner and edwards out of their beds to get the particulars. the responsible man of a firm of drovers, with five herds on hand, had suddenly died, and the banks refused to advance the necessary funds to complete their payments. the cattle were under herd in wise and cook counties, both major hunter and our segundo had looked them over, and both pronounced the herds gilt-edged north texas steers. it would require three hundred thousand dollars to buy and clear the herds, and all our accounts were already overdrawn, but it was decided to strain our credit. the situation was fully explained in a lengthy message to a bank in kansas city, the wires were kept busy all day answering questions; but before the close of business we had authority to draw for the amount needed, and the herds, with remudas and outfits complete, passed into our hands and were started the next day. this gave the firm and me personally thirty-three herds, requiring four hundred and ninety-odd men and over thirty-five hundred horses, while the cattle numbered one hundred and four thousand head. two thirds of the herds were routed by way of doan's crossing in leaving texas, while all would touch at dodge in passing up the country. george edwards accompanied the north texas herds, and major hunter hastened on to kansas city to protect our credit, while i hung around doan's store until our last cattle crossed red river. the annual exodus from texas to the north was on with a fury, and on my arrival at dodge all precedents in former prices were swept aside in the eager rush to secure cattle. herds were sold weeks before their arrival, others were met as far south as camp supply, and it was easily to be seen that it was a seller's market. two thirds of the trail herds merely took on new supplies at dodge and passed on to the platte. once our heavy beeves had crossed the arkansas, my partner and i swung round to ogalalla and met our advance herd, the foreman of which reported meeting buyers as far south as the republican river. it was actually dangerous to price cattle for fear of being under the market; new classifications were being introduced, pan-handle and north texas steers commanding as much as three dollars a head over their brethren from the coast and far south. the boom in cattle of the early ' 's was on with a vengeance. there was no trouble to sell herds that year. one morning, while i was looking for a range on the north fork of the platte, major hunter sold my seven thousand heifers at twenty-five dollars around, commanding two dollars and a half a head over steers of the same age. edwards had been left in charge at dodge, and my active partner reluctantly tore himself away from the market at ogalalla to attend our deliveries of beef at army posts. within six weeks after arriving at dodge and ogalalla the last of our herds had changed owners, requiring another month to complete the transfers at different destinations. many of the steers went as far north as the yellowstone river, and wyoming and nebraska were liberal buyers at the upper market, while colorado, kansas, and the indian territory absorbed all offerings at the lower point. horses were even in demand, and while we made no effort to sell our remudas, over half of them changed owners with the herds they had accompanied into the north. the season closed with a flourish. after we had wound up our affairs, edwards and i drifted down to the beef ranch with the unsold saddle stock, and the shipping season opened. the santa fé railway had built south to caldwell that spring, affording us a nearer shipping point, and we moved out five to ten trainloads a week of single and double wintered beeves. the through cattle for restocking the range had arrived early and were held separate until the first frost, when everything would be turned loose on the eagle chief. trouble was still brewing between the cherokee nation and the government on the one side and those holding cattle in the strip, and a clash occurred that fall between a lieutenant of cavalry and our half-breed foreman laflors. the troops had been burning hay and destroying improvements belonging to cattle outfits, and had paid our range a visit and mixed things with our foreman. the latter stood firm on his rights as a cherokee citizen and cited his employers as government beef contractors, but the young lieutenant haughtily ignored all statements and ordered the hay, stabling, and dug-outs burned. like a flash of light, laflors aimed a six-shooter at the officer's breast, and was instantly covered by a dozen carbines in the hands of troopers. "order them to shoot if you dare," smilingly said the cherokee to the young lieutenant, a cocked pistol leveled at the latter's heart, "and she goes double. there isn't a man under you can pull a trigger quicker than i can." the hay was not burned, and the stabling and dug-outs housed our men and horses for several winters to come. chapter xviii the beginning of the boom the great boom in cattle which began in and lasted nearly five years was the beginning of a ruinous end. the frenzy swept all over the northern and western half of the united states, extended into the british possessions in western canada, and in the receding wave the texan forgot the pit from which he was lifted and bowed down and worshiped the living calf. during this brief period the great breeding grounds of texas were tested to their utmost capacity to supply the demand, the canebrakes of arkansas and louisiana were called upon for their knotty specimens of the bovine race, even mexico responded, and still the insatiable maw of the early west called for more cattle. the whirlpool of speculation and investment in ranches and range stock defied the deserts on the west, sweeping across into new mexico and arizona, where it met a counter wave pushing inland from california to possess the new and inviting pastures. naturally the texan was the last to catch the enthusiasm, but when he found his herds depleted to a remnant of their former numbers, he lost his head and plunged into the vortex with the impetuosity of a gambler. pasture lands that he had scorned at ten cents an acre but a decade before were eagerly sought at two and three dollars, and the cattle that he had bartered away he bought back at double and triple their former prices. how i ever weathered those years without becoming bankrupt is unexplainable. no credit or foresight must be claimed, for the opinions of men and babes were on a parity; yet i am inclined to think it was my dread of debt, coupled with an innate love of land and cattle, that saved me from the almost universal fate of my fellow cowmen. due acknowledgment must be given my partners, for while i held them in check in certain directions, the soundness of their advice saved my feet from many a stumble. major hunter was an unusually shrewd man, a financier of the rough and ready western school; and while we made our mistakes, they were such as human foresight could not have avoided. nor do i withhold a word of credit from our silent partner, the senator, who was the keystone to the arch of hunter, anthony & co., standing in the shadow in our beginning as trail drovers, backing us with his means and credit, and fighting valiantly for our mutual interests when the firm met its waterloo. the success of our drive for the summer of changed all plans for the future. i had learned that percentage was my ablest argument in suggesting a change of policy, and in casting up accounts for the year we found that our heavy beeves had paid the least in the general investment. the banking instincts of my partners were unerring, and in view of the open market that we had enjoyed that summer it was decided to withdraw from further contracting with the government. our profits for the year were dazzling, and the actual growth of our beeves in the outlet was in itself a snug fortune, while the five herds bought at the eleventh hour cleared over one hundred thousand dollars, mere pin-money. i hurried home to find that fortune favored me personally, as the texas and pacific railway had built west from fort worth during the summer as far as weatherford, while the survey on westward was within easy striking distance of both my ranches. my wife was dazed and delighted over the success of the summer's drive, and when i offered her the money with which to build a fine house at fort worth, she balked, but consented to employ a tutor at the ranch for the children. i had a little leisure time on my hands that fall. activity in wild lands was just beginning to be felt throughout the state, and the heavy holders of scrip were offering to locate large tracts to suit the convenience of purchasers. several railroads held immense quantities of scrip voted to them as bonuses, all the charitable institutions of the state were endowed with liberal grants, and the great bulk of certificates issued during the reconstruction régime for minor purposes had fallen into the hands of shrewd speculators. among the latter was a chicago firm, who had opened an office at fort worth and employed a corps of their own surveyors to locate lands for customers. they held millions of acres of scrip, and i opened negotiations with them to survey a number of additions to my double mountain range. valuable water-fronts were becoming rather scarce, and the legislature had recently enacted a law setting apart every alternate section of land for the public schools, out of which grew the state's splendid system of education. after the exchange of a few letters, i went to fort worth and closed a contract with the chicago firm to survey for my account three hundred thousand acres adjoining my ranch on the salt and double mountain forks of the brazos. in my own previous locations, the water-front and valley lands were all that i had coveted, the tracts not even adjoining, the one on the salt fork lying like a boot, while the lower one zigzagged like a stairway in following the watercourse. the prices agreed on were twenty cents an acre for arid land, forty for medium, and sixty for choice tracts, every other section to be set aside for school purposes in compliance with the law. my foreman would designate the land wanted, and the firm agreed to put an outfit of surveyors into the field at once. my two ranches were proving a valuable source of profit. after starting five herds of seventeen thousand cattle on the trail that spring, and shipping on consignment fifteen hundred bulls to distilleries that fall, we branded nineteen thousand five hundred calves on the two ranges. in spite of the heavy drain, the brand was actually growing in numbers, and as long as it remained an open country i had ample room for my cattle even on the clear fork. each stock was in splendid shape, as the culling of the aging and barren of both sexes to indian agencies and distilleries had preserved the brand vigorous and productive. the first few years of its establishment i am satisfied that the double mountain ranch increased at the rate of ninety calves to the hundred cows, and once the clear fork range was rid of its drones, a similar ratio was easily maintained on that range. there was no such thing as counting one's holdings; the increase only was known, and these conclusions, with due allowance for their selection, were arrived at from the calf crop of the improved herd. its numbers were known to an animal, all chosen for their vigor and thrift, the increase for the first two years averaging ninety-four per cent. there is little rest for the wicked and none for a cowman. i was planning an enjoyable winter, hunting with my hounds, when the former proposition of organizing an immense cattle company was revived at washington. our silent partner was sought on every hand by capitalists eager for investment in western enterprises, and as cattle were absorbing general attention at the time, the tendency of speculation was all one way. the same old crowd that we had turned down two winters before was behind the movement, and as certain predictions that were made at that time by major hunter and myself had since come true, they were all the more anxious to secure our firm as associates. our experience and resultant profits from wintering cattle in southern kansas and the cherokee strip were well known to the senator, and, to judge from his letters and frequent conversations, he was envied by his intimate acquaintances in congress. in the revival of the original proposition it was agreed that our firm might direct the management of the enterprise, all three of us to serve on the directorate and to have positions on the executive committee. this sounded reasonable, and as there was a movement on foot to lease the entire cherokee outlet from that nation, if an adequate range could be secured, such a cattle company as suggested ought to be profitable. major hunter and i were a unit in business matters, and after an exchange of views by letter, it was agreed to run down to the capital and hold a conference with the promoters of the proposed company. my parents were aging fast, and now that i was moderately wealthy it was a pleasure to drop in on them for a week and hearten their declining years. accordingly with the expectation of combining filial duty and business, i took edwards with me and picked up the major at his home, and the trio of us journeyed eastward. i was ten days late in reaching washington. it was the christmas season in the valley; every darky that our family ever owned renewed his acquaintance with mars' reed, and was remembered in a way befitting the season. the recess for the holidays was over on my reaching the capital, yet in the mean time a crude outline of the proposed company was under consideration. on the advice of our silent partner, who well knew that his business associates were slightly out of their element at social functions and might take alarm, all banquets were cut out, and we met in little parties at cafés and swell barrooms. in the course of a few days all the preliminaries were agreed on, and a general conference was called. neither my active partner nor myself was an orator, but we had coached the silent member of the firm to act in our behalf. the senator was a flowery talker, and in prefacing his remarks he delved into antiquity, mentioning the aryan myth wherein the drifting clouds were supposed to be the cows of the gods, driven to and from their feeding grounds. coming down to a later period, he referred to cattle being figured on egyptian monuments raised two thousand years before the christian era, and to the important part they were made to play in greek and roman mythology. referring to ancient biblical times, he dwelt upon the pastoral existence of the old patriarchs, as they peacefully led their herds from sheltered nook to pastures green. passing down and through the cycles of change from ancient to modern times, he touched upon the relation of cattle to the food supply of the world, and finally the object of the meeting was reached. in few and concise words, an outline of the proposed company was set forth, its objects and limitations. a pound of beef, it was asserted, was as staple as a loaf of bread, the production of the one was as simple as the making of the other, and both were looked upon equally as the staff of life. other remarks of a general nature followed. the capital was limited to one million dollars, though double the capitalization could have been readily placed at the first meeting. satisfactory committees were appointed on organization and other preliminary steps, and books were opened for subscriptions. deference was shown our firm, and i subscribed the same amount as my partners, except that half my subscription was made in the name of george edwards, as i wanted him on the executive committee if the company ever got beyond its present embryo state. the trio of us taking only one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, there was a general scramble for the remainder. the preliminary steps having been taken, nothing further could be done until a range was secured. my active partner, george edwards, and myself were appointed on this committee, and promising to report at the earliest convenience, we made preparations for returning west. a change of administration was approaching, and before leaving the capital, edwards, my partners, and myself called on secretaries schurz of the interior department and ramsey of the war department. we had done an extensive business with both departments in the past, and were anxious to learn the attitude of the government in regard to leasing lands from the civilized indian nations. a lease for the cherokee outlet was pending, but for lack of precedent the retiring secretary of the interior, for fear of reversal by the succeeding administration, lent only a qualified approval of the same. there were six million acres of land in the outlet, a splendid range for maturing beef, and if an adequate-sized ranch could be secured the new company could begin operations at once. the cherokee nation was anxious to secure a just rental, an association had offered $ , a year for the strip, and all that was lacking was a single word of indorsement from the paternal government. hoping that the incoming administration would take favorable action permitting civilized indian tribes to lease their surplus lands, we returned to our homes. the cherokee strip cattle association had been temporarily organized some time previous,--not being chartered, however, until march, ,--and was the proposed lessee of the outlet in which our beef ranch lay. the organization was a local one, created for the purpose of removing all friction between the cherokees and the individual holders of cattle in the strip. the officers and directors of the association were all practical cattlemen, owners of herds and ranges in the outlet, paying the same rental as others into the general treasury of the organization. major hunter was well acquainted with the officers, and volunteered to take the matter up at once, by making application in person for a large range in the cherokee strip. there was no intention on the part of our firm to forsake the trail, this cattle company being merely a side issue, and active preparations were begun for the coming summer. the annual cattle convention would meet again in fort worth in february. with the west for our market and texas the main source of supply, there was no occasion for any delay in placing our contracts for trail stock. the closing figures obtainable at dodge and ogalalla the previous summer had established a new scale of prices for texas, and a buyer must either pay the advance or let the cattle alone. edwards and i were in the field fully three weeks before the convention met, covering our old buying grounds and venturing into new ones, advancing money liberally on all contracts, and returning to the meeting with thirty herds secured. major hunter met us at the convention, and while nothing definite was accomplished in securing a range, a hopeful word had reached us in regard to the new administration. starting the new company that spring was out of the question, and all energies were thrown into the forthcoming drive. representatives from the northwest again swept down on the convention, all texas was there, and for three days and nights the cattle interests carried the keys of the city. our firm offered nothing, but, on the other hand, bought three herds of pan-handle steers for acceptance early in april. three weeks of active work were required to receive the cattle, the herds starting again with the grass. my individual contingent included ten thousand three-year-old steers, two full herds of two-year-old heifers, and seven thousand cows. the latter were driven in two herds; extra wagons with oxen attached accompanied each in order to save the calves, as a youngster was an assistance in selling an old cow. everything was routed by doan's crossing, both edwards and myself accompanying the herds, while major hunter returned as usual by rail. the new route, known as the western trail, was more direct than the chisholm though beset by comanche and kiowa indians once powerful tribes, but now little more than beggars. the trip was nearly featureless, except that during a terrible storm on big elk, a number of indians took shelter under and around one of our wagons and a squaw was killed by lightning. for some unaccountable reason the old dame defied the elements and had climbed up on a water barrel which was ironed to the side of the commissary wagon, when the bolt struck her and she tumbled off dead among her people. the incident created quite a commotion among the indians, who set up a keening, and the husband of the squaw refused to be comforted until i gave him a stray cow, when he smiled and asked for a bill of sale so that he could sell the hide at the agency. i shook my head, and the cook told him in spanish that no one but the owner could give a hill of sale, when he looked reproachfully at me and said, "mebby so you steal him." i caught a stage at camp supply and reached dodge a week in advance of the herds. major hunter was awaiting me with the report that our application for an extra lease in the cherokee strip had been refused. those already holding cattle in the outlet were to retain their old grazing grounds, and as we had no more range than we needed for the firm's holding of stock, we must look elsewhere to secure one for the new company. a movement was being furthered in washington, however, to secure a lease from the cheyenne and arapahoe tribes, blanket indians, whose reservation lay just south of the strip, near the centre of the territory and between the chisholm and western trails. george edwards knew the country, having issued cows at those agencies for several summers, and reported the country well adapted for ranging cattle. we had a number of congressmen and several distinguished senators in our company, and if there was such a thing as pulling the wires with the new administration, there was little doubt but it would be done. kirkwood of iowa had succeeded schurz in the interior department, and our information was that he would at least approve of any lease secured. we were urged at the earliest opportunity to visit the cheyenne and arapahoe agency, and open negotiations with the ruling chiefs of those tribes. this was impossible just at present, for with forty herds, numbering one hundred and twenty-six thousand cattle, on the trail and for our beef ranch, a busy summer lay before us. edwards was dispatched to meet and turn off the herds intended for our range in the outlet, major hunter proceeded on to ogalalla, while i remained at dodge until the last cattle arrived or passed that point. the summer of proved a splendid market for the drover. demand far exceeded supply and prices soared upward, while she stuff commanded a premium of three to five dollars a head over steers of the same age. pan-handle and north texas cattle topped the market, their quality easily classifying them above mexican, coast, and southern breeding. herds were sold and cleared out for their destination almost as fast as they arrived; the old west wanted the cattle and had the range and to spare, all of which was a tempered wind to the texas drover. i spent several months in dodge, shaping up our herds as they arrived, and sending the majority of them on to ogalalla. the cows were the last to arrive on the arkansas, and they sold like pies to hungry boys, while all the remainder of my individual stock went on to the platte and were handled by our segundo and my active partner. near the middle of the summer i closed up our affairs at dodge, and, taking the assistant bookkeeper with me, moved up to ogalalla. shortly after my arrival there, it was necessary to send a member of the firm to miles city, on the yellowstone river in montana, and the mission fell to me. major hunter had sold twenty thousand threes for delivery at that point, and the cattle were already en route to their destination on my arrival. i took train and stage and met the herds on the yellowstone. on my return to ogalalla the season was drawing to a feverish close. all our cattle were sold, the only delay being in deliveries and settlements. several of our herds were received on the platte, but, as it happened, nearly all our sales were effected with new cattle companies, and they had too much confidence in the ability of the texas outfits to deliver to assume the risk themselves. everything was fish to our net, and if a buyer had insisted on our delivering in canada, i think major hunter would have met the request had the price been satisfactory. we had the outfits and horses, and our men were plainsmen and were at home as long as they could see the north star. edwards attended a delivery on the crazy woman in wyoming, major hunter made a trip for a similar purpose to the niobrara in nebraska, and various trail foremen represented the firm at minor deliveries. all trail business was closed before the middle of september, the bookkeepers made up their final statements, and we shook hands all round and broke the necks of a few bottles. but the climax of the year's profits came from the beef ranch in the outlet. the eastern markets were clamoring for well-fatted western stock, and we sent out train after train of double wintered beeves that paid one hundred per cent profit on every year we had held them. the single wintered cattle paid nearly as well, and in making ample room for the through steers we shipped out eighteen thousand head from our holdings on the eagle chief. the splendid profits from maturing beeves on northern ranges naturally made us anxious to start the new company. we were doing fairly well as a firm and personally, and with our mastery of the business it was but natural that we should enlarge rather than restrict our operations. there had been no decrease of the foreign capital, principally scotch and english, for investment in ranges and cattle in the west during the summer just past, and it was contrary to the policy of hunter, anthony & co. to take a backward step. the frenzy for organizing cattle companies was on with a fury, and half-breed indians and squaw-men, with rights on reservations, were in demand as partners in business or as managers of cattle syndicates. an amusing situation developed during the summer of at dodge. the texas drovers formed a social club and rented and furnished quarters, which immediately became the rendezvous of the wayfaring mavericks. cigars and refreshments were added, social games introduced, and in burlesque of the general craze of organizing stock companies to engage in cattle ranching, our club adopted the name of the juan-jinglero cattle company, limited. the capital stock was placed at five million, full-paid and non-assessable, with john t. lytle as treasurer, e.g. head as secretary, jess pressnall as attorney, captain e.g. millet as fiscal agent for placing the stock, and a dozen leading drovers as vice-presidents, while the presidency fell to me. we used the best of printed stationery, and all the papers of kansas city and omaha innocently took it up and gave the new cattle company the widest publicity. the promoters of the club intended it as a joke, but the prominence of its officers fooled the outside public, and applications began to pour in to secure stock in the new company. no explanation was offered, but all applications were courteously refused, on the ground that the capital was already over-subscribed. all members were freely using the club stationery, thus daily advertising us far and wide, while no end of jokes were indulged in at the expense of the burlesque company. for instance, major seth mabry left word at the club to forward his mail to kansas city, care of armour's bank, as he expected to be away from dodge for a week. no sooner had he gone than every member of the club wrote him a letter, in care of that popular bank, addressing him as first vice-president and director of the juan-jinglero cattle company. while attending to business major mabry was hourly honored by bankers and intimate friends desiring to secure stock in the company, to all of whom he turned a deaf ear, but kept the secret. "i told the boys," said major seth on his return, "that our company was a close corporation, and unless we increased the capital stock, there was no hope of them getting in on the ground floor." in dodge practical joking was carried to the extreme, both by citizens and cowmen. one night a tipsy foreman, who had just arrived over the trail, insisted on going the rounds with a party of us, and in order to shake him we entered a variety theatre, where my maudlin friend soon fell asleep in his seat. the rest of us left the theatre, and after seeing the sights i wandered back to the vaudeville, finding the performance over and my friend still sound asleep. i awoke him, never letting him know that i had been absent for hours, and after rubbing his eyes open, he said: "reed, is it all over? no dance or concert? they give a good show here, don't they?" chapter xix the cheyenne and arapahoe cattle company the assassination of president garfield temporarily checked our plans in forming the new cattle company. kirkwood of the interior department was disposed to be friendly to all western enterprises, but our advices from washington anticipated a reorganization of the cabinet under arthur. senator teller was slated to succeed kirkwood, and as there was no question about the former being fully in sympathy with everything pertaining to the west, every one interested in the pending project lent his influence in supporting the colorado man for the interior portfolio. several senators and any number of representatives were subscribers to our company, and by early fall the outlook was so encouraging that we concluded at least to open negotiations for a lease on the cheyenne and arapahoe reservation. a friendly acquaintance was accordingly to be cultivated with the indian agent of these tribes. george edwards knew him personally, and, well in advance of major hunter and myself, dropped down to the agency and made known his errand. there were already a number of cattle being held on the reservation by squaw-men, sutlers, contractors, and other army followers stationed at fort reno. the latter ignored all rights of the tribes, and even collected a rental from outside cattle for grazing on the reservation, and were naturally antagonistic to any interference with their personal plans. there had been more or less friction between the indian agent and these usurpers of the grazing privileges, and a proposition to lease a million acres at an annual rental of fifty thousand dollars at once met with the sanction of the agent. major hunter and i were notified of the outlook, and at the close of the beef-shipping season we took stage for the cheyenne and arapahoe agency. our segundo had thoroughly ridden over the country, the range was a desirable one, and we soon came to terms with the agent. he was looked upon as a necessary adjunct to the success of our company, a small block of stock was set aside for his account, while his usefulness in various ways would entitle his name to grace the salary list. for the present the opposition of the army followers was to be ignored, as no one gave them credit for being able to thwart our plans. the indian agent called the head men of the two tribes together. the powwow was held at the summer encampment of the cheyennes, and the principal chiefs of the arapahoes were present. a beef was barbecued at our expense, and a great deal of good tobacco was smoked. aside from the agent, we employed a number of interpreters; the council lasted two days, and on its conclusion we held a five years' lease, with the privilege of renewal, on a million acres of as fine grazing land as the west could boast. the agreement was signed by every chief present, and it gave us the privilege to fence our range, build shelter and stabling for our men and horses, and otherwise equip ourselves for ranching. the rental was payable semiannually in advance, to begin with the occupation of the country the following spring, and both parties to the lease were satisfied with the terms and conditions. in the territory allotted to us grazed two small stocks of cattle, one of which had comfortable winter shelters on quartermaster creek. our next move was to buy both these brands and thus gain the good will of the only occupants of the range. possession was given at once, and leaving edwards and a few men to hold the range, the major and i returned to kansas and reported our success to washington. the organization was perfected, and the cheyenne and arapahoe cattle company began operations with all the rights and privileges of an individual. one fourth of the capital stock was at once paid into the hands of the treasurer, the lease and cattle on hand were transferred to the new company, and the executive committee began operations for the future. barbed wire by the carload was purchased sufficient to build one hundred miles of four-strand fence, and arrangements were made to have the same freighted one hundred and fifty miles inland by wagon from the railway terminal to the new ranch on quartermaster creek. contracts were let to different men for cutting the posts and building the fence, and one of the old trail bosses came on from texas and was installed as foreman of the new range. the first meeting of stockholders--for permanent organization--was awaiting the convenience of the western contingent; and once edwards was relieved, he and major hunter took my proxy and went on to the national capital. every interest had been advanced to the farthest possible degree: surveyors would run the lines, the posts would be cut and hauled during the winter, and by the first of june the fences would be up and the range ready to receive the cattle. i returned to texas to find everything in a prosperous condition. the texas and pacific railway had built their line westward during the past summer, crossing the colorado river sixty miles south of headquarters on the double mountain ranch and paralleling my clear fork range about half that distance below. previous to my return, the foreman on my western ranch shipped out four trains of sixteen hundred bulls on consignment to our regular customer in illinois, it being the largest single shipment made from colorado city since the railway reached that point. thrifty little towns were springing up along the railroad, land was in demand as a result of the boom in cattle, and an air of prosperity pervaded both city and hamlet and was reflected in a general activity throughout the state. the improved herd was the pride of the double mountain ranch, now increased by over seven hundred half-blood heifers, while the young males were annually claimed for the improvement of the main ranch stock. for fear of in-and-in breeding, three years was the limit of use of any bulls among the improved cattle, the first importation going to the main stock, and a second consignment supplanting them at the head of the herd. in the permanent organization of the cheyenne and arapahoe cattle company, the position of general manager fell to me. it was my wish that this place should have gone to edwards, as he was well qualified to fill it, while i was busy looking after the firm and individual interests. major hunter likewise favored our segundo, but the eastern stockholders were insistent that the management of the new company should rest in the hands of a successful cowman. the salary contingent with the position was no inducement to me, but, with the pressure brought to bear and in the interests of harmony, i was finally prevailed on to accept the management. the proposition was a simple one,--the maturing and marketing of beeves; we had made a success of the firm's beef ranch in the cherokee outlet, and as far as human foresight went, all things augured for a profitable future. there was no intention on the part of the old firm to retire from the enviable position that we occupied as trail drovers. thus enlarging the scope of our operations as cowmen simply meant that greater responsibility would rest on the shoulders of the active partners and our trusted men. accepting the management of the new company meant, to a certain extent, a severance of my personal connection with the firm, yet my every interest was maintained in the trail and beef ranch. one of my first acts as manager of the new company was to serve a notice through our secretary-treasurer calling for the capital stock to be paid in on or before february , . it was my intention to lay the foundation of the new company on a solid basis, and with ample capital at my command i gave the practical experiences of my life to the venture. during the winter i bought five hundred head of choice saddle horses, all bred in north texas and the pan-handle, every one of which i passed on personally before accepting. thus outfitted, i awaited the annual cattle convention. major hunter and our segundo were present, and while we worked in harmony, i was as wide awake for a bargain in the interests of the new company as they were in that of the old firm. i let contracts for five herds of fifteen thousand pan-handle three-year-old steers for delivery on the new range in the indian territory, and bought nine thousand twos to be driven on company account. there was the usual whoop and hurrah at the convention, and when it closed i lacked only six thousand head of my complement for the new ranch. i was confining myself strictly to north texas and pan-handle cattle, for through montana cowmen i learned that there was an advantage, at maturity, in the northern-bred animal. major hunter and our segundo bought and contracted in a dozen counties from the rio grande to red river during the convention, and at the close we scattered to the four winds in the interests of our respective work. in order to give my time and attention to the new organization, i assigned my individual cattle to the care of the firm, of which i was sending out ten thousand three-year-old steers and two herds of aging and dry cows. they would take their chances in the open market, though i would have dearly loved to take over the young steers for the new company rather than have bought their equivalent in numbers. i had a dislike to parting with an animal of my own breeding, and to have brought these to a ripe maturity under my own eye would have been a pleasure and a satisfaction. but such an action might have caused distrust of my management, and an honest name is a valuable asset in a cowman's capital. my ranch foremen made up the herds and started my individual cattle on the trail. i had previously bought the two remaining herds in archer and clay counties, and in the five that were contracted for and would be driven at company risk and account, every animal passed and was received under my personal inspection. three of the latter were routed by way of the chisholm trail, and two by the western, while the cattle under contract for delivery at the company ranch went by any route that their will and pleasure saw fit. i saw very little of my old associates during the spring months, for no sooner had i started the herds than i hastened to overtake the lead one so as to arrive with the cattle at their new range. i had kept in touch with the building of fences, and on our arrival, near the middle of may, the western and southern strings were completed. it was not my intention to inclose the entire range, only so far as to catch any possible drift of cattle to the south or west. a twenty-mile spur of fence on the east, with half that line and all the north one open, would be sufficient until further encroachments were made on our range. we would have to ride the fences daily, anyhow, and where there was no danger of drifting, an open line was as good as a fence. as fast as the cattle arrived they were placed under loose herd for the first two weeks. early in june the last of the contracted herds arrived and were scattered over the range, the outfits returning to texas. i reduced my help gradually, as the cattle quieted down and became located, until by the middle of summer we were running the ranch with thirty men, which were later reduced to twenty for the winter. line camps were established on the north and east, comfortable quarters were built for fence-riders and their horses, and aside from headquarters camp, half a dozen outposts were maintained. hay contracts were let for sufficient forage to winter forty horses, the cattle located nicely within a month, and time rolled by without a cloud on the horizon of the new cattle company. i paid a flying visit to dodge and ogalalla, but, finding the season drawing to a close and the firm's cattle all sold, i contentedly returned to my accepted task. i had been buried for several months in the heart of the indian territory, and to get out where one could read the daily papers was a treat. during my banishment, senator teller had been confirmed as secretary of the interior, an appointment that augured well for the future of the cheyenne and arapahoe cattle company. advices from washington were encouraging, and while the new secretary lacked authority to sanction our lease, his tacit approval was assured. the firm of hunter, anthony & co. made a barrel of money in trailing cattle and from their beef ranch during the summer of . i actually felt grieved over my portion of the season's work for while i had established a promising ranch, i had little to show, the improvement account being heavy, owing to our isolation. it was doubtful if we could have sold the ranch and cattle at a profit, yet i was complimented on my management, and given to understand that the stockholders were anxious to double the capitalization should i consent. range was becoming valuable, and at a meeting of the directors that fall a resolution was passed, authorizing me to secure a lease adjoining our present one. accordingly, when paying the second installment of rent money, i took the indian agent of the two tribes with me. the leading chiefs were pleased with my punctuality in meeting the rental, and a proposition to double their income of "grass" money met with hearty grunts of approval. i made the council a little speech,--my maiden endeavor,--and when it was interpreted to the squatting circle i had won the confidence of these simple aborigines. a duplicate of our former lease in acreage and terms was drawn up and signed; and during the existence of our company the best teepee in the winter or summer encampments, of either the cheyennes or arapahoes, was none too good for reed anthony when he came with the rent money or on other business. our capital stock was increased to two million dollars, in the latter half of which, one hundred thousand was asked for and allotted to me. i stayed on the range until the first of december, freighting in a thousand bushels of corn for the horses and otherwise seeing that the camps were fully provisioned before returning to my home in texas. the winter proved dry and cold, the cattle coming through in fine condition, not one per cent of loss being sustained, which is a good record for through stock. spring came and found me on the trail, with five herds on company account and eight herds under contract,--a total of forty thousand cattle intended for the enlarged range. all these had been bought north of the quarantine line in texas, and were turned loose with the wintered ones, fever having been unknown among our holdings of the year before. in the mean time the eastern spur of fence had been taken down and the southern line extended forty miles eastward and north the same distance. the northern line of our range was left open, the fences being merely intended to catch any possible drift from summer storms or wintry blizzards. yet in spite of this precaution, two round-up outfits were kept in the field through the early summer, one crossing into the chickasaw nation and the other going as far south as red river, gathering any possible strays from the new range. i was giving my best services to the new company. save for the fact that i had capable foremen on my individual ranches in texas, my absence was felt in directing the interests of the firm and personally. major hunter had promoted an old foreman to a trusted man, and the firm kept up the volume of business on the trail and ranch, though i was summoned once to dodge and twice to ogalalla during the summer of . issues had arisen making my presence necessary, but after the last trail herd was sold i returned to my post. the boom was still on in cattle at the trail markets, and texas was straining every energy to supply the demand, yet the cry swept down from the north for more cattle. i was branding twenty thousand calves a year on my two ranches, holding the increase down to that number by sending she stuff up the country on sale, and from half a dozen sources of income i was coining money beyond human need or necessity. i was then in the physical prime of my life and was master of a profitable business, while vistas of a brilliant future opened before me on every hand. when the round-up outfits came in for the summer, the beef shipping began. in the first two contingents of cattle purchased in securing the good will of the original range, we now had five thousand double wintered beeves. it was my intention to ship out the best of the single wintered ones, and five separate outfits were ordered into the saddle for that purpose. with the exception of line and fence riders,--for two hundred and forty miles were ridden daily, rain or shine, summer or winter,--every man on the ranch took up his abode with the wagons. caldwell and hunnewell, on the kansas state line were the nearest shipping points, requiring fifteen days' travel with beeves, and if there was no delay in cars, an outfit could easily gather the cattle and make a round trip in less than a month. three or four trainloads, numbering from one thousand and fifty to fourteen hundred head, were cut out at a time and handled by a single outfit. i covered the country between the ranch and shipping points, riding night and day ahead in ordering cars, and dropping back to the ranch to superintend the cutting out of the next consignment of cattle. each outfit made three trips, shipping out fifteen thousand beeves that fall, leaving sixty thousand cattle to winter on the range. several times that fall, when shipping beeves from caldwell, we met up with the firm's outfits from the eagle chief in the cherokee outlet. naturally the different shipping crews looked over each other's cattle, and an intense rivalry sprang up between the different foremen and men. the cattle of the new company outshone those of the old firm, and were outselling them in the markets, while the former's remudas were in a class by themselves, all of which was salt to open wounds and magnified the jealousy between our own outfits. the rivalry amused me, and until petty personalities were freely indulged in, i encouraged and widened the breach between the rival crews. the outfits under my direction had accumulated a large supply of saddle and sleeping blankets procured from the indians, gaudy in color, manufactured in sizes for papoose, squaw, and buck. these goods were of the finest quality, but during the annual festivals of the tribe lo's hunger for gambling induced him to part, for a mere song, with the blanket that the paternal government intended should shelter him during the storms of winter. every man in my outfits owned from six to ten blankets, and the eagle chief lads rechristened the others, including myself, with the most odious of indian names. in return, we refused to visit or eat at their wagons, claiming that they lived slovenly and were lousy. the latter had an educated scotchman with them, mcdougle by name, the ranch bookkeeper, who always went into town in advance to order cars. mcdougle had a weakness for the cup, and on one occasion he fell into the hands of my men, who humored his failing, marching him through the streets, saloons, and hotels shouting at the top of his voice, "hunter, anthony & company are going to ship!" the expression became a byword among the citizens of the town, and every reappearance of mcdougle was accepted as a herald that our outfits from the eagle chief were coming in with cattle. a special meeting of the stockholders was called at washington that fall, which all the western members attended. reports were submitted by the secretary-treasurer and myself, the executive committee made several suggestions, the proposition, to pay a dividend was overwhelmingly voted down, and a further increase of the capital stock was urged by the eastern contingent. i sounded a note of warning, called attention to the single cloud on the horizon, which was the enmity that we had engendered in a clique of army followers in and around fort reno. these men had in the past, were even then, collecting toll from every other holder of cattle on the cheyenne and arapahoe reservation. that this coterie of usurpers hated the new company and me personally was a well-known fact, while its influence was proving much stronger than at first anticipated, and i cheerfully admitted the same to the stockholders assembled. the eastern mind, living under established conditions, could hardly realize the chaotic state of affairs in the west, with its vicious morals, and any attempt to levy tribute in the form of blackmail was repudiated by the stockholders in assembly. major hunter understood my position and delicately suggested coming to terms with the company's avowed enemies as the only feasible solution of the impending trouble. to further enlarge our holdings of cattle and leased range, he urged, would be throwing down the gauntlet in defiance of the clique of army attaches. evidently no one took us seriously, and instead, ringing resolutions passed, enlarging the capital stock by another million, with instructions to increase our leases accordingly. the western contingent returned home with some misgivings as to the future. nothing was to be feared from the tribes from whom we were leasing, nor the comanche and his allies on the southwest, though there were renegades in both; but the danger lay in the flotsam of the superior race which infested the frontier. i felt no concern for my personal welfare, riding in and out from fort reno at my will and pleasure, though i well knew that my presence on the reservation was a thorn in the flesh of my enemies. there was little to fear, however, as the latter class of men never met an adversary in the open, but by secret methods sought to accomplish their objects. the breach between the indian agent and these parasites of the army was constantly widening, and an effort had been made to have the former removed, but our friends at the national capital took a hand, and the movement was thwarted. fuel was being constantly added to the fire, and on our taking a third lease on a million acres, the smoke gave way to flames. our usual pacific measures were pursued, buying out any cattle in conflict, but fencing our entire range. the last addition to our pasture embraced a strip of country twenty miles wide, lying north of and parallel to the two former leases, and gave us a range on which no animal need ever feel the restriction of a fence. ten to fifteen acres were sufficient to graze a steer the year round, but owing to the fact that we depended entirely on running water, much of the range would be valueless during the dry summer months. i readily understood the advantages of a half-stocked range, and expected in the future to allow twenty-five acres in the summer and thirty in the winter to the pasture's holdings. everything being snug for the winter, orders were left to ride certain fences twice a day,--lines where we feared fence-cutting,--and i took my departure for home. chapter xx holding the fort as in many other lines of business, there were ebb and flood tides in cattle. the opening of the trail through to the extreme northwest gave the range live stock industry its greatest impetus. there have always been seasons of depression and advances, the cycles covering periods of ten to a dozen years, the duration of the ebb and stationary tides being double that of the flood. outside influences have had their bearing, and the wresting of an empire from its savage possessors in the west, and its immediate occupancy by the dominant race in ranching, stimulated cattle prices far beyond what was justified by the laws of supply and demand. the boom in live stock in the southwest which began in the early ' 's stands alone in the market variations of the last half-century. and as if to rebuke the folly of man and remind him that he is but grass, nature frowned with two successive severe winters, humbling the kings and princes of the range. up to and including the winter of - the loss among range cattle was trifling. the country was new and open, and when the stock could drift freely in advance of storms, their instincts carried them to the sheltering coulees, cut banks, and broken country until the blizzard had passed. since our firm began maturing beeves ten years before, the losses attributable to winter were never noticed, nor did they in the least affect our profits. on my ranches in texas the primitive law of survival of the fittest prevailed, the winter-kill falling sorest among the weak and aging cows. my personal loss was always heavier than that of the firm, owing to my holdings being mixed stock, and due to the fact that an animal in the south never took on tallow enough to assist materially in resisting a winter. the cattle of the north always had the flesh to withstand the rigors of the wintry season, dry, cold, zero weather being preferable to rain, sleet, and the northers that swept across the plains of texas. the range of the new company was intermediate between the extremes of north and south, and as we handled all steer cattle, no one entertained any fear from the climate. i passed a comparatively idle winter at my home on the clear fork. weekly reports reached me from the new ranch, several of which caused uneasiness, as our fences were several times cut on the southwest, and a prairie fire, the work of an incendiary, broke out at midnight on our range. happily the wind fell, and by daybreak the smoke arose in columns, summoning every man on the ranch, and the fire was soon brought under control. as a precaution to such a possibility we had burned fire-guards entirely around the range by plowing furrows one hundred feet apart and burning out the middle. taking advantage of creeks and watercourses, natural boundaries that a prairie fire could hardly jump, we had cut and quartered the pasture with fire-guards in such a manner that, unless there was a concerted action on the part of any hirelings of our enemies, it would have been impossible to have burned more than a small portion of the range at any one time. but these malicious attempts at our injury made the outfit doubly vigilant, and cutting fences and burning range would have proven unhealthful occupations had the perpetrators, red or white, fallen into the hands of the foreman and his men. i naturally looked on the bright side of the future, and in the hope that, once the entire range was fenced, we could keep trespassers out, i made preparations for the spring drive. with the first appearance of grass, all the surplus horses were ordered down to texas from the company ranch. there was a noticeable lull at the cattle convention that spring, and an absence of buyers from the northwest was apparent, resulting in little or no trouble in contracting for delivery on the ranch, and in buying on company account at the prevailing prices of the spring before. cattle were high enough as it was; in fact the market was top-heavy and wobbling on its feet, though the brightest of us cowmen naturally supposed that current values would always remain up in the pictures. as manager of the new company, i bought and contracted for fifty thousand steers, ten herds of which were to be driven on company account. all the cattle came from the pan-handle and north texas, above the quarantine line, the latter precaution being necessary in order to avoid any possibility of fever, in mixing through and northern wintered stock. with the opening of spring two of my old foremen were promoted to assist in the receiving, as my contracts called for everything to be passed upon on the home range before starting the herds. some little friction had occurred the summer before with the deliveries at the company ranch in an effort to turn in short-aged cattle. all contracts this year and the year before called for threes, and frequently several hundred long twos were found in a single herd, and i refused to accept them unless at the customary difference in price. more or less contention arose, and, for the present spring, i proposed to curb all friction at home, allotting to my assistants the receiving of the herds for company risk, and personally passing on seven under contract. the original firm was still in the field, operating exclusively in central texas and pan-handle cattle. both my ranches sent out their usual contribution of steers and cows, consigned to the care of the firm, which was now giving more attention to quality than quantity. the absence of the men from the northwest at the cattle convention that spring was taken as an omen that the upper country would soon be satiated, a hint that retrenchment was in order, and a better class of stock was to receive the firm's attention in its future operations. my personal contingent of steers would have passed muster in any country, and as to my consignment of cows, they were pure velvet, and could defy competition in the upper range markets. everything moved out with the grass as usual, and when the last of the company herds had crossed red river, i rode through to the new ranch. the north and east line of fence was nearing completion, the western string was joined to the original boundary, and, with the range fully inclosed, my ranch foreman, the men, and myself looked forward to a prosperous future. the herds arrived and were located, the usual round-up outfits were sent out wherever there was the possibility of a stray, and we settled down in pastoral security. the ranch outfit had held their own during the winter just passed, had trailed down stolen cattle, and knew to a certainty who the thieves were and where they came from. except what had been slaughtered, all the stock was recovered, and due notice given to offenders that judge lynch would preside should any one suspected of fence-cutting, starting incendiary fires, or stealing cattle be caught within the boundaries of our leases. fortunately the other cowmen were tiring of paying tribute to the usurpers, and our determined stand heartened holders of cattle on the reservation, many of whom were now seeking leases direct from the tribes. i made it my business personally to see every other owner of live stock occupying the country, and urge upon them the securing of leases and making an organized fight for our safety. lessees in the cherokee strip had fenced as a matter of convenience and protection, and i urged the same course on the cheyenne and arapahoe reservation, offering the free use of our line fences to any one who wished to adjoin our pastures. in the course of a month, nearly every acre of the surrounding country was taken, only one or two squaw-men holding out, and these claiming their ranges under indian rights. the movement was made so aggressive that the usurpers were driven into obscurity, never showing their hand again until after the presidential election that fall. during the summer a deputation of cheyennes and arapahoes visited me at ranch headquarters. on the last lease taken, and now inclosed in our pasture, there were a number of wild plum groves, covering thousands of acres, and the indians wanted permission to gather the ripening fruit. taking advantage of the opportunity, in granting the request i made it a point to fortify the friendly relations, not only with ourselves, but with all other cattlemen on the reservation. ten days' permission was given to gather the wild plums, camps were allotted to the indians, and when the fruit was all gathered, i barbecued five stray beeves in parting with my guests. the indian agent and every cowman on the reservation were invited, and at the conclusion of the festival the quaker agent made the assembled chiefs a fatherly talk. torpid from feasting, the bucks grunted approval of the new order of things, and an arapahoe chief, responding in behalf of his tribe, said that the rent from the grass now fed his people better than under the old buffalo days. pledging anew the fraternal bond, and appointing the gathering of the plums as an annual festival thereafter, the tribes took up their march in returning to their encampment. i was called to dodge but once during the summer of . my steers had gone to ogalalla and were sold, the cows remaining at the lower market, all of which had changed owners with the exception of one thousand head. the demand had fallen off, and a dull close of the season was predicted, but i shaded prices and closed up my personal holdings before returning. several of the firm's steer herds were unsold at dodge, but on the approach of the shipping season i returned to my task, and we began to move out our beeves with seven outfits in the saddle. four round trips were made to the crew, shipping out twenty thousand double and half that number of single wintered cattle. the grass had been fine that summer, and the beeves came up in prime condition, always topping the market as range cattle at the markets to which they were consigned. that branch of the work over, every energy was centred in making the ranch snug for the winter. extra fire-guards were plowed, and the middles burned out, cutting the range into a dozen parcels, and thus, as far as possible, the winter forage was secured for our holdings of eighty thousand cattle. hay and grain contracts had been previously let, the latter to be freighted in from southern kansas, when the news reached us that the recent election had resulted in a political change of administration. what effect this would have on our holding cattle on indian lands was pure conjecture, though our enemies came out of hiding, gloating over the change, and swearing vengeance on the cowmen on the cheyenne and arapahoe reservation. the turn of the tide in cattle prices was noticeable at all the range markets that fall. a number of herds were unsold at dodge, among them being one of ours, but we turned it southeast early in september and wintered it on our range in the outlet. the largest drive in the history of the trail had taken place that summer, and the failure of the west and northwest to absorb the entire offerings of the drovers made the old firm apprehensive of the future. there was a noticeable shrinkage in our profits from trail operations, but with the supposition that it was merely an off year, the matter was passed for the present. it was the opinion of the directors of the new company that no dividends should he declared until our range was stocked to its full capacity, or until there was a comfortable surplus. this suited me, and, returning home, i expected to spend the winter with my family, now increased to four girls and six boys. but a cowman can promise himself little rest or pleasure. after a delightful week spent on my western ranch, i returned to the clear fork, and during the latter part of november a terrible norther swept down and caught me in a hunting-camp twenty-five miles from home. my two oldest boys were along, a negro cook, and a few hands, and in spite of our cosy camp, we all nearly froze to death. nothing but a roaring fire saved us during the first night of its duration, and the next morning we saddled our horses and struck out for home, riding in the face of a sleet that froze our clothing like armor. norther followed norther, and i was getting uneasy about the company ranch, when i received a letter from major hunter, stating that he was starting for our range in the outlet and predicting a heavy loss of cattle. headquarters in the indian territory were fully two hundred and fifty miles due north, and within an hour after receiving the letter, i started overland on horseback, using two of my best saddlers for the trip. to have gone by rail and stage would have taken four days, and if fair weather favored me i could nearly divide that time by half. changing horses frequently, one day out i had left red river in my rear, but before me lay an uninhabited country, unless i veered from my course and went through the chickasaw nation. for the sake of securing grain for the horses, this tack was made, following the old chisholm trail for nearly one hundred miles. the country was in the grip of winter, sleet and snow covering the ground, with succor for man and horse far apart. mumford johnson's ranch on the washita river was reached late the second night, and by daybreak the next morning i was on the trail, making quartermaster creek by one o'clock that day. fortunately no storms were encountered en route, but king winter ruled the range with an iron hand, fully six inches of snow covering the pasture, over which was a crusted sleet capable of carrying the weight of a beef. the foreman and his men were working night and day to succor the cattle. between storms, two crews of the boys drifted everything back from the south line of fence, while others cut ice and opened the water to the perishing animals. scarcity of food was the most serious matter; being unable to reach the grass under its coat of sleet and snow, the cattle had eaten the willows down to the ground. when a boy in virginia i had often helped cut down basswood and maple trees in the spring for the cattle to browse upon, and, sending to the agency for new axes, i armed every man on the ranch with one, and we began felling the cottonwood and other edible timber along the creeks and rivers in the pasture. the cattle followed the axemen like sheep, eating the tender branches of the softer woods to the size of a man's wrist, the crash of a falling tree bringing them by the dozens to browse and stay their hunger. i swung an axe with the men, and never did slaves under the eye of a task-master work as faithfully or as long as we did in cutting ice and falling timber in succoring our holding of cattle. several times the sun shone warm for a few days, melting the snow off the southern slopes, when we took to our saddles, breaking the crust with long poles, the cattle following to where the range was bared that they might get a bit of grass. had it not been for a few such sunny days, our loss would have been double what it was; but as it was, with the general range in the clutches of sleet and snow for over fifty days, about twenty per cent, of our holdings were winter-killed, principally of through cattle. our saddle stock, outside of what was stabled and grain-fed, braved the winter, pawing away the snow and sleet in foraging for their subsistence. a few weeks of fine balmy weather in january and february followed the distressing season of wintry storms, the cattle taking to the short buffalo-grass and rapidly recuperating. but just when we felt that the worst was over, simultaneously half a dozen prairie fires broke out in different portions of the pasture, calling every man to a fight that lasted three days. our enemies, not content with havoc wrought by the elements, were again in the saddle, striking in the dark and escaping before dawn, inflicting injuries on dumb animals in harassing their owners. that it was the work of hireling renegades, more likely white than red, there was little question; but the necessity of preserving the range withheld us from trailing them down and meting out a justice they so richly deserved. dividing the ranch help into half a dozen crews, we rode to the burning grass and began counter-firing and otherwise resorting to every known method in checking the consuming flames. one of the best-known devices, in short grass and flank-fires, was the killing of a light beef, beheading and splitting it open, leaving the hide to hold the parts together. by turning the animal flesh side down and taking ropes from a front and hind foot to the pommels of two saddles, the men, by riding apart, could straddle the flames, virtually rubbing the fire out with the dragging carcass. other men followed with wet blankets and beat out any remaining flames, the work being carried on at a gallop, with a change of horses every mile or so, and the fire was thus constantly hemmed in to a point. the variations of the wind sometimes entirely checked all effort, between midnight and morning being the hours in which most progress was accomplished. no sooner was one section of the fire brought under control than we divided the forces and hastened to lend assistance to the next nearest section, the cooks with commissaries following up the firefighters. while a single blade of grass was burning, no one thought of sleeping, and after one third of the range was consumed, the last of the incendiary fires was stamped out, when we lay down around the wagons and slept the sleep of exhaustion. there was still enough range saved to bring the cattle safely through until spring. leaving the entire ranch outfit to ride the fences--several lines of which were found cut by the renegades in entering and leaving the pasture--and guard the gates, i took train and stage for the grove. major hunter had returned from the firm's ranch in the strip, where heavy losses were encountered, though it then rested in perfect security from any influence except the elements. with me, the burning of the company range might be renewed at any moment, in which event we should have to cut our own fences and let the cattle drift south through an indian country, with nothing to check them except red river. a climax was approaching in the company's existence, and the delay of a day or week might mean inestimable loss. in cunning and craftiness our enemies were expert; they knew their control of the situation fully, and nothing but cowardice would prevent their striking the final, victorious blow. my old partner and i were a unit as to the only course to pursue,--one which meant a dishonorable compromise with our enemies, as the only hope of saving the cattle. a wire was accordingly sent east, calling a special meeting of the stockholders. we followed ourselves within an hour. on arriving at the national capital, we found that all outside shareholders had arrived in advance of ourselves, and we went into session with closed doors and the committee on entertainment and banquets inactive. in as plain words as the english language would permit, as general manager of the company, i stated the cause for calling the meeting, and bluntly suggested the only avenue of escape. call it tribute, blackmail, or what you will, we were at the mercy of as heartless a set of scoundrels as ever missed a rope, whose mercenaries, like the willing hirelings that they were, would cheerfully do the bidding of their superiors. major hunter, in his remarks before the meeting, modified my rather radical statement, with the more plausible argument that this tribute money was merely insurance, and what was five or ten thousand dollars a year, where an original investment of three millions and our surplus were in jeopardy? would any line--life, fire, or marine--carry our risk as cheaply? these men had been receiving toll from our predecessors, and were then in a position to levy tribute or wreck the company. notwithstanding our request for immediate action, an adjournment was taken. a wire could have been sent to a friend in fort reno that night, and all would have gone well for the future security of the cheyenne and arapahoe cattle company. but i lacked authority to send it, and the next morning at the meeting, the new england blood that had descended from the puritan fathers was again in the saddle, shouting the old slogans of no compromise while they had god and right on their side. major hunter and i both keenly felt the rebuke, but personal friends prevented an open rupture, while the more conservative ones saw brighter prospects in the political change of administration which was soon to assume the reins of government. a number of congressmen and senators among our stockholders were prominent in the ascendant party, and once the new régime took charge, a general shake-up of affairs in and around fort reno was promised. i remembered the old maxim of a new broom; yet in spite of the blandishments that were showered down in silencing my active partner and me, i could almost smell the burning range, see the horizon lighted up at night by the licking flames, hear the gloating of our enemies, in the hour of their victory, and the click of the nippers of my own men, in cutting the wire that the cattle might escape and live. i left washington somewhat heartened. major hunter, ever inclined to look on the bright side of things, believed that the crisis had passed, even bolstering up my hopes in the next administration. it was the immediate necessity that was worrying me, for it meant a summer's work to gather our cattle on red river and in the intermediate country, and bring them back to the home range. the mysterious absence of any report from my foreman on my arrival at the grove did not mislead me to believe that no news was good news, and i accordingly hurried on to the front. there was a marked respect shown me by the civilians located at fort reno, something unusual; but i hurried on to the agency, where all was quiet, and thence to ranch headquarters. there i learned that a second attempt to burn the range had been frustrated; that one of our boys had shot dead a white man in the act of cutting the east string of fence; that the same night three fires had broken out in the pasture, and that a squad of our men, in riding to the light, had run afoul of two renegade cheyennes armed with wire-nippers, whose remains then lay in the pasture unburied. both horses were captured and identified as not belonging to the indians, while their owners were well known. fortunately the wind veered shortly after the fires started, driving the flames back against the plowed guards, and the attempt to burn the range came to naught. a salutary lesson had been administered to the hirelings of the usurpers, and with a new moon approaching its full, it was believed that night marauding had ended for that winter. none of our boys recognized the white man, there being no doubt but he was imported for the purpose, and he was buried where he fell; but i notified the indian agent, who sent for the remains of the two renegades and took possession of the horses. the season for the beginning of active operations on trail and for ranch account was fast approaching, and, leaving the boys to hold the fort during my absence, i took my private horses and turned homeward. chapter xxi the fruits of conspiracy with a loss of fully fifteen thousand cattle staring me in the face, i began planning to recuperate the fortunes of the company. the cattle convention, which was then over, was conspicuous by the absence of all northern buyers. george edwards had attended the meeting, was cautious enough to make no contracts for the firm, and fully warned me of the situation. i was in a quandary; with an idle treasury of over a million, my stewardship would be subject to criticism unless i became active in the interests of my company. on the other hand, a dangerous cloud hung over the range, and until that was removed i felt like a man who was sent for and did not want to go. the falling market in texas was an encouragement, but my experience of the previous winter had had a dampening effect, and i was simply drifting between adverse winds. but once it was known that i had returned home, my old customers approached me by letter and personally, anxious to sell and contract for immediate delivery. trail drovers were standing aloof, afraid of the upper markets, and i could have easily bought double my requirements without leaving the ranch. the grass was peeping here and there, favorable reports came down from the reservation, and still i sat idle. the appearance of major hunter acted like a stimulus. reports about the new administration were encouraging--not from our silent partner, who was not in sympathy with the dominant party, but from other prominent stockholders who were. the original trio--the little major, our segundo, and myself--lay around under the shade of the trees several days and argued the possibilities that confronted us on trail and ranch. edwards reproached me for my fears, referring to the time, nineteen years before, when as common hands we fought our way across the staked plain and delivered the cattle safely at fort sumner. he even taunted me with the fact that our employers then never hesitated, even if half the comanche tribe were abroad, roving over their old hunting grounds, and that now i was afraid of a handful of army followers, contractors, and owners of bar concessions. edwards knew that i would stand his censure and abuse as long as the truth was told, and with the major acting as peacemaker between us i was finally whipped into line. with a fortune already in hand, rounding out my forty-fifth year, i looted the treasury by contracting and buying sixty thousand cattle for my company. the surplus horses were ordered down from above, and the spring campaign began in earnest. the old firm was to confine its operations to fine steers, handling my personal contribution as before, while i rallied my assistants, and we began receiving the contracted cattle at once. observation had taught me that in wintering beeves in the north it was important to give the animals every possible moment of time to locate before the approach of winter. the instinct of a dumb beast is unexplainable yet unerring. the owner of a horse may choose a range that seems perfect in every appointment, but the animal will spurn the human selection and take up his abode on some flinty hills, and there thrive like a garden plant. cattle, especially steers, locate slowly, and a good summer's rest usually fortifies them with an inward coat of tallow and an outward one of furry robe, against the wintry storms. i was anxious to get the through cattle to the new range as soon as practicable, and allowed the sellers to set their dates as early as possible, many of them agreeing to deliver on the reservation as soon as the middle of may. ten wagons and a thousand horses came down during the last days of march, and early in april started back with thirty thousand cattle at company risk. all animals were passed upon on the texas range, and on their arrival at the pasture there was little to do but scatter them over the ranch to locate. i reached the reservation with the lead herd, and was glad to learn from neighboring cowmen that a suggestion of mine, made the fall before, had taken root. my proposition was to organize all the cattlemen on the cheyenne and arapahoe reservation into an association for mutual protection. by coöperation we could present a united front to our enemies, the usurpers, and defy them in their nefarious schemes of exacting tribute. other ranges besides ours had suffered by fire and fence-cutters during the winter just passed, and i returned to find my fellow cowmen a unit for organization. a meeting was called at the agency, every owner of cattle on the reservation responded, and an association was perfected for our mutual interest and protection. the reservation was easily capable of carrying half a million cattle, the tribes were pleased with the new order of things, and we settled down with a feeling of security not enjoyed in many a day. but our tranquil existence received a shock within a month, when a cowboy from a neighboring ranch, and without provocation, was shot down by indian police in a trader's store at the agency. the young fellow was a popular texan, and as nearly all the men employed on the reservation came from the south, it was with difficulty that our boys were restrained from retaliating. those from texas had little or no love for an indian anyhow, and nothing but the plea of policy in preserving peaceful relations with the tribes held them in check. the occasional killing of cattle by indians was overlooked, until they became so bold as to leave the hides and heads in the pasture, when an appeal was made to the agent. but the aborigine, like his white brother, has sinful ways, and the influence of one evil man can readily combat the good advice of half a dozen right-minded ones, and the quaker agent found his task not an easy one. cattle were being killed in remote and unfrequented places, and still we bore with it, the better class of indians, however, lending their assistance to check the abuse. on one occasion two boys and myself detected a band of five young bucks skinning a beef in our pasture, and nothing but my presence prevented a clash between my men and the thieves. but it was near the wild-plum season, and as we were making preparations to celebrate that event, the killing of a few indians might cause distrust, and we dropped out of sight and left them to the enjoyment of their booty. it was pure policy on my part, as we could shame or humble the indian, and if the abuse was not abated, we could remunerate ourselves by with-holding from the rent money the value of cattle killed. our organization for mutual protection was accepted by our enemies as a final defiance. a pirate fights as valiantly as if his cause were just, and, through intermediaries, the gauntlet was thrown back in our faces and notice served that the conflict had reached a critical stage. i never discussed the issue direct with members of the clique, as they looked upon me as the leader in resisting their levy of tribute, but indirectly their grievances were made known. we were accused of having taken the bread out of their very mouths, which was true in a sense, but we had restored it tenfold where it was entitled to go,--among the indians. with the exception of an occasional bottle of whiskey, none of the tribute money went to the tribes, but was divided among the usurpers. they waxed fat in their calling and were insolent and determined, while our replies to all overtures looking to peace were firm and to the point. even at that late hour i personally knew that the clique had strength in reserve, and had i enjoyed the support of my company, would willingly have stood for a compromise. but it was out of the question to suggest it, and, trusting to the new administration, we politely told them to crack their whips. the _fiesta_ which followed the plum gathering was made a notable occasion. all the cowmen on the reservation had each contributed a beef to the barbecue, the agent saw to it that all the principal chiefs of both tribes were present, and after two days of feasting, the agent made a quaker talk, insisting that the bond between the tribes and the cowmen must be observed to the letter. he reviewed at length the complaints that had reached him of the killing of cattle, traceable to the young and thoughtless, and pointed out the patience of the cattlemen in not retaliating, but in spreading a banquet instead to those who had wronged them. in concluding, he warned them that the patience of the white man had a limit, and, while they hoped to live in peace, unless the stealing of beef was stopped immediately, double the value of the cattle killed would be withheld from the next payment of grass money. it was in the power of the chiefs present to demand this observance of faith among their young men, if the bond to which their signatures were attached was to be respected in the future. the leading chiefs of both tribes spoke in defense, pleading their inability to hold their young men in check as long as certain evil influences were at work among their people. the love of gambling and strong drink was yearly growing among their men, making them forget their spoken word, until they were known as thieves and liars. the remedy lay in removing these evil spirits and trusting the tribes to punish their own offenders, as the red man knew no laws except his own. the festival was well worth while and augured hopefully for the future. clouds were hovering on the horizon, however, and, while at ogalalla, i received a wire that a complaint had been filed against us at the national capital, and that the president had instructed the lieutenant-general of the army to make an investigation. just what the inquiry was to be was a matter of conjecture; possibly to determine who was supplying the indians with whiskey, or probably our friends at washington were behind the movement, and the promised shake-up of army followers in and around fort reno was materializing. i attended to some unsettled business before returning, and, on my arrival at the reservation, a general alarm was spreading among the cattle interests, caused by the cock-sure attitude of the usurpers and a few casual remarks that had been dropped. i was appealed to by my fellow cowmen, and, in turn, wired our friends at washington, asking that our interests be looked after and guarded. pending a report, general p.h. sheridan arrived with a great blare of trumpets at fort reno for the purpose of holding the authorized investigation. the general's brother, michael, was the recognized leader of the clique of army followers, and was interested in the bar concessions under the sutler. matters, therefore, took on a serious aspect. all the cowmen on the reservation came in, expecting to be called before the inquiry, as it was then clear that a fight must be made to protect our interests. no opportunity, however, was given the indians or cattlemen to present their side of the question, and when a committee of us cowmen called on general sheridan we were cordially received and politely informed that the investigation was private. i believe that forty years have so tempered the animosities of the civil war that an honest opinion is entitled to expression. and with due consideration to the record of a gallant soldier, i submit the question, were not the owners of half a million cattle on the cheyenne and arapahoe reservation entitled to a hearing before a report was made that resulted in an order for their removal? i have seen more trouble at a country dance, more bloodshed in a family feud, than ever existed or was spilled on the cheyenne and arapahoe reservation. the indians were pleased, the lessees were satisfied, yet by artfully concealing the true cause of any and all strife, a report, every word of which was as sweet as the notes of a flute, was made to the president, recommending the removal of the cattle. it was found that there had been a gradual encroachment on the liberties of the tribes; that the rental received from the surplus pasture lands had a bad tendency on the morals of the indians, encouraging them in idleness; and that the present system retarded all progress in agriculture and the industrial arts. the report was superficial, religiously concealing the truth, but dealing with broad generalities. had the report emanated from some philanthropical society, it would have passed unnoticed or been commented on as an advance in the interest of a worthy philanthropy but taken as a whole, it was a splendid specimen of the use to which words can be put in concealing the truth and cloaking dishonesty. an order of removal by the president followed the report. had we been subjects of a despotic government and bowed our necks like serfs, the matter would have ended in immediate compliance with the order. but we prided ourselves on our liberties as americans, and an appeal was to be made to the first citizen of the land, the president of the united states. a committee of western men were appointed, which would be augmented by others at the national capital, and it was proposed to lay the bare facts in the chief executive's hands and at least ask for a modification of the order. the latter was ignorant in its conception, brutal and inhuman in its intent, ending in the threat to use the military arm of the government, unless the terms and conditions were complied with within a given space of time. the cheyenne and arapahoe cattle company, alone, not to mention the other members of our association equally affected, had one hundred and twenty-five thousand head of beeves and through steers on its range, and unless some relief was granted, a wayfaring man though a fool could see ruin and death and desolation staring us in the face. fortunately major hunter had the firm's trail affairs so well in hand that edwards could close up the business, thus relieving my active partner to serve on the committee, he and four others offering to act in behalf of our association in calling on the president. i was among the latter, the only one in the delegation from texas, and we accordingly made ready and started for washington. meanwhile i had left orders to start the shipping with a vengeance. the busy season was at hand on the beef ranges, and men were scarce; but i authorized the foreman to comb the country, send to dodge if necessary, and equip ten shipping outfits and keep a constant string of cattle moving to the markets. we had about sixty-five thousand single and double wintered beeves, the greater portion of which were in prime condition; but it was the through cattle that were worrying me, as they were unfit to ship and it was too late in the season to relocate them on a new range. but that blessed hope that springs eternal in the human breast kept us hopeful that the president had been deceived into issuing his order, and that he would right all wrongs. the more sanguine ones of the western delegation had matters figured down to a fraction; they believed that once the chief executive understood the true cause of the friction existing on the reservation, apologies would follow, we should all be asked to remain for lunch, and in the most democratic manner imaginable everything would be righted. i had no opinions, but kept anticipating the worst; for if the order stood unmodified, go we must and in the face of winter and possibly accompanied by negro troops. to return to texas meant to scatter the cattle to the four winds; to move north was to court death unless an open winter favored us. on our arrival at washington, all senators and congressmen shareholders in our company met us by appointment. it was an inactive season at the capital, and hopes were entertained that the president would grant us an audience at once; but a delay of nearly a week occurred. in the mean time several conferences were held, at which a general review of the situation was gone over, and it was decided to modify our demands, asking for nothing personally, only a modification of the order in the interest of humanity to dumb animals. before our arrival, a congressman and two senators, political supporters of the chief executive, had casually called to pay their respects, and incidentally inquired into the pending trouble between the cattlemen and the cheyenne and arapahoe indians. reports were anything but encouraging; the well-known obstinacy of the president was admitted; it was also known that he possessed a rugged courage in pursuance of an object or purpose. those who were not in political sympathy with the party in power characterized the president as an opinionated executive, and could see little or no hope in a personal appeal. however, the matter was not to be dropped. the arrival of a deputation of cattlemen from the west was reported by the press, their purposes fully, set forth, and in the interim of waiting for an appointment, all of us made hay with due diligence. major hunter and i had a passing acquaintance at both the war and interior departments, and taking along senators and representatives in political sympathy with the heads of those offices, we called and paid our respects. a number of old acquaintances were met, hold-overs from the former régime, and a cordial reception was accorded us. now that the boom in cattle was over, we expressed a desire to resume our former business relations as contractors with the government. at both departments, the existent trouble on the indian reservations was well known, and a friendly inquiry resulted, which gave us an opportunity to explain our position fully. there was a hopeful awakening to the fact that there had been a conspiracy to remove us, and the most friendly advances of assistance were proffered in setting the matter right. public opinion is a strong factor, and with the press of the capital airing our grievances daily, sympathy and encouragement were simply showered down upon us. finally an audience with the president was granted. the western delegation was increased by senators and representatives until the committee numbered an even dozen. many of the latter were personal friends and ardent supporters of the chief executive. the rangemen were introduced, and we proceeded at once to the matter at issue. a congressman from new york stated the situation clearly, not mincing his words in condemning the means and procedure by which this order was secured, and finally asking for its revocation, or a modification that would permit the evacuation of the country without injury to the owners and their herds. major hunter, in replying to a question of the president, stated our position: that we were in no sense intruders, that we paid our rental in advance, with the knowledge and sanction of the two preceding secretaries of the interior, and only for lack of precedent was their indorsement of our leases withheld. it soon became evident that countermanding the order was out of the question, as to vacillate or waver in a purpose, right or wrong, was not a characteristic of the chief executive. our next move was for a modification of the order, as its terms required us to evacuate that fall, and every cowman present accented the fact that to move cattle in the mouth of winter was an act that no man of experience would countenance. every step, the why and wherefore, must be explained to the president, and at the request of the committee, i went into detail in making plain what the observations of my life had taught me of the instincts and habits of cattle,--why in the summer they took to the hills, mesas, and uplands, where the breezes were cooling and protected them from insect life; their ability to foretell a storm in winter and seek shelter in coulees and broken country. i explained that none of the cattle on the cheyenne and arapahoe reservation were native to that range, but were born anywhere from three to five hundred miles to the south, fully one half of them having arrived that spring; that to acquaint an animal with its new range, in cattle parlance to "locate" them, was very important; that every practical cowman moved his herds to a new range with the grass in the spring, in order that ample time should be allowed to acclimate and familiarize them with such shelters as nature provided to withstand the storms of winter. in concluding, i stated that if the existent order could be so modified as to permit all through cattle and those unfit for market to remain on their present range for the winter, we would cheerfully evacuate the country with the grass in the spring. if such relief could be consistently granted, it would no doubt save the lives of hundreds and thousands of cattle. the president evidently was embarrassed by the justice of our prayer. he consulted with members of the committee, protesting that he should be spared from taking what would be considered a backward step, and after a stormy conference with intimate friends, lasting fully an hour, he returned and in these words refused to revoke or modify his order: "if i had known," said he, "what i know now, i never would have made the order; but having made it, i will stand by it." laying aside all commercial considerations, we had made our entreaty in behalf of dumb animals, and the president's answer angered a majority of the committee. i had been rebuked too often in the past by my associates easily to lose my temper, and i naturally looked at those whose conscience balked at paying tribute, while my sympathies were absorbed for the future welfare of a quarter-million cattle affected by the order. we broke into groups in taking our leave, and the only protest that escaped any one was when the york state representative refused the hand of the executive, saying, "mr. president, i have my opinion of a man who admits he is wrong and refuses to right it." two decades have passed since those words, rebuking wrong in high places, were uttered, and the speaker has since passed over to the silent majority. i should feel that these memoirs were incomplete did i not mention the sacrifice and loss of prestige that the utterance of these words cost, for they were the severance of a political friendship that was never renewed. the autocratic order removing the cattle from the cheyenne and arapahoe reservation was born in iniquity and bore a harvest unequaled in the annals of inhumanity. with the last harbor of refuge closed against us, i hastened back and did all that was human to avert the impending doom, every man and horse available being pressed into service. our one hope lay in a mild winter, and if that failed us the affairs of the company would be closed by the merciless elements. once it was known that the original order had not been modified, and in anticipation of a flood of western cattle, the markets broke, entailing a serious commercial loss. every hoof of single and double wintered beeves that had a value in the markets was shipped regardless of price, while i besought friends in the cherokee strip for a refuge for those unfit and our holding of through cattle. fortunately the depreciation in live stock and the heavy loss sustained the previous winter had interfered with stocking the outlet to its fall capacity, and by money, prayers, and entreaty i prevailed on range owners and secured pasturage for seventy-five thousand head. long before the shipping season ended i pressed every outfit belonging to the firm on the eagle chief into service, and began moving out the through cattle to their new range. squaw winter and snow-squalls struck us on the trail, but with a time-limit hanging over our heads, and rather than see our cattle handled by nigger soldiers, we bore our burdens, if not meekly, at least in a manner consistent with our occupation. i have always deplored useless profanity, yet it was music to my ears to hear the men arraign our enemies, high and low, for our present predicament. when the last beeves were shipped, a final round-up was made, and we started out with over fifty thousand cattle in charge of twelve outfits. storms struck us en route, but we weathered them, and finally turned the herds loose in the face of a blizzard. the removed cattle, strangers in a strange land, drifted to the fences and were cut to the quick by the biting blasts. early in january the worst blizzard in the history of the plains swept down from the north, and the poor wandering cattle were driven to the divides and frozen to death against the line fences. of all the appalling sights that an ordinary lifetime on the range affords, there is nothing to compare with the suffering and death that were daily witnessed during the month of january in the winter of - . i remained on the range, and left men at winter camps on every pasture in which we had stock, yet we were powerless to relieve the drifting cattle. the morning after the great storm, with others, i rode to a south string of fence on a divide, and found thousands of our cattle huddled against it, many frozen to death, partially through and hanging on the wire. we cut the fences in order to allow them to drift on to shelter, but the legs of many of them were so badly frozen that, when they moved, the skin cracked open and their hoofs dropped off. hundreds of young steers were wandering aimlessly around on hoofless stumps, while their tails cracked and broke like icicles. in angles and nooks of the fence, hundreds had perished against the wire, their bodies forming a scaling ladder, permitting late arrivals to walk over the dead and dying as they passed on with the fury of the storm. i had been a soldier and seen sad sights, but nothing to compare to this; the moaning of the cattle freezing to death would have melted a heart of adamant. all we could do was to cut the fences and let them drift, for to halt was to die; and when the storm abated one could have walked for miles on the bodies of dead animals. no pen could describe the harrowing details of that winter; and for years afterward, or until their remains had a commercial value, a wayfarer could have traced the south-line fences by the bleaching bones that lay in windrows, glistening in the sun like snowdrifts, to remind us of the closing chapter in the history of the cheyenne and arapahoe cattle company. chapter xxii in conclusion the subsequent history of the ill-fated cheyenne and arapahoe cattle company is easily told. over ninety per cent of the cattle moved under the president's order were missing at the round-up the following spring. what few survived were pitiful objects, minus ears and tails, while their horns, both root and base, were frozen until they drooped down in unnatural positions. compared to the previous one, the winter of - , with the exception of the great january blizzard, was the less severe of the two. on the firm's range in the cherokee strip our losses were much lighter than during the previous winter, owing to the fact that food was plentiful, there being little if any sleet or snow during the latter year. had we been permitted to winter in the cheyenne and arapahoe country, considering our sheltered range and the cattle fully located, ten per cent would have been a conservative estimate of loss by the elements. as manager of the company i lost five valuable years and over a quarter-million dollars. time has mollified my grievances until now only the thorn of inhumanity to dumb beasts remains. contrasted with results, how much more humane it would have been to have ordered out negro troops from fort reno and shot the cattle down, or to have cut the fences ourselves, and, while our holdings were drifting back to texas, trusted to the mercy of the comanches. i now understand perfectly why the business world dreads a political change in administration. whatever may have been the policy of one political party, the reverse becomes the slogan of the other on its promotion to power. for instance, a few years ago, the general government offered a bounty on the home product of sugar, stimulating the industry in louisiana and also in my adopted state. a change of administration followed, the bounty was removed, and had not the insurance companies promptly canceled their risks on sugar mills, the losses by fire would have been appalling. politics had never affected my occupation seriously; in fact i profited richly through the extravagance and mismanagement of the reconstruction régime in texas, and again met the defeat of my life at the hands of the general government. with the demand for trail cattle on the decline, coupled with two severe winters, the old firm of hunter, anthony & co. was ripe for dissolution. we had enjoyed the cream of the trade while it lasted, but conditions were changing, making it necessary to limit and restrict our business. this was contrary to our policy, though the spring of found us on the trail with sixteen herds for the firm and four from my own ranches, one half of which were under contract. a dry summer followed, and thousands of weak cattle were lost on the trail, while ruin and bankruptcy were the portion of a majority of the drovers. we weathered the drouth on the trail, selling our unplaced cattle early, and before the beef-shipping season began, our range in the outlet, including good will, holding of beeves, saddle horses, and general improvements, was sold to a kansas city company, and the old firm passed out of existence. meanwhile i had closed up the affairs of the cheyenne and arapahoe company, returning a small pro rata of the original investment to shareholders, charging my loss to tuition in rounding out my education as a cowman. the productive capacity of my ranches for years past safely tided me over all financial difficulties. with all outside connections severed, i was then enabled to give my personal attention to ranching in texas. i was fortunate in having capable ranch foremen, for during my almost continued absence there was a steady growth, together with thorough management of my mixed cattle. the improved herd, now numbering over two thousand, was the pride of my operations in live stock, while my quarter and three-eighths blood steers were in a class by themselves. we were breeding over a thousand half and three-quarters blood bulls annually, and constantly importing the best strains to the head of the improved herd. results were in evidence, and as long as the trail lasted, my cattle were ready sellers in the upper range markets. for the following few years i drove my own growing of steers, usually contracting them in advance. the days of the trail were numbered; saw the last herd leave texas, many of the northern states having quarantined against us, and we were afterward compelled to ship by rail in filling contracts on the upper ranges. when kansas quarantined against texas cattle, dodge was abandoned as a range market. the trail moved west, first to lakin and finally to trail city, on the colorado line. in attempting to pass the former point with four pan-handle herds in the spring of , i ran afoul of a quarantine convention. the cattle were under contract in wyoming, and it was my intention not even to halt the herds, but merely to take on supplies in passing. but a deputation met us south of the river, notifying me that the quarantine convention was in session, and requesting me not to attempt to cross the arkansas. i explained that my cattle were from above the dead line in texas, had heretofore gone unmolested wherever they wished, and that it was out of my way to turn west and go up through colorado. the committee was reasonable, looked over the lead herd, and saw that i was driving graded cattle, and finally invited me in to state my case before the convention. i accompanied the men sent to warn me away, and after considerable parley i was permitted to address the assembly. in a few brief words i stated my destination, where i was from, and the quality of cattle making up my herds, and invited any doubters to accompany me across the river and look the stock over. fortunately a number of the cattlemen in the convention knew me, and i was excused while the assembly went into executive session to consider my case. prohibition was in effect at lakin, and i was compelled to resort to diplomacy in order to cross the arkansas river with my cattle. it was warm, sultry weather in the valley, and my first idea was to secure a barrel of bottled beer and send it over to the convention, but the town was dry. i ransacked all the drug stores, and the nearest approach to anything that would cheer and stimulate was hostetter's bitters. the prohibition laws were being rigidly enforced, but i signed a "death warrant" and ordered a case, which the druggist refused me until i explained that i had four outfits of men with me and that we had contracted malaria while sleeping on the ground. my excuse won, and taking the case of bitters on my shoulder, i bore it away to the nearest livery stable, where i wrote a note, with my compliments, and sent both by a darkey around to the rear door of the convention hall. on adjournment for dinner, my case looked hopeless. there was a strong sentiment against admitting any cattle from texas, all former privileges were to be set aside, and the right to quarantine against any section or state was claimed as a prerogative of a free people. the convention was patiently listening to all the oratorical talent present, and my friends held out a slender hope that once the different speakers had relieved their minds they might feel easier towards me, and possibly an exception would be made in my case. during the afternoon session i received frequent reports from the convention, and on the suggestion of a friend i began to skirmish around for a second case of bitters. there were only three drug stores in the town, and as i was ignorant of the law, i naturally went back to the druggist from whom i secured the first case. to my surprise he refused to supply my wants, and haughtily informed me that one application a day was all the law permitted him to sell to any one person. rebuffed, i turned to another drug store, and was greeted by the proprietor, who formerly ran a saloon in dodge. he recognized me, calling me by name; and after we had pledged our acquaintance anew behind the prescription case, i was confidentially informed that i could have his whole house and welcome, even if the state of kansas did object and he had to go to jail. we both regretted that the good old days in the state were gone, but i sent around another case of bitters and a box of cigars, and sat down patiently to await results. with no action taken by the middle of the afternoon, i sent around a third installment of refreshments, and an hour later called in person at the door of the convention. the doorkeeper refused to admit me, but i caught his eye, which was glassy, and received a leery wink, while a bottle of bitters nestled cosily in the open bosom of his shirt. hopeful that the signs were favorable, i apologized and withdrew, but was shortly afterwards sent for and informed that an exception had been made in my favor, and that i might cross the river at my will and pleasure. in the interim of waiting, in case i was successful, i had studied up a little speech of thanks, and as i arose to express my appreciation, a chorus of interruptions greeted me: "g' on, reed! g' on, you d----d old cow-thief! git out of town or we'll hang you!" with the trail a thing of the past, i settled down to the peaceful pursuits of a ranchman. the fencing of ranges soon became necessary, the clear fork tract being first inclosed, and a few years later owners of pastures adjoining the double mountain ranch wished to fence, and i fell in with the prevailing custom. on the latter range i hold title to a little over one million acres, while there are two hundred sections of school land included in my western pasture, on which i pay a nominal rental for its use. all my cattle are now graded, and while no effort is made to mature them, the advent of cotton-seed oil mills and other sources of demand have always afforded me an outlet for my increase. i have branded as many as twenty-five thousand calves in a year, and to this source of income alone i attribute the foundation of my present fortune. as a source of wealth the progeny of the cow in my state has proven a perennial harvest, with little or no effort on the part of the husbandman. reversing the military rule of moving against the lines of least resistance, experience has taught me to follow those where nature lends its greatest aid. mine being strictly a grazing country, by preserving the native grasses and breeding only the best quality of cattle, i have always achieved success. i have brought up my boys to observe these economics of nature, and no plow shall ever mar the surface where my cows have grazed, generation after generation, to the profit and satisfaction of their owner. where once i was a buyer in carload lots of the best strains of blood in the country, now i am a seller by hundreds and thousands of head, acclimated and native to the soil. one man to his trade and another to his merchandise, and the mistakes of my life justly rebuke me for dallying in paths remote from my legitimate calling. there is a close relationship between a cowman and his herds. my insight into cattle character exceeds my observation of the human family. therefore i wish to confess my great love for the cattle of the fields. when hungry or cold, sick or distressed, they express themselves intelligently to my understanding, and when dangers of night and storm and stampede threaten their peace and serenity, they instinctively turn to the refuge of a human voice. when a herd was bedded at night, and wolves howled in the distance, the boys on guard easily calmed the sleeping cattle by simply raising their voices in song. the desire of self-preservation is innate in the animal race, but as long as the human kept watch and ward, the sleeping cattle had no fear of the common enemy. an incident which i cannot explain, but was witness to, occurred during the war. while holding cattle for the confederate army we received a consignment of beeves from texas. one of the men who accompanied the herd through called my attention to a steer and vouchsafed the statement that the animal loved music,--that he could be lured out of the herd with singing. to prove his assertion, the man sang what he termed the steer's favorite, and to the surprise of every soldier present, a fine, big mottled beef walked out from among a thousand others and stood entranced over the simple song. in my younger days my voice was considered musical; i could sing the folk-songs of my country better than the average, and when the herdsmen left us, i was pleased to see that my vocal efforts fascinated the late arrival from texas. within a week i could call him out with a song, when i fell so deeply in love with the broad-horn texan that his life was spared through my disloyalty. in the daily issue to the army we kept him back as long as possible; but when our supply was exhausted, and he would have gone to the shambles the following day, i secretly cut him out at night and drove him miles to our rear, that his life might be spared. within a year he returned with another consignment of beef; comrades who were in the secret would not believe me; but when a quartette of us army herders sang "rock of ages," the steer walked out and greeted us with mute appreciation. we enjoyed his company for over a month, i could call him with a song as far as my voice reached, and when death again threatened him, we cut him to the rear and he was never spoken again. loyal as i was to the south, i would have deserted rather than have seen that steer go to the shambles. in bringing these reminiscences to a close, i wish to bear testimony in behalf of the men who lent their best existence that success should crown my efforts. aside from my family, the two pleasantest recollections of my life are my old army comrades and the boys who worked with me on the range and trail. when men have roughed it together, shared their hardships in field and by camp-fire like true comrades, there is an indescribable bond between them that puts to shame any pretense of fraternal brotherhood. among the hundreds, yes, the thousands, of men who worked for our old firm on the trail, all feel a pride in referring to former associations. i never leave home without meeting men, scattered everywhere, many of them prosperous, who come to me and say, "of course you don't remember me, but i made a trip over the trail with your cattle,--from san saba county in ' . jake de poyster was foreman. by the way, is your old partner, the little yankee major, still living?" the acquaintance, thus renewed by chance, was always a good excuse for neglecting any business, and many a happy hour have i spent, living over again with one of my old boys the experiences of the past. i want to say a parting word in behalf of the men of my occupation. sterling honesty was their chief virtue. a drover with an established reputation could enter any trail town a month in advance of the arrival of his cattle, and any merchant or banker would extend him credit on his spoken word. when the trail passed and the romance of the west was over, these same men were in demand as directors of banks or custodians of trust funds. they were simple as truth itself, possessing a rugged sense of justice that seemed to guide and direct their lives. on one occasion a few years ago, i unexpectedly dropped down from my double mountain ranch to an old cow town on the railroad. it was our regular business point, and i kept a small bank account there for current ranch expenses. as it happened, i needed some money, but on reaching the village found the banks closed, as it was labor day. casually meeting an old cowman who was a director in the bank with which i did business, i pretended to take him to task over my disappointment, and wound up my arraignment by asking, "what kind of a jim-crow bank are you running, anyhow?" "well, now, reed," said he in apology, "i really don't know why the bank should close to-day, but there must be some reason for it. i don't pay much attention to those things, but there's our cashier and bookkeeper,--you know hank and bill,--the boys in charge of the bank. well, they get together every once in a while and close her up for a day. i don't know why they do it, but those old boys have read history, and you can just gamble your last cow that there's good reasons for closing." the fraternal bond between rangemen recalls the sad end of one of my old trail bosses. the foreman in question was a faithful man, working for the firm during its existence and afterwards in my employ. i would have trusted my fortune to his keeping, my family thought the world of him, and many was the time that he risked his life to protect my interests. when my wife overlooks the shortcomings of a man, it is safe to say there is something redeemable in him, even though the offense is drinking. at idle times and with convivial company, this man would drink to excess, and when he was in his cups a spirit of harmless mischief was rampant in him, alternating with uncontrollable flashes of anger. though he was usually as innocent as a kitten, it was a deadly insult to refuse drinking with him, and one day he shot a circle of holes around a stranger's feet for declining an invitation. a complaint was lodged against him, and the sheriff, not knowing the man, thoughtlessly sent a mexican deputy to make the arrest. even then, had ordinary courtesy been extended, the unfortunate occurrence might have been avoided. but an undue officiousness on the part of the officer angered the old trail boss, who flashed into a rage, defying the deputy, and an exchange of shots ensued. the mexican was killed at the first fire, and my man mounted his horse unmolested, and returned to the ranch. i was absent at the time, but my wife advised him to go in and surrender to the proper authorities, and he obeyed her like a child. we all looked upon him as one of the family, and i employed the best of counsel. the circumstances were against him, however, and in spite of an able defense he received a sentence of ten years. no one questioned the justice of the verdict, the law must be upheld, and the poor fellow was taken to the penitentiary to serve out the sentence. my wife and i concealed the facts from the younger children, who were constantly inquiring after his return, especially my younger girls, with whom he was a great favorite. the incident was worse than a funeral; it would not die out, as never a day passed but inquiry was made after the missing man; the children dreamed about him, and awoke from their sleep to ask if he had come and if he had brought them anything. the matter finally affected my wife's nerves, the older boys knew the truth, and the younger children were becoming suspicious of the veracity of their parents. the truth was gradually leaking out, and after he had served a year in prison, i began a movement with the view of securing his pardon. my influence in state politics was always more or less courted, and appealing to my friends, i drew up a petition, which was signed by every prominent politician in that section, asking that executive clemency be extended in behalf of my old foreman. the governor was a good friend of mine, anxious to render me a service, and through his influence we managed to have the sentence so reduced that after serving two years the prisoner was freed and returned to the ranch. he was the same lovable character, tolerated by my wife and fondled by the children, and he refused to leave home for over a year. ever cautious to remove temptation from him, both my wife and i hoped that the lesson would last him through life, but in an unguarded hour he took to drink, and shot to death his dearest friend. for the second offense he received a life sentence. my regret over securing his pardon, and the subsequent loss of human life, affected me as no other event has ever done in my career. this man would have died for me or one of mine, and what i thought to be a generous act to a man in prison proved a curse that haunted me for many years. but all is well now between us. i make it a point to visit him at least once a year; we have talked the matter over and have come to the conclusion that the law is just and that he must remain in confinement the remainder of his days. that is now the compact, and, strange to say, both of us derive a sense of security and peace from our covenant such as we had never enjoyed during the year of his liberty. the wardens inform me that he is a model prisoner, perfectly content in his restraint; and i have promised him that on his death, whether it occurs before or after mine, his remains will be brought back to the home ranch and be given a quiet grave in some secluded spot. for any success that i may have achieved, due acknowledgment must be given my helpmate. i was blessed with a wife such as falls to the lot of few men. once children were born to our union and a hearthstone established, the family became the magnet of my life. it mattered not where my occupation carried me, or how long my absence from home, the lodestar of a wife and family was a sustaining help. our first cabin, long since reduced to ashes, lives in my memory as a palace. i was absent at the time of its burning, but my wife's father always enjoyed telling the story on his daughter. the elder edwards was branding calves some five miles distant from the home ranch, but on sighting the signal smoke of the burning house, he and his outfit turned the cattle loose, mounted their horses, and rode to the rescue at a break-neck pace. when they reached the scene our home was enveloped in flames, and there was no prospect of saving any of its contents. the house stood some distance from the other ranch buildings, and as there was no danger of the fire spreading, there was nothing that could be done and the flames held undisputed sway. the cause of the fire was unknown, my wife being at her father's house at the time; but on discovering the flames, she picked up the baby and ran to the burning cabin, entered it and rescued the little tin trunk that held her girlhood trinkets and a thousand certificates of questionable land scrip. when the men dashed up, my wife was sitting on the tin trunk, surrounded by the children, all crying piteously, fully unconscious of the fact that she had saved the foundation of my present landed holdings. the cabin had cost two weeks' labor to build, its contents were worthless, but i had no record of the numbers of the certificates, and to my wife's presence of mind or intuition in an emergency all credit is given for saving the land scrip. many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all. the compiling of these memoirs has been a pleasant task. in this summing-up of my active life, much has been omitted; and then again, there seems to have been a hopeless repetition with the recurring years, for seedtime and harvest come to us all as the seasons roll round. four of my boys have wandered far afield, forging out for themselves, not content to remain under the restraint of older brothers who have assumed the active management of my ranches. one bad general is still better than two good ones, and there must be a head to a ranch if it is to be made a success. i still keep an eye over things, but the rough, hard work now falls on younger shoulders, and i find myself delegated to amuse and be amused by the third generation of the anthonys. in spite of my years, i still enjoy a good saddle horse, scarcely a day passing but i ride from ten to twenty miles. there is a range maxim that "the eyes of the boss make a fat horse," and at deliveries of cattle, rounds-ups, and branding, my mere presence makes things move with alacrity. i can still give the boys pointers in handling large bodies of cattle, and the ranch outfits seem to know that we old-time cowmen have little use for the modern picturesque cowboy, unless he is an all-round man and can deliver the goods in any emergency. with but a few years of my allotted span yet to run, i find myself in the full enjoyment of all my faculties, ready for a romp with my grandchildren or to crack a joke with a friend. my younger girls are proving splendid comrades, always ready for a horseback ride or a trip to the city. it has always been a characteristic of the anthony family that they could ride a horse before they could walk, and i find the third generation following in the footsteps of their elders. my grandsons were all expert with a rope before they could read, and it is one of the evidences of a merciful providence that their lives have been spared, as it is nearly impossible to keep them out of mischief and danger. to forbid one to ride a certain dangerous horse only serves to heighten his anxiety to master the outlaw, and to banish him from the branding pens means a prompt return with or without an excuse. on one occasion, on the double mountain ranch, with the corrals full of heavy cattle, i started down to the pens, but met two of my grandsons coming up the hill, and noticed at a glance that there had been trouble. i stopped the boys and inquired the cause of their tears, when the youngest, a barefooted, chubby little fellow, said to me between his sobs, "grandpa, you'd--you'd--you'd better keep away from those corrals. pa's as mad as a hornet, and--and--and he quirted us--yes, he did. if you fool around down there, he'll--he'll--he'll just about wear you out." should this transcript of my life ever reach the dignity of publication, the casual reader, in giving me any credit for success, should bear in mind the opportunities of my time. my lot was cast with the palmy days of the golden west, with its indefinable charm, now past and gone and never to return. in voicing this regret, i desire to add that my mistakes are now looked back to as the chastening rod, leading me to an appreciation of higher ideals, and the final testimony that life is well worth the living. bert wilson in the rockies by j. w. duffield author of "bert wilson at the wheel," "wireless operator," "fadeaway ball," "marathon winner," "at panama." new york george sully & company publishers copyright, , by sully and kleinteich published and printed, by western printing & lithographing company racine, wisconsin printed in u.s.a. contents chapter i. a desperate encounter ii. the ranch in the rockies iii. "busting" a broncho iv. a forest terror v. the grizzly at bay vi. the "ringer's" downfall vii. the wolf pack viii. with teeth and hoofs ix. the indian outbreak x. in fearful extremity xi. within an ace xii. quick on the draw xiii. trailing the outlaws xiv. the race for life bert wilson in the rockies chapter i a desperate encounter a shower of glass from the shattered windowpane fell over the floor and seats, and a bullet embedded itself in the woodwork of an upper berth. there was a shriek from the women passengers in the crowded pullman, and the men looked at each other in consternation. from the platform came the sound of a scuffle, interspersed with oaths. then, through the narrow corridor that bordered the smoking-room, hurried two men, pushing the terrified negro porter ahead of them. each of the intruders wore a black cloth tied over the lower part of his face, and before the bewildered passengers knew what had happened they found themselves looking along the blue-black barrels of two ugly revolvers. it was a startling break in an uneventful day. for several hours the overland limited had hummed along over the boundless prairies that stretched away on either side with scarcely a break to the horizon. they had time to make up, and on these open spaces the engineer had let it out to the limit. so swiftly and smoothly had it sped along that the "click, click" as it struck each separate rail had merged into one droning "song of the road." there had been no rain for a week past, and the dust lay thick on the grass and cactus. the motion of the train drew it up in clouds that made it impossible to keep the windows raised, and the sun, beating down pitilessly from a brazen sky, added to the general discomfort. cooling drinks were at a premium, and the porters were kept busy making trips to the buffet car, from which they returned with tinkling glasses and cooling ices. collars wilted and conversation languished. women glanced listlessly over the pages of the magazines. men drew their traveling caps over their eyes and settled down for a doze. here and there a commercial traveler jotted down some item or wondered how far he dared to "pad" his expense account so that it would "get by" the lynx-eyed head of the firm. in the smoking-room a languid game of cards was being played, in an effort to beguile the tedious monotony of the trip. over all there brooded a spirit of somnolence and relaxation. if there was life to be discerned anywhere, it was in a group of three young fellows seated near the middle of the car. they would have drawn more than a passing glance wherever seen. tall, well set up, muscular, they served as splendid types of young american manhood. none of them were over twenty, and their lean, bronzed faces, as well as the lithe alertness of their movements, spoke of a life spent largely in the open. they were brimming with life and high spirits. exuberant vitality shone through their eyes and betrayed itself in every gesture. that they were friends of long standing was evident from the utter absence of ceremony and the free and easy comradeship with which they chaffed each other. from the beginning of the trip they had been full of fun and merriment. their college year had just closed, and they were like frolicsome colts turned out to pasture. there was hardly an incident of the journey that did not furnish to their keen, unjaded senses something of interest and amusement. their cup of life was full and they drained it in great draughts. but just now even their effervescence was calmed somewhat by the heat and spirit of drowsiness that hovered over the car. "gee," yawned the youngest of the three, stretching out lazily. "isn't it nearly twelve o'clock? i wonder when that dusky gentleman will come along with the call to dinner." "always hungry," laughed one of the others. "the rest of us eat to live, but tom lives to eat." "you've struck it there, dick," assented the third. "you know they say that no one has ever been able to eat a quail a day for thirty days hand running, but i'd be willing to back tom to do it." "well, i wouldn't quail at the prospect," began tom complacently, and then ducked as dick made a pass at him. "even at that, i haven't got anything on you fellows," he went on, in an aggrieved tone. "when you disciples of 'plain living and high thinking' get at the dinner table, i notice that it soon becomes a case of high living and plain thinking." "such low-brow insinuations deserve no answer," said dick severely. "anyway," consulting his watch, "it's only half-past eleven, so you'll have to curb the promptings of your grosser nature." "no later than that?" groaned tom. "i don't know when a morning has seemed so long in passing." "it _is_ a little slow. i suppose it's this blistering heat and the long distance between stations. it's about time something happened to break the monotony." "don't raise false hopes, bert," said tom, cynically. "nothing ever happens nowadays." "oh, i don't know," laughed bert. "how about the mexican bandits and the chinese pirates? something certainly happened when we ran up against those rascals." "they were lively scraps, all right," admitted tom, "but we had to go out of the country to get them. in the little old united states, we've got too much civilization. everything is cut and dried and pared and polished, until there are no rough edges left. think of the fellows that made this trip across the continent sixty years ago in their prairie schooners, getting cross-eyed from looking for buffalo with one eye and indians with the other, feeling their scalp every five minutes to make sure they still had it. that was life." "or death," put in dick skeptically. "then look at us," went on tom, not deigning to notice the interruption, "rolling along smoothly at fifty miles an hour in a car that's like a palace, with its cushioned seats and electric lights and library and bath and soft beds and rich food and servants to wait upon us. we're pampered children of luxury, all right, but i'm willing to bet that those 'horny-handed sons of toil' had it on us when it came to the real joy of living." "tom was born too late?" chaffed bert. "he doesn't really belong in the twentieth century. he ought to have lived in the time of ivanhoe, or young lochinvar, or the three musketeers, or robin hood. i can see him bending a bow in nottingham forest or breaking a lance in a tournament or storming a fortress by day, and at night twanging a guitar beneath a castle window or writing a sonnet to his lady's eyebrow." "well, anyhow," defended tom, "those fellows of the olden time had good red blood in their veins." "yes," assented dick drily, "but it didn't stay there long. there were too many sword points ready to let it out." and yet, despite their good-natured "joshing" of tom, they, quite as much as he, were eager for excitement and adventure. in the fullest sense they were "birds of a feather." in earlier and ruder days they would have been soldiers of fortune, cutting their ways through unknown forests, facing without flinching savage beasts and equally savage men, looking ever for new worlds to conquer. even in these "piping days of peace" that they so much deplored, they had shown an almost uncanny ability to get into scrapes of various kinds, from which sometimes they had narrowly escaped with a whole skin. again and again their courage had been severely tried, and had stood the test. at home and abroad, on land and sea, they had come face to face with danger and death. but the fortune that "favors the brave" had not deserted them, even in moments of deadliest peril. they were accustomed to refer to themselves laughingly as "lucky," but those who knew them best preferred to call them plucky. a stout heart and a quick wit had "many a time and oft" extricated them from positions where luck alone would have failed them. and most of their adventures had been shared in company. the tie of friendship that bound them together as closely as brothers was of long standing. beginning at a summer camp, five years earlier, where chance had thrown them together, it had grown increasingly stronger with every year that passed. a subtle free masonry had from the start made each recognize the others as kindred spirits. since this first meeting their paths had seldom diverged. together they had gone to college, where their athletic prowess had put them in the first rank in sports and made them popular among their comrades. on the baseball diamond they had played their positions in brilliant fashion, and on the football gridiron they had added to their laurels. when bert had been chosen to go to the olympic games abroad, his "pals" had gone with him and exulted in his glorious victory, when, in the marathon race, he had beaten the crack runners of the world. nor were they to be denied, when his duty as wireless operator had carried him over the pacific to meet with thrilling experiences among the yellow men of asia. in every time of storm and stress they had stood with him shoulder to shoulder, and faced life and death with eyes wide open and unafraid. they were worthy lieutenants of a brave and intrepid leader. for, that he was their leader, they themselves would have been the first to admit, although he would have modestly disclaimed it. he never asserted leadership, but it sought him out of its own accord. he had the instinct, the initiative, the quick decision, the magnetic personality that marks the born captain. it was not merely that he was endowed with strength of muscle and fleetness of foot and power of endurance that placed him in a class by himself. he might have had all these, and still been only a superb specimen of the "human animal." but, above and controlling these qualities, was the indomitable will, the unflinching courage, the gallant audacity that made him the idol of his comrades. the college year just ended had been a notable one, marked by victories on track and field. together with the high rank he had reached and held in his studies, with which, unlike many athletes, he never allowed sport to interfere, it had taxed him heavily in mind and body. and it was with unfeigned delight that he now looked forward to a long season of recreation and adventure on the ranch in montana, toward which he and his friends were speeding. mr. melton, the owner of the ranch, was a western cattleman of the old type, now rapidly disappearing. bluff, rough and ready, generous and courageous, his sterling qualities had won the admiration and affection of the boys from the date of their first meeting the year before. that meeting had taken place under extraordinary circumstances. the "three guardsmen"--so called in joke, because they were always together--journeying to the opening of the panama canal had found themselves on the same train with melton, as it wound its way through central mexico. a broken trestle had made it necessary for the train to halt for an hour or two, and during this enforced stop dick had carelessly wandered away on a stroll through the woods, tempted by the beauty of the day and the novelty of his surroundings. at a turn in the road he had suddenly found himself in the presence of twenty or more guerillas, headed by the notorious el tigre, whose name was spoken with a shudder throughout mexico. they had bound him and carried him off to their mountain retreat. bert and tom, an hour later, discovered the cause of his absence and immediately started in pursuit, determined to save their comrade or die with him. but first they had disclosed the situation to melton, who had sworn in his rage to follow after them and aid them in the rescue. how faithfully he had kept his word, how skillfully and daringly he had led them on and rushed the camp just as dick was steeling himself to undergo the rattlesnake torture that the bandit chief had planned for him, was engraven indelibly on the memories of the boys. until the day of their death they could never forget how the old war horse, with everything to lose and nothing to gain, had come to their assistance simply because they were americans and in dire need of help. and on melton's part the feeling was equally warm. he had taken an instantaneous liking to these young countrymen of his who had played their part so gallantly. they recalled to him the days of his own stormy youth, when he had ridden the range and when his life had depended on his iron nerve and his quickness with the trigger. though older than they by forty years, they were all cut on the same pattern of sturdy, self-reliant american manhood, and it was with the utmost cordiality that he had crushed their hands in his strong grip and urged them to visit him at his ranch in the rockies. since then he had been east on a business trip and had been present on that memorable day when bert, with the ball tucked under his arm, had torn down the field in the great race for the goal that won the game in the last minute of play. then he had renewed the invitation with redoubled earnestness, and promised them the time of their lives. they needed no urging to do a thing that accorded so well with their own inclinations, and from that time on until the opening of the summer had shaped everything with that end in view. now they were actually launched upon their journey. that it held for them a new and delightful experience they did not doubt. how much of danger and excitement and hairbreadth escape it also held, they did not even dream. "bully old boy, melton," commented tom, playing lazily with a heavy paperweight he had bought at a curio shop at their last stopping place. "a diamond in the rough," assented dick. "all wool and a yard wide," declared bert, emphatically. "i wonder if he----great scott, what's that?" as a bullet whizzed through the window of the pullman. the question was quickly answered when their eyes fell on the robbers, who, with leveled pistols, dominated the car. and the threat of the weapons themselves was not more sinister than the purpose that glinted in the ferocious eyes above the improvised masks. there was no mere bluff and bluster in that steady gaze. they were ready to shoot and shoot to kill. their lives were already forfeit to the law, anyway, and in that rough country they would get "a short shrift and a long rope" if their plans went astray. they might as well be hung for murder as robbery, and, while they did not mean to kill unless driven to it, they were perfectly ready to do so at the first hint of resistance. the paralyzing moment of surprise passed, there was a stir among the passengers. the first instinct was to hide their valuables or drop them on the floor. but this was checked instantly by the outlaws. "hands up," shouted one of them with an oath. "i'll kill the first man that makes a move." his pistol ranged over the car, flickering like the tongue of a snake, seeming to cover every passenger at once. beneath its deadly insistence, hands were upraised one after the other. resistance at that moment meant instant death. the unwritten law of the west had to be obeyed. he "had the drop" on them. the leader grinned malignantly and spoke to his companion, without for an instant turning his gaze. "now, bill," he growled, "i've got these mavericks covered. pass round the hat. these gents--and ladies," he leered--"will hand over their coin and jewelry, and god help the one who tries to renig. he won't never need money no more." taking his old sombrero from his head, the one addressed as bill started in to collect from the front of the car. "only one hand down at a time to get your money," shouted his companion. "and mind," he added ominously, "i'm watchin' that hand." pocket books and rings and watches dropped into the hat. women were sobbing hysterically and men were cursing under their breath. "stung," groaned tom disgustedly. "and our pistols in our bags," growled dick. bert's mind had been working like lightning. he was always at his best when danger threatened. now his body grew taut and his eyes gleamed. "be ready, you fellows," he said in low tones, scarcely moving his lips. "dick, back me up when i make a move. tom, got that paperweight handy?" "right alongside on the window ledge," muttered tom. still keeping his eyes in an innocent stare on the outlaw captain, bert murmured a few words. they caught his meaning on the instant and were ready. the man with the hat was getting nearer. there had been no sign of resistance and the leader relaxed his caution ever so slightly. this was easier than they had dared to hope. the sombrero was sagging now with the unwilling wealth poured into it, and the collector, relying on the vigilance of his companion, was compelled to use both hands to keep the contents from spilling on the floor. he held it out in front of bert and dick. "your turn now," he snarled. "fork over." they lowered their hands as though to get out their money. then something happened. like a flash, dick grabbed the pistol hand of the collector, while bert's fist shot up in a tremendous smashing uppercut. the man staggered back, and bert and dick were on him like a pair of wildcats. at the same instant, with all the power of his trained baseball arm, tom had hurled the heavy paperweight straight at the outlaw captain. it caught him full between the eyes. his pistol fell from his hand, going off as it did so, and he crumpled up and went down to the floor in a heap. it was all over in a second. the whole thing had been so perfectly timed, brain and hand had worked in such absolute unison that disaster had come on the outlaws like a bolt from the blue. it was "team work" of the finest kind. the first surprise over, the other men in the car came crowding to the assistance of the chief actors in the scrimmage. but the danger was past. the leader was unconscious, and the other, badly beaten and cursing horribly, was helpless in the grasp of the victors. train men, rushing in, took charge of the prisoners and trussed them up securely. a posse was hastily organized among the passengers and, heavily armed, swarmed from the train in quest of the two remaining members of the band, who had been left to guard the engineer and fireman. the miscreants saw them coming, however, and realized that the game was up. they emptied their pistols and then flung themselves upon their horses and galloped off, secure for the time from further pursuit. the conductor, still pale and shaken from excitement, gave the signal. there was a scramble to get aboard, the whistle tooted and the train once more got under way. in the pullman there was a wild turmoil, as the relieved passengers crowded around the boys and wrung their hands in congratulation. they couldn't say enough in praise of the courage and presence of mind that had turned the tables so swiftly and gallantly. the spoils were retrieved and distributed among the rightful owners, and then, with a bow of mock politeness, the old sombrero, empty now, was clapped on the head of the baffled collector, who received it with a new string of blasphemies. by this time the victim of tom's unerring aim had gradually struggled back to consciousness. his arms and feet had been securely tied and his remaining revolver had been taken from his belt. of a stronger mold than his accomplice, he disdained to vent his rage in useless imprecations and relapsed into silence as stoical as an indian's. but, if looks could kill, the boys would have been blasted by the brooding hate that shot from under his jutting brows. "i'm glad it didn't kill him, anyway," said tom, as, after the tumult had somewhat subsided, they once more were seated and the train was flying along at full speed. "it's a wonder it didn't," responded dick. "it was a fearful crack." "tom hasn't forgotten the way he used to shoot them down from third base to first," laughed bert. "that right wing of his is certainly a dandy." "it's lucky it is," said the conductor, who had just returned from giving directions concerning the prisoners; "and talking about wings," he added, turning to bert, "there's no discount on yours. that fist hit like a sledgehammer. the way you fellows piled into him was a crime. i never saw a prettier bit of rough house. "but the beauty of it all," he went on, "was the way you worked together. if any one of you hadn't 'come through' at the same second, the jig would have been up. who figured it out?" "here's the slow thinker that did it," said dick, clapping bert on the shoulder. "that's the bonehead, sure enough," echoed tom. "oh, come off," growled bert, flushing a little and fidgeting uneasily in his seat. "there was a whole lot of luck about it, anyway. if we hadn't had the paperweight, all the thinking in the world wouldn't have done us a bit of good." "if you hadn't had the thinking, all the paperweights in the world wouldn't have done us a bit of good," corrected tom. "well, there's glory enough for all," smiled the conductor. "the main point is that you fellows have put me and the company under a load of gratitude and obligation that we can never repay. call it quick thinking, quick acting, or both--you turned the trick." "it had to be a case of 'the quick or the dead,'" grinned tom. "sure thing," assented the conductor. "you were the quick and those two rascals are the dead. or will be before long," he added grimly. "i'll turn them over to the sheriff at the next station. there's a hand bill in the baggage car describing a band of outlaws that the authorities of three states have been after for a long time for robbery and murder, and two of the descriptions fit these fellows to a dot. there's a price on their heads, dead or alive, and i guess they've reached the end of their rope in more senses than one." he passed on and the boys relaxed in their seats. they were still under the nervous strain of the stirring scene in which they had been the chief actors. tom's breath was coming fast and his eyes were shining. bert looked at him for a moment and then nudged dick. "didn't i hear some one say a little while ago," he asked slyly, "that in this little old united states there was too much civilization?" "yes," replied dick, still quoting, "nothing ever happens nowadays." chapter ii the ranch in the rockies with a great roar and rattle and clangor of bells, the train drew up at the little station where the boys were to descend. their long rail journey of nearly three thousand miles was over, but they still had a forty-mile drive before they would reach the ranch. for a half hour previous they had been gathering their traps together and saying good-by to their friends on the train. these last included all of the travelers, who, since the capture of the robbers, had insisted on making heroes of the boys. in vain they had protested that the thanks were out of all proportion to the service rendered. the passengers themselves knew better. and it was amid a chorus of the friendliest farewells and good wishes that they had stepped to the rude platform of the station. "not much of a metropolis about this," said tom as they looked around. "hardly," agreed dick. "the principal thing here is space. you can cross the street without the help of a traffic cop." "and only one street to cross, at that," added bert. it was the typical small town of the western plains. the one crooked street parallel with the track stretched on either side of the station for perhaps half a mile, lined with houses at irregular intervals. there was no pretence of a sidewalk and even fences were conspicuous by their absence. the business part of the town consisted of a general store that served also as a post office, a blacksmith shop and three saloons, to one of which a dance hall was attached. business seemed brisk in these, judging from the many mustangs that were tied to rails outside, patiently waiting for their masters who were "tanking up" within and accumulating their daily quota of "nose paint." a mexican in a tattered serape was sitting on the steps of the store rolling a cigarette, while an indian, huddled in a greasy blanket and evidently much the worse for fire water, sat crouched against the shack that served as baggage-room at the left end of the station. down the platform came hustling a big burly form that they recognized in an instant. "mr. melton," they cried in chorus as they rushed with extended hands to meet him. "sure thing," he responded, his face beaming with delight at their hearty greeting. "did you think i'd send one of my men to meet you? not on your life. nothing less than a broken leg would have kept me from coming to give you the first welcome to old montana. came down yesterday so that the horses could have a good rest before starting back again. come right along now and tumble into the buckboard. one of my men will look after your duds and bring them along later." all talking at once, they came to the farther end of the platform, where a big mountain wagon was waiting. it was drawn by a pair of wiry mustangs that champed impatiently at the bit. "not very pretty to look at," said melton, "but they're holy terrors when it comes to traveling. jump in." they all piled in and melton gathered up the reins. he chirped to the horses and they started off at a rate that justified all he had said as to their speed. but he held them in check and subdued them to a trot that, while moderate in appearance, ate up the miles amazingly. "pure grit and iron, those little sinners," he commented. "but they've got a long way to go, and we're sure even at this rate to get home in plenty of time for supper. now, tell me all about yourselves." which they proceeded to do in detail, not neglecting the attempted hold-up on the train. he listened with the keenest interest. "so you got the best of 'red' thompson and 'shag' leary," he exclaimed in astonishment. "the toughest nuts we've had to crack in this section for years. a good many people will breathe easier now that they're trapped. they're 'bad men' through and through, and if their pistol butts had a notch on them for every man they've killed, they'd look like saws. and with nothing but a paperweight and bare fists," he chuckled. "they sure must feel sore. what was done with them?" "oh, the conductor handed them over to the sheriff at one of the stations," answered bert. "i suppose they'll be tried before long." "maybe," said melton a little dubiously. "my own private hunch, though, is that judge lynch will invite them to a little necktie party. they've lived a heap sight too long already, and there won't be much formality wasted on them. "you boys sure have the nerve," he went on. "you got away with it all right, but you took an awful chance." "yes," quoted dick: 'an inch to the left or an inch to the right, and we wouldn't be maundering here to-night.'" "those born to be hung will never be shot," laughed tom. "i guess that explains our escape so far." "it beats the dutch the faculty you fellows have of getting into scrapes and out again," commented melton. "i believe you'd smell a scrap a mile away. you'd rather fight than eat." "you won't think so when you see what we'll do to that supper of yours to-night," retorted tom. "gee, but this air does give you an appetite." "the one thing above all others that tom doesn't need," chaffed dick. "but he's right, just the same. the way i feel i could make a wolf look like thirty cents." "you can't scare me with that kind of talk," challenged melton. "let out your belts to the last notch and i'll guarantee they'll be tight when you get up from the table." "that listens good," said tom. "i'm perfectly willing you should call my bluff." with jest and laughter the afternoon wore on and the shadows cast by the declining sun began to lengthen. after their long confinement on the train, the boys felt as though they had been released from prison. they had been so accustomed to a free, unfettered life that they had chafed at the three days' detention, where the only chance they had to stretch their limbs had been afforded by the few minutes wait at stations. now they enjoyed to the full the sense of release that came to them in their new surroundings. the west, as seen from a car window, was a vastly different thing when viewed from the seat of a buckboard going at a spanking gait over the limitless plains. for that they were limitless was the impression conveyed by the unbroken skyline that seemed to be a thousand miles away. only in the northwest did mountains loom. they had never before had such an impression of the immensity of space. it seemed as though the whole expanse had been created for them, and them alone. for many miles they saw no human figure except that of a solitary cowboy, who passed them at a gallop on his way to the town. the country was slightly rolling and richly grassed, affording pasturage for thousands of cattle that roamed over it at will, almost as free as though in a wild state, except at the time of the round-up. they crossed numerous small rivers, none so deep that they could not be forded, although in one case the water flowed over the body of the wagon. "that's the little big horn river," said melton as they drew out on the other side. "perhaps you fellows remember something that happened here a good many years ago." "what," cried bert. "you don't mean the custer massacre?" "that's what," returned melton. "right over there where the river bends was the place where sitting bull was encamped when custer led the charge on that june morning. i've got to breathe the horses for twenty minutes or so, and, if you like, we'll look over the field." if they would like! the boys thrilled at the thought. they had read again and again of that gallant and hopeless fight, where a thousand american cavalrymen led by custer, the idol of the army, had attacked nine thousand indians, and fighting against these fearful odds had been wiped out to the last man. in all the nation's history no one, except perhaps phil sheridan and stonewall jackson, had so appealed to the imagination of the country's youth as custer, the reckless, yellow-haired leader in a hundred fights, the hero of cedar creek and waynesboro and five forks, the chevalier bayard of modern times, "without fear and without reproach," who met his death at last as he would have wished to meet it, in that mad glorious dash that has made his name immortal, going down as he had lived with his face to the foe. to these ardent young patriots the place was holy ground, and their pulses leaped and their hearts swelled as melton pointed out the features of the field and narrated some of the incidents of that awful, but magnificent, fight. it was with intense reluctance that, warned by the gathering shadows, they tore themselves away. "can't wait any longer now," said melton as they retraced their steps to the place where the horses were browsing; "but some day soon we'll come down here early and spend the whole day. it won't be any too long to get a clear idea of the fight and all that led up to it." the mustangs, refreshed by the rest, and feeling too that they were on the last stretch of their journey, needed no urging, and melton gave them their head. "must be pretty near your place now, i suppose," said tom. "well, yes," answered melton, with a twinkle in his eyes; "been traveling on my lands for the last eight miles. house not more than five miles ahead." the boys gasped. it was something new to them to hear one speak as carelessly of miles as a farmer back east would speak of acres. now they were getting some idea of what was meant when one spoke of the "boundless west." "got to have room to stretch my arms without hitting anything," went on melton. "of course, i don't use much of it for farming. just raise enough to take care of the table and the stock. but for grazing there ain't any better pasture for cattle in the whole state of montana." "then all the cattle we've seen grazing by thousands for the last few miles belong to you?" asked dick, as soon as he had recovered from his surprise. "sure thing," returned their host, "and they're only a few of them. it would take a cowboy the better part of a day to start at one end of the ranch and circle around it. and there's plenty of ranches in the state bigger than mine." now the going was steadily uphill and the horses subsided to a walk. they were in the foothills of the rockies. in the gathering dusk they could see ahead of them the mighty peaks in the background rising to a height of many thousand feet. higher and higher they went, until they were as much as six hundred feet above sea level. if they had had no other proof they would have found it in the increasing rarity of the air and the slightly greater difficulty in breathing. "you'll soon get used to that," said melton. "after a day or two you won't notice any difference. i could of course have built on a lower level, and in some ways that would have been an advantage. but when i settled here i made up my mind that i wanted air that was washed clean by the mountain breezes, and i planted my stakes according." soon they reached a broad, level plateau, and, a little way off, could see the lights coming from a low-lying group of buildings. several dogs came rushing down with barks of welcome, and a couple of men lounging near one of the corrals removed the bars of a huge gate, from which the path led up to the largest of the buildings. it was a rambling structure only two stories in height, but covering a vast extent of ground and suggestive of homely comfort and hospitality. a broad veranda extended along three sides of the house, and in front a well-kept flower garden bordered the path that led to the door. as they approached, heralded by the noisy greeting of the dogs, the door was thrown wide open and mrs. melton appeared in the flood of light that streamed from within. she was a pleasant-faced, motherly-looking woman, and she welcomed the boys with open arms. there was no mistaking the warmth and sincerity of her greeting. they felt at home at once and in a few minutes were chatting and laughing as easily as though they had known her for years. perhaps the memory of her own two boys, dead long since, but who would have been just about the age of the newcomers had they lived, added to the hearty cordiality with which she took them under her wing. "we oughtn't to need any introduction at all," she beamed, "because mr. melton has done nothing but talk about you ever since he came back from that last trip to mexico. i wouldn't dare to tell you all he said, for fear of making you conceited. i really think the last trip he made east was more to see you than anything else. he said he was going on business, but i have my own opinion about that." "well, if it hadn't been for him we wouldn't have been there to see," said bert warmly. "the vultures would have had us long ago, if he hadn't risked his own life to help us out of trouble." "nothing at all, nothing at all," deprecated melton. "you gave me a chance for a lovely scrap, just when i was beginning to wonder whether i'd forgotten how to fight. i've felt ten years younger ever since." "you don't need to get any younger," retorted his wife in affectionate reproach. "you're just as much of a boy as you ever were. i declare," she laughed, turning to her guests; "i ought to call him peter pan. he'll never grow up." "well, he's a pretty husky youngster," grinned tom, looking admiringly at his host's two hundred and forty pounds of bone and muscle. but now mrs. melton's housewifely instincts asserted themselves, and she shooed the boys off to their rooms to rid themselves of the dust of the journey, while she bustled round to get supper on the table. a few minutes later and they were gathered at supper in the brightly-lighted, well-furnished dining-room of the ranch. it was a jolly party, where every one radiated happiness and good nature. there was not a particle of stiffness or pretence in that wholesome environment. the delight of their hosts in having them there found an echo in the hearts of the boys, and they were soon on as genial and friendly a footing as though they had known them all their lives. and that supper! to the hungry boys, with their naturally keen appetites still further sharpened by the long ride, it seemed a feast fit for the gods. the table fairly groaned beneath the weight of good things placed upon it. crisp trout freshly taken from the mountain brook, a delicious roast flanked by snowy mounds of potatoes and vegetables just plucked from the garden patch, luscious berries warm with the sun, deluged with rich cream, and pastries "such as mother used to make" offered a challenge to the boys that they gleefully accepted. they ate like famished wolves, while mrs. melton bridled with pride at the tribute paid to her cooking; and, when at last they had fairly cleared the board, they sat back with a sigh of content at duty well performed. "how about those belts?" laughed melton, as he lighted his pipe. "tight as a drum," tom answered for all. "you called my bluff, all right." "sallie certainly knows how to cook," said mr. melton, patting his wife's hand. "you mustn't give me all the credit," smiled mrs. melton, smoothing out her apron. "that chinese cook you brought back with you the last time you went to helena is certainly a treasure. i don't know how i'd get along now without him." "that reminds me," said melton, with a quick glance at his wife. "just send him in here for a minute, will you?" she went into the kitchen and a moment later returned, followed by a chinaman, who shuffled along in his heelless slippers. the boys glanced at him indifferently for a moment. then a startled recognition leaped into their eyes. "wah lee," they cried in chorus, jumping to their feet. "that same old yellow sinner," confirmed melton complacently. the chinaman himself was shocked for a moment out of his oriental stolidity. a delighted smile spread over his face and he broke into an excited jargon of "pidgin english," of which the refrain was: "velly glad slee. wah lee velly glad slee." then in a burst of grateful memory he threw himself to the floor and tried to put their feet upon his head, as a token that he was their slave for life. but they jerked him upright in a torrent of eager questioning. "you old rascal." "how did you ever get here?" "i thought you were back in china by this time." but wah lee's smile was more expansive than his vocabulary was extensive. "him tell," he said, pointing to mr. melton. "i thought it would be a surprise party," that worthy chuckled as he refilled his pipe. "so i didn't tell you anything about it nor did i tell the chink that you were coming. it was a surprise, all right," and he chuckled again. "it won't take very long to explain," he went on when his pipe was drawing well. "you remember that after you got back from your trip to the canal you gave him money enough to go west and start a little laundry business wherever he might choose to settle down. it seems he drifted out to helena, where there's quite a colony of chinks, and started in to wash and iron. as nearly as i can understand his gibberish, he was doing pretty well, too, until he got mixed up in one of those secret society feuds that play hob among those fellows. it seems that he belonged to the on leong clan and the hip son tong got after him. they sent on to 'frisco for some highbinders--those professional killers, you know--and wah lee got wind of the fact that he was one of the victims marked for slaughter. naturally, he was in a fearful stew about it, and just when things were at their worst i happened to be in helena on business and ran across him. of course, i'd never have known him, for all chinks look alike to me, but he recognized me in a minute and begged me by all his gods to help him out. he knew it wouldn't do any good to go from one city to another, because they'd get him sure, and his only chance was to be smuggled off into some country place where they might lose track of him. it seemed rather hard lines for the old fellow, and though i didn't care much to mix up in the rescue stunt, i didn't have the heart to turn him down. so he sold out his shop to one of his own society, and i brought him out at night. i didn't know just what i'd do with him, but it turns out that he is a dandy cook, and mrs. melton insists that my running across him was a rare streak of luck." "it certainly was for him, anyway," said bert. "i'd hate to have anything happen to the old boy. he had a pretty rough deal in mexico." "he did, for a fact," agreed melton reminiscently, "and he hasn't gotten over it yet. a little while ago one of my men brought in a snake that he had killed on his way back from town. the boys were looking at it when the chink happened to come along, and one of them, in a joke, threw it at him. you never saw a fellow so scared. i thought for a minute he was going to throw a fit." "i don't wonder," said dick soberly. for he, as well as wah lee, would never look upon one of those hideous reptiles without a shudder. as clearly as though it were yesterday, he saw again that morning in the mexican hills, when, tied to a tree, he had looked upon the monster rattlesnake that was to torture him, and prayed that he might have courage to die without disgracing his manhood. wah lee, his companion in captivity, had been brought out first, thrown flat on the ground and fastened securely to stakes. just out of reach, a rattlesnake, with a buckskin thong passed through its tail, was tied to a stake. tortured by rage and pain, the reptile struck at the chinaman's face, but couldn't quite make the distance. then water was poured on the thong and it began to stretch. with each spring the awful fangs came nearer, and it was only a question of minutes before they would be embedded in the victim's flesh. then, from the woods, melton's bowie knife had whizzed, slicing the snake's head from his body, and the next instant in a rain of bullets the rescuing party had burst into the clearing. later on, they had found wah lee on their hands, and at his earnest entreaties had taken him with them to panama. there he had found employment in the house of a wealthy japanese landholder, and by the merest chance had been able to convey to bert a hint of the conspiracy to destroy the canal. the plot had been frustrated by bert's daring exploit, and on the return of the party to america wah lee had again accompanied them. when they had provided for him and sent him west they never thought that again their paths would cross. yet here he was, as bland and smiling as ever, on this remote ranch in the rocky mountains. the world was only a small place, after all. for a long time after he had trotted away again to his duties in the kitchen they sat discussing the exciting events that his reappearance had brought back to their minds. then, at last, melton arose and shook the ashes from his pipe. "i reckon you youngsters are about ready to turn in," he said. "you've had a long ride and it's getting pretty late. we'll have plenty of time to chin before the summer's over. for i give you fair warning," he added with his genial smile, "i've got you roped now and i ain't going to let you go in a hurry." he took them up to their rooms, cool, spacious and provided with every comfort. there with a cordial good-night he left them. their windows faced toward the north and commanded a magnificent view of the mountains. tall, solemn, majestic, they towered upward in wild and rugged beauty. the moon had risen and the distant peaks were flooded with light. it was a scene to delight the soul of an artist and the boys lingered under the spell. "just such a night as when we crouched in the shadow of that big rock in the mexican forest," murmured bert. "do you remember, tom?" "yes," answered tom; "but i don't think the moon will ever again see us in such a desperate fix as we were in that night." which showed that tom had not the gift of prophecy. chapter iii "busting" a broncho the boys slept that night the dreamless sleep of wholesome fatigue and perfect health, and awoke the next morning as fresh as daisies. life is astir early on a ranch, and the day's work had fairly begun when they came down to breakfast. the smell of hot coffee and frying bacon had whetted their appetites, and they needed no urging from their hosts to do full justice to the ample meal that awaited them. then they hurried outdoors to make acquaintance with this new life that they had looked forward to so impatiently. it was a glorious morning. there was not a cloud in the sky and a light breeze tempered the heat of the sun. at that high level it was seldom sultry, and the contrast to the heat of the sun-baked plains below was refreshing. it amply justified, in the boys' opinion, mr. melton's wisdom in the choice of this airy plateau as a location for his home. the mountains hemmed them in on the north, but on the west and east and south stretched grassy plains and rolling slopes as far as the eye could reach. great herds of cattle dotted the expanse, and here and there could be seen a mounted cowboy, winding in and out among the stock. dark lines at short intervals marked the course of artificial canals, that were fed by a series of pipes from brooks back in the mountains. there was an inexhaustible supply of sparkling water, and it was evident that the fortunate owner of this ranch was forever secure against drought--that scourge of the western plains. "it must have cost a mint of money to do all that piping and digging," suggested bert as his eyes took in the vast extent of the operations. "yes, a good many thousands," assented his host, "but it pays to do things right. i've already got back a good many times over all that it cost. a single hot barren summer would destroy thousands of head of cattle, to say nothing of the suffering of the poor brutes. and those that didn't die would be so worn to skin and bone that they'd hardly pay the expense of shipping them to market. the only way to make money in ranching nowadays is to do things on a big scale and take advantage of all up-to-date ideas. "a good many people," he went on, "have an idea that if a man has a good ranch and a few thousand head of stock he's found a short and easy way to riches. that doesn't follow at all. there are just as many chances, just as many ups and downs as in any other business. i know lots of men that once were prosperous ranchers who to-day are down and out, and that too through no fault of their own. sometimes it's a disease that comes along and sweeps away half of your herd at a single stroke. the drought gets them in summer and a blizzard covers them up in winter. then, too, there are the cattle rustlers that, in the course of a season, often get away with hundreds of them, change the brand and send them away to their confederates. many of them are stung by rattlesnakes. the wolves, in a hard winter, pull down a lot of the cows, and sometimes, though not so often, the grizzlies get after them. take all these things into account, figure up the payroll for the help, the freight charges on your shipments, and it's no wonder that many a man finds a balance on the wrong side of the ledger in lean seasons. no, it isn't all 'peaches and cream' in ranching." "you spoke of grizzlies a minute ago," said dick, whose sporting blood had tingled at mention of the name. "are there many of those fellows around here?" "not so many as there used to be," replied mr. melton. "they're being pushed further and further north as the country gets more settled. still there are enough around to make it advisable to keep your eye peeled for trouble whenever you get a little way further up in the mountains. every once in a while we find the body of a steer partly eaten, and we can always tell when a grizzly has pulled it down." "how's that?" asked tom. "by the way he covers it up," answered melton. "he always heaps up a pile of brush or dried grass over the carcass. i reckon it's his sign manual to tell other animals who may be skulking around that it's his kill, and that there'll be trouble if any of them go monkeying around it. at any rate, they don't fool with it. they know he's king in these parts. wherever the grizzly sits is the head of the table." "are they really as savage as they are cracked up to be?" asked bert. "if so, it must be great sport hunting them." "are they savage?" echoed their host pityingly. "say, son, there's nothing on four feet as full of hate and poison, unless perhaps a gorilla. and if it ever came to a tussle between them two, my money would go on the grizzly every time. "as to it's being great sport hunting them, it's the grizzly that usually does the hunting. for myself, i haven't any ambition that way. i'm perfectly willing to give him his full half of the road whenever we meet. and we won't meet at all, if i see him first. i've had more than one tussle with an old silver-tip, and i've got a few hides up at the house to serve as reminders. but it's always been when it was more dangerous to run than it was to stay and fight it out. there ain't many things on four feet or two that i'd go far out of my way to keep from meeting, but when it comes to a grizzly i haven't any pride at all. there are less exciting forms of amusement. no, my boy, if you're thinking of tackling a grizzly, take a fool's advice and don't do it." "but a bullet in the right place would stop them as surely as it would anything else, i should think," ventured tom. "that's just the point," said melton. "it's mighty hard to put a bullet in the right place. if you're on horseback, your horse is so mortally scared at sight of the brute that he won't let you get a steady aim. there's nothing on earth that a mustang fears so much as a bear. and, if you're on foot, he moves so swiftly and dodges so cleverly, that it's hard to pick out the right spot to plunk him. and all the time, you know that, if you miss, it's probably all up with you. even if you get him in the heart, his strength and vitality are such that he may get to you in time enough to take you along with him over the great divide. and it isn't a pleasant way of dying. he just hugs you up in those front paws of his, lifts up his hind paw with claws six inches long, and with one great sweep rips you to pieces. there's no need of a post-mortem to find out how a man has died when a grizzly has got through with him. i've come across such sights at times, and i didn't have any appetite for a day or two afterward. "but there's no use warning you young rascals, i suppose," he grinned. "you're the kind that looks for trouble as naturally as a bee hunts for clover. i'll bet at this very minute you're honing to get after a silver-tip. own up, now, ain't you?" the boys laughed and flushed a little self-consciously. "hardly that, perhaps," answered bert. "but if you should happen by any chance to come across one, i wouldn't mind being along." "righto," said dick emphatically. "same here," echoed tom. "hopeless cases," said mr. melton quizzically, shaking his head. "i suppose there's no use arguing with you. i was that way once myself, but i've learned now to keep out of trouble as much as i can." "just as you did down in mexico," suggested dick slyly. the boys roared and melton looked a little sheepish. "you scored on me that time," he laughed. "but come along now down to the bunk house and meet some of the boys. a good many are away riding herd, but the foreman is here and two or three of the others, and a lot more will come in when it's time for grub." "how many men do you need to run the ranch?" asked dick. "oh, about twenty, more or less," answered melton. "in the busiest season i usually take on a few more to help out, especially when i'm getting ready to ship the stock. "pretty good set of fellows i have now," he went on as he led the way toward the men's quarters. "not a trouble maker in the bunch, except a half breed that i'm not particularly stuck on, and that i'm going to get rid of as soon as work gets slack. but take them all together i haven't got any kick coming. "of course," he qualified as he stopped to light his pipe, "they ain't what you could call angels, by a long shot. if any one's looking for anything like that, they won't find it on a ranch. some pretty rough specimens drift out here from the east, who perhaps have had reasons for making a quick getaway. but as long as a man does his work and does it right, we don't ask any more about their past than they care to tell. it ain't etiquette out here to do that, and then too it sometimes leads to a man getting shot full of holes if he's too curious. their language isn't apt to be any too refined and their table manners leave a lot to be desired. when pay day comes, most of their money goes to the saloons and dance halls in the towns. they're usually a pretty moody and useless bunch for a day or two after that. but in the main they're brave and square and friendly, and they sure do work hard for their forty-five a month and found. and if you get into a scrap they're a mighty handy lot of fellows to have at your back." by this time they had reached the bunk house. as its name implied, it served as sleeping quarters for the men. it was a long one-story building covering a large area of ground. all one end of it was partitioned off into bunks to the number of thirty or more. the other half was used as a dining and living room. a long table, spread with oilcloth, extended down the center, with a row of chairs on either side. the walls were decorated with gaudy lithographs, circus posters and colored sheets taken from the sunday papers that occasionally drifted out that way. on a side table were a number of well-thumbed magazines that mrs. melton had sent down for the men to read in their rare moments of leisure. saddles and harness and lariats were hung on nails driven into the logs. everything was rude and simple, but scrupulously clean. the floor had been recently swept and the oilcloth on the table was shining. in a little extension at the southern end of the shack the cook was clearing away the dishes from breakfast and making ready for the noon-day meal. a couple of great dogs basked in the sunshine that streamed through the open door. they jumped to their feet as their owner approached and capered about him joyously in a manner that bespoke their attachment. a lank, muscular man at this moment came around a corner of the house. his face was tanned to the color of mahogany and around his eyes were the tiny wrinkles that come to men accustomed to peer into the wide spaces. he had on a pair of sheepskin trousers with the fleece still adhering, and his long legs had the slight crook that spoke of a life spent almost entirely in the saddle. a buckskin shirt, a handkerchief knotted loosely around his neck and a broad slouch hat with a rattlesnake skin encircling it for a band completed his costume. there was about him the air of a man accustomed to be obeyed, and yet there was no swagger or truculence in his bearing. his glance was singularly fearless and direct, and the boys warmed to him at first sight. "just the man i wanted to see, sandy," said his employer. "i want you to meet these three young friends of mine." as their names were spoken the boys stepped forward and shook hands heartily. "mr. clinch is one of the best foremen that ever rode the range or roped a steer," went on melton, "and what he don't know about a ranch isn't worth knowing. i've got to go up to the house now to look over some accounts and i'm going to leave you in his care. you remember, sandy, that little scrap in mexico i told you about? well, these are the boys that stood at my back. they've got a knack for getting into a shindy on the slightest provocation and i look to you to keep them out of trouble. i warn you though that it is a man's job." "i guess i'm up to it, boss," grinned sandy. "there ain't much chance for trouble round here, anyhow. there may be a look in if those ornery rustlers don't quit fooling with our cattle. but just at this minute things is plumb peaceful. i'm going up to the corral where the wranglers are breaking in some of the young horses, and perhaps these young fellers would like to come along." nothing possibly could suit them better, and while mr. melton retraced his steps to the house they followed the foreman to the corral. there everything was animation and apparent confusion. the clatter of hoofs, the swish of lariats, the shouts of the "wranglers" as they sought to bring their wayward charges under control, while a matter of everyday routine to the cowboys themselves were entirely new to the boys, who leaned against the log fence and watched the proceedings with breathless interest. there were two corrals of almost equal size, each covering several acres of ground, and a broad gate connected the two. in one of them were forty or more young horses who up to now had been running wild on the range. they had never known the touch of a whip or a spur, nor felt the weight of a rider. the nearest approach to constraint they had ever experienced was that furnished by the encircling fence of the corral into which they had been driven yesterday. that this was irksome and even terrifying was evident by their dilated nostrils, their wild expression, and the way they pawed at the bars and at times measured the height of the fence, as though contemplating a leap over it into the wide spaces beyond. but their instinct told them that they could not make it, and they ran around restlessly or pawed the ground uneasily, waiting their turn to be roped and broken. when the boys reached the outer fence, one of them had just been caught by a whirling lariat and dragged, stubbornly protesting, into the adjoining corral. once there he made a wild dash to escape and lashed out fiercely with his heels at the men who held him. but with a skill born of long experience they eluded him, and one of them, watching his chance, suddenly leaped on his back. the men, on either side, relinquished their hold, and retreated to a safe position on the fence. then commenced the most exciting struggle for mastery between brute and man that the boys had ever seen. for a moment the broncho stood stock still, paralyzed with surprise and fright. then he gave a mighty leap into the air in a vain endeavor to unseat the rider. this failing, he snapped viciously at the horseman's leg, which was instantly thrown up out of reach. then the maddened brute rushed against the bars of the corral in an effort to crush the rider. but again the uplifted leg foiled the maneuver, and the severe scraping that the horse himself received took away from him all desire of repeating that particular trick. all this time the cowboy showed the most extreme nonchalance. if anything, he seemed rather bored. and yet, despite his apparent stolidity, the boys noticed that he watched his mount like a hawk and always discounted each trick a second in advance. it was a fight between brute strength and human intelligence and the struggle was unequal. barring accidents the latter was bound to win. like a flash the horse changed his tactics and went to the ground, intending to roll over and crush his rider. the movement was almost too quick to be followed by the eye. but the man was off at a bound and, when the astonished broncho struggled to his feet, his tormentor had again sprung on his back and was lashing him with the end of the rope that served as a halter. then the pony tried his last resource. springing into the air he came down with all four feet held closely together. it would have jarred a novice out of his seat at once. but the superb horsemanship of the man on his back absorbed the shock with his tightly gripped legs as he descended, and he settled into his seat with the lightness of a feather. for half an hour the battle was prolonged, and, to the breathlessly watching boys, it seemed that the daring rider escaped death a dozen times almost by a miracle. all that they had ever seen in wild west shows seemed pale and weak by comparison with this fight out in the open, where nothing was prearranged and where both parties to the combat were in deadly earnest. it was life "in the raw" and it stirred them to the depths. and now the horse was "all in." his flanks heaved with his tremendous exertions, and he was dripping with sweat and foam. he had made a gallant fight, but the odds were against him. his ears were no longer flattened viciously against his head, but drooped forward piteously, and into his eyes came the look that spelled surrender. he had learned the hard and pathetic lesson of the brute creation, that man was the master. this strange being, who so easily defied his strength and thwarted his cunning, was stronger than he, and at last he knew it. the rider, now that he had won, could afford to be kind. he patted his mount's head and spoke to him soothingly. then he drove him without demur a few times more about the corral and dismounted. a stable attendant led the conquered brute to a stall, and the victor, breathing a little hard, but bearing no other traces of the struggle, repaired to the fence, squatted on the top rail and lighted a cigarette. "that was horsemanship, all right," breathed tom in admiration. "you bet it was," said dick. "if i'd been insuring that fellow's life i'd have wanted a premium of ninety-nine per cent." "he earns his money," remarked bert. "a man hasn't any chance to 'soldier' on a job like that." another cowboy took the place of the first one, and the scene was repeated, in each case with variations that kept the interest of the boys at fever heat. the time slipped by so rapidly that they were genuinely astonished when the blowing of a horn announced that it was time for dinner. sandy approached them as they were turning away reluctantly. "i'd shore like to have you young fellers take dinner with us at the bunkhouse, if you care to," he said. "i'd like to have the boys get acquainted with yer. maybe we won't have all the trimmin's that you'd get at the boss's table, but i guess we can manage to fill yer up." "that's a pretty big contract, sandy," laughed bert; "but we'll be only too glad to come. just let me speak to mrs. melton, so that she won't wait for us and we'll be with you in a jiffy." mrs. melton smilingly acquiesced, and melton himself, who knew how much of the boys' enjoyment of their visit would depend upon friendly relations with the men about the ranch, gave his hearty approval. a dozen or more of the cowboys were at the house when they arrived, all ravenous for "grub." outside of the door was a broad bench on which was a basin, which the men in turn replenished from a hogshead standing near, and in which they plunged their hands and faces, emerging dripping to dry themselves on a roller towel behind the door. the boys did the same, and as they came in were introduced by sandy to the rest of the men. there was a breezy absence of formality that was most refreshing after the more or less artificial life of the east, and the boys warmed at once toward these hardy specimens of manhood, who looked them straight in the eyes and crushed their hands in their hearty grip. this wild, free spirit of the plains was akin to their own, and although their mode of life had been so different, a subtle free masonry told them that in substance they were members of the same brotherhood. the cowboys also were "sizing up" the newcomers. physically they had no criticism to make. these stalwart, athletic young fellows were splendid specimens, who looked as though they were fully capable of giving a good account of themselves in a tussle. most of them had heard in a more or less fragmentary way about the adventure in mexico, and melton's unstinted praise of them had gone a long way in their favor. still, that had been a scrap with "greasers," and the contemptuous attitude that most of them held toward the men south of the rio grande, led them to attach less value to the exploit. then, too, when all was said and done, these visitors were "tender-feet," and as such would bear watching. so that, while perfectly free and friendly and admitting that they were a "likely bunch," they were inclined to reserve judgment, and observe them further, before admitting them fully into their fraternity. the meal proceeded amid a clatter of dishes and a buzz of conversation, abounding in rough jests and repartee. the boys took their part in frank, good fellowship and were hearty in their praises of the hard riding they had seen that morning. the ranchmen deprecated this as only "part of the day's work," but were pleased none the less at the sincere appreciation. the meal, although, as sandy had hinted, wanting in "frills," was well cooked and abundant, and the food disappeared before those healthy appetites in a way that would have struck terror to the heart of a boarding-house keeper. before it was quite over, a belated cowboy galloped in from town. he dismounted, threw his saddlebags on the bench, and, after sousing his heated face in the friendly basin, sat down to the table and proceeded to make amends for lost time. "bring a paper with you, pete?" asked one of his friends as he pushed back his chair and lighted his pipe. "yes," answered pete between mouthfuls. "got a copy of the helena 'record.' you'll find it in the saddlebag." the first speaker rose leisurely, hunted up the newspaper and seated himself on the step of the bunkhouse. he looked over it carelessly for a moment and then a headline caught his attention. he read on for a few lines and then called to his mates. "look here, fellows," he exclaimed. "i see that they've jugged 'red' thompson and 'shag' leary. caught them trying to hold up a train." there was a stir at this and they crowded round the speaker. "tell us about it," they begged excitedly, for all of them knew of the evil fame and numerous exploits of these celebrated ruffians. "i knew the sheriff would bag them fellers before long," said one. "sheriff nuthin," snorted pete disgustedly. "them guys ain't good fur nuthin but to wear tin stars and put up a bluff. it was a bunch of tender-feet that nabbed 'em." "have a heart," said "buck" evans incredulously. "don't fill us up with anything like that." "them newspaper fellers is awful liars," sagely commented "chip" bennett. "but it gives the names," persisted pete. "they wouldn't go as far as that if it wasn't so. let's see," he went on as his stubbed finger moved slowly over the lines. "here they are--wilson, trent, henderson--say," he exclaimed with a quick look at the boys, "ain't them the handles you fellers carries?" all eyes were fixed in astonishment on the visitors, who blushed as though they had been detected in a fault. their embarrassment carried conviction. the paper was thrown aside and the men gathered about them in a chorus of eager questionings. they made them tell in every detail the story of the fight, which the boys tried to minimize as much as possible. "and yer never said a word about it," commented pete when they had extracted the last scrap of information. "why should we?" retorted dick. "as you said about the broncho busting, it was 'all in the day's work.'" they tore themselves away at last, leaving the cowboys grouped about the door and looking after them with eyes from which the last vestige of distrust and reserve had vanished. "not a maverick in the bunch," commented pete. "every one of them carries the man brand," added chip. "they shore can warm their beans at my fire," concluded buck. chapter iv a forest terror "a dandy day for fishing," remarked bert as he was dressing a few mornings later. "just right for the speckled beauties to bite," acquiesced dick as he looked out of the window and saw the clouds that obscured the sun. "what do you say to trying it?" suggested tom, who was an enthusiast on the subject. "i'd like nothing better than to whip some of these mountain streams for trout." "or troll for pickerel in the lake mr. melton was telling us about," amended bert. "he says there are some whopping big fellows up there. we'll find plenty of bass, too, and they're fighters from way back." at breakfast the matter was broached and met with the hearty approval of mr. melton. "i don't think it will rain before night," he said, "and on a hazy day like this they'll keep you busy pulling them in. how about tackle? did you bring any along?" "plenty," answered bert. "each of us has a rod and reel. the pike and pickerel will bite at the spoon, and we can get plenty of bait for the bass right out here in the garden. let's hurry up, fellows, and get busy," he continued, pushing his chair away from the table. "won't you go along, mr. melton." "like to," said their host. "nothing would suit me better than to pull in some of the sockdolagers you'll find in that lake. but i've got a date with a horse dealer to-day, who's coming up to look at some of my bronchos, and i can't get off. don't catch them all to-day," he laughed, "and some day soon i'll go with you. of course, you'll take your guns along." "why, yes, if you think it necessary," replied bert. "but we'll be pretty well loaded with tackle and fish if we have any luck." "never mind the load," he adjured emphatically. "never go into the mountains without your gun. of course, you may have no use for it. chances are that you won't. but it's a mighty wise thing to have a good rifle along wherever you go in this country. and if you need it at all, you'll need it mighty bad and mighty quick." so that when the boys left the house a half hour later, they took with them not only all that was necessary to lure the finny prey from their lurking places, but each as well carried on his shoulder a winchester repeating rifle and around his waist a well-stored cartridge belt. mr. melton gave them explicit directions as to the route they were to follow to find the lake, which lay in the hollow of a broad plateau about five miles back in the mountains. "you'll find a canoe hidden in the bushes near a big clump of trees on the east shore," he said. "that is, if nobody has swiped it. but i covered it up pretty well the last time i was there, and i guess it's safe enough. if not, you'll have to take your chance in fishing from the shore. there's an island a little way out in the lake, and you'll find the pike thick around there if you can get out to it. and don't wait too long before starting for home. that mountain trail is hard enough to follow in the daytime, but you'd find your work cut out for you if you tried it in the dark." they promised not to forget the time in their enthusiasm for the sport, and, stowing away in their basket the toothsome and abundant lunch put up by mrs. melton, they started off gaily on their trip. for a little distance from the house the road was fairly level. then it began to ascend and soon the trees that clothed the slopes shut them in, and they lost sight of the ranch and of everything that spoke of civilization. "'this is the forest primeval,'" quoted dick. "'the murmuring pines and the hemlocks,'" added tom. "primeval's the word," said bert as he looked in awe at the giant trees, towering in some instances to a height of two hundred feet. "i suppose this looked just as it does now ten thousand years ago. the only thing that suggests man is this trail we're following, and that gets fainter and fainter as we keep climbing. this is sure enough 'god's out-of-doors.'" the balsam of the pines was in their nostrils and the path was carpeted by the fragrant needles. squirrels chattered in the trees and chipmunks slipped like shadows between the trunks. as they were passing a monster oak, bert's observant eye noted something that brought him to a sudden halt. "look there, fellows," and he pointed to a place on the bark about fifteen feet from the ground. "well, what about it?" demanded tom. "those scratches on the trunk," said bert. "what made them?" they looked more closely and saw two rows of scratches that had torn deeply into the bark. each row consisted of five marks at an equal distance apart. it was as though two gigantic rakes had been drawn along the rough surface, each tooth of the rakes peeling off a long vertical strip. the boys looked at each other in wonder. then they peered into the surrounding woods a little uneasily. "some animal made those marks," said bert at last. "and, what's more, there's only one animal that could have done it." "and that's a grizzly bear," said dick. again the boys looked at each other, and it almost seemed as though they could hear the beating of their hearts. then tom measured again with his eye the distance from the ground to where the scratches began. "sixteen feet if it's an inch," he decided. "nonsense," he went on, with a tone of relief in his voice. "there's nothing that walks on four feet could do it. a horse even couldn't stand on his hind legs and strike with his fore hoofs the place where those scratches begin. some of those pre-historic monsters, whose skeletons we see in the museums, might have done it, but nothing that walks the earth nowadays. you'll have to guess again, bert." "they might have been made by some animal in climbing," suggested dick. "he might have slipped in coming down and torn off those strips in trying to hold on." "but grizzlies don't climb," objected bert. "who said it was a grizzly?" retorted tom. "it might have been a black or brown bear. you've got grizzlies on the brain. the very biggest don't measure more than nine or ten feet from the nose to the root of the tail. allowing a couple of feet more for his reach, and you have eleven or twelve altogether. how do you account for the other four or five? unless," he went on with elaborate sarcasm, "you figure out that this pet of yours is about fourteen feet long." the argument certainly seemed to be with tom, but bert, although he had no answer to it, still felt unconvinced. "the scratches are too deep to have been made by any animal slipping," he persisted. "the beast, whatever it was, had a tremendous purchase to dig so deep. and he couldn't have got such a purchase except by standing on his hind legs." "marvelous," mocked tom. "a regular sherlock holmes! perhaps he stood on a ladder or a chair. i've heard that grizzlies carry such things about with them when strolling in the woods. come along, old man," he bantered, "or these squirrels will think you're a nut and carry you off. there's nothing this side of a nightmare that'll fit your theory, and you'd better give it up and come along with us sensible people." "but what did do it, then?" asked bert obstinately. "search me," answered tom flippantly. "i don't have to know. i'm not cursed with curiosity so much as some people i could mention. what i do know is that we're losing time and that i'm fairly aching to bait my hook and fling it into the water. we've promised mrs. melton a big mess of fish for supper, and we've got to get busy, or she'll think we're a lot of four-flushers." they picked up their traps that they had laid aside while they were studying the bark. tom and dick kept up a steady fire of jokes, their spirits lightened by the evidence that the "ghost" of the grizzly had been "laid." but bert answered only in monosyllables. he would have been as relieved as they had he been able to convince himself that he was wrong. he "hadn't lost any bear," and was not particularly anxious to "meet up" with one, especially a monster of the size indicated. suddenly he dropped the basket. "i've got it," he exclaimed eagerly. "no, you haven't," contradicted dick. "you've just dropped it." "what have you got?" mocked tom. "a fit?" "the answer," said bert. "prove it," challenged dick. "i'm from missouri," said tom skeptically. "why, it's this way," hurried on bert, too engrossed in his solution to retort in kind. "sandy was telling me a little while ago about the habits of grizzlies, and he mentioned especially the trick they have of standing on their hind legs and clawing at trees as high as they could reach. but i remember he said they did this only in the spring. they've just come out of winter quarters and they feel the need of stretching their muscles that have got cramped during their long sleep. in the spring, the early spring. don't you see?" "not exactly," confessed dick. "no, sherlock," murmured tom, "i don't follow you." "why," said bert impatiently, "don't you boobs realize that up in the mountains here the snow is often four or five feet deep in the early spring? how could the grizzly reach that high? _because he stood on a snowbank._" "by jove," exclaimed tom, all his self-assurance vanishing, "i believe you're right." "you've hit the bull's-eye," cried dick. "bert, old man, you're a wonder." "of course," bert went on, too generous to gloat over their discomfiture, "that only proves that he was here then. he may be a hundred miles off by this time. still, it won't do a bit of harm to keep our eyes peeled and make sure that our guns are in good working order. he's probably got a perpetual grouch, and he might be peevish if he should turn up and find us poaching on his hunting grounds." they moved along, a little more soberly now, and their eyes narrowly scanned the trees ahead as though at any moment through the forest aisles they might discover a giant form lumbering down upon them. they did not think it at all likely, as there had been no rumors for some time past of a grizzly having been seen in the locality, nor had the mutilated body of some luckless steer borne traces of his handiwork. still it was "better to be safe than sorry," and their vigilance did not relax until they came out of the thicker forest onto a more scantily wooded plateau and saw before them the shining waters of the lake that marked the goal of their journey. under the cloudy sky the waters had the steel-gray luster of quicksilver. it seemed to be about three miles in length, although this they could not clearly determine, owing to a curve at the upper end, which concealed its limits in that direction. it was not more than three-quarters of a mile wide, and the expanse was broken by a small wooded island about half way across. nothing living was in sight, except a huge fish hawk that waited expectantly on a dead branch overhanging the water. even while they looked, it darted downward, cleaving the air and water like an arrow, and reappeared a moment later with a large fish struggling in its jaws. resuming its seat upon the branch it tossed the fish in the air, caught it cleverly as it came down, and swallowed it at a gulp. "talk about juggling," laughed tom. "that fellow would make a hit upon the vaudeville stage." "i'd like first rate to have him at the end of a cord," said dick. "like those natives we saw in china, eh?" suggested bert. "do you remember how they used to fasten a ring about the throat so that they couldn't swallow them? it always seemed to me a low-down game to make them fork over as soon as they caught the fish." "well, at any rate, that fellow has shown us that there are fish to be had for the taking," said tom. "i'll hunt up that canoe while you get the rods and reels ready. what are you going to try for first, pickerel or bass?" "suppose we take a hack at both," suggested dick. "i'll get out the spoon bait and try for pike and pickerel. you and bert can use the live bait and see what luck you have with the bass." a careful search revealed the canoe, so cunningly hidden by its owner under a heap of brush and sedge-grass, that only the explicit directions they had received enabled them to find it. it was in good condition, about eighteen feet in length and two paddles lay in the bottom. tom got in, pushed off from the shore, and with deft strokes brought the slender craft down to where his friends were waiting. bert eyed the frail boat dubiously. "a canoe is a dandy thing for cruising in, especially if you want to get somewhere in a hurry, but it was never meant for a fishing party," he commented. "we'd have to be so careful in moving about that we couldn't keep our mind on the sport. you couldn't play a bass from one without danger of upsetting. i tell you what we'd better do. let one of us fish from the shore for bass, while the two others in the canoe troll for pickerel. two lines can be put out over the stern and one can paddle gently while the other keeps a sharp eye on the lines. between us all we ought to get a mess in less than no time. we'll toss up to see which shall do the lonesome act while the others use the canoe. at noontime we'll have a fish fry right here on the shore to help us out with the lunch. the one who catches the first fish gets out of doing any of the work. the one who gets the next will have to do the cooking and the one that trails in last will have to clean the fish. what do you say?" there was no dissenting voice, and the spinning coin decreed that tom and dick should do the trolling, while bert remained on shore and tried for bass. with the polished spoons twinkling in the water behind, the canoe shot out to the center of the lake. bert carefully baited his hook and cast it far out from shore. then, with the happy optimism of the average fisherman, he settled back and waited for results. contrary to the usual experience, those results were not long in coming. tom was the first to score. the spoon at the end of his line dipped violently, and, hauling it in rapidly, he yanked in a big pickerel. he did not dare to shout, for fear of scaring the wary denizens of the lake, but he held it up for bert to see, and the latter responded with a wave of the hand in congratulation. the next instant he had to grab his own rod with both hands, while the cord whistled out over the reel. he had made a "strike," and the frantic plunges at the other end of the line told that he had hooked a fighter. back and forth he darted, until it seemed as though the slender rod would break under the strain. bert's fighting blood responded to the challenge, and he played his opponent with all the skill and judgment in which he was a past master. it was fully ten minutes before, carefully shortening his line, he was able to land on the bank a magnificent striped bass. from that time on, the sport was fast and furious. the lake was full of fish, and it had been visited so rarely that they had not learned the danger of the bait that trailed so temptingly before them. in half an hour they had caught more than they could eat and carry home, and tom, whose appalling appetite was clamoring for satisfaction, suggested that they wind up and pull for shore. dick was nothing loath, and the canoe, more heavily loaded than when they had started out, glided shoreward until its nose touched the bank where bert was standing, surrounded by a host of finny beauties that bore witness to his skill. they fastened the boat securely and spent a few minutes comparing their catches. then they gathered a heap of dry brush and burned it until they had a glowing bed of embers. they had no frying pan, but bert improvised an ingenious skillet of tough oaken twigs, that, held high enough above the fire, promised to broil the fish to a turn. tom, who, in accordance with the agreement, had nothing to do, stretched himself out luxuriously and "bossed the job." "see that you don't burn the fish, my man," he said to bert, affecting a languid drawl. "and you, my good fellow," he added, turning to dick, "be sure and clean them thoroughly." he dodged just in time to avoid a fish head that dick threw at him. it whizzed by his ear, and his quick duck detracted somewhat from his dignity. "the growing insolence of the lower classes," he muttered, regaining his equilibrium. "you're fired," he roared, glaring at dick. "all right," said dick, throwing down his knife. "no, no," corrected tom hurriedly, "not till after dinner." before long the fish were sputtering merrily over the fire and the appetizing smell was full of promise. it even induced tom to abandon his leisurely attitude and "rustle" the good things out of the basket. they made a royal meal and feasted so full and long that, when at last old nature simply balked at more, they had no desire to do anything but lie back lazily and revel in the sheer delight of living. "if i've an enemy on earth, i forgive him," sighed dick blissfully. "old walt whitman's my favorite poet," said tom. "isn't he the fellow that tells you to 'loaf and invite your soul'?" "soul," grunted bert disdainfully. "you haven't any soul. just now you're all body." "always pickin' on me," groaned tom resignedly. in complete abandonment to their sense of well being they drew their hats over their eyes and stretched out under the shadow of the trees that came down almost to the water's edge. a brooding peace enveloped them, and the droning of insects and the faint lapping of the water on the shore lulled them into drowsiness. insensibly they lapsed into slumber. a half hour passed before bert started up and rubbed his eyes. it took him a moment to realize where he was. his eyes fell on his sleeping companions, and he made a movement as though to awake them. then he checked the impulse. "what's the use?" he said to himself. "there's plenty of time before we need to start for home." he yawned and lay back again. but now the desire for sleep had left him. after a moment he sat up again. "i haven't tried the canoe yet," he thought. "i'll take a little spin across to the island. they'll be awake by the time i get back." noiselessly he walked down to the water's edge, unfastened the canoe and took up the paddle. there was scarcely a ripple on the lake except that made by the sharp bow of the canoe. there was an exhilarating sense of flying as his light craft shot away from the shore. almost before he knew it he had covered the distance and was drawing up the canoe on the sloping beach of the island. it was larger than he had thought, at a distance, and toward the center was heavily wooded. there was a dense tangle of undergrowth, and in order to avoid this he skirted the shore, intending to make a complete circuit before returning to the canoe. his surprise was great when on reaching the further side he found that it was not an island at all. a narrow strip of land connected it with the mainland beyond. it was not over a hundred feet in width, but he noticed that there was a very distinct path that had been beaten through the undergrowth. the discovery for a moment startled him. then he realized that the woods were, of course, full of all sorts of harmless animals, who had to come down to the water to drink. this would explain the beaten path, and in some measure it reassured him. still his gait was quicker as he sped along, intent on regaining the canoe. it would have perhaps been just as well if he had put his rifle in when he started. he listened attentively now as he hurried on, but not a sound broke the stillness of the woods. and now his pulses began to drum with that subtle sixth sense of his that warned of danger. again and again in his adventurous career he had felt it, and it had never misled him. it was something like the second sight of the highlander. his nature was so highly organized that like a sensitive camera it registered impressions that others overlooked. now some "coming event" was casting "its shadow before," and the mysterious monitor warned him to be on his guard. it was with a feeling of intense relief that he came again in sight of the canoe and saw that it was undisturbed. he looked across and saw his friends waving at him. he waved back and stooped to unfasten the canoe. then something that struck him as odd in their salutation caused him to look again. it was not simply a friendly greeting. there was terror, panic, wild anxiety. and now they were shouting and pointing to something behind him. he turned like a flash. and what he saw made his heart almost leap from his body. chapter v the grizzly at bay tearing down upon him in a rapid, lumbering gallop was a monstrous bear. it needed no second glance to tell that it was a grizzly. the little eyes incandescent with rage, the big hump just back of the ears, the enormous size and bulk could belong to none other than this dreaded king of the rockies. for an instant every drop of blood in bert's body seemed to rush to his head. it suffused his eyes with a red film and sounded like thunder in his ears. then the flood receded and left him cold as ice. he was himself again, cool, self-reliant, with his mental processes working like lightning. he had no time to unfasten the canoe. long before he could get in and push off, the bear would have been on top of him. the beast was not more than thirty feet away and two or three more lunges would bring him to the water's edge. bert's first impulse was to dive into the lake and seek to escape by swimming. but this he discarded at once. fast as he was, he knew that the grizzly could outswim him. with a quick turn to the left, he plunged into the woods, running like a deer. the bear lost a second or two in trying to check his momentum. then he turned also and went crashing through the underbrush in pursuit. had the going been open bert might have made good his escape. his legs and wind had once won him a marathon from the fleetest flyers of the world. but here conditions were against him. vines reached out to trip him. impenetrable thickets turned him aside. he had to dodge and twist and squirm his way through the undergrowth. but the bear had no such handicaps. his great body crashed straight through all obstacles. the fearful padding of those monstrous feet came nearer and nearer. bert's legs worked like piston rods, but to no avail. the distance between them steadily decreased, and now he could hear the labored breathing of his enraged pursuer close on his heels. it was like a hideous nightmare, and gradually the conviction began to force itself upon him that he was running his last race. once in the grip of that monster, nothing could save him from a frightful death. but he would not give up. the old "never say die" spirit that had carried him through so many tight places still persisted. on, on, he ran, putting every ounce of speed and strength in one last spurt. he could feel the hot breath of the grizzly and the padding feet were terribly near. then, just as the beast was ready to hurl its huge bulk against him, bert swung on his heel like a pivot, doubled in his tracks and flashed back past his pursuer, just escaping a lunge from the outstretched paw. but that marvelous swaying motion of the hips that had eluded so many tacklers on the football field stood him in stead, and he just grazed the enormous claw that tried to stop him. that strategy proved his salvation. the grizzly plunged along for many feet before he could turn, and in that instant's respite bert saw his chance. right in front of him was a tall oak whose lowest branch was full twenty feet from the ground. like a streak bert reached it, whirled around to the farther side and swarmed up it like a monkey. he reached the fork and swung himself out on the branch with not a second to spare. the grizzly, frothing with rage and hate, had hurled himself against the tree and his up-reaching claw had torn the bark in a vain attempt to clutch the leg that he only missed by inches. but he was balked. he could not climb, and the tree was too big for him to tear down, as he might have done had it been slenderer or younger. by the narrowest of margins he had failed to add one more victim to those who had already fallen before his ferocity. not that he had relinquished hope. he had lost in the open attack, but he still had the resource of a siege. soon or late he was sure his victim would have to descend. his victory was only deferred. back and forth and round and round the tree he paced, growling fiercely, at times rearing himself on his hind legs and tearing savagely at the trunk. his open jaws, slavering with foam and showing his great yellow fangs, were full of fearful menace, and his wicked eyes glowed like a furnace. his temper, evil at all times, had been rendered worse by the fury of the chase and disappointment at his failure. baffled rage bristled in every hair of his shaggy hide. at that moment he would have charged a regiment. bert settled himself in the crotch of the tree and gazed at his thwarted enemy with a sensation of indescribable relief. he was drenched with sweat, his clothes were torn by that wild race through the brush, his breath came in gasps that were almost sobs, and his heart was beating like a triphammer. he had looked into the very eyes of death and almost by a miracle had escaped. for the present, at least, he was safe. his giant adversary could not reach him. had he been entirely alone in this wild section of the mountains, or had his whereabouts been unknown, his situation would have been hopeless. the bear might settle down to a siege of many days, and he had powerful allies in sleep and hunger. if wearied nature should assert her rights and bert in a moment of drowsiness topple from his perch, or if, driven by starvation, he should make a last despairing effort to escape, the chances would be all against him. the instinct of the grizzly told him that, if not interfered with, time alone was all that was necessary to bring his foe within his grasp. but there were dick and tom to be reckoned with, and beyond them was melton, who would surely organize a party and come to his aid. he knew that his comrades would not leave him in the lurch and that they would risk their lives to save him from his perilous position. no doubt but at that moment they were working with might and main to devise some plan of rescue. but what could they do? he had taken the canoe and they had no means of getting over to him. had they known of the narrow peninsula on the farther side, they might have worked their way around the end of the lake. but they thought the place was an island, only to be reached by water. both were strong swimmers and could easily win their way over. but they couldn't do that and keep their guns dry, and without weapons they could do nothing. in the wild dash through the woods he had described almost a perfect circle, and the tree in which he was sheltered commanded a view of the canoe and the shimmering water beyond. it maddened him to see the boat rocking there idly, as useless to him at that moment as though it were a thousand miles away. if he had only brought his rifle with him! how thoughtless of him to take such a chance! the words of mr. melton at the breakfast table recurred to him and he fairly writhed in an agony of self-reproach. the grizzly had by this time realized that nothing could be done for the present but wait. he ceased his restless swaying to and fro and squatted down on his haunches, his murderous eyes never leaving bert for an instant. on the other side of the lake dick and tom were working with feverish energy, almost beside themselves with fear at their comrade's terrible plight. they had awakened soon after bert's departure, and had been startled for a moment at finding him gone. the absence of the canoe, however, followed by a glimpse of it on the shore across the water, had reassured them, and they had waited more or less patiently for his reappearance. suddenly dick started to his feet. "what's that?" he cried, pointing to the woods near the water's edge. "where?" exclaimed tom, startled out of his usual calm by the evident alarm in dick's voice. "in that big clump of trees over to the right," was the answer, and then his voice rose to a shout: "great scott! it's a grizzly." "and there comes bert," yelled tom. "bert, bert," they shouted wildly, rushing down to the shore and waving their hands frantically. they had seen bert dart off into the woods with the bear in hot pursuit, but the outcome of the chase had been hidden from their view. they did not dare to think of what might have happened, and they looked at each other in helpless anguish. "quick!" yelled dick, wrenching himself loose from the paralysis that had seized him. "a raft. we've got to get over there with the guns. we've got a paddle left and we can push ourselves over. oh, bert, bert!" he groaned. but tom intervened. "no good," he said hurriedly. "it'll take too long to make it and we'd be too slow in getting across. the canoe's our only chance. you get the guns ready." he kicked off his shoes, tore off his clothes, dived head foremost into the lake, and with long, powerful strokes headed for the farther shore. he had an almost amphibious love for the water and the task he had set for himself was easy. but his fear for bert and his impatience at the delay before he could help him made it seem to him as though he were going at a snail's pace, although in reality he was cleaving the water like a fish. bert, looking out from his perch in the tree, suddenly had his attention attracted by something on the smooth surface. he thought at first that it was a water fowl. then he looked more closely, and his heart gave a great bound as he recognized that it was one of his comrades, although he could not tell which one at that distance. he saw that the swimmer was headed straight for the canoe, and he surmised the plan in an instant. "good old dick and tom," he exulted to himself. "they're two pals in a thousand. i knew they'd get me out of this or die in the trying." but the bear, too, seemed to realize that something was happening. his scent was phenomenally keen, and the wind was blowing directly toward him from the lake. he sniffed the air for a moment and then, with a threatening growl, looked toward the water. then he rose slowly and backed in that direction, still keeping an eye on bert. the latter took alarm at once. here was a new complication. if the bear should discover the swimmer, who was now nearing the shore, it might be fatal. at all events his attention must be distracted. with bert, to think was to act. he grasped the branch tightly and swung himself down at full length, so that his dangling feet were almost within the bear's reach. the grizzly, with an exultant "whuff," galloped clumsily back to the tree and made a ferocious swipe at his enemy, who pulled himself up just in time. snarling and mouthing horribly, the bear once more moved toward the lake, torn between the desire to investigate and the fear that his victim might escape. once more bert worked the same maneuver and again the bear "fell" for it. but the crisis was past. there was no need now to repeat. tom had reached the canoe, climbed into it, and with powerful strokes of the paddle sent it flying toward the mainland. not, however, till his heart had been thrilled with joy by bert's yell that rang far out on the water. "i'm up a tree, old man," called the voice that tom had feared he might never hear again, "but i'm all right." "thank god," answered tom, and tried to add something else, but couldn't. once more on shore he jubilantly reported to dick, whose delight at the news of bert's present safety passed all bounds. the first rejoicing over, they hastily laid their plans. "are the guns ready?" asked tom as he got into his clothes. "they're all right," answered dick. "to make sure, i unloaded and filled them up with new cartridges. everything's in perfect shape." they did not underestimate the task before them. they were taking their lives in their hands in attacking this monster of the wilds. but had he been ten times as big or ten times as savage they would not have hesitated an instant, with bert's life as the stake. knowing that the wind was blowing toward the bear from where they were, they deemed it wise, as a plan of campaign, to paddle to the other side of the island and come upon the foe from the rear. if they could take him unawares, and pump a bullet or two into his great carcass before he had time to charge, their chances of success would be immensely greater. moving as warily as indians, they dipped their paddles in the water and made for the upper end of the supposed island. they rounded the point and disembarked. clutching their guns firmly and straining their eyes, as they gazed into the dark green recesses of the woods, they advanced, scarcely daring to breathe. "i'm going to signal," whispered dick. "that'll warn bert that we're coming and he'll keep the bear busy." and the next instant the mournful cry of the whippoorwill floated through the forest. it was an accomplishment that the boys had frequently practised, and the counterfeit was perfect enough to deceive the birds themselves. they waited an instant, and then they heard bert's answering "whippoorwill." the bear paid no attention to the familiar sound, and it was evident that his suspicions had not been aroused. guiding themselves by the repetition of the cry dick and tom pressed forward, their guns ready for instant use at the first sight of the enemy. bert had promptly grasped the meaning of the signal. it was imperative that the bear's attention should be centered on himself alone. the only thing he found in his pocket was a jack-knife, but he threw this with such precision that it struck the bear full on the point of the nose and evoked a roar of fury. a shower of twigs and branches added insult to injury, until the great beast was beside himself with rage. he had no thought or eyes or ears for anything but bert. and now the whippoorwill was close at hand. two spurts of flame leaped from the forest on the right. with a ferocious snarl the grizzly whirled about in the direction of the shots. as he did so two more bullets plowed their way into his breast. he tore savagely at the wounds, and then plunged fiercely in the direction of his unseen foes. but his hour had struck. another volley halted him in his tracks. he sagged, coughed, and fell in a crumpled mass to the ground. with a wild hurrah, dick and tom broke from cover, dropped their guns and threw their arms about bert, who had slid down to the foot of the tree. the strain had been so great and the reaction was so tremendous that none of them for a moment knew what he was doing. they shouted, laughed and grasped each others' hands, too excited for coherent speech. they had been through many perils together, but none so great and terrible as this. and now all three were together again, safe and sound, and the grizzly---- "look out," screamed bert, his face going white. they jumped as though they had been shot. not ten feet away was the grizzly coming down on them like a locomotive. his mouth was open, his eyes blazing, and with the blood flowing from his wounds he made a hideous picture as he rushed forward. they had forgotten to reckon with the wonderful tenacity of life that makes a grizzly bear the hardest thing in the world to kill. six bullets were embedded in his carcass and his life was ebbing. but his fiendish ferocity was unimpaired, and he had gathered himself together for one last onslaught. there was no time to think, no chance to resist. the guns were on the ground, and merely to stoop for them meant that the bear would be upon them before they could rise. with one bound the boys leaped aside, and scattered through the woods at the top of their speed. the bear hesitated a second, as though undecided whom to follow, and then put after bert. but it was a very different race this time from that of an hour before. then the odds had been against the fugitive; now they were with him. the rage of the bear was greater, but his speed and strength were failing. bert easily increased his distance, and as he ran his quick mind formed a plan of action. running in a circle, he gradually drew his pursuer around to the tree where he had sought refuge. he had figured on grabbing one of the guns and shinning up to the friendly crotch, there to despatch his foe at leisure. but as he rose with the rifle in his hand he saw that there was no time for this. dropping on one knee he took careful aim, and as the grizzly rose on its hind legs to grasp him, fired point blank at the spot just below the fore leg that marked the heart. then he jumped aside. the bear spun around once, toppled and fell with a tremendous crash on the spot where bert had been a moment before. once more bert raised his rifle, looking narrowly for any sign of life. but the last bullet had done the work. a convulsive shudder ran through the bear's enormous length. then he stiffened out and a glaze crept over the wicked eyes. he had fought his last fight. and as bert looked down at him, his relief and exultation were tempered by a feeling of respect for the brute's courage. never for a moment had he shown the white feather. he had fought gallantly and gone down fighting. tom and dick, who had now rejoined him, shared his feeling. "nothing 'yellow' about that old rascal but his hide," commented dick. "a fighter from fightersville," added tom. when their jubilation had somewhat subsided, they measured their quarry. "ten feet four inches, from the tip of the nose to the root of the tail," announced tom. "gee, but he's a monster." "the daddy of them all," said dick. "he must weigh over half a ton," judged bert. they looked with a shudder at the terrible claws and fangs. "they say that a grizzly has forty-two teeth," remarked tom, "but i thought he had forty-two thousand when he was bearing down upon us with his mouth open." "well, now the question is what are we going to do with him," said dick. "that's a pleasant way to put it," laughed bert. "a little while ago the question was what was he going to do with us." "i don't know," he mused, "what we can do. we can't skin him, because we haven't the proper knives, and then, too, it takes an expert to get that hide off without spoiling it. on the other hand, we can't leave it here and expect to find it in the morning. the other animals will feast on the carcass, and the skin won't be any good when they've got through tearing it. if it were a deer we could hang it up out of reach. but we couldn't even move this mountain, let alone lift it." "of course we can come back and get the teeth and claws, anyway," put in dick. "but i hate like thunder to lose the skin." "i tell you what," suggested bert. "let's hustle around and get as many big stones as we can find. we'll pile up a sort of funeral mound around him that the animals can't work through or pull away. then in the morning we'll get some of the boys from the ranch to come up with us and get the hide. it may not work, but i think it will, and, anyway, we've got to take the chance." luckily for the carrying out of the plan, big stones abounded in the vicinity and a few minutes of hard work sufficed to gather together enough to make it probable that the body would remain undisturbed till they came for it. "and now, fellows," said bert, gazing at the sun, "it's the quick sneak for us if we want to get back to the ranch before dark. forward, march." with a last look at the scene of their thrilling experience, they boarded the canoe, shot across the lake, and, packing up their traps, set out for the ranch. they made quick time of it, as the road was now familiar and led downhill all the way. yet, despite their speed, dusk was settling down when they reached the house, to receive a hearty greeting from their hosts, who were becoming a little anxious at the delay. mrs. melton paled as she heard the story of their frightful danger, and melton himself was deeply stirred at their narrow escape. he, better than any one else, realized all the horror of the case had victory declared on the side of the bear. "you'll never be nearer death than you were to-day, my boys," he said gravely; "and a kind of death that i don't care to think about. i'll send sandy and some of the men up to-morrow to get the skin, and i hope that hide will be the nearest you ever come to seeing a grizzly again. you came through all right to-day, but it's the kind of stunt a man doesn't get way with twice. but now," he added more lightly, "i'll bet that you're hungry enough to eat nails. hurry up and wash and get down to the table." "by the way," said mrs. melton, her eyes twinkling, "where are those fish you promised me for supper?" the boys looked at each other in consternation. "great scott!" exclaimed bert. "we forgot to bring them." chapter vi the "ringer's" downfall after the boys had been on the ranch some two or three weeks a new topic of interest came up. it seemed that every fourth of july a great celebration was held in helena, in which cowboys and ranchmen from many miles around took part. all sorts of competitions were held, such as roping, throwing, target shooting, and so on. as the day drew near, it became the chief topic of conversation about the ranch, and everybody, with the exception of two or three who would have to stay to take care of the stock, intended to go and take part in the festivities. quite a feature of the present celebration was to be a one-mile running race. as a rule ranchmen and cowboys are not noted for their running abilities, generally being more at home upon the back of a horse than upon their own feet. but among the neighboring ranches there were several fair runners, and among the townspeople there were others. the last year or two a hot rivalry had existed between the ranchmen and "townies" over the outcome of the running race, for in this event everybody, no matter what his daily occupation, could be interested. the last year one of the men from the bar x ranch had taken the prize money, and the ranchers had all been jubilant. they imagined they had a fair chance to win this year's event with the same runner, and mr. melton's men thought so too. but one day late in june chip returned from a trip to town with clouded brow. "what do yuh think them low-down piutes that calls themselves citizens of helena has been an' done now?" "what's bitin' yuh, chip?" asked sandy. "did somebody get your wad, or what?" "no, nothin' like that," answered chip. "i'll tell it to you jest the way one o' the boys handed it to me. he says t' me, 'waal, chip, i reckon you boys on the ranches hereabouts won't pick off the prize money this year in the footrace, will yuh?' "'oh, i don't know,' i answers him. 'yuh never kin tell what's going to happen, but we-all have a sneakin' idea that our man is jest goin' to run away from any shorthorn you guys kin put up.' "'oh, is that so?' he jeers, real triumphant-like, 'well, i got a little piece o' change that i'm willin' to put up on our man. how do yuh feel?' "waal, i wasn't goin' to let the guy bluff me, so i covers his money to the tune o' fifty bucks. 'i s'pose jenkins, the feller that nearly pulled down the prize last year, is goin' to run fer you, ain't he' i asks, never suspicionin' that he'd say anythin' but 'yes.' "'not any,' he answers, grinnin' satisfied like; 'we've got another man this year, an' a streak o' greased lightnin' is plumb slow an' ploddin' alongside him.' "'an' who is this yere maverick?' i asks him, feelin' like somebody'd hit me when i wasn't lookin'. "'johnson is his brand,' says the sport; 'stick around a while an' i'll point him out t' yuh. there he is now,' he says sudden-like, pointin' to a guy amblin' along the sidewalk with half a dozen kids taggin' at his heels, 'there's the guy what's goin' to make your runners look like candidates from a young ladies' finishing school. take a good look at him, chip, so yuh'll know him the next time yuh see him.' "waal, boys, i took a good look, as this sport suggests, and i'm a pop-eyed tenderfoot if i didn't recognize the guy right off. i couldn't jest place him at first, but in a few seconds i remembered where i'd seen him last." "an' where was that?" questioned sandy, while everybody listened eagerly for his answer. "it was at a function thet come near bein' a lynchin' party," answered chip. "i was up in a little town over the canada border at the time, an' they had jest had a race like this yere one we-all has on the fourth o' july, only they ain't no sech institution there, them folks bein' nothin' but benighted britishers and frenchmen. howsum-ever, they'd had a race, and this maverick what's pointed out to me in helena had won the race, together with most o' the loose change in the town. suddenly a guy in the crowd yells out: 'that feller's a 'ringer.' i seen him run in an eastern professional race onct.'" "waal, thet was like puttin' a match to powder, and them people was goin' to string the guy up, only the sheriff came along jest then and stopped the proceedin's. so that's when i see this party last." "yes, but he might not have been a 'ringer'," suggested bert, who had come up and joined the group while chip was speaking. "he might have been square, but the man that accused him probably had lost money, and may have accused him just to get even. you don't have to prove much to an angry mob when they want to believe what you're telling them, anyway." "yes, i thought o' that," replied chip, "but a few weeks arterward i come across an old newspaper with this party's picture engraved on the sportin' page, an' underneath it said, 'albert summers, the well-known professional one-mile runner,' or words meanin' the same thing. i'd clean forgot about it, though, until i sees this yere hoss thief paradin' the streets o' helena followed by the admirin' glances o' the populace." the cowboys exchanged indignant glances, and sandy said, "mebbe the folks in helena don't know this maverick's a professional." "i suppose most o' them don't," replied chip, "but the officials thet have charge o' the race are wise, all right. it looks as though i was goin' to be out fifty hard-earned dollars, but it will keep the rest o' yuh boys from losin' any o' your money, anyhow." "seems t' me it's up to us t' give this here shell game away," remarked buck; "it riles me plumb fierce t' think of anybody puttin' over a game like that an' gettin' away with it." "the best thing to do, i should think," remarked bert, "would be to let this summers, or johnson, or whatever his name is, run, and get somebody to beat him. that would be doing things artistically, as you might say." "what do yuh mean?" queried sandy, speaking for his surprised companions, "yuh think we ought t' get a 'ringer' on our own account to beat this professional sharp?" "not at all," said bert with a grin. "i don't want to seem to boast, but i've done a little running myself at times, and i think if i entered against this 'profesh' i might be able to give him a run for his money." the cowboys looked somewhat incredulous, and chip said, "i seen this feller run, m' lad, and he sure is fast, i got to admit that much. have yuh ever done much runnin'?" "quite some," replied bert with a curious little smile. "the next time you talk to trent or henderson ask them about it, if you don't believe me." he strolled off, and after he had gone the men held a consultation. chip was openly skeptical regarding bert's offer to run. "he's a fine lad an' all that," he opined, "but it takes more than an amateur to beat this sharp. the boy would be out of his class, i reckon, if he came up against this yere sprinter." the others seemed inclined to agree with chip's view of the matter, but sandy demurred. "i've been watchin' that lad," he said, "an' i've noticed he don't usually go around shootin' off his mouth about nothin'. seems t' me before we pass up his proposition it might be a good idea to look up his friends an' see what they say about it." "waal, thet's only fair," remarked one of the cowboys known to his mates only as "bud." "i vote we make sandy an' chip a committee o' two to see trent an' henderson an' question them on this yere p'int. yuh don't want to fergit thet if we _could_ find somebody thet could beat this helena candidate we'd have it on them effete citizens so bad they'd wear mournin' fer a year." this consideration had great weight with the others, and they all assented to bud's proposition. it was agreed that at the first opportunity sandy and chip should question tom and dick on the subject of bert's running abilities, and so the matter was dropped for the present. the "committee," however, kept it in mind, and when, as they were returning to the bunkhouse that same evening, chip and sandy espied dick and tom at no great distance, riding along in leisurely fashion, they immediately hailed them. on hearing their names called the two friends looked around, and, seeing the ranchmen beckoning to them, cantered over in their direction, and quickly reached the spot on which they were standing. "what's up?" questioned dick, "anything wrong?" "no, not 'specially," answered sandy, slightly at a loss as to the best way to bring up the subject. "yuh see, it's this way. some o' the boys has heard thet your pal, wilson, is somethin' of a runner, and we was jest cur'ous to know ef it was so. can you wise us up on this yere mooted p'int?" dick looked over at tom and grinned. "you tell 'em, tom," he said; "tell them whether bert can run or not." "well," said tom, "bert isn't such an awful good runner, no. he's never done a thing in that line except win the marathon run at the last olympic games, break every college record from one to twenty-five miles, and set up a new world's record for the five mile distance. outside of that he can't run worth a cent, can he, dick?" for a moment dick was too amused watching the faces of the two ranchmen to answer. "wh-what are yuh tryin' t' hand us, anyhow," demanded chip. "do yuh really mean he's the same wilson thet won the big marathon race?" "straight goods," answered dick; "if you don't believe it, ask melton." "whoop-ee!" yelled sandy, throwing his sombrero high in the air and catching it deftly as it descended. "no wonder he seemed so confident when he offered to run fer us. at thet time i kind a' thought he was jest stringin' us along." "you'll find that when bert says a thing he generally means it," remarked dick, "but what is it all about, anyway? what was it that he offered to run in?" sandy then proceeded to explain all that had occurred that morning, and when he had finished both tom and dick gave a long whistle. "so that's how the land lies, is it?" exclaimed dick; "the old sinner's never satisfied unless he's winning something or other, is he?" "you said something that time," acquiesced tom, a note of pride in his voice; "if excitement won't come to him, he goes looking for it. that's his style, every time." the two cowboys did not stop to hear any more, but hurried off excitedly to take the news to their companions. they burst into the bunkhouse, where the men had already sat down to supper. "boys, we're all a bunch o' locoed piutes," yelled sandy. "do you know who this boy wilson is, eh? he's the feller that won the marathon fer uncle sam at the olympic games, an' we never knew it. somebody kindly make the remarks fer me thet 're approp'rite on sech an occasion." for a few seconds, astonished exclamations of a very forceful character filled the air, but soon the cowboys quieted down somewhat, and began to discuss the surprising news in every detail. everybody was jubilant, and already they could picture the chagrin of the townspeople when their favorite was beaten. "but we don't want to be too certain of winnin', at that," cautioned bud; "arter all, that helena runner is a professional, an' wilson is only an amateur, no matter how good he may be. a feller thet makes a livin' out of a thing is likely to do it better than the sport thet does it fer fun, leastwise, thet's the way i figger it out." "thet's all right," spoke up reddy, "but ef yuh can remember that far back, you'll rec-lect that his pals told us he held a world's record fer five miles. waal, now, they must 'a' been lots o' professionals runnin' thet distance, and in spite of everythin' they never did no better'n thet. what've yuh got to say t' that, eh?" thus the discussion raged, and the cowboys stayed up much later than usual that night arguing every phase of the forthcoming race pro and con. as is usually the case in such discussions, they reached no decision, beyond unanimously agreeing that the best man would win, a proposition that few people would care to argue. in the meantime the three comrades had met at mr. melton's hospitable board, and dick and tom recounted with great mirth the surprise of the cowboys on hearing of bert's athletic prowess. "it was better than a circus," laughed dick. "i never saw two more surprised faces in my life." "i either," said tom. "i guess they must have thought bert was champion of some hick village before they consulted us." "i could see that was their idea when i offered to run," grinned bert; "that's why i referred them to you." "the boys place a lot of importance on the foot race," said mr. melton; "in the other events they're chiefly competing against each other, but in that they meet the townspeople on common ground, and it means a lot to them to win. and if the winner comes from their own particular ranch, that makes the victory all the more sweet." "well," remarked bert, "if i do run in that race, as it seems very likely i shall, i'll certainly do my best to win for the ranch. i don't suppose there'll be much competition outside of this 'ringer,' anyway." "no, i don't think there'll be much competition for _you_," smiled mr. melton, "but just the same there'll be some pretty fair runners in that race, and they may make you hustle a little at that." "i hope they do," said bert, "but the only thing i'm going in the race for is to show up that crooked runner. it's such fellows as he that give the sport a bad name. i'll do everything in my power to discourage it whenever i get the chance." "that's the talk," encouraged tom, "go to it, old boy, and show him up. besides, it will put you in more solid than ever with the cowboys here. they've got a pretty good idea of you already, i imagine, and this will cinch matters." "it will give me an awful black eye if i should happen to get licked," laughed bert; "you never seem to think of that side of it." "no, we'll have to admit that we don't take that into consideration much," said dick; "you seem to have such an inveterate habit of winning that we rather take it as a matter of course." "i don't take it as a matter of course, though, not by a long sight," said bert; "many a fellow's got tripped up by being over-confident, and not waking up until it was too late. i go into anything like that with the idea that if i don't do my very best i _may_ lose. and then, if a person does lose a race, that excuse of 'over-confidence' doesn't go a long way, i've noticed." "no, it's better to be on the safe side, i guess," admitted dick. "but are you going to train at all for this race?" "nothing to speak of," answered bert. "the life we're living these days keeps a fellow about as fit as he can be, anyway. i feel as though i could start running at a minute's notice and give a good account of myself." they talked over matters in this fashion until they had discussed the forthcoming event at every angle, and then separated for the night. from that time on little else was thought or talked of about the ranch. even the roping and riding contests were relegated to the background. news that the bar z boys had a promising candidate had been circulated among the neighboring ranches, and there was almost as much excitement rife on them as on mr. melton's. the cowboys were always questioning dick and tom in regard to bert's "past performances," and never tired of hearing his exploits as told by his enthusiastic friends. never was a day so looked forward to as the fourth of july that year, and never did a day seem so long in coming. the last days of june were checked off one by one on a highly colored calendar suspended against the wall of the bunkhouse, and at last the impatient ranchers tore the june sheet off, or, as chip put it, "took a month off." saddles were gone over, oiled and polished, and when at last the longed-for day arrived every preparation had been made to celebrate it fittingly. everybody on the ranch was up before the sun, and after a hasty breakfast they sallied forth to town. the three comrades rode with them, and the cowboys surrounded them as a sort of bodyguard. mr. melton was not able to accompany them, as he had some pressing business affairs to attend to, but he had promised to reach town before the running race, which was not to take place until the afternoon, was "pulled off." it was a beautiful day and the ranchmen were in high spirits. they laughed and shouted and indulged in rough horse-play like a crowd of school-boys out for a lark, and the boys did their full share to add to the general gaiety. the long miles slipped unnoticed behind them, and the sun was not far above the eastern horizon when the party cantered into helena. the town was gaily bedecked in honor of the occasion. the houses were draped with flags and bunting, and in many cases long colored streamers fluttered from the windows and roofs. the cowboys set spurs to their ponies, and swept down the street like a veritable cyclone. they met other parties who had just arrived, and exchanged greetings with the many friends among them. there was an air of merry-making and good-fellowship in the air that was infectious, and everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves. "they certainly know how to have a good time," remarked dick. "i guess it's because they have so few holidays that they enjoy them all the more when they do come." along the streets booths were lined, selling anything from a ten-cent pocket knife to a blue-barreled colts revolver. the numerous saloons were going full blast, and were doing a profitable business. nobody is more of a spendthrift than your true cowboy when he is out on pleasure bent, and the fakirs and saloon-keepers were taking full advantage of that fact. the party from melton's ranch, with the exception of the three boys, lost no time in slaking the thirst occasioned by their ride over the prairie, and then they all repaired to the scene of the first event on the entertainment programme, which proved to be a roping and tying contest. chip entered this and narrowly missed winning the prize. "tough luck, old timer," consoled sandy, "but better luck next time. you made a good stab at it, anyhow." other events were run off in quick succession, with the excitement running high and keeping everybody at fever heat. the boys from the home ranch won their share of the honors and a little over, and were proportionately jubilant. "an' ef wilson wins that race this arternoon," said sandy, "the boys from the ranch will feel so dawgoned good thet they won't be able t' kick about nothin' fer a year t' come." "thet's a good one, thet is," jeered one of the townspeople who had overheard this remark. "why, that guy wilson ain't got even a look-in. our champ will make him look like an also ran." "is that so?" replied sandy sarcastically. "well, yuh just stick around this arternoon, an' yuh'll realize what a plumb egreg'us idjut a feller can become by livin' in town a spell. why, yuh poor boob, the feller you're backin' to rake in the chips ain't got even a ghost of a show." others of the citizens began to join in the argument, and words were beginning to run high when hotchkiss, the sheriff, galloped up on his horse. "here, here, boys," he exclaimed, "no hard feelin' on the glorious fourth. we're all here to have a good time, an' anybody that don't think so can talk to me." "all right, bill," said sandy soothingly; "we warn't allowin' to have a scrap, but the people o' this yere town is got too big a idea o' themselves, thet's all." "come away, sandy," advised dick, laughing. "maybe we'll take a little of the starch out of them this afternoon." sandy at last allowed himself to be persuaded, and the cowboys rode off. soon afterward the three boys left them, for they had arranged with mr. melton to lunch with him at the principal hotel. when they entered its doors he was waiting for them in the lobby, his genial face beaming. "well, my lads," he exclaimed, "how do you like the way we spend our holidays out here, eh?" "great!" exclaimed bert, speaking for the others; "the boys certainly know how to make things hum when they get started. there's something doing every minute." "yes, they're a great lot," said mr. melton. "they're hot tempered and inclined to jump too quickly into a quarrel, but their hearts are always in the right place, and they're loyal to the core. but how do you feel, bert?" suddenly changing the subject. "have you got your winged shoes on to-day?" "never felt more like running in my life," smiled bert. "anybody that beats me to-day will have to travel a little, i think." "good!" exclaimed the rancher, "that's the kind of talk i like to hear. everybody i've talked to in the hotel here seems to think that this johnson is going to have things all his own way, and i want you to give them the surprise of their lives." the fact that bert was a marathon winner was not generally known, and everybody in town thought that their candidate would have an unknown runner pitted against him, whom he could easily vanquish. it was, therefore, with feelings of the utmost confidence that they streamed toward the place where the race was to be held. they bantered the cowboys they met unmercifully, but the latter kept their own counsel, and only smiled in a knowing fashion. money was bet freely on both sides, and those who lost stood to lose heavily. after the boys had finished luncheon, they and mr. melton repaired to the meeting place. the race was to be run around a one-mile oval track, and five men were entered as contestants. besides bert and johnson, the winner of the previous race, jed barnes, was to race, and two other men from neighboring ranches. as soon as the boys and mr. melton reached the track they parted, the former seeking out the dressing room, and the latter securing a seat in the grand stand. bert got into his racing togs immediately, and his comrades left him and walked out to secure seats for themselves. this was soon done, and they settled themselves, waiting as best they could for the start. the stand and field filled rapidly until at last, when the gates were closed, every available space was occupied by a tightly packed, expectant throng. suddenly a whistle blew and a few seconds afterward the runners walked out and proceeded to draw lots for the choice of position. bert drew third from the inside rail, jed barnes second, and johnson secured the best place next to the rail. "that makes a rather bad handicap for bert," said tom anxiously. "i wish he could have gotten a better position." "oh, well, it might be worse," said dick, but it must be confessed he was a little worried also. johnson was a well-built athlete, and seemed to be in the best of condition. dick recalled that bert had not gone through any special training, and was assailed with misgivings. however, he had not long to wait. the runners took their places, and the starter raised his pistol in the air. "get set!" he called, and amid a breathless silence the racers crouched over, their fingers barely touching the ground. crack! went the pistol, and amid a roar from the spectators the five athletes sprang ahead as though released from a catapult. elbows pressed against their sides, heads up, they made a thrilling picture, and the crowd cheered wildly. at first they kept well together, but they were setting a fast pace, and soon one of the men began to lag behind. but little attention was paid him, for interest was concentrated on bert, johnson and barnes. before they were half way around the oval the fourth man had dropped out, so the race had narrowed down to these three. suddenly bert increased his stride a little, and spurted ahead. a wild shout went up from the spectators, and those who had not already done so leaped to their feet. "wilson! wilson!" chanted the cowboy contingent, while the townspeople no less vociferously reiterated the name of their favorite. but the "ringer" was not to be shaken off, and he in turn put on a burst of speed that carried him into the lead. as the runners rounded the three-quarter mile mark he was still leading, and barnes was lagging far to the rear, evidently done for as far as the race was concerned. chip had said that johnson could "move some," and the professional did not belie his reputation. apparently, bert was unable to close up the gap of nearly a yard that now separated him from his rival, and the yells and cheers of the citizens redoubled, while those of the cowboys died down. mr. melton chewed the end of his cigar fiercely, and swore softly to himself. but tom and dick were not deceived. "the old reprobate's only stalling," yelled dick into tom's ear, at the same time pounding him frantically on the back. "he isn't going his limit, by a whole lot. watch him, now, just watch----" but his words were drowned in the shrill cowboy yell that split the air. "yi, yi, yi!" they shouted, half crazy with excitement. for bert, their champion, suddenly seemed to be galvanized into furious action. he leaped ahead, seeming to dart through the air as though equipped with wings. johnson gave a startled glance over his shoulder, and then exerted himself to the utmost. but he might as well have stood still as far as any good it did him was concerned. bert was resolved to make a decisive finish, and show these doubting westerners what a son of the east could do. over the last hundred yards of the course he exerted every ounce of strength in him, and the result was as decisive as even dick and tom could desire. amid a tremendous pandemonium he dashed down the stretch like a thunderbolt, and breasted the tape sixty feet in advance of his laboring rival. words fail to describe the uproar that then broke loose. a yelling mob of cowboys swept down onto the field, and, surrounding bert, showered praise and congratulations. swearing joyfully, reddy, chip, bud and several of the others of the cross diamond outfit elbowed their way through the crowd at one point, while mr. melton, dick and tom edged through at another. "all right, boys," laughed mr. melton, "give him a chance to get his breath back, though, before you shake his hands off altogether. let's work a path to the dressing room for him." this was no sooner said than done. dick and tom, assisted by reddy and the others, fought a path through the excited crowd, and at last got bert into the dressing room under the grandstand. "waal, m' lad, yuh certainly put it all over that maverick," exulted reddy; "one time there, though, we figgered he had you beaten to a stand-still. it was sure a treat the way yuh breezed past him at the finish, it sure was." "i was worried some myself," admitted mr. melton, "but i suppose i ought to have known better." meanwhile bert had taken a shower, and started to dress. in a few minutes he was ready to leave the dressing room, and they all started out. just as bert was going through the door johnson, who had had a hard time getting through the crowd, entered. as they passed bert said, "maybe this will teach you to stick to straight racing, summers. take my advice and cut out the crooked stuff. it doesn't pay in the end." the defeated athlete started, and muttered an oath. "i know who you are now," he exclaimed. "i recognized you first thing, but couldn't place you. it's just my luck," he continued bitterly. "if i'd had any idea who i was going to run against i'd have backed out. but i'll get even with you some day for queering my game, see if i don't." "do your worst," invited bert. "so long," and he hastened after his friends, who had gone on slowly during this time. "what did he say?" inquired tom, and bert repeated the substance of the brief exchange of talk. "but i'm not worrying much over his threats," he finished. "i imagine he'll be a little more careful in the future." they then repaired directly to the hotel, where they had supper. afterward they went out again to view an elaborate display of fireworks given under the auspices of the town. everywhere were hilarious cowboys, who as soon as they recognized bert crowded about the party and made progress difficult. at last they struggled to a point of vantage where they could see everything going on, and spent an enjoyable evening. about ten o'clock they returned to the hotel, and after securing their ponies set out on the long ride back to camp, accompanied by such of the ranchmen as could tear themselves away so early. they straggled in singly and in couples all the next day, and it was almost a week before the affairs of the ranch settled down into their usual well-ordered condition. from that time on, the regard in which the three comrades were held by the rough westerners never wavered, and the cowboys never wearied of discussing again and again the details of the great race that clipped the wings of the "townies." chapter vii the wolf pack one evening not long after their arrival at the camp the three friends, wearied after a day of strenuous activity, were whiling away the time in reminiscences of some of their past adventures. mr. melton, who made one of the little group, listened in an interested fashion, and seemed little disposed to interrupt the draught of "memories' mellow vine." after a while they ceased talking, and a short silence ensued, which was abruptly broken by bert. "look here, fellows," he exclaimed, "here we are monopolizing the conversation, when we might be listening to some really interesting story from mr. melton. i vote we petition the boss of this outfit to spin us a yarn." "second the motion," shouted tom and dick, and the vote was carried. "you fellows seem to think i have a story on tap all the time," he said with an indulgent smile, "but the fact is i've told you about all the exciting things that ever happened to me, or that i ever heard of. my memory is squeezed as dry as a lemon." "just the same, i'll bet if you think real hard you can think of something worth telling," said bert; "try to, anyway, won't you?" at first their host made no reply to this entreaty, but gazed ruminatively off into space. at last he spoke. "i suppose you boys think," he said, "that this country is pretty wild and uncivilized. but take my word for it, it is so tame now that it eats out of your hand compared to what it once was. why, now it's the rarest thing in the world that you ever see a wolf--that is, a real wolf," as tom started to interrupt. "what i'm thinking of is a real timber wolf, not one of the slinking coyotes you see every once in a while. there is no animal i'd go farther out of my way to avoid than a hungry timber wolf, and anybody else who knows anything at all about them will tell you the same thing. "they are half as big again as a coyote, and twice as strong. why, a full-grown timber wolf will throw a running steer. man is the only thing in the world they're afraid of, and they're not afraid of him when they're very hungry or running in packs. when driven to it they'll tackle almost anything. "i remember one time when i had occasion to go to belford, a little trading station some twenty or thirty miles from our camp, to secure some much-needed supplies. it was the middle of winter, and an exceptionally cold and severe winter at that. fresh meat was naturally very scarce, and the wolves were becoming bolder and more fearless every day. at night they used to prowl close about the camp, and howl until we got up and plugged one or two of their number, after which they generally dispersed for a time. "well, as i have said, it became necessary for me to take the journey for supplies, so one winter's morning i hitched up the team to a rude sort of home-made sled i had made and started off for belford. the snow was quite deep and, needless to say, there had not been enough travel along the trail to pack it down. the horses made heavy going of it, but we got there at last, and glad enough i was to get inside the shack that served as the general store and warm my half frozen hands and feet at the red hot stove. "after i was comfortable once more i made my purchases, and after loading them into the sleigh said good-by to the boys and started out on the return journey. "it was a mighty long trip for the horses, but they were a young team, full of fire and life, and i thought we could make back the same day without much trouble. and likely enough we would have, with time to spare, if it hadn't started to snow; lightly at first, but getting thicker all the time. the horses had started out toward home at a brisk trot, but they gradually slowed down to a walk, and once or twice i had to stop them altogether to let them gather fresh strength. "what with the slow going and the stops, dusk overtook us while we were still some eight or ten miles from the camp. it couldn't have been later than four o'clock, but the short winter's day was even at that time drawing to a close, and the falling snow made it darker still. "but no thought of danger entered my head, and i merely swore a little at the prospect of a late supper, for i was cold and hungry. suddenly, however, the danger of my position was brought home to me in a very sudden manner. away in the distance i heard the long drawn wolf-howl, than which i firmly believe there is no more blood-curdling sound in existence. the horses pricked up their ears nervously and hastened their lagging pace, and i myself felt a thrill go up my spine. it was not many seconds before the first howl was answered by a second, and then a third. "'a little faster, my beauties,' i said to the horses, 'we're not so far from home now, and it's up to us to get there pretty pronto.' "the faithful beasts seemed to understand my words, and strained forward in the harness. the snow had stopped by this time, but was pretty deep, and the sleigh was heavy. after trotting forward at a brisk pace for a way they dropped back into a walk again. "by now the howls had merged into a general chorus, and looking back over the great expanse of open country over which we were traveling i could see numerous black specks traveling swiftly toward us, becoming larger every second. "i saw that i was in a mighty tight place, so got out my winchester repeater and made sure that it was loaded. then i stationed myself in the back of the sleigh and waited for the enemy to approach. "on they came, loping swiftly along, silent now that their quarry was in plain sight. i took careful aim at the foremost brute, and pulled the trigger. my shot took effect, for with an unearthly scream the animal dropped, and for a few brief seconds his comrades stopped in order to devour him. at the sound of the rifle shot and the scream of the stricken wolf the horses plunged forward, all thought of fatigue gone in their overwhelming terror. the wolves were not easily to be outdistanced, though, and were soon after us again. they gained on us as though we were standing still, and were soon close to the back of the sleigh. i pumped bullets into them as fast as i could work my repeater, but by this time they were so numerous that it seemed to have little effect. the horses were slowing down again, even their fear of death unable to force them onward. i saw it was a case of lighten the sleigh or go under, so i commenced throwing our precious supplies out of the sled. bags of flour and sides of bacon flew through the air, and the wolves were momentarily checked while fighting over the prizes. "i knew that presently they would be up with us again, however, and then, with every resource gone, it looked as though my chances would be slim, indeed. but suddenly an inspiration shot through my mind. "i drew up the trembling horses, and with a few slashes of my hunting knife cut the harness that held them to the sleigh. then, with my rifle in one hand, i swung onto the back of the larger of the two horses, and let the other go. he was off like a streak, with my mount a close second. "i glanced back over my shoulder, hoping that we could gain a little ground before the wolves quit their wrangling over the supplies i had thrown out to them, but was disappointed. they were after us again in full cry, and my heart sank. "i turned in the saddle and sent shot after shot into the racing pack, and succeeded in checking them a little, but not much. the horse was galloping at a good clip now, though, and i knew that if we could keep ahead for a short time longer we would reach the camp. "the wolves overtook us without seeming effort, however, and were soon snapping about the horse's heels. my rifle was of little use now, and i drew my revolvers and blazed away at short range. every shot took effect, but the wolves were nothing daunted. as i told you before, when the timber wolf gets his blood up he is absolutely fearless. no sooner did one of the great gray brutes drop than another leaped into his place, his green eyes glowing balefully and his jaws snapping. "when both my revolves were empty i clubbed my rifle, and lashed away at the long-pointed heads that were so close to me. once or twice one would catch the butt of the gun in his teeth, and the marks are in the wood to this day. "well, i was so busy fighting off the wolves that i had no time to notice how near we were to camp. but suddenly my heart gave a great leap as i heard a yell in front of me and recognized the voice of my partner. "i looked ahead and saw that i had almost reached our shack. my partner was standing in the doorway, rifle in hand, and even as i looked came running out toward me. in a few seconds the faithful horse had carried me almost to the shack, and i leaped to the ground. my partner took up a stand alongside me, and as the wolves came on we cleared a space about us with the clubbed rifles. we realized we couldn't keep that up long, though, so we retreated to the cabin. we backed in, but were unable to shut the door before one big gray brute squeezed inside. he was nothing dismayed at being separated from his companions, but leaped straight for us. i fetched him a stunning blow with the butt of my rifle, and before he could recover we both fell upon him and despatched him with our hunting knives. that was about as close a shave as i ever had," and as he finished his story mr. melton shook his head. "i should think it must have been," said bert, drawing a long breath, "but what did the rest of the wolves do when they found themselves shut out?" "oh, my partner and i shot at them from the window until we had killed over a dozen, and the rest, finding that they could not get at us, took themselves off." "did they kill the horses?" asked tom. "no," replied mr. melton, "for some reason they didn't chase them. the next morning we found them both outside the shack none the worse for their adventure. and a mighty lucky thing for us it was, because the loss of our horses then would have meant the failure of all our plans." "i suppose you went back and got the sled the next day, didn't you?" inquired dick. "oh, yes," replied his host, "we recovered it all right, but then we had to go back to the settlement for more grub, of course. but i was so happy at having escaped with my life that i didn't mind a little thing like that." the three boys laughingly voted mr. melton's story a "curly wolf," and then, as it was getting late, trooped off to bed. chapter viii with teeth and hoofs one of the most important of the many industries of the ranch was the breeding of horses for the eastern market. mr. melton had a number of fine horses, but the most valuable of all was satan, a big black stallion. his pedigree was as long as his flowing tail, and physically he was a perfect specimen. his only drawback was a fiendish temper, which it seemed impossible to subdue. strangers he would never tolerate, and mr. melton seemed to be the only man on the ranch that could go near him without running a chance of being badly kicked or bitten. even he was always very careful to keep an eye out for mischief whenever in the neighborhood of the stallion. all the cowboys hated satan, and with good reason. more than one of them bore marks of the horse's sharp teeth, and all of them could tell stories of narrow escapes experienced while feeding him or otherwise going through duties that called them into the neighborhood of the beautiful but vicious animal. he was pastured in lonely grandeur in a spacious corral, shunned by all, but apparently happy enough in spite of this. the three boys often watched him at a safe distance, and regretted that his evil temper made it impossible to be friendly with him. satan often lost many a lump of sugar or delicious carrot that he would have gotten had he been of a more friendly nature, in this way resembling many humans who build up a wall of reserve or ill-temper about them, and so lose many of the good things of life. soon after the arrival of the boys at the ranch mr. melton decided to purchase another stallion, as the demand for good horses at that time was exceptionally great. accordingly, one day another horse made his appearance in a corral adjacent to that in which satan was kept. the new horse was a good-sized bay, but not quite as large as satan, although a little younger. the two corrals were separated by a double fence, so that, while the two horses could get within a few feet of each other, they could never get close enough to fight. from the very beginning they exhibited a mutual hatred, and it was evident that if they ever got within striking distance of each other there would be trouble. everybody on the ranch was strictly enjoined to keep the gates between the corrals securely fastened, however, and there seemed no possibility of the two rivals meeting. "but if they ever should," one of the men had remarked, "there'd be some scrap, take it from me. there's nothing in the world worse than a fight between two stallions." "why, are they so vicious about it?" bert, who was standing near, had asked. "vicious!" exclaimed the cowboy, "why, vicious ain't no word for it, nohow. they're just devils let loose, that's all." it was only a few days after this that, as the boys were seated around the table in the ranch house eating luncheon, in company with their host, one of the cowboys dashed into the room, breathless and red of face. "satan an' the bay are fightin'," he cried; "somebody must 'a' left the gates open an'----" but mr. melton did not wait to hear any more. leaping to his feet he dashed through the door in the direction of the corrals. the three comrades followed close on his heels. as they reached the open they could hear shouts and cries and the thudding of hoofs. mr. melton increased his pace, and in a few moments they had reached the scene of action. and it was a fearsome sight that met their eyes. the two big stallions, the black and the bay, were both in satan's corral, fighting furiously, with a rage and viciousness that words are inadequate to describe. they circled rapidly about, biting at each other with their long yellow teeth, and lashing out with their hoofs. each was quick as a flash of light, but every once in a while a sharp hoof would find its mark, or the deadly teeth would rip into the other's skin. blood flowed freely, but neither seemed to notice the wounds that the other inflicted. they had longed to decide the question of supremacy ever since the newcomer's arrival, and now they were determined to settle the matter. satan was the stronger of the two, however, and probably in addition possessed a more evil temper than his rival. biting, screaming, kicking, he circled about his enemy, his savage heart bent on the destruction of the upstart who had dared to invade his domains. as mr. melton and the boys dashed up, the black horse whirled like lightning and planted both hind hoofs with deadly effect. the bay horse staggered, but his spirit was still unconquered, and, recovering himself, he rushed for satan with a ferocity almost as great as his. "stop them! separate them!" shouted mr. melton; "what are you standing around watching them for? one or the other of them will be killed soon, if we don't do something." it was but a few moments since the horses had started fighting, although it had seemed much longer. at first the cowboys had seemed in a sort of stupor, so suddenly had the thing happened, but at mr. melton's words they sprang into activity. some of them ran to get pitchforks, while others secured lariats from their saddles and hurried back to the scene of battle. the bay horse was now getting much the worst of it, and it became evident that if the two infuriated animals were not separated soon the later arrival would either be killed or else so badly hurt that he would have to be shot eventually. some of the cowboys rushed into the corral and with shouts and cries endeavored to separate the combatants. the stallions took not the slightest notice of them, however, except to lash out savagely at them whenever they came within striking distance. "they can't do anything that way," muttered mr. melton. "here," he exclaimed, snatching a coiled lariat from one of his men, "i'll get in there myself and put an end to this business, or know the reason why." lasso in hand he rushed toward the corral, and in a few seconds was inside. fortunately, just as he entered the inclosure, the stallions, exhausted with their efforts, drew apart and stood snorting and pawing the ground. mr. melton realized that here was his opportunity, and grasped it on the instant. swinging the loop in great circles about his head he took careful aim and let go. the rope whizzed through the air, and the lithe coils settled about satan's neck. for a second the black stallion was taken by surprise. he rolled his bloodshot eyes toward his owner, but for a brief space made no move. then with a loud snort of rage he rushed toward the ranchowner, his foam-flecked jaws gnashing and the breath whistling through his red nostrils. mr. melton stood quiet, but alert, every muscle tense. then, when the infuriated stallion was almost upon him, with an agility that it seemed impossible one of his bulk could possess, he leaped to one side, and started running backward. at the same moment he threw the whirling, writhing coil of rope with such sure aim that it settled with beautiful precision over satan's powerful shoulders. before the rope could tighten, however, the black stallion had whirled, and was again making for the ranchman. when the horse was almost upon him mr. melton once more leaped aside, and with a dexterous flick on the rope pulled the loop down over satan's back. before the horse could check his headlong speed mr. melton had worked the loop down about his legs. with a quick jerk he pulled it taut, and satan, suddenly hobbled, fell to the earth with a crash. several of the cowboys ran up, and in a few seconds the stallion was securely trussed up. the bay stallion in the meantime had retreated to the farthest corner of the corral, and was standing there dejectedly, all the fight gone out of him. he was quickly secured and led back into his own inclosure. very carefully satan was then loosed a trifle, and allowed to struggle to his feet. he was still "hunting trouble," as one of the men expressed it, but with the confining ropes about his fetlocks was powerless. he was left hobbled, and the gate to his corral was fastened securely this time. "that was sure a great ropin' stunt you pulled off, boss," said "curley" to mr. melton. "i never seen the trick done neater, nohow." "it was great!" bert exclaimed. "i didn't know you were such an expert roper, mr. melton." "it wasn't so bad for an old fellow," admitted his host with a smile; "it took some pretty quick sidestepping to get out of satan's way, i'll admit. but when i was twenty years younger i used to rope cattle for a living, and narrow escapes were part of the business." he turned and gave a few directions to the men, together with strict injunctions to keep the two gates between the corrals closed. "if anything like this happens again," he warned, "somebody's going to get fired pretty pronto, savvy? and do all you can for the bay. i don't think he's seriously hurt, and if we're careful we can bring him back into shape all right." after this, he and the boys returned to the ranch house, where they discussed the recent exciting happenings pro and con. the boys had planned to take an exploring expedition that afternoon, but all thought of this was banished from their minds. after a while they returned to the stables, where the stallions were having their wounds doctored. it appeared that, as mr. melton had surmised, neither was very badly injured physically, but the bay stallion's spirit seemed utterly broken. after many days, however, he regained the pride which had been so rudely shattered in his encounter with satan, and proved to be a valuable horse. he was of a more gentle disposition also, and accepted the overtures of friendship that the boys made toward him, so that before their visit at the ranch came to a close they were on very good terms with him. chapter ix the indian outbreak "they seem to be having trouble with the indians on the reservation," remarked mr. milton one evening, just after his return from a trip to town; "everybody in helena seems to be talking about it, and there was a big article in the 'despatch' this morning, too." "what kind of trouble?" asked bert, his interest at once aroused. "you don't mean there's talk of an outbreak among them, do you?" "that's exactly what i _do_ mean," replied mr. melton seriously. "the young bucks are discontented, and are continually making 'war medicine.' of course, the old men of the tribes do all they can to keep them within bounds, for they know how useless any outbreak would be. but the young men have never had the bitter experience of their fathers, and at present they seem very restless." "but i thought the days of indian outbreaks were over," exclaimed tom excitedly; "why, they wouldn't have a ghost of a chance if they started anything now." "just the same there are enough of them to make trouble, if they ever got started," said mr. melton soberly. "of course, as you say, the uprising would be suppressed quickly enough, but not perhaps without considerable bloodshed and loss of property. at any rate, the prospect of such an outbreak is enough to keep people living anywhere near the reservation boundary on the anxious seat." "but i should think," remarked dick, "that the authorities would make such preparations to subdue an uprising among the indians that it would be crushed before they had a chance to get off the reservation." "well, the authorities _have_ taken every possible precaution," replied mr. melton. "jim hotchkiss, the sheriff, told me that word had been passed to officers of the forts to have the troops in readiness for instant action. but the 'noble red man' is cunning in his own way, and lays his plans carefully. and when he is ready to strike he strikes quickly, like the snake. a marauding band will attack and sack a farmhouse, and be forty miles away before the troops arrive on the scene. and in a country as large and wild as this it is something of a task to corner and subdue them." "there hasn't been any trouble of the kind for a long time, has there?" asked dick. "no, not for a good many years," answered mr. melton; "and that inclines me all the more to take the present situation seriously. these uprisings come only at long intervals now, but it seems impossible to prevent them altogether. after an outbreak has been put down the indians are very quiet for a time. they have probably suffered considerable loss of life, and been severely punished by the government. for years the memory of this lingers, but gradually it fades away, and the rising generation of young bucks, with the inherited lust of fight and warfare running riot in their blood, become restless and rebellious under the restraints of civilization and government. they hear stories of their ancestors' prowess from the lips of the old men of the tribe, and they long to go out and capture a few 'pale face' scalps on their own account. after a while they work themselves up to the required pitch, and some fine day a band of them sallies forth on the 'war path.' then there is a brief time of plundering and murdering, until the troops can come up with them. then there's a scrimmage, in which most of the band is exterminated, and the rest are herded back to the reservation, with most of the fight gone out of them." "i should think a few experiences like that would teach them wisdom, and keep them from repeating the experiment," commented bert. "it would seem so," assented melton, "but," with a smile, "youth is always prone to disregard what is told it by its elders, and to insist on finding out the why and wherefore of things by bitter experience." "i hope there's nothing personal in that," grinned dick. "oh, not at all," replied his host with an innocent expression on his face, but a twinkle in his eye. "i wonder what could have given you that idea." "nothing," replied dick. "i just thought it barely possible, that's all." "oh, no," disclaimed melton, "nothing could have been further from my thoughts." dick looked suspicious, and tom and bert laughed heartily. after this little interruption, the talk went back to the subject of the threatened indian uprising. after a time mr. melton said: "it might be a good idea for you boys to ride to town to-morrow and get the latest news. there'll be very little going on about the ranch to-morrow to interest you, and it will be a good way to spend the day. besides, there are one or two things i forgot when in town, and while you are about it you can get them and bring them back with you." this plan was received by the boys with acclamation, and they immediately set to making preparations. it was a considerable distance to the town, and they planned to make an early start, before the intense heat of the day set in. they accordingly packed their "war-bags" that same evening, and before retiring had made every preparation for the morrow's trip. the next morning they were up with the sun, and after a hasty breakfast leaped into their saddles and were off. it was a glorious day, and the exhilarating air made them feel "right up on their toes," as tom expressed it. bert felt called upon to reprove tom for using this expression, for, as he gravely pointed out, they were not on their own toes at all, but on the horses', so to speak. "aw, forget it," retorted tom flippantly; "it's toe bad about you, anyway." having delivered this shot tom chirruped to his horse, and set off at a smart gallop, followed by dick and bert. the two latter hadn't decided what they would do to tom when they caught him, but they were longing for a canter, anyway, and this gave them a good excuse. but after traveling in this rapid manner for a short distance they pulled in their steeds, for it would never do to tire them thus early in the journey. tom, seeing that the pursuit had been abandoned, also reined in his horse, and allowed his companions to gain on him. "don't shoot," he called. "i'll promise to be good and never do it again--not till the next time, that is." "all right," laughed bert, "we'll suspend sentence this time, but at the next offense we won't be so lenient, will we, dick?" "not by a long shot," said dick; "we'll toe him along at the end of a lariat if he does, that's all." he grinned feebly as he got off this atrocious pun, but bert and tom refused to be beguiled into smiling. "i never thought it of you, dick, honest i didn't," mourned bert, sadly shaking his head. "i naturally expect such things from tom, but i had a better opinion of you. i suppose i'll have to let bygones be bygones, but just the same you deserve nothing less than ptomaine poisoning as punishment." at this tom and dick gave utterance to a howl of execration that made their horses jump, and two tightly rolled sombreros came flying toward bert's head. but he ducked just in time, and then had a good laugh as tom and dick were forced to dismount and secure their misused headgear. soon his two friends were back in the saddle, however, and then they set off at a steady trot, discussing in a more serious vein the probability of such an uprising as mr. melton feared. "i don't want it to happen," summed up bert at last, "but if it's got to happen anyway, i hope it does while we're out here. i feel like a small boy going to a fire. as long as the house has to burn anyway, he wants to be johnny-on-the-spot." in this manner the time passed quickly, and before eleven o'clock they were nearing the town. a few minutes later they were riding through its streets, alertly on the lookout for any signs of impending trouble. all seemed much the same as usual, though, except that about the telegraph and newspaper offices there seemed to be unwonted bustle and excitement. here and there knots of men had congregated also, who appeared to be discussing some important matter. the three boys rode until they reached the post office, and then, dismounting and hitching their horses, went inside. the post office also served as a telegraph station, and there were various news bulletins posted about the room. they hastened to one of these, and their faces grew grave as they read. it appeared from the bulletin that the indians were on the very eve of an outbreak, although they had made no actual hostile moves as yet. troops had been summoned to the reservation, however, and were expected to reach helena that evening. they were ordered to stay in the town overnight, and press on for the reservation the following morning. "it begins to look like business now, all right," said bert, after he and his friends had digested this information. "it sure does," agreed dick, "but likely as not it will all blow over before anything really serious happens." "oh, of course, there's always that chance," said bert, "but let's go outside and find out what the opinion of the townspeople is. they must understand the situation pretty thoroughly, and we can soon find out whether or not they regard this as a false alarm. but it looks to me as though real trouble were brewing." bert's opinion seemed to be shared almost unanimously by the citizens. everywhere men were getting out and overhauling their firearms, and there was a run on the ammunition stores. "i'm glad we brought our revolvers," remarked tom; "there seems to be a chance of our having use for them by and by." "i'm mighty glad we did," acquiesced bert, "and i brought something beside my revolver, too. just before we left the ranch i packed my winchester repeater inside my blankets. i wasn't even thinking of the indians then, but i thought we might have a chance at a little game, and it would be just as well to pack it along. there's not a chance in a thousand that we'll need it, but you can't always tell." "it's lucky you did," said dick; "have you got plenty of ammunition for it?" "none too much," replied bert. "i think while we're here i'll buy a few boxes of cartridges." acting upon this thought, they bought the ammunition, together with some extra cartridges for their revolvers. this done they made the purchases for mr. melton that he had requested of them, and after a satisfying meal at the best hotel set out on their return journey. it was about two o'clock as they jogged out of town, and as they knew they had ample time in which to reach the ranch before dark they let the horses set their own pace. they had many things to talk about, although the heat of the sultry afternoon made even conversation a task. but nothing could subdue their spirits, and with never a care in the world they rode gaily on. "it's quite near stage time," bert remarked suddenly, "we're pretty near the trail, and if we meet it we can get the latest developments of the reservation situation from buck, the driver. he always has a supply of the latest news. he knows more than the local newspapers of what's going on, i believe." "i'll bet that's the coach now," exclaimed dick, pointing to a cloud of dust in the distance. "yes, i guess it is," returned bert, gazing intently at the distant smirch against the clear blue background of sky; "come along, fellows. ride hard and we'll reach the trail before the coach comes along." accordingly they set spurs to their horses and galloped rapidly over the sunburned prairie. in a short time they reached the travel-hardened trail, beating the coach by a good half mile. then they drew rein, and waited impatiently for the lumbering vehicle to reach them. with rattle of harness and creak of complaining axle-tree the coach toiled over the endless trail, drawn by four raw-boned mules. as it drew near, the boys waved their sombreros to the driver, who returned the salute with a flourish of his long snakeskin whip. at last it reached them and the driver rumbled a hoarse greeting. "how goes it, pards," he said, "an' what's the good word?" "that's just what we were going to ask you," said bert with a friendly smile. "we've been hearing a lot lately of the expected redskin uprising, and we wanted to know if you had a line on the real situation, buck. is there anything really doing, or is it all just talk?" "i dunno," answered the driver, "some says yes an' some says no, but if you want my honest opinion i'd say thet the injuns ain't got nerve enough to start trouble no more. why, they're so all-fired meek an' lowly thet----" zip! a bullet whizzed through the sultry air and whirled the stage driver's slouch hat from his head. zip! zip! zip! and the air was alive with the whine and drone of bullets. "hold-ups, by the 'tarnal," yelled the driver, accompanying his words with a whirl of oaths. "down behind the coach, sam!" addressing the guard, who always rode beside him on the box with loaded rifle; "we'll stand 'em off, or i'm a greaser." the guard leaped down behind the coach at the same moment that bert and dick and tom made for the same shelter. there were only two passengers in the coach, and they, pale of face and with chattering teeth, joined the little group. "them shots came from that bunch of chaparral over there," said buck, "but it's an almighty queer way for road agents to go about a job. they ginerally----" "injuns!" shouted the guard, who had been peering cautiously around the end of the coach. "injuns, by the lord harry, shoot me if they ain't!" a thrill passed over the three comrades, and they looked warily forth in the direction in which the guard had pointed. sure enough, over the top of the chapparal they could discern a number of hideously painted faces surmounted by tufts of eagle feathers. the guard, recovering from his first paralysis of astonishment, took careful aim at one of them and pulled the trigger. a yell of pain followed the report of his rifle, and a savage shout went up from the band of redskins. they answered with a volley that bored through the sides of the coach, and narrowly missed several of the little group gathered behind it. "we got to turn the coach over," exclaimed buck, "the top an' floor's a whole lot thicker than the sides, and besides, as it is there's nothin' to prevent the bullets from comin' in underneath. lend a hand, everybody, and we'll get 'er over." he crept in between the mules and commenced unharnessing them. bert and his friends leaped to his assistance, although during the process they were much more exposed to the fire of the indians. the latter were not slow to perceive this, and they opened a steady fire. but fortunately they were poor shots, and most of their bullets went wild. several struck the mules, however, and the unfortunate animals plunged and kicked so wildly that the three friends and the driver stood in almost as much danger from them as from the bullets. finally the traces were unfastened, and the mules, released from the harness, raced wildly away. bert and the others dodged nimbly back behind the coach, and then all hands set to the task of overturning it. by dint of exerting all their strength they finally managed to lift one side of the clumsy vehicle until it toppled over with a crash. "there," exclaimed buck, wiping the perspiration from his face with a big bandanna handkerchief; "so fur, so good, but we got to do more than that. them injuns will start to surround us as soon as they see they can't pick us off from the front, and we want to be ready for them." "what do you think we'd better do?" asked bert. "fust thing is t' get the trunks and mail bags out o' the coach and build a barricade with them," replied the driver, "an' it looks as though we stood a good chance o' gettin' shot full o' lead doin' it, too. if them injuns hadn't been sech all-fired poor shots we'd a been winged before this, i reckon." "well, as long as it's got to be done, we might as well get it over with," said dick; "come on, fellows, one, two----" "wait a minute!" exclaimed bert. "i think it would be a good plan for those of us who have rifles to be on the lookout and pick off any of the redskins who show themselves. even if we don't get any, it will prevent them from taking good aim." "we ain't got but one rifle, though," objected buck. "sam, here," motioning toward the guard, "is the only one in the bunch with a rifle." "no, i've got one in my blanket roll," replied bert, and before the driver could answer was busily engaged in undoing the tightly rolled blanket. "i reckon you two had better get anythin' you want off your horses," said buck, addressing tom and dick, "an' then set the critters loose. they ain't a mite o' good here, an' they only take up valuable space." the boys were loath to act on this advice, but they saw the wisdom of it, and so did as the driver suggested. they knew that the horses, as soon as released, would make for the ranch, and they had little fear of the indians being able to catch them. accordingly, a few minutes later the three trusty animals were turned loose, each receiving a smart slap to start it on its way. they galloped off across the plain, and were soon lost to sight in the distance. meantime the indians had been keeping up a straggling fire in the direction of the stage coach, and bert and the guard set themselves to the task of silencing it. lying flat on the ground, and aiming their guns cautiously around each end of the coach, they fired with sure aim every time a dusky arm or leg was exposed by their attackers. they were both crack shots, and their bullets seldom failed to reach their mark. gradually the fire from the enemy died down, and at last stopped almost altogether. the precision of the white men astonished them, and they drew behind cover and held a conference. "now's the time!" exclaimed buck. "into the coach, boys, and rustle out the baggage. lively's the word!" all the little party, with the exception of the passengers, who seemed too paralyzed with fright to move, dashed into the coach, and before the indians realized what was happening returned, each staggering under some bulky article, trunk, or mail bag. the savages sprang into life, and a hail of bullets struck against the coach. but they were too late, and the defenders set to work to construct a circular rampart, using the coach as part of it. after arranging the baggage to their satisfaction they dug up earth and covered the improvised ramparts with it. "so far, so good," said buck, when at last they stopped to draw breath. "that will hold the red devils off for a time, anyway. but unless we get help in some way i'm afraid we're done for, anyway. there's a big party o' bucks there, and chances are that more will join them before mornin'. then they'll come at us in earnest, and it will only be a question o' how long we can stand them off. after that----" he ended with a silence more eloquent than words. "isn't there--isn't there some way to summon aid?" asked one of the passengers, with blanched cheeks. "i don't see how," replied buck; "it would be jest plain suicide fer one of us to make a break now. besides, it's twenty miles to the nearest town, and the injuns'll be on us long before anybody could get to town and bring back help, even supposin' the injuns didn't pot him before he got fairly started. o' course, we couldn't do anythin' before dark, nohow." "don't you think they'll attack before that?" asked dick. "no, i don't," replied the driver; "they'll want to surround us first, an' they won't start to do that until after dark, 'cordin' to my way o' thinkin'. what do you say, sam?" "them's my sentiments exactly," answered that individual. "there ain't a chance in the world o' their doin' anythin' before that." as the opinions of these two veterans coincided the matter was regarded as settled, and the boys commenced overhauling their pistols to make sure they were in perfect shape. there was no further movement on the part of their besiegers, but buck and sam knew full well that the indians were far from giving up their attack. to them the respite was more ominous than an active sally, for they knew that the braves were hatching some scheme for their destruction. "they're foxy as they make 'em," opined sam grimly; "the critters are cookin' up some deep plan to circumvent us, or i'm a dutchman. jest wait an' see if they ain't." "if anybody thinks them red devils ain't watching us closer than a cat watches a mouse," said buck, "i'll just prove it to 'em mighty pronto." he snatched his sombrero from his head, and placing it on the muzzle of the guard's rifle, held the piece up in the air so that the hat projected above the edge of the over-turned coach. instantly a sharp fusillade broke from the indian's position, and one bullet, better aimed than the majority, passed clean through the sombrero, whirling it off the rifle. "i reckon that shows they ain't asleep," remarked buck grimly; "ef they don't get our scalps it won't be from lack o' tryin'." "we've got to figure out some way of getting word to town," exclaimed bert fiercely. "there must be some way, if we could only think of it. i have it!" he shouted. "listen! the new branch they've been putting through from the railroad is almost completed, and a foreman i was speaking to a few days ago said they had almost finished stringing the telegraph wires. they're probably up by now, and if i could only get to them i'd have help here in no time!" "by all that's holy, the lad's right," exclaimed buck, "an' it ain't far from here neither, considerin' jest the distance." "but the chances are you'd never reach the railroad, bert," said dick anxiously; "they'd wing you before you got anywhere near it." "i'll have to take a chance on that," responded bert. "besides, if i don't go our condition is hopeless, anyhow, so i might as well attempt it." the two westerners nodded their heads at this, and buck said: "o' course, it's only a ragged chance, but it might go through at that. the best thing will be for him to make the try the first second after dark. the redskins won't start to surround us until then, and by quick work he might get out before they'd finished postin' a ring around us." "but even if you get to the railroad how are you going to telegraph without an instrument?" inquired tom. "leave that to me," replied bert; "if i can only get that far i'll manage to telegraph all right, never fear." by this time the sun was low in the west, and a short time afterward it dipped under the rim of the prairie. for a short time the sky was painted in vivid colors by its reflected rays, and then the sudden prairie twilight descended swiftly. "now's your time, son," said buck; "are you all ready?" "i'll start the first second you think it best," replied bert, and then turning shook hands all around, ending up with dick and tom. "we'd go with you, old friend, if it would do any good," said dick, wringing bert's hand. "i guess you know that without my saying it." "i know it, all right," replied bert; "but don't you worry about me. the indian isn't born yet that can get my scalp." as he finished speaking buck said: "you'd better start now, my lad. it's so dark they can't see you, and i don't think they've had time to surround us yet. if you do get through and send the message make for town. don't try to get back here, because you'd never make it, and if you did it would do no good. there's no use sacrificing your life along with ours." "well, i'll get there first," said bert, "and then there'll be plenty of time to think about whether or not to come back." needless to say, in his own mind there was little doubt that if it lay in his power he would return and fight, and if need be die at his comrades' side. chapter x in fearful extremity with the stealthy tread of a panther, bert climbed over the improvised rampart, and a few seconds later his form merged into the enveloping darkness and was lost to the view of his anxious friends. they listened with straining ears for any sound of shot or struggle, but the deep silence of a prairie night remained unbroken. bert pursued his way swiftly, but at the same time he exercised all the knowledge that a life of adventure had given him to detect with ear or eye the presence of a lurking enemy. he had traveled several hundred yards when suddenly he heard what seemed to be a stealthy rustling, off somewhere to his right. he dropped to the ground like a flash, and, scarcely daring to breathe, peered through the velvety blackness, straining his eyes in an attempt to make out the cause of the sound. for the space of perhaps a minute all was as still as the grave, and bert had almost made up his mind that the noise must have been occasioned by a snake or lizard, when suddenly, within three feet of where he lay he made out the form of an indian, a mere black splotch against the slightly lighter background of the sky. the savage did not move, and bert knew that he had not been discovered as yet. but the dark form seemed to have no intention of going any further, and bert came to the conclusion that the brave was one of the band that had been detailed to surround the devoted little party of whites. bert knew that it would be impossible for him to move without being discovered by the indian, so he resolved on a swift, deadly attack as the only way out of the dilemma. gathering his muscles for the spring he suddenly launched himself like a thunderbolt at the indian. with the same motion he drew his revolver and aimed a blow at the savage's head, for he knew that a single shot would give the alarm and frustrate all his plans. but the wily redskin was not to be so easily caught off his guard. with a grunt of surprise he half turned to meet the attack, and the butt of bert's revolver dealt him only a glancing blow. before the savage had a chance to shout a warning, however, bert had grasped him by the throat with one hand, while he rained blows from the clubbed revolver on him with the other. the indian made a desperate attempt to loose his assailant's hold and secure the knife from his girdle, but bert's attack was too fierce and deadly. in a few seconds the struggling form of the brave grew limp and fell to the earth. without giving him a moment's further notice, bert started out over the desert at a swift run, guided by his almost instinctive sense of direction. he ran quickly and lightly with the speed and silence of a wolf, and he breathed a heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving when he realized that he was clear of the besiegers. in a short time he reached the line of newly laid rails that marked one more stride of civilization into this far western country. he scrambled up the steep embankment, and was not long in locating a telegraph pole. he climbed this quickly and once securely seated in the crossbars made ready to send the message that meant life or death to himself and the little party back there by the over-turned stage coach, dependent on him for their very lives. he drew from a pocket a pair of cutting pliers that he had secured from the coach's toolbox, and donned a pair of thick leather gloves that he had borrowed from the driver. with the pliers he severed the single telegraph wire, and grasped the two ends in his gloved fingers. "now," he thought, "if there's no current in the wire everything will have gone for nothing. but if there is----" he brought the severed ends together, and was overjoyed to see a snapping little blue spark play about them. "great!" he shouted aloud, and then set himself to send the message. he was an expert telegrapher and knew the morse code as well as he knew his own name. of course, he had no means of telling whether or not anybody was receiving his sending, but had to go ahead on the chance that they were. "attacked by indians," he sent. "near stage-coach trail--twenty miles east of helena. send help, quick." he repeated this message again and again, until he felt sure that somebody must have received it. then he twisted the two ends of the wire together, and slid down the pole. "now to get back with dick and tom and the others," he thought. "it's going to be no easy matter, either. i have an idea it's going to be harder to get in than it was to get out." he retraced his course with the utmost caution, until he judged that he must be nearing the indian outposts. then he dropped at full length on the ground and commenced crawling forward at a snail's pace, pausing every few yards to listen intently for any indication of danger. at one time he heard a murmur of guttural voices at no great distance, and proceeded with redoubled caution until he left the sound behind. gradually he worked himself along until he knew he could be at no great distance from his friends. the danger of being caught by the indians now seemed to be passed, but bert realized that it would never do to approach his party without giving warning of his coming, as the chances were they would take him for an enemy and shoot before he could make himself known to them. for a time he was at a loss to think of some signal that would be recognized by those within the improvised fort, but at last had an inspiration. softly he whistled a bar of one of the old college songs. there was no reply at first, but he repeated the refrain a little louder this time, and was overjoyed to hear the tune taken up by a whistle that he recognized as tom's. he waited a few minutes, to give tom time to warn the others of his coming, and then ran swiftly forward until he reached the inclosure. dick and tom almost hugged him in their joy at his safe return, and then questioned him anxiously as to whether he had sent the message. "i got it through, all right," said bert, "and i don't think there's much doubt that somebody received it. now it's only a question of holding out until help comes." "it'll have to come mighty soon," declared buck, who had seemed much surprised at bert's safe return; "at dawn or jest before is the time the varmints will close in upon us." the hours dragged on and, as buck had predicted, just before dawn a hideous yell rent the air, and a shower of bullets whined over the heads of the besieged party. they grasped their firearms and prepared for a desperate encounter. but for a few minutes after the outbreak all was silent as the grave, and in the slight respite the first pale streaks of dawn appeared in the eastern sky. "thank god for the light, anyway," exclaimed dick fervently; "at least we'll be able to see what we're doing." before anybody could reply to this there was another shrill yell, and against the rapidly lightening sky the defenders could see a vague body of horsemen charging toward them. "shoot!" yelled buck, suiting the action to the word. "make every bullet tell." outside of the two passengers, who were unarmed and could do little to aid the defense, there were five men behind the ramparts who were excellent marksmen. dick's and tom's revolvers barked viciously, and the deadly rifles wielded by bert and the stage driver made havoc in the ranks of the attacking braves. sam, the guard, wielded his heavy colts with the skill and sure aim of a veteran, and the indians broke ranks under the withering hail of bullets. they wheeled their horses off to either side of the stoutly defended fortification and galloped out of range, leaving a number of still figures on the ground. "first blood for us," shouted bert exultantly. "i guess we gave them a warmer reception than they figured on." "yes, but they'll be back pretty soon," said buck. "there's a hundred of them if there's one, and they would never dare face the tribe again if they let themselves be beaten by half a dozen 'pale faces'." nothing could have suited the three comrades better, for their fighting blood was aroused, and all thought of danger was swallowed up in the primitive love of battle that is inherent in every man. "here they come," shouted dick, and come they did, but more cautiously this time. they had learned their lesson, and realized how deadly was the white mans' aim. they hung low from the saddle, on the side farthest from the defenders, thus interposing the bodies of their horses as shields between themselves and the defenders. in this fashion they galloped and wheeled back and forth in front of the breastworks, firing over and under their horses, and drawing ever a little closer, a little closer, until they should close on the devoted little band of whites and annihilate them. bert's unerring rifle never failed of its mark, and whenever an indian raised his head ever so little over his horse's back the winchester spoke and one more still form was added to the many already strewed over the ground. the revolvers barked steadily and terrible havoc was wrought among the ranks of the attacking redmen. but now their savage blood was up, and death itself had lost its power to daunt them. slowly the circle about the besieged constricted, and suddenly the attackers, at a given signal, abandoned their horses and, springing to the ground, rushed forward, shooting and emitting blood-curdling yells as they ran. "stand together, boys," yelled buck, "we'll stand back to back and fight it out to the bitter end." nobody had time to answer, but they did as he suggested. the indians were now close upon them, and with wild yells mounted the low embankment that had hitherto protected the white men. rifles were useless at this short range, and bert and the stage driver clubbed theirs and met the first savages over the embankment with death-dealing blows from the clubbed weapons. the savages pressed forward so fiercely and in such numbers that soon even this became of no avail, and they had recourse to their revolvers. the six-shooters barked steady streams of fire, doing fearful execution among the packed ranks of the attacking redmen. the indians were now fighting chiefly with knives, and the defenders began to suffer, too. one of the passengers dropped to the ground under a wicked thrust from the knife of a giant indian, who seemed to be the leader. then the big redskin, encouraging his fierce followers by voice and action, threw himself toward dick, who happened to be nearest him. dick had just fired the last shot from his revolver, and he had no time to reload. as the indian sprang at him dick clubbed his revolver, and made a terrific swing at the shaven head of his attacker. the savage dodged with the agility of a cat, and the blow merely glanced from his shoulder. with a yell of exultation the indian raised his sharp knife, still dripping with the blood of its last victim. but before the weapon could descend, bert's fist shot out like lightning, catching the redskin a terrific blow under the chin. the indian's head snapped back, and he was almost lifted from the ground by the impact. then he fell limply, and the fight waged on over his unconscious form. the attackers, instead of being daunted by the fall of their leader, seemed spurred to an even greater pitch of ferocity, and fought like very demons. the whites, fighting silently and grimly, resolved to sell their lives as dearly as might be, presented a solid front and battled with the grim courage and ferocity of desperation. bert and dick and tom fought as one unit, and again and again repelled the assaults of their swarming enemies. but they were battling against overwhelming odds, and the end could not be far off. sam, the guard, was down, whether dead or only wounded they did not know. all of them were wounded, and tom's left arm hung useless at his side. they had no time to load their revolvers, and, with the last shot fired, drew their sharp hunting knives and fought like cornered wildcats. eyes bloodshot, the odor of blood and sweat in their nostrils, they time and again flung back the leaping, yelling hordes pressing in on them. but there is a limit to human endurance, and their arms were beginning to weaken, their aim to be less certain. then suddenly the fierce attack wavered and weakened. to their dazed senses came the noise of rifle shots, and the sound of a bugle's strident note. before they could realize that help had at last arrived the indians had broken away and with wild yells were making for their horses. a detachment of cavalry set out in pursuit, while the commanding officer and his staff rode over to the exhausted defenders. as they rode they looked wonderingly at the numbers of indians scattered over the bloodsoaked ground. they galloped up to where the defenders, or what remained of them, lay panting on the ground, ringed about by a circle of those who had fallen by their hands. "well, boys!" exclaimed the captain, "i guess we came just in the nick of time. you were about at the last ditch, but from all the signs you must have put up a corking fight." before any one could answer, the surgeon, who had accompanied the rescuing party, arrived on the scene, and immediately took charge of the wounded men. one of the passengers was past all aid, and the other was badly wounded. the doctor shook his head when he examined the senseless but still breathing form of the guard, but finally announced that he had a chance to recover. among the three boys tom's wounded arm was the most serious injury sustained, although they had all suffered cuts and slashes and were weak from loss of blood. by the time their wounds had been dressed and bandaged the first of the pursuing cavalry returned with the prisoners they had captured. an hour later the last of them rode in, reporting that the braves who had escaped capture had scattered to the four points of the compass, making further pursuit useless. "very well," said captain graham, their leader; "we'll return to helena with the prisoners. but you lads," he said, turning to the three friends, "where were you bound for when you were attacked?" bert told him, and the captain told off half a dozen troopers to escort them to the ranch. "you deserve the highest praise for the plucky fight you put up," he said, "and i don't want your lives put in jeopardy by any of the redskins who may return to this neighborhood after we leave. i imagine they've had all the fight taken out of them by this time, however, and they'll probably make a bee line for the reservation. but it is best to be on the safe side, at all events." the boys thanked him heartily for his timely aid, and then, each mounted on a trooper's horse, they and the escort set off in the direction of the ranch, first shaking hands with buck, the stage-coach driver. "you're plucky lads," he exclaimed, wringing their hands, "and we all put up the scrap of our lives. i don't know about old sam"--here a shadow passed over his face--"but he's a tough old sinner, an' i reckon he'll pull through all right. i hope i'll see you lads again some time, i sure do." it was with real regret that the friends parted from him, and more than once they turned in their saddles and waved their hats to him, until his sturdy figure was swallowed up in the distance. shortly after this they descried an approaching dust-cloud in the distance, and the troopers, thinking it might be a new band of indians or some of the survivors of the dispersed one, unslung their rifles and made preparations to give them a warm reception. as the cloud drew nearer, however, figures began to emerge from it, and in a few minutes the boys were able to make out the familiar faces of the ranch cowboys, headed by mr. melton. they were all armed to the teeth, and were spurring their horses along at a gallop. soon they were within hailing distance, and as the cowboys recognized the three boys among the troopers they emitted joyful yells, and by way of salute many of them fired their revolvers in the air. mr. melton appeared more overjoyed than anybody else, however, and as the two parties met and drew rein he exclaimed: "thank the lord you're safe! when your horses galloped in late last night without you i feared the worst. tell me what has happened." the cowboys crowded around, and listened eagerly while bert gave an account of the attack by the indians and its result. when he had finished, but before anybody had time to say anything, the corporal, who commanded the escort, broke in: "from the way he tells it," he said, "you might imagine that it had been a good deal less of a fight than it was. but we counted over twenty dead redskins, besides a lot that were more or less badly wounded. it must have been _some_ shindy, take it from me." "i'm sure proud of you boys," exclaimed mr. melton, with glistening eyes; "but i'm not so much surprised, after all. i always knew you were grit clear through, anyhow." "oh, there was nothing very wonderful about it," disclaimed bert. "we had to fight, whether we wanted to or not. it wasn't a matter of choice." "well, we won't argue the matter," smiled mr. melton; "what you need now is food and rest and a little nursing. we'll ride back home just as soon as we can, where you'll get plenty of all three. i guess we won't need to trouble you any more," he continued, addressing the corporal commanding the detachment; "there's enough of us here to hold our own in case of an attack, i think." "i reckon so," said the corporal, sizing up the score or more of lean, square-jawed cowboys, "and in that case we might just as well return to camp." he took leave of the three comrades, who thanked him for his escort, and with the troopers at his heels galloped off. on the trip to the ranch the cowboys crowded around the boys, and plied them with innumerable questions, which they answered to the best of their ability. on their arrival they were turned over to motherly mrs. melton, who insisted on redressing their wounds, and then, after they had made a hearty meal, packed them off to bed. "gee, boys!" exclaimed the foreman, before the cowboys dispersed to their alloted tasks, "those lads are sure _there_ when it comes to deliverin' the goods, ain't they? an' to think that once in a moment of besotted ignorance i referred to them as 'tender-feet.' why, it don't seem possible them boys can be easterners at all. it seems like they jest _must_ 'a' been born west o' the rockies." as this was the highest eulogium any of them could think of, they acquiesced in their foreman's words and dispersed to work. chapter xi within an ace work about the ranch went steadily on, and there were few interruptions to the daily course of events. but one day a small black cloud appeared on the western horizon, and grew larger with amazing rapidity. soon it had so increased in size that it obscured the sun, and a gloomy twilight settled over the earth. bert and dick and tom were in the neighborhood of the branding pen, watching the men throw the cattle and brand them with mr. melton's mark. at first they did not notice the gathering storm, but as the sun grew dimmer and dimmer they looked up, as did many of the cowboys, and saw the ominous-looking cloud. the cattlemen gave it but one glance, and then quit their tasks and began to securely rope and tie the animals inside the corral and make everything trim and shipshape. the boys were somewhat surprised to see such precautions being taken against what they thought was merely going to be a thunder shower, but they had gained experience enough to know that when anything was done on the ranch there was generally some good reason back of it, and they had also learned not to ask direct questions. they wished to know the cause of the evident anxiety on the part of the ranchmen, however, so bert set about getting the information in the manner they had learned by experience was best. "looks as though there were going to be something doing pretty soon, doesn't there?" he remarked to "chip," one of the most experienced members of the working force. "somethin' doin'?" exclaimed chip. "waal, i reckon they will be somethin' doin', and mighty soon, too. we're goin' to beat it for the bunkhouse some soon, and you'd better come along with us. chances are you won't have time to make the ranchhouse. when a norther once gets started, things happens pretty fast, so ef you don't want to get soaked an' run a good chance o' gettin' blown away you'd better come along with us, all three o' you." a "norther!" the boys had heard tales of the fury of these storms, and now they would have an opportunity to judge for themselves the truth of these stories. they had always believed them exaggerated, but the haste and anxiety of the ranchmen told them that something out of the ordinary was expected. the air was close and oppressive, and not a breath of wind rustled the dry prairie grass. the boys mopped their foreheads, and hurried along with the men. by this time the entire sky was overspread with a funeral pall, and it was so dark that they could hardly see. when they were within a few hundred yards of the bunkhouse they heard a weird whining noise far off over the prairie, and suddenly a little puff of cool air struck against their heated faces. at this moment sandy, followed by several cowboys, dashed up, and they all leaped from their horses. "we'll jest have time to make the bunkhouse," he said; "the wind will reach us in another minute. lively's the word, boys." he and the others with him who had horses dashed behind the bunkhouse, and tethered the frightened animals where they would be sheltered in some measure from the wind and rain. they dashed around the end of the building and ran through the door, preceded by the party with which the boys had started from the corral. the door of the bunkhouse was slammed shut just in the nick of time. with a shriek and a roar the norther was upon them. the wind blew with terrific violence, and rain dashed in great sheets against the windows and drummed on the roof with a noise that made it difficult for the men to hear the sound of each other's voices. the building quivered and trembled as the fierce gusts shook it in their grasp, and it seemed as though it must be torn away from its foundations. but it had been stoutly built with an eye to resisting just such storms, and held firm. the air was filled with grass, bits of planking, and other wreckage that it had picked up in its furious course. the boys gazed out the windows, wondering mightily at the tremendous force of the gale, which closely approached that of a cyclone. they had been in storms at sea, and a gale was no new thing to them, but this surpassed anything of the kind they had ever seen. "i'm mighty glad we weren't caught out in this," shouted bert into the ears of tom and dick. "i never thought it _could_ rain so." and his astonishment was shared by his friends. "rain" hardly seemed an adequate word to describe the torrents that poured down. the sky seemed fairly to open, and the rain descended in solid sheets. the ranchmen took it all calmly, however, and loafed lazily in their bunks, smoking pipes and gazing contemplatively up at the roof. weather conditions they had learned to take as a matter of course, as all men do who earn a living in the open, and they accepted philosophically what dame nature meted out to them. the fury of the storm continued unabated for perhaps half an hour, and then began to slacken perceptibly. the wind still tore at the rude building and the rain continued to fall heavily, but with less of their former violence. the rattle of the rain on the roof grew less deafening, and it became possible to make one's self heard without being under the necessity of shouting. "i reckon the worst of it's over," remarked sandy, after a time; "but this here rain ain't goin' to stop fer an hour or more, and i vote that to while away the ted-ium of this here interval some one o' you shorthorns tells us a yarn. you're all good liars, and yuh ought to be able to make somethin' up if yuh can't rec-lect nothin' thet really happened." "ef it comes t' that," exclaimed chip in a resentful tone, "what's the matter with you goin' ahead and turnin' the trick. there ain't nobody here that knows better'n you how to keep the recordin' angel workin' double shifts." there was a laugh at this, but when it subsided sandy had his answer ready: "it ain't a question o' lyin' with me," he explained. "i've been in so many scrapes that only a man of extraordinary intelligence and iron nerve like myself could 'a' pulled out of, that there ain't no call for me to make up nothin'." "that stuff sounds all right as long as you're sayin' it," said chip skeptically; "but jest to prove it, supposin' you take the bit in your teeth an' spiel off one o' these here adventures o' yourn." "well, mebbe i will," replied sandy thoughtfully, "mebbe i will." he paused reflectively a few moments while he filled and lighted his pipe. the rain still beat steadily against the roof and windows of the bunkhouse, but the wind now came only in fitful gusts. everybody, with the exception of the three boys, was smoking, and a blue fog drifted and eddied through the atmosphere. at last sandy appeared to have collected his thoughts, and after a few vigorous puffs to get his pipe drawing well began his story. "what i'm goin' to tell yuh about," he said, "happened before i became a cattle puncher. then i was workin' in the lumber business up in the michigan woods fer dodd & robertson, one o' the biggest concerns in the line. we'd had a pretty successful winter, the boys were all in good humor, an' the daily cuts averaged pretty high. but the weather was cold, mighty cold, i can tell yuh. we'd swing an axe until we had to take off our coats, and we'd be wet with sweat, but if we stopped work fer as much as a minute we had to skip back into our coats again, or our clothes would freeze on us as we stood there. take it from me, boys, it was cold with a capital c. "but all this ain't gettin' me any further along with my yarn. as i say, the winter was a bitter one, and the wild things, panthers an' wolves an' sech, were pretty hard put to it to rastle enough grub to keep them alive. natchally, this made 'em plumb ferocious, and they used to come right into the clearin' around the camp, hopin', i suppose, to pick up somethin'. the cook had to watch out to keep the supply house closed up tight, or there'd 'a' been a famine in camp, sure. "waal, one day the foreman sent me out to look over a section of timber land some distance from the camp, an' i set off right after breakfast. i took my axe along, o' course; no lumberman ever thinks o' goin' anywhere without his axe, any more than you boys figure on travelin' around without packin' a six-gun with yuh. i took enough grub with me to last the day out, fer, as i said, it was a longish distance, an' i didn't reckon t' get back much before dark. it was the middle o' winter, an' the days up there in the woods were mighty short. "the snow was pretty deep, but i traveled on snowshoes, an' didn't have much trouble gettin' along. i made tol'able time, an' made a rough survey o' the timber before i unpacked my grub. after eatin' i started back to camp, congratulatin' myself that i'd reach it with time an' to spare. but as some poetry sharp i once heard of says, 'man proposes, but the almighty disposes,' or words that mean the same thing. i'd gotten pretty well along on the return journey when suddenly i heard somethin' snap, and before i had time to even jump aside a big dead tree slams down, knockin' me over an' catchin' my left leg under it. "waal, i saw stars fer a few minutes, but as soon as my head cleared off a mite i tried to wriggle myself loose. but the tree couldn't seem to see it that way. it had me good an' tight, and appar'ntly meant to enjoy my company fer a spell. at first, though, i couldn't seem to understand that i was really caught hard an' fast, an' it took a little time fer the idea t' sink in. when it did filter through to me i pretty near went crazy, i guess. i remember turnin' and twistin' until my leg felt like it was goin' to break clean off, an' i almost wished it would. but after a while i pulled myself together a little, an' tried to think o' some way out. as soon as i lay still even fer a minute the cold began to gnaw through me, and i knew i'd have t' do whatever i was goin' to do mighty quick, or i'd freeze to death. "an' that warn't the only danger, neither. it was beginnin' to get dark, and suddenly, 'way off to the north, i heard the yell of a painter (or a panther, as you lads might call it)," turning toward the three comrades, who were listening intently. "waal, when i heard that yell somethin' that seemed colder even than the icy air clutched at my heart. o' course, i didn't have any weapon with me, except as you might call my axe one. i looked around fer it, and saw that it had fallen about three feet farther than i could stretch, and lay half buried in the snow, only the haft stickin' out. "i made up my mind that i'd have to have that axe, anyway, an' i set to work gettin' it. after thinkin' a few minutes i took off a long leather belt i was wearin' and made a loop by runnin' it through the buckle. from where i was layin' it was an almighty hard job to throw that loop around the axe handle, an' i reckon i must 'a' tried twenty times before i finally made to throw it over. then i started pullin' easy-like on the belt to tighten the loop, so it would hold on the slippery handle. the belt was a leetle stiff, though, an' the loop wouldn't tighten very close. when i tried to pull in on it, the axe stuck in the crust that covered the softer snow underneath, an' the belt slipped off the handle. "waal, boys, i've had my share o' disappointments in this world, i reckon, but i think that was the hardest o' them all to bear. howsomever, i knew there was nothin' to do but to keep at it until i got that axe, so after a lot o' false throws i got the loop over the handle agin. this time it held better, and at last the head o' the axe broke through the snow crust an' then it was easy t' pull it up to me. when i felt the haft in my hand a little hope come back to me, an' i figgered there might be a chance t' cut myself loose. but i was lyin' in sech a way that i couldn't rightly get at the tree noway, an' finally i had to give up tryin'. "i've hearn more'n once of wild animals caught in traps gnawin' their own feet off fer the sake o' goin' free, an' the thought come to me of tryin' to chop myself loose in the same way. i think the only thing that kept me from doin' it was the thought that i'd rather be dead than be a cripple, anyway. an' o' course, i knew that arter a while, when i didn't show up at camp, the boys would suspicion thet somethin' was wrong an' make up a searchin' party to look for me. there's somethin'in all of us, i reckon, that keeps right on hopin' up to the very minute that we cash in an' leaves this here vale o' tears. "but the worst was yet to come, as the story-book fellers say. it had begun t' get real dark, when i thinks i hears a rustlin' sound in the dead underbrush. i grabbed my axe, an' made up my mind to die fightin', anyway. i knew sooner or later some hungry critter would come along an' find me laid out there nice an' invitin', without a chance o' protectin' myself, and i figgered that arter that the end wouldn't be a long ways off. "in a few minutes i heard the rustlin' sound again, only this time nearer. i twisted as far around as i could, and then i saw what was makin' the noise. not thirty feet from me one o' the biggest painters i ever laid eyes on was creepin' stealthily along, sizin' me up with his glistenin' green eyes as he went. "when he saw thet i had spotted him he stopped, crouchin' down clost t' the ground, ready to fight or run, accordin' t' the way things looked to him. chances are he was half minded t' run, anyway, fer all the wild critters is mighty shy of a man, an' as a rule will go the long way around to keep out o' his way. but this brute was hungry, as i could tell by his lean flanks, an' he didn't scare as easy as usual. i yelled at him, but he didn't move, jest sat there an' looked at me with them unwinkin' eyes, tryin' his best to figger out the way things stood. every onct in a while his eyes would leave mine, an' he'd glance casual-like around him, but they always came back. "i knew it wouldn't be long before he got next t' the fact that i was down an' out, an' i was right. i've hearn people say thet animals don't reason, but they're a long ways from hittin' the bull's-eye. it warn't long afore thet painter had everythin' settled in his own mind, an' had decided thet i was helpless fer some reason an' would be easy pickin's fer him. he got up on all fours, and began to growl a little an' switch his tail. i knew then that it wouldn't be long before he came fer me, an' i took a fresh grip on the axe. i knew i didn't have a chance, but i figgered on puttin' my mark on the critter before he did fer me, anyway. "he crept closer an' closer, growlin' and spittin' away fer all the world like a big tomcat gettin' ready t' fight. i makes a swing at him with the axe, an' he jumps back a little, and fer a few seconds jest crouches an' glares at me, his eyes like two big, gleamin' emeralds. then he gathers himself fer a spring, an' i gets ready fer what i knows is comin'. "suddenly he shot through the air, an' as he comes down i slams out at him with the axe. the critter dodges even while he's in the air, but he couldn't squirm aside altogether, an' the sharp axe caught him a gash that laid his shoulder open. he gives a great yell, and then all i can remember is his landin' on me like a cyclone, fetchin' me a blow on the side of the head with his paw that it's a wonder didn't do fer me then an' there. after that everythin' went dark, an' the next i knew i was lyin' in my bunk at camp, with my leg done up in splints, my left arm, that had been chawed by the painter, done up in bandages, an' my head so bound up that there wasn't much left out but my nose. "the boys told me that when i didn't show up at supper-time they began to get anxious, and when i hadn't showed up an hour later they got up a searchin' party and set out to look fer me in the direction they knew i'd be comin' from. they'd gone quite a ways when they heard the yell the painter gave when i slashed him with the axe, and rushed over in the direction o' the sound. they got there jest in the nick o' time, too, i reckon. two minutes more an' i'd 'a' been done fer, sure." sandy ceased speaking, and everybody drew a long breath. "did they kill the panther?" inquired bert. "no, worse luck," replied sandy; "it was dark, and when they got close the critter made off before they had a chance at a shot. but, say!" he exclaimed, "the storm's over an' the sun is out, an' here we are loafin' in here yet. vamoose, boys! scatter!" and they all piled out into a fresh and made-over world. everything was washed clean by the torrential rainfall, and, strange to say, comparatively little damage had been done by the terrific wind. the ranchmen set about repairing whatever had been destroyed, and the three comrades walked toward the ranchhouse, discussing sandy's tale as they went. chapter xii quick on the draw sandy rode up to the house, threw himself from the saddle and went into that room of the ranch that served as mr. melton's library and business office combined. his employer looked up from some accounts he was going over and motioned the foreman to a seat. "well, sandy," he said, as he noted the worried look in the latter's eyes, "what seems to be the matter? out with it and get it off your chest." "it's about them derned rustlers," said sandy, with his usual directness coming straight to the point. "i'm afraid they're gettin' away with a good many of our beeves." mr. melton's brows met in a puzzled frown. "what makes you think so?" he asked. "a heap of things," was the reply. "in the first place, the boys have found a lot of motherless calves galloping around and bleating for their mas. of course, we always look for a few of those, but lately the number's been beyond all reason. then, too, there's been quite a bunch of ornery fellers that the boys has caught sight of hangin' round where they didn't seem to have no business to be. of course, that doesn't prove anything against them, and aside from givin' them a pretty sharp lookin' over, we couldn't do nothin' just on suspicion." he took another bite from his plug of tobacco and hitched his chair a little closer. "but yesterday," he went on, "buck was riding herd up in the north section, and he saw a place leadin' up a gully where the ground was trampled down in a way that made it look almost as if there had been a stampede. he could see that a big drove had passed through there and that it must have been goin' in an almighty hurry. he thought at first they might have got scared of a grizzly or somethin', but if that had 'a' been so, some one of them would 'a' been caught and pulled down and there wasn't any sign of anything like that. then he looked a little closer at the trail and he could see the track of hosses. somebody was drivin' that herd. "he come in a flyin' with the report, but it was after midnight and i didn't want to wake you up. "but there's one thing more," he added, "that makes me dead sure. chip meandered in from town last night, a little the worse for wear. he'd been celebratin' some and lookin' upon the likker when it was red, and he was so far gone that i guess he'd have slept somewhere on the road if his broncho hadn't had more sense than him and brought him home. he was too soused to know his name, and he didn't need no urgin' to tumble into his bunk and sleep it off. he's got an awful head this mornin', too, but when he heard buck talkin' at breakfast about what he seen, he called to mind somethin' that one of his pals that works on the bar y ranch off toward the east told him about, when he was a boozin' with him last night. "it seems that this feller was comin' back from a round-up to his ranch the other day, and he saw the body of a steer, a little off to the right. he rode over to look at it, and, lookin' close, saw that the first brand had been burned over by another one. of course, he knows most of the brands in this section of the country, and after he studied it over a spell, he knew for sure that the first brand was ours. knew it by the little curlicue in the top corner of the o. the second brand had been put on kinder careless, in a hurry, as if the fellers that did it wanted to mosey along right quick. then, too, he could see that the steer had died from bein' overdriven." mr. melton rose and paced the floor in growing anger as he pondered the situation. like all westerners, he hated cattle rustlers only less than he hated a horse thief. in years past he had had frequent battles with them when they had tried to raid his stock, and the dire punishment that he inflicted had made them willing of late to leave his ranch alone. for several years he had had immunity and had been inclined to think that he would be henceforth free of that particular pest. when sandy had first begun to speak, he had thought there might be some mistake, and that the depletion of his stock might be traced to other causes. the last incident, however, had furnished positive proof and it was evident that the miscreants were due for another lesson at his hands. "was there any clue on that steer, outside of the changing of the brand?" he demanded. "no," replied sandy, "except just this. chip's pal said that he thought the feller that did the branding was left-handed. the edge that was deepest burned was on the other side from what it usually is when a right-hander does it. course, on account of the brands bein' mixed up like, he couldn't say for sure, but that's the way it looked to him." "do you know of anybody round these parts that is left-handed?" asked his employer. "can't say as i do," replied sandy after a little meditation, "leastways, on any of the ranches around here. i know some of the boys that is almost as good with their left hand as the right, but not what you could call p'intedly left-handed. and anyway them fellers is as straight as a string, and i know they wouldn't mix up with any dirty work like that." "who had been riding herd on that north range before buck saw the trail of the drove?" asked mr. melton abruptly. "let me see," answered sandy, cudgeling his memory. "why," he said after a moment, "it was pedro. he had been up there three days before buck relieved him." "ah, pedro," echoed mr. melton. there was a significance in his voice that caused sandy to look up quickly, and, as he caught the look in his employer's eyes, a sudden suspicion leaped into his own. "what!" he exclaimed. "do you mean that pedro was in cahoots with the gang?" "i don't mean anything--yet," replied mr. melton slowly. "i don't want to do any one an injustice, and i haven't a particle of evidence that pedro isn't as innocent as a new-born babe. he's a good rider and a good herder, and we've never had any fault to find with the way he does his work. but you know as well as i do that we didn't know a thing about him when he came riding along looking for a job. we were short-handed then and needed men desperately, and so we hired him, but i made up my mind that as soon as things got slack, and we had to lay some of the men off, he'd be the first to go. there may be good indians and good mexicans, and it may be my misfortune that i never met them. but pedro is a half-breed--half mexican and half indian--and i've always noticed that that kind is apt to have the worst qualities of both. i've never liked him, but i've set that down to prejudice, and always tried to treat him exactly like the rest of the men. now, as i said, i may be entirely wrong, but somehow i've got the notion in my head that those rustlers knew just who was to be riding herd on that section when they made their raid. but don't breathe a word of this to any one till we've got something more to go on. keep your eyes wide open and see too if you can pump anything more out of chip about that steer. i'll think it all over, and after dinner we'll get together and fix on some plan to get after those infernal scoundrels." sandy took his departure, and mr. melton was left alone with his problem. that it was a perplexing one was evident from his knitted brows and air of intense concentration. with the exception of mrs. melton and bert, he was alone in the house. the other boys were absent, having started out soon after breakfast. dick and tom had gone off with buck to have a little experience in "riding herd." bert, who had intended to go with them, had found it necessary to go to town to make some purchases. he had just finished his preparations and brought his horse to the door, in order to say good-by to his host before starting. at the first glance he saw that something had disturbed mr. melton's usual composure. to his anxious inquiry as to whether anything was wrong, the latter responded by telling him the news sandy had brought, carefully refraining, however, from mentioning his suspicions about the half-breed. "of course, it's nothing very important in one way of looking at it," he said. "the mere fact that i've lost a few head of cattle doesn't worry me at all. they might take a thousand and i wouldn't miss them. but those rustlers are the rattlesnakes of the west, and no man steals from me and gets away with it until i'm weaker and older than i am now. i suppose the fact is that my pride is hurt more than anything else," he smiled grimly. "i'd rather flattered myself that i'd built up a reputation in these parts that would keep those vermin at a distance. it galls me horribly that they should have the nerve to come up and rustle my stock right under my very nose. but if they think that they are going to get by with it, they have another guess coming," and into the eyes of the old warhorse came the look that bert had learned to know in mexico. "are you going to organize a force and go after them?" asked bert eagerly. mr. melton's eyes twinkled. "hit it right the first time," he said. "i suppose i ain't far out in guessing that you'd like to go along." "you bet i would," replied bert emphatically. "well, we'll see about it," answered his host. "but you'd better get along now if you expect to be home before dark. you've got a long way to go, and you'll have to give your horse a good breathing space before you start back. i promise that we won't start out for the rustlers without you, if you're really bent on going." bert thanked him, touched his horse with the spur, and, with a last wave of his hand was off on his journey. in due time he reached the town, hitched his horse to the rail in front of the general store, and went in to make his purchases. this consumed some time, and when he was through, his vigorous appetite reminded him that it was time for dinner. there was only one place in that primitive town where it could be obtained and that was in a little annex to the leading saloon. drinks of course were the things chiefly dealt in, but a meal also could be obtained at any time desired, and bert went in, seated himself at a table in the corner, and ordered steak and eggs and coffee. while this was being prepared he had ample time to look about him. the building was a mere shack of the roughest kind. the bar took up one whole side of the room, and the bartender was kept busy most of the time in serving drinks to the crowd lined up before it. at a number of small tables, miners, prospectors and cowboys were seated, with piles of poker chips heaped up before them. some of the men were already drunk and inclined to be ugly, but most of them at that early hour were sober enough, though drinking freely. all without exception were armed, and the weapons peeped from their holsters within easy reach. among these reckless and, in many cases lawless, dwellers on the borderland of civilization, the difference of a fraction of a second in offense or defense might mean the difference between life and death. still, matters were proceeding peaceably enough at the moment, and there was no indication of impending trouble. bert's food was brought to him after a considerable wait, and he "waded" into it with characteristic vigor. the cooking was none too good nor was the food itself of superlative quality. but "hunger is the best sauce," and he was not inclined to be critical. he had, moreover, been too much of a traveler not to be able to adapt himself philosophically to any condition in which he found himself. he was about to pick up his hat and go to the bar to pay for his meal, when he was struck by the tones of a familiar voice. he looked about quickly and saw pedro, the cowboy employed at the ranch. he was surprised at this, as he was sure pedro was supposed at the time to be on herd duty. had mr. melton intended that he should be in town, he would have suggested to bert that the half-breed might do his commissions for him and save him the long journey. bert's first thought, therefore, was that pedro was "lying down on his job" and shirking duty for the sake of a day's debauch in town. it roused his indignation, as he always hated anything that savored of sneaking or disloyalty. still, it was not his affair and pedro was safe as far as he was concerned. he would not act as talebearer. he had never liked the half-breed from the moment that he had met him. there was a sullen reticence that checked advances, and although he had always tried to be friendly, pedro had held him at a distance. he was tall and swarthy, and, for one of his mixed race, not bad looking. but there was a furtive shiftiness in his eyes that were set too close together, that awakened distrust, and although bert reproached himself for it and never revealed it by word or look, he could not help an instinctive aversion. his first impulse was to approach and speak to the man, who had not seen him as he came in and was now standing with his back partly toward him, tossing down a drink that he had poured out generously from the bottle the bartender placed before him. bert checked himself, however, as he saw that pedro had just greeted a man who had risen from a table where he had been sitting apart from the others, as though waiting for some one. an almost imperceptible sign passed between them that aroused bert's curiosity. nor was this lessened when the newcomer took from his pocket a pouch, such as gold dust is usually carried in, and slipped it over to pedro, who placed it carefully in the breast of his buckskin shirt. here was the beginning of a mystery. why should this man be giving money to the half-breed? to be sure, it might be in payment of a loan or a gambling debt. but, if so, why the air of secrecy? the conversation with mr. melton that morning recurred to him. he pulled his hat over his eyes, half turned in his seat, and, picking up a greasy pack of cards that lay on the table began to lay them out before him as in solitaire. but under the brim of his sombrero, his keen eyes stole frequent glances at the two, who had now adjourned to a table in the farther corner and were engaged in a low and earnest conversation. the stranger had before him what seemed to be a diagram, drawn on the back of an old envelope, and both studied it with care, pedro especially, as though seeking to engrave it on his memory. then he nodded assent to what the other had been saying, and they shook hands, evidently in confirmation of a bargain. once more they adjourned to the bar, gulped down several glasses of the fiery liquor that masqueraded as whiskey, and then pedro, with a gesture of farewell, went outside. a moment later bert heard the clatter of hoofs as he rode away. there was no further need of concealment, and with exceeding care bert studied the features of the man who he felt sure was involved in some plan that boded no good to pedro's employer. the fellow was tall and heavily built, and dressed in a more gaudy style than that usually affected by the cowboys. bert could not remember having seen him among the employees of the neighboring ranches. his face bore traces of drink and dissipation and was seamed with evil passions. there was a lurid glow in his eyes that brought back to bert the memory of the men who had tried to hold up the train. he seemed naturally to fall into that class. instinctively bert felt that in some way he was to be ranked with the outcasts that war upon society. a cruel mouth showed beneath a hawk-like nose that gave him the appearance of a bird of prey. to bert he seemed a living embodiment of all that he had ever heard or read of the "bad man" of the western frontier. the stranger stood a little while longer at the bar. then he strolled over to a table where four men were playing, and watched the game with the critical eye of an expert. soon one of the men kicked his chair back and rose with an oath. "busted," he growled. "not a dinero left. that last hand cleaned me out." "aw, don't go yet, jim," protested one of his companions. "your credit's good and you can play on your i. o. u.'s." "yes," agreed another. "or you can put up that spanish saddle of yourn. i've allers had a kind of hankerin' fur that. it's good fur eighty plunks in chips." "nuthin' doin'," announced the first emphatically. "any time i hold four kings and still can't rake in the pot, it shore is my unlucky day. but i'll be here with bells on next pay day. so long," and he strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him. the others were preparing to go on three-handed, when the stranger intervened. "if it's an open game, gents, and you've no objections, i'll take a hand," he said. as no one demurred, he slid into the vacant chair, bought a hundred dollars worth of chips and the game proceeded. for a time fortune seemed to divide her favors impartially, and the chips before each player remained about the same. then the luck changed and the stranger began to win heavily. he raked in one pot after another, losing only occasionally, and then, generally, when the stakes were small. the atmosphere about the table became tense and feverish, and gradually most of the others in the room gathered about the players and watched the progress of the game. it was the newcomer's deal. the pack had been cut, and he was dealing out the cards, when suddenly one of the players leaped to his feet. "foul play," he shouted. "you dealt that last card from the bottom of the pack." and at the same instant he threw over the table and reached for his gun. but quick as he was, the stranger was quicker. like a flash his revolver spoke, and his opponent fell to the floor. but the others now had started shooting and there was a fusillade. the spectators dropped behind anything that promised shelter and the bartender went out of sight under the counter. only after the revolvers had been emptied did the firing cease. when the smoke lifted, three were lying on the littered floor, one dead and two desperately wounded. the stranger was not to be seen, but the pounding of hoofs outside told of his escape. he had gone, but not till bert had seen one thing that registered itself indelibly on his mind. the stranger had drawn and shot _with his left hand_. chapter xiii trailing the outlaws for a few minutes the wildest confusion prevailed in the saloon. the noise of the shooting had emptied the other bar-rooms, as well as the houses of the little settlement, and from all quarters people came flocking to the scene of the tragedy. the dead man was removed to a room in the rear, and the wounds of the others were bound up with rude surgery, pending the arrival of a doctor, for whom one of the cowboys had ridden off post haste. bert's quick mind was busy piecing together the events of the past crowded hour. that the stranger was left-handed, although unusual in that region, proved nothing by itself. but the dead steer had borne the mark of a left-handed man--and pedro was in charge of a part of melton's stock--and he had sneaked away from his work to talk with this ruffian, apparently by appointment--and the latter had given the half-breed money. had bert known the additional fact that pedro had been riding herd in the section where a large drove had recently disappeared, the conclusion would have been irresistible that he and the stranger had been in league to "rustle" melton's cattle. but even without this last fact, the evidence was strong enough. all of these happenings, taken together, pointed unerringly toward the identity of one at least of the rustlers and gave the clue to the mystery. his first impulse was to follow the fleeing murderer and either try to capture him or find out the rendezvous of the gang to which he belonged. but when he ran out to his horse, the fugitive had vanished, and there was nothing in the dusty road that gave any inkling of the direction he had taken. pursuit being impossible, there was but one thing left for him to do. he must get back to the ranch at once and reveal all he knew or guessed of the conspiracy. pedro, at any rate, would be within reach, and a judicious application of the "third degree" could probably wring from him enough to put them on the track of the rustlers and bring the gang to justice. and his blood tingled at the thought of the fight that was probably coming, for the rustlers, brought to bay, would not surrender tamely. it was better to die from a bullet than dangle at the end of a rope, and they would battle with the fierceness of cornered rats. he untied his horse, sprang into the saddle and set out for the ranch. his horse had had a good rest and was full of running, especially as his face was turned homeward. but, despite his own impatience, bert subdued his mount to a trot that he could keep up indefinitely, and gave himself up to reviewing the stirring scenes from which he had just emerged. he was passing through a patch of woodland, from which a deep gully diverged to the right, when he heard the whinny of a horse. instantly he clapped his hand over the nostrils of his own mount to keep him from answering. then he slid to the ground, tied a rope around his horse's jaws to keep him quiet and secured him to a tree. on hands and knees he crept forward through the underbrush in the direction of the sound. he reached the bank of the gully and peered over. a little brook ran over the stones at the bottom of the gulch. stooping over it was a man with his back toward him. a horse was picketed near by, contentedly munching the grass that grew thick and lush on the border of the stream. the man's right arm was bared to the elbow, and he was dashing water on a wound just above the wrist. then he tore a strip from his shirt and proceeded to bandage the arm as best he could, accompanying the action with groans and curses that told of the pain he was enduring. bert's first thought was to steal down upon the man and at the point of his revolver demand his surrender. he had the drop on him, and, quick as the ruffian had proved himself on the draw, he would be at too great a disadvantage to resist. but, after all, what right had he to arrest the man? as far as the shooting in the saloon was concerned, the dead man had started the fight, and the other had acted in self-defense. the question of cheating was an open one that could probably never be determined. it had not been a murder, but a duel, and the quicker hand and better shot had won. there was no call for bert to interfere. as to the charge of cattle rustling, he had absolutely no proof to go upon. he had the moral conviction that the man was mixed up in the affair, but not a scintilla of evidence that would stand for a moment in a court of law. it would be high-handed and indefensible to make this man a prisoner, and take him on to the ranch for questioning by melton. he would simply stand on his rights and defy them to prove anything against him. they would be forced to let him go, and, being henceforth on his guard, it would be doubly difficult to trap him and his gang. no, the waiting game was the only one to play under the circumstances, and bert replaced the revolver that he had half drawn from his belt. but he had no intention of resuming his journey to the ranch. fate had brought him in contact with this man, when he had given up all expectation of finding him, and he was too good a sportsman to overlook any point in the game. he would keep him in sight, hang on his flank, follow his trail wherever it led, in the hope of finding the rendezvous of the gang. then he would ride with whip and spur to the ranch, melton would gather his men together, and they would swoop down on the outlaws' camp and catch them red-handed with their booty. while he was settling on this course of action as promising the best results, the man had completed the task of bandaging. bert looked for him to unhobble his horse and resume his journey. but, to his surprise, the fellow stretched himself out on the grass as though in no particular hurry. yet there was an air of expectancy about him, and it flashed across bert that he was waiting for some one. and this impression was heightened by the glances he cast toward the upper end of the gully, and the way he lifted his head from time to time as though listening for a signal. it came at last, a whistle three times repeated. instantly he sent back an answering call, and a moment later two men emerged from the farther end of the ravine and rode their horses slowly toward their waiting companion. they were dressed in ordinary cowboy fashion and rode as though they had been born to the saddle. in addition to the revolvers in their holsters, each carried a rifle slung in the hollow of the arm. one was of enormous bulk and a shock of flaming red hair showed beneath his sombrero. the other was of medium build, but wiry and quick as a cat in his movements. both were of the same evil stamp as the first, although they lacked the look of authority that marked him as a natural leader. they gave an exclamation of surprise as they saw the bandaged arm, and were off their horses in an instant. "what's the matter, cap?" inquired the smaller man. "did they get you bad?" "bad enough," snarled the other with a string of blasphemies. "i guess they've broken a bone in my wrist. but the feller that did it will never do no more shooting." and in fervid words, interrupted by curses as his sore arm gave a worse twinge than usual, he related the events leading up to the affray. the others listened with perfunctory grunts of sympathy, although they seemed less concerned about him personally than over the changes the wounding might make in their plans. "it's lucky it's the right arm, anyway," consoled one of them. "yer'll still be able to shoot as well as ever until yer get all right again." "yes," assented the captain grudgingly, "it's the first time i've ever felt glad that i'm left-handed. and i'm shore glad that i fixed that deal up with the half-breed before the scrap came off. handed him over his share of the last swag, and got it all settled to pull off another trick a week from to-morrow." they gathered eagerly about him to learn the details, and bert strained his ears to catch the fragments of conversation that floated up to him. he could detect the name of "melton" and "pedro" as often recurring, but to his intense disappointment could get no coherent idea of the felony the rustlers had in view. had he done so, his quest would have ended then and there. it would then be simply a matter of laying an ambush at the given time and place, into which the rascals would walk blindly, and from which there would be no escape. but when at last the conference was over, he was no wiser than before, except that his suspicions as to the half-breed had become a certainty. the afternoon was well along now, and the captain, casting a glance at the sun, rose hastily to his feet. "come along," he growled. "we can do our chinning later on. we'll have all we can do now to get to camp before dark." "before dark." bert looked at his watch. it was nearly six o'clock. it would not be fully dark until eight. that meant that the rendezvous of the gang was within two hours' ride. allowing ten miles an hour, it meant a distance of perhaps twenty miles. but that was assuming that they went on well-traveled roads, where the horses could be given their head. bert felt sure that they would not do this. the conditions of their lawless life made it necessary for them to seek refuge in the wilds, where riding would be hard and slow. their lair was doubtless in some secluded valley or coulee, where they could hide the stolen stock, secure from discovery until a favorable opportunity offered to drive it out at night far from the plundered ranches. the place, therefore, might not be more than fifteen miles distant. otherwise the outlaws would hardly be able to make it in the time mentioned, over the rough trails they would probably follow. that this conjecture was correct was proved by the fact that, instead of returning to the broad road up which bert had ridden, the men mounted their horses and turned their heads in the opposite direction up the ravine. but how could he follow without detection? if he let them get too far ahead, he might lose track of them altogether. on the other hand, if he followed too closely they might hear the sound of his horse's feet, or, turning in the saddle, might see his figure outlined against the sky. in that case the game was up. it would be a matter of flight, or an encounter in which, against such odds, he could look for nothing but capture or death. and in either event, his plans for the breaking up of the band would come to nothing. there was but one alternative. he must follow on foot. he was in superb condition and could do it easily. running was his game. he had taken the measure of the fleetest runners in the country, and had, by so doing, won the right to represent america in the olympic games. and when he had carried off the honors in the marathon race over the crack flyers of all the world, he had made the distance of twenty-six miles, up hill and down, in a trifle over two hours and thirty minutes, or a sustained rate of more than ten miles an hour. to be sure, he was then trained to the hour and at the top of his form. but even now, although not strictly in training, his outdoor life and clean living had kept him in fine fettle, and he was fit to "run for a man's life." a horse could beat him in a sprint, but there were few mustangs on the ranch that he could not have worn down and beaten in a stretch of twenty miles. it was with no lack of confidence, therefore, that he reached his decision. he hurried back to his horse, tore a scrap of paper from his note-book and hastily scribbled a note to dick. it was in cipher, so that if it fell into hostile hands no one else could understand its purport. he told him of his discovery and urged him to have melton put pedro under guard until his return. he adjured him not to worry, as he would probably be back before twenty-four hours. a word of greeting to tom and the meltons, and he placed the paper securely under the saddle, with just an end protruding to attract notice. then he released the horse, untied his jaws, gave him a smart slap on the back and sent him off toward home. the delighted broncho threw up his heels and set off at a pace that promised soon to get him to his well-filled manger. then, with a last glance at his weapon, to see that it was in perfect trim, bert vanished into the woods and set out upon the trail as silently and swiftly as an indian. chapter xiv the race for life he could hear the crackling of the shrubbery as the horses of the outlaws pushed their way through to the higher ground, and it was not long before he caught sight of them, riding in single file, the captain leading the way. with the utmost caution he followed, taking advantage of every bush and tree, ready to dodge behind them or fall to the ground as the case might demand. for a time they proceeded at a walk, owing to the rough going, but as soon as they got to more level ground they put the spurs to their horses and galloped on at a rapid gait. bert drifted after them like a ghost, never letting them get more than half a mile a head, for fear that they might turn into some byroad and give him the slip. twice one of the men turned in the saddle and looked behind him, probably more as the result of habit than from any real fear that they might be followed, but each time bert had discounted the movement and was lying flat on the ground. as the latter had surmised, the most of the way lay through a genuine wilderness, over mountain trails and through ravines that lent themselves admirably to the lawless purposes of the outlaws. probably since the old indian days, no human feet beside their own had trodden these wilds that offered no temptations to the farmer or grazier. before long the sun had vanished over the western rim and twilight came on rapidly. this rendered bert's task, easier by diminishing the chances of detection, and as the twilight deepened into dusk, he gradually decreased the distance until, when it was fully dark, he had ventured to draw so near that he could hear the jingle of their trappings and an occasional monosyllable that passed between the riders. suddenly, as they rode into a little valley, a light gleamed out from a shack half a mile distant. it was the first sign of a human habitation bert had seen. at the sight, an oath of satisfaction broke from the leader, and the three urged on their horses, who responded willingly. it was evident that they had reached the end of their journey. as they dashed into the clearing in front of the house, the door was thrown open and several men came out to greet the newcomers. the saddles were taken from the horses' backs and they were turned loose to graze. then the party entered the house and the door was closed. for a few minutes bert remained perfectly motionless. there had been no barking of dogs, and, after listening intently, he became convinced that no living thing was out of doors in the vicinity of the shack. with infinite caution he wormed his way along the ground and, reaching a window in the rear of the house, drew himself to the sill and peered over the edge. there were six men gathered about a table in the center of the room, upon which a seventh, who seemed to be the cook, was placing dishes of bacon and beans. the chief, whose arm had been bathed and rebound in a cotton bandage, was seated at the head of the table. a bottle of whiskey was passing from hand to hand as a preliminary to the more substantial part of the meal, and the men who had just arrived were evidently retailing to their fellow rascals the events that had led up to the shooting. so engrossed was bert in watching the outlaws, that he did not see or hear the approach of a dark figure stealing up behind him. an arm shot out and a pistol butt came down on his head with a crash. a myriad of sparks flashed before his eyes, there was the roar of a cataract in his ears, and he fell to the ground like a log. when consciousness came back to him it was morning. he was lying on the floor of the shack and the hot sun was streaming in upon him. his head ached horribly, and for a moment he wondered where he was. then gradually he recalled the events of the day before, the fracas in the saloon, the tracking of the rustlers, the looking in at the window. but then it was night, and now it was broad daylight. what had happened to him? he put his hand to his head and felt that his hair was matted with blood. then he tried to rise to his feet, but found that they were tied together, and sank back with a groan. the wall of the house was just behind him, and he edged painfully toward it, until he was able to sit up and have some support for his back. then with swimming eyes he looked around him. as his vision cleared, he saw that there were two men sitting in the center of the room. they had not spoken a word, but had watched with a sort of amused interest his gradual coming back to life. in one of them he recognized the outlaw captain, and the other was the burly, red-haired giant, whose trail he had followed the afternoon before. there was no trace of the others and they had evidently gone to attend to the stock, or on some errand connected with the operations of the band. the leader's eyes fastened on bert with a penetrating glare, as though he sought to read the secrets of his soul. the captive met his look calmly and defiantly, and for a moment there was a silent duel. but bert's gaze remained level, and the captain, a little disconcerted at his failure to make his prisoner cringe, resorted to taunts. "feel kind o' wobbly, eh?" he jeered. "got a bad little hangover from last night? perhaps we were a little playful, but it's just our hearty way of welcomin' strangers. 'specially when they come without an invitation and we ketches them peepin' through the winders. but we don't mean no harm, do we, red?" and he leered at his companion, who grinned dutifully in response to his leader's humor. bert made no answer. "now look here, young feller," snapped the speaker, dropping his elaborate sarcasm and veering round to his natural ferocity, "you ain't tongue-tied, i reckon, and i want to know right quick, pronto, what you're doin' round these diggin's, anyhow. one of our men comin' in from the stables caught you spyin' through the winder. he gave yer one on the nob, and dragged yer in here. now, who are yer, where do yer come from and what are yer doin' in these parts. speak quick now, or by----" and he broke into a torrent of vile oaths and death-dealing threats, while he fingered nervously the knife that hung in his belt. before bert could reply one of the band entered the room. he glanced at the prisoner, and a sudden recognition leaped to his eyes. "i know that feller," he exclaimed excitedly, turning to his chief. "i couldn't just place him last night when his eyes was shut, but now i'm plumb sure of him. he's livin' over to the melton ranch with a couple of pals of his'n. seen him there more than once. ain't that straight?" to bert. "yes," said bert boldly, "that's straight." the man's identification was absolute and the time for silence or evasion was past. he was trapped and absolutely in their power. that they would kill him he had little doubt. a life more or less meant little to these ruthless scoundrels. but if he had to meet death, he would meet it unafraid. the name of the ranch owner acted on the chief like an electric shock. he leaped to his feet with a curse. "so melton sent you to spy on us, did he?" he demanded furiously. "he did not," answered bert. there was a conviction in the tone that checked the headlong rush that the captain had seemed about to make. he sat down again and pondered, his face working with rage and apprehension. at last he reached a decision, and bert read in his eyes that his doom had been pronounced. "it don't make no difference whether yer tellin' the truth or lyin'," he snarled. "ye've learned too much fur me to let yer live. if i turned yer loose, ye'd have melton and his bunch down on us in no time. keep a close watch on him, red," he commanded as he rose to his feet. "i've got some things to look after that'll keep me busy till dinner-time, and after that we'll put this maverick where he won't do no more spyin'." "how about breakfast?" asked bert coolly. "you're not going to starve me to death, are you?" the outlaw looked at him with astonishment, not unmixed with a sort of grudging admiration. "ye're a cool one," he responded after a moment's hesitation. "ye'd better be thinkin' of sayin' yer prayers instead of eatin'. rustle a little grub fer 'im, red, though it seems plumb sinful to waste good chuck on a feller that's as good as dead already." and with this ominous remark he went out, accompanied by the man who had identified the captive, leaving bert alone with his jailer. "red" got together some cold meat and beans and placed them on the floor within bert's reach. he ate heartily, knowing that above everything else he must preserve his strength. and while he ate his mind was busy. at any rate, he had a little respite. it would be at least two hours before noontime, and many things might happen before then. he did not disguise from himself that his situation was desperate. but, though there might be but one chance in a thousand of escape, he was determined to find and seize that chance. his feet had been tied in such a manner that while, if he stood up, he would be able to take steps a foot apart, he could by no possibility run away. the knot at each ankle was skillfully looped in cowboy fashion, and under the watchful eyes of "red" there was no chance to unfasten them. his knife and pistol had been taken from him, as well as his watch and money. so thoroughly had he been "frisked" that, as he felt his pockets carelessly, he found that nothing had been left except a bunch of keys that the rustlers had disdained as booty, and a convex piece of glass that belonged to an old telescope that he had been taking apart a day or two before. as his hand came in contact with it a thought sprang into his mind that sent his pulses leaping in wild delirium. could he do it? why not? without any pretence of concealment he drew it with the keys from his pocket and fingered it idly, looking out of the window as though his thoughts were far away. "red" looked at the articles, recognized their harmless character, and with an indifferent grunt went on smoking. the fierce sun of the dog days was coming hotly through the open window. still handling the glass dreamily, bert brought it in such a position that its convex surface gathered the rays of the sun into one blistering shaft. this he directed on the center of the rope that stretched between his feet. slowly but surely it began to darken. the tiny threads of which it was composed twisted and shriveled and broke. bert hunched up his knees, and sat as though rapt in brooding contemplation, while all the time that tiny shaft bored deeper and deeper into the rope like a red hot iron. for half an hour this continued until bert was convinced that the rope was burned to the core, and that under a vigorous effort it would snap like thread. he moved around uneasily, fidgeting and twisting with an occasional groan until "red" unbent sufficiently from his surly indifference to ask him "what was eatin' of him." "i'm in a fearfully cramped position," explained bert, meekly. "do you mind if i stand up for a minute and stretch?" "red" cogitated a moment. "no law agin it, i reckon," he conceded ungraciously. bert labored painfully and clumsily to his feet, yawned wearily and stretched his arms above his head. then with one quick jerk he burst the rope and went into "red" like a thunderbolt. before that crashing impact of bone and muscle that had triumphed on many a football field, the startled outlaw hit the floor with a tremendous thump, while bert's sinewy hands tightened on his throat. but there was no resistance, and after a moment bert relaxed his grasp. the rustler's head had struck on the sill of the door and the blow had rendered him unconscious. springing to his feet, bert grasped the knife that lay on the table, and sawed desperately at the ends of rope that dangled about his feet. a few minutes sufficed and he was free. then he took the revolver from the belt of his fallen enemy, and, after a swift glance round the clearing, bolted for the woods like a deer. he had almost reached cover when he heard a yell behind him and a bullet zipped past his head. he turned and saw one of the outlaws rushing from the corral behind the house, while others, attracted by the shot, were running to mount their horses. then he dived into the woods and ran for his life. through the forest aisles he slipped like a shadow, and for a time he more than held his own. but his pursuers had the advantage of knowing the ground, while he had to choose his course on the spur of the moment. he lost precious seconds in dodging obstacles, and he could hear the clatter of horses coming nearer and nearer. at any moment a bullet might bring him down. the wound in his head was bleeding now under his tremendous exertions, and he began to grow dizzy and faint. but, although his strength was ebbing, his heart was as high and his spirit as undaunted as ever. he would never surrender. as a last resource he had his revolver, and, if he had to die, he would take some of the outlaws with him. the thud of hoofs was nearer now, and bullets began to whiz past him. a voice that he knew was that of the leader of the gang shouted to him to halt. before him was a thinning of the woods that indicated open country. on a level course they could never get him. his second wind was coming back and he would distance them yet. on, on, he went, running like the wind. a few rods ahead the trail bent round in a sweeping curve, and as bert approached it on flying feet, he heard horsemen coming from that direction. with a groan he halted. they had him surrounded, then. he had no chance. the game was up. he drew his revolver and dropped on his knee to aim. and then round the curve with a rush and a roar, riding like fiends, came melton, dick and tom, with twenty cowboys at their back. there was a wild whoop when they caught sight of bert, and his comrades flung themselves from the saddle and rushed toward him. melton, without dismounting, reached over and gave him a bear grip that said more than words. then he straightened up and rode on at the head of his men to meet the rustlers. the latter, however, did not await his coming. they broke and ran, bending low over the necks of their horses. but melton's blood was up and he rode them down relentlessly. rifle and revolver shots merged into one crackling fusillade. the cornered outlaws fought to the last ditch when overtaken, and no one asked for quarter. and when at last the fight was over, five, including the captain, lay stretched lifeless upon the ground. one, by hard riding and his knowledge of the country, had escaped, and "red," still looking dazed and foolish, was a prisoner. the cowboys were for stringing him up on the spot, but bert, who had swung up behind dick and been in at the finish, pleaded hard that his life might be spared. "you win," conceded melton. "you've done too much for me to refuse you anything. we'll turn him over to the sheriff, and he'll have all the chance that's coming to him, which, between you and me, i think is mighty little." then he turned to pedro, who, as bert now noticed for the first time, was sitting tied upon his horse and guarded by two of the ranchmen. "cut his ropes," he commanded, "and turn him loose. i promised the hound his life if he led me to the rustlers' camp, and i keep my word." melton gathered his force together and they took up their march for home, jubilant at the success of the expedition. "it's all due to you, you young dare-devil," said melton, as he and the reunited comrades rode back at the head of the squad. "sandy found your pony neighing to get in the corral, and brought your note to dick. i nabbed pedro and handled him some savage until the fellow wilted. then we saddled and started out at the first sign of daybreak and you know the rest. and i guess, by thunder, that we got here just in time." and when they reached the ranch, motherly mrs. melton folded him in her arms with tears in her eyes, unable to speak. she washed and bandaged the wound, which proved to be not serious, and sent him straightway off to bed. bert laughingly protested, but he had to yield. * * * * * it was with immense regret, a few days later, that the boys parted from their warm-hearted host and hostess. but duty and the east were calling, and they had to go. they had passed a glorious summer, full of the excitement in which their adventurous souls delighted. far out from the car windows they leaned and waved their hands, until the kindly figures on the platform were lost to sight. the cowboys too had turned out in a body to bid their friends good-by, and, as the train started, they tossed their hats in the air and fired their six-shooters till their cartridges gave out. then they wheeled their bronchos and headed for the ranch. "no use talkin'," sandy broke out suddenly that night as they were smoking their pipes in the bunkhouse, "that wilson is the finest feller that ever wore shoe leather." buck, who was half asleep, roused himself. "oh, i wouldn't go quite so far as that," he drawled, mistaking the reference. "still, he's makin' a pretty fair president." "shucks," snorted sandy, "i didn't mean _him_. i was talkin' of bert." the end note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) transcriber's note: the titles given in the table of contents for chapters vii and viii differ from the chapter titles used in the text. the free range by elwell lawrence illustrations by douglas duer [illustration: they rode needlessly close together and swung their clasped hands like happy children.] grosset & dunlap publishers :: new york copyright by w. j. watt & company published june to mathew white jr., editor, author, critic, friend. contents chapter page i flinging the gauntlet ii a late arrival iii an unsettled score iv the six pistol shots v strategy and a surprise vi ugly company vii you have forgotten the mask viii fiendish revenge ix the man in the mask x war without quarter xi made prisoner xii juliet asserts herself xiii the heathen chinee xiv sentenced xv cowland topsy-turvy xvi a message by a strange hand xvii a battle in the dark xviii the immortal ten xix an indian coulee xx somebody new turns up xxi julie investigates xxii the use of photography xxiii the crossing xxiv the story of lester xxv the threads meet the free range chapter i flinging the gauntlet "then you insist on ruining me, mr. bissell?" bud larkin, his hat pushed back on his head, looked unabashed at the scowling heavy features of the man opposite in the long, low room, and awaited a reply. "i don't want to ruin anybody," puffed old "beef" bissell, whose cattle overran most of the range between the gray bull and the big horn. "but i allow as how them sheep of yours had better stay down nebrasky way where they come from." "in other words," snapped larkin, "i had better give up the idea of bringing them north altogether. is that it?" "just about." "well, now, see here, mr. bissell, you forget one or two things. the first is, that my sheep ranch is in montana and not wyoming, and that i want to run my southern herds onto the northern range before fall sets in. the second is, that, while your homestead may be three hundred and twenty acres, the range that has made you rich is free. my sheep have as much right there as your cattle. it is all government land and open to everybody." "possession is eleven points out here where there isn't any law," replied bissell imperturbably. "it's a case of your sheep against my cattle, and, you see, i stand up reg'lar for my cows." bud rolled a cigarette and pondered. he was in the rather bare and unornamental living-room of the bar t ranch. in the center was a rough-hewn table supporting an oil-lamp and an omaha newspaper fully six months old. the chairs, except one, were rough and heavy and without rockers. this one was a gorgeous plush patent-rocker so valued a generation ago, and evidently imported at great expense. a square of carpet that had lost all claims to pattern had become a soft blur, the result of age and alkali. however, it was one of the proudest possessions of the bar t outfit and showed that old beef bissell knew what the right thing was. a calico shroud hid a large, erect object against the wall farthest away from the windows; an object that was the last word in luxury and reckless expense--a piano. the walls were of boards whitewashed, and the ceiling was just plain boards. it had not taken bud larkin long to discern that there was a feminine cause for these numerous unusual effects; but he did not for a minute suppose it to be the thin, sharp-tongued woman who had been washing behind the cook-house as he rode up to the corral. now, as he pondered, he thought again about it. but only for a minute; other things of vaster importance held him. although but two men had spoken during the conversation, three were in the room. the third was a man of medium height, lowering looks, and slow tongue. his hair was black, and he had the appearance of always needing a shave. he was trained down to perfect condition by his years on the plains, and was as wiry and tough as the cow pony he rode. he was black mike stelton, foreman of the bar t. "what do you think, mike?" asked bissell, when larkin made no attempt to continue the argument. "same's you, boss," was the reply in a heavy voice. "i wouldn't let them sheep on the range, not noways. sheep is the ruination of any grass country." "there you see, mr. larkin," said bissell with an expressive motion of his hand. "stelton's been out here in the business fifteen years and says the same as i do. how long did you say you had been in the west?" "one year," replied larkin, flushing to the roots of his hair beneath his tanned but not weather-beaten skin. "came from chicago." "from down east, eh? well, my woman was to st. paul once, and she's never got over it; but it don't seem to have spoiled you none." larkin grinned and replied in kind, but all the time he was trying to determine what stand to take. he had expected to meet opposition to "walking" his sheep north--in fact, had met it steadily--but up to this point had managed to get his animals through. now he was fifty miles ahead of the first flock and had reached the bar t ranch an hour before dinner. had he been a suspected horse-thief, the unwritten social etiquette of the plains would have provided him with food and lodging as long as he cared to stay. consequently when he had caught the reflection of the setting sun against the walls of the ranch house, he had turned pinte's head in the direction of the corral. then, in the living-room, though no questions had been asked, larkin had brought up the much-dreaded subject himself, as his visit was partly for that purpose. he had much to contend with. in the first place, being a sheepman, he was absolutely without caste in the cattle country, where men who went in for the "woolly idiots," as someone has aptly called them, was considered for the most part as a degenerate, and only fit for target practice. this side of the matter troubled him not at all, however. what did worry him was the element of right in the cattlemen's attitude! a right that was still a wrong. for he had to acknowledge that when sheep had once fed across a range, that range was ruined for cattle for the period of at least a year. this was due to the fact that the sheep, cropping into the very roots of the gray grass itself, destroyed it. moreover, the animals on their slow marches, herded so close together that they left an offensive trail rather than follow which the cattle would stand and starve. on the other hand, the range was free and the sheep had as much right to graze there as the cattle, a fact that the cattlemen, with all their strict code of justice, refused to recognize. larkin knew that he had come to the parting of the ways at the bar t ranch. old beef bissell was what was known at that time as a cattle king. his thousands of steers, wealth on the hoof, grazed far and wide over the fenceless prairies. his range riders rarely saw the ranch house for a month at a time, so great was his assumed territory; his cowboys outnumbered those of any owner within three hundred miles. aside from this, he was the head of a cattlemen's association that had banded together against rustlers and other invaders of the range. larkin returned to the conversation. "try to see it from my standpoint," he said to bissell. "if you had gone in for sheep as i have--" "i wouldn't go in for 'em," interrupted the other contemptuously, and stelton grunted. "as you like about that. every gopher to his own hole," remarked bud. "but if you had, and i guess you would if you thought there was more money in it, you would certainly insist on your rights on the range, wouldn't you?" "i might try." "and if you tried you'd be pretty sure to succeed, i imagine." "it's likely; i allow as how i'm a pretty good hand at succeedin'." "well, so am i. i haven't got very far yet, but i am on my way. i didn't come out here to make a failure of things, and i don't intend to. now, all i want is to run my sheep north on to the montana range where my ranch is." "how many are there?" this from stelton. "five flocks of about two thousand each." bissell snorted and turned in his chair. "i won't allow it, young man, an' that's all i've got to say. d'ye think i'm a fool?" "no, but neither am i. and i might as well tell you first and last that those sheep are coming north. now, if you do the fair thing you will tell your cowboys the fact so they won't make any mistakes. i have given you fair warning, and if anything happens to those sheep you will be held responsible." "is that all you got to say?" asked bissell, sarcastically. "yes." "well, then, i'll do the talkin'. i'd as leave see indians stampedin' my cows into the river as have your sheep come over the range. since you've given me what you call a fair warning, i'll give you one. leave your critters where they are. if you don't do it you'll be a sight wiser and also a mighty sight poorer before i get through with 'em." "just what do you mean by that?" asked larkin. "i ain't sayin' nothin' more than that now, because i'm a slow hand at makin' ornery promises, seein' i always keep 'em. but i'm just tellin' you, that's all." "is that your last word on the subject?" asked larkin. "it is, an' i want stelton here to remember i said it." "then we won't say anything more about the matter," replied bud calmly, as he rose. "i'll go outside and look to my horse." "you'll stay the night with us, won't you?" asked bissell anxiously. "yes, thanks. i've heard so much about the bar t i should like to see a little more of it." when larkin had left the room, bissell, with a frown on his face, turned to stelton. "tell all the boys what's happened to-day," he said, "and tell 'em to be on the watch for this young feller's first herd. he'll plenty soon find out he can't run riot on my range." chapter ii a late arrival after visiting the corral, larkin paid his respects to the pump and refreshed himself for supper. then he strolled around the long, rambling ranch house. across the front, which faced southwest, had been built a low apology for a veranda on which a couple of uninviting chairs stood. he appropriated one of these and settled back to think. the late sun, a red-bronze color, hung just above the horizon and softened the unlovely stretches of prairie into something brooding and beautiful. thirty miles away the rockies had become a mass of gray-blue fleeced across the top with lines of late snow--for it was early june. the bar t ranch house itself stood on a rise of ground back from a cold, greenish-blue river that made a bend at this point, and that rose and had its being in the melting whiteness of those distant peaks. between the willows of the river bottoms, larkin could see the red reflection of the sun on the water, and could follow the stream's course across the prairie by the snake-like procession of cottonwoods that lined its banks. on the plains themselves there was still a fading hue of green. the buffalo grass had already begun to wither under the increasing heat, and in a month would have become the same gray, cured fodder that supported millions of buffalo centuries before a steer was on the range. for bud larkin, only a year in the west, this evening scene had not lost its charm. he loved this hour when the men washed up at the pump. there were enticing sounds from the cook house and enticing odors in the air. sometimes it seemed as though it almost made up for a day's failure and discouragement. his quick eye suddenly noted a dark speck moving rapidly across the prairie toward the ranch house. it seemed to skim the ground and in five minutes had developed into a cow pony and its rider. a quarter of an hour later and the pony proved himself of "calico" variety, while the rider developed into a girl who bestrode her mount as though she were a part of the animal itself. the front rim of her broad felt hat was fastened upward with a thong and exposed her face. bud watched her idly until she dashed up to the front of the house, fetched her horse back on its haunches with a jerk on the cruel spanish bridle, and leaped to the ground before he had fairly lost headway. then with a slap on the rump she sent him trotting to stelton, who had appeared around the end of the veranda as though expecting her. occupied with pulling off her soft white buckskin gauntlets, she did not notice the young man on the low porch until, with an exclamation, he had sprung to his feet and hurried toward her. "juliet bissell!" gasped larkin, holding out a hand to her. "what are you doing here?" "of all people, bud larkin!" cried the girl, flushing with pleasure. "why, i can't believe it! did you drop out of the sky somewhere?" "if the sky is heaven, i've just dropped into it," he returned, trying to confine his joy to intelligible speech, and barely succeeding. "that sounds like the same old bud," she laughed, "and it's a pleasure to hear it. for if there is one thing a cowboy can't do, and it's the only one, it is to pay a woman a compliment. that speech brands you a tenderfoot." "never! i've been out a year and can nearly ride a cow pony, providing it is lame and blind." so, bantering each other unmercifully, they reached the front door. "wait a few minutes, bud, and i will be out again. i must dress for dinner." when she had gone larkin understood at once the presence of the carpet, the patent rocker, and the piano. "what a double-barreled idiot i am," he swore, "to talk turkey to old bissell and never connect him with juliet. all the sheep in the world couldn't get me away from here to-night." and he ejaculated the time-worn but true old phrase that the world is a mighty small place. juliet bissell had been a very definite personage in bud larkin's other life--the life that he tried to forget. the eldest son of a rich chicago banker, his first twenty-five years had been such years as a man always looks back upon with a vast regret. from the mansion on sheridan drive he had varied his time among his clubs, his sports, and his social duties, and generally made himself one of many in this world that humanity can do without. in other words, he added nothing to himself, others, or life in general, and was, therefore, without a real excuse for existing. of one thing he was ever zealous, now that he had left it behind, and this was that his past should not pursue him into the new life he had chosen. he wished to start his career without stigma, and end it without blame. strangely enough, the person who had implanted this ambition and determination in him was juliet bissell. three winters before, he had met her at the charity ball, and at the time she was something of a social sensation, being described as "that cowgirl from wyoming." however, that "cowgirl" left her mark on many a gilded youth, and bud larkin was one. he had fallen in love with her, as much as one in his position is capable of falling in love, had proposed to her, and been rejected with a grace and gentleness that had robbed the blow of all hurt--with one exception. bud's pride, since his wealth and position had meant nothing in the girl's eyes, had been sorely wounded, and it had taken six months of the vast mystery of the plains to reduce this pettiness to the status of a secret shame. when juliet refused him she had told him with infinite tact that her husband would be a man more after the pattern of her father, whom she adored, and who, in turn, worshiped the very air that surrounded her; and it was this fact that had turned bud's attention to the west and its opportunities. when she returned to the porch juliet had on a plain white dress with pink ribbons at elbows, neck, and waist. larkin, who had always thrilled at her splendid physical vigor, found himself more than ever under the spell of her luxuriant vitality. her great dark eyes were remarkably lustrous and expressive, her black hair waved back from her brown face into a great braided coil, her features were not pretty so much as noble. her figure, with its limber curves, was pliant and graceful in any position or emergency--the result of years in the saddle. her feet and hands were small, the latter being firm but infinitely gentle in their touch. "well, have you forgotten all your eastern education?" larkin asked, smiling, as she sat down. "have you reverted to your original untamed condition?" "no, indeed, bud. i have a reputation to keep up in that respect. the fact that i have had an eastern education has made our punchers so proud that they can't be lived with when they go to town, and lord it over everybody." "i suppose they all want to marry you?" "yes, singly or in lots, and sometimes i'm sorry it can't be done, i love them all so much. but tell me, bud, what brings you out west in general and here in particular?" "probably you don't know that a year and a half ago my father died," and larkin's face shadowed for a moment with retrospection. "well, he did, and left me most of his estate. i was sick of it there, and i vowed i would pull up stakes and start somewhere by myself. so i went up to montana in the vicinity of the musselshell forks and bought a ranch and some stock." "cattle?" "no, sheep. the best merino i ever saw--" "bud larkin! you're not a sheepman?" "yes, ma'am, and a menace to a large number of cowmen, your father among them." the girl sank back and allowed him to relate the story of his adventures up to the present time, including the interview with beef. at the description of that she smiled grimly; and he, noting the fact, told himself that it would take a masterly character to subdue that free, wild pride. "now, julie," he concluded, "do me the favor of instilling reason into your father. i've done my best and we have parted without murder, but that's all. i've got to have a friend at court or i will be ruined before i commence." the girl was silent for a few minutes and sat looking down at her slippered feet. "bud," she said at last, "you've never known me to tell anything but the truth, and i'm going to tell it to you now. i will be your friend in everything except where you ask me to yield my loyalty to my father and his interests. he is the most wonderful father a girl ever had, and if he were to say that black was white, i should probably swear to it if he asked me to." "i admire you for that," said bud genuinely, although all his hopes in this powerful ally went glimmering. "let's not talk shop any longer. it's too good just to see you to think about anything but that." so, for a while, they reminisced of the days of their former friendship, by tacit agreement avoiding any reference to intimate things. and larkin felt spring up in him the old love that he had convinced himself was dead; so that he added to his first resolution to succeed on the range, a second, that he would, in the end, conquer juliet bissell. the thought was pleasing, for it meant another struggle, another outlet for the energies and activities that had so long lain dormant in him. and with the undaunted courage of youth he looked eagerly toward the battle that should win this radiant girl. but for the present he knew he must not betray himself by word, look or action; other things of greater moment must be settled. at last, as they talked, the cook, a long-suffering chinaman, seized a huge brass bell and rang it with all his might, standing in the door of the cook house. there was an instant response in the wild whoop of the cowboys who had been suffering the pangs of starvation for the past half-hour. "of course you must come to our private table, bud," said juliet. "i want you to see father's other side." so they rose and went in the front way. the ranch house had been planned so that to the right of the entrance was the living-room, and back of that the dining-room. to the left three smaller rooms had been made into sleeping apartments. at the back of the structure and extending across the width of it was a large room that, in the early days of the bar t, had served as the bunk-house for the cow punchers. this had now been changed to the mess-room for them, while the family, with the addition of stelton, the foreman, used the smaller private room. owing to the large increase in the number of bar t punchers a special bunk-house had been built in the rear of the main structure. at table larkin for the first time met mrs. bissell, who proved to be a typical early cowman's wife, thin, overworked, and slightly vinegary of disposition, despite the fact that she had at one time in her life been the belle of a cowtown, and had been won from beneath the ready . 's of a number of rivals. at bud's entrance stelton grunted and scowled, and generally showed himself ill-pleased that juliet should have known the visitor. on the other hand, as the girl had promised, beef bissell, for years the terror of the range, displayed a side that the sheepman would never have suspected. his voice became gentle, his laugh softened, his language purified, and he showed, by many little attentions, the unconscious chivalry that worship of a good woman brings to the surface. for her part, the girl appraised this devotion at its true value and never failed in the little feminine thoughtfulnesses that appeal so strongly to a worried and busy man. that stelton should be at the table at all surprised bud, for it was not the habit of foremen to eat away from the punchers. but here the fact was the result of a former necessity when bissell, hard-pressed, had called his foreman into consultation at meal times. old bissell proved himself a more genial host than business rival, and when he had learned of larkin and his daughter's former friendship, he forgot sheep for the moment and took an interest in the man. mrs. bissell sat open-mouthed while bud told of the glories of chicago in the early eighties, and never once mentioned her famous visit to st. paul, so overcome was she with the tales this young man related. everyone was at his or her ease when the rapid tattoo of hoofs was heard, and a horse and rider drew up abruptly at the corral. one of the punchers from the rear dining-room went out to meet him and presently appeared sheepishly in the doorway where bissell could see him. "is there a mr. larkin here?" asked the puncher. "yes," said bud, pushing back his chair. "there's a stranger out here that 'lows he wants to see you." "send him in here and give him something to eat, shorty," sang out bissell. "if he's a friend of larkin's, he'd better have dinner with him. and, shorty, tell that chinaman to rustle another place here _pronto!_" as for bud larkin, he was at a total loss to know who his visitor might be. with a sudden twinge of fear he thought that perhaps hard-winter sims, his chief herder, had pursued him with disastrous information from the flocks. wondering, he awaited the visitor's appearance. the stranger presently made a bold and noisy entrance, and, when his face came into view, bud sank back in his chair weakly, his own paling a trifle beneath the tan. for the man was smithy caldwell, a shifty-eyed crook from chicago, one who had dogged him before, and whom he had never expected to see again. how the villain had tracked him to the bar t outfit bud could not imagine. seeing the eyes of the others upon him, larkin recovered himself with an effort and introduced caldwell; but to the eyes of even the most unobservant it was plain that a foreign element of disturbing nature had suddenly been projected into the genial atmosphere. the man was coarse in manner and speech and often addressed leering remarks to juliet, who disregarded them utterly and confined her attention to bud. "who is this creature?" she asked _sotto voce_. "what does he want with you?" bud hesitated, made two or three false starts, and finally said: "i am sure his business with me would not interest you." "i beg your pardon," said the girl, rebuffed. "i seem to have forgotten myself." "i wish i could," ejaculated bud bitterly, and refused to explain further. chapter iii an unsettled score as soon after dinner as possible larkin disengaged himself from the rest of the party and motioned caldwell to follow him. he led the way around the house and back toward the fence of the corral. it was already dark, and the only sounds were those of the horses stirring restlessly, or the low bellow of one of the ranch milch cows. "what are you doing out here?" demanded bud. "i came to see you." the other emitted an exasperating chuckle at his own cheap wit. "what do you want?" "you know what i want." this time there was no chuckle, and bud could imagine the close-set, greedy eyes of the other, one of them slightly crossed, boring into him in the dark. "money, i suppose, you whining blood-sucker," suggested bud, his voice quiet, but holding a cold, unpleasant sort of ring that was new to caldwell. "'the boy guessed right the very first time,'" quoted smithy, unabashed. "what became of that two thousand i gave you before i left chicago?" "i got little enough of that," cried caldwell. "you know how many people there were to be hushed up." "many!" snapped larkin. "you can't come any of that on me. there were just three; yourself, your wife, and that red-headed fellow,--i forget his name." "well, my wife doesn't live with me any more," whined smithy, "but she makes me support her just the same, and threatens to squeal on you if i don't produce regularly; she knows where the money comes from." suddenly larkin stepped close to the other and thrust something long and hard against his ribs. "i'm going to do for you now, smithy," he said in a cold, even voice. caldwell did not even move from his position. "if you do," was his reply, "the woman will give the whole thing to the newspapers. they have smelled a rat so long they would pay well for a tip. she has all the documents. so if you want to swing and ruin everybody concerned, just pull that trigger." "i knew you were lying." bud stepped back and thrust his revolver into the holster. "you are still living with your wife, for she wouldn't have the documents if you weren't. a man rarely lies when he is within two seconds of death. you are up to your old tricks, smithy, and they have never fooled me yet. now, let's get down to business. how much do you want?" "two thousand dollars." "i haven't got it. you don't know it, perhaps, but my money is on the hoof out in this country, and cash is very little used. look here. you bring your wife and that red-headed chap out to arizona or california and i will set you up in the sheep business. i've got herds coming north now, but i'll turn a thousand back in your name, and by the time you arrive they will be on the southern range. what do you say?" "i say no," replied the other in an ugly voice. "i want money, and i'm going to have it. good old chi is range enough for me." "well, i can't give you two thousand because i haven't got it." "what have you got?" "five hundred dollars, the pay of my herders." "i'll take that on account, then," said caldwell insolently. "when will you have some more?" "not until the end of july, when the wool has been shipped east." "all right. i'll wait till then. come on, hand over the five hundred." larkin reached inside his heavy woolen shirt, opened a chamois bag that hung by a string around his neck, and emptied it of bills. these he passed to caldwell without a word. "if you are wise, smithy," he said in an even voice, "you won't ask me for any more. i've about reached the end of my rope in this business. and let me tell you that this account between you and me is going to be settled in full to my credit before very long." "maybe and maybe not," said the other insolently, and walked off. five minutes later bud larkin, sick at heart that this skeleton of the past had risen up to confront him in his new life, made his way around the ranch house to the front entrance. just as he was going in at the door a man appeared from the opposite side so that the two met. the other skulked back and disappeared, but in that moment bud recognized the figure of stelton, and a sudden chill clutched his heart. had the foreman of the bar t been listening and heard all? entering the living-room, where the bissells were already gathered, larkin expected to find caldwell, but inquiry elicited the fact that he had not been seen. five minutes later the drumming of a pony's feet on the hard ground supplied the solution of his non-appearance. having satisfactorily interviewed larkin, he had mounted his horse, which all this time had been tethered to the corral, and ridden away. half an hour later stelton came in, his brow dark, and seated himself in a far corner of the room. from his manner it was evident that he had something to say, and bissell drew him out. "red came in from over by sioux creek to-night," admitted the foreman, "and he says as how the rustlers have been busy that-a-way ag'in. first thing he saw was the tracks of their hosses, and then, when he counted the herd, found it was twenty head short. i'm shore put out about them rustlers, chief, and if something ain't done about it pretty soon you won't have enough prime beef to make a decent drive." instantly the face of bissell lost all its kindliness and grew as dark and forbidding as stelton's. springing out of his chair, he paced up and down the room. "that has got to stop!" he said determinedly. then, in answer to a question of larkin's: "yes, rustlers were never so bad as they are now. it's got so in this state that the thieves have got more cows among 'em than the regular cowmen. an' that ain't all. they've got an organization that we can't touch. we're plumb locoed with their devilment. that's the second bunch cut out of that herd, ain't it, mike?" "yes." beef bissell, his eyes flashing the fire that had made him feared in the earlier, rougher days of the range, finally stopped at the door. "come on out with me and talk to red," he ordered his foreman, and the latter, whose eyes had never left juliet since he entered the room, reluctantly obeyed. presently mrs. bissell took herself off, and bud and the girl were left alone. "i suppose you'll marry some time," said larkin, after a long pause. "i sincerely hope so," was her laughing rejoinder. "any candidates at present?" "not that i know of." "well, i know of a very active one--he just left the room." "who, mike? bud, that's preposterous! i've known him ever since i was a little girl, and would no more think of marriage with him than of keeping pet rattlesnakes." "perhaps not, julie, but mike would. will you take the word of an absolutely disinterested observer that the man is almost mad about you, and would sell his soul for one of your smiles?" the girl was evidently impressed by the seriousness of his tone, for she pondered a minute in silence. "perhaps you are right, bud," she said at last. "i had never thought of it that way. but you needn't worry; i can take care of myself." "i'm sure of it, but that doesn't make him any the less dangerous. keep your eye on him, and if you ever find yourself in a place where you need somebody bad and quick, send for me. he hates me already, and i can't say i love him any too well; i have an idea that he and i will come to closer quarters than will be good for the health of one of us." "nonsense, bud; your imagination seems rather lively to-night. now, just because i am curious, will you tell me why you went into the sheep business?" "certainly. because it is the future business of wyoming and montana. sheep can live on less and under conditions that would kill cows. moreover, they are a source of double profit, both for their wool and their mutton. the final struggle of the range will be between sheep and cattle and irrigation, and irrigation will win. "but the sheep will drive the cattle off the range, and, when they, in turn, are driven off, will continue to thrive in the foothills and lower mountains, where there is no irrigation. i went into the sheep business to make money, but i won't see much of that money for several years. when i am getting rich, cowmen like your father will be fighting for the maintenance of a few little herds that have not been pushed off the range by the sheep. cattle offer more immediate profit, but, according to my view, they are doomed." "bud, that's the best defense of wool-growing i ever heard," cried the girl. "up to this i've held it against you that you were a sheepman--a silly prejudice, of course, that i have grown up with--but now you can consider yourself free of that. i believe you have hit the nail on the head." "thanks, i believe i have," said bud dryly, and a little while later they separated for the night, but not before he had remarked: "i think it would benefit all of us if you drilled some of that common-sense into your father." chapter iv the six pistol shots the next morning, after breakfast, which shortly followed the rising of the sun, bissell called bud larkin aside just as that young man had headed for the corral to rope and saddle pinte. gone was any hint of the man of the night before. his red face was sober, and his brown eyes looked into bud's steel-gray ones with a piercing, almost menacing, intensity. "i hope any friend of julie's will continue to be my friend," was all he said, but the glance and manner attending this delicate hint left no doubt as to his meaning. his whole attitude spelled "sheep!" "that depends entirely upon you, mr. bissell," was larkin's rejoinder. the cowman turned away without any further words, and bud continued on to the corral. at the enclosure he found stelton roping a wiry and vicious calico pony, and when he had finally cinched the saddle on pinte, he turned to see julie at his side. "you had better invite me to ride a little way with you," she said, laughing, "because i am coming anyhow." "bless you! what a treat!" cried bud happily, and helped to cinch up the calico, who squealed at every tug. stelton, his dark face flushed to the color of mahogany, sullenly left him the privilege and walked away. presently they mounted, and bud, with a loud "so-long" and a wave of the hand to some of the punchers, turned south. julie, loping beside him, looked up curiously at this. "i thought you were going north, bud," she cried. "changed my plans overnight," he replied non-committally, and she did not press the subject further, feeling, with a woman's intuition, that war was in the air. ten miles south, at the ford of the southern branch of grass creek, she drew up her horse as the signal for their separation, and faced north. bud, still headed southward, put pinte alongside of her and took her hand. "it's been a blessing to see you, you're so civilized," she said, half-seriously. "do come again." "then you do sometimes miss the things you have been educated to?" "yes, bud, i do, but not often. seeing you has brought back a flood of memories that i am happier without." "and that is what you have done for me, dear girl," he said in a low tone as he pressed her hand. the next moment, with a nonchalant "so-long," the parting of the plains, he had dug the spurs into his horse and ridden away. for a minute the girl sat looking after this one link between her desolate existence and the luxury and society he still represented in her eyes. "his manners have changed for the worse," she thought, recalling his abrupt departure, "but i think he has changed for the better." which remark proves that her sense of relative masculine values was still sound. larkin continued on directly south-east for twenty miles, until he crossed the big horn at what is now the town of kirby. thence his course lay south rather than east until he should raise the white dust of his first flock. with regard to his sheep, larkin, in all disputed cases, took the advice of his chief herder, hard-winter sims, the laziest man on the range, and yet one who seemed to divine the numbed sheep intelligence in a manner little short of marvelous. sims he had picked up in montana, when that individual, unable to perform the arduous duties of a cowboy, had applied for a job as a sheep-herder--not so much because he liked the sheep, but because he had to eat and clothe himself. by one of those rare accidents of luck sims at last found his _métier_, and larkin the prince of sheepmen. when bud had determined to "walk" ten thousand animals north, sims had accompanied him to help in the buying, and was now superintending the long drive. on his advice the drive had been divided into five herds of two thousand, he contending that it was dangerous, as well as injurious to the sheep, to keep more than that number together. the others were following at intervals of a few days. larkin had left the leaders just north of the hills that formed the hooked southern end of the big horn mountains, and expected that in two days' time they would have come north almost to the junction of kirby creek and the big horn, near where it was calculated to cross them. after grazing his horse for an hour at noon, and taking a bite to eat himself, larkin pushed on, and, in a short time, made out a faint, whitish mist rising against the horizon of hills. it was the dust of his leaders. presently, in the far distance, a man appeared on horseback making toward him, and bud wondered if anything had happened. his fears were partially justified when he discovered the horseman to be sims, and were entirely confirmed when he had conversed with the herder. "we've sure got to get them sheep to water, and that mighty quick," was the latter's laconic announcement. "nonsense! there's plenty of water. what's the matter with 'em?" "ten miles out of the hills we found a water-hole, but the cattle had been there first, and the sheep wouldn't look at it. at the camp last night there was another hole, but some imp had deviled the herd an' they lay alongside the water, dyin' of thirst, but they wouldn't drink. we pushed 'em in an' they swam around; we half-drowned some of 'em, but still they wouldn't drink. "so we made a night march without finding water, and we haven't found any to-day. they're gettin' frantic now." bud quirted the tired pinte into a gallop, and they approached the herd, about which the dark, slim figures of the dogs were running. from the distance the first sound was the ceaseless blethering of the flock that proclaimed its misery. the next was the musical tinkling of the bells the leaders wore. "reckon they've found another hole," said sims. "thought i seen one when i was ridin' out." on nearer approach it was seen that the herd was "milling," that is, revolving in a great circle, with a number of inner circles, half smothered in the dust they raised, without aim or knowledge of what they did, or why. about the herd at various points stood the half-dozen shepherds, their long crooks in their hands. whenever a blatting animal made a dash for liberty the dogs drove it into the press, barking and nipping. larkin rode to a tall, dark-skinned shepherd, a basque from the california herding. "what is it, pedro?" he asked. "what is the matter with them?" "only the good god can tell. the leaders they take fright at something, i do not know, and we 'mill' them before any damage is done." larkin rode around the trampling, bawling mass to the rear, where were the cook wagon and a couple of spare horses. he at once dismounted and changed his uncomfortable riding-boots for the brogans of the herder. pinte he relegated to the string, for the use of a horse with sheep is ludicrous, since the dogs are the real herders, and obey the orders given by the uplifted arms of the men. when he rejoined sims, the sheep had become calmer. the flock-mind, localized in the leaders, had come to the conclusion that, after all, there was nothing to fear, and the circling motion was gradually becoming slower and slower. in a quarter of an hour comparative quiet had been restored, and sims gave the order to get the flock under way. since they had not come upon water at this place, as the herder had hoped, it was necessary to continue the merciless drive until they found it. immediately the dogs cut into the dirty-white revolving mass (the smell of which is like no other in the world), and headed the leaders north. but the leaders and tail-enders were inextricably mixed, and for a long time there was great confusion. sheep on the march have one invariable position, either among the leaders, middlers or tailers, and until each animal has found his exact post, nothing whatever can be done with him. until night fell the animals fed on the dry bunch-grass, and then, under the trotting of the dogs, took position on the brow of a rising hill, as though bedding down for the night. but all did not rest, for perhaps fifty remained standing in the perpetual flock-watch. in an hour these would lie down and others take their places, but all through the night, and at any time when the flock rested, this hereditary protection would become operative--seemingly a survival of a day when neither man nor dog had assumed this duty. the cook dug his trench, built his fire and set his folding table out under the pale sky that was just commencing to show brilliant stars. after the last cup of steaming coffee had been downed and pipes lighted, sims gave the order to march. the herd was nearly still now, and roused with much complaining, but the dogs were inexorable, and presently the two thousand were shuffling on, feeding now and then, but making good progress. there was but one thing left to do in the present instance--find running water, for it was certain that all the springs on the plain would have been visited by cattle, and that, therefore, the sheep would stand by and idly perish of thirst. sims knew his country, and directed the flock toward a shallow, rocky ford of the big horn, some five miles distant. in the meantime bud larkin was facing two alternatives, either one disastrous. the crossing of the big horn meant a declaration of war to the bar t ranch, for in the loose division of the free country, the bar t range extended south to the river. on the other hand, should he turn the herds east along the bank of the big horn, it would be impossible to continue the march long in that direction, since the higher mountains were directly ahead, and the way through them was devious, and attended with many difficulties and dangers. on such a drive the losses to him in time and strayed sheep would be disastrous. larkin had no desire to clash with the cattlemen unless it were absolutely necessary, but he decided that his sheep should go through, since the free range was his as well as another's. on that long night march, when the men were behind the sheep, driving them, contrary to the usual custom, he told sims of his interview with beef bissell, and the herder cracked his knuckles with rage at the position taken by the cowman. "send 'em through, mr. larkin," he advised, "and if the bar t outfit start anything i allow we'll return 'em as good as they give." it was within an hour of dawn when the leaders of the flock lifted their heads and gazed curiously at the line of trees that loomed before them along the banks of the river. the next instant they had started forward on a run, blethering the news of water back along the dim, heaving line. the dust beneath their sharp feet rose up into a pall that hid the sky as the whole flock got into motion. then dogs and men leaped forward, for now the blind singleness of purpose that pervaded the animals was more disastrous than when they refused to drink. working madly, the dogs spread out the following herd so that all should not crowd upon the same point of the river and drown the leaders. it was unavoidable that some should be lost by being pushed into the deeper waters north or south of the ford, but for the most part the watering was successfully accomplished, and at the first glow of dawn the animals were contentedly cropping the rich grasses in the low bottoms near the river. but the work was not yet finished. when it had become light enough to see, the leaders were rounded up at the ford, and, nipped into frenzy by the dogs, began the passage across the shallow bar. with the leaders safely over it was only a matter of time until the rest had followed, and by the time it was full day the last of the tailers were feeding in the opposite bottoms. for bud larkin this was a very serious dawn. he had cast the die for war and led the invasion into the enemy's country. any hope that the act might remain unknown was shattered before the sheep had fairly forded the stream. against the brightening sky, on a distant rise of ground, had appeared the silent figure of a horse and man, one of the bar t range riders. six distant, warning pistol shots had rung out, and then the horse and rider had disappeared across the plain at a headlong gallop. chapter v strategy and a surprise "gub pi-i-i-le!" yelled the cook at the top of his voice. the weary herders with sims and larkin answered the cry as one man, for they were spent with the exertions of the night, and heavy-eyed from want of sleep. the meal of mutton, camp-bread, beans, and spanish onions was dispatched with the speed that usually accompanied such ceremonies, and sims told off the herders to watch the flock while the others slept. a general commanding soldiers would have pressed forward, thus increasing the advantage gained in the enemy's country, but when sheep compose the marching column, human desires are the last thing consulted. after their long thirst and forced drive it was necessary that the animals recover their strength for a day amid abundant feed and water. immediately after breakfast larkin called a small, close-knit herder to him. "can you ride a horse?" he asked. "_si, señor_," replied the man, who came originally from the southern range. "then saddle that piebald mare and take provisions for four days. travel day and night until you reach the larkin ranch in montana, and give this letter to the man who is in charge there." bud drew a penciled note from the pocket of his shirt and handed it to the other. then he produced a rough map of the country he had drawn and added it to the letter, explaining a number of times the distances from point to point, and tracing the route with his pencil. at last the herder understood. "tell them to hurry," was larkin's parting injunction, as the other turned away to saddle the mare. "_si, señor_. hurry like blazes, eh?" said miguel, comprehending, with a flash of white teeth. "exactly." hardly had the man galloped away north, following the bank of the river for the better concealment past the bar t range, when sims languidly approached. "i reckon we're in for trouble, boss," he remarked, yawning sleepily, "an' i'm plumb dyin' for rest, but i s'pose i better look over the country ahead if we're goin' to get these muttons out o' here." "i was just going to suggest it," said larkin. "i am going to stay by the camp and meet some friends of mine that i expect very shortly. come back _pronto_, hardy, for there's no telling what we may have to do before night." larkin's predictions of a visit were soon enough fulfilled. it was barely ten o'clock when several horsemen were seen riding toward the banks of the big horn. bud mounted pinte and advanced to meet them. first came beef bissell, closely attended by stelton, and after them, four or five of the bar t punchers. the actual encounter took place half a mile from the camp. looking back, larkin could see his sheep feeding in plain sight amid the green of the river bottoms. "howdy," snapped bissell, by way of greeting. and then, without waiting for a reply: "what does this mean?" he indicated the placid sheep. "my flock was dying of thirst, and i brought them up last night," said bud. "they crossed the river early this morning." "why didn't you keep them on the other side? i warned you about this." [illustration: "i warned you first, mr. bissell. my sheep have got to go north and the range west of the big horn is the only practicable way to drive them."] "i warned you first, mr. bissell. my sheep have got to go north, and the range west of the big horn is the only practicable way to drive them. they would never come through if i started them through the mountains. you ought to know that." "never mind what i ought to know," cried bissell angrily, his red face flaming with fury. "there's one thing i do know, and that is, that those range-killers don't go a step farther north on my side of the river." "if you can show me clear title to ownership of this part of the range i will risk them in the mountains; otherwise not," replied bud, imperturbably. "this range is free, and as much mine as yours. there's no use going into this question again." "that's the first true thing you've said," snarled the cowman. "now, you listen here. i don't go hunting trouble nowhere, but there ain't a man between the rio grande and the columbia that can say i don't meet it half-way when i see it headed in my direction. now, i've given you fair warnin' before. i'll give it to you again, but this is the last time. either you have them sheep t'other side of the river by this time to-morrow, or you take the consequences." "is that your final word on the matter?" "yes. an' i've got witnesses to prove that you were given a chance to clear out." "then you give me only twenty-four hours?" "yes." bud's face took on a look of discouragement and failure, and he sat for a time as though seeking a loophole of escape from his ultimatum. at last he lifted his head and looked at the cowman with a listless eye. "all right," he said, hopelessly; "i'll be gone by that time." and, without further words, he wheeled his horse slowly and rode back to the camp. as he rode he maintained his dejected attitude, but his mind was actively laying plans for the overthrow of bissell. under the mask of seeming defeat he sought to find means for an unexpected victory. though his whole being rose in revolt against the arbitrary claims of the cattle king, he had become so hardened to this injustice everywhere that he no longer wasted his time or strength in vain railings against it. instinctively he felt that this was to be a struggle of strength against cunning, for the very thought of physical resistance to thirty fighting cowboys by half a dozen herders was ridiculous. many similar skirmishes, both on his home ranch and on the trail, had sharpened larkin's wits for emergencies, and it was with really no spirit of humble complaisance that he faced the future. much, however, depended on the result of sim's explorations. by the time larkin arrived at the camp the visiting cowmen had disappeared. but this did not mean for a moment that they had all returned to the bar t ranch house. merely to top the first hill would have been to see a horse with hanging bridle, and a cow-puncher near by camped on the trail that led to the north. as fortune would have it, sims slunk into camp just at the dinner hour. "what'd they say to yuh?" he asked abruptly. "i seen the confab from over on that hogback yonder." the herder's respect for his employer sometimes diminished to the vanishing point. "got to clear out in twenty-four hours or take what's comin'." "what'd'ye tell 'em?" "i said we would." the lank herder started back in amazement. "oh, blazes!" he grieved. "that i should've ever took on with a milksop boss. i'm plumb disgraced--" his voice trailed off into silence as he recognized the twinkle in larkin's eye. "oh, i see what yuh mean," he apologized, with a wide grin. "we'll clear out all right. oh, yes! sure!" he sat down. "depends on you a good deal," remarked bud, shoving the beans toward him. "what did you find this morning?" "found a new way north," was the muffled and laconic reply. "yaas," he continued presently, after regarding his reflection in the bottom of a tin cup that had been full of coffee the moment before, "an' it's over on that hogback." a "hogback," be it understood, is a rugged rocky mound, carved by weather erosion. it is the result of the level rock strata of the plains suddenly bending upward and protruding out of the earth. "that ridge runs north for about two mile, and at the end seems to turn east into the big horn foothills. so far as i can see, no man or critter has ever been there, for there ain't any water in that crotch, and nothin' else but heat and rattlers. the point of the thing is this: spring rains for a couple of million years have wore a regular watercourse down that crotch, and i think we can run the sheep over it, single file." "yes, but won't they be out on the open bar t range when we get them over?" "no, boss. d'ye think i'd do a thing like that? honest, the way you misjudge a man! well, across that hogback, where it turns to the east, there is a string of range hills covered with good feed, and leadin' north, for twenty miles. my idea's this: "i'll send pedro with about a hundred rams and wethers directly north from here, as they're expecting we will. all of them will have bells on, and pedro'll have to prod 'em some to make 'em bawl. while he is drawing all the trouble, we'll hustle the rest of the flock along behind the hogback, over the pass, and north behind the shelter of the hills." "fine, sims; just the thing!" exclaimed larkin, taking up with the idea enthusiastically. "it will be a thundering brute of a man who won't let the flock north once it has gone twenty miles." "i allow that perhaps the bar t punchers will be watchin' that hogback, although i couldn't find tracks there, new or old. if they ever catch the sheep in that gully, you're due to wish you'd stayed east." "well, that's our risk, and we've got to take it. now, i think we'd better roll up for a few hours this afternoon, for we didn't sleep last night, and i don't believe we will to-night. have pedro call us at half-past four, and have him round up the sheep about five." sheep, because of some perverse twist in their natures, cannot graze standing still. they must walk slowly forward a few steps every few moments. to-day, however, because of the luxuriant grass along the river, the progress of the flock had been comparatively slow. their day's "walk" would bring them, larkin figured, to a point less than a mile distant from the hogback, and an ideal spot from which to start the march. pedro called the two men at the appointed hour, and they reached the flock just in time for the bedding down. immediately all hands went through the sheep, removing bells from the animals that usually wore them, and fastening them about the necks of those delegated to act as a blind and cover the advance of the main body. to a bar t cow-puncher who knew anything about sheep, the evening scene would have exhibited nothing out of the ordinary. from the reclining hundreds came the soft bleating of ewes calling their young, which is only heard at the daily bedding, the low-toned blethering of the others of the flock, and the tinkle of bells. beside the cook wagon the fire glowed in the trench, and everything seemed to be progressing normally. twilight came early among the trees and brush near the river, but it was not until absolute darkness had descended over the vast expanse of prairie that larkin gave the order to march. then the main body of the herd, with sims at its head, the dogs flanking and bud bringing up the rear on horseback, moved silently out toward the unknown hazards of the hogback pass. pedro and his hundred had been ordered to wait fifteen minutes, until the head of the column should have almost reached the shelter of the hogback. this he did, and then headed his small flock straight up the open prairie of the range, amid a chorus of bells and loud-voiced protest. larkin, half a mile away, heard these sounds and smiled grimly, for the flocks before him made scarcely any sound at all. in the darkness ahead he could hear the low voices of the men talking to the dogs and encouraging the unresponsive sheep. overhead were the brilliant, low-swinging stars that gave just enough light to show him the trend of the long, heaving line. for another half-hour there was silence. the sounds of pedro and his flock became fainter as the two bodies diverged from each other. now the dark wall of the hogback rose up on larkin's left; the last of the flock was behind shelter. the going was rough and pinte chose each step carefully, but the sheep made good progress, because there was no grass to tempt them. after another long space, broken only by the clatter of hard little feet on stone, distant shots rang out, accompanied by faint yells, and larkin knew that pedro had met with the first of the bar t outfit. the sheepman was resigned to losing the hundred, just as cattlemen do not hesitate to cut out and abandon all weak animals on a long drive. it is a loss credited to the ultimate good of the business, but bud had not consented to this sacrifice if it meant also the sacrifice of the herder. pedro had, however, with many winks and glintings of teeth, made it clear that he did not expect to depart this life yet a while, hinting mysteriously at certain charms, amulets and saints that made it a business to keep him among the living. pedro, to bud's knowledge, had been in numerous seamy affairs before, and had always reappeared, rather the worse for wear, but perfectly sound in all respects. he did not doubt but what the spaniard would turn up at the cook wagon for breakfast. the sounds of distant conflict continued for perhaps five or ten minutes, at the end of which time perfect silence reigned again. larkin wondered how many of the animals had been killed, or whether they had been merely scattered--the equivalent of death, for a sheep is unable to find water, and if frightened, will back against a face of rock and starve to death. another half-hour passed, and now larkin could see the dim white backs of the herd rising before him as they climbed the steep watercourse. he judged that more than half the flock must be down the precipitous other side, and his heart beat with exultation at the success of sim's strategy. the plan was to hide the sheep in some little green valley during the day and march them at night until discovered or until the upper range was reached. suddenly, just as the last of the flock was mounting the ascent, larkin drew pinte up short and listened intently. then he quickly dismounted and placed his ear to the ground only to leap into the saddle again, swing his horse quickly and ride back along the trail. he had heard the unmistakable pounding of feet, and an instant's sickening fear flashed before him the possibility that the bar t cowboys had discovered the ruse after all; either that or they had extorted the secret of it from pedro. larkin loosened the pistol in his holster, one of those big, single-action wooden-handled forty-fives that have settled so many unrecorded disputes, and prepared to cover the rear of the herd until it had safely crossed the hogback. pinte's ears twitched forward. the sound of galloping feet was nearer now. larkin clapped on spurs and trotted to meet it. closer and closer it came, a mingled clatter of hoofs. then suddenly there rang out the frightened bawl of a bewildered calf. the aspects of the situation took on another hue. if these had been cattle stampeded by the shots and shouting on the plain, they would have made a vastly different thundering along the earth. cattle never ran this way by themselves; therefore the obvious inference was that they were driven. again, the bar t punchers had no call to drive cattle at night, particularly this night. who, then, was driving them? in an instant larkin's mind had leaped these various steps of reasoning and recalled old beef bissell's vehement arraignment of rustlers in the state. the answer was plain. the calves were being driven off the range into concealment by cattle-thieves. larkin knew that all the sheep had not yet passed the top of the hogback. it was absolutely necessary that their passage be unknown and unobserved. there was but one thing to do. spurring his horse, he charged toward the oncoming animals, whose dark forms he could now discern a hundred yards away. as he rode, he shouted and drew his revolver, firing into their faces. when at last it seemed that he must come into violent collision with them, they turned, snorting, to the east and made off in the direction of the river. his purpose accomplished, larkin wheeled pinte sharply and dug in his spurs, but at that instant two dark forms loomed close, one on each side, and seized the bridle. "hands up!" said a gruff voice. "you're covered." chapter vi ugly company larkin's revolver was empty, and his hands mechanically went up. the captor on his right relieved him of the useless weapon, and, in a trice, produced a rope, with which he bound the sheepman's arms tightly behind him. with the other end of the rope turned about the pommel of his saddle, he dropped back into the darkness, while his companion rode to a position ahead of larkin. at a growled word from behind, the little cavalcade advanced, larkin mystified, uncertain and fuming with impotent rage. never in his life had he been so needed as he was at that time by sims and the herdsmen; never in his life had he so ardently desired liberty and freedom of action. why these men had captured him he did not know; what they intended doing with him he had no idea--although his knowledge of plainsmen's character supplied him with two or three solutions hardly calculated to exhilarate the victim. where they were taking him was almost as much of a puzzle, for bud, after the first few turns of his captors, completely lost his sense of direction, except for the general compass of the stars. no longer the friendly loom of the hogback was on his left. he felt the free wind of the plains on his face, and calculated that they must have returned to the open range. who his captors were was another puzzle. if these men had been driving the cattle why did they not continue to drive them instead of turning aside to make prisoner a harmless sheepman? if they were not driving the cattle-- a horrible suspicion crossed bud's mind. if these were punchers from the bar t outfit he was indeed in a bad way, for no one knew better than larkin (by hearsay) the wild stories told of beef bissell's methods in a cattle war. the young man told himself calmly that if he got away with a few head of sheep and an entire body he would consider himself fortunate in the extreme. for seemingly endless ages the leader trotted on ahead--so far, in fact, did he ride that larkin's arms and elbow joints were racked with pain from being held so long in an unnatural position. at the end of what was probably three hours, a small fiery glow made itself evident at some distance across the plain, and the sheepman knew by this camp-fire that the goal of his ride was in sight. a solitary man sat by the fire, rolling and smoking a continuous stream of cigarettes. dimly seen in the near-by shadows were the long figures of other men rolled in their blankets. bud knew that not far off the hobbled horses grazed, or had lain down to rest. "kick up the boys, bill," said the man who held the rope. "got somethin' queer to look into this time." "aw, let 'em sleep, chief," drawled bill without moving. "some of 'em ain't closed their eyes in nigh on three days. what's the matter?" "got a young captain here who 'lows he's some brave man, i reckon. leastways he come drivin' at us with fire a-poppin' out of his gun, an' shorty and me thinks we better investigate. so we nabs him when his gun's empty and brings him in. a man that'll shoot around reckless the way this feller did is plumb dangerous to have runnin' loose. "but i guess you're right about the boys, bill. i'll let 'em sleep an' we'll talk to this maverick in the mornin'. keep him under your eye." things were clearing up for larkin. these men evidently thought that he was some ambitious puncher on the lookout for rustlers. up to this time he had kept silent, borrowing no trouble and trusting to his ability to identify himself. but now at the prospect of idling here all night and part of the day he protested. "turn my arms loose, will you?" he demanded. "they're about broke off." joe, the chief, after carefully searching him for additional weapons, complied with his request, in so far that he bound his wrists together in front. "now, boys," said bud, crisply, "i wish you'd tell me what this all means. if you want to question me, do it now and let me go, for i've got mighty important business up the line a way." "i allow yuh have," remarked joe, dryly. "yuh also got some mighty important business right here, if yuh only knowed it." "what business." "fannin' yore gun at us that-a-way. yore plumb careless, young feller. but look here, i'm not a-goin' to stay up all night talkin' to yuh. you'll have to talk to all the boys in the mornin'." "but i can't wait till morning, i tell you," cried bud, exasperated. "every minute i sit here i may be losing thousands of dollars. for heaven's sake let me go to-night, and i'll come back any other time you say. i give you my word for it." "can't wait till to-morrer! stranger, you may wait till the crack o' doom before you ever get back to that business o' yourn." "what do you mean by that?" asked larkin, made strangely ill at ease by some veiled meaning in the other's tone. "got to leave it to the boys," was joe's evasive reply. "better lay down and git some sleep; likely to be busy all day to-morrer." and larkin, finding that all argument was as futile as trying to crack gibraltar with a cold chisel, relapsed into silence, and prepared to get what rest he could until daylight. morning disclosed the fact that the group of men numbered about ten, each with a horse near by, and all fully supplied with arms. in fact, there was not a man among them who could not have "rolled a gun" with both hands if necessary, and at the same time carried a knife between his teeth. this matter of complete armament, together with joe's ambiguous speeches of the night before, wholly convinced larkin that he had fallen in with a band of rustlers. breakfast was prepared for himself by each man, joe attending to the wants of the prisoner, but no attempt was made to rope or saddle the horses. they were evidently waiting for something. what this was became evident shortly when another group of five men appeared around a distant rise and loped to the rendezvous. larkin reasoned that these must be the men who continued the cattle drive after joe and pike had captured him. the sheepman could not but admire the natural advantages of the place chosen by his captors for the meeting. rolling hills surrounded the little pocket on all sides, and here and there a red scoria butte thrust its ugly height out of the plain. the chances of discovery were infinitesimal. the evolution of the rustler was logical but rapid, and started with the general law that any ranch-owner was at liberty to brand with his mark any maverick found on his range. as it was the cowboy who discovered these strays, he was usually provided with a branding-iron and put the seal of his employer on the animal wherever found. from this it was but a step for unscrupulous punchers, or those with a shrewd eye for business, to drive off unbranded cattle and ship them independently to market, or to mark them with a private brand of their own. all this was before the introduction of brand inspectors at the stockyards of omaha, kansas city, or chicago. therefore, among the men at this rendezvous larkin noted types of cowmen equal to any on the range for horsemanship and ability to handle cattle. with his naturally quick eye, the sheepman observed them closely, but failed to recognize any of them. his case came up quickly. by various papers in his possession he proved his identity. "what were you doing out on the range last night?" asked joe. bud hesitated for a minute and then, deciding that his safest and quickest course would be to make a clean breast of things, replied: "i was driving two thousand head of sheep north on the bar t." "then you're not a cattleman?" "no." larkin produced his bills of sale for the sheep and these were handed gravely about from one to another, although it was certain that some of the men could not read them. "how long are you going to stay in this country?" "just as long as it takes to get my sheep north. i come from montana." joe beckoned a number of the men aside out of larkin's hearing. "we're plumb lucky," he announced. "if i know my book, old bissell will forget all about a few missin' calves when he knows this feller has sent sheep up his range. now we've got to run off about a hundred more head to that railroad camp north of here, and i think we can use this larkin." a dark, sullen-looking puncher shook his head slowly. "it's takin' chances," he growled. "string him up, i say. he knows us all now, and i'd sooner he'd look through a rope than me." "you shore are ornery, pete," said a third, "an' plumb set on stretchin' yore neck. cain't yuh see that if yuh hang this feller we'll have both the sheep and cattlemen ag'in us?" "shore, that's sense," broke in another. "less hear joe's scheme." "'tain't so blame much, boys," countered the chief modestly. "we'll make this larkin swear never to give word agin us if we don't kill him. then we'll run him off into the hills for four or five days with a guard, finish our own drive, and clear out, lettin' him go. what d'ye think of that?" "it's a reg'lar hum-dinger, joe," said one man, and the others concurred in the laudatory opinion. but at the first sentence to larkin, that young man upset their well-laid plans. "larkin," said joe, "we allow as how we'd like to make a bargain with yuh?" "if you are going to bargain with me to break the law, you had better not say anything about it," was the reply. "i was jest about startin' one of them mutual protective, benefit and literary sassieties," suggested joe tactfully as a feeler, while his comrades grinned. "don't want to hear about it," retorted bud, divining the intention. "you can do anything you like with me, but don't tell me your bargains. i've got troubles enough with my sheep without signing on any more. now, look here, men, i don't want to interfere with you, and it only wastes your time to bother with me. suppose you let me go about my business and you go about yours." "swear on oath never to recognize or bear witness against us?" "no. what kind of a crook do you think i am? if i were put under oath by a sheriff, i would have to accuse you, and i'd do it." joe parker's face lost its expression of genial amiability and he looked about on a circle of dark countenances. "i'm plumb sorry you act this-a-way," he said aggrievedly. "boys, where's the nearest tree?" "ten miles." "after dinner everybody saddle up," came the order. chapter vii prairie bell when juliet bissell rode back to the bar t ranch after her parting with larkin at the fork of grass creek, she was a decidedly more thoughtful and sober young woman than she had been at the same hour the day previous. although blessed with an adoring father and a rather eccentric mother, she had, for the last year, begun to feel the stirrings of a tiny discontent. her life was a good example of the familiar mistake made by many a wealthy cattle-owner. her parents, realizing their crudity and lack of education, had seen to it that she should be given all the advantages denied them, and had sent her east to chicago for eight consecutive years. during this time, while hating the noise and confinement of the city, she had absorbed much of its glamour, and enjoyed its alluring pleasures with a keen appreciation. music had been her chief study, and her very decided talent had opened a busy career for her had she chosen to follow it. but julie was true to her best instincts, and refused to consider such a thing. her father and mother had done all in their power for her, she reasoned, and therefore it was but fair that she should return to them and make the closing years of their lives happy. though nothing had ever been said, the girl knew that when she had left the ranch house, even for a week's visit with a girl friend two hundred miles away, the sun might as well have fallen from the heavens, considering the gloom that descended upon the bar t. it was this knowledge of their need for her that had brought her back to fulfill what she considered her greatest happiness and duty in life. now, a monkey cannot wear clothes, smoke cigarettes, perform before applauding audiences and return to the jungle without a certain feeling of hateful unfitness among his gibbering brethren. no more could this wild, lovely creature of the plains become one of the most sought-after girls of chicago's north shore set, and return to the painful prose of the bar t ranch without paying the penalty. with the glory of health and outdoor life, she had failed to realize this, but since the sudden appearance of bud larkin she had done little else. he had brought back to her a sudden powerful nostalgia for the life she had once known. and had old beef bissell been aware of this nostalgia, he would have realized for the first time that in his desire to give his daughter everything he had created a situation that was already unfortunate and might, with very little prompting, be unhappy. but this knowledge was not vouchsafed to him, and julie certainly would never make it plain. the evening after bud's departure, that same evening, in fact, when he was fighting toward water with his flocks, the cattleman and his daughter sat outside on the little veranda that ran across the front of the ranch house. "that feller larkin," remarked bissell, terminating a long pause. "kind of a dude or something back east, wasn't he?" "that's what the punchers would call him, father," returned the girl gravely. "but he was never anything but a gentleman in his treatment of me." "i don't know what you mean exactly by that word 'gentleman,' julie, but i allow that no real man ever went into raisin' sheep." "perhaps not, dear," she said, taking his rough, ungainly hand in both of hers, "but i think there is bound to be money in it. mr. larkin himself says that in the end the cattle will have to give way before the sheep." "an' he thought he was tellin' you something new when he said it, too, didn't he? well, i've knowed that fact for the last five years. that's the main reason i won't let his animals through my range. once they get a foothold, there's no stoppin' 'em. judas! i'm tired of fightin' for things!" "poor father," and the girl's voice was full of tenderness. "you're not discouraged, are you, dear?" "no, prairie bell, but i reckon i'm gettin' old, an' i can't get up the fight i used to. i thought i had my hands full with the rustlers, but now with the sheep comin'--well, between you and me, little girl, i wish i had somebody to stand up and take the licks." "there's mike; he certainly can give and take a few." "yes, of course i've got mike, but, when you're all done, he's only a foreman, an' his interest don't go much beyond his seventy-five a month an' grub. yet--by george!" he sat suddenly erect and slapped his thigh with his disengaged hand. "what is it?" "oh, nothin'." they talked on in the affectionate, intimate way that had always characterized their relations since julie had been a girl just big enough to listen to involved harangues about cattle without actually going to sleep. in the course of an hour bissell suddenly asked: "did you ever think of marryin', prairie bell?" "if thinking ever helped any, i would have been a mormon by this time." "well, you are growed up, ain't you?" and bissell spoke in the wondering tone of a man who has just realized a self-evident fact "fancy my little girl old enough to marry! how old are you, anyhow? 'bout eighteen?" "twenty-five, you dear, old goose. eighteen! the idea." "well, twenty-five, then. of course, julie, when i die i will leave this place to you, and that's what made me think about your marryin'. i want a good, sharp man to fight fer my cows an' my range, a man that knows it and could make a success of it, an' yet wouldn't care because it was in your name." "would you mind if i loved him a little bit, too?" asked the girl, with elaborately playful sarcasm. "bless you, no. love him all you want to, but i 'low you couldn't love a man very long who didn't have all them qualifications i mentioned. i figger love out somethin' like this. first there's a rockbed of ability, then a top soil of decency, an' out o' these two, admiration kind o' grows like corn. of course you always grind up the corn and soak it with sentiment; then you've got mush. an' the trouble with most people is they only think of the mush an' forget the rock an' the top soil." "why, you old philosopher!" cried the girl, laughing and squeezing his big shoulders. "you're awfully clever, really." which remark brought a confused but pleased blush to bissell's hard face that had become wonderfully soft and tender during this hour with his daughter. "now, see here," went on the girl severely, "i think there's something back of all this talk about marriage. what is it?" bissell looked at her, startled, not having expected to encounter feminine intuition. "nothin', only i wish you could marry somebody that'd look out fer you the way i mentioned. then i could die happy, though i don't expect to be on that list fer a long while." "anybody in mind?" asked julie banteringly. "well, not exactly," hesitated her father, with another sharp glance. "but i allow i could dig up one if i tried very hard." "go ahead and try." "well, now there's billy speaker over on the circle arrow, as gentle a man for a blond as i ever see." "i've only met him twice in my life," remarked the girl. "try again." "there's red tarken, foreman on the m square. he'd be good to yuh, i know, and he's a hum-dinger about cows." "i am glad he has one qualification aside from his red hair," put in julie seriously. "however, i am afraid that as a husband red would be about as steady as a bronco saddled for the first time after the winter feeding. he'd better have free range as long as he lives. once more, father." "well, see here, julie, it seems to me you could do a lot worse than take our own mike stelton. i've never thought of it much before, but to-night it sort of occurred to me an'--" juliet bissell broke into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, at which her father fixed her with a regard as wondering as it was hurt. his cherished inspiration so tactfully approached had burst like a soap-bubble under the gale of juliet's merriment. "bud was right, after all," said the girl, after her nervous outbreak. "he told me mike had some silly hope or other, and i believe stelton has given you absent treatment until you have made this suggestion. father, he's just as preposterous as the others." "i don't agree with you," contended bissell stubbornly. "mike is faithful, and has been for years. he knows the ins and outs of the business, and is willing to take the hard knocks that i'm getting tired of. then there's another thing. i could be half-blind an' still see what mike has been wanting these last five years." juliet suddenly rose to her feet, all the laughter gone from her eyes and her heart. with a feeling of frightened helplessness she realized that her father was serious. "are you taking mike's part against me?" she asked calmly. "well, i still don't see why you couldn't marry him." "you've forgotten the mush, father, but that isn't all. there's something different about mike lately, something i have never noticed before. his eye seems shifty; he avoids all the family. if i didn't know him so well, i should think he was a criminal. leaving out the fact that i don't love him, and that the very thought of his ever touching me makes me shudder, this distrust of him would be enough to block any such arrangements. why"--and her lip curled scornfully--"i would marry bud larkin a hundred times rather than mike stelton once." "what!" bissell rose to his feet with the quiet, amazed exclamation. he could hardly credit his ears. "marry that dirty sheepman?" he continued in a tense, even voice. "i'd like to know what put that crazy notion in yore head. don't tell me you are in love with that dude." "no, i am not," answered the girl just as evenly, "but i may as well tell you frankly, that he is the only man within a radius of three hundred miles who has certain things i must have in a husband. i'm sorry if i displease you, father!" she cried, going to him affectionately, "but i could never love any one not of our class." that diplomatic "our" did not deceive bissell. for the first time he saw that the greatest treasure of his whole life had grown beyond him; that there were needs and ideals in her existence of which he had but the faintest inkling, and that in her way she was as much of a "dude" as the man she had mentioned. he was encountering the seemingly cruel fate of parents who glorify their children by their own immolation, and who watch those same children pass up and out of their humble range of vision and understanding nevermore to return. henceforth he could never see his daughter without feeling his own lack of polish. such a moment of realization is bitter on both sides, but especially for the one who has given all and can receive less in return than he had before the giving. the iron of this bitterness entered into beef bissell's soul as he stood there, silent, on the low, rickety veranda under the starlight of the plains. with the queer vagary of a mind at great tension, his senses became particularly acute for a single moment. he saw the silver-pierced vault of the sky, smelled the fragrance of the plains borne on the gentle wind, and heard the rustle of the dappled cottonwoods and the howling of the distant coyotes. then he came back to the reality of the moment, and exhibited the simple greatness that had always been his in dealings with his daughter. he slipped his heavy arm across her shoulders and drew her to him. "never mind, prairie bell," he said gently. "you know best in everything. do as your heart dictates." he sighed and added: "i wish i was your mother to-night." chapter viii for revenge breakfast next morning at the bar t ranch was disturbed by the arrival of a cowboy on a lathering, wicked-eyed pony who announced to stelton that bud larkin and his sheep had crossed over into the range. what then occurred is already known, and after bissell had returned from his final parley with larkin, he retired sullenly into himself to rage silently. in his perturbed state of mind, the sheepman's double-edged remark about clearing out had had but one meaning, and he took it for granted that larkin had been awed or frightened into the better part of valor. this was a partial relief, but he foresaw that although this danger to his cattle was averted, it was merely the first of many such struggles that he might expect. human desires, particularly those of great urgency, are of such domination that they take little thought for anything but themselves, except in persons of particularly adroit mind. it was stelton's misfortune, therefore, to embark on an ill-timed conversation with his chief. the foreman for ten years had secretly adored juliet bissell with all the intensity of a soul made single of purpose by the vast, brooding immensity of his surroundings. so long as he might be near her, serving her in many little ways, he had been, in a manner, content with the situation. but the sudden appearance of larkin and the enthusiastic renewal of a former intimacy had spurred stelton to seek some sort of a definite understanding. bissell's retirement to the veranda after the noonday meal was shortly followed by stelton's appearance there, timorous and abashed. the interview had been short and not very satisfactory. the cowman, remembering with considerable pain the conversation with his daughter, told his employé frankly that he had better give up any such ideas as evidently possessed him. stelton, who had with some right formerly felt he might count on the favorable attitude of his chief, was astounded, and took the venom of the curt refusal to heart. retiring without betraying his emotion, he had resolved to speak to the girl herself, and that same afternoon asked permission to accompany her on her daily ride across the prairies, a thing not unusual with him. juliet, although she wished to be alone, consented, and at four o'clock they set out, unobserved by bissell. it was not until they had turned their horses homeward that stelton spoke, almost tongue-tied by the emotions that rent him, alternate waves of fear and hope. "miss julie," he began, "i allow i've known you a long while." "yes, mike, you have." "an' i allow that i would be plumb miserable if you ever went away from here again." "thank you, mike; i should miss you, too," replied the girl civilly, growing uneasy at the unusual trend of the man's speech, halting and indefinite though it was. "miss julie, i ain't no hand at fine talk, but i want to ask yuh if you will marry me? i've thought about it a lot, an' though i ain't noways good enough fer yuh, i'd try to make yuh happy." juliet, taken aback by the suddenness of this declaration, particularly after her talk with her father, remained silent. "take yore time, miss julie," pleaded stelton, riding closer to her. "i ain't in no hurry." "i can't tell you how much i appreciate what you've said, mike," she replied slowly. "i've always liked you and i always will, but i don't love you, and i would sooner tell you now than keep you in suspense. i can't marry you." stelton bit his lip and his dark face grew even blacker with rage at the futility of his position. with anyone other than juliet bissell, perhaps, he realized that insistent pressure of his suit might have favorable results. but this cool, calm girl offered no opportunity for argument or hope. "mebbe if yuh waited a bit, yuh might think different about it," he ventured nevertheless. she shook her head. "no, mike, i wouldn't, i am sure. if you care for me you will never mention this again. and for my part, i shall always remember what you have said to me to-day. it is a sweet thing for a girl to know that a man loves her." such gracious refusals are effective with most men, both because they succeed in closing a tender subject and at the same time leave an unwounded pride. but stelton was not the ordinary type of lover. repressed emotions in somber minds feed and grow fat upon their own substance, and it was inconceivable that stelton's genuine though distorted love, an abnormal product of ten long years, should be dismissed thus with a few words. "why won't you marry me?" he demanded, looking angrily into her level, brown eyes. "i have told you i did not love you. that is the reason and the best reason in the world. now i ask you to drop the subject." "love somebody else, i suppose," he sneered, baring his teeth in a fatal attempt at an ugly smile. "if i do, it is none of your business," she replied, her eyes beginning to blaze. "that dude sheepman, i allow. he's a gilt-edged vanderpoop, he is! but i'd hate to be in his boots, if you want to know it." "look here, mike stelton," and juliet drew her horse abruptly to a stop, "either you say nothing more on this subject or i shall tell my father what you have done this afternoon when we reach home." instantly the man saw he had gone too far, and, with a quickness born of hatred, immediately changed his front. "i was only thinkin' of protectin' you," he muttered, "and i'm sorry i was ornery about things. that feller larkin is a bad lot, that's all. he wouldn't be out here if he wasn't." perhaps it was that juliet had given a greater place to larkin in her thoughts than she realized; perhaps his eloquent defense of wool-growing had not been sufficient explanation for his unheralded appearance on the range. whatever the reason, the girl rose to the bait like a trout when the ice has left the rivers. "what do you mean by that?" she demanded. "you remember that feller caldwell that rode in late to supper the night larkin come?" "yes." "well, i heard him blackmail larkin for five hundred dollars back by the corral fence. an' larkin knew what he had to do as soon as caldwell showed up. didn't yuh see him turn yaller at the table?" as a matter of fact larkin's perturbation at that time had been puzzling and inexplicable to juliet. also the disappearance of the two men immediately after supper had mystified her. but without admitting this to stelton she asked: "what was it all about?" "i don't know exactly, miss julie, but it worked in somethin' he done back in chicago a year or so ago. from what i heard 'em say, larkin just dodged the calaboose. now there ain't no disgrace in that--that's really credit--but that don't clear him of the crime noways. why, i even heard 'em talk about two thousand dollars that larkin give this caldwell a couple of years back." "how did you learn all this?" she asked. "i was a goin' back to the corral for a rope i left hangin' on a post there, an' i heard 'em talkin'." "and you listened, i suppose," remarked julie contemptuously. "mebbe i did," he retorted, stung by her tone. "but you can be thankful for it. i'd be plenty mad if you throw'd yourself away on a man like-a-that. a hoss that'll kill one puncher'll kill another. same with a man." "what are you saying, mike?" cried the girl, frightened out of her attitude of aloof reserve. "kill a man! he's never killed a man, has he?" "he didn't say so in so many words, no ma'am, but that talk o' their'n was mighty suspicious." unwittingly stelton had struck his hardest blow. to him, as to other rough and ready men in the west, life was a turbulent existence conducted with as few hasty funerals as was absolutely necessary. but in the girl who had absorbed the finer feelings of a civilized community, the horror of murder was deep-rooted. she knew that to a man in larkin's former position the slightest divergence from the well-defined tenets of right and wrong was inexcusable. crime, she knew, was a result of poverty, necessity, self-defense or lack of control, and she also knew that bud larkin had never been called upon to fall back on any of these. how much of truth, therefore, was there in stelton's innuendoes? "would you swear on the bible that you overheard what you have told me?" she asked suddenly. "yes, ma'am, i shore would," stelton answered with solemn conviction. there was no question now in her mind but that larkin was paying the piper for some unsavory fling of which she had heard nothing. she did not for a moment believe that the affair could be as serious as stelton wished her to imagine; but she was sorely troubled, nevertheless, for she had always cared for larkin in a happy, wholehearted way. many times since her final coming west she had remembered with a secret tenderness and pride that this wealthy and popular young man had been willing to trust his life to her. it was one of the sweetest recollections of those other far-off days. now, because the thought of stelton's revelations was unbearable to her she resolutely put it from her until a time when she could mourn alone over this shattered illusion. "thank you, mike, for telling me this," she said gently. "please never say anything further about it." and stelton, elated that his plan of revenge had worked so well, smiled with satisfaction and relapsed into silence during the remainder of the ride home. all of these events are set down here with some pretense at detail to indicate the important trend of affairs after larkin had said a more-or-less indifferent good-by to juliet bissell at the fork of grass creek. while he was wrestling with material problems, these others that destiny had suddenly joined to him were undergoing mental disturbances in which he was the principal though unconscious factor. and this unconscious prominence was to be the main reason for what next occurred. it was perhaps noon of the day following larkin's capture by the rustlers, when from a point directly east of the ranch house a cowboy appeared, riding at a hard gallop. contrary to most fictions, cowboys rarely ever urge their ponies beyond a trot, the only occasions being the round-up, the stampede, the drive, or when something serious has occurred. mike stelton saw the puncher from a distance and walked to the corral to meet him. jerking his pony back on his haunches, the rider leaped from his back before the animal had fairly come to a stop. "mike, we've been tricked!" he cried. "that whole two thousand head of sheep are tracking north as fast as they can go far over east on the range, beyond the hills." "what!" cried the foreman, hardly able to credit his ears. "the boys down on watch at the big horn swore they had scattered the flock last night when larkin started to run them north on the range." "well, they swore wrong, then, for i've just come from where i seen 'em. i was over back of them hogbacks and buttes lookin' for strays and mavericks when along come them muttons in a cloud of dust that would choke a cow. i allow that darned sheepman has made us look like a lot of tenderfeet, mike." stelton at this intelligence fairly gagged on his own fury. larkin had scored on him again. the two were joined at this moment by bissell who had noted the excitement at the corral. when apprised of what had happened, the cowman's face went as dark with anger as that of his foreman. beef bissell was not accustomed to the sensation of being outwitted in anything, and the knowledge that the sheep were nearly half-way up the range put him almost beside himself. for a few moments the trio looked at one another speechless. then bissell voiced the determination of them all. "by the devil's mare!" he swore. "i won't be beaten by any sheepman that ever walked. stelton, how many men will be in to-night?" "fifteen." "get 'em and bring 'em to me as soon as they come." while the foreman went off about this business bissell learned from chuck, the cowboy, just where he had seen the sheep last, how fast they were traveling, and how far he calculated they would go before bedding down for the night. "i reckon the outfit ought to camp somewhere about little creek," said chuck. "that's runnin' water." "and how far beyond that is little river?" "two miles more or less." "fine. wait around till the rest of the boys come in, chuck. oh, by the way, how near are the sheep to our eastern herd of cows?" "five miles more will bring 'em to the range the cows are on now." an hour before supper the rest of the punchers began to come in from riding the range and rounding up strays. before they were permitted a mouthful, however, bissell went out to the bunk house with stelton. "boys," he said, "which of you was down at the big horn last night an' turned them sheep back?" a man spoke up and then two more who had been left on guard in the vicinity. "how many did you scatter?" "dunno, boss," replied the first judicially. "from the noise they made i allow there was at least a thousand." "well, i bet you a month's wage there wasn't more'n a hundred," said bissell, glaring at the puncher. "won't take yer, boss," returned the other calmly. "why?" "because practically the whole flock is beddin' down at little creek now. chuck seen 'em. now i want all you fellers to get supper an' then rope an' saddle a fresh hoss. there is shore goin' to be some doin's to-night." chapter ix the man in the mask as bud larkin jogged along on pinte, apparently one of the group of men with whom he was riding, he wondered mechanically why his captors insisted on traveling ten miles to a tree sufficiently stout to bear his weight. "i should think they'd stand me up and do the business with a bullet," he thought. but a moment's reflection furnished the answer to this query. these men were cattle-rustlers and horse-thieves, than which no more hazardous existence ever was since the gentle days of west indian piracy, and to them merely a single pistol shot might mean betrayal of their whereabouts, capture and death. the character of the country through which they rode gave sufficient evidence of their care in all details, for it was a rough, wild, uninhabitable section that boasted, on its craggy heights and rough coulees, barely enough vegetation to support a wild mustang. it was three o'clock of the afternoon and behind them the party could still see the place where they had camped. joe parker, fearful of stirring about much until the thoughts of range-riders were turning homeward like their ponies' steps, had delayed the departure beyond the hour first intended. the rustlers really did not want to dispose of larkin. being plainsmen, their acute sense of justice told them that this man was absolutely guiltless of any crime deserving of death. untoward circumstances had forced him into their hands, and, like the boy with the fly-paper, they were unable to get rid of him peaceably. their abuse of his insane folly was colorful and vivid. but larkin had reasons for his stubborn attitude. with the arrogance of youth and the inexperience of real danger, he had resolved that as soon as his sheep should be safely up the range he would devote some time, money, and effort to the running down of these rustlers. some of their faces were unforgetably stamped on his memory now, and he had no doubt that he could be of great service to wyoming territory, which was just at this time petitioning for the dignity of statehood. he had known the losses and insolence of rustlers on his own sheep ranch in montana, and, like every sympathizer with justice and order, had sworn to himself many times that all of them should be run to earth. the longer bud remained with the rustlers the more nervous some of them became. since morning a number had been wearing masks made of their neckerchiefs, and one man had not shown his face since the moment he rode into camp after the all-night drive. this man's peculiar actions piqued bud's curiosity, and he tried a number of times to draw him into conversation. but the rustler refused to speak and moved away whenever he found himself in the prisoner's vicinity. about five o'clock the cavalcade arrived at a point where, ahead of them, through the barren buttes and hogbacks, they could see the long, level expanse of the range; and, about half-way to the horizon, a line of trees that indicated the snake-like progress of a river. here joe called a halt and gave orders that the party should lie concealed until after dark, as the remainder of their business could then be conducted with less danger to themselves. accordingly the horsemen turned away from the trail they had been following and after fifteen minutes of tortuous riding, made camp on the other side of a particularly uninviting wall of rock. after eating supper prepared around the little fires larkin saw the rustlers all gather into a circle and start drawing lots. he shivered a little at the thought that this was his execution party being made up. four men had been designated as the number to see larkin off on his long journey, and when at last the drawing was finished it was found that joe parker, the masked rider, and two others had been selected. as darkness drew on parker began to lose his patience with bud. "look-a-here, larkin," he drawled, "i don't love no sheepmen, noways, an' i never did, but you ain't no ordinary 'walker' an' i ain't ashamed to talk with y'u. now the boys want to meet y'u half-way on this business, an' you won't do it. all you got to say is that you won't appear agin any of us in any court, an' won't ever say anythin' agin any of us. now what in blazes you're actin' like a mule balkin' at a shadder for, i dunno. be sensible." but to all such entreaties larkin remained unmoved. "if you hang me," he said, "you'll only hang yourselves, for all the sheepmen in wyoming as well as the men from my own ranch will come down here, join with the cattlemen, and clean you fellows out. and if my basque herders start in on you don't imagine you will have the luxury of hanging. they'll take their skinning knives and work from the neck down. no, i'd advise you to let me go and take your chances rather than kill me and wait." such talk as this made a great impression on some of the rustlers and again opened up the subject of letting larkin off. but the majority held firm and the sentence stood. it was perhaps eight o'clock when the party of four approached larkin and roused him up. this time his hands were bound behind his back and he noticed that the masked rustler was fastening them tightly but with a rotten rawhide. this peculiar circumstance caused a wild thrill to flash all through larkin's being. perhaps, after all, here was the weak link in the rustler's chain. the surmise became a certainty when the man, unobserved by his companions, sawed bud's arms back and forth, showing him the quickest and easiest way to work them loose. then came the greatest surprise of all. the man, who had spoken no word the whole time, thrust a heavy . revolver into his trouser-pocket. to permit this being done the eight-inch barrel had been sawed off five inches short, ruining the gun for ordinary use, but making it particularly handy and light for close work. this action convinced larkin that the man in the mask was not only willing that he should escape, but was actually determined that the event should occur. he also knew that he could count on the support of this ally in the final moment when the four men must fight it out two and two. whether this sudden change of aspect was the result of a determination by a minority of the rustlers not to let the execution take place, or whether by some miraculous means one of his own friends had succeeded in joining the organization, he could not determine, although he tried to sound the man in the mask when the others were busy with their horses. his only reply was a low hiss commanding silence. a quarter past the hour found them on their way, the ponies picking their path gingerly over the bad ground until they reached the range. here the three rustlers drew up short, for in the distance could be seen the twinkling of a camp-fire. "one of the bar t punchers," said joe; "but i reckon he won't hear us." for half a mile further they walked their horses, and then urged them to a trot in the direction of the river whose tree-lined banks they had seen late in the afternoon. they paused only once in this place, and then to cross a small stream that lay in their path. as he rode larkin worked his arms cautiously back and forth until he felt the rotten rawhide give, and knew that a single violent motion would free him entirely. but he refrained from making that motion, feeling certain that the man in the mask would give the signal when the time was ripe. at last they discerned the loom of the trees against the low northern sky and pulled their horses to a walk, until they arrived directly underneath a big cottonwood, which stood in sinister readiness. "here's your last chance," said parker in a low voice. "if you swear as we have told you, you can go free now. we take a man's word out here." "never," replied larkin firmly. "don't waste time talking." "shore not," rejoined the other. "we always grant a man's last request. come on, boys, let's finish this thing quick." he had hardly spoken when from the distance came the sound of rapid revolver firing, mingled with the wild shouts of men. for a few moments the drama beneath the cottonwood came to an abrupt halt. "by gum!" cried joe, "the bar t punchers have found the boys and there's the devil to pay back there. lively, now." one of the others took his lariat from the throng at the side of his saddle and heaved the coil over an outstretched limb of the cottonwood. he had hardly done so when another sound reached them, a low, menacing rumble that grew momentarily louder until it reached a dull roar. "a stampede!" bawled one of the men; "and it's heading this way." joe and the man in the mask still on their horses led pinte directly beneath the limb of the cottonwood, and the former reached down to take the noose of the rope from the one who had arranged it. suddenly larkin felt a hand fumbling with the rawhide about his arms, and a low voice in his ear whispered: "now." with the same motion bud wrenched his hands free and dug his spurs into the sides of his horse. pinte, startled, leaped forward just as larkin drew the revolver from his pocket. joe, though caught by surprise, did not let go of the bridle that was wound about his right hand, but a blinding shot from the gun of the man in the mask did the work. with a groan parker pitched forward out of his saddle and fell to the ground just as larkin fired pointblank at the third man who appeared before him, still on foot. the fellow went down, but not until a yellow stab of light flashed up from where he had been and bud felt the wind of a bullet as it sped past his cheek. the fourth man was nowhere to be seen. the stranger in the mask and the man he had rescued were now alone, but their thoughts were fully occupied. the sound of the distant stampede had become a veritable rumbling roar that told of its nearing proximity. aside from this drumming of many feet, there was no sound, for the animals of the range when in the grip of panic are silent. with glazed eyes and muscles strained to the utmost they thundered into the dark, unconscious and heedless of the sure destruction in their path. it was as though thousands of creatures, with their brains removed, had been turned loose to run at will. "to the river!" cried the masked man, suddenly panic-stricken, spurring his horse in the direction of the stream. but larkin was at his heels, and in a moment had seized the other's bridle and thrown the horse back on his haunches. "no!" bawled he at the top of his voice. "the bank here is twenty feet high, and at the bottom are rocks." "better a jump and a chance than sure death in the stampede," yelled the stranger, but bud would not yield and drew the horse back. "we can divide the herd," he cried. "come, we haven't a moment to lose!" they wheeled as one and dashed out of the brush into the open of the range. the earth was now trembling beneath them and the pounding feet sounded a low, steady note, ominous with warning. occasionally there was a revolver shot, but this was the only other sound. straight toward the oncoming living avalanche the two men rode until they had left an open space a hundred yards wide behind them. then they pulled up short and dismounted. now out of the threatening thunder sounded a single individual note, the rapid beating of a horse's feet--some horse that was bearing a desperate rider ahead of the stampede but powerless to avoid it. instantly larkin saw the picture of the yawning precipice toward which the frantic rider was hurrying at breakneck speed. he raised his revolver and fired into the air. the signal was instantly acted on, for in another moment a lathering, heaving pony dashed up to them, and the rider leaped to the ground. "oh, what shall i do? hello! who are you?" cried a female voice, and larkin's heart leaped as though it had turned over in its place. "juliet!" he cried, seizing the girl with one arm and drawing her close. "bud!" for an instant she clung to him. "lead the horses together and shoot them!" he ordered, although the others could scarcely hear him. every instant was priceless now, for dimly at the edge of their vision the front wave of the living, leaping tide could be seen. larkin swung the girl's horse alongside pinte, and without a thought or a pang shot them both. they fell one on top of the other. then the stranger in the mask led his animal in front of the two that had fallen and put a bullet through its brain. all now leaped behind this still throbbing barricade. "got a gun, julie?" demanded bud. "yes." "give it to me and load mine from your belt." they exchanged weapons and the girl with practiced hand slipped the cartridges into their chambers. the unknown had drawn two guns from some place in his equipment, and now the three peered over their shelter. the advance line of animals was scarcely twenty-five yards away, and, with a clutch of horror at his heart, bud recognized that they were not cattle as he had supposed, but sheep--his own two thousand. in the instant that remained he remembered the shots and shouting of a quarter-hour before, and realized that the animals had been stampeded deliberately. "let 'er go," he screamed above the tumult, "and yell like blazes!" on the word yellow fire streamed out from the four guns and, accompanying it, a perfect bedlam of shrieks and cries. the sheep were now upon them, and the hail of bullets dropped some in their headlong career, piling them up against the horses and adding to the barricade. but it could not stop all, and a stream of the animals made its way over the bodies up to the very mouths of the spitting guns. now others stumbled and fell, to be instantly engulfed by the swirling flood behind; small, sharp feet were caught between the limbs of the struggling mass that eddied about the dead horses. still the yellow fire stabbed out into the faces of the middlers--for now the leaders were already piling up mangled and dying in the rocky river-bed--but, past each side of this island of expiring creatures, thundered a vast, heaving stream, turbulent, silent, irrevocable. the man in the mask with a revolver in each hand was firing steadily, and larkin, thrilled at the sight of his apparent coolness, turned to look at him. to his amazement he found that the mask had fallen or been snatched away. again the man fired, and bud larkin's jaw fell as he gazed on the queer, unmistakable features of the man who had saved his life that night. it was smithy caldwell. the sheep mind has the power of tenacity, but not that of change. there was scarcely a shot left in the guns, and still the fear-blinded animals battered at the growing wall of dead and dying that divided them. but at last they began to push to each side, and gradually the idea of splitting took full hold. then the prisoners behind the dead horses sank down in almost hysterical relief, for there was no danger that any more would attempt to mount the barricade. in fact, had the obstacle to their progress been suddenly removed, the stampeded herds would have continued to split for an indefinite period. now, listening, larkin could hear the crash of the animals through the underbrush and the horrid, sickening sounds of the writhing, half-dead mass in the river-bed as more and more, following their predecessors blindly, took the leap. at last the stream on each side thinned, the rumbling thunder of pounding feet grew less, and the tail of the flock passed, leaving behind it a sudden, deathly silence. in the distance a faint murmur was heard, and larkin found later that this was made by the two or three hundred which escaped death in the river. as a matter of fact, the great number of the animals had filled the narrow gully, and the last few charged across the bodies of their fallen comrades to solid ground and safety beyond. now that the danger had passed, larkin felt a certain miserable nausea in the pit of his stomach, and fought it down with all his might. caldwell was not so successful, however, and stumbled from the shelter and his companions, furiously sick. juliet began to weep softly, the tears of nervous reaction coming freely when neither pain nor fear could have brought them. bud passed his arm gently about her shoulders, and patted her with soft encouragement and praise for her bravery. nor did the girl resent his action. rather it seemed to steady her, and after a few minutes she looked up with an unsteady laugh. "isn't it funny for that other man to get seasick out here where we can't get enough water to drink?" she asked, with a sudden tangent of humor that made bud laugh uproariously, and seemed to relieve the strain that oppressed them. "brave little girl!" he said, getting up. "that reminds me. i wonder where our friend is?" he walked out in the direction caldwell had taken and expected to find the other recovering from his attack. but he could see or hear nothing to indicate that the man was within a dozen miles. he called, and his voice sounded puny and hollow against the vastness of the sky. he heard no hails in answer, except the long, shrill one which the coyotes gave from a neighboring rise of ground. smithy caldwell had disappeared. larkin returned to juliet bissell perplexed, mystified, and disturbed. what possible reason could there be for the quixotic actions of the man he hated more than any other in the world? how did he happen to be received and at perfect ease among a band of desperate rustlers? how and why? caldwell presented so many variations on those two themes that larkin's head fairly swam, and he turned gladly to relieve the situation in which juliet bissell now found herself. chapter x war without quarter he found her where he had left her, but now she was standing and looking out over the silent prairies, as though searching for someone. "what are you trying to see?" bud asked. "i thought father and some of the cowboys would probably follow the sheep once they had started them. oh, what have i said?" "i imagined it was they who had done it," said bud quietly, the full enormity of the thing not yet having sunk deep into his mind. "how did you get mixed up in it?" "simply enough," replied julie. "late in the afternoon chuck, one of the men on the eastern range, came riding in and said that your sheep were directly east of the ranch house. father and mike stelton talked a lot about it at supper, and figured up then that the easiest way--well, to teach you a lesson, they called it--was to run them over the bank of the little river. "i don't like sheep, bud, as you know; but that was going too far for me, and i protested, with the result that father took mike outside with him, quite upset that i said anything at all. both of them looked black as a silk hat." "good little girl!" cried bud gratefully, and she turned her face directly toward him and smiled; just such a smile, larkin remembered, as he had seen her use on other soft nights years before, in circumstances so totally different. "after supper," she continued, "there was a great bustle of getting away, and i grew curious to see what they would do and how. so as soon as they left i saddled my calico and set out after them, keeping about abreast but a couple of miles to the north. the next thing i heard was a terrific lot of shooting and yelling, and the business was done. i don't wonder the sheep were in a panic! "then i heard the sound of the stampede, but i did not realize it was driving straight at me. i must have been confused in my idea of where the little river was. anyway, before i had time to think about it i realized i was directly in their path and with a very small advantage. i could escape neither to right nor left, for the wings of the running flock were wide, and all i could do was to run my pony as hard as he could go. "he seemed to know the danger; all cow ponies do, i guess, for i never saw him travel like that in all my life; he stretched so flat along the ground that it almost seemed as though i could reach down and touch it with my hand. you know what such speed as that is at night with the gopher-holes and other ankle-breakers! well, we took the chance, and billy actually drew away from the sheep, panicky as they were. "but i couldn't gain enough to dare to turn to right or left, and i had just about given up hope because the trees were ahead, when i saw the flash and heard the report of your gun. thank god it was you, bud. i've never known you to be a coward or to fail in any situation. i can't say how grateful i am for what you have done to-night." "i assure you i didn't do it, julie; it was that man who got sick and left us. he's disappeared now." "who was he? one of the bar t punchers?" "no, it was that fellow, caldwell. perhaps you don't remember him--he came to the bar t for supper the same night i did." "yes, i remember him," said julie in a tone out of which all the impetuous warmth had gone. suddenly in this strange situation she found herself face to face with another chapter in the mystery that baffled her. "well, he saved my life to-night, and, though i can't say i admire the fellow very much, i am mighty grateful to him." "it is strange you two should be together out here when your sheep were somewhere else," hazarded juliet, looking full at larkin and expecting some action or word to betray his fear of her suspicions. "not at all strange when you know the circumstances," he replied. "just listen to this tale of adventure. but first i think we had better start walking toward the bar t ranch house. we ought to meet some of the cowboys. br-r--it's cold!" and bud shivered in the piercing chill of the spring night. to the plainsman walking is the most refined form of punishment. your real cowboy slouches miserably along in his tight-fitting, uncomfortable high-heeled boots, looking about as much in his element as a stranded whale. in cowboy parlance his "feet don't track," his backbone wilts, and his knees bow naturally as a result of early horseback riding. on solid earth the cowboy is a crestfallen and dejected object. as the two trudged along beneath the calm stars that had seen a thousand stampedes since the millions of buffalo roared up and down its length, larkin told juliet of the events that had occurred since they had said farewell at the fork of grassy creek. at the mention of the rustlers and the activities they were carrying on the girl gave a little, low cry. "father must hear that," she said. "he would give a lot to have descriptions of those men." "he couldn't give me back two thousand sheep and lambs," rejoined bud bitterly. "no, but i think he would give you their value." "yes, and stampede it into another gully when i brought it across his range. juliet, i'm not done with this thing. i'll fight your father or any other man that ever heard a calf bawl for milk, until i get my rights on the free range." larkin's voice was deep and full-throated with the righteous anger that surged through him over the outrage that had been wrought that night. as for the girl, she did not recognize this bud larkin. the man she had known had been one of gay pleasantries, but rather ineffectual endeavors; this man who spoke was one to whom his will was his law, and obstacles merely helps because of their strengthening of his determination. for the first time she saw the bud larkin that had developed in the last year, and a kind of admiring thrill at the mental stature of the man went through her. and yet she knew that war--hard, tenacious, ugly war--war without quarter, mercy, or respite, was irrevocably declared between larkin and her father; and, even in her instinctive loyalty to her house, she had to admit that bud was justified. "oh, i wish you would give the whole thing up!" she said plaintively. "it will only result in ruin to everybody." larkin laughed harshly. "i'll never give it up until i am either dead or haven't a dollar left," he replied. "i am determined to have my rights in this matter, and i shall have them whatever the cost." for a time there was silence between them, each realizing that further discussion could only prove unhappy. they had gone about two miles from the scene of the stampede when suddenly a man appeared close in front of them and commanded them to halt. "hello, sims!" cried larkin joyfully, recognizing the other's voice, but at the same time hoisting his hands above his head. "well, chief," said the herder imperturbably, returning his revolver to its holster, "i allow your vacation has cost you a lot of money." bud then outlined his experiences briefly, concluding with his story of the stampede, and sims whistled in amazement, his one method of expressing astonishment. "well, what's the story now?" bud asked. juliet had walked ahead when the two men met, and now larkin dropped far enough behind to be out of ear-shot and yet keep the girl dimly in sight. hurriedly, for him, sims related the story of the ill-fated expedition up to the time of the stampede. he and the herders had put up what defense they could, he said, and, as a result, two of his men were dead and the others scattered. however, he expected they would return to the now deserted camp. "i want you to take them back south to the badwater river," ordered larkin. "the second flock ought to be there by this time, but i want you to hold them there. in two days the boys from montana ought to be down, and when you're ready to start north you will have force enough to fight any bunch of cowboys old bissell can scrape together." "but if we don't move that flock out right away the others will come and pile up there, and then we shore will have our hands full." "all right, let 'em pile up. we'll get 'em through just the same. now, sims, we are in this thing for blood from now on, and don't you forget it for a minute." "trust me, boss," drawled the herder. "are you comin' down to join us?" "yes, if i can. as soon as i get miss bissell into safe hands i'll come. but don't count on me; i may never get there. do whatever you think best, but bring those sheep through. and tell the herders and the boys from the north that while this trouble is on i'll pay them five dollars a day apiece." "shore, they'd rassle the devil himself for that," commented sims. "and you get ten," supplemented larkin. "now go ahead and make all preparations the way you think best. everything is in your hands." sims faded from sight noiselessly, and larkin hurried forward to overtake juliet. they had not been together five minutes when the rapid trotting of horses was heard ahead and larkin, taking the chance of falling into evil hands, called out to the travelers. "who's there?" came a gruff voice, accompanied by the click of hammers drawn back. "oh, father, it's i--juliet!" cried the girl, recognizing the speaker and running toward him. there was a surprised exclamation out of the darkness, and the sound of a man vaulting from the saddle. the next moment and he had clasped his daughter in his arms. larkin, his mission completed, started to back away from the scene, but the girl herself wrecked this intention. "it was mr. larkin who called out," she said, evidently in answer to a question. "he saved my life, father, and he has brought me safely back. he is standing right over there." at this bud turned and ran, but the sound of a pony closing in on him brought him to a stop. "well, what do you want?" he demanded angrily. "bissell wants to see you," said the rider whose voice the sheepman recognized as that of stelton. not deigning to enter an argument with the foreman, bud walked back to where bissell stood beside his horse. "now the sheep are out of the way, if you want to learn anything about rustlers i guess our friend here can tell you," remarked stelton suddenly, in a voice exultant as it was ugly. "oh, yes, father," added juliet, "he's been with them for almost two days." "is this so, mr. larkin?" asked bissell. "yes." "well, we won't discuss it now," said the cowman. "let's go back to the ranch house and get something to eat. i have an extra horse here, larkin, if you care to ride." "i don't care to, thanks," answered bud dryly. "since you have ruined me, you will do me a favor by letting me go." "i allow i'd like to do you a favor," rejoined bissell with equal courtesy, "but i've got to find out about them rustlers. we won't keep yuh long." "come on, get up on that horse," said the voice of stelton close beside him, and bud turned to look into the long barrel of the foreman's gun that was stuck under his nose. trembling with suppressed fury, he did as he was told, but on the ten-mile ride to the bar t ranch said nothing, and only revolved in his mind one question: how did stelton know he had been with the rustlers before julie had said anything about them? chapter xi made prisoner at three o'clock the next afternoon beef bissell felt better than he had for some time, this condition being a result of his vindictive triumph over bud larkin, and the fact that that young man was in his hands. he felt that the back of the sheep business had been broken as far as his range and his county were concerned. i have put the opening of this chapter at three o'clock, because that was the hour at which life began to be manifest at the bar t ranch after the stirring events of the night before. bud larkin himself, worn out with his nights and days of vigil, had gone to sleep on his bed almost in the act of taking his boots off. vague ideas of escape had coursed through his mind only to be overtaken and killed by the slumber he had evaded for so long. his window faced southwest, and when he awoke it was to find the dazzling gold of the sun warming his face. for a moment he did not realize where he was, staring thus into the blinding radiance; but memory is only a few seconds sleepier than its master, and shortly everything came back to him. a sinking sensation came over him as he remembered the wanton slaughter of his sheep, more because of the helpless agony of the poor dumb brutes than because of the monetary loss, although the latter was no trifling consideration, since nearly eight thousand dollars had been wiped out in less than half an hour. added to this sickening sensation was one of dull, choking rage that bissell, a man of wealth and certain prominence in the state, should suggest and pursue a course that the most despised sheep-herder would never countenance. that, larkin told himself, showed the real man; the rough, crude product of a rough and bitter country. for the slogan of the earlier west was selfishness. "all this is mine and don't you come a-nigh me!" bawled the cowman when the nesters or grangers began to make their appearance. the cowboy himself was the chief exponent of this philosophy. restraint was unknown to him--his will was his law, and he tried to make it everyone else's. when thousands of men have the same idea the result is trouble; hence the practice of cluttering up one's person with artillery. the one person for whom the cow-puncher had no respect and for whom the cow country was no fit abiding place was the man who allowed himself to be domineered. for that man convict-labor on a coral road would have been paradise compared to his ordinary existence. thus was the west the supreme abode at that time of the selfists or anarchists who have no thought or consideration outside their own narrow motives and desires. though bud larkin could not have analyzed his feelings in words, perhaps, yet he felt this keenly, and knew that now or never must he take his stand and keep it. he labored under the double handicap, in this country, of having gone in for sheep and having been beaten at it the very first thing. consequently, if he ever expected to gain any caste, or at least a hearing, he must turn the tables and that as soon as possible. at the present moment, as he washed his face in the thick white wash-bowl that made the guest-room of the bar t celebrated for leagues around, he had nothing but the remotest ideas of how this might be done. the fact, in brief, was that his sheep were and would continue piling up in the hills north of the badwater, ready to enter the hazardous stretch of dry territory that had so nearly been disastrous to his first flock. until he should be free and could reconnoiter his chances and resources he would hesitate to order them sent north. and yet they could not stay forever near the badwater. neither could they be halted on their march north, because they were crossing the range of wyoming sheepmen at the time and common plains courtesy demanded that they be removed as fast as possible. but for the fact that sims was in personal charge bud larkin would have been in utter despair. such was his confidence in his indolent herdsman that he felt that though ultimate failure attended their efforts no blame could ever be attached to sims. leaving the guest-chamber, larkin immediately stepped into the dining-room and the gloomy thoughts fled, for there sat juliet near the window, sewing. she greeted him with a smile and immediately rose. "well, mr. man, i thought you would never wake up," she remarked in mock reproof. "i've been waiting here since dinner to see that you had something to eat when you came out. you must be wild hungry." "i could eat a saddle," said larkin. "sorry, but the saddles are all out," she replied with a smile. "however, we have some nice fresh broiled quirts, garnished with rawhide." "bring me a double order," said bud, laughing, as he seated himself. when he was almost through with his meal juliet remarked: "father asked me to say that he would like to have a talk with you on the veranda when you were ready." "i'll go right out," he answered, thanking her for the trouble she had taken. he found bissell seated in one of the big chairs outside, and took the other. both men rolled a cigarette and then bissell spoke. "i owe you a great deal, larkin, for saving my daughter last night," he said with genuine emotion in his voice. "under the circumstances i am sorry for what i did, and wish i had it to do over again." "as for the first, i don't deserve much credit. juliet really saved her own life by coming to us when i fired the warning shot. as to the sheep, it's too late to think about them now; we'll come to another reckoning in that matter later on. i'd hardly expect a horse-thief to do a trick like that." bissell's tanned face turned a deep mahogany hue under the sting of this remark, and his eyes lost the soft look they had held when he spoke of juliet. "i'm willing to pay yuh the money loss," he replied, still anxious to make amends. "on guarantee, i suppose, that i don't try to bring the rest of my sheep north." "yes." "that's impossible, as you might know." "i allow you're right foolish, mr. larkin; better think it over." "i did that last night when the sheep went into the river," said bud dryly. "i suppose so, but a night's sleep sometimes changes a man's mind." "not mine. the first night i was here i told you that i would bring my sheep north, and i still intend to do it. i am always willing to meet a man half-way; but you wouldn't meet me. instead of that you started in to ruin me. i have no objection to that, but you'd better take care that your schemes don't work two ways." bissell shrugged his shoulders. he still had the upper-hand of the situation, and his temper, in that case, was not hard to control. "i allow i can look out for myself," he said. "no doubt, but you had better look out for me," was the retort. "i reckon i'll manage," remarked bissell contemptuously. "but all this isn't what i wanted to ask you. i'd be some pleased if you'd tell me about them rustlers you were with." "why do you want to know about them?" countered bud. "because they're ruinin' the cattle business. i dunno how many head they run off last year, but i do know that profits were cut in half by 'em. you was with 'em long enough to know some of 'em again, i allow?" "yes. i would know nearly all of them. what's left of three is out there near the cottonwoods along little river, but i don't believe there's enough to bury." "how is that?" inquired bissell, who had evidently not heard of larkin's narrow escape from death at the rustler's hands. bud told him briefly. "you shore were lucky," remarked the cowman with a westerner's appreciation of the situation. "now, i'm the head of the cattlemen's association in this part of the state, and o' course it's our business to clear the country of those devils. you're just the man we want, because you've seen 'em and know who they are. you tell me what yuh know and there'll be the biggest hangin' bee this state ever seen." as has been said, bud larkin had the legitimate owner's hatred of these thieves who preyed on the work of honest men, and had sworn to help run them out of the country as soon as his own business was finished. now, in the flash of an eye he saw where he could turn the knowledge he had gained to good account. "you have rather queer ideas of me, mr. bissell," he said. "first, you fight me until i am nearly ruined, then you expect i will turn around and help you just as though nothing had happened." "but in this," cried the cowman, "you've got to help us. this is all outside of a war between the cows and the sheep. this is a matter of right and justice." "so is the matter of my sheep. the range is free and you won't let me use it. do you call that right or just, either one?" bissell choked on his own reply, and grew red with anger. suddenly, without exactly knowing how, the tables had been turned on him. now, instead of being the mighty baron with the high hand, he was the seeker for help, and this despised sheepman held the trump cards. furthermore, larkin's direct question was capable of a damaging reply. bissell sought desperately for a means of escape from the trap in which he found himself. "do you mean, young feller, that you won't tell me about them rustlers?" "that's about it. but i might on one condition." "what's that?" "that your cattlemen's association give the rest of my sheep undisturbed passage north across the range to montana." "by gosh!" yelled the cowman, beside himself, springing out of his chair and glaring at the other with clenched hands on his hips. "that's your game, is it? yuh pull our teeth an' then offer us grub, eh? why, tan my hide--" he gagged with wrath and stood speechless, a picture of impotent fury. larkin laughed quietly. "the shoe's on the other foot, but it doesn't seem to feel any too good," he sneered. "better be reasonable now, hadn't you?" "reasonable? sure, i'll be reasonable!" cried the other vindictively, almost suffocated with his emotion. "let me ask yuh something. do you absolutely refuse to tell about them rustlers if i don't do as you want and let your sheep through?" "well, not exactly," replied bud, grinning. "i'll tell you this: they're going to run off a hundred head or so of your stock yet this week for the railroad camps up the state. i think it's fair to give you warning beforehand." "darn you and your warning! what i want is the names and descriptions of them men. will yuh give 'em to me?" "no, not unless we can strike a bargain. you talk about right and justice. now let's see a little of it," answered larkin. "all right, young feller, you've said your say. now listen to me. i'm a deputy sheriff in this county"--he ripped open his vest and showed the badge pinned to the inside lining--"an' i hereby arrest yuh for bein' a party to them rustlers. yer either a criminal or yuh ain't, accordin' to our notions out here, an' if yuh wun't help us catch yer friends there ain't nothin' more to be said. now roll that into a cigarette an' eat it alive if yuh want to." he glared defiantly down on larkin, whose brows had drawn together as he went into executive session with himself. in five seconds the situation between these men was once more reversed. it was not that larkin had overreached himself; he simply had encountered a circumstance of which he was unaware. the possibility of bissell being a deputy sheriff had never occurred to him, and now he sat balked and perplexed, balancing his chances on either hand. it was not in the man to yield supinely to this new danger. he could not even think of the possibility without shame. he was right, he told himself over and over again, and, listen as he would, he could detect no contradictory reply from the still, small voice we are all credited with possessing. his mission in life was to get his sheep through. in that circumstance the rustlers were unexpected allies and he hoped they would put burs under the tails of every steer on the range and drive them to the gulf of mexico. once his merinos and angoras were safe across the line bud would gladly return and help round them up. the idea that he, clipped, helpless, and harmless as he was, should now turn in and assist his despoilers to better their own fortunes was so maddening that he grinned with fury as he thought of it. no, the thing was impossible! bissell had not changed his menacing position during all of bud larkin's ponderings and was waiting patiently for some outbreak from his victim. but at last he could stand it no more. "well," he snarled, "say something! what's your answer?" "that bargain goes as she stands," said bud, after a moment's thought. "you help me and i'll help you. otherwise you won't get a word out of me, and you can do whatever you like." "you're under arrest," snapped bissell. "give me your gun!" and he covered bud with a single swift motion of his hand. the younger man did as commanded and rose. "now go into that room; you're a prisoner," ordered bissell. chapter xii juliet asserts herself now that the owner of the bar t ranch had succeeded again in a match of wits with larkin, he put sheep out of his mind and turned his attention to the more-immediate danger of rustlers. it had been a matter of a couple of years since the last determined attempt of the cowmen to oust these poachers by force of arms, and bissell thought that the time was ripe for another and, if possible, final expedition. with larkin in his power, he had no doubt that the necessary information could be procured from him in one way or another, and, after talking matters over with stelton, dispatched cowboys at top speed to the ranches in his district, asking that the owners and as many men as they could spare should come at once to a conference at the bar t. having got them there, it was his intention to sweat larkin for names and descriptions, and then let him go. should the sheepman refuse all information, then his case could be acted upon by the members of the association without any further delay. all these plans larkin learned from juliet and her mother, who looked after most of his wants. the latter, good woman, quite flustered at having what she termed a "regular boarder," became rather fond of the patient young man from the east who never failed to listen attentively to her narrative of the famous trip to st. paul. the regular boarder, for his part, could not but sympathize with this homely, hard-working, lonely woman. one rarely connected martha bissell with old beef bissell except in an impersonal way, as one would have connected the corral, or the barn, or the brand. in fact, the cowman seemed hardly cognizant of her existence, long since having transferred all the affections his hard life had left him to the daughter he worshiped. but martha, as is so often the case with women who grow old slaving for their husbands, had not changed in her devotion to bissell since the proud day they had eloped on one horse and been married by a "sky pilot" in the nearest cow town. mrs. bissell had come to that dolorous time in a woman's life when she no longer has the power of attracting male attention--which power is not a matter of age, but merely of mind and spirit. and yet there were depths in her, larkin found, unsuspected because unsought. loving her daughter as she loved her husband, she derived a certain negative happiness from the fact that their exclusive companionship brought them pleasure. for herself she asked nothing, and, as is the way of the world, she got it. for bud larkin, who had only known her as an angular, uninteresting addendum of the bar t, she took on a certain pathetic interest, and he went out of his way to talk with her about the glories of chicago, since her one dissipation seemed to be mental journeys back east. larkin was not strictly a prisoner at the bar t ranch-house, for this had been found impracticable from a number of standpoints. he had the run of the ranch, an old, decrepit cow pony to ride, and could go in any direction he chose under the supervision of a cowboy who carried a winchester and was known to have impaled flies on cactus spines at thirty yards. occasionally bud and juliet rode out together, with this man in the rear, and renewed the old friendship that had lain dormant for so long. during one of these rides the girl, after debating the matter with herself, opened on a delicate subject. "that caldwell man is a strange-looking fellow, bud. who is he?" larkin looked at juliet closely before replying, but could find nothing in her face to indicate any but a natural curiosity. "he is a chicago character i used to know," he returned shortly. "but what brought him out here is a puzzle to me." "you seemed to want to see him pretty badly," said she, assuming a pout. "i was really jealous of him taking you off the way he did that first night you came." "that's the first time i have been flattered with your jealousy," bud returned gayly. "i'll ask him to come again." and that was the closest she could come to a discussion of caldwell's connection with larkin. the fact, although she would not admit it, gave her more concern than it should have, and kept her constantly under a cloud of uneasiness. bud's evasion of the subject added strength to the fear that there was really something horrible in bud's past. it was on one of his rides alone that bud suddenly came to a very unflattering solution of another problem in regard to caldwell. ever since the stampede he had been giving time to the consideration of smithy's strange actions that night. there was no love lost between the two, that was certain, and why the blackmailer should risk his life to defeat the rustlers and save the man he hated was beyond bud's comprehension. but at last he arrived at a solution that removed all his doubts, and this was that smithy caldwell had saved him for the same reason that the old lady in the fairy story was told to preserve the goose. "kill the goose and there will be no more golden eggs," remarked the fairy sagely, and evidently caldwell was ready to heed her advice. it certainly was worth the effort on smithy's part, and even when larkin had finally discovered the man's sordid motives he felt a species of admiration for the man's coolness and bravery. he felt, too, that, if he could not get a grip on the blackmailer before another payment was demanded, he could part with the money for the first time with the feeling that caldwell had partially earned it. as to caldwell's presence among the rustlers, that was another matter entirely, and larkin could not fathom the mystery. how smithy, a low chicago tough, whose only knowledge of a horse had been gained by observation, could so quickly become a trusted member of this desperate gang of cattle-thieves he could not conceive. was there some occult power about the man--some almost hypnotic influence that passed his crossed eyes and narrow features in that company? larkin gave it up. but he knew that, should he ever again get his full liberty, his sheep safely across the range, and the leisure to pursue rustlers, mr. smithy caldwell of chicago would be his especial prey. and he grinned with anticipation at the glory of that moment when he should have the blackmailer in his power with enough evidence to swing him. stelton was the one man of the whole bar t outfit who had suffered from the boomerang of his evil plans. it had been through him that larkin was forced to accompany bissell home after the stampede; and now he passed days and nights of misery, watching the progress of bud's very evident suit. chained down by his daily round of duties, his time was not his own, and with a green venom eating at his heart he watched the unfettered bud ride off across the plains with juliet, laughing, care-free, and apparently happy. so greatly did this irk mr. stelton that his morose melancholy increased to a point where his own cowpunchers entertained fears for his sanity, and made him acquainted with the fact in their well-known tender manner. this did not serve to buoy his spirits, and he cursed himself roundly for the ridiculous position into which he had led himself. as to juliet, he hardly dared pass a civil time of day with her, so terrible a trial had his thwarted desires in regard to her become. the fourth day after bud's arrest old beef bissell called for his horse and rode away to the circle arrow ranch. old man speaker had not seen fit to rally to the cowmen's gathering, and bissell valued his counsel very much; he had, therefore, gone to fetch him. during the three days of his absence mike stelton suffered another of those reverses which are so exasperating because they are brought about by our own ugly spirits. all the time he had continued to eat at the ranch table, and had been accorded his share of the conversation and attention. now, with old bissell out of the way, his status immediately changed. mrs. bissell, juliet, and bud were the best of friends, and presented a solid front of uniform but uninterested politeness to the foreman against which he was helpless. on the second day, for the first time in ten years, he moved his seat down into the punchers' dining-room and ate with them. such a defeat as this could not pass unnoticed among the punchers, who had never been accorded the pleasure of their gloomy foreman's presence at meal times, and stelton suffered keenly from the gibes of the men. stelton endured all this with seeming calmness, but when bissell returned the foreman got his revenge. he outlined with full detail and considerable embellishment the constant progress that larkin was making with juliet. disclaiming any interest of his own in the matter, he explained that the reason for his complaint was the character of larkin. "why, boss, yuh shore wouldn't want a darned sheepman breakin' julie's heart," he said, "an' him a eastern dude at that. you should 'a' seen that feller. yuh no more'n got yore back turned than he carried on with juliet all the time. it made me plenty mad, too; but what could i do about it? i just moved my grub-pile down with the boys an' thought i'd tell yuh when yuh came home." a half an hour of this was sufficient to work bissell up into a furious rage, and, in something the same temper, he sent for juliet an hour before dinner. now, a man who is subjected to choleric outbursts should never send for anything but food an hour before dinner, for the reason that a very trivial thing looks, at that time, big enough to wreck the nation. bissell, however, failed to recollect this simple truth, and greeted his daughter with smoldering eyes, that gradually softened, however, the longer he looked at her. "there is somethin' i want to ask yuh, prairie bell," he began. "yuh won't mind?" "no, dear," she answered. "what is it?" "this sheepman larkin--is it true yuh been courtin' with him while i been away?" "i've been riding with him a good deal, and i've seen him every day, if that is what you mean. you trust me to be sensible, don't you, father?" "yes, julie, o' course i do; but i'm just thinkin' of yerself--and of me. dunno what people'd say if they knowed ol' bissell's daughter was traipsin' around with a sheepman that stands in with the rustlers. an' you--i allow it'd break my heart if yuh ever got fond of that rascal. he's a bad lot." "i can't agree with you in any of those things," said the girl, with just the right mixture of determination and affection in her voice. "to anyone who is fair, it is no disgrace to be a sheepman; mr. larkin is not in with the rustlers, as i believe he outlined to you, nor is he a rascal in any way. lastly, i don't care what people say about whom i ride with. mr. larkin is a gentleman, and that is all i require." during this speech, which held the middle ground between daring and prudence, independence and acquiescence, civility and impertinence, bissell's jaw dropped and his eyes opened. he had rarely, if ever, known his daughter to make such an explicit refutal of his inferences. his brow darkened. "yuh never stuck up fer a man like that in yore life, julie," he accused her severely. "that larkin is a bad one. mebbe yuh don't know it, but he can't answer for everything in his life. o' course, you can't understand these things, but i'm just tellin' yuh. now, i'm plumb sorry to have to do it, but i want yuh to tell me yuh won't go out with him any more." "i don't think you should ask me that, father," said the girl quietly. "i am old enough to choose my own associates. i have known mr. larkin for years, where you have only known him for days. i love you too much to disgrace you or mother, daddy dear; but you must not ask me to act like a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl." to bissell, after dinner, this talk would have served its intended purpose--that of presenting reasonably the reverse side of the argument. now, however, it merely stirred him up. he looked sharply at his daughter with his small, piercing eyes. "do you defy me?" he thundered, amazed at the girl's temerity. "all i do is try to think up ways of makin' yuh happy, an' now yuh insist on havin' this scoundrel make love to yuh, whether i want it or not. answer me this, julie, are you in love with him?" "i've never met another man i cared as much for," she returned with calm frankness, looking at him with big, unafraid brown eyes. "great heavens!" cried bissell, leaping out of his chair and raising his clenched fists above his head. "that i should come to this! julie, do yuh know what yore sayin'? do yuh know what yore doin'?" "yes, i do; and do you want to know the reason for it?" "yes." "because i think the things that have been done to mr. larkin are contemptible and mean." there was no placidity in those brown eyes now. they flashed fire. her face had grown pale, and she, too, had risen to her feet. "i'm a cowman's daughter, but still i can be reasonable. our range is free range, and he has a perfect right to walk his sheep north if he wants to. and even if he hadn't, there is no excuse for the stampede that took place the other night. "and last of all, you have no right to keep mr. larkin here against his will so that he does not know what is happening to the rest of his flocks. i consider the whole thing a hideous outrage. but that isn't all. you have talked to me this afternoon in a suspicious manner that you have no right to use toward me. i am not a child, and shall think and act for myself." "what do you mean by that? that you will help this scoundrel?" "yes, if i think it is the right thing to do." bissell started back as though someone had struck him. then he seemed to lose his strength and to shrivel up, consumed by the flame of his bitterness and disappointment. at the sight, the girl's whole heart melted toward the unhappy man, and she longed to throw her arms around him and plead for forgiveness. but the same strain that had made her father what he was, in his hard environment, was dominant in her, and she stood her ground. for a minute bissell looked at her out of dull, hurt eyes. then he motioned toward the door. "go in," he said gently; "i don't want to see yuh." chapter xiii the heathen chinee hard-winter sims, lying at full length on the grass, indulging in another of his frequent siestas, was rudely awakened by one of his herders. "more sheep they come," said the man. "great michaeljohn!" swore sims, heaving his long length erect. "more?" "yes; it is rubino with the third flock." sims cast a practiced eye over the sides of the swelling hills, where already two thousand animals, the second consignment, were feeding. it was now a week since he had met bud larkin after the stampede, and he was worried over the non-appearance of his chief. here, in the hills of the southern hook of the big horn mountains, he had fed the second flock up one valley and down the next, waiting for larkin's arrival or some word from him. hurrying south after that midnight meeting, he had reached his destination just in time to check the advance of the second two thousand that had come the night before. knowing the hard march north, but ignorant of the conditions now prevailing on the bar t range, he had hesitated to expose more of larkin's animals to ruin. the arrival of this third flock complicated matters in the extreme, since the feeding-ground became constantly farther away from the original rendezvous. he looked in the direction indicated by the herder and saw the cloud of dust that betokened the advance of the new flock. soon the tinkle of the bells and the blethering of the animals themselves reached him, and he started leisurely back to meet rubino. he found the sheep in good physical shape, for they had been traveling at a natural pace, a condition not always easily brought about, and totally dependent on the skill of the herder. if the dogs or men follow constantly behind the animals, they, feeling that they are being constantly urged, will go faster and faster, neglecting to crop, and so starve on their feet in the midst of abundant feed. for this reason herders often walk slowly ahead of their flock, holding them back. "where are the next two thousand?" sims asked rubino. "two days behind, and coming slowly." "and the last?" "three days behind them, but farther to the east." sims whistled. he realized that in five days, if nothing were done, he would have eight thousand sheep on his hands, scattered over the hills in every direction and subject to heavy loss both by wild animals and straying. with the aplomb of a general disposing his forces, sims indicated the rising hill on which rubino should bed his flock down, and watched critically as they went through this evolution. sheep are the most unresponsive to human affection of any domesticated animal. never, in all the thousands of years of shepherding, have they come to recognize man as an integer. they still cling to the flock life. even when attacked by wild animals at night they do not seek the shepherd, but stand and bawl to the valiant (?) rams to beat off the enemy. on the march, the dogs do the actual herding, so that the "muttons" do not look to man for their orders. the only occasion that they appeal to a human being is when their bodies crave salt. then they run to him with a peculiar guttural cry, and, having been supplied, forget the herder immediately. some people have tried to prove that this trait predicates a recognition of the human being as such, but it seems far more likely that they regard him with the same indifference as a giver that they do the water-hole which quenches their thirst. without intelligence, or the direct appreciation of man, they are entirely unattractive, ranking far below the dog, horse, or even cow. consequently but few men in the sheep business have any affection for them. of these few, hard-winter sims was probably the leader. something closely akin to a maternal obligation was constantly at work in him, and the one thing that brought instant response was the cry of distress of a lamb or ewe. now, as rubino's flock dotted itself over the hillside in the sunset, sims watched what was to him the most beautiful thing in the world. the sounds were several--the mothering mutter of the ewes, the sharp blat of some lamb skipping for dinner, the plaintive cries of the "grannies"--wethers who, through some perverted maternal instinct, seek to mother some stray lamb as their own--and the deeper, contented throating of the rams. the dogs, panting and thirsty with the long day's march, saw that their charges were finally settled, except for the few lone sentinels against the cobalt sky. then they trotted with lolling tongues to the little stream that trickled down the valley and waded in to drink. after that they sought out their masters and sat beside them with pricked ears, wondering why no preparations for supper were going forward. to the herders after the long trail the luxury of a cook wagon was appreciated. only the first and last detachments carried one, and rubino's men had cooked their meals over tiny fires made in the barren places, as the herdsmen have done since time immemorial. the cook, a sullen man at best, grumbled audibly at the increase of his duties. where before he had cooked for six men, now he must cook and clean up for twelve. all things considered, it was a "helluva" note, he declared, until sims, overhearing his remarks, booted him a couple of times around the cook wagon, so that he much preferred the arduous duties of his calling. "if yuh could only make every man love his job by contrast with somethin' else a lot worse, what a peaceful world this would be," thought sims. "now, sheep-herdin' ain't so plumb gentle yuh could call it a vacation, but when i think of cows an' a round-up i shore do bless them old blackfaces for bein' alive." finally the long-drawn yell of the cook gave notice that the meal was ready and all hands fell to with a will. they had hardly got started, however, when there came a sound of galloping feet from the north that brought them all upstanding and reaching for their weapons. over a near-by hill swept a body of perhaps fifty horsemen, each with a rifle across his saddle and a revolver at hip. they were typical plainsmen, and as the last radiance of the sun lighted them up, sims could see that they wore the regular broad-brimmed white stetsons of the cattle men. "put down yore guns, boys," said sims after a moment's thought. "let's get out o' this peaceable if we can." the men put away their weapons and waited in silence. the horsemen swept up at the tireless trot of the plains until they recognized the tall, gaunt figure of the chief herdsman. then, with a yell, they galloped into camp, drew rein abruptly, and dismounted. sims recognized the leader as jimmie welsh, the foreman of larkin's montana sheep ranch, and a happy, contented grin spread over his face. "glory be, boys!" he yelled, going forward to meet the horsemen. "rustle around there, cookee," he called back over his shoulder, "yuh got company fer supper!" the riders after their long journey were only too glad to see a permanent camp, and dismounted with grunts of pleasure and relief. they had come a distance of nearly two hundred and fifty miles in four days, and their horses were no longer disposed to pitch when their riders got upon them in the morning. the party was composed of all the available men from larkin's ranch and others from the neighboring places. in these men the hatred of cowmen and their ways was even more intense than _vice versa_, this being a result, no doubt, of the manifold insults they had suffered, and the fact that, as a rule, cowboys far outnumber sheep-herders and run them off the country at will. the call to arms taken north by miguel had met with instant and enthusiastic response, and these men had come south to wipe out in one grand mêlée their past disgraces. during supper sims told of larkin's offer of five dollars a day, and the riders nodded approvingly; it was the customary hire of fighting men in the range wars. "but how did you get down over the bar t range?" asked the chief herder. "we done that at night," replied jimmie welsh, who was a little man with a ruddy face, bright eyes and a crisp manner of speech. "tell me what's that ungodly mess up in little river; it was night an' we couldn't see?" "two thousand of larkin's sheep," replied sims, laconically, and an angry murmur ran through the men. "old bissell, of the bar t, stampeded 'em when we were just a-goin' to get 'em through safe. shot up one herder, lammed cookee over the head an' raised ructions generally. yes, boys, i'm plumb shore we have one or two little matters to ask them bar t punchers about." "but what's your orders, simmy?" asked welsh. "i'm in charge o' the hull outfit till the boss shows up an' can do whatever i want. i'm gettin' real concerned about him though, not hearin' a word for a week. i 'low if he don't turn up to-morrow i'll have to send you boys lookin' fer him." but the morrow brought its own solution of the problem. in the middle of the morning a lone horseman was seen approaching over the hills, and the restless sheepmen, eager for any sport, spread out into a veritable ambuscade, taking position behind rocks and in depressions along the hills on either hand. the horseman was very evidently a poor rider, for, instead of holding the reins easily and jauntily in his upturned right hand, he was clinging to the pommel of the saddle, while the pony slipped and slid along the difficult path. within a furlong of the camp, the man's nationality was made apparent by the flapping shirt and trousers he wore, as well as the black, coarse cue that whipped from side to side. among the secreted sheepmen a grin spread from face to face at the sight of this distressful figure, evidently in real wo from hours in the hard saddle. about a hundred yards from camp a single shot rang out, and then there arose such a wild chorus of reports and yells as would have terrified a stone image. the cow pony (which of all horses loathes a bad rider) showed the whites of his eyes wickedly, laid his ears back into his mane and bucked madly with fright. the chinaman, chattering like a monkey, described a perfect parabola and alighted right side up on the only tuft of grass within ten yards. in an instant he bounced to his feet, took one look at the surrounding society, and made a bolt for the cook-wagon, the one place that was familiar to him. at the door he encountered the sheepmen's regular cook coming out to see what the trouble was, and the next moment witnessed the near-annihilation of the yellow peril. sims and jimmie welsh pulled the burly cook off in time to save the oriental, and the latter sat up with a dazed, frightened air. "yah! makee much damee hellee!" he announced. "too much damee hellee," said sims sententiously. "john, you good fighter. me like you. what you do here?" "me bling message," and he reached into his blouse and drew out a piece of paper folded and pinned. this he handed to sims, who promptly opened it and started to read. in a minute he stopped and yelled for everyone who was not in the immediate circle to gather round and listen. then, haltingly, he read aloud the following: dear sims: ah sin who brings you this is a bang-up cook, and i am sending him to you to get a job. pay him fifty dollars on the spot in advance for his first month. i told him you would. he was the bar t cook, i am sorry to say, but there was no other way of getting a message to you than to send him. for the last few days i have been a prisoner in the "guest room" of the bar t ranch-house. this is the middle room on the northwest side. after a certain row here i was clapped into confinement, and the chinaman had to do the honors for me at all meals. i got friendly with him and found he was getting only thirty a month. when he told me he owned one of the horses in the corral the whole thing was easy. i offered him fifty, gave him exact directions how to find your camp, and told him the best time to start. if he ever reaches you, you will know where i am, and i want some of you to come and get me out of this. the cattlemen from all over are here, and they accuse me of standing in with the rustlers. what will happen to me i don't know, but i'm sure of this, it won't be healthy. i should think the boys would be down from the north by this time. now, simmy, keep everything under your hat and work quietly. let the sheep pile up if you have to. things aren't ripe here yet to move 'em north. i'll be looking for you any day. bud. when sims had read the entire note twice, a puzzled silence ensued. men lifted their hats and scratched their heads meditatively. here among fifty men there was plenty of energy for action once the action was suggested, but very little initiative. "i allow we'll shore have to get 'im out o' there," seemed to be the consensus of opinion. "shore, boys, shore," said sims impatiently; "but how? that's the question. there's about a dozen real smart shooters on that ranch, and i'm plenty sure they don't all sleep to once. besides, the worst part of it'll be gettin' near the dum place. if a hoss squeals or whinnies the rescuin' party might as well pick out their graves, 'cause yuh see only two or three can make the trip." "mebbe they can an' mebbe they can't," broke in jimmie welsh, his little, bright eyes twinkling with suppressed merriment. "i should think the hull outfit, cook-wagons, an' all, could make the visit to the bar t." "yeah?" remarked sims politely scornful but inquisitive. "tell us about it." and welsh did. chapter xiv sentenced everybody at the bar t ranch house was laboring under suppressed excitement. it was now the middle of june when the yearly round-up should be under way, yet, owing to the invasion of the sheep and the recent rustler troubles, the cowboys had not been free to undertake this task. on other ranches this spring work was well advanced, and the fact that the bar t had not yet begun was a source of constant worry to bissell and stelton. the former, when he had sent out his call for other cowmen of the region, had encountered great difficulty in getting his neighbors to give up their time to the disposal of bud larkin's case. at last, however, ten owners, impatient at the summons and anxious to return as quickly as possible to their work, had ridden in, some of them alone and others with a cowboy taken from the round-up. since the bar t ranch house was incapable of accommodating them all, the punchers had been ousted from their bunk-house and the structure given over to the visitors. the sudden disappearance of the chinese cook had added to bissell's troubles and shamed the hospitality of his home. this situation had been relieved temporarily by the labors of mrs. bissell and juliet until an incompetent cowboy had been pressed into service at an exorbitant figure. therefore it was with short temper and less patience that bissell began what might be called the trial of larkin. the meeting-place of the men was under a big cottonwood that stood by the bank of the little stream curving past the bar t. as each man arrived from his home ranch he was made acquainted with the situation as it stood, and one afternoon larkin was brought out from his room to appear before the tribunal. the owners were determined to end the matter that day, mete out punishment, and ride back to their own ranches in the morning. it was a circle of stern-faced, solemn men that larkin faced under the cottonwood tree, and as he looked at one after another, his heart sank, for there appeared very little of the quality of mercy in any of them. knowing as he did the urgency that was drawing them home again, he feared that the swiftness of judgment would be tempered with very little reason. bissell as head of the organization occupied a chair, while at each side of him five men lounged on the grass, their guns within easy reach. larkin was assigned to a seat facing them all, and, looking them over, recognized one or two. there was billy speaker, of the circle-arrow, whom he had once met, and red tarken, of the m square, unmistakable both because of his size and his flaming hair. "now, larkin," began bissell, "these men know what you've been tryin' to do to my range--" "do they know what you did to my sheep?" interrupted bud crisply. bissell's face reddened at this thrust, for, deep down, he knew that the stampede was an utterly despicable trick, and he was not over-anxious to have it paraded before his neighbors, some of whom had ridden far at his request. "shut yore mouth," he snarled, "an' don't yuh open it except to answer questions." "oh, no, yuh can't do that, bissell," and blond billy speaker shook his head. "yuh got to give 'im a chance to defend himself. now we're here we want to get all the facts. what did yuh do to his sheep, beef? i never heard." "i run a few of 'em into the little river, if yore any happier knowin'," snapped bissell, glowering on speaker. larkin grinned. "two thousand of 'em," he volunteered. there was no comment. "these gents know," went on bissell, after a short pause, "that yuh were two days with them rustlers and that yuh can tell who they are if yuh will. now will yuh tell us how you got in with 'em in the first place?" bud began at the time of the crossing of the big horn and with much detail described how he had outwitted the bar t punchers with the hundred sheep under pedro, while the rest of the flock went placidly north. his manner of address was good, he talked straightforwardly, and with conviction and, best of all, had a broad sense of humor that vastly amused these cowmen. sympathetic though they were with bissell's cause, larkin's story of how a despised sheepman had outwitted the cattle-king brought grins and chuckles. "i allow yuh better steer clear o' them sheep, bissell," suggested one man drolly. "first thing yuh know this feller'll tell yuh he's bought the bar t away from yuh without yore knowin' it. better look up yore land grant to-night." by this time bissell had become a caldron of seething rage. his hand actually itched to grab his gun and teach larkin a lesson. but his position as chairman of the gathering prevented this, although he knew that plains gossip was being made with every word spoken. among the cowmen about him were some whose ill success or smaller ranches had made them jealous, and, in his mind, he could see them retailing with much relish what a fool larkin had made of him. he knew he would meet with reminders of this trial during the rest of his life. however, he stuck to his guns. "now what we want to know, young feller, is this: the names an' descriptions of them rustlers." "i will give them to you gladly and will supply men to help run them down at my own expense if you will let the rest of my sheep come north on your range. not only that, but i will not ask any damages for the animals you have already killed. now, men," larkin added, turning to the others and with a determined ring in his voice, "i want peace. this fighting is cutting our own throats and we are losing money by the hour. "the range is free, as all of you know; there is a law against fencing it, and that means that no grangers can settle here and make it pay--the animals would eat all their unfenced farm truck. i have a ranch in montana with about three thousand sheep on it. i tried to buy more there, but couldn't. "therefore, i had to come down south and 'walk' them north. now i don't like to fight anybody, chiefly because it costs too much; but in a case like this, when i find a dog in the manger"--he looked directly at bissell--"i make it a principle to kick that dog out of the manger and use it. "i am just as much of an american as any of you, and americans never had a habit of letting other people walk all over them. now you men can do anything with me you want--i can't prevent you. but i can warn you that if i am judged in any way it will be the worst job the cowmen of wyoming ever did. "understand, this isn't a threat, it's just a statement. because i refuse to turn in and help that man, who has done his best to ruin me, he wants me to suffer the same penalty as a criminal. now i leave it to you. has he much of a case?" bud, who had risen in the fervor of his speech, sat down and looked at his hearers. never in his life had he pleaded for anything, but in this moment necessity had made him eloquent. he had hardly taken his seat when mike stelton strolled over and sat down on the grass. for a few minutes there was silence as the men, slow of thought, revolved what larkin had said. bissell, ill-concealing his impatience, awaited their comments anxiously. at last billy speaker remarked: "i can't see your bellyache at all, bissell. it seems to me you've acted pretty ornery." "i have, eh?" roared beef, stung by this cool opinion. "would yuh let sheep go up yore range? tell me that, would yuh?" "i allow i might manage," was the contemptuous retort. "they're close feeders on the march, an' don't spread out noways far." bissell choked with fury, but subsided when another man spoke. "i figure we're missin' the point, fellers," he said. "this here association of our'n was made for the purpose of doin' just what bissell has been tryin' to do--that is, keep the range clear for the cows. we don't care what it is that threatens, whether it's sheep, or wolves, or rustlers, or prairie fires. this association is supposed to pertect the cows. "now i 'low that mr. larkin has had his troubles right enough, but that's his fault. you warned him in time. i'm plumb regretful he's lost his sheep, but that don't let him out of tellin' us where them rustlers are. it's a pretty mean cuss that'll cost us thousands of dollars a year just for spite or because he can't drive a hard bargain. "up on my place i've lost a hundred calves already, but i'd be mighty glad to lose a hundred more if i could see the dirty dogs that stole 'em kickin' from a tree-limb. an' i'm in favor of a tree-limb for anybody who won't tell." "yore shore gettin' some long-winded, luby," remarked a tall man who smoked a pipe, "an' likewise yore angry passions has run away with yore sense. yuh can't string a man up because he won't talk; 'cause if yuh do we'll sick the deputy sheriff on yuh an' mebbe you'll go to jail." the speaker rolled a droll, twinkling eye at bissell and the whole gathering burst into a great guffaw at his expense. this was all the more effective since bissell had decorated the outside of his vest with the nickel-plated star of his authority. at this sally he nearly had apoplexy and bawled out for a drink, which somebody accommodatingly supplied from a flask, although such things were rarely carried. when the merriment had subsided a fourth man volunteered the opinion that, although there was nothing that could force bud to tell what he knew, still, such a defiance of their organization should not go unpunished. the fact that the cowmen were opposed to the entrance of sheep into the territory was enough excuse, he thought, to make an example of bud larkin and thus keep other ambitious sheepmen away from the range in this section. one after another of the men gave their opinions and finally lined up in two camps, the first resolved on punishing larkin in some manner, and the second in favor of letting him go with a warning that he must take the consequences if he ever attempted to walk any more sheep over the bar t range or any other range of the association. as has been said, the right of justice and fair-dealing was the very backbone of the cattle-raising industry, and owners depended almost entirely upon other men's recognition of it to insure them any profits in the fall. for this reason six of the eleven men were in favor of letting larkin go. the matter rested with the majority vote and was about to be put to the final ballot when mike stelton got on his feet and asked if he might put a few questions. bissell, only too eager for any delay or interruption that might change the sentiment of the majority, granted the request. stelton's dark face was illumined for a moment with a crafty smile, and then he said: "yuh know a man by the name of smithy caldwell, don't yuh?" "yes," said bud, cautiously, not seeing quite where the question might lead. "he was in that stampede with yuh, wasn't he?" "yes." "he was one of the party sent out to string yuh up, wasn't he?" this time there was a long hesitation as bud tried vainly to catch the drift of the other's interrogation. "yes," he answered slowly at last. "well, then, he must have been one of the rustlers," cried stelton in a triumphant voice, turning to the rest of the men, who were listening intently. "all right, i admit it," remarked larkin coolly. "i don't see where that is taking you." "just keep yore shirt on an' yuh will in a minute," retorted stelton. "now just one or two more questions. "do you remember the first night caldwell came to the bar t ranch?" larkin did not answer. a premonition that he was in the toils of this man concerning that dark thing in his past life smote him with a chill of terror. he remembered wondering that very night whether or not stelton had been listening to his talk with caldwell. then the recollection suddenly came to him that, even though he had heard, the foreman could not expose the thing that was back of it all. once more he regained his equilibrium. "yes, i remember that night," he said calmly. "all right!" snapped stelton, his words like pistol-shots. "then yuh remember that smithy caldwell got five hundred dollars from yuh after a talk by the corral, don't you?" "yes," replied larkin, in immense relief that stelton had not mentioned the blackmail. "well, then, gents," cried the foreman with the air of a lawyer making a great point, "yuh have the admission from larkin that he gave money secretly to one of the rustlers. if that ain't connivance and ackchul support i'm a longhorn heifer." he sat down on the grass triumphantly. it seemed to bud larkin as though some gigantic club had descended on the top of his head and numbed all his senses. careful as he had been, this wily devil had led him into a labyrinthic maze of questions, the end of which was a concealed precipice. and, like one of his own sheep, he had leaped over it at the leader's call! he looked at the faces of his judges. they were all dark now and perplexed. even billy speaker seemed convinced. bud admitted to himself that his only chance was to refute stelton's damaging inference. but how? the cowmen were beginning to talk in low tones among themselves and there was not much time. suddenly an idea came. with a difficult effort he controlled his nervous trepidation. "men," he said, "stelton did not pursue his questions far enough." "what d'yuh mean by that?" asked bissell, glaring at him savagely. "i mean that he did not ask me what caldwell actually did with the money i gave him. he made you believe that smithy used it for the rustlers with my consent. that is a blamed lie!" "what did he do with it?" cried billy speaker. "ask stelton," shouted bud, suddenly leaping out of his chair and pointing an accusing finger at the foreman. "he seems to know so much about everything, ask him!" the foreman, dazed by the unexpected attack, turned a surprised and harrowed countenance toward the men as he scrambled to his feet. he cast quick, fearful glances in larkin's direction, as though attempting to discover how much of certain matters that young man actually knew. "ask him!" repeated bud emphatically. "there's a fine man to listen to, coming here with a larkum story that he can't follow up." "come on, stelton, loosen yore jaw," suggested billy speaker. "what did this here caldwell do with the money?" stelton, his face black with a cloud of rage and disappointment, glared from one to another of the men, who were eagerly awaiting his replies. larkin, watching him closely, saw again those quick, furtive flicks of the eye in his direction, and the belief grew upon him that stelton was suspicious and afraid of something as yet undreamed of by the rest. larkin determined to remember the fact. "i don't know what he done with the money," growled the foreman at last, admitting his defeat. "why did you give caldwell five hundred in the first place, larkin?" asked bissell suddenly. "that is a matter between himself and me only," answered bud freezingly, while at the same time he sat in fear and trembling that stelton would leap before the cowmen at this new cue and retail all the conversation of that night at the corral. but for some reason the foreman let the opportunity pass and bud wondered to himself what this sudden silence might mean. he knew perfectly well that no gentle motive was responsible for the fellow's attitude, and wrote the occurrence down on the tablets of his memory for further consideration at a later date. after this there was little left to be done. stelton's testimony had failed in its chief purpose, to compass the death of larkin, but it had not left him clear of the mark of suspicion and he himself had little idea of absolute acquittal. under the guard of his sharpshooting cow-puncher he was led back to his room in the ranch house to await the final judgment. in an hour it was delivered to him, and in all the history of the range wars between the sheep and cattle men there is recorded no stranger sentence. in a land where men were either guilty or innocent, and, therefore, dead or alive, it stands alone. it was decided by the cowmen that, as a warning and example to other sheep owners, bud larkin should be tied to a tree and quirted, the maximum of the punishment being set at thirty blows and the sentence to be carried out at dawn. chapter xv cowland topsy-turvy to bud larkin enough had already happened to make him as philosophical as socrates. epictetus remarks that our chief happiness should consist in knowing that we are entirely indifferent to calamity; that disgrace is nothing if our consciences are right and that death, far from being a calamity is, in fact, a release. but the world only boasts of a few great minds capable of believing these theories, and larkin's was not one of them. he was distinctly and completely depressed at the prospect ahead of him. it was about ten o'clock at night and he sat in the chair beside his table, upon which a candle was burning, running over the pages of an ancient magazine. the knowledge of what the cowmen had decided to do with him had been brought by a committee of three of the men just before the supper hour and since that time larkin had been fuming and growling with rage. there seems to be something particularly shameful in a whipping that makes it the most dreaded of punishments. it was particularly so at the time in which this story is laid, for echoes of ' were still to be heard reverberating from one end of the land to the other. in the west whippings were of rare occurrence, if not unknown, except in penitentiaries, where they had entirely too great a vogue. larkin's place of captivity was now changed. some enterprising cowboy, at bissell's orders, had fashioned iron bars and these were fixed vertically across the one window. the long-unused lock of the door had been fitted with a key and other bars fastened across the doorway horizontally so that should larkin force the lock he would still meet opposition. since juliet's unpleasant episode with her father bud had seen her just once--immediately afterward. then, frankly and sincerely, she had told him what had happened and why, and larkin, touched to the heart, had pleaded with her for the greatest happiness of his life. the realization of their need for each other was the natural outcome of the position of each, and the fact that, whatever happened, juliet found herself forced to espouse bud's cause. in that interview with her father she had come squarely to the parting of the ways, and had chosen the road that meant life and happiness to her. the law that human intellects will seek their own intellectual level, providing the person is sound in principle, had worked out in her case, and, once she had made her decision, she clung to it with all the steadfastness of a strong and passionate nature. it was bissell's discovery of a new and intimate relation between his daughter and the sheepman that had resulted in the latter's close confinement, and from the time that this occurred the two had seen nothing of each other except an occasional glimpse at a distance when bud was taken out for a little exercise. to-night, therefore, as larkin sat contemplating the scene to be enacted at dawn, his sense of shame increased a hundredfold, for he knew that, as long as she lived, julie could not forget the occurrence. it should not be thought that all this while he had not formulated plans of escape. many had come to him, but had been quickly dismissed as impracticable. day and night one of the bar t cowboys watched him. and even though he had been able to effect escape from his room, he knew that without a horse he was utterly helpless on the broad, level stretches of prairie. and to take a horse from the bar t corral would lay him open to that greatest of all range crimes--horse-stealing. to-night his guards had been doubled. one paced up and down outside his window and the other sat in the dining-room on which his door opened. now, at ten o'clock the entire bar t outfit was asleep. since placing the bunk-house at the disposal of the cowmen from other ranches, the punchers slept on the ground--rolled in their blankets as they always did when overtaken by night on the open range. at ten-thirty bud put out his candle, undressed, and went to bed. but he could not sleep. his mind reverted to hard-winter sims and the sheep camp by the badwater. he wondered whether the men from montana had arrived there yet, and, most intensely of all, he wondered whether ah sin had got safely through with his message. he calculated that the chinaman must have arrived three days before unless unexpectedly delayed, and he chafed at the apparent lack of effort made on his behalf. the only explanation that offered itself was--that sims, taking advantage of the events happening at the bar t, had seized the opportunity to hurry the gathering sheep north across the range. if such was the case, larkin resigned himself to his fate, since he had given sims full power to do as he thought best. at about midnight he was dimly conscious of a scuffling sound outside his window, and, getting softly out of bed, went to the opening. in a few minutes the head of a man rose gradually above the window-sill close to the house, and a moment later he was looking into the face of hard-winter sims. controlling the shock this apparition gave him, larkin placed his finger on his lips and whispered in a tone so low it was scarcely more than a breath: "did you get the fellow outside?" sims nodded. "there's another one in the dining-room just outside my door. he ought to be relieved at one o'clock, but he'll have to go out and wake up his relief. he'll go out the kitchen door, and when he does nab him, but don't let him yell. now pass me a gun." without a sound, sims inserted a long . between the clumsy bars, and followed it with a cartridge belt. "how'll we get yuh out?" he whispered. "after fixing the man inside come out again and loosen these bars; the door is barred, too." "where are the cowmen?" asked sims. "all in the bunk-house, and the punchers are sleeping out near the corral." "yes, i seen 'em. now you go back to bed an' wait till i hiss through the window. then we'll have yuh out o' here in a jiffy." the herder's form vanished in the darkness, and larkin, his heart beating high with hope and excitement, returned to his bed. before lying down, however, he dressed himself completely and strapped on the cartridge belt and gun. the minutes passed like hours. listening with every nerve fiber on the alert, bud found the night peopled with a multitude of sounds that on an ordinary occasion would have passed unnoticed. so acute did his sense of hearing become that the crack of a board in the house contracting under the night coolness seemed to him almost like a pistol shot. when at last it appeared that sims must have failed and that dawn would surely begin to break, he heard a heavy sound in the dining-room and sat bolt upright. it was merely the cow-puncher there preparing to go out and waken his successor. although the man made as little noise as possible, it seemed to bud that his footsteps must wake everybody in the house. the man went out of the dining-room into the mess-room of the cowboys, closing the door behind him softly, and after that what occurred was out of the prisoner's ken. after a while, however, bud's ears caught the faintest breath of a hiss at the window, and he rolled softly out of bed on to the floor in his stocking feet. sims was there and another man with him, and both were prying at the bars of the window with instruments muffled in cloth. "did you get him?" asked bud. "shore! he won't wake up for a week, that feller," answered sims placidly. for a quarter of an hour the two worked at the clumsy bars, assisted by bud from the inside. at the end of that time two of them came loose at the lower ends and were bent upward. then the combined efforts of the three men were centered on the third bar, which gave way in a few minutes. handing his boots out first, larkin crawled headforemost out of the window and put his arms around the shoulders of his rescuers, resting most of his weight upon their bent backs. then they walked slowly away from the house and bud's feet and legs came out noiselessly. still in the shadow of the walls they set him down and he drew on his boots. it was not until then that sims's assistant made himself known. "hello, boss," he said and took off his broad hat so that larkin could see his face. "jimmie welsh, by george!" whispered bud joyfully, wringing his hand. "did you bring many of the boys down with you?" "fifty," replied the other. "bully for you! i don't know what would become of me if it weren't for you and hard-winter." as they talked they were moving off toward the little river that wound past the bar t house. "got a horse for me?" asked bud. "yes," said sims, "over here in the bottoms where the rest of the boys are." "what do you plan to do now?" sims told him and bud grinned delightedly at the same time that his face hardened with the triumph of a revenge about to be accomplished. "let's get at it," he said. "wait here and i'll get the rest of the bunch." hard-winter left them, and in a few minutes returned with a dozen brawny sheepmen, mostly recruited from larkin's own ranch in montana. when greetings had been exchanged they moved off quietly toward the ranch-house. the corral of the bar t was about fifty yards back of the cook's shanty and as you faced it had a barn on the right-hand side, where the family saddle horses were kept in winter, as well as the small amount of hay that bissell put up every year. to the left of the corral the space was open, and here the bar t punchers had made their camp since leaving their former quarters. the bunk-house on the other hand stood perhaps fifty feet forward of the barn. it was toward this building that the expedition under sims took its way. silently the rough door swung back on its rawhide hinges and ten men, with a revolver in each hand, filed quietly in. sims and larkin remained outside on guard. presently there was a sound of muttering and cursing that grew louder. then one yell, and the solid thud of a revolver butt coming in contact with a human skull. after that there was practically no noise whatever. the men outside watched anxiously, fearful that the single outcry had raised an alarm. but there was no sound from either the house or the cowboys' camp. presently welsh stuck his head out of the door. "how is she? safe?" he asked. "yes, bring 'em out," answered bud, and the next minute a strange procession issued from the bunk-house. the cowmen, gagged, and with their hands bound behind them, walked single file, accompanied by one of the sheepmen. without a word the line turned in the direction of the river bottoms, where the rest of the band and the horses were waiting. to do this it was necessary to pass behind the cook-house. bud leaned over and spoke to sims. "can't we get bissell in this party? he's the fellow that has made all the trouble." "sure, jimmy and i will go in and get him. i had forgotten all about him." but they were saved the trouble, for just as they were opposite the cook-house, larkin saw a burly form outlined for an instant in the doorway of the cowboys' dining-room. with three bounds he was upon this form and arrived just in time to seize a hand that was vainly tugging at a revolver strapped on beneath his night clothes. had fortune not tangled bissell's equipment that night bud larkin would have been a dead man. snatching off his hat, he smashed it over the cattle king's mouth, and an instant later bissell, writhing and struggling, but silent, was being half-carried out to join his friends. matters now proceeded with speed and smoothness. the prisoners were hurried to where the remainder of the band awaited them. then, still bound and gagged, they were mounted on spare horses. only thirty of welsh's raiders had come on this trip, the rest remaining to help with the sheep, but their horses had been brought so that there might be ample provision for everybody. with a feeling of being once more at home, larkin climbed into a deep saddle, and a wave of triumph surged over him. he was again free, and at the head of a band of brave men. he had the ascendency at last over his misfortune, and he intended to keep it. then when everything was finished he could come back and he would find juliet-- the remembrance of her brought him to a pause. must he go away without as much as a word from her, the one for whom he cared more than all the rest of the world? quietly he dismounted. "let jimmie go on with the prisoners and the rest of the boys," he said to sims. "you wait here with me. i must leave one message." a minute later the cavalcade stole away, following the winding river bank for a mile before setting foot on the plain. then, with sims crouching, armed, behind the nearest protection, bud larkin walked softly to the house. he knew which was her window and went straight there, finding it open as he had expected. listening carefully he heard no sound from within. then he breathed the one word, "julie," and immediately there came a rustling of the bed as she rose. knowing that she had been awake and was coming to him, he turned away his eyes until he felt her strong little hand on his shoulder. then he looked up to find her in an overwrap with her luxuriant hair falling down over her shoulders, her eyes big and luminously dusky. "darling," she said, "i have heard everything, and i am so glad." "then you could have given the alarm at any time?" "yes." "god bless your faithful little heart!" he said fervently, and, reaching up, drew down her face to his and kissed her. it was their second kiss and they both thrilled from head to foot with this tantalization of the hunger of their love. all the longing of their enforced separation seemed to burst the dam that had held it, and, for a time, they forgot all things but the living, moving tide of their own love. at last the girl disengaged herself from his eager hands, with hot cheeks and bright, flame-lit eyes. her breath came fast, and it was a moment before she could compose herself. "where are you going now, bud?" she asked. "back to the sheep." "can i do anything to help you?" "i can only think of one thing, and that is to marry me." "everything in time, sir!" she reproved him. "get your muttons out of the way and then you can have me." larkin groaned. then he said: "if anything comes for me or anybody wants me, i want you to do as i would do if i were here. things are coming to a climax now and i must know all that goes on. watch stelton especially. he is crooked somewhere, and i'm going to get him if it takes me the rest of my life." suddenly there was a loud knock from outside the girl's bedroom door, and they both listened, hardly daring to breathe. "julie, let me in!" cried mrs. bissell's querulous voice. "where's your father?" "run, dear boy, for your life!" breathed the girl. larkin kissed her swiftly and hurried back to the underbrush, where sims was awaiting him in an access of temper. "great michaeljohn, boss!" he growled as they rode along the bank, "ain't yuh got no consideration fer me? from the way yuh go on a person'd think yuh were in love with the girl." chapter xvi a message by a strange hand what were the feelings of mr. mike stelton that dawn had better be imagined than described. the first he knew of any calamity was when mrs. bissell, unable to find her husband near the house, shook him frantically by the shoulder. "get up, mike," she cried into his ear. "somethin's wrong here. henry's nowhere around." dazed with sleep, unable to get the proper focus on events, the foreman blundered stupidly about the place searching cursorily, and cursing the helplessness of beef bissell. presently he got awake, however, and perceived that dawn was coming up in the east. then he reveled in the delightful anticipation of what was to occur out under the old cottonwood along the river bank. mentally he licked his chops at the prospect of this rare treat. he intended if possible to make juliet witness her lover's degradation. after vainly hunting some valid excuse for bissell's untimely departure, stelton thought he would call the boys, which he did. then he turned his attention to the bunk-house, for he knew the cowmen were in a hurry to get away and would want to be called early. "all out!" he bawled jovially, thrusting his head in at the door. not a sound came in response. then for the first time stelton had a premonition of trouble. he walked into the bunk-house and took quick note of the ten tumbled but empty bunks. also of the ten belts and revolvers that hung on wooden pegs along the wall--the sign of western etiquette. in those days, and earlier, if a man rode by at meal-time or evening he was your guest. he might take dinner with his hat on, and get his knife and fork mixed, but if he hung up his belt and revolver he was satisfied that all the amenities had been observed, whether you thought so or not. the one other unspoken law was that every man's business was his own business and no questions were allowed. you might be entertaining a real bad man like billy the kid, and you might suspect his identity, but you never made inquiries, and for three reasons. the first was, that it was bad plains etiquette; the second, that if you were mistaken and accused the wrong man, punishment was sure and swift; and the third was, that if you were right the punishment was still surer and swifter, for an escaping criminal never left any but mute witnesses behind him. looking at these ten indications of good-will along the bunk-house wall, stelton's alarm was once more lulled. perhaps the men had all gone for a paddle in the stream before breakfast, he thought. if so, they would take care of themselves, and turn up when the big bell rang. he couldn't waste any more time this way. now to relieve the man who was guarding larkin outside the window. he hurried around the house and came upon the prone figure of a cow-puncher, rolled close against the house. the man's head was bloody, his hands were tied behind him, and his neckerchief had been stuffed into his mouth and held there by another. he was half-dead when stelton, with a cry of surprise, bent over him and loosened his bonds. with a prolonged yell the foreman brought all hands running to him and, giving the hurt man into the care of a couple of them, ran along the house to bud's window. the bent bars showed how the bird had flown. stelton was about to give way to his fury when another cry from the rear of the cook-house told of the discovery of the second watchman's body, that had lain hidden in the long grass which grew up against the walls. then didn't stelton curse! never had he been so moved to profane eloquence, and never did he give such rein to it. he cursed everything in sight, beginning with the ranch house; and he took that from chimney to cellar, up and down every line and angle, around the corners and out to the barn. then he began on the barn and wound up with the corral. the cowboys listened in admiration and delight, interjecting words of approval now and then. but once having delivered himself of this relief, the foreman's face set into its customary ugly scowl, and he snapped out orders to saddle the horses. presently a man rode up from the river bottoms and told of the discovery of many hoof tracks there, and the place where they had waited a long while. "i've got it!" bawled stelton, pounding his thigh. "larkin's men have been here and carried off all the owners. oh, won't there be the deuce to pay?" then he picked out the cowboys who had come with their bosses and added: "crowd yore grub and ride home like blazes. get yore punchers an' bring grub for a week. then we'll all meet at the junction of the big horn and gooseberry creek. if yuh punchers like a good job you'll get yore owners out o' this. and i'm plumb shore when we get through there won't be a sheepman left in this part of the state. to-morrer night at gooseberry!" then was such a scene of hurry and bustle and excitement as the bar t had seldom witnessed. the parting injunctions were to bring extra horses and plenty of rope, with the accent on the rope, and a significant look thrown in. by seven o'clock, the time that larkin, bloody, humiliated and suffering, would already have paid his penalty, there was scarcely a soul at the bar t ranch, for the cowboys had disappeared across the plains at a hard trot. the bar t punchers were sent out on the range to scour for tracks of the fugitives, but, after following them some distance from the river bottom, gave up in despair when a night herder admitted that the bar t horses had been feeding in the vicinity the night before, thus entangling the tracks. meantime the cook was preparing food for the punchers to carry, guns were being oiled and overhauled, knives sharpened, and ropes carefully examined. yet as the men went about their duties there was a kind of dazed, subdued air in all they did, for it was, indeed, hard to realize that the ranch owners of nearly a quarter of wyoming's best range had disappeared into the empty air apparently without a sound or protest. the following afternoon the entire bar t outfit, excepting a couple of punchers who were incapacitated from former round-up injuries, swept out of the yard and headed almost directly east across the plain. julie and her mother watched them go and waved them farewell, the former with a clutch of fear at her heart for her lover and the latter in tears for her husband, thus unconsciously taking opposite sides in the struggle that they knew must ensue. it must not be thought that juliet had turned against her father since their final difference. after her first outbreak against his narrow views and unjust treatment of larkin, the old love that had been paramount all her life returned, and with it a kind of pity. she knew that in a man of her father's age his nature could not be made over immediately, if ever; the habits of a rough lifetime were too firmly ingrained. but at the same time there was something gone from the sweet and intimate affection that had formerly characterized their relations. lovers or married folk who declare for the efficacy of a quarrel as a renewer of love are wrong in the last analysis. loss of control always entails loss of respect, and fervent "making up" after such an outbreak cannot efface the picture of anger-distorted features or remove the acid of bitter words. thus it was with juliet and her love for her father. as to his safety she was not worried, for she knew that bud would not allow any harm to come to him as he was in command of the men who had effected the taking-off. what larkin's plans were she did not fully realize, but she knew this sudden _coup_ had been executed to further his own ends in the imperative matter of getting his sheep north. and of this she finally convinced her mother, although that lady wept copiously before the thing was accomplished. the evening following the departure of mike stelton and his punchers was made notable by the arrival of a man on horseback, who carried across his saddle a black box, and in thongs at his side a three-legged standard of yellow wood. his remaining equipment was a square of black cloth. without invitation he turned his dejected animal into the bar t corral and made himself at home for the evening. at the supper table he revealed his identity and explained his purpose. "i'm ed skidmore," he announced, "and i take photographs. this thing i've got is a camera." he had already mounted the instrument on his tripod. "i've been going around from ranch to ranch and the pictures have been selling like hot cakes." juliet, listening, noted that his conversation was that of a comparatively well-educated man and that he had none of the characteristic drawl or accent of the plainsmen. to her a camera was nothing out of the ordinary, although she had not seen one since her final return west, but her mother was vastly interested. in those days photography was not a matter of universal luxury as it is now, and the enterprising skidmore was practically the first to introduce it as a money-maker in the widely scattered ranches of the cow country. "how do yuh sell 'em?" asked martha bissell, fluttering with the possibilities of the next morning, the time the young man had set for his operation. martha had not been "took" since that far-off trip "east" to st. paul, when she and henry had posed for daguerreotypes. "five dollars apiece, ma'am," said skidmore, "and they're cheap at the price." and they were, since the cost of something universally desired is dependent on the supply rather than the demand. after supper martha retired to her bedroom to overhaul her stock of "swell" dresses, a stock that had not been disturbed in fifteen years except for the spring cleaning and airing. this left skidmore and juliet alone. she civilly invited him out on the veranda, seeing he was a man of some quality. "i had a queer experience to-day," he remarked after a few commonplaces. "i was riding to the bar t from the circle-arrow and was about twenty miles away, rounding a butte, when a man rode out to me from some place of concealment. "when he reached me he suddenly pulled his gun and covered me. "'where are you goin'?' he said. i told him i was on my way here and why. he examined my outfit suspiciously and let me go. but first he said: "'take this letter to the bar t and give it to miss bissell.'" skidmore reached inside his shirt and pulled forth a square envelope, which he handed to juliet. "the whole thing was so strange," the photographer went on, "that i have waited until i could see you alone so that i could tell you about it." juliet, surprised and startled, turned the missive over in her hands, hopeful that it was a letter from bud and yet fearful of something that she could not explain. when skidmore had finished she excused herself and went into her room, closing the door behind her. on the envelope was the simple inscription, "miss bissell," written in a crabbed, angular hand. this satisfied her that the message was not from bud, and with trembling fingers she opened it. inside was an oblong sheet of paper filled with the same narrow handwriting. going to the window to catch the dying light, she read: miss: this is to tell yuh that mr. larkin who yuh love is already merried. it ain't none of my biznis, but i want yuh to no it. an' that ain't all. the u. s. oficers are looking for him on another charge, tu. nobody noes this but me an' yuh, an' nobody will as long as the monie keeps comin' in. if yuh doant bileeve this, axe him. yurs truly, a friend. in the difficulty of translating the words before her into logical ideas the full import of the statements made did not penetrate juliet's mind at first. when they did she merely smiled a calm, contemptuous smile. with the usual fatuous faith of a sweetheart, she instantly consigned to limbo anything whatever derogatory to her beloved. then in full possession of herself, she returned to the veranda, where skidmore was smoking a cigarette. "no bad news i hope?" he asked politely, scrutinizing her features. "oh, no, thanks," she replied, laughing a little unnaturally. "not really bad, just disturbing," and they continued their interrupted conversation. but that night when she was in bed the crude letters of that missive appeared before her eyes in lines of fire. of late the old mystery of bud's past life had not been much in her thoughts; love, the obliterator, had successfully wiped away the last traces of uneasiness that she had felt, and like all true and good women, she had given him the priceless treasure of her love, not questioning, not seeking to discern what he would have shown her had it seemed right in his mind that she should see. but this scrawled letter to-night brought back with stunning force all the distress and doubts that had formerly assailed her. she guessed, and rightly, that smithy caldwell was the author of it, but she could not analyze the motives that had inspired his pen. she told herself with fatal logic that if all this were a lie, caldwell would not dare write it; that larkin had paid this man five hundred dollars on another occasion not so far gone; and that it was avowedly a case of impudent blackmail. she knew, furthermore, that bud carefully avoided all references to caldwell even when she had brought forward the name, and that in the conversation overheard by stelton there had been mention of someone by the name of mary. what if this money were going to another woman! the thought overwhelmed her as she lay there, and she sat up gasping for breath, but in a moment the eternal defense of the man, inherent in every woman who loves, came to the rescue, and she told herself vehemently that bud was honorable, if nothing else. then the sentence concerning the united states officers wanting him on another charge recurred to her, and she found her defense punctured at the outset. if he were honorable, how could it be that the officers were after him? in despair at the quandary, but still clinging to her faith, she fell back on the unanswerable fact of feminine intuition. bud _seemed_ good and true; it was in his eyes, in his voice, in his very manner. he looked at the world squarely, but with a kind of patient endurance that bespoke some deep trouble. then for the first time the thought came to juliet that perhaps he was shielding someone else. but who? and, if so, why did caldwell write this letter? unable to answer these questions, but confronted by the thought that bud's love was the sweetest thing in the world to her, she at last fell asleep with a smile upon her lips. chapter xvii a battle in the dark "everything ready?" bud larkin sat his horse beside hard-winter sims and looked back over the white mass that grew dimmer and dimmer in the dark. "yes." sims lounged wearily against the horse's shoulder. it had been a hard day. "get 'em on the move, then." sims, without changing his position, called out to the herders. these in turn spoke to the dogs, and the dogs began to nip the heels of the leader sheep, who resented the familiarity with loud blatting and lowering of heads. but they knew the futility of resisting these nagging guardians and started to forge ahead. other dogs got the middlers in motion, and still others attended to the tailers, so that in five minutes from the time larkin gave the word the whole immense flock was crawling slowly over the dry plain. eight thousand of them there were; eight thousand semi-imbecile creatures, unacquainted with the obstacles they must encounter or the dangers they must face before they could be brought to safety or lost in the attempt. and to guard them there were nearly seventy men whose fear lay not in the terrors to be met, but in the sheep themselves: for there is no such obstacle to a sheep's well-being as the sheep himself. the last flock had arrived the night before, well-fed and watered. the preceding six thousand were in good condition from days and weeks of comfortable grazing in the hills; all were in good shape to travel. in moving them at this time larkin had seized the psychological moment. the disgruntled cattle-owners, under a guard of ten men, were resting quietly far from anything resembling excitement in one of the untracked places among the mesas and scoria buttes. bud had ascertained, by spies of his own that scoured the country, that the great posse of rescuing cowpunchers had gone safely off on a wild-goose chase, misled by one of the sheepmen who was unknown in the country. for the present, therefore, the range was clear, and bud reckoned on its remaining so until the cattlemen had been rescued from their durance vile. in such a time the sheep-danger shrank into insignificance, and larkin counted on having his animals across the bar t range before the finding of the cattlemen, after which, of course, the men would be turned loose with much commiseration and apology. of the seventy men guarding and driving the sheep not more than thirty were regular herders. forty were mounted and belonged to jimmie welsh's fighting corps, which was composed mostly of owners and superintendents from the north country. your usual western shepherd is not a fighting man and cases have occurred in the bitter range wars where a herder has been shot down in cold blood unable to make a defense because of the grass growing out of his rifle. years alone in the brooding silence of the sierra slopes or the obscure valleys of the northern rockies take the virulence out of a man and make him placid and at one with nature. into his soul there sinks something of the grandeur of cloud-hooded peaks, the majesty of limitless horizons and the colors of sky-blue water and greensward. with him strife is an unknown thing except for the strife of wits with another herder who would attempt to share a succulent mountain meadow. common report has it, and such writers as emerson hough put it in their books, that a sheep-herder can scarcely follow his calling for seven years without going mad. on the other hand, those who have lived for years among the sheep declare that they have never seen a sheep-herder even mentally unbalanced. probably both are right, as is usual to a degree in all discussion; but the fact remained that, sane or insane, the herder was not a fighting man--something had gone out of him. therefore in bringing men other than herders south with him, jimmie welsh had shown his cleverness. to fight riders he had brought riders, and these men now helped to direct the river of animals that flowed along over the dry plain. there were two cook outfits to feed the men, one of which contained the incomparable ah sin, who had amply revenged himself on the herders for his warm reception at the camp. that first night they marched ten miles, and, as before, found the water-holes polluted by the cattle which take delight in standing in the mud, and thus in a dry country work their own destruction by filling the springs. the next day the sheep cropped fairly well, although the sun was terrific and no more water was discovered. nightfall found them becoming nervous and uneasy. they milled a long while before they bedded, and more of them than usual stood up to watch. not a rider had been seen all day. through the baking glare there had moved a cloud of suffocating dust, and under it the thirsting, snorting, blethering sheep, with the dogs on the edges and the men farther out at regular intervals along the line. after supper some of the men slept, for it was not planned to start the sheep until midnight, as they needed the rest, being footsore with long traveling. it was calculated also that they would reach the ford at the big horn by shortly before dawn. but the sheep would have none of it, and moved and milled uneasily until, in order to save the lambs that were being crushed in the narrowing circle, sims gave the order to resume the march. the night "walk" of sheep is a strange thing. first, perhaps, rides a shepherd, erect and careless in his saddle, the red light glowing from the tip of his cigarette; and beside his horse a collie-dog, nosing at objects, but always with ears for the sheep and the voice of his master. then come the sheep themselves, with cracking ankle-joints, clattering feet, muffled blethering, a cloud of dust, and the inevitable sheep smell. perhaps there is a moon, and then the herders must watch for racing cloud-shadows that cause stampedes. such was the picture of the larkin sheep that night, only there was no moon. they started at ten, and sims sent miguel forward to walk before them, so they would not exhaust themselves with too fast traveling. on the move the sheep seemed more contented. it was perhaps one o'clock in the morning that larkin, in company with his chief herder, spurred out far in front of the advancing flock to reconnoiter. the sheep would be within approaching distance of the ford in a couple of hours, and bud wished everything to be clear for them. nearing the big horn, sims suddenly drew up his horse, motioning bud to silence. listening intently, they heard the voice of a man singing an old familiar plains song. the two looked at each other in amazement, for this was one of the "hymns" the cowboys use to still their cattle at night, the time of the most dreaded stampedes. it was the universal theory of the cow country that cattle, particularly on a "drive," should not be long out of hearing of a human voice. so the night-watchers, as they rode slowly about the herd, sang to the cattle, although some of the ditties rendered were strong enough to stampede a herd of kedge-anchors. "cows here?" said sims. "what does this mean, boss?" "it means that we're beaten to the ford and will have to hold the sheep back." "yes, but who's driving now? this is round-up and branding season." "i don't know, but between you and me, sims, i'll bet a lamb to a calf that the rustlers are running their big pickings north. there are some mighty good heads at the top of that crowd, and they have taken advantage of the deserted range, just as we have, to drive their critters." "by george! you've hit it, boss!" cried sims, slapping his thigh. "now, what do yuh say to do?" for a long minute of silence bud larkin thought. then he said: "here's my chance to get those rustlers and at the same time benefit myself. there can't be more than a dozen or fifteen of them at the outside. ride back to the camp, simmy, and get twenty men, the best gun-rollers in the outfit. tell anybody that's afraid of his hide to stay away, for the rustlers are top-notch gun-fighters." "but what'll yuh do with a thousand cattle on yore hands?" demanded hard-winter in amazement. "i'll tell you that if we get 'em," was bud's reply. "as i see it, we can't do without them." the plan of campaign was somewhat indefinite. the last intention in the world was to frighten away the cattle by a grand charge and a salvo of young artillery. with great caution the sheepmen approached near enough to discern the white cover of the cook-wagon, when it was seen that the whole herd was slowly moving toward the ford, the singing rustlers circling around it. bud told off a dozen of his riders and instructed each to pick a man and to ride as near in to him as possible without being seen. then, at the signal of a coyote's howl twice given, to close in and get the drop on the rustlers, after which the remainder of the body would come along and take the direction of things. sims was put in charge of this maneuver, and was at liberty to give the signal whenever he thought circumstances justified it. it was a strange procession that marched toward the ford of the big horn--first fifteen hundred head of calves and young steers, guarded by unsuspecting rustlers; then the knot of sheepmen and the dozen riders closing in on their quarry, and, last of all three miles back, eight thousand sheep clattering through the dust. for what seemed almost half an hour there was silence. then suddenly came the far-off, long-drawn howl of a coyote, immediately followed by another. bud set spurs into his horse, revolver in hand, the remaining eight men at his heels, and made directly for the cook-wagon, where he knew at least one or two of the outfit might be sleeping. the drumming of the horse's hoofs could now be plainly heard from all sides, and a moment later there was a stab of light in the dark and the first shot rang out. after that there were many shots, for the rustlers, keyed up to great alertness by the hazardness of their calling, had opened fire without waiting for question or answer. bud, as he dashed up to the cook-wagon, saw two men crawl out and stand for a minute looking. then, as their hands moved to their hip-pockets like one, he opened fire. at almost the same instant the flames leaped from their guns, and bud's hat was knocked awry by a bullet that went clean through it. meantime the man who had been riding beside him gave a grunt and fell from his saddle. one of the rustlers doubled up where he stood. larkin, to avoid crashing full into the cook-wagon, swerved his horse aside, as did the others. the horse of the man who had been shot stood still for a moment, and in that moment the rustler who remained standing gave one leap and had bestridden him. bud saw the maneuver just in time to wheel his horse on a spot as big as a dollar and take after the man in the darkness, yelling back, "get the others!" as he rode. it was now a matter between the pursuer and the pursued. pounding away into the darkness, heedless of gopher-holes, sunken spots, and other dangers, the two sped. occasionally the man ahead would turn in his saddle and blaze away at his pursuer, and bud wondered that none of these hastily fired bullets came near their mark. for his part he saved his fire. it was not his idea to shoot the rustlers, but rather to capture them alive, since the unwritten law of that lawless land decreed that shooting was too merciful a death for horse- or cattle-thieves. [illustration: a moment later there was a stab of light in the dark and the first shot rang out.] but larkin found, to his dismay, that the horse of the other was faster than his own, and when they had galloped about a mile he had to strain his eyes to see the other at all. he knew that unless he did something at once the other would get away from him. he lifted his revolver and took careful aim at the barely perceptible form of the horse. then, when the other fired again, larkin returned the shot, and almost immediately noticed that he was creeping up. at fifty yards the fleeing man blazed away again, and this time bud heard the whistle of the bullet. without further delay he took a pot-shot at the rustler's gun arm and, by one of those accidents that the law of chance permits to happen perhaps once in a lifetime, got him. after that the rustler pulled up his failing animal to a walk and faced him around. "hands up!" yelled larkin, covering the other. the answer was a streak of yellow flame from the fellow's left hand that had been resting on his hip. the bullet flew wide as though the man had never shot left-handed before, and bud, furious at the deception, dashed to close quarters recklessly, not daring to shoot again for fear of killing his man. this move broke the rustler's courage, and his left hand shot skyward. his right arm being broken, he could not raise it. larkin rode alongside of him and peered into his face. it was smithy caldwell. quickly bud searched him for other weapons. "what're yuh goin' to do with me, larkin?" whined the blackmailer. "don't take me back there. i haven't done nothin'." "shut up and don't be yellow," admonished bud. "if you're not guilty of anything you can prove it quick enough, i guess." "i saved your life once," pleaded the other. "let me go." "you saved it so you could get more money out of me. think i don't know you, caldwell?" "let me go and i'll give you back all that money and all the rest you've ever given me. for god's sake don't let 'em hang me!" the cowardice of the man was pitiful, but bud was unmoved. for years his life had been dogged by this man. now, an openly avowed rustler, he expected clemency from his victim. "ride ahead there," ordered bud. caldwell, whimpering, took his position. "put your hands behind you." the other made as though to comply with this command, when suddenly with a swift motion he put something in his mouth. instantly bud had him by the throat, forcing his mouth open. caldwell, forced by this grip, spat out something that bud caught with his free hand. it was a piece of paper. larkin slipped it into the pocket of his shirt and released his clutch. then he bound smithy's hands and started back toward the scene of the raid. when he arrived, with his prisoner riding ahead on the limping horse, he found that all was over. two of the rustlers were dead, but the rest were sitting silent on the ground by the side of the cook-wagon. one sheepman had been killed, and another's broken shoulder was being roughly dressed by sims. others of the sheepmen were riding around the herd, quieting it. that there had been no stampede was due to the fact that the shooting had come from all sides at once, and the creatures, bewildered, had turned in upon themselves and crowded together in sheer terror, trampling to death a number in the center of the herd. less than half a mile ahead were the banks of the big horn and the ford. a mile behind the leaders of the sheep were steadily advancing. there was only one thing to be done. "drive the cows across the ford," commanded bud. then he told off a detail to guard the prisoners, and the rest of the men got the cattle in motion toward the crossing. bud did not join this work. instead, he pulled from his pocket the bit of paper that smithy caldwell had attempted to swallow. by the light of a match he read what it said: the range is clear. drive north fast to-nite and travel day and nite. meet me to-morrow at indian coulee at ten. burn this. stelton. for a minute bud stared at the incriminating paper, absolutely unable to digest the information it carried. then with a rush understanding came to him, and he knew that mike stelton, the trusted foreman of the bar t ranch, was really the leader of the rustlers, and was the most active of all of them in robbing old beef bissell. for a long time he sat motionless on his horse, reviewing all the events that had passed, which now explained the remarkable activity of the rustlers and their ability to escape pursuit and capture. "i don't know where indian coulee is, stelton," he said to himself, "but i'll be there at ten if it's within riding distance." chapter xviii the immortal ten jimmie welsh threw his hand into the discard and grinned sheepishly. "yuh got me this time," he said. billy speaker, who held a full house, kings up, smiled pleasantly. "i allow yuh'll have to put yore gun in the next pot if you want to stick along," he said. "an' if yuh do i'll win it off yuh and get away from here." "no," said jimmie regretfully, "if it was any other time i might resk it, but not now." red tarken, who had been shuffling the single greasy pack of cards, began to deal. in the game beside these three were two more sheepmen and another cattle-raiser. the six sat in the shade of a huge bowlder that had broken off and rolled down the side of the red scoria butte. the game had been going on for hours, and captors and captives alike played with all the cowboys' fervent love of gambling. tarken, speaker, and their companion were free to move as they liked, but were on parole not to try to overpower their guardians. others of the eleven owners sat about in the shade of rocks, playing cards, or talking and doing their best to pass away the time. it was a strange gathering. only one man remained sitting by himself with bent head and his hands bound behind him. this was beef bissell, the cattle-king, who had steadfastly refused to give his word to remain peaceable, and fumed his life away hour after hour with vain threats and recriminations. at either end of the small inclosure that backed against the butte, two men with winchesters in their hands bestrode motionless horses. this perpetual guard, kept night and day, though invisible from all but one small point, was the only sign that there was anything but the kindliest relations among all the members of the party. when the cowmen had found that no personal harm was to be done them, all but bissell and one other had resigned themselves to making the best of a laughably humiliating situation. it was billy speaker himself who had suggested the idea of the paroles, and as jimmie welsh knew the word of a westerner was as good as his bond, the pact was soon consummated. it was a remarkable formation in a desolate spot that the sheepmen had taken for a prison. it is a common fact that on many of these high buttes and mesas the pitiless weather of ages has chiseled figures, faces, and forms which, in their monstrous grotesquery, suggest the discarded clay modelings of a half-witted giant. this place was a kind of indentation in the side of a precipitous butte, above which the cliff (if it may be so called) arched over part way like a canopy. the floor was of rock and lower than the plain, but over it were scattered huge blocks of stone that had fallen from above. other stones had, in the course of time, made a sort of breastwork about this level flooring so that the retreat was both a refuge and a defense. better even than its construction was its situation. this particular spot was a corner of real "bad lands," and lumpy ridges, hogbacks, and barren buttes arose on all sides like waves in a sea. so numerous were they that unless riders passed directly by the sheepmen's hiding place the chances of discovery were almost nil. at one spot only was it visible, and that was a place where the edges of two hogbacks failed to lap and hide it. the sheepmen were aware of this, and their two guards were placed out of range of that single opening. the distance to it was almost half a mile. the game of poker went on. billy speaker sat with his back to this opening, and after a while, in the natural progress of things, the sun crept over the top of the rock and smote him. it was a hot sun, although it was declining, and presently billy gave warning that he was about to take off his coat. when he did so without an alarming display of hidden weapons, the fancy suspenders he wore came in for considerable attention. now cowmen or cowboys almost never wore braces; either their trousers were tight enough at the waist to stay up, or they wore a leather strap to hold them. suspenders hampered an active man. but billy speaker, who had originally come from connecticut fifteen years ago, wore these braces and treasured them because his mother had given much light from her aging eyes and many stitches from her faltering needle to the embroidery that traveled up and down both shoulder straps. she had embroidered everything he could wear time and again, and at last had fallen back on the braces as something new. after free and highly critical comment regarding this particular aid to propriety, the game was permitted to go on. it happened to be billy speaker's lucky day, and he had nearly cleaned the entire six of all their money and part of their outfits. in the exhilaration of raking in his gains he moved about really lively, forgetful of the brilliantly polished nickel-plated buckles that decorated his shoulder-blades and denoted the height to which his nether garment had been hoisted. out in the bad lands a troop of horsemen moved slowly forward, detached bodies scouring the innumerable hogbacks for signs of their prey. there were a few more than a hundred in this body, and it represented the pick of ten ranches. at the head of it rode a stolid, heavy-faced man, who appeared as though he were in constant need of a shave, and whose features just now were drawn down into a scowl of thought and perplexity. this man's body remained quite motionless as his horse plodded on with hanging head, but his small black eyes darted from side to side ceaselessly. it was in one of these quick glances that he experienced a blinding flash upon his retina. a second later it occurred again, and then a third time. suspiciously the man drew his horse to a stand, and those behind him did likewise. stelton thought for a moment that there must have been an outbreak from the near-by wind river or shoshone reservation, and that the indians were heliographing to one another. presently, in an open space between the edges of two buttes he caught the flash close to the ground. it probably was a tin can left by a herder--they often flashed that way--but he would prove it before he went on. he took from their case the pair of field-glasses that swung from his shoulder and raised them to his eyes. what he saw caused him to swear excitedly and order the company to back out of sight. at the same instant jimmie welsh, holding a straight flush, looked up triumphantly at billy speaker who had just raised him. he looked over billy's shoulder and the smile froze on his face. he continued to look, and the cards dropped one by one out of his hand. then his face became stern and he jumped to his feet. "no more of this," he ordered. "we're discovered. you fellows get back out of sight," he added to the cowmen. "here, harry, bill, chuck, search these fellers again an' see they ain't got nothin' in their shoes." "what ails yuh, jimmie? are yuh locoed?" asked a man who had not understood the sudden change in welsh. "i plenty wish i was," came the reply, "but i ain't. we've been discovered, an' we've got to fight. i don't know how many there was in the other party, but i 'low we ain't in it noways. red an' plug, you take yore horses round the butte to where the others are tethered, an' help jimmie and newt bring in them casks o' water. they ought to be back from the spring by this time. tip, lem, and jack, help me put our friends here in the most-sheltered places." in a moment the camp that had been sleepy and placid was bustling with a silent, grim activity. from secret places men produced winchesters, revolvers, and knives, if they carried them. in half an hour all the food had been brought in, and the casks of water laboriously filled at a brackish pool five miles away. "that flush excited yuh so you seen a mirage, jimmie," bantered speaker, whose ready wit and genial manner had won their way into the sheepman's affection. "i hope so," was the curt response. but welsh had seen no mirage, and he was aware of the fact, knowing that a council of war was delaying the action of the other party. his chief concern was the disposal of his prisoners. excepting for the first line of breastworks, the only protection in the flat area of the camp was derived from the masses of stone that had fallen into it, and behind which one or two men could hide. at last it was decided that the prisoners, unarmed as they were, should lie down behind the wall out of danger's way, while the sheepmen should take their chances behind the rocks. another reason for this was, that it would never do to have the prisoners behind the men who were doing the fighting, ready to attack from the rear at first chance. each man had fifty rounds of ammunition, and was a fairly good shot, not, of course, equaling the cowboys in this respect. the prisoners had hardly been placed when, from behind a neighboring hogback, rode a man waving a white handkerchief. welsh stepped out of the camp and drove him back before he could talk, realizing the fellow's clever idea of spying on the defenders' position. the cowboy had little to say except to demand the immediate surrender of the cattle-owners and the delivery up to court martial of half the sheepmen. jimmie laughed in the messenger's face, and told him to tell whoever was boss of that outfit to come and take anything he wanted, and to come well heeled. then he went back to the rocky camp and stood his men up in a row. "we got to keep our guests another week yet, boys," he said. "mr. larkin won't be up the range till that time, and our job is to keep them cowboys occupied so as to hold the range open for the sheep. now anybody what don't want to take chances with lead can go from here now and get hung by the punchers. if there's many of 'em i allow we won't see montana ag'in till we're angels; if there ain't, they won't see the bar t. now that's the story. one other thing. "our guests are out in front. if yuh see any of 'em actin' funny or tryin' to get away, put a hole in 'em an' end that right off. hear that, boys?" he yelled to the cowmen who were on the ground behind the defense. "yep," they shouted, and continued to chaff one another unmercifully in the greatest good-humor. the old story states that the spartans prepared for the battle of thermopylæ by oiling their bodies and brushing their hair, much to the surprise of the persians, who were forever wailing to their gods. this story has come down to us to illustrate solid, supreme courage in the face of certain death. no less inspiring, though in a different way, was the preparation of jimmie welsh and his nine sheepmen. they cracked jokes on the situation, reminded one another of certain private weaknesses under fire, recalled famous range yarns, and enumerated the several hundred things that were going to happen to the enemy during the next few hours. in all this banter the cowmen joined with their own well-flavored wit. these facts have been given to show the natures of these men who made the west; who carved, unasked, an empire for the profit of us who live now, and who, in a space of less than forty years, practically passed from the face of the earth. trained by their environment, they finally conquered it and left it to a more-civilized if softer generation. at four o'clock of that afternoon came the first attack. stelton and his men were under a great disadvantage. in front of the sheepmen's defense was a little plain some three hundred yards across which was bare of any protection. the canopy of rock that overshadowed the camp prevented attack from above or behind. there was nothing for it but an onslaught in the face of a deadly fire. suddenly from around the butte that faced the camp poured the charge of the cowboys. instantly they scattered wide, adopting the circling indian mode of attack. on they raced to a distance of a hundred, then fifty yards. then, as though by preconcerted word, the winchesters of both parties spoke, and the cowboys, turning at a sharp angle, galloped off out of range with one riderless horse, and two men, clinging, desperately wounded, to their pommels. jack norton, one of the sheepmen, who had exposed himself for a better shot, dropped dead where he stood. now there was no word spoken. the helpless cowmen huddled against the wall while the hail of bullets swept over them in both directions, cursed softly to themselves, and smoked cigarettes. the punchers, having learned the lay of the land, drew off for consultation. half of them were dispatched around the butte that protected the defenders and the plan of attack was changed. on signal, the parties from both sides charged along the face of the butte toward each other, this movement being calculated to bring them out close to the enclosure without the danger of an attack in front, and at the same time give them the chance to fire upon the sheepmen from a destructive angle at either side. the maneuver resulted in concentrating the fire within a zone of twenty-five yards, and it was fire so murderous that, before the cowboys could get out of range, ten were dead or wounded, while two of the sheepmen were killed outright and a third was disabled and rolled out into the sun to writhe in agony until his pal ran from cover and dragged him back. the result was now a foregone conclusion, for the cowboys had solved the difficult problem of attack. mushrooming out on either side at a distance of three hundred yards, they formed again in the shelter on either side and charged once more. the wounded man, hearing the drumming of hoofs, seized his revolver, rolled out into the sun, and sat up on the ground. and from this position he emptied his gun at the yelling cowboys until another shot put him out of his misery. more cowboys fell, and now, in front of the stone breastworks, a dozen bodies lay, some twitching, and others still. the number of the defenders was reduced to five capable of holding and using a weapon, for such marksmen were the punchers that, if they did not kill outright, their bullets inflicted mortal wounds. jimmie welsh was undisturbed and unhurt. he and newt were sheltered behind one rock, while tip and lem defended another, and chuck durstine held a third by the side of his dead partner, red. the fourth charge found them lying on the ground, contrary to their former practice of standing, and they escaped unhurt, although their ability to shoot the mounted punchers above the wall was not diminished. again they wrought terrible havoc. "i sure wish i could've cleaned up on that straight flush, billy," remarked jimmie welsh to speaker. "so do i, jimmie," returned the other; "yore bad luck was just breakin'. but, look here. suppose you fellers quit this business now. i don't relish yore all bein' slaughtered this-a-way, and it's shore a comin' to yuh if yuh don't quit." "yuh talk like a sunday-school class had stampeded on yuh, billy. i'm surprised!" gibed welsh. "mebbe yuh don't like yore flowery bed of ease out there, what?" "all horsin' aside, i mean it," insisted speaker. "yuh better quit now before they come ag'in." "yeah, an' get strung up to the nearest tree fer my pains, eh? oh, no; i like this better; but, of course, if any o' the boys--" "naw! what the deuce are yuh talkin' about?" demanded an aggrieved voice, instantly joined by the other three. "you're wrong, jimmie; of course, i don't mean that. if yuh'll quit i'll see that yuh don't get strung up." "you're shore some friendly, billy," said jimmie, shaking his head; "but i couldn't never look my boss in the face if i even thought o' quittin'. that ain't what he pays me fer." "i'll give yuh a job as foreman on the circle arrow. i see one of you hellions got my foreman; he's layin' out there kickin' still. what d'ye say?" "i'm plumb regretful, billy," returned welsh, without hesitation; "but i can't do it. mebbe one o' the boys--" "naw!" said the boys in unified contempt. "well, yuh pig-headed sons o' misery, go on an' die, then!" cried speaker, quite out of patience. "jest a minute an' we'll oblige yuh, billy," rejoined welsh, as the dreaded drumming of hoofs foretold the next charge. there was a tense moment of waiting, and then the fusillade began again, pitifully weak from the sheepmen. when the horsemen had whirled out of sight lem and newt lay groaning on the ground, while tip o'niell lay strangling in a torrent of blood that rushed from what had once been his face. welsh took one look at the tortured man, and with a crack over the head from the butt of his pistol, rendered him unconscious and stilled his blood-curdling agonies. then he walked over to the cowmen. "anybody got the makin's?" he asked. "one o' them punchers spilt mine out o' my pocket last time." nonchalantly he showed the clean rent on the left side of his flannel shirt, just over his heart, where his pocket had been. somebody handed up the paper and tobacco, and he rolled a cigarette, tossing the materials back to chuck durstine, who sauntered up, examining his gun curiously. durstine, from his appearance, had no right to be alive. his cheek bled where a bullet had grazed him, his left arm was scratched, and there were three holes in his clothes. his revolver was so hot he could hardly hold it. when they had finished their smoke they started back to their shelter, the middle rock of the enclosure. "well, good-by, boys," said jimmie. "i allow it's pretty near my turn an' chuck's." "good-by!" came the chorus from the owners, all of whom had pleaded steadily with the two to give up the unequal struggle. these men were hard and brave men, and they appreciated genuine grit as nothing else in the world, for it was a great factor in their own make-up. "i'll tell yuh this, jimmie," called out beef bissell, whose conceptions had been undergoing a radical change for the last two hours, "if you an' chuck are sheepmen, i take off my hat to yuh, that's all! i never seen better fighters anywhere." "yuh ought to see us when we ain't dry-nursin' a dozen cattle-owners," retorted welsh, amid a great guffaw of laughter. suddenly again sounded the roar of the galloping horses. "well, so-long, boys!" yelled chuck, his voice barely audible. "so-long." the chorused response was cut short by the spitting of weapons. chuck faced to the left, welsh to the right. both pumped two guns as fast as they could. presently chuck dropped one and leaned against the rock, his face distorted, but the other gun going. jimmie felt a stab of fire, and found his weight all resting on one foot. dropping their pistols, they drew others from holsters and fought on. a bullet furrowed chuck's scalp, and the blood blinded him so that he could not shoot. he stepped out from behind the rock, "fanning" one gun and clearing his eyes with the other hand. three bullets hit him at once, and he dropped dead, firing three shots before he reached the ground. he had scarcely fallen when welsh's other leg and both arms were broken, and he tumbled in a heap just as the last of the charging cowboys swept past. when they had gone there was a moment's silence. then: "hello, anybody!" called speaker. there was a pause. "hello!" came a muffled voice. "come an' git me. i cain't fight no more." and with a great shout the owner of the circle arrow outfit ran to where jimmie welsh, the indomitable, lay helpless, disabled by six bullets, but still full of fight. "stick me up on that wall, billy," he said faintly, "an' put a gun in each hand. i can't shoot 'em, but them punchers'll think i can and finish me." "you go to hell!" remarked speaker joyfully. "don't call yore ranch names," admonished jimmie with a grin, and fainted. chapter xix an indian coulee by four o'clock in the morning the fifteen hundred head of cattle had crossed the ford of the big horn and were bedded down on the other side. when this hazardous business had been completed, bud larkin ordered the sheep brought up and kept on the eastern bank among the cool grass of the bottoms. the captive rustlers, under guard, were being held until daylight, when, it had been decided, they would be taken to the almost deserted bar t ranch, and kept there until further action could be determined on in regard to them. when dawn finally came bud looked at the stolid faces of the men, and recognized most of them as having belonged to the party that had so nearly ended his earthly career. he called them by their names, and some of them grinned a recognition. "hardly expected to meet yuh again," said one amiably. "thought it might be t'other side of jordan, but not this side of the big horn." "that's one advantage of raising sheep," retorted bud. "mine are so well trained they stampede in time to save my life. you fellows ought to have joined me in the business then." "wisht we had," remarked another gloomily. "'tain't so hard on the neck in the end." bud wondered at the hardihood of a man who, facing sure death, could still joke grimly about it. directly after breakfast the rustlers were mounted on their horses, with their arms tied behind them, and, under a guard of six men, started on their journey to the bar t. in charge of the outfit was a gray-haired sheep-owner from montana, and to his care bud entrusted a long letter to juliet that he had added to day by day with a pencil as opportunity offered. it was such a letter as a lonely girl in love likes to get, and bud's only thought in sending it was to prove that she was ever in his mind, and that he was still safe and well. weary and sleepless, bud then prepared for the ordeal with stelton. from sims, who seemed to know the country thoroughly, he learned that indian coulee was almost thirty miles south-east, and could be distinguished by the rough weather-sculpture of an indian head on the butte that formed one side of the ravine. lest there be a misunderstanding, it should be said here that this was the second day after the battle of welsh's butte, as it came to be known. the first day the punchers had been busy burying the dead and attending to the numerous things to which such an occasion gives rise. it was on the morning of this day that stelton, giving as an excuse his urgent desire to return to the bar t, had ridden away, commanding his cowboys to remain and do their portion of the work. late in the afternoon he had met smithy caldwell in a secret place, and given him a note to the leader of the band of rustlers. this caldwell, with his usual tricky foresight, did not deliver, giving the message by word of mouth, and keeping the piece of paper as evidence in case stelton should turn against him. stelton, anxious to hear how the commencement of the drive fared before returning to the bar t ranch, camped in the hills that night, and moved on to indian coulee the next morning to await the messenger. just previous to starting on the long ride, larkin called sims to him. "now, i'll tell you why i want these cows," he said. "we've got to rush the sheep up the range. as soon as i'm gone start 'em, but surround the sheep with a line of cows, and keep a good bunch ahead. from a distance it will look like a cattle-drive, and may serve to throw the punchers off the track if they're anywhere in sight." "by michaeljohn! that's a good idea!" exclaimed sims; "but i don't allow either of them will feed much." "let 'em starve, then; but keep 'em moving," said bud. "we win or bust on this effort. fact is, we've got to keep those cows anyhow, to return them to their owners if possible, and you might as well make some good use of them." mike stelton, meanwhile, who had often used the place as a rendezvous before, went into the usual shady spot, dropped the reins over his horse's head, and lay down. stelton's heart was at peace, for the sheepmen he considered defeated at every angle. jimmie welsh, half dead and delirious, was on his way to the circle arrow ranch under billy speaker's care. consequently, it was impossible that bud larkin should know anything of the battle at welsh's butte. larkin would go on about his plans, dreaming the cowmen still in captivity, and the pursuing punchers on a false trail, stelton calculated. then he chuckled at the surprise in store for the ambitious sheepmen, for the remaining cowboys under beef bissell had already begun to talk of a war of extermination and revenge. when he had disposed of larkin to his satisfaction, the foreman recollected with delight that the rustlers must have the fifteen hundred cows well up the range by this morning. the chance of their being intercepted by the cowboys was small, and the probabilities were that they would be at the northern shipping-point and well out of the way before the punchers had finished with the miserable sheep. two things mike stelton had not counted on. one was the prompt and daring action of larkin in risking his all on one forced march up the range; the other was the treachery of smithy caldwell in not burning the note according to instructions. from the first stelton had "doped" caldwell out all wrong. he took him for a really evil character supplied with a fund of sly cunning and clever brains that would benefit the rustlers immensely, and for that reason had warmly supported his application for membership. somehow he did not see the cowardly streak and dangerous selfishness that were the man's two distinguishing traits. now, as stelton lay in the shade with his hat over his face, steeped in roseate dreams, the weariness of a week of long marches and an afternoon's hard fighting oppressed him. he had been riding nights of late, and just to lie down was to feel drowsy. he would like to get a nap before the sun got directly above and left no shade whatever, but he did not permit himself this luxury, although, like all men with uneasy consciences, he was a very light sleeper. he figured that he could hear the trotting of a horse in plenty of time to prepare for any possible danger, and remained flat on his back in the warm sun, half-asleep, but yet keenly alert. bud larkin, sighting the coulee and stelton's horse at a considerable distance, dismounted and promptly got out of range. then he continued stealthily to approach, wondering why stelton did not put in an appearance somewhere and start hostilities. a quarter of a mile from the spot where stelton's horse stood dejectedly larkin left his own animal and proceeded on foot. nearer and nearer he approached, and still there was no sign of stelton. bud unslung his glasses, and scanning the rocks near the horse carefully, at last made out the small outline of a booted foot along the ground. then he drew his revolver and crept forward, choosing every step with care. at a distance of thirty yards his foot unconsciously crunched a bit of rotten stone. there was a scrambling behind the rock, and a moment later stelton's head appeared. bud had him covered with two revolvers, and on sight of the dark face ran forward to finish the job. but the foreman was no mollycoddle, and with one lightning-like motion unlimbered his . and began to shoot. like most western gun-handlers, his revolver commenced to spit as soon as its mouth was out of the holster, and the bullets spurted up the sand twice in front of bud before the muzzle had reached a dangerous angle, so swiftly was it fired. but the sheepman was not idle, and had both guns working so accurately that at last stelton drew in his head, but left his hand around the corner of the rock, still pulling the trigger. he would never have done this with any other man, but he still considered larkin a "dude" and a sheepman, and knew that neither was much of a shot. with a ball through his right foot, bud hopped out of the path of the stream of lead and discharged each revolver once at the same spot. the result was a broken hand and a wrecked gun for stelton, who, unfortunately, did not know that larkin, on occasions, had split the edges of playing cards with dueling pistols. before the bar t foreman could reach his winchester, bud was around the rock, and had him covered. stelton gave one look at the hard, determined eyes of the sheepman and thought better of the impulse to bolt for the rifle on a chance. he slowly hoisted his hands. "well, darn it, what do yuh want?" he snarled. "first i want you to back up against that rock and keep your hands in the air until i tell you to take 'em down," said bud, in a tone that meant business. stelton obeyed the command sullenly. then larkin, keeping him covered, picked up the winchester and found another . in an extra holster thrown over the pommel of the saddle. next he took down stelton's rope. larkin was satisfied with his investigations. "turn around and face the rock, and hold your hands out behind you!" he ordered. with the wicked glitter of an animal at bay in his eye, stelton did as he was told, and in a moment larkin had him bound and helpless, and on the end of a tether. still covering his man, he mounted stelton's horse and told him to march ahead. [illustration: but the sheepman was not idle, and had both guns working so accurately that at last stelton drew in his head.] in this manner they traveled the quarter-mile to bud's animal. there they exchanged beasts, and started on the long ride back to the sheep camp. "what're yuh doin' this for?" stormed stelton, at a loss to explain the sudden appearance of larkin in caldwell's place, but beginning to have a terrible fear. "don't you know?" "no, i don't." his tone was convincing. "well, i'll tell you. all the rustlers are taken, and i have absolute proof that you are their leader," replied bud coolly. "i allow old bissell will be glad to see you when you're brought in, eh?" stelton laughed contemptuously. "what proof?" he demanded. "a note to smithy caldwell that he forgot to burn. he tried to swallow it when i captured him, but i saw him first." stelton stood the blow well and made no answer, but larkin, watching him, saw his head drop a trifle as though he were crushed by some heavy weight. "what're yuh goin' to do with me now?" he asked at last. "ship you under guard to the bar t ranch, where the rest have gone. then the cattlemen can settle your case when they come back from their vacation." for an instant it was on stelton's tongue to blurt out what had happened two days previous, but an instinctive knowledge that larkin would profit by the information restrained him, and he continued riding on in silence, a prey to dismal thoughts better imagined than described. chapter xx somebody new turns up utterly exhausted with his day's riding and the stress of his other labors, bud larkin, driving his captive, arrived at the sheep camp shortly before sundown. faint with hunger--for he had not eaten since morning--he turned stelton over to the eager sheepmen who rode out to meet him. things had gone well that day with the drive, for the animals, under pressure, had made fifteen miles. the cattle, at first hard to manage, had finally been induced to lead and flank the march, but neither they nor the sheep had grazed much. when larkin arrived they had just reached a stream and had been separated from the sheep that both might drink untainted water. sims had set his night watchers, and these were beginning to circle the herd. the sheep were bedding down on a near-by rise of ground. larkin, having eaten, cooled and bathed himself in the stream and returned to the camp for rest. shortly thereafter a single horseman, laden with a bulky apparatus, was seen approaching from a distance. immediately men mounted and rode out to meet him, and returned with him to camp when he had proved himself harmless and expressed a desire to remain all night in the camp. it was ed skidmore, the photographer, who had just completed a profitable day at red tarken's ranch, the m square. larkin, who was lying on the ground, heard the excitement as the newcomer rode into camp, and got up to inspect him. skidmore had dismounted, and had his back turned when bud approached, but suddenly turned so that the two came face to face. as their eyes met, both started back as though some terrible thing had come between them. "bud! my heavens!" cried skidmore, turning pale under his tan. "lester!" was all that larkin said as he stared with starting eyes and sagging jaw at the man before him. then, as one in a dream, he put out his hand, and the other, with a cry of joy, seized and wrung it violently. for a moment the two stood thus looking amazedly at each other, while the sheepmen, suddenly stricken into silence, gazed curiously at the episode. then, one by one, they turned and walked away, leaving the two together. it was bud who found his voice first. "what under heaven are you doing out here, lester?" he asked at last. "earning a living making pictures," returned the other with a short laugh. "it must be quite a shock to you to see me actually working." "i can't deny it," said bud as he smiled a bit. "but when did you come out?" "six months after you did." "but why on earth didn't you let me know? i would have given you a job on the ranch." "that's just why i didn't let you know. i didn't want a job on the ranch. i wanted to do something for myself. i concluded i had been dependent on other people about long enough. i'm not mushy, or converted, or anything like that, bud, but i figured that when the governor died and left me without a cent i had deserved everything i got and was a disgrace to the family and myself." "same with me, lester," acknowledged bud. "if you had only told me how you felt about things we could have struck out here together." "and you with all the money? i guess not," and lester spoke bitterly. "i'd have divided with you in a minute, if you had talked to me the way you're doing now. we always used to divide things when we were kids, you know." "that's square of you, bud, but i really don't want the money now. i'm making a good go of my pictures; i don't owe anybody, and i haven't an enemy that i know of. what have you done with your money?" larkin turned around and motioned toward the thousands of sheep dotted over the hills. "there's all my available cash. of course there was some in securities i couldn't realize on by the terms of father's will, and if i go to the wall i can always get enough to live on out of that. but my idea is to get a living out of _this_, and just now i am in the very devil of a fix." "how?" bud narrated briefly the stormy events that had led up to this final stroke by which he hoped to defeat the cowmen and save his own fortune; and as he did so he observed his brother closely. lester larkin was three years younger than bud, was smaller, and had grown up with a weak and vacillating character. the youngest child in the wealthy larkin family, he had been spoiled and indulged until when a youth in his teens he had become the despair of them all. even now, despite the tanned look of health he had acquired, it could still be seen that he was by no means the strong, virile young man that bud had become. his face was rather delicate than rugged in outline; his brown hair was inclined to curl, and his blue eyes were large and beautiful. the sensitive mouth was still wilful, though character was beginning to show there. he was, in fact, a grand mistake in upbringing. with all the instincts of a lover of beauty he had been raised by a couple of dull parents to a rule-of-thumb existence that started in a business office late one morning and ended in a café early the next. it was the kind of life to which the poor laborer looks up with consuming envy, and which makes him what he thinks is a socialist. given a couple of sharp pencils and some blocks of paper, along with sympathy and encouragement, lester larkin might have become a writer or an artist of no mean ability. but the elder larkin, believing that what had made one generation would make another, had started young lester on a high stool in his office with a larger percentage of dire results than he had ever imagined could accrue to the employment of one individual. with the high stool went a low wage and a lot of wholesome admonitions--and this, after a boyhood and early youth spent in the very lap of luxury. thus, when the father died, the boy, at nineteen, knew more ways to spend a dollar than his father had at thirty-nine, and less ways to earn it than his father at nine. so much for lester. "well, if i can help you in any way, bud, let me know," he said when his brother had finished his story of the range war that was now reaching its climax. "i rather imagine i would like a jolly good fight for a change." "i don't want you to get hurt, kid," replied bud, smiling at the other's enthusiasm, "but i have an idea that i can use you somehow. just stick around for a day or two and i'll show you how to 'walk' sheep so your eyes'll pop out." "it's purely a matter of business with me," rejoined lester. "pictures of seventy men at five dollars apiece, selling only one to each, will be three hundred and fifty dollars. i think i'll stick." "suppose i get 'em all in one group so you can't take individuals, then what will you do?" "i'll make more money still," retorted the other promptly. "i'll sell seventy copies of the same picture at five apiece and only have to do one developing. what are you tryin' to do, kid me?" bud laughed and gave up the attempt to confuse the boy. during the next two days bud saw more sheep-walking than he had seen since going into the business, and lester amused himself profitably by taking pictures of the embarrassed plainsmen, many of whom would not believe it possible that an exact image of them could be reproduced in the twinkling of an eye, but who were willing to pay the price if the feat were accomplished. when he had filled all his private orders, the picturesqueness of the life and outfit with which he traveled so appealed to lester that he made nearly a hundred plates depicting the daily events of the drive and the camp. and these hundred plates, three-quarters of which were excellent, form by far the best collection of actual western scenes of that time and are still preserved in the old larkin ranch house in montana. at the end of the two days the gray bull river was still twenty miles away and would require an equal amount of time to be reached and crossed. during this period bud larkin knew nothing whatever of the fate of jimmie welsh and his companions, believing that they still held the repentant cowmen captive, and that the punchers in pursuit were still searching the bad lands for them--an almost endless task. he was in a state of high good humor that his plans had carried out so well, and looked forward with almost feverish impatience to the glorious hour when the last of his bawling merinos should stand dripping, but safe, on the other side of the gray bull. the nearer approach to the stream brought a greater nervous tension and scouts at a five-mile radius rode back and forth all day searching for any signs of spying cowpunchers. the thought that he might effect the passage without hindrance or loss was stretching the improbable in bud's mind, and he devoted much time every day to an inspection of his supplies and accouterments. chapter xxi julie investigates the occasion when nine men with their hands tied behind them arrived at the bar t ranch, accompanied by six others with winchesters across their saddle bows, was an extremely happy one for juliet bissell. this happiness was not associated, except superficially, with the capture of the rustlers, but had to do especially with the receipt of a certain smeared and blackened journal from a certain tall and generously proportioned young man. the captives arrived at noon, but it was nearly supper-time before she had finished reading, around, amid, among and between the lines, despite the fact that the lines themselves left very little doubt as to the writer's meaning. this was not the same beautiful girl bud larkin had left behind him that early morning of his escape. since that time she had changed. the eyes that had formerly been but the beautiful abode of allurement and half-spoken promises, had taken on a sweet and patient seriousness. the corners of her mouth still turned up as though she were about to smile, but there was a firmer set to them that spoke of suppressed impulses. she moved with a greater dignity, and for the first time became aware of the real worth of her mother, who until now she had somehow taken for granted. martha's consternation and grief at her husband's sudden and prolonged disappearance, only broken by the visit of skidmore and his camera, had been really pitiful, and the girl's eyes were opened to the real value and beauty of an undying love. her own misery, after the receipt of the letter brought by skidmore, she had faced alone, and in her, as in all good and true natures, it had worked a change. it had softened her to the grief of another, and showed her, for the first time, that happiness is only really great when in sharp contrast with pain. so this long and simple love-letter from bud, while satisfying the cravings of the lover, stirred up again the misgivings of the doubter. and her cogitations resulted in the admission that bud must be either one of two things. either he was absolutely innocent of the imputations contained in the letter that skidmore brought, or he was one of the most consummate villains at large. there were grounds for both suppositions, and the girl, after hours of vain struggle, found herself still in the middle ground, but more nervous and anxious than she had ever been. the arrival of mike stelton under guard two days after that of the other rustlers created a sensation. for the girl it was the blow that shattered another illusion, for although she had never cared for the foreman, her belief in his unswerving faithfulness to the bissell house was absolute. now to see him the admitted leader of the gang that had steadily impoverished her father was almost unbelievable. the man who brought stelton in also brought a hurried scrawl to juliet from bud, which read: darling: we are more than half-way up the range. have recovered , head of rebranded stock, much of which is bar t. stelton is the head of the rustlers and i have the proof. sorry to foist these criminals on the bar t, but it was the nearest ranch, and besides, i want them there when your father comes home. also i want to be able to tell you that i love you, and will love you always. with luck, two days ought to see the end of all these troubles. your bud. probably the most miserable man in the whole cow country at this time was smithy caldwell. aside from the fate he feared, his position among the captured rustlers was one of utter torture. the men had discovered that it was through his selfish scheming that stelton had been betrayed, and they treated him with the cruelty and scorn of rough, savage men. so, when stelton appeared, caldwell fairly cringed. with the strange, unreasoning terror of a coward he feared bodily harm at the hands of the foreman, forgetting that, in all probability, his life was forfeit sooner or later. his fear was all but realized, for no sooner were stelton's hands unbound as he caught sight of caldwell than he made a leap for him and would have strangled him then and there had not others pulled the two apart. "there, you whelp!" bellowed stelton. "that's a sample of what you'll get later on. all i ask is to see you kickin' at the end of a rope, you yellow-bellied traitor!" and smithy, clutching at his throat, staggered, whimpering, away. the day after stelton's arrival juliet conceived the idea of questioning the foreman about the letter that she knew smithy caldwell had written her. at her request he was brought into the living-room of the ranch house with his hands tied to permit of the guard leaving them together. now that all bud's prophecies in regard to the man had been fulfilled, she feared him, and one glance at his dark, contorted face as he was led in increased this fear. for his part the very sight of this sweet, quiet girl for whom he had waited so long, and through whose lover he was now doomed, brought a very eruption of rage. his lips parted and bared his teeth, his eyes were bloodshot, and his swarthy face worked with fury. "mike, i'm sorry to see you here like this," said juliet gently. "a lot you are!" he sneered brutally. "you're tickled to death. hope to see me swing, too, i suppose?" "don't talk like that," she protested, horrified at the change in the man. "i'm going to try to see what i can do for you, though heaven knows you don't deserve much." fury choked him and prevented a reply. at last he managed to articulate. "what do yuh want of me?" he growled. "i want you to tell me about a letter that i received a few days ago. it was brought here by a man by the name of skidmore, who takes pictures." at the identification of the letter, stelton's eyes glittered and his mouth grinned cruelly. "what do yuh want to know about it?" he asked. "first i want to know why you wrote it?" "i didn't write it," he snarled. "well, then, why you had caldwell write it?" "how do you know i had caldwell write it?" his tone was nasty and she could see that he was enjoying the misery he caused her. but though juliet was humbled, she was none the less a daughter of her father, and at stelton's tone and manner her imperious anger flashed up. "look here, stelton," she said in a cold, even tone, "please remember who i am and treat me with respect. if you speak to me again as you have this afternoon i will call those men in and have you quirted up against a tree. if you don't believe me, try it." but stelton was beyond speech. all the blood in him seemed to rush to his head and distend the veins there. he struggled with his bonds so furiously that the girl rose to her feet in alarm. then she walked to the library table, opened the drawer and took out a long, wooden-handled . . with this in her possession she resumed her seat. presently the foreman, unable to free his hands, ceased his struggles through sheer exhaustion. "i know you made caldwell write that letter," she said, balancing the gun, "and i want to know why you did it?" stelton, finding physical intimidation impossible, resorted to mental craft. "i didn't want you to love that sheepman," he replied sullenly. "why not?" "because all those things about him are true, and i thought i'd let yuh know before yuh broke yore heart." she searched his face keenly and had to confess to herself that he spoke with absolute sincerity. her face slowly paled, and for a moment the room seemed to whirl about her. the world appeared peopled with horrible gargoyles that resembled stelton and that leered and gibbered at her everywhere. the foreman saw her wince and grow pallid, and his fury was cooled with the ice of fiendish satisfaction. he could hurt her now. "because you say so doesn't prove it to me," she managed to say at last, though she scarcely recognized the voice that came from her tremulous lips. "i can give you proof enough if you want it," he snapped, suddenly taken with an idea. "you can?" the words were pitiful, and her voice broke with the stress of her misery. "yes." "how?" "get smithy caldwell in here. he knew that lover of yore's when he wasn't quite such a sheepman. he'll tell yuh things that'll make yore hair stand on end." in his delight at his plan stelton could not keep the exultant cruelty out of his voice. juliet pounded on the floor with the butt of her weapon (this was the signal agreed upon for the removal of stelton), and a sheepman almost immediately thrust his head in at the door. "yes, ma'am?" he inquired. "bring smithy caldwell in, please," she requested, "and tie his hands." when the miserable fellow was pushed through the doorway and saw stelton standing inside he shrank back against the wall and stood looking from one to the other with the quick, white eyes of a trapped animal. the thought came to him that perhaps these two were already deciding his fate, and his weak chin quivered. "sit down, caldwell," said juliet, coolly motioning him to one of the rough chairs. he slunk into it obediently. "i want to ask you about that letter you sent me in which you said several things about mr. larkin," she went on not unkindly, her heart going out to the wretch, so abject was his misery. "mike here says that everything in that letter is true, and that you can prove it," she continued. "is that so?" involuntarily caldwell looked toward stelton for orders, as he had always done, and in those beetling brows and threatening eyes saw a menace of personal injury that indicated his course at once. "no, don't look at mike; look at me," cried juliet, and caldwell obediently switched his gaze back. "are those things true?" "yes, ma'am," said caldwell without hesitation. "you mean to tell me that he was married before?" "yes, ma'am." "where?" "in chicago to a woman by the name of mary. she was a cousin of mine." "oh, god!" the low cry burst from juliet's pale lips before she could recover herself, and stelton lay back in his chair, feeding his unspeakable nature upon the girl's torture. "shall i tell you about it?" caldwell, seeing his former chief was pleased, now took the initiative. "oh, no, no!" she cried frantically. "i don't want to hear. i never want to hear!" for a few moments there was silence in the low, bare room while juliet recovered herself. then she said: "and about that other thing in the letter. why are the officers after bud?" "for forgery, ma'am. that is, i mean, they would be after him if they knew everything." a cunning smirk crossed smithy's countenance. "why don't they know everything?" asked the girl. "because i haven't told 'em," was the reply. "and so you blackmailed him under threat of telling, did you?" "well, he seemed to be willin'," countered smithy evasively, "or he wouldn't have paid." "why did you write me that letter, caldwell?" "the boss here told me to," motioning toward stelton. "what reason did he give for telling you?" caldwell did not like this question. he turned and twisted in his seat without replying, and shot a quick glance at stelton, uncertain what reply was expected of him. but he got no help there. stelton was relishing the fear and anxiety of his tool and watched to see which way the other's cowardice would lead him. he was quite unprepared for the answer that came. "it is a long worm that has no turning," someone has remarked, and caldwell had reached his length. the pure cruelty of stelton's conduct revolted him, and now, sure that stelton could do him no harm because of his tied hands, he took a vicious dig at his former leader. "he wanted to marry you himself," he said, "and offered me a hundred dollars to write you that letter." stelton sat for a moment open-mouthed at the temerity of his subordinate and then leaped up with a roar like the bellow of a bull. juliet pounded hastily on the floor, and the sheepmen appeared just as stelton fetched caldwell a kick that sent him half-way across the room. "take them both away," ordered the girl, suddenly feeling faint and ill after the mental and physical struggle of the interview. when the two had gone she sank back in her chair and faced the awful facts that these men had given her. "bud! bud! my lover!" she cried brokenly to herself. "i want you, i need you now to tell me it is all a lie!" she remained for several minutes sunk in a kind of torpor. then, as though she had suddenly arrived at some great decision, she rose slowly, but determinedly, and left the room. finding one of the men, she ordered her horse saddled and retired to change her clothes. her mother came in and asked if she were going riding alone. "yes, mother," replied the girl quietly. "i am going to bud and find out the truth about him. i cannot live like this any longer. i shall go crazy or kill myself. but i promise you this, that i will find father and bring him home to you." the eyes of martha bissell clouded with long-suppressed tears. "god bless you, juliet," she said. "i can't live without him any longer." chapter xxii the use of photography it was noon and the great column of parched animals and hot, dusty men had come to a halt under their alkali cloud beside a little stream. the foot-weary sheep and cattle, without the usual preliminaries, lay down where they stood, relieved for once from the incessant nipping of the dogs and proddings of the men. sims, walking among the sheep with down-drawn brows, noted their condition, how gaunt they were, how dirty and weary, and shook his head in commiseration. had he but known it he was as gaunt and worn-looking as the weakest of them. returning to where larkin had dropped in the shade of the cook-wagon, he said: "we've got to make it to-night if the old boy himself is in the way." larkin realized the seriousness of the situation. water and feed were plentiful, but owing to the hurry of the drive the animals were starving on their feet. less than five miles away was the gray bull river, the goal of their march. once across that and they would be out of the bar t range and free to continue north, for the next ranch-owner had gone in for sheep himself (one of the first to see the handwriting on the wall), and had gladly granted larkin's flocks a passage across his range. "what i can't understand is where all those cowpunchers are," continued sims. "i'm plenty sure they wouldn't let us through if we was within a foot of the river, they're that cussed." he had hardly got the words out of his mouth when from ahead of the herd appeared a horseman at a hard gallop, quirting his pony at every few jumps. pulling the animal back on its haunches at the cook-wagon, the rider vaulted out of the saddle and was blurting out his story almost before he had touched the ground. "up ahead there!" he gasped. "cow-punchers! looks like a hundred of 'em. i seen 'em from a butte. i 'low they've dug fifty pits and they've stuck sharp stakes into the ground pointed this way. they're ready fer us, an' don't yuh ferget it." sims and larkin looked at each other without speaking. now it was plain that the punchers had had plenty of reason for not molesting them; they had been preparing a surprise. "an' that ain't all, boss," went on the rider. "i took a slant through my glasses, and what d'yuh suppose i seen? there, as big as life, was old beef bissell an' red tarken, and a lot more o' them cowmen. how they ever got there i dunno, but it's worth figurin' out of a cold winter's evenin'." this information came as a knockdown. the two men questioned their informant closely, unable to credit their ears, but the man described the ranch-owners so accurately that there was no room left for doubt. "then what's become o' jimmie welsh and his nine men?" asked sims wonderingly. "mebbe they're captured; but i couldn't see anythin' of 'em." "nope," said bud slowly, "they aren't captured. they're dead. i know jimmie and his men, and i picked them for that job because i knew how they would act. poor boys! if i get through here alive i'll put a monument where they died." he ceased speaking, and a sudden silence descended on all the company, for the other men had been listening to this report. each man's thoughts in that one instant were with jimmie and his nine men in their last extremity at welsh's butte, although the site of the tragedy was as yet unknown to them. "what about the lay of the country?" sims finally asked of the scout. "dead ahead is the big ford, but that is what the punchers have protected. i could see that either up or down from the ford the water's deep, because there ain't no bottoms there--the bank's right on top of the river." "where is the next nearest ford?" "ten miles northeast, this season of the year," was the reply. "thunderation, boss, what'll we do?" inquired sims petulantly. "call lester, and we three will talk it over," said bud, a half-formed plan already in his mind. presently the three were alone and discussing the situation. bud proposed his scheme and outlined it clearly. for perhaps a quarter of an hour he talked, interrupted by the eager, enthusiastic exclamations of lester. when he had finished, sims lay back on his two elbows and regarded his employer. "if yuh keep on this-a-way, boss," he remarked, "i allow we might let yuh herd a few lambs next spring, seein' yuh _will_ learn the sheep business." bud grinned at the other's compliment and noted lester's enthusiasm. then they plunged into the details. "better ride your horse around by way of the ford ten miles away," were the instructions as lester saddled up. "then you can come at 'em by the rear." no word of young larkin's intention had passed about the camp, and the sheepmen watched with considerable wonder the departure of the boy, placing it to bud's fear of his receiving an injury in the trouble that was almost surely bound to happen that night. at three o'clock in the afternoon, or thereabouts, lester, with his outfit strapped on his dejected horse, rode slowly away from the sheepmen's camp. meanwhile, behind the various defenses that had been erected against the coming of bud larkin and his animals, the cowmen and their punchers were making ready for their night's battle. the chief actor in these fevered preparations was beef bissell, whose hatred of larkin was something to frighten babies with at night. since the gallant battle at welsh's butte, bissell had changed some of his ideas regarding sheepmen in general; but he had changed none regarding larkin in particular. it was now a matter of pride and determination, almost of oath with him, to fight this matter of the range to the finish. the other cowmen stood by him out of principle and because of the need of a unified stand by men of their association. so here in the last ditch, ready to sacrifice men, animals, and money, wrong and knowing it, these beef barons prepared to dispute the last inch of their territory. it should never be said, they had sworn, that sheep had crossed the cattle-range of any of them. on this elevating platform they proposed to make their fight. to be perfectly just to all concerned, it is only right to add that all who did not choose to remain, either owners or punchers, were perfectly free to withdraw, but in doing so they forfeited their membership in the association. but one man had taken advantage of this--billy speaker. "if there's any damage to be done, those sheep have already done it. why don't yuh let 'em through, yuh ol' fat-head?" said speaker to bissell as, with his cowboys, he threw his leg over the saddle and started homeward. despite the havoc to their numbers occasioned by the battle with jimmie welsh, all the others stood by. with the cowboys this matter of war and its hazards was a decided improvement over the dangerous monotony of spring round-ups. moreover, as long as one remained able to collect it, five dollars a day was several pegs better than forty dollars a month and all found. to-day as the late sun drooped low toward the horizon revolvers and guns were being oiled, and other preparations made for a vigorous campaign. the camp backed directly on the river at the only fordable spot within ten miles, the stream forming the fourth side to a square, the other three sides of which were breastworks of earth and trenches. a rope stretched from the three cook-wagons served as a coral for the horses, and in it were gathered fully sixty-five animals, waiting impatiently to be hobbled, and turned out to feed. they waited in vain, however, for it was a matter of course that they should stand saddled and ready for instant use. directly before the front of these earthworks were the pits and _chevaux de frise_ of sharp stakes that had been reported to bud. the intention was to stampede the animals if possible, and run them into the pits and upon the stakes while a force of men, protected by the trenches, poured a withering and continuous fire into the on-surging mass. meanwhile the greater force on horseback would be engaging the sheepmen. that the cowboys knew the location of the flocks goes without saying, for had they not had spies on the lookout, the telltale pillar of dust that ever floated above the marching thousands would have betrayed their exact position. the sun had just dropped below the horizon, when a man in the cowpunchers' camp discerned a weary horse bearing a hump-shouldered rider disconsolately in the direction of the ford. the man, bore strange-looking paraphernalia, and could be classified as neither fish, flesh, nor fowl--that is, cowboy, sheepman, or granger. without pausing the man urged his horse into the water at the ford, where it drank deeply. the man flung himself off the saddle and, scooping the water in his hands, imitated the horse's eagerness. when he had apparently satisfied an inordinate thirst he looked up at the man across the river and said: "say, could i git some grub in yore camp?" "yuh better move on, pardner. this here's resky territory," replied the other, his winchester swinging idly back and forth across the stranger's middle. "i'm hungry enough to take a chance," was the reply as lester walked his mount deliberately across the stream. "besides, i want to do business with yuh." another man, hearing the controversy, came up and ordered the newcomer away. lester asked him who he was. "my name's bissell," snorted the man. lester advanced the rest of the way to shore his hand outstretched. "i'm plumb glad to know yuh," he said. "my name's skidmore, an' i've just come from the bar t. i take pitchers, i do--yessir, the best in the business; an' if yuh don't believe me, just look at these." from somewhere in his saddle-bags skidmore whipped out two photographs and handed them to bissell. there, looking at him, sat martha, in some of her long-unused finery, and juliet, the daughter who had until now been the greatest blessing of his life. bissell started back as though he had seen a ghost, so excellent and speaking were the likenesses. "yes, they asked me to come an' take one of yuh, mr. bissell," went on the photographer. "they did?" snapped beef suspiciously. "how'd they know where i was?" "stelton told 'em. i was there when he got home." "oh, yes--stelton, of course," apologized the owner. "how d'ye take the blame things? with that contraption yuh've got there?" "yes, and i think there is still light enough for me to get you!" cried skidmore, snatching his outfit from the back of his horse and starting hurriedly to set it up. by this time quite a crowd had gathered, some of whom had never seen a camera in operation, and none of whom had seen such pictures as skidmore was able to pass around. bissell posed with the embarrassed air of a schoolboy saying his first piece, and after that skidmore was busy arranging his subjects long after it was too dark to make an impression on the plates. finally, affecting utter weariness, he asked for food, and the best in the camp was laid before him. "can't do any more to-night," he said when he had finished. "but to-morrow i can take a few; i have about half-a-dozen plates left." "i may not look as tidy to-morrow morning as i do now," remarked one puncher suggestively. "too bad yuh can't take pictures at night as well as in the daytime." "i can," announced skidmore, quite complacently. "well, didn't yuh just tell me," demanded an irate cowboy who vainly undertook to grasp the science of photography, "that the light actin' on the plate made the pitcher?" "yes." "well, how in the road to hell can yuh take 'em when it's dark?" "he rents a star, yuh fool!" volunteered another. "i make my own light," explained skidmore. "how? with a wood-fire?" asked the curious puncher. "no. shall i show yuh?" "yes." the reply came in a chorus, for the arrival of this man with his strange apparatus had created a stir among his hosts that one cannot conceive in these days of perfect pictures. the cowpunchers were not worrying about attack, for they had outposts on duty who could warn them of the advance of the enemy in plenty of time. the amusement of the camera was a fine thing with which to pass the lagging hours. "all right," said skidmore. "by george," he cried, "i've just the idea! my plates are low, and i'll take a picture of the whole outfit together." "what! get seventy men on the same thing that'll only hold one?" cried another puncher, furious that these wonders eluded him. "if yuh're foolin' with me, son, i'll shoot yer contraption into a thousand pieces." "easiest thing in the world," said the photographer carelessly. "only i'll have to ask yuh to move away from the fire; that'll spoil the plate. i think over here is a good place." he led the way to a spot directly in front of the horse corral. then he caused the lowest row to sit on the ground, the one behind it kneel, and the last stand up, and after peering through his camera made them close up tightly so that all could get into the picture. by the glow from the camp-fire it was a wonderful scene. the light showed broad hats, knotted neckerchiefs, and weather-beaten, grinning faces. it glanced dully from holsters and brightly from guns and buckles. on a piece of board skidmore carefully arranged his flashlight powder and took the cap off the lens. then he ran to the fire and picked up a burning splinter, telling them all to watch it. "steady, now!" he commanded. "all quiet." he thrust the lighted spill into the powder, and there was a blinding flash, accompanied by a hollow roar like a sudden gust of wind. the next instant a terrific commotion arose in the corral. there were squeals of terror, and before the men could catch their breath the sixty-five cow ponies had bolted in a mad stampede, overturning the cook-wagons and thundering across the prairie. the punchers, absolutely sightless for the instant from looking at the flash of the powder, broke into horrible cursing, and ran blindly here and there, colliding with one another and adding to the already great confusion. their one desire was to lay hands on the wretched photographer, but that desire was never fulfilled. for lester larkin, having shut his eyes during the flash, easily evaded the men and made his way to his horse that had been tethered to a tree near the river. with his instrument under his arm he untied the animal, climbed on his back, and dug in the spurs. a moment later, during the height of the confusion, he was galloping along parallel to the river. a mile and a half from the camp he turned his horse's head and sped at full speed toward the advancing herds. chapter xxiii the crossing darkness had scarcely fallen over the larkin flocks and herd when the former were set in motion. the bells had been removed and the sheep were urged forward at the fastest possible pace. riders going by long détours had found a spot on the banks of the river two miles up from the camp of the cowmen where the water was not more than five or six feet deep at most, though of considerable swiftness. it was here that it had been determined the sheep should cross. so, when the last march was begun, the animals were driven at an angle, avoiding all the pits and defenses of the cowmen's ingenuity. the herders, some of them on horseback and others on foot, did not speak. the only sounds that rose from the densely packed flocks were the clatter of their hard feet on the earth, the cracking of their ankle bones, and an occasional bawl of protest. but even this last was rare, for the sheep, worn with fast traveling and ignorant of the meaning of the strange things that were happening to them, were half-frightened; and only contented flocks blether much. bud larkin and sims rode back and forth, one on each side of the dim, heaving line, seeing that the herders and dogs kept their places and preventing any tendency to bolt. an hour after the start half the distance was accomplished. it was just at this time that larkin, looking northeast toward the camp of the cowmen, saw a sudden brilliant flash of light, and knew that lester had succeeded in his daring project. a moment later and the distant rumble of the earth told him of the stampeded horses. in depriving the cowboys of their ponies larkin had accomplished a master-stroke, for he had played upon the one weakness of their equipment. a cowboy without his horse is less effective than a seal on land. his boots, tight-fitting and with high heels, make walking not only a difficult operation, but a painful one. unaccustomed to this means of locomotion, a puncher is weary and footsore within two miles. aside from this fact, a cowboy disdains setting his foot on the ground except in a cow town, and even there daring ones sometimes rode their animals into saloons and demanded their drinks. it is a saying that a puncher will chase his horse half a mile in order to ride a quarter of a mile on an errand. the _coup_ of lester larkin had, therefore, left the camp of the cowmen in serious straits. afraid to chase their animals and leave the camp deserted, as soon as they recovered enough sight to recognize their surroundings they took their places in the trenches to carry on their defense as best they could. busy as larkin's thoughts were with the duty of getting his sheep safely across the river, his mind occasionally flashed back to the rear of the flock where the cook-wagons were trailing, for there in the company of a friendly sheepman rode juliet bissell. only that afternoon she had left the bar t ranch-house, and, directed by one of the men guarding the rustlers there, had set out to find the sheepmen's camp. not realizing how fast the outfit was traveling, she had struck the trail far to the rear, and had not overtaken larkin until just at the time when the sheep were set in motion. then she realized her mission would have to wait until a later time. but so sweet and full-hearted had been bud's joyful greeting that her faith in him had again returned, and she rode along meekly where he placed her, fond and comforted. the proprieties of the situation never occurred to her. she knew that she was safe in his hands, and only bided the time when she could pour out her sorrow and pain to him after all this struggle was over. to bud her coming had been inexpressibly sweet. he knew by her face that some great necessity had driven her to him, but he did not question her, and with the undisturbed security of a clean conscience he wondered anxiously what had occurred. at the time when the sheep were half-way to the river-bank there was another movement back at the camp where the cattle had been left. men there working on schedule started the cattle-drive. but this drive was not at any diverging angle. it led straight forward to the pits and sharpened stakes of the cowmen's defenses. presently the outposts of the force by the ford heard a distant rumbling of the earth. these men on their horses--for they had not been in camp at the time of the flashlight--rode slowly forward and waited. but not long. nearer and nearer came the sound until there was no more doubt that an animal-drive was headed in their direction. slowly they retreated to the camp and gave the warning. immediately the fire was extinguished, and the punchers, still cursing over their misfortune, loaded every available weapon, breathing a hot and complete vengeance against the men that had outwitted them. much to their chagrin they now recognized that skidmore was but a clever member of the enemy, for if he had not been they felt that he would not have accomplished such a speedy and well-planned escape. now, as the sheepmen drove their animals nearer and nearer to the pits, they urged them faster until the unhappy creatures, besides themselves at the weird occurrences of a night of terror, were at a headlong gallop. suddenly one of the punchers heard that unmistakable accompaniment of running steers and the clashing of horns as the animals with lowered heads charged the works. "they're cows!" he yelled. "don't shoot!" but it was too late. the maddened cattle were already at the first pits, plunging in with terrified bellows, or being transfixed on the stakes by the onrush of those behind. the pits were not more than ten feet deep, and only served to check the herd until they were full. then those following trampled over their dying companions and charged the trenches where the cowboys lay. "fire!" yelled bissell, who was in command, and the guns of nearly seventy men poured a leaden hail of death into the forefront of the heedless cattle. larkin's men by this time had drawn off to see that the havoc ran its course, and when they heard the desperate volleys they turned and rode southwest along the river-bank to the point where the sheep expected to cross. the cattle, which had been driven in a rather narrow column, continued to come on endlessly. the leaders dropped in windrows, but the followers leaped over them only to fall a little farther on. driven by the resistless impulse of these behind, the animals unconsciously appeared like a charging regiment. nearer and nearer the tide approached the cowboys' defenses; but now it was coming more slowly because of the dead bodies and the wounded animals that dragged themselves here and there, bellowing with pain and terror. at last, at the very mouths of the spitting guns the last of the steers dropped, and the few that remained alive turned tail and fled wildly back the way they had come. in front of the trenches was a horrible tangle of trampled, wounded creatures, rearing as best they could and stabbing one another with their long, sharp horns. "everybody out an' kill the ones that ain't dead!" yelled bissell, and the cowboys leaped over the breastworks on this hazardous errand of mercy. "where are the sheep?" was the question every man asked himself and his neighbor, but no one could reply. it had been reported to bissell by the scouts that with the sheep were a body of cattle. consequently when the steers charged all had expected the sheep to follow. but in all that grisly battle-field there was not a head of mutton to be found, and the punchers looked at one another in mystified wonder. "they must be crossin' somewheres else," said bissell, wringing his hands in despair. "oh, blast that man that stampeded them horses!" the thought was in every man's mind, for here the beauty of that strategy was made manifest. uninjured, full of fight, and furious, the forces of the cowmen were helpless because they had nothing to ride, and were utterly useless on foot. two miles away on the bank of the river another scene was being enacted. here the eight thousand sheep had come to a halt with the leaders on the very bank, and the herders walking back and forth talking to them to keep them quiet. the river was not more deep than the height of a man, but the current was swift and icy with the snows of the far-off shoshone mountains. "are you ready, boys?" sang out larkin. "all ready." "strip and into it, then," and, the first to obey his own command, he hurried off his clothes and plunged into the frigid river. sims, who had devised this scheme from memory of an indian custom, stood at the head of the leaders to superintend the crossing. now the men entered the water by tens, and stretched out in a double line all the way from bank to bank, facing each other and leaving but a scant yard between them. "ready?" yelled sims. "ready! let 'em go!" sang out larkin. the chief herder and others heaved the leading sheep into the water between the first two men. these lifted it along to the next pair who shoved it on, swimming all the time. so it came snorting and blatting to the other side and climbed up the bank. after it came the next, and then the next, and as the work became easier the sheep caught the notion that man had suggested and incorporated it into the flock mind. they took to the water because their predecessors had. and now the stream of sheep was steady and continuous. the current was swift and the men's bodies ached and grew numb in the intense cold, but they stood their ground. only in one place was the water too deep to work, and here they lost a few terror-stricken animals who turned aside from the chain and were swept downstream. the river between the men was churned like that of a rapid; there was heard the constant _slap-slap!_ of their arms as they smote the water in pushing the sheep along. a man took cramp and clung to a companion until he could kick it out of himself. at last, though, all the sheep had passed over the river, and bud larkin had won! then came the getting over of the wagons and camp outfits, all done in the dark, and with scarcely sound enough to be heard a furlong away. as some men worked, others dressed and swam the horses over, leading them in bunches. presently, dressed, happy, and glowing with the reaction from his icy bath, bud larkin appeared out of the dark beside juliet bissell. "you are the one who has enabled me to do all this," he said gently. "now, will you go over with me or will you go down the river to your father two miles away?" she looked up at him proudly. "to the victor belongs the spoils," she said, and lifted her face to him. "are you going to make me go?" "darling!" he cried in the sweet, low voice she loved and drew her to him. chapter xxiv the story of lester bud's sleep of exhaustion was ended by the sound of voices calling to one another. so deep had been his unconsciousness that as he slowly struggled back to light and reason he forgot where he was and what had happened. one thing was certain, the sun had been up a long while, and it was growing extremely hot even under the sheltering cottonwood tree where he lay. the voices continued to call to one another, and bud finally sat up to investigate. on the opposite bank another camp was being made by bow-legged men who wore heavy chaps over their trousers, broad hats, and knotted neckerchiefs. some of these men limped, and most of them swore at their cramped toes as they went about the business in hand. a short distance away from where bud sat some of the sheepmen were lying comfortably on their elbows, chaffing the punchers. "i allow you cowmen're gettin' pretty swell," remarked one. "they tell me yuh kinder hanker after photygrafts of yerselves. how about it?" "better lose a hoss fer the sake of yer good looks than be a comic valentine all yore life, what?" was the drawling retort. "mebbe so, but if i'd lost hosses the way you fellers did last night i wouldn't have enough vanity left no ways to look a pony in the left leg. i'd go to raisin' grasshoppers to sell to old ladies' chicken ranches, i plumb would." at this sally such a guffaw of laughter greeted the discomfited punchers that they retired from the field for the time being. larkin grinned with the rest. then he turned his attention to the little tent set up near by between two trees. he remembered that julie had slept there and wondered if she were awake yet. he called her name and presently a very sleepy voice responded, so tender and helpless in its accents that he laughed for joy. "lazy girl!" he cried. "do you know what time it is? i've been up for hours." "all right; i'll get up, i suppose. is breakfast ready?" "not quite," he replied seriously, "but i'll have the maid bring it in as soon as the eggs are shirred." "bud larkin, you're horrid!" she cried. "i don't believe you have even started a fire. do you expect me to get your breakfast?" "it would tickle me silly," he confessed, unrepentant. "shall i wait for you? you see the cooks are getting dinner now. breakfast was over hours ago." "oh, dear, i suppose so! we're not even married and you want me to cook for you. oh, dear!" "well," he said, relenting, "i'll get things started, but you come out as soon as you can." so saying he beckoned to ah sin who had been waiting for the boss, and gave him a number of orders. then he thrashed about the river bank as though looking for fagots, while julie continued pretending to mourn over her hard lot. when at last she appeared, however, and had dashed the sleep from her eyes in the icy waters of the river, it was not to cook, but to sit down at one of ah sin's little tables and eat a glorious breakfast. "you perfect darling!" she cried happily and ran and kissed bud though the chinaman was looking on. during breakfast she noticed the work going forward on the other side of the river and asked bud about it. "the cowmen moved their camp down here opposite us as soon as they could find out where we were," he explained. "i guess they want to talk with me regarding several matters. i'm pretty sure i have a thing or two to say to them, now that i am out of their clutches." "oh, then my father must be among those men." "he must, although i have not seen him. i intend to take you over to him immediately after breakfast." suddenly for the first time, the girl's face clouded; through their sweet bantering pierced the hideous visage of the thing that haunted her and that she had come to ask him about. "talk to me a little while first, will you?" she pleaded. "you know i came to see you for a special reason last night but had no time to discuss it then." "certainly, dear girl," he replied. when they had finished eating they strolled a little way up the noisy stream and finally found a cozy nook between two trees. all about them in the succulent grass of the banks and river bottoms they could hear the bells and contented blethering of the flocks; for sims had determined to rest his animals for a few days before starting again the long trek north. "bud," she began, speaking slowly so as to choose her words, "i am going to ask you questions about things that you have never chosen to discuss with me for some reason i could not fathom. if it is unmaidenly i am sorry, but i must ask them. i cannot stand any more such anxiety and pain as i have suffered in the last few weeks." bud's features settled themselves into an expression of thought that told the girl absolutely nothing. "yes, go on," he said. "first i want you to read this note," she continued, drawing a soiled bit of paper from the bosom of her dress. "a photographer called skidmore was held up by the rustlers and asked to bring it to the bar t and give it to me." her hand trembled a little as she held the paper out to him. he took it gravely, unfolded and read it. then he smiled his old winning smile at her and kissed the hand she had extended. "lies! all lies!" he said. "please think no more about them." she looked at him steadily and withdrew her hand. "that won't do, bud," she replied firmly, but in a low voice. "what is the thing for which caldwell blackmailed you three years ago and again this year?" bud looked at her quizzically for a moment, and then seemed to recede into thought. she waited patiently, and, after a while, he began to speak. "yes, i suppose you are right," he said. "it is a woman's privilege to know what a man's life holds if she desires it. there are but a few rare souls who can marry men against whom the world holds something, and say: 'never tell me what you were or what you have done; what you are and what you will be are enough for me.' "putting myself in your place, i am sure i should do what you are doing, for i have always told myself that those who marry with points unsettled between them have taken the first step toward unhappiness. suspicion and deceit would undermine the greatest love that ever existed. acts in the past that cannot be explained create suspicion, and those in the present that are better unobserved father deceit." he paused for a few moments, and appeared to be thinking. "do you know who that ed skidmore is?" he asked abruptly. "no; only he was quite nice, and evidently from the east." "he is my brother lester, and he is the man who stampeded the punchers' horses last night with his flashlight." "he is? i should never have suspected it; you are absolutely different in looks." "i know we are, or i shouldn't have risked his life last night. well, i bring him into this because i have to. he is part of the story. lester was always a wild youth, particularly after the governor stuck him on a bookkeeper's stool and tried to make a business man out of him. the boy couldn't add a column of figures a foot long correctly inside of ten tries. i took to the game a little better than he did, and managed to get promoted occasionally. but lester never did. "father believed, and announced often enough, that anybody that couldn't add figures and keep accounts had no business to handle money. to discipline lester, who he thought was loafing when he really was incapable, the governor cut off the boy's allowance almost entirely and told him he would have to live on his wages until he showed he could earn more. "well, julie, you know what kind of a cad i was back in the old days--rich, spoiled, flattered by men, and sought after by women. (i can say these things now, since i've learned their opposites!) just try to imagine, then, the effect of such an order on lester, who was always the petted one of us two because he was small and delicate! it was like pouring cold water on a red-hot stove lid. "tied more than ever to his desk, lester wanted more amusements than ever. but he had only about fifteen a week where he had been accustomed to five times the amount. he drifted and borrowed and pledged and pawned, and finally was caught by some loan-sharks, who got him out of one difficulty only to plunge him into three others. "although my father had a narrow-gauge mind as far as life in general is concerned, i will say this for him: that he was right in everything he did about business. he had made it a rule of the firm that anybody who borrowed money was fired on the spot. lester knew this, and, while he would have liked nothing better than the sack, he did not want to disgrace the governor before his employees and all the business world. so he clung along and tried to make a go of it. "i must confess that i think some of the blame for what followed should be laid at my door. i had been patient with the kid and loaned him money until i came to the conclusion that it was like throwing it down a well. then i got fond of a certain person"--he paused a moment and smiled at julie--"and i needed all my money to entertain her properly; so i quit loaning. "i don't know whether to tell you the rest or not; it isn't what i would want anyone else to tell you, even about a perfect stranger, but i think it is right you should know everything if you know anything." the girl nodded without speaking. "in the loan-shark office was a very pretty little girl, and lester thought he fell in love with her. she had a red-headed cousin and an admirer named smithy caldwell, who belonged to a tough gang on the south side. "the girl was fond of lester for a while, but she wouldn't forsake her friends as he ordered her to, and they quarreled. her name was mary, and after the fuss the three friends, together with the loan-shark people, played lester for a gilt-edged idiot, basing their operations on alleged facts concerning mary. in reality smithy caldwell had married her in the meantime, and lester eventually proved he had always treated her honorably, though now she denied it." "poor, innocent boy in the hands of those blood-suckers!" cried juliet compassionately. "naturally driven frantic by the fear of exposure and the resulting disgrace of the whole family, the boy lost his head and tried to buy his persecutors off. and to do this he took money out of the safe. but what's the use of prolonging the agony? finally he forged my father's signature, and when the check came back from the bank he tried to 'fix' the books, and got caught. "i'll pass over everything that followed, except to say that the disgrace did not become public. but it broke father's heart and hastened his death. when that occurred it was found that practically all the estate had come to me, and this fellow smithy caldwell threatened to disclose the forgery if i did not buy him off. "that scared me, because i was now the head of the family, and i handed over two thousand dollars. then i came west, and thought the whole matter was buried, until caldwell turned up at the bar t that night for supper. "that's about all. you see, it's an ugly story, and it paints lester pretty black. but i've thought the thing over a great many times, and can't blame him very much, after all, for it really was the result of my father's stern and narrow policy. the boy was in his most impressionable years, and was left to face the music alone. it seemed to age him mightily." "but what will happen now?" asked julie anxiously. "aren't the other two still alive? can't they make trouble?" "yes, but i don't think they will. i have the drop on smithy now, and he will either write a full dismissal of the matter for all three of them or he will swing with the rustlers. and if i know my smithy caldwell, he won't be able to get pen and paper fast enough." "but can you save him, even at that cost, do you think? the cowmen won't understand all this." "that will rest with your father, dear," replied bud, getting to his feet. "now, let's go over and see him, for i have something else i want to ask him." his face that had been clouded during his recital was suddenly flooded with the sunlight of his smile, and julie realized for the first time what it had cost him to lay bare again these painful memories of a past he had sought to bury. when he had helped her to her feet she went to him and laid her hands on his shoulders, looking up into his face with eyes that brimmed with the loosed flood of her love, so long pent up. "can i ever be worth what i have cost you to-day?" she asked humbly. tenderly he gathered her to him. "in love there is no such word as cost," he said. chapter xxv the threads meet it could not have been later than ten o'clock in the morning when a puncher with sharp eyes might have seen two figures approaching the bar t ranch house on horseback. they rode needlessly close together and swung their clasped and gauntleted hands like happy children. one was a girl into whose radiant eyes a new wonder had come, and the other a handsome, tanned young man bathed in a deliriously happy expression. "isn't it jolly to be married without anyone's knowing?" cried julie. "oh, but won't they be surprised at home?" "rather!" remarked bud, with a sobered expression. "i only hope your father doesn't widow you just as i ride into the yard with the olive branch." "stop it, bud! what puts such awful thoughts into your head?" "experience. your father was so mad about my getting the sheep across the river that he started his punchers walking home that same night, and nobody has seen him since." larkin spoke the truth, but little exaggerated. beef bissell, humiliated, beaten, and forced to accept the small end of a deal for once in his life, had started from the useless cowmen's camp by the gray bull the very night of the crossing. he ordered the men to follow and round up their stampeded horses and then to ride home. meanwhile he appropriated one horse that had not been in the corral and trotted homeward, eaten by chagrin and beside himself with impotent fury. bud and julie had found this out the day of their talk concerning lester, when they forded the stream on horses and asked for bissell. under the circumstances bud developed a genius for inspiration that was little short of marvelous. "what's the use of riding all the way home and having a grand row with your father?" he asked. "why not go over to rattlesnake, where there's a sky-pilot, and be married? then we'll go home, and there can't be any row, because there will only be one party in the mood for it." but the girl demurred. it was cruel to her father and mother, she said, not to have them present on the greatest day of her life. she allowed it was mighty ungrateful after all they had done for her. then bud took her hand in his and told her his principal reasons. "i'm a business man, honey, and i've got to start north after simmy and the sheep in three or four days," he said. "shearing is late now, but i guess we can make it. this trouble has set me behind close to fifteen thousand dollars, and everything is in a critical state. "i know it don't sound much like a lover, but as soon as we get on our feet we'll take a honeymoon to japan that will make you think i'd never heard of a sheep. "you want your mother and father in on the joy, i know, but it doesn't seem to me there can be much joy with nine or ten men sitting around waiting for their necks to be stretched. does it to you?" "no," said julie, and shuddered. "then come along over to rattlesnake and be married. then we'll ride back to the bar t, so you can see your folks, and i can see caldwell. we can be through and away before anything is really done about the rustlers." so it was arranged, and the two were married by an episcopal clergyman who had a surplice but no cassock, and whose trouser-legs looked very funny moving about inside the thin, white material--and julie nearly laughed out loud. after the ceremony they had ridden out of town with their equipment and made their first honeymoon camp in a cool, green place beside a little brook that had trout in it and sang to them for hours on end. now, the day afterward, they were on the way home, and not without a few secret misgivings. as they neared the bar t a single man rode out to meet them. it was lester, who had come the night before and was waiting for bud, so as to be present at the interview with smithy caldwell, whom he had not yet seen. he congratulated the pair warmly and rode with them to the corral. suddenly there was a shriek, and martha bissell tore out of the cook-house. she ran to julie, kissed her, and welcomed her back; then when she heard the news she picked up her apron to start crying, and dropped it again, undecided what to do. what with bissell's safe arrival and julie's glorious home-coming the poor woman was nearly out of her mind. the excitement brought beef bissell around the house from the front veranda, where he had been grumbling and swearing all the morning. at sight of larkin he halted in his tracks and began to redden. but he got no farther, for julie flung herself into his arms, tears of happiness streaming down her face, and overwhelmed him with caresses. bissell was mightily relieved to see her. in fact, it had been all his wife could do to restrain him from starting out to unearth julie when he arrived home and found her gone. but martha said that the girl had gone to find larkin, and added that the two were old enough to settle their troubles between them. so bissell, remembering his last miserable interview with his daughter, decided not to interfere. "father, i'm married; please be happy and good to me," the girl said, clinging to him, and the fury that had flown to his head like wine died a natural death. after all, to see her happy was what he most wanted. "are you sure he will love you always?" he asked gently. "yes, father, i am. i refused to marry him long ago in chicago." he kissed her for the first time in a long while, and then gently disengaged himself and took a step toward bud. "larkin," he said, "yuh were always lucky, but yuh've beat all records for wyoming now. i allow yuh can take her away with yuh on one condition." "what's that?" "that yuh never beat her like yuh beat me." "agreed!" laughed bud, and grasped the other's hand. "but can you stand a sheepman in the family?" "i sure can, larkin. ever since i seen jimmie welsh and his men fight, i ain't got anythin' against sheepmen." "jimmie welsh!" cried bud. "tell me, did any of his party come through alive?" "jes' jimmie himself; the boys couldn't kill him, so he's over at billy speaker's mendin' up. heart's pretty near broke because he hasn't seen yuh to explain why he's still alive." "good old jimmie!" said bud, the tears leaping to his eyes. "dearest," he added, turning to julie, "there's one more stop on our honeymoon, and that's at billy speaker's to-morrow." bissell continued the conversation, and asked for the full story of how bud had run down and captured the rustlers, saying that the whole cow country owed him a debt, and if they had only known of the capture in time would have let his sheep through without protest. "i imagined as much," remarked bud; "but i didn't care to get them through that way once i had started the other. i hope, mr. bissell, that we can be friends, although we have been enemies up to now. i'm sorry i had to sacrifice those cattle of the association, but there was no other way out of it." "i'll tell yuh this, larkin," returned bissell. "anybody that can beat me at anything is good enough to be my friend fer life, an' i'm here to state that yuh could count my friends of that type, before you came, on the hairs of a hairless dog!" bud laughed, they shook hands again, and peace was finally made between them; but not until beef bissell had signed away half of the interest in the bar t to julie as her dower. that was a happy and hilarious dinner at the ranch. some of the cowboys coming in at noon from near-by ranges heard of the marriage and cheered the bride lustily when she appeared on the veranda. bud made himself solid with the disgruntled punchers by walking out to them and talking over the battle of welsh's butte, while he rolled cigarettes and smoked them one after another. shortly afterward, bud and lester found themselves in a room with smithy caldwell. the blackmailer, when he saw lester, fell down in a faint, so great was the shock to his already wrecked nervous system. the man was really in a terrible condition both from physical fear and the tormenting by his comrades. he started at every slight sound, whirled about fearfully to meet any footfall that sounded near, and trembled with uncontrollable nervous spasms. to both the larkins he was a piteous sight, and bud wondered that the miserable creature had not gone mad. the wretch fell on his knees and pleaded with them for his life, so that when bud put the proposition squarely up to him that he forswear everything in regard to the larkin family, he could not accept it eagerly enough. "but about the papers that you said were in chicago?" asked bud. "i lied about them," replied smithy. "they're sewed in the lining of my shirt. give me your knife and i'll get 'em for you." "give me your shirt and i'll find them," countered bud; and he presently did. together the brothers looked them over. every bit of incriminating evidence was there, and as bud slipped it all into his pocket he gave a great sigh: "thank heaven, that's over!" he did not let caldwell off, however, without securing from him the written and signed statement that he wanted. when all was done they let him go, and now his mind was almost as unbalanced by joy as it had formerly been by fear. bissell, knowing caldwell's condition, had agreed to his being released on clearing his account with the larkins, for he realized that the man, in fearing death, had suffered the penalty a thousand times, and that the memory would remain with him through life, and perhaps help keep him straight. shortly after bud and lester had joined the others on the veranda again, a sudden scream was heard from the bunk-house, followed by the sounds of a terrible struggle. all hands rushed around to the rear and, with drawn revolvers, forced an entrance among the sullen rustlers. on the floor in the middle of the room lay smithy caldwell, white and contorted, while mike stelton was just rising from his prostrate body, making sounds in his throat like a wild animal. smithy was dead. "how'd it happen, boys?" asked bissell. "this here caldwell come out an' 'lowed as how he wasn't goin' to swing like the rest of us, an' he began packin' up his truck. stelton asked him about it, an' when smithy repeated what he said before and got plumb cocky about it, mike there smeared him plenty. then he broke his neck. smithy betrayed stelton, yuh know." there is not much more to tell, except that, three days later, the rustlers paid the penalty of their lawless daring. it was the biggest "hangin' bee" wyoming had ever seen, and was largely attended by men of all sections who stood for right and justice, if not law and order. bud and julie brought pride and sunlight to a slowly recuperating jimmie welsh on their way north, and from him and billy speaker heard again the details of the great fight. now, if you go to welsh's butte, you will see a tall white shaft rising amid the tumbling of the wretched hogbacks. on one side are the names of the sheepmen who fell (including jimmie, who is still alive), and on the other those of the cowmen. it is the humble offering of bud and julie larkin. time has proven that bud's prophecy in regard to sheep was right. wyoming has far more sheep than cattle now, and one of the biggest of the ranches is the former bar t, run under the larkin name, in connection with the home ranch in montana. i hope it will not be a shock to some readers to know that the first bud and julie have another bud and julie, who are over twenty years of age, quite old enough to have romances of their own. all their lives they have heard the story of the adventures that brought their parents together, but all four rather sadly admit that the free range, which bud fought for so hard, is now almost a thing of the past, that the great drives have passed never to return, and that the cowboy himself is a dim figure against the prairie sunset. the end * * * * * john fox, jr's. stories of the kentucky mountains may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list. [illustration] the trail of the lonesome pine. illustrated by f. c. yohn. the "lonesome pine" from which the story takes its name was a tall tree that stood in solitary splendor on a mountain top. the fame of the pine lured a young engineer through kentucky to catch the trail, and when he finally climbed to its shelter he found not only the pine but the _foot-prints of a girl_. and the girl proved to be lovely, piquant, and the trail of these girlish foot-prints led the young engineer a madder chase than "the trail of the lonesome pine." the little shepherd of kingdom come. illustrated by f. c. yohn. this is a story of kentucky, in a settlement known as "kingdom come." it is a life rude, semi-barbarous; but natural and honest, from which often springs the flower of civilization. "chad," the "little shepherd" did not know who he was nor whence he came--he had just wandered from door to door since early childhood, seeking shelter with kindly mountaineers who gladly fathered and mothered this waif about whom there was such a mystery--a charming waif, by the way, who could play the banjo better that anyone else in the mountains. a knight of the cumberland. illustrated by f. c. yohn. the scenes are laid along the waters of the cumberland, the lair of moonshiner and feudsman. the knight is a moonshiner's son, and the heroine a beautiful girl perversely christened "the blight." two impetuous young southerners' fall under the spell of "the blight's" charms and she learns what a large part jealousy and pistols have in the love making of the mountaineers. included in this volume is "hell fer-sartain" and other stories, some of mr. fox's most entertaining cumberland valley narratives. ask for a complete free list of g. & d. popular copyrighted fiction. grosset & dunlap, west th st., new york the novels of stewart edward white the rules of the game. illustrated by lajaren a. hiller. the romance of the son of "the riverman." the young college hero goes into the lumber camp, is antagonized by "graft" and comes into the romance of his life. arizona nights. illus. and cover inlay by n. c. wyeth. a series of spirited tales emphasizing some phases of the life of the ranch, plains and desert. a masterpiece. the blazed trail. with illustrations by thomas fogarty. a wholesome story with gleams of humor, telling of a young man who blazed his way to fortune through the heart of the michigan pines. the claim jumpers. a romance. the tenderfoot manager of a mine in a lonesome gulch of the black hills has a hard time of it, but "wins out" in more ways than one. conjuror's house. illustrated theatrical edition. dramatized under the title of "the call of the north." "conjuror's house" is a hudson bay trading post where the head factor is the absolute lord. a young fellow risked his life and won a bride on this forbidden land. the magic forest. a modern fairy tale. illustrated. the sympathetic way in which the children of the wild and their life is treated could only belong to one who is in love with the forest and open air. based on fact. the riverman. illus. by n. c. wyeth and c. underwood. the story of a man's fight against a river and of a struggle between honesty and grit on the one side, and dishonesty and shrewdness on the other. the silent places. illustrations by philip r. goodwin. the wonders of the northern forests, the heights of feminine devotion, and masculine power, the intelligence of the caucasian and the instinct of the indian, are all finely drawn in this story. the westerners. a story of the black hills that is justly placed among the best american novels. it portrays the life of the new west as no other book has done in recent years. the mystery. in collaboration with samuel hopkins adams with illustrations by will crawford. the disappearance of three successive crews from the stout ship "laughing lass" in mid-pacific, is a mystery weird and inscrutable. in the solution, there is a story of the most exciting voyage that man ever undertook. grosset & dunlap, west th st., new york louis tracy's captivating and exhilarating romances may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list. cynthia's chauffeur. illustrated by howard chandler christy. a pretty american girl in london is touring in a car with a chauffeur whose identity puzzles her. an amusing mystery. the stowaway girl. illustrated by nesbitt benson. a shipwreck, a lovely girl stowaway, a rascally captain, a fascinating officer, and thrilling adventures in south seas. the captain of the kansas. love and the salt sea, a helpless ship whirled into the hands of cannibals, desperate fighting and a tender romance. the message. illustrated by joseph cummings chase. a bit of parchment found in the figurehead of an old vessel tells of a buried treasure. a thrilling mystery develops. the pillar of light. the pillar thus designated was a lighthouse, and the author tells with exciting detail the terrible dilemma of its cut-off inhabitants. the wheel o'fortune. with illustrations by james montgomery flagg. the story deals with the finding of a papyrus containing the particulars of some of the treasures of the queen of sheba. a son of the immortals. illustrated by howard chandler christy. a young american is proclaimed king of a little balkan kingdom, and a pretty parisian art student is the power behind the throne. the wings of the morning. a sort of robinson crusoe redivivus with modern settings and a very pretty love story added. the hero and heroine are the only survivors of a wreck, and have many thrilling adventures on their desert island. ask for a complete free list of g. & d. popular copyrighted fiction. grosset & dunlap, west th st., new york stories of western life may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list. riders of the purple sage, by zane grey. illustrated by douglas duer. in this picturesque romance of utah of some forty years ago, we are permitted to see the unscrupulous methods employed by the invisible hand of the mormon church to break the will of those refusing to conform to its rule. friar tuck, by robert alexander wason. illustrated by stanley l. wood. happy hawkins tells us, in his humorous way, how friar tuck lived among the cowboys, how he adjusted their quarrels and love affairs and how he fought with them and for them when occasion required. the sky pilot, by ralph connor. illustrated by louis rhead. there is no novel, dealing with the rough existence of cowboys, so charming in the telling, abounding as it does with the freshest and the truest pathos. the emigrant trail, by geraldine bonner. colored frontispiece by john rae. the book relates the adventures of a party on its overland pilgrimage, and the birth and growth of the absorbing love of two strong men for a charming heroine. the boss of wind river, by a. m. chisholm. illustrated by frank tenney johnson. this is a strong, virile novel with the lumber industry for its central theme and a love story full of interest as a sort of subplot. a prairie courtship, by harold bindloss. a story of canadian prairies in which the hero is stirred, through the influence of his love for a woman, to settle down to the heroic business of pioneer farming. joyce of the north woods, by harriet t. comstock. illustrated by john cassel. a story of the deep woods that shows the power of love at work among its primitive dwellers. it is a tensely moving study of the human heart and its aspirations that unfolds itself through thrilling situations and dramatic developments. ask for a complete free list of g. & d. popular copyrighted fiction. grosset & dunlap, west th st., new york grosset & dunlap's dramatized novels the kind that are making theatrical history may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list. within the law. by bayard veiller & marvin dana. illustrated by wm. charles cooke. this is a novelization of the immensely successful play which ran for two years in new york and chicago. the plot of this powerful novel is of a young woman's revenge directed against her employer who allowed her to be sent to prison for three years on a charge of theft, of which she was innocent. what happened to mary. by robert carlton brown. illustrated with scenes from the play. this is a narrative of a young and innocent country girl who is suddenly thrown into the very heart of new york, "the land of her dreams," where she is exposed to all sorts of temptations and dangers. the story of mary is being told in moving pictures and played in theatres all over the world. the return of peter grimm. by david belasco. illustrated by john rae. this is a novelization of the popular play in which david warfield, as old peter grimm, scored such a remarkable success. the story is spectacular and extremely pathetic but withal, powerful, both as a book and as a play. the garden of allah. by robert hichens. this novel is an intense, glowing epic of the great desert, sunlit, barbaric, with its marvelous atmosphere of vastness and loneliness. it is a book of rapturous beauty, vivid in word painting. the play has been staged with magnificent cast and gorgeous properties. ben hur. a tale of the christ. by general lew wallace. the whole world has placed this famous religious-historical romance on a height of pre-eminence which no other novel of its time has reached. the clashing of rivalry and the deepest human passions, the perfect reproduction of brilliant roman life, and the tense, fierce atmosphere of the arena have kept their deep fascination. a tremendous dramatic success. bought and paid for. by george broadhurst and arthur hornblow. illustrated with scenes from the play. a stupendous arraignment of modern marriage which has created an interest on the stage that is almost unparalleled. the scenes are laid in new york, and deal with conditions among both the rich and poor. the interest of the story turns on the day-by-day developments which show the young wife the price she has paid. ask for a complete free list of g. & d. popular copyrighted fiction. grosset & dunlap, west th st., new york stories of rare charm by gene stratton-porter may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list. the harvester illustrated by w. l. jacobs "the harvester," david langston, is a man of the woods and fields, who draws his living from the prodigal hand of mother nature herself. if the book had nothing in it but the splendid figure of this man, with his sure grip on life, his superb optimism, and his almost miraculous knowledge of nature secrets, it would be notable. but when the girl comes to his "medicine woods," and the harvester's whole sound, healthy, large outdoor being realizes that this is the highest point of life which has come to him--there begins a romance, troubled and interrupted, yet of the rarest idyllic quality. freckles. decorations by e. stetson crawford. freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way in which he takes hold of life; the nature friendships he forms in the great limberlost swamp; the manner in which everyone who meets him succumbs to the charm of his engaging personality; and his love-story with "the angel" are full of real sentiment. a girl of the limberlost. illustrated by wladyslaw t. brenda. the story of a girl of the michigan woods; a buoyant, lovable type of the self-reliant american. her philosophy is one of love and kindness towards all things; her hope is never dimmed. and by the sheer beauty of her soul, and the purity of her vision, she wins from barren and unpromising surroundings those rewards of high courage. it is an inspiring story of a life worth while and the rich beauties of the out-of-doors are strewn through all its pages. at the foot of the rainbow. illustrations in colors by oliver kemp. design and decorations by ralph fletcher seymour. the scene of this charming, idyllic love story is laid in central indiana. the story is one of devoted friendship, and tender self-sacrificing love; the friendship that gives freely without return, and the love that seeks first the happiness of the object. the novel is brimful of the most beautiful word painting of nature, and its pathos and tender sentiment will endear it to all. ask for a complete free list of g. & d. popular copyrighted fiction. grosset & dunlap, west th st., new york myrtle reed's novels may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list. lavender and old lace. a charming story of a quaint corner of new england where bygone romance finds a modern parallel. the story centers round the coming of love to the young people on the staff of a newspaper--and it is one of the prettiest, sweetest and quaintest of old fashioned love stories, * * * a rare book, exquisite in spirit and conception, full of delicate fancy, of tenderness, of delightful humor and spontaneity. a spinner in the sun. miss myrtle reed may always be depended upon to write a story in which poetry, charm, tenderness and humor are combined into a clever and entertaining book. her characters are delightful and she always displays a quaint humor of expression and a quiet feeling of pathos which give a touch of active realism to all her writings. in "a spinner in the sun" she tells an old-fashioned love story, of a veiled lady who lives in solitude and whose features her neighbors have never seen. there is a mystery at the heart of the book that throws over it the glamour of romance. the master's violin. a love story in a musical atmosphere. a picturesque, old german virtuoso is the reverent possessor of a genuine "cremona." he consents to take for his pupil a handsome youth who proves to have an aptitude for technique, but not the soul of an artist. the youth has led the happy, careless life of a modern, well-to-do young american and he cannot, with his meagre past, express the love, the passion and the tragedies of life and all its happy phases as can the master who has lived life in all its fulness. but a girl comes into his life--a beautiful bit of human driftwood that his aunt had taken into her heart and home, and through his passionate love for her, he learns the lessons that life has to give--and his soul awakes. founded on a fact that all artists realize. ask for a complete free list of g. & d. popular copyrighted fiction. grosset & dunlap, west th st., new york b. m. bower's novels thrilling western romances large mos. handsomely bound in cloth. illustrated chip, of the flying u a breezy wholesome tale, wherein the love affairs of chip and delia whitman are charmingly and humorously told. chip's jealousy of dr. cecil grantham, who turns out to be a big, blue eyed young woman is very amusing. a clever, realistic story of the american cow-puncher. the happy family a lively and amusing story, dealing with the adventures of eighteen jovial, big hearted montana cowboys. foremost amongst them, we find ananias green, known as andy, whose imaginative powers cause many lively and exciting adventures. her prairie knight a realistic story of the plains, describing a gay party of easterners who exchange a cottage at newport for the rough homeliness of a montana ranch-house. the merry-hearted cowboys, the fascinating beatrice, and the effusive sir redmond, become living, breathing personalities. the range dwellers here are everyday, genuine cowboys, just as they really exist. spirited action, a range feud between two families, and a romeo and juliet courtship make this a bright, jolly, entertaining story, without a dull page. the lure of dim trails a vivid portrayal of the experience of an eastern author, among the cowboys of the west, in search of "local color" for a new novel. "bud" thurston learns many a lesson while following "the lure of the dim trails" but the hardest, and probably the most welcome, is that of love. the lonesome trail "weary" davidson leaves the ranch for portland, where conventional city life palls on him. a little branch of sage brush, pungent with the atmosphere of the prairie, and the recollection of a pair of large brown eyes soon compel his return. a wholesome love story. the long shadow a vigorous western story, sparkling with the free, outdoor, life of a mountain ranch. its scenes shift rapidly and its actors play the game of life fearlessly and like men. it is a fine love story from start to finish. ask for a complete free list of g. & d. popular copyrighted fiction. grosset & dunlap, west th st., new york [illustration: "i'll hit any trail with you--barring mexican politics." [page ]] the treasure trail a romance of the land of gold and sunshine by marah ellis ryan illustrated by robert amick publishers chicago a. c. mcclurg & co. copyright a. c. mcclurg & co. published november, copyrighted in great britain to kalatoka of the brown tent contents chapter page i kit and the girl of the lark call ii the red gold legend iii a verified prophecy of seÑorita billie iv in the adobe of pedro vijil v an "adios"--and after vi a dead man under the cottonwoods vii in the province of altar viii the slave trail ix a meeting at yaqui well x a mexican eaglet xi gloom of billie xii covering the trail xiii a woman of emerald eyes xiv the hawk of the sierras xv the "judas" prayer at mesa blanca xvi the secret of soledad chapel xvii the story of doÑa jocasta xviii ramon rotil decides xix the return of tula xx eagle and serpent xxi each to his own illustrations page "i'll hit any trail with you--barring mexican politics." _frontispiece_ "you poor kid, you have a hard time with the disreputables you pick up." "no, ramon! no!" she cried, and flung herself between him and his victims. the indian girl was steadily gaining on the german. the treasure trail chapter i kit and the girl of the lark call in the shade of pedro vijil's little brown adobe on the granados rancho, a horseman squatted to repair a broken cinch with strips of rawhide, while his horse--a strong dappled roan with a smutty face--stood near, the rawhide bridle over his head and the quirt trailing the ground. the horseman's frame of mind was evidently not of the sweetest, for to vijil he had expressed himself in forcible mexican--which is supposed to be spanish and often isn't--condemning the luck by which the cinch had gone bad at the wrong time, and as he tinkered he sang softly an old southern ditty: _oh--oh! i'm a good old rebel, now that's just what i am! for i won't be reconstructed and i don't care a damn!_ he varied this musical gem occasionally by whistling the air as he punched holes and wove the rawhide thongs in and out through the spliced leather. once he halted in the midst of a strain and lifted his head, listening. something like an echo of his own notes sounded very close, a mere shadow of a whistle. directly over his head was a window, unglazed and wooden barred. a fat brown olla, dripping moisture, almost filled the deep window sill, but the interior was all in shadow. its one door was closed. the vijil family was scattered around in the open, most of them under the _ramada_, and after a frowning moment of mystification the young fellow resumed his task, but in silence. then, after a still minute, more than the whisper of a whistle came to him--the subdued sweet call of a meadow lark. it was so sweet it might have been mate to any he had heard on the range that morning. only an instant he hesitated, then with equal care he gave the duplicate call, and held his breath to listen--not a sound came back. "we've gone loco, pardner," he observed to the smutty-faced roan moving near him. "that jolt from the bay outlaw this morning has jingled my brain pans--we don't hear birds call us--we only think we do." if he had even looked at pardner he might have been given a sign, for the roan had lifted its head and was staring into the shadows back of the sweating olla. "hi, you caballero!" the words were too clear to be mistaken, the "caballero" stared across to the only people in sight. there was pedro vijil sharpening an axe, while merced, his wife, turned the creaking grindstone for him. the young olive branches of the vijil family were having fun with a horned toad under the _ramada_ where gourd vines twisted about an ancient grape, and red peppers hung in a gorgeous splash of color. between that and the blue haze of the far mountains there was no sign of humanity to account for such cheery youthful americanism as the tone suggested. "hi, yourself!" he retorted, "whose ghost are you?" there was a giggle from the barred window of the adobe. "i don't dare say because i am not respectable just now," replied the voice. "i fell in the ditch and have nothing on but the sunday shirt of pedro. i am the funniest looking thing! wish i dared ride home in it to shock them all silly." "why not?" he asked, and again the girlish laugh gave him an odd thrill of comradeship. "a good enough reason; they'd take pat from me, and say he wasn't safe to ride--but he is! my tumble was my own fault for letting them put on that fool english saddle. never again for me!" "they are all right for old folks and a pacing pony," he observed, and again he heard the bubbling laugh. "well, pat is not a pacing pony, not by a long shot; and i'm not old folks--yet!" then after a little silence, "haven't you any curiosity?" "i reckon there's none allowed me on this count," he replied without lifting his head, "between the wooden bars and pedro's shirt you certainly put the fences up on me." "i'm a damsel in distress waiting for a rescuing knight with a white banner and a milk-white steed--" went on the laughing voice in stilted declamation. "sorry, friend, but my cayuse is a roan, and i never carried a white flag yet. you pick the wrong colors." whereupon he began the chanting of a war song, with an eye stealthily on the barred window. _hurrah! hurrah! for southern rights, hurrah! hurrah for the bonnie blue flag that bears the single star!_ "oh! _i_ know that!" the voice was now a hail of recognition. "cap pike always sings that when he's a little 'how-came-ye-so'--and _you're_ a johnny reb!" "um! twice removed," assented the man by the wall, "and you are a raiding yank who has been landed in one of our fortresses with only one shirt to her back, and that one borrowed." he had a momentary vision of two laughing gray eyes beside the olla, and the girl behind the bars laughed until merced let the grindstone halt while she cast a glance towards the house as if in doubt as to whether three feet of adobe wall and stout bars could serve instead of a dueña to foolish young americans who chattered according to their foolishness. there was an interval of silence, and then the girlish voice called again. "hi, johnny reb!" "same to you, miss yank." "aren't you the new americano from california, for the la partida rancho?" "even so, o wise one of the borrowed garment." the laugh came to him again. "why don't you ask how i know?" she demanded. "it is borne in upon me that you are a witch of the desert, or the ghost of a dream, that you see through the adobe wall, and my equally thick skull. far be it for me to doubt that the gift of second sight is yours, o seventh daughter of a seventh daughter!" "no such thing! i'm the only one!" came the quick retort, and the young chap in the shade of the adobe shook with silent mirth. "i see you laughing, mr. johnny reb, you think you caught me that time. but you just halt and listen to me, i've a hunch and i'm going to prophesy." "i knew you had the gift of second sight!" "maybe you won't believe me, but the hunch is that you--won't--hold--the job on these ranches!" "what!" and he turned square around facing the window, then laughed. "that's the way you mean to get even for the 'seventh daughter' guess is it? you think i can't handle horses?" "nix," was the inelegant reply, "i know you can, for i saw you handle that bay outlaw they ran in on you this morning: seven years old and no wrangler in pima could ride him. old cap pike said it was a damn shame to put you up against that sun-fisher as an introduction to granados." "oh! pike did, did he? nice and sympathetic of pike. i reckon he's the old-time ranger i heard about out at the junction, reading a red-fire riot to some native sons who were not keen for the cactus trail of the villistas. that old captain must be a live wire, but he thinks i can't stick?" "no-o, that wasn't cap pike, that was my own hunch. say, are you married?" "o señorita! this is so sudden!" he spoke in shy reproof, twisting his neckerchief in mock embarrassment, and again merced looked toward the house because of peals of laughter there. "you are certainly funny when you do that," she said after her laughter had quieted down to giggles, "but i wasn't joking, honest indian i wasn't! but how did you come to strike granados?" "me? well, i ranged over from california to sell a patch of ground i owned in yuma. then i hiked over to nogales on a little _pasear_ and offered to pack a gun and wear a uniform for this mexican squabble, and the powers that be turned me down because one of my eyes could see farther than the other--that's no joke--it's a calamity! i spent all the _dinero_ i had recovering from the shock, and about the time i was getting my sympathetic friends sobered up, singleton, of granados, saw us trying out some raw cavalry stock, and bid for my valuable services and i rode over. any other little detail you'd like to know?" "n-no, only needed to know it wasn't conrad the manager hired you, and i asked if you were married because married men need the work more than single strays. adolf conrad got rid of two good american men lately, and fetches over mexicans from away down hermosillo way." "'cause why?" asked the man who had ceased pretense of mending the saddle, and was standing with back against the adobe. "'cause i don't know," came petulant response. "i only had the hunch when i saw you tame that outlaw in the corral. if he pulls wires to lose _you_, i'll stop guessing; i'll know!" "very interesting, señorita," agreed the stranger reflectively. "but if i have a good job, i can't see how it will give me aid or comfort to know that you've acquired knowledge, and stopped guessing. when's your time up behind the bars?" "whenever my clothes get dry enough to fool the dear home folks." "you must be a joy to the bosom of your family," he observed, "also a blessing." he heard again the girlish laughter and concluded she could not be over sixteen. there was silence for a space while only the creak of the grindstone cut the stillness. whoever she was, she had given him a brief illuminating vision of the tactics of conrad, the manager for the ranches of granados and la partida, the latter being the sonora end of the old spanish land grant. even a girl had noted that the rough work had been turned over to a new american from the first circle of the _rodeo_. he stood there staring out across the sage green to the far purple hills of the green springs range. "you've fixed that cinch, what you waiting for?" asked the voice at last, and the young fellow straightened up and lifted the saddle. "that's so," he acknowledged. "but as you whistled to me and the call seemed friendly, it was up to me to halt for orders--from the lady in distress." again he heard the soft laughter and the voice. "glad you liked the friendly call, johnny reb," she confessed. "that's my call. if ever you hear it where there are no larks, you'll know who it is." "sure," he agreed, yanking at the cinch, "and i'll come a lopin' with the bonnie blue flag, to give aid and succor to the enemy." "you will not!" she retorted. "you'll just whistle back friendly, and be chums. i think my clothes are dry now, and you'd better travel. if you meet anyone looking for a stray maverick, you haven't seen me." "just as you say. _adios!_" after he had mounted and passed along the corral to the road, he turned in the saddle and looked back. he could see no one in the window of the bars, but there came to him clear and sweet the field bugle of the meadow lark. he answered it, lifted his sombrero and rode soberly towards the granados corrals, three miles across the valley. queer little trick she must be. american girls did not usually ride abroad alone along the border, and certainly did not chum with the mexicans to the extent of borrowing shirts. then as he lifted the bridle and pardner broke into a lope, he noted an elderly horseman jogging along across trail on a little mule. each eyed the other appraisingly. "hello, bub!" hailed the older man. "my name's pike, and you're the new man from california, hey? glad to meet you. hear your name's rhodes." "i reckon you heard right," agreed the young chap. "k. rhodes at your service, sir." "hello! k? k? does that k stand for kit?" "center shot for you," assented the other. "from tennessee?" "now you're a sort of family historian, i reckon, mr. pike," suggested k. rhodes. "what's the excitement?" "why you young plantation stray!" and the older man reached for his hand and made use of it pump-handle fashion with a sort of sputtering glee. "great guns, boy! there was just one k. rhodes a-top of god's green earth and we were pardners here in crook's day. hurrah for us! are you cousin, son, or nephew?" "my grandfather was with crook." "sure! i knew it soon as i laid eyes on you and heard your name; that was in the corral with the outlaw conrad had driven in for you to work, it wa'n't a square deal to a white man. i was cussin' mad." "so i heard," and the blue eyes of the other smiled at the memory of the girl's glib repetition of his discourse. "what's the great idea? aside from the fact that he belongs to the white dove, anti-military bunch of sisters, singleton seems quite white, a nice chap." "yeh, but he's noways wise at that. he sort of married into the horse game here, wasn't bred to it. just knows enough to not try to run it solo. now this dolf conrad does know horses and the horse market, and granados rancho. he's shipped more cavalry stock to france than any other outfit in this region. yes, conrad knows the business end of the game, but even at that he might not assay as high grade ore. he is mixed up with them too-proud-to-fight clique organized by old maids of both sexes, and to show that he is above all prejudice, political or otherwise, he sure is corraling an extra lot of mex help this year. i've _companeros_ i'd go through hell for, but conrad's breed--well, enough said, bub, but they're different!" mr. pike bit off a chew of black plug, and shook his head ruminatively. rhodes looked the old man over as they rode along side by side. he was lean, wiry and probably sixty-five. his hair, worn long, gave him the look of the old-time ranger. he carried no _reata_ and did not look like a ranchman. he had the southern intonation, and his eyes were wonderfully young for the almost snowy hair. "belong in the valley, captain?" "belong? me belong anywhere? not yet, son," and he smiled at his own fancy. "not but what it's a good enough corner when a man reaches the settlin' down age. i drift back every so often. this ranch was fred bernard's, and him and me flocked together for quite a spell. singleton married bernard's widow--she's dead now these seven years. i just drift back every so often to keep track of bernard's kid, billie." "i see. glad to have met you, captain. hope we can ride together often enough for me to hear about the old apache days. this land has fetched out three generations of us, so it surely has some pull! my father came at the end of his race, but i've come in time to grow up with the country." captain pike looked at him and chuckled. k. rhodes was about twenty-three, tall, almost boyish in figure, but his shoulders and hands suggested strength, and his mouth had little dents of humor at the corners to mitigate the squareness of jaw and the heavy dark brows. his black lashes made the deep blue of his eyes look purple. young he was, but with a stature and self-reliant manner as witness of the fact that he was fairly grown up already. "where'd you learn horses, bub?" "tennessee stock farm, and southern california ranges. then this neck of the woods seemed calling me, and i trailed over to look after a bit of land in yuma. i wasted some time trying to break into the army, but they found some eye defect that i don't know anything about--and don't more than half believe! i had some dandy prospecting plans after that, but there was no jingling in my pockets--no outfit money, so i hailed singleton as an angel monoplaned down with the ducats. yes sir, i had all the dream survey made for a try at some gold trails down here, going to take it up where the rest of the family quit." "you mean that, boy?" the old man halted his mule, and spat out the tobacco, staring at rhodes in eager anticipation. "i sure do. reckon i've inherited the fever, and can't settle down to any other thing until i've had one try at it. did do a little placer working in the san jacinto." "and you're broke?" mr. pike's voice betrayed a keen joy in the prospect. "flat," stated k. rhodes, eyeing the old gentleman suspiciously, "my horse, saddle, field glass, and gun are the only belongings in sight." "ki-yi!" chirruped his new acquaintance gleefully, "i knew when i got out of the blankets this morning i was to have good luck of some sort, had a 'hunch.' you can bet on me, bub; you've struck the right rail, and i'm your friend, your desert _companero_!" "yes, you sound real nice and friendly," agreed k. rhodes. "so glad i'm flat broke that you're having hysterics over it. typical southern hospitality. hearty welcome to our city, and so forth, and so forth!" the old man grinned at him appreciatively. "lord boy!--i reckon i've been waiting around for you about ten year, though i didn't know what your name would be when you come, and it couldn't be a better one! we'll outfit first for the three hills of gold in the desert, and if luck is against us there we'll strike down into sonora to have a try after the red gold of el alisal. i've covered some of that ground, but never had a pardner who would stick. they'd beat it because of either the mexicans or the indians, but _you_--say boy! it's the greatest game in the world and we'll go to it!" his young eyes sparkled in his weathered desert face, and more than ten years were cast aside in his enthusiasm. k. rhodes looked at him askance. "if i did not have a key to your sane and calm outlining of prospects for the future, i might suspect loco weed or some other dope," he observed. "but the fact is you must have known that my grandfather in his day went on the trail of the three hills of gold, and left about a dozen different plans on paper for future trips." "know it? why boy, i went in with him!" shrilled captain pike. "know it? why, we crawled out half starved, and dried out as a couple of last year's gourds. we dug roots and were chewing our own boot tops when the indians found us. sure, i know it. he went east to raise money for a bigger outfit, but never got back--died there." "yes, then my father gathered up all the plans and specifications and came out with a friend about fifteen years ago," added rhodes. "they never got anywhere, but he sort of worked the fever off, bought some land and hit the trail back home. so i've been fairly well fed up on your sort of dope, captain, and when i've mended that gone feeling in my pocketbook i may 'call' you on the gold trail proposition. even if you're bluffing there'll be no come back; i can listen to a lot of 'lost mine' vagaries. it sounds like home sweet home to me!" "bluff nothing! we'll start next week." "no we won't, i've got a job and made a promise, got to help clean up the work here for the winter. promised to take the next load of horses east." "that's a new one," observed his new friend. "conrad himself has always gone east with the horses, or sent brehmen, his secretary. but never mind, bub, the eastern trip won't take long. i'll be devilin' around getting our outfit and when the chance comes--us for the three hills of gold!" "it listens well," agreed k. rhodes, "cheeriest little _pasear_ i've struck in the county. we'll have some great old powwows, even if we don't make a cent, and some day you'll tell me about the mental kinks in the makeup of our prussian friend, conrad. he sounds interesting to me." captain pike uttered a profane and lurid word or two concerning mr. conrad, and stated he'd be glad when billie was of age. singleton, and therefore conrad, would only have the management up to that time. billie would know horses if nothing else, and--then he interrupted himself and stared back the way he had come. "i'm a forgetful old fool!" he stated with conviction. "i meandered out to take a look around for her, and i didn't like the looks of that little dab of a saddle conrad had put on pat. you didn't see anything of her, did you?" "what does she look like?" "a slip of a girl who rides like an indian, rides a black horse." "no, i've seen no one," said the young chap truthfully enough. "but who did you say your girl was?" "you'll find out if you hold your job long enough for her to be of age," said pike darkly. "she'll be your boss instead of conrad. it's billie bernard, the owner of granados and la partida." "billie?" "miss wilfreda, if you like it better." but k. rhodes said he didn't. billie seemed to fit the sort of girl who would garb herself in pedro's shirt and whistle at him through the bars of the little window. chapter ii the red gold legend it took less than a week for kit rhodes to conclude that the girl behind the bars had a true inspiration regarding his own position on her ranches. there was no open hostility to him, yet it was evident that difficulties were cleverly put in his way. not by philip singleton, the colorless, kindly disposed gentleman of pike's description. but by various intangible methods, he was made to feel an outsider by the manager, conrad, and his more confidential mexican assistants. they were punctiliously polite, too polite for a horse-ranch outfit. yet again and again a group of them fell silent when he joined them, and as his work was with the horse herds of la partida, that part of the great grant which spread over the border into sonora, he was often camped fifty miles south of the hacienda of granados, and saw no more of either the old prospector, or the tantalizing girl of the voice and the whistle. conrad, however, motored down two or three times concerning horses for eastern shipment, but rhodes, the new range capitan, puzzled considerably over those flying visits, for, after the long drive through sand and alkali, the attention he gave either herds or outfit was negligible. in fact he scarcely touched at the camp, yet always did some trifling official act coming or going to make record that he had been there. the mexicans called him el aoura, the buzzard, because no man could tell when he would swoop over even the farthest range of la partida to catch them napping. yet there was some sort of curious bond between them for there were times when conrad came north as from a long southern trail, yet the mexicans were as dumb men if it was referred to. he was a compactly built, fair man of less than forty, with thin reddish brown hair, brows slanting downward from the base of the nose, and a profile of that curious teuton type reminiscent of a supercilious hound if one could imagine such an animal with milk-blue eyes and a yellow mustache with spiky turned-up ends. but rhodes did not permit any antipathy he might feel towards the man to interfere with his own duties, and he went stolidly about the range work as if in utter forgetfulness of the dark prophecy of the girl. if he was to lose his new job he did not mean that it should be from inattention, and nothing was too trifling for his notice. he would do the work of a range boss twelve hours out of the day, and then put in extra time on a night ride to the _cantina_ at the south wells of la partida. but as the work moved north and the consignment of horses for france made practically complete, old cap pike rode down to granados corrals, and after contemplation of the various activities of rhodes, climbed up on the corral fence beside him, where the latter was checking off the accepted animals. "you're a cheerful idiot for work, bub," agreed the old man, "but what the devil do you gain by doing so much of the other fellow's job? pancho martinez wasn't sick as he played off on you; you're green to these mexican tricks." "sure, i'm the original green from greenburg," assented his new _companero_. "pancho was only more than usually drunk last night, while i was fresh as a daisy and eager to enlarge my geographic knowledge, also my linguistics, hi! pedro! not the sorrel mare! cut her out!" "linguistics?" repeated pike impatiently. "yeh, nice little woman in the cantina at la partida wells. i am a willing pupil at spanish love songs, and we get along fine. i am already a howling success at _la paloma_, _la golondrina_, and a few other sentimental birds." "oh, you are, are you?" queried pike. "well, take a warning. you'll get a knife in your back from her man one of these fine nights, and the song will be _adios, adios amores_ for you!" "nothing doing, cap! we play _malilla_ for the drinks, and i work it so that he beats me two out of three. i'm so easy i'm not worth watching. women don't fancy fools, so i'm safe." "well, i'll be 'strafed' by the dutch!" pike stared at the young fellow, frowning in perplexity. "you sure have me puzzled, bub. are you a hopeless dunce by training or nature?" "natural product," grinned k. rhodes cheerfully. "beauty unadorned. say cap, tell me something. what is the attraction for friend conrad south of la partida? i seem to run against a stone wall when i try to feel out the natives on that point. now just what lies south, and whose territory?" the old man looked at him with a new keenness. "for your sort of an idiot you've blundered on a big interrogation point," he observed. "did you meet him down there?" "no, only heard his voice in the night. it's not very easy to mistake that velvety blood-puddin' voice of his, and a team went down to meet him. he seems to go down by another route, railroad i reckon, and comes in by the south ranch. now just what is south?" "the ranches of soledad grant join la partida, or aim to. there are no maps, and no one here knows how far down over the border the partida leagues do reach. soledad was an old mission site, and a fortified hacienda back in the days of juarez. its owner was convicted of treason during diaz' reign, executed, and the ranches confiscated. it is now in the hands of a federal politician who is safer in hermosillo. the revolutionists are thick even among the pacificos up here, but the federals have the most ammunition, and the gods of war are with the guns." "sure; and who is the federal politician? no, not that colt, marcito!" "perez, don josé perez," stated pike, giving no heed to corral interpolations. "he claims more leagues than have ever been reckoned or surveyed, took in several indian rancherias last year when the natives were rounded up and shipped to yucatan." "what?" "oh, he is in that slave trade good and plenty! they say he is sore on the yaquis because he lost a lot of money on a boat load that committed suicide as they were sailing from guaymas." "a boat load of suicides! now a couple of dozen would sound reasonable, but a boat load----" "but it happened to every indian on the boat, and the boat was full! no one knows how the poor devils decided it, but it was their only escape from slavery, and they went over the side like a school of fish. men, women, and children from the desert who couldn't swim a stroke! talk about nerve--there wasn't one weakling in that whole outfit, not one! perez was wild. it lost him sixty dollars a head, american." "and that's the neighbor friend conrad takes a run down south to see occasionally?" "who says so, bub?" the two looked at each other, eyes questioning. "look here, son," said pike, after a little, "i'll hit any trail with you barring mexican politics. they all sell each other out as regular as the seasons swing around, and the man north of the line who gets tangled is sure to be victim if he stays in long enough." "oh, i don't know! we have a statesman or two who flirted with sonora and came out ahead." "i said if he stayed in," reminded pike. "sure we have crooks galore who drift across, play a cut-throat game and skip back to cover. the border is lined with them on both sides. and conrad----" "but conrad isn't in politics." "n-no. there's no evidence that he is, but his mexican friends are. there are men on the granados now who used to be down on soledad, and they are the men who make the trips with him to the lower ranch." "tomas herrara and chico domingo?" "i reckon you've sized them up, but remember, kit, i don't cross over with you for any political game, and i don't know a thing!" "all right, captain, but don't raise too loud a howl if i fancy a _pasear_ occasionally to improve my spanish." the old man grumbled direful and profane prophecies as to things likely to happen to students of spanish love songs in sonora, and then sat with his head on one side studying kit ruminatively as he made his notes of the selected stock. "ye know bub, it mightn't be so bad at that, if you called a halt in time, for one of the lost mine trails calls for spanish and plenty of it. i've got a working knowledge, but the farther you travel into sonora the less american you will hear, and that lost mine of the old padres is down there along the ranges of soledad somewhere." "which one of the fifty-seven varieties have you elected to uncover first?" queried rhodes. "the last time you were confidential about mines i thought the 'three hills of gold' were mentioned by you." "sure it was, but since you are on the sonora end of the ranch, and since you are picking up your ears to learn sonoran trails, it might be a good time to follow your luck. say, i'll bet that every herder who drifts into the _cantina_ at la partida has heard of the red gold of el alisal. the yaquis used to know where it was before so many of them were killed off; reckon it's lost good and plenty now, but nothing is hid forever and it's waiting there for some man with the luck." "we're willing," grinned kit. "you are a great little old dreamer, captain. and there is a fair chance i may range down there. i met a chap named whitely from over toward the painted hills north of altar. ranch manager, sort of friendly." "sure, tom whitely has some stock in a ranch over there--the mesa blanca ranch--it joins soledad on the west. i've always aimed to range that way, but the lost mine is closer than the eastern sierras--must be! the trail of the early padres was farther east, and the mine could not well be far from the trail, not more than a day's journey by mule or burro, and that's about twenty miles. you see bub, it was found by a padre who wandered off the trail on the way to a little branch mission, or _visita_, as they call it, and it was where trees grew, for a big alisal tree--sycamore you know--was near the outcrop of that red gold. well, that _visita_ was where the padres only visited the heathen for baptism and such things; no church was built there! that's what tangles the trail for anyone trying to find traces after a hundred years." "i reckon it would," agreed rhodes. "think what a hundred years of cactus, sand, and occasional _temblors_ can do to a desert, to say nothing of the playful zephyrs. why, cap, the winds could lift a good-sized range of hills and fill the baby rivers with it in that time, for the winds of the desert have a way with them!" a boy rode out of the whirls of dust, and climbed up on the corral fence where rhodes was finishing tally of the horses selected for shipment. he was the slender, handsome son of tomas herrara of whom they had been speaking. "it is a letter," he said, taking a folded paper from his hat. "the señor conrad is having the telegraph, and the cars are to be ready for granados." "right you are, juanito," agreed rhodes. "tell señor conrad i will reach granados for supper, and that all the stock is in." the lad whirled away again, riding joyously north, and rhodes, after giving final directions to the vaqueros, turned his roan in the same direction. "can't ride back with you, cap, for i'm taking a little _pasear_ around past herrara's rancheria. i want to take a look at that bunch of colts and size up the water there. i've a hunch they had better be headed up the other valley to the green springs tank till rains come." captain pike jogged off alone after some audible and highly colored remarks concerning range bosses who assumed the power of the almighty to be everywhere the same day. yet as he watched the younger man disappear over the gray-green range he smiled tolerantly for, after all, that sort of a hustler was the right sort of partner for a prospecting trip. the late afternoon was a golden haze under a metal blue sky; afar to the east, sharp edges of the mountains cut purple zig-zags into the salmon pink of the horizon. the rolling waves of the ranges were bathed in a sea of rest, and now and then a bird on the mesquite along an arroya, or resting on branch of flaring occotilla would give out the foreboding call of the long shadows, for the heart of the day had come and gone, and the cooler air was waking the hidden things from siesta. kit rhodes kept the roan at a steady lope along the cattle trail, drinking in the refreshing sweetness of the lonely ranges after hours of dust and heat and the trampling horse herds of the corrals. occasionally he broke into songs of the ranges, love songs, death laments, and curious sentimental ditties of love and wars of old england as still crooned in the cabins of southern mountains. _i had not long been married, a happy, happy bride! when a handsome trooper captain stepped up to our bedside, "rise up! rise up! young man," he said, "and go along with me, in the low, low lands of holland to fight for liberty._" the ancient song of the sad bride whose lover proved false in the "low, low lands of holland" trailed lugubriously along the arroya in a totally irrelevant way, for the singer was not at all sad. he was gaily alert, keen-eyed and watchful, keeping time to the long lope with that dubious versification. "and they're at it again pretty close to the 'low, low lands of holland,' pardner," he confided to the horse. "and when you and i make a stake you'll go on pasture, i'll hit the breeze for canada or some other seaport, and get one whack at the boche brown rat on my own if official america is too proud to fight, for _oh-h! oh-h! oh-h! in the low, low lands of holland, my love was false to me!_" then, after long stretches of sand dunes, mesquite thickets, occasional wide cañons where _zacatan_ meadows rippled like waves of the sea in the desert air, he swung his horse around a low hill and came in sight of the little adobe of herrara, a place of straggly enclosures of stakes and wattles, with the corral at the back. another rider came over the hill beyond the corral, on a black horse skimming the earth. rhodes stared and whistled softly as the black without swerving planted its feet and slid down the declivity by the water tank, and then, jumping the fence below, sped to the little _ramada_ before the adobe where its rider slid to the ground amid a deal of barking of dogs and scattering of children. and although kit had never seen the rider before, he had no difficulty as to recognition, and on a sudden impulse he whistled the meadow-lark call loudly enough to reach her ears. she halted at the door, a bundle in her hand, and surveyed the landscape, but failed to see him because he at that moment was back of a clump of towering prickly pear. and she passed on into the shadows of the adobe. "that's the disadvantage of being too perfect, pardner," he confided to the roan, "she thinks we are a pair of birds." he turned at the corner of the corral and rode around it which took him back of the house and out of range from the door, but the dogs set up a ki-yi-ing, and a flock of youngsters scuttled to the corner of the adobe, and stared as children of the far ranges are prone to stare at the passing of a traveler from the longed-for highways of the world. the barking of the dogs and scampering of the children evidently got on the nerves of the black horse left standing at the vine-covered _ramada_, for after a puppy had barked joyously at his heels he leaped aside, and once turned around kept on going, trotting around the corral after the roan. rhodes saw it but continued on his way, knowing he could pick it up on his return, as the ojo verde tank was less than a mile away. a boy under the _ramada_ gave one quick look and then fled, a flash of brown and a red flapping end of a sash, up the cañoncita where the home spring was shadowed by a large mesquite tree. at first rhodes turned in the saddle with the idea of assisting in the catching of the black if that was the thing desired, but it evidently was not. "now what has that _muchacho_ on his mind that he makes that sort of get-away after nothing and no pursuer in sight? pardner, i reckon we'll squander a valuable minute or two and gather in that black." he galloped back, caught the wanderer but kept right on without pause to the trickle of water under the flat wide-spreading tree--it was a solitaire, being king of its own domain and the only shade, except the vine-covered _ramada_, for a mile. the startled boy made a movement as if to run again as kit rode up, then halted, fear and fateful resignation changing the childish face to sullenness. "_buenas tardes_, narcisco." "_buenas tardes_, señor," gulped the boy. "i turned back to catch the horse of the señorita for you," observed rhodes. "it is best you tie him when you lead him back, but first give him water. thirst is perhaps the cause he is restless." "yes señor," agreed the lad. "at once i will do that." but he held the horse and did not move from his tracks, and then rhodes noticed that on the flat rock behind him was a grain sack thrown over something, a brown bottle had rolled a little below it, and the end of a hammer protruded from under the sacking. ordinarily rhodes would have given no heed to any simple ranch utensils gathered under the shadow where work was more endurable, but the fear in the face of the boy fascinated him. "think i'll give pardner a drink while i am about it," he decided, and dismounted carelessly. "got a cup that i can take my share first?" narcisco had no cup, only shook his head and swallowed as if the attempt at words was beyond him. "well, there is a bottle if it is clean," and rhodes strode awkwardly towards it, but his spur caught in the loose mesh of the sacking, and in loosening it he twisted it off the rock. narcisco gasped audibly, and rhodes laughed. he had uncovered a couple of dozen empty whiskey bottles, and a tin pan with some broken glass. "what you trying to start up here in the cañon, buddy?" he asked. "playing saloon-keeper with only the gophers for customers?" he selected a corked bottle evidently clean, rinsed and drank from it. "yes--señor--i am here playing--that is all," affirmed narcisco. "at the house tia mariana puts us out because there is a new _niño_--my mother and the new one sleep--and there is no place to make a noise." "oh," commented rhodes, "well, let the black have a little water, and lead him out of the way of mine. this gully isn't wide enough to turn around in." obediently the boy led the black to the sunken barrel catching seepage from the barrel under the drip. rhodes tossed the sack back to the flat rock and noted an old canvas water bottle beside the heap, it was half full of something--not water, for it was uncorked and the mouth of it a-glitter with shimmering particles like diamond dust, and the same powder was over a white spot on the rock--the lad evidently was playing miller and pounding broken glass into a semblance of meal. "funny stunt, that!" he pondered, and, smiling, watched the frightened boy. "herrara certainly is doing a bit of collecting _vino_ to have a stock of bottles that size, and the poor kid's nothing else to play with." he mounted and rode on, leaving narcisco to lead the black to his mistress. he could not get out of his mind the fright in the eyes of the boy. was herrara a brute to his family, and had narcisco taken to flight to hide his simple playthings under the mistaken idea that the horseman was his father returned early from the ranges? that was the only solution rhodes could find to the problem, though he milled it around in his mind quite a bit. unless the boy was curiously weak-minded and frightened at the face of a stranger it was the only explanation he could find, yet the boys of herrara had always struck him as rather bright. in fact conrad had promoted juanito to the position of special messenger; he could ride like the wind and never forget a word. the shadows lengthened as he circled the little cañon of the ojo verde and noted the water dripping from the full tanks, ideal for the colt range for three months. he took note that herrara was not neglecting anything, despite that collection of bottles. there was no wastage and the pipes connecting the tanks were in good condition. he rode back, care free and content, through the fragrant valley. the cool air was following the lowering sun, and a thin mauve veil was drifting along the hills of mystery in the south; he sang as he rode and then checked the song to listen to the flutelike call of a lark. his lips curved in a smile as he heard it, and with it came the thought of the girl and the barred window of vijil's adobe. she permeated the life of granados just as the soft veil enwrapped the far hills, and she had seemed almost as far away if not so mysterious. not once had he crossed her trail, and he heard she was no longer permitted to ride south of the line. the vaqueros commented on this variously according to their own point of view. some of the mexicans resented it, and in one way or another her name was mentioned whenever problems of the future were discussed. singleton was regarded as temporary, and conrad was a salaried business manager. but on a day to come, the señorita, as her mother's daughter, would be their mistress, and the older men with families showed content at the thought. rhodes never could think of her as the chatelaine of those wide ranges. she was to him the "meadow-lark child" of jests and laughter, heard and remembered but not seen. she was the haunting music of youth meeting him at the gateway of a new land which is yet so old! some such vagrant thought drifted through his mind as the sweet calls of the drowsy birds cut the warm silence, now from some graceful palo verde along a barranca and again from the slender pedestal of an occotilla. "lucky you, for you get an answer!" he thought whimsically. "amble along, pardner, or the night witches get us!" and then he circled a little at the north of the cañon, and the black horse, champing and fidgeting, was held there across the trail by its rider. "we are seeing things in broad daylight, pardner, and there ain't no such animal," decided rhodes, but pardner whinnied, and the girl threw up her hand. "this time i am a highwayman, the far-famed terror of the ranges!" she called. "sure!" he conceded. "i've been thinking quite a while that your term must be about up." she laughed at that, and came alongside. "didn't you suppose i might have my time shortened for good behavior?" she asked. "you never even ride our way to see." "me? why, child, i'm so busy absorbing _kultur_ from your scientific manager that my spare moments for damsels in distress are none too plenty. you sent out nary a call, and how expect the lowest of your serfs to hang around?" "serf? that's good!" she said skeptically. "and say, you must love conrad about as much as cap pike does." "and that?" "is like a rattlesnake." "don't know that rattlesnake would be my first choice of comparison," remarked rhodes. "back in tennessee we have a variety beside which the rattlesnake is a gentleman; a rattlesnake does his best to give warning of intention, but the copperhead never does." "copperhead! that's funny, for you know conrad's hair is just about the color of copper, dusty copper, faded copper--copper with tin filings sifted through." "don't strain yourself," laughed rhodes. "that beautiful blondness makes him mighty attractive to our mexican cousins." "they can have my share," decided the girl. "i could worry along without him quite awhile. he manages to get rid of all the likeable range men _muy pronto_." rhodes laughed until she stared at him frowningly, and then the delicious color swept over her face. "oh, _you_!" she said, and rhodes thought of sweet peas, and pink roses in old southern gardens as her lips strove to be straight, yet curved deliciously. no one had mentioned to him how pretty she was; he had thought of her as a browned tom-boy, but instead she was a shell-pink bud on a slender stem, and wonder of wonders--she rode a side-saddle in arizona! she noticed him looking at it. "are you going to laugh at that, too?" she demanded. "why no, it hadn't occurred to me. it sort of looks like home to me--our southern girls use them." she turned to him with a quick birdlike movement, her gray eyes softened and trusting. "it was my mother's saddle, a wedding present from the vaqueros of our ranches when she married my father. i am only beginning to use it, and not so sure of myself as with the one i learned on." "oh, i don't know," he observed. "you certainly looked sure when you jumped that fence at herrara's." she glanced at him quickly, curious, and then smiling. "and it was you, not the meadow lark! you are too clever!" "and you didn't answer, just turned your back on the lonely ranger," he stated dolefully, but she laughed. "this doesn't look it, waiting to go home with you," she retorted. "cap pike has been telling me about you until i feel as if i had known you forever. he says you are his family now, so of course that makes granados different for you." "why, yes. i've been in sight of granados as much as twice since i struck this neck of the woods. your manager seems to think my valuable services are indispensable at the southern side of this little world." "so that's the reason? i didn't know," she said slowly. "one would have to be a seventh son of a seventh son to understand his queer ways. but you are going along home today, for i am a damsel in distress and need to be escorted." "you don't look distressed, and i've an idea you could run away from your escort if you took a notion," he returned. "but it is my lucky day that i had a hunch for this cañon trail and the green springs, and i am happy to tag along." they had reached herrara's corral and rhodes glanced up the little gulch to the well. the flat rock there was stripped of the odd collection, and narcisco stood at the corner of the adobe watching them somberly. "_buenos tardes!_" called the girl. "take care of the _niño_ as the very treasure of your heart!" "sure!" agreed the lad, "_adios_, señorita." "why the special guard over the treasure?" asked rhodes as their horses fell into the long easy lope side by side. "the house seems full and running over, and _niñitas_ to spare." "there are never any to spare," she reminded him, "and this one is doubly precious for it is named for me--together its saint and its two grandmothers! benicia promised me long ago that whether it was a boy or a girl it would be billie bernard herrara. i was just taking the extra clothes i had tia luz make for him--and he is a little black-eyed darling! soon as he is weaned i'm going to adopt him; i always did want a piccaninny for my own." rhodes guided his horse carefully around a barranca edge, honeycombed by gophers, and then let his eyes rest again on the lustrous confiding eyes, and the rose-leaf lips. afterward he told himself that was the moment he began to be bewitched by billie bernard. but what he really said was--"shoo, child, you're only a piccaninny yourself!" and they both laughed. it was quite wonderful how old captain pike had managed to serve as a family foundation for their knowledge of each other. there was not a doubt or a barrier between them, they were "home folks" riding from different ways and meeting in the desert, and silently claiming kindred. the shadows grew long and long under the sun of the old mexic land, and the high heavens blazed above in yellows and pinks fading into veiled blues and far misty lavenders in the hollows of the hills. the girl drew a great breath of sheer delight as she waved her hands towards the fire flame in the west where the desert was a trail of golden glory. "oh, i am glad--glad i got away!" she said in a hushed half-awed voice. "it never--never could be like this twice and we are seeing it! look at the moon!" the white circle in the east was showing through a net of softest purple and the beauty of it caused them to halt. "oh, it makes me want to sing, or to say my prayers, or--to cry!" she said, and she blinked tears from her eyes and smiled at him. "i reckon the colors would look the same from the veranda, but all this makes it seem different," and her gesture took in the wide ranges. "sure it does," he agreed. "one wants to yell, 'hurrah for god!' when a combination like this is spread before the poor meek and lowly of the earth. it is a great stage setting, and makes us humans seem rather inadequate. why, we can't even find the right words for it." "it makes me feel that i just want to ride on and on, and on through it, no matter which way i was headed." "well, take it from me, señorita, you are headed the right way," he observed. "going north is safe, but the blue ranges of the south are walls of danger. the old border line is a good landmark to tie to." "um!" she agreed, "but all the fascinating things and the witchy things, and the mysterious things are down there over the border. i never get real joy riding north." "perhaps because it is not forbidden, miss eve." then they laughed again and lifted the bridles, and the horses broke into a steady lope, neck and neck, as the afterglow made the earth radiant and the young faces reflected the glory of it. "what was that you said about getting away?" he queried. "did you break jail?" "just about. papa singleton hid my cross-saddle thinking i would not go far on this one. they have put a ban on my riding south, but i just had to see my billie bernard herrara." "and you ran away?" "n-no. we sneaked away mighty slow and still till we got a mile or two out, and then we certainly burned the wind. didn't we, pat?" "well, as range boss of this end of the ranch i reckon i have to herd you home, and tell them to put up the fences," said rhodes. "yes, you will!" she retorted in derision of this highly improbable suggestion. "surest thing you know! singleton has good reasons for restricting your little pleasure rides to granados. just suppose el gavilan, the hawk, should cross your trail in sonora, take a fancy to pat--for pat is some _caballo_!--and gather you in as camp cook?" "camp cook?" "why, yes; you can cook, can't you? all girls should know how to cook." "what if i do? i have cooked on the camp trips with cap pike, but that doesn't say i'll ever cook for that wild rebel, ramon rotil. are you trying to frighten me off the ranges?" "no, only stating the case," replied rhodes lighting a cigarette and observing her while appearing not to. "quite a few of the girls in the revolution camps are as young as you, and many of them are not doing camp work by their own choice." "but i--" she began indignantly. "oh yes, in time you would be ransomed, and for a few minutes you might think it romantic--the 'bandit bride,' the 'rebel queen,' the 'girl guerrilla,' and all that sort of dope,--but believe me, child, by the time the ransom was paid you would be sure that north of the line was the garden spot of the earth and heaven enough for you, if you could only see it again!" she gave him one sulky resentful look and dug her heel into pat. he leaped a length ahead of the roan and started running. "you can pretend you are el gavilan after a lark, and see how near you will get!" she called derisively and leaned forward urging the black to his best. "you glorified gray-eyed lark!" he cried. "gather her in, pardner!" but he rode wide to the side instead of at the heels of pat and thus they rode neck and neck joyously while he laughed at her intent to leave him behind. the corrals and long hay ricks of granados were now in sight, backed by the avenue of palms and streaks of green where the irrigation ditches led water to the outlying fields and orchards. "el gavilan!" she called laughingly. "beat him, pat,--beat him to the home gate!" then out of a fork of the road to the left, an automobile swept to them from a little valley, one man was driving like the wind and another waved and shouted. rhodes' eyes assured him that the shouting man was philip singleton, and he rode closer to the girl, grasped her bridle, and slowed down his own horse as well as hers. "you'll hate me some more for this," he stated as she tried to jerk loose and failed, "but that yelping windmill is your fond guardian, and he probably thinks i am trying to kidnap you." she halted at that, laughing and breathless, and waved her hand to the occupants of the car. "i can be good as an angel now that i have had my day!" she said. "hello folks! what's the excitement?" the slender man whom rhodes had termed the yelping windmill, removed his goggles, and glared, hopelessly distressed at the flushed, half-laughing girl. "billie--wilfreda!" "now, now, papa singleton! don't swear, and don't ever get frightened because i am out of sight." then she cast one withering glance at rhodes, adding,--"and if you engage range bosses like this one no one on granados will ever get out of sight!" "the entire house force has been searching for you over two hours. where have you been?" "oh, come along home to supper, and don't fuss," she suggested. "just because you hid my other saddle i went on a little _pasear_ of my own, and i met up with this roan on my way home." rhodes grinned at the way she eliminated the rider of the roan horse, but the driver of the machine was not deceived by the apparent slight. he had seen that half defiant smile of comradeship, and his tone was not nice. "it is not good business to waste time and men in this way," he stated flatly. "it would be better that word is left with the right ones when you go over the border to amuse yourself in sonora." the smile went out of the eyes of the girl, and she held her head very erect. "you and mr. rhodes appear to agree perfectly, mr. conrad," she remarked. "he was trying to show me how little chance i would stand against el gavilan or even the yaqui slave traders if they ranged up towards the border." "slave traders?" repeated conrad. "you are making your jokes about that, of course, but the camp followers of the revolution is a different thing;--everywhere they are ranging." the girl did not answer, and the car sped on to the ranch house while the two horses cantered along after them, but the joyous freedom of the ride had vanished, lost back there on the ranges when the other minds met them in a clash. "say," observed rhodes, "i said nothing about yaqui slave traders. where did you get that?" "i heard conrad and his man brehman talking of the profits,--sixty pesos a head i think it was. i wonder how they knew?" singleton was waiting for them at the entrance to the ranch house, great adobe with a patio eighty feet square in the center. in the old old days it had housed all the vaqueros, but now the ranchmen were divided up on different outlying rancherias and the many rooms of granados were mostly empty. conrad, his secretary brehman, and their cook occupied one corner, while singleton and billie and tia luz with her brood of helpers occupied the other. singleton was not equal to the large hospitality of the old days when the owner of a hacienda was a sort of king, dispensing favors and duties to a small army of retainers. a companionable individual he was glad to meet and chat or smoke with, but if the property had been his own he would have sold every acre and spent the proceeds in some city of the east where a gentleman could get something for his money. conrad had halted a moment after singleton climbed out of the car. "i sent word to rhodes to come up from la partida because of the horse shipment," he said looking across the level where the two riders were just entering the palm avenue. "because of that it would seem he is to be my guest, and i have room." "oh, we all have room, more room than anything else," answered singleton drearily, "but it will be as billie says. i see pike's nag here, and she always wants pike." the milky blue eyes of conrad slanted towards singleton in discreet contempt of the man who allowed a wayward girl to decide the guests or the housing of them. but he turned away. "the telephone will reach me if there is anything i can do," he said. singleton did not reply. he knew conrad absolutely disapproved of the range boss being accepted as a family guest. between billie and captain pike, who was a privileged character, he did not quite see how he could prevent it in the case of rhodes, although he was honestly so glad to see the girl ride home safe that he would have accepted any guest of the range she suggested. "papa phil," she said smiling up into his face teasingly, "i'm on my native heath again, so don't be sulky. and i have a darling new namesake i've been making clothes for for a month, and i'll tell you all about him if you'll give mr. rhodes and me a good supper. he is cap pike's family, and will have the south corner room; please tell tia luz." and when billie was like that, and called him "papa phil," and looked up at him with limpid childish eyes, there was never much else to be said. "i'll show rhodes his quarters myself, and you make haste and get your habit off. luz has been waiting supper an hour. today's paper reports a band of bandits running off stock on the alton ranch, and it is on the arizona side of the border. that should show you it is no time to ride out of sight of the corrals." "now, now! you know the paper raids aren't real raids. they'll have a new one to get excited over tomorrow." she ran away to be petted and scolded and prayed for by tia luz, who had been her nurse, and was now housekeeper and the privileged one to whom billie turned for help and sympathy. "you laugh! but the heart was melting in me with the fear," she grumbled as she fastened the yellow sash over the white lawn into which billie had dashed hurriedly. "it is not a joke to be caught in the raiding of ramon rotil, or any of the other accursed! who could think it was south you were riding? i was the one to send them north in the search, every man of them, and señor conrad looks knives at me. that man thinks i am a liar, sure he does! and the saints know i was honest and knew nothing." "sure you know nothing, never could and never did, you dear old bag of cotton," and billie pinched affectionately the fat arm of tia luz and tickled her under her fat chin. "quick luzita, and fasten me up. supper waits, and men are always raving wolves." she caught up a string of amber beads and clasped it about her throat as she ran across the patio, and kit rhodes halted a moment in the corridor to watch her. "white and gold and heavenly lovely," he thought as he rumpled his crisp brown curls meditatively, all forgetful of the earnest attempts he had just made to smooth them decorously with the aid of a damp towel and a pocket comb. "white and gold and a silver spoon, and a back seat for you, kittie boy!" captain pike emerged from a door at the corner of the patio. he also had damp hair, a shiny face, and a brand-new neckerchief with indigo circles on a white ground. "look at this, will you?" he piped gleefully. "billie's the greatest child ever! always something stuck under the pillow like you'd hide candy for a kid, and say,--if any of the outfit would chuck another hombre in my bunk the little lady would raise hell from here to pinecate, and worse than that there ain't any this side of the european centers of civilization. come on in, supper's ready." rhodes hesitated at the door of the dining room, suddenly conscious of a dusty blouse and a much faded shirt. his spurs clink-clanked as he strode along the tiling of the patio, and in the semi-twilight he felt at home in the ranch house, but one look at the soft glow of the shaded lamps, and the foot deep of mexican needlework on the table cover, gave him a picture of home such as he had not seen on the ranges. singleton was in spotless white linen, the ideal southern ranchman's home garb, while the mistress of all the enticing picture was in white and gold, and flushing pink as she met the grave appreciative gaze of rhodes. "h'lo little santa claus," chirruped pike. "it's just the proper caper to set off my manly beauty, so i'm one ahead of kit who has no one to garnish him for the feast--and it sure smells like some feast!" "venison perhaps a trifle overdone, but we hope it won't disappoint you," remarked singleton. "have this seat, mr. rhodes. captain pike and miss bernard always chum together, and have their own side." "rather," decided pike, "and that arrangement reaches back beyond the memory of mere man in this outfit." "i should say," agreed the girl. "why, he used to have to toss me over his head a certain number of times before i would agree to be strapped in my high chair." "yep, and i carpentered the first one, and it wasn't so bad at that! now child, if you will pass the lemons, and kit will pass the decanter of amber, and someone else will rustle some water, i'll manufacture a tonic to take the dust out of your throats." "everybody works but father," laughed billie as the chinaman sliced and served the venison, and tia luz helped supply all plates, and then took her place quietly at the lower end of the table and poured the strong fragrant coffee. rhodes spoke to her in spanish, and her eyes lit up with kindly appreciation. "ah, very good!" she commented amicably. "you are not then too much americano?" "well, yes, i'm about as american as you find them aside from the apache and pima and the rest of the tribes." "maybe so, but not gringo," she persisted. "i am scared of the apache the same as of el gavilan, and today my heart was near to stop going at all when we lose señorita and that black horse--and i say a prayer for you to san antonio when i see you come fetch her home again." "yes, the black horse is valuable," remarked billie. "huh! i might as well be in a convent for all i get to see of the ranges these late days. if anyone would grubstake me, i'd break loose with cap here and go prospecting for adventures into some of the unnamed ranges." "you see!" said tia luz. "is it a wonder i am cold with the fear when she is away from my eyes? i have lived to see the people who go into the desert for adventure, and whose bare bones are all any man looks on again! beside the mountain wells of carrizal my own cousin's husband died; he could not climb to the tank in the hill. there they found him in the moon of kumaki, which is gray and nothing growing yet." "yes, many's the salt outfit in the west played out before they reached tinajas altas," said pike. "i've heard curious tales about that place, and the carrizals as well. billie's father nearly cashed in down in the carrizals, and one of his men did." "but that is what i am saying. it was dario ruiz," stated tia luz. "yes, señor, that was the time, and it was for the nameless ranges they went seeking, and for adventures, treasure too; but--his soul to god! it was death dario was finding on that trail. your father never would speak one word again of the treasure of that old fable, for dario found death instead of the red gold, and dario was _compadre_ to him." "the red gold?" and cap pike's eyes were alight with interest. "why, i was telling kit about that today, the red gold of el alisal." "yes, señor capitan, once so rich and so red it was a wonder in spain when the padres are sending it there from the mission of soledad, and then witches craft, like a cloud, come down and cover that mountain. so is the vein lost again, and it is nearly one hundred years. so how could dario think to find it when the padres, with all their prayer, never once found the trail?" "i never heard it was near a mission," remarked pike. "why, if it had a landmark like that there should be no trouble." "yet it is so, and much trouble, also deaths," stated tia luz. "that is how the saying is that the red gold of el alisal is gold bewitched, for of soledad not one adobe is now above ground unless it be in the old walls of the hacienda. all is melted into earth again or covered by the ranch house, and it is said the ranch house is also neglected now, and many of its old walls are going." "there are still enough left to serve as a very fair fortress," remarked singleton. "i was down there two years ago when we bought some herds from perez, and lost quite a number from lack of water before the vaqueros got them to la partida wells. it is a long way between water holes over in altar." "sure," agreed pike, "but if the old mine was near a mission, and the mission was near the ranch of soledad it should not be a great stunt to find it, and there must be water and plenty of it if they do much in cattle." "they don't these days," said singleton. "perez sold a lot rather than risk confiscation, and i heard they did have some raids down there. i thought i had heard most of the lost mine legends of western sonora, but i never heard of that one, and i never heard that fred bernard went looking for it." the old woman lifted her brows and shrugged her shoulders with the suggestion that sonora might hold many secrets from the amicable gentleman. but a little later, in an inquiry from rhodes she explained. "see you, señor, dario ruiz was _compadre_ of señor alfredo bernard, americanos not understanding all in that word, and the grandfather of dario was major-domo of the rancho of soledad at that time the apaches are going down and killing the people there. that is when the mine was lost. on the skin of a sheep it was told in writing all about it, and dario had that skin. sure he had! it was old and had been buried in the sand, and holes were eaten in it by wild things, but don alfredo did read it, and i was hearing the reading of it to dario ruiz, but of what use the reading when that mine bewitched itself into hiding?" "but the writing? did that bewitch itself away also?" demanded billie. "how could i be asking of that when dario was dead down there in the desert, and his wife, that was my cousin anita, was crazy wild against don alfredo the father of you! ai, that was a bad time, and don alfredo with black silence on him for very sorrow. and never again in his life did he take the sonora trail for adventures or old treasure. and it is best that you keep to a mind like his mind, señorita. he grew wise, but dario died for that wisdom, and in sonora someone always dies before wisdom is found. first it was two priests went to death for that gold, and since that old day many have been going. it is a witchcraft, and no blessing on it!" "well, i reckon i'd be willing to cross my fingers, and take the trail if i could get started right," decided rhodes. "it certainly sounds alluring." "i did go in once," confessed pike, "but we had no luck, struck a _temporale_ where a papago had smallpox, and two dry wells where there should have been water. my working pardner weakened at paradones and we made tracks for the good old border. that is no trail for a lone white man." "but the writing, the writing!" persisted billie. "tia luz, you are a gold mine yourself of stories, but this one you never told, and i am crazy about it! you never forget anything, and the writing you _could_ not,--so we know you have the very words of that writing!" "yes, that is true too, for the words were not so many, and where some words had been the wild things had eaten holes. the words said that from the mine of el alisal the mission of soledad could be seen. and from the door of soledad it was one look, one only, to the blue cañoncita where the alisal tree was growing, and water from the gold of the rose washed the roots of that tree." "good god!" muttered rhodes staring at the old lady who sat nodding her head in emphasis until her jet and gold earrings were all a-twinkle. "it was as easy as _that_,--yet no one found it?" "but señor,"--and it was plain to be seen that doña luz was enjoying herself hugely as the center of all attention, "the two padres who made that writing met their death at that place--and it was said the _barbaros_ at last killed also the grandfather of dario, anyway he did die, and the women were afraid to tell even a new padre of that buried writing for the cause that it must have been accursed when it killed all people. that is how it was, and that mission was forsaken after that time. a spaniard came up from sinaloa and hunted gold and built soledad hacienda where that mission had been in that old time, but no one ever found any more of gold than the chickens always are picking, a little here, a little there with a gravel in the craw. no señor, only once the red gold--red as flame--went out of altar on a mule to the viceroy in mexico, and the padres never lived to send any more, or see their brothers again. the men who dug that gold dug also their grave. death goes with it." "ugh!" and billie shivered slightly, and looked at rhodes, "don't you go digging it!" his eyes met hers across the table. it was only for an instant, and then billie got very busy with her coffee which she had forgotten. "oh, i'd travel with a mascot to ward off evil," he said. "would you give me a bead from your string?" she nodded her head, but did not speak. no one noticed them, for cap pike was telling of the old native superstition that the man who first found an ore bed found no good luck for himself, though the next man might make a fortune from it. "why," he continued in evidence, "an indian who finds even a vein of special clay for pottery doesn't blaze a trail to it for anyone else. he uses it if he wants it, because his own special guardian god uncovered it for him, but if it is meant for any other man, that other man's god will lead him to it when the time comes. that is how they reason it out for all the things covered by old mother earth. and i reckon the redder the gold the more secret the old _barbaros_ would be about it, for gold is their sun-god medicine, or symbol, or something." "with white priests scattered through sonora for two centuries one would suppose those old superstitions would be pretty well eradicated," remarked singleton. doña luz glanced at him as at a child who must be let have his own ideas so long as they were harmless, but pike laughed. "lord love you, singleton, nothing eradicates superstition from the indian mind, or any other mind! all the creeds of the earth are built on it, and a lot of the white ones are still alive and going strong! and as for priests, why man, the indian priests are bred of those tribes, and were here before the white men came from spain. it's just about like this: if 'me und gott' and the u-boats took a notion to come over and put a ball and chain on all of so-called free america, there might be some pacifist mongrels pretend to like it, and just dote on putting gilt on the chain, and kow-towing to that blood-puddin' gang who are raising hell in belgium. but would the thoroughbreds like it? not on your life! well, don't you forget there were a lot of thoroughbreds in the indian clans even if some of their slaves did breed mongrels! and don't forget that the ships from overseas are dumping more scrub stock on the eastern shores right now than you'll find in any indian rancheria either here in pima or over in sonora. the american isn't to blame for all the seventeen dozen creeds they bring over,--whether political or religious, and i reckon that's about the way the heads of the red clans feel. they are more polite than we are about it, but don't you think for a moment that the european invasion ever changed religion for the indian thoroughbred. no sir! he is still close to the earth and the stars, and if he thinks they talk to him--well, they just _talk to him_, and what they tell him isn't for you or me to hear,--or to sit in judgment on either, if it comes to that! we are the outsiders." "now, cap," said billie, "i'm going to take it away. it's too near your elbow, and you have had a double dose for every single one you've been handing out! you can take a rest until the others catch up. tia luz, give him a cup of coffee good and strong to help get his politics and religion straightened out." pike laughed heartily with the rest of them, and took the coffee. "all right, dear little buttercup. any medicine you hand out is good to me. but say, that dope about hidden ores may not be all indian at that, for i recollect that mountaineers of tennessee had the same hunch about coal veins, and an old lead vein where one family went for their ammunition. they could use it and they did, but were mighty sure they'd all be hoodooed if they uncovered it for anyone else, so i reckon that primitive dope does go pretty far back. i'll bet it was old when tubal cain first began scratching around the outcroppings by his lonesomes." conrad sauntered along the corridor and seated himself, flicking idly some leather thongs he had cut out from a green hide with a curved sheath knife rather fine and foreign looking. singleton called him to come in and have coffee, but he would not enter, pleading his evil-smelling pipe as a reason. "it can't beat mine for a downright bachelor equipment," affirmed pike, "but i've scandalized this outfit enough, or thereabout, and that venison has killed all our appetites until breakfast, so why hang around where ungrateful children swat a man's dearest hobbies?" "if you think you'll get rid of me that way you had better think again," said billie. "i don't mind your old smokes, or any other of your evil ways, so long as you and tia luz tell us more bewitched mine stories. say, cap, wouldn't it be great if that old sheepskin was found again, and we'd all outfit for a sonora _pasear_, and----" "we would not!" decided the old man patting her hair. "you, my lady, will take a _pasear_ to some highbrow finishing school beyond the ranges, and i'll hit the trail for yuma in a day or two, but at the present moment you can wind up the music box and start it warbling. that supper sure was so perfect nothing but music will do for a finish!" the men drifted out in the corridor and settled into the built-in seats of the plazita, though rhodes remained standing in the portal facing inward to the patio where the girl's shimmering white dress fluttered in the moonlight beside the shadowy bulk of tia luz. he lit a cigarette and listened for the music box pike had suggested, but instead he heard guitar strings, and the little ripple of introduction to the old spanish serenade _vengo a tu ventana_, "i come to your window." he turned and glanced towards the men who were discussing horse shipments, and possibilities of the prussian sea raiders sinking transports on the way to france, but decided his part of that discussion could wait until morning. tia luz had lit the lamp in the _sala_, and the light streamed across the patio where the night moths fluttered about the white oleanders. he smiled in comical self-derision as he noticed the moths, but tossed away the cigarette and followed the light. when captain pike indulged the following morning in sarcastic comment over kit's defection, the latter only laughed at him. "shirk business? nothing doing. i was strictly on the job listening to local items on treasure trails instead of powwowing with you all over the latest news reports from the balkans. soon as my pocket has a jingle again, i am to get to the french front if little old u. s. won't give me a home uniform, but in the meantime doña luz moreno is some reporter if she is humored, and i mean to camp alongside every chance i get. she has the woman at the _cantina_ backed off the map, and my future spanish lessons will be under the wing of doña luz. me for her!" "avaricious young scalawag!" grunted pike. "you'd study african whistles and clicks and clacks if it blazed trail to that lost gold deposit! say, i sort of held the others out there in front thinking i would let you get acquainted with little billie, and you waste the time chinning about death in the desert, and dry camps to that black-and-tan talking machine." kit only laughed at him. "a record breaker of a moon too!" grumbled the old man. "lord!--lord! at your age i'd crawled over hell on a rotten rail to just sit alongside a girl like billie--and you pass her up for an old hen with a mustache, and a gold trail!" kit rhodes laughed some more as he got into the saddle and headed for the granados corral, singing: _oh--i'll cut off my long yellow hair to dress in men's array, and go along with you, my dear your waiting man to be!_ he droned out the doleful and incongruous love ballad of old lands, and old days, for the absurd reason that the youth of the world in his own land beat in his blood, and because in the night time one of the twinkling stars of heaven had dropped down the sky and become a girl of earth who touched a guitar and taught him the words of a spanish serenade,--in case he should find a mexican sweetheart along the border! for to neither of the young, care-free things, had come a glimmer of fore-vision of the long tragic days, treasure trails and desert deaths, primitive devotions and ungodly vengeance, in which the threads of their own lives would be entangled before those two ever heard the music of the patio again--together. _if in holland fields i met a maid all handsome fond and gay, and i should chance to love her what would my mary say?_ _what would i say, dear willie? that i would love her too, and i would step to the one side that she might speak with you!_ "yes, you would--not!" he stated in practical prose to no one in particular. "not if you were our girl, would she, pardner?" pardner tossed up his head in recognition of the comradeship in the tone, and kit rhodes became silent, and rode on to the corrals, happily smiling at some new thoughts. chapter iii a verified prophecy of seÑorita billie that smile was yet with him when he saw the herd and the vaqueros coming up from the water tanks, and noted conrad and tomas herrara talking together beside conrad's automobile. the beat of the many hoofs prevented the two men from noting one horse near them, and words of conrad came to him clearly. "it has to be that way. you to go instead of miguel. you have enough english, you can do it." tomas herrara muttered something, evidently reluctance, for again conrad's words were heard. "but think of the _dinero_, much of money to you! and that fool swine will not see what is under his nose. you can do it, sure you can! there is no danger. the blame will be to him if it is found; my agent will see to that. not you but the gringo will be the one to answer the law. you will know nothing." he spoke in spanish rapidly, while both men watched the approaching vaqueros. the smile had gone from kit's face, and he was puzzled to follow the words, or even trust his own ears. "_bueno_," said herrara with a nod of consent. "since miguel is hurt----" "whoa, pardner," sang out rhodes, back of them as he slid out of the saddle. "good morning, gentlemen. do you say miguel is hurt, herrara? how comes that?" the face of herrara went a curious gray, and his lips blue and apparently stiff for he only murmured, "_buenas dias_, señor," and gulped and stared at conrad. but the surprise of conrad, while apparent, was easily accounted for, and he was too well poised to be startled unduly by any emergency. "hah! is it you, rhodes, so early? yes, miguel is reported hurt over poso verde way. not serious, but for the fact that he was the one to go with you on the horse shipment, and now another must go. perhaps his brother here." "oh--ah--yes," assented rhodes thoughtfully. he was not so old as conrad, and quite aware he was not so clever, and he didn't know their game, so he strove as he could to hold the meaning of what he had heard, and ended rather lamely: "well, too bad about miguel, but if you, tomas, are going instead, you had better get your war togs ready. we start tonight from the junction, and have three hours to get ready." "three hours only!" again herrara seemed to weaken. to start in three hours a journey into the unknown far east of the americano was beyond his imaginings. he shrugged his shoulders, tossed his hands outwards in despair, and turned toward the barns. conrad looked after him in irritation, and then smiled at rhodes. he had a rather ingratiating smile, and it the first time he had betrayed it to kit. "these explosive latins," he said derisively. "i think i can make him reasonable, and you go forward with your own preparations." he followed herrara, leaving kit staring after them wondering. his glance then rested on the automobile, and he noted that it had not merely come out of the garage for the usual work of the day. it had been traveling somewhere, for the wheels were crusted with mud--mud not there at sunset yesterday. and in that section of pima there was no water to make mud nearer than poso verde, and it was over there miguel herrara had been hurt! he had only three hours, and no time to investigate. there were rumors of smuggling all along the line over there, and strange conferences between mexican statesmen and sellers of connecticut hardware of an explosive nature. he recalled having heard that singleton was from connecticut, or was it massachusetts? anyway, it was over there at the eastern edge of the country somewhere, and it was also where plots and counter plots were pretty thick concerning ammunition; also they were more complicated on the mexican border. he wondered if singleton was as simple as he looked, for he certainly was paying wages to a mixed lot. also it was a cinch to run any desirable contraband from granados across to la partida and from there hellwards. he wondered if singleton knew? but singleton had a capable business manager, while he, rhodes, was only a range boss with the understanding that he adjust himself to any work a white man might qualify for. the mere fact that once he had sat at the family table might not, in singleton's eyes, warrant him in criticizing an approved manager, or directing suspicion towards him. he might speak to pike, but he realized that pike was not taken very seriously; only welcomed because billie liked him, and because an american ranch usually had the open door for the old timers of his caliber. also pike had told him plainly that he must not be expected to mix up in the mexican game for any reason whatsoever. "i reckon it's up to us, pardner," he decided, as he called directions to the different men loading the wagons with oats and barley for the stock on the trail. there were three mule teams ready for the railroad junction where the cars were waiting on the siding, or would be by night. some of the men were getting the mules straightened out in the harness while others were roping horses in the corral. it would take most of the home outfit to lead and drive them to the railroad, which meant one lonely and brief period of hilarity at the only joint where "bootleg" whiskey could be secured by the knowing, and a "movie" theater could add to other simple entertainments for the gentle juans of the ranges. neither conrad nor herrara were visible, and he presumed the latter was making arrangements for the sudden and unexpected departure from his family, but he knew he had not attempted to ride home for a farewell greeting, because his horse still stood near conrad's automobile where he had first overheard that curious conversation between the two men. after a leisurely breakfast pike was meandering towards the stock yard on his mule with the intent to trail along to the junction with the boys. rhodes, catching sight of him, looked hopefully but unsuccessfully for singleton. the minutes were slipping by, and no definite instructions had been given him concerning the three car loads of horses. did conrad mean to leave every detail until the last moment and make difficulties for the new man? was that the way he got rid of the americans he didn't want? he recalled the prophecy of billie that he would not hold his job. well, he would show her! with memories of the white and gold vision of the previous night, and the guitar in the _sala_, and the moonlight touching all to enchantment, he had fully decided that he would not only hold the job, but on some future day he would be business manager. and he'd find that lost mine or know the reason why, and he would---- for after all kit rhodes was only twenty-three and all of life ahead of him for dreams! he was wondering what he could fetch back from the east that would be acceptable to a witchy elf of a butterfly girl who already had, to his simple estimate, all the requisites of a princess royal. juanito came loping past, and rhodes asked for his father. "i am myself looking for him," said the boy. "he has there on his horse all the things for tio miguel, but miguel not coming, and i wonder who goes? maybe it will be me. what you think?" he asked hopefully. kit did not answer, for juanito's mention of the articles for miguel brought from home by tomas, and still fastened to the back of the saddle, drew his attention to the articles tied there--some clothing badly wrapped, a pair of black shoes tied together with brown strings, and under them, yet plainly visible, a canvas water bag. there was nothing unusual in a water bag or a canteen tied back of any saddle in the dry lands, it was the sensible thing to do, but kit found himself staring at this particular water bag stupidly, remembering where he had seen it last. it had been only partly full then, but now it was plump and round as if water-filled; yet one glance told him it was not wet, and moreover, he had noted the day before a hole in the side tied up in a hard knot by twine, and there was the knot! yet it might be a stock of _pinole_, parched corn, as evidence of miguel's forethought against privation on the long eastern trail. he could think of several reasonable things to account for an old water bag tied to a mexican's saddle, but reason did not prevent his glance turning to it again and again. the fear in narcisco's eyes came back to him, and his attempt to cover his harmless playthings at the coming of the unexpected american. he wondered---- "say, bub, i've got ten dollars to invest in some little trinket for billie boy, and i want you to put it down in your jeans and invest it in whatever it will cover," said captain pike at his elbow, clinking the silver coin meditatively. "you'll have time to see plenty attractive things for the money there in the streets of new york, or baltimore, or whichever of the dock towns you'll be heading for." rhodes accepted the coin, absently frowning. "that's one of the dark secrets not yet divulged by this curious management," he growled. "i'm to go, or so i was told, but have been given no instructions. where's singleton?" "just rounded up for breakfast." "is he coming down here to the corrals?" "not that i could notice. pedro got in from the junction with last sunday's papers, and he and billie have the picture sheets spread around, having a weekly feast." kit strode over to his mount, and then halted, glancing towards the house a half mile away, and then at the telephone poles along the wide lane. "say, there's a telephone somewhere down here at the works, connecting with the hacienda, isn't there?" "sure, in that hallway between the two adobes where the bunk house ends and offices begin." kit started briskly towards the long bunk house, and then turned to pike. "do me a favor, captain. stay right there till i get back, and don't let anyone take that herrara horse away, or his load!" "all right, but load!--why, the spotted rat hasn't got a load for a jack rabbit, load!" and pike sniffed disdain at the little knobs of baggage dangling from the rawhide strings. he didn't think the subdued animal needed watching--still, if kit said so---- at the same time kit was calling the house, and hearing in reply a soft whistle of the meadow lark, and then a girl's laugh. "your music is good to listen to, lark-child," he called back, "and your ears are perfectly good at telling who's who, but this is a strictly business day, and it is mr. singleton i need to speak with." "still holding your job, or asking for your time?" came the mocking voice. "you bet i'm holding my job, also i am on it, and want the boss." "well, sometimes you know the boys call me the boss. what can we do for you, mr. kit rhodes?" "i'll use all three of my spanish cuss words in a minute, if you don't be reasonable," he thundered. "is that a bribe?" came sweetly over the wire, and when he muttered something impatiently, she laughed and told him it was not fair to use another language when he had promised spanish. "listen to me, young lady, if i can't get singleton on the wire i'll get on a horse and go up there!" "and you listen to me, young man, it wouldn't do you a bit of good, for just now he is nearly having a fit, and writing telegrams about something more important than the horse corrals." "there is nothing more important this day and date," insisted kit. "well, if you were as strictly a white dove advocate as papa singleton is, and as neutral, and then saw a full page sunday supplement of your pet picture fraulein, working for your pet charity and sifting poison into hospital bandages and powdered glass in jellies for the soldiers of the allies, i reckon you would change your mind." "powdered glass!--in _feed_!" repeated kit, stunned at the words and the sudden thought they suggested. "great god, girl, you don't have to go to the eastern papers for _that_! you've got the same trick right here in granados this minute! why--damn you!" the receiver fell from his hand as a crushing blow was dealt him from the door at his back. he heard a girl's scream in the distance as he grappled with conrad and saved himself a second blow from the automobile wrench in the manager's hands. it fell to the tiles between them, and rhodes kicked it to one side as he struck and struck again the white, furious face of conrad. "the wrench! tomas, the wrench! give it to him! the americano would murder me!" shouted conrad. tomas had other things to think of. he had heard as much as conrad of the telephone discourse, and was aware of his pinto standing placidly not fifty feet away, with all the damning evidence in the case tied to the back of the saddle! juanito, however, ran like a cat at his master's call and caught up the wrench, but halted when pike closed on his shoulder and pressed a cold little circle of blue steel against his ribs. "not this time, _muchacho_!" he shrilled, "drop it! this is a man's game, and you're out." the men came running, and others attempted to interfere, but the little old man waved the gun at them and ordered them to keep their distance. "no crowding the mourners!" he admonished them gleefully. "i've a hunch your man started it, and my man will finish it. i don't know what it's about, kit, but give him hell on suspicion! go to it, boy,--do it again! who-ee!--that was a sock-dolager! keep him off you, kit, he's a gouger, and has the weight. give it to him standing, and give it to him good! that's it! ki-yi! hell's bells and them a-chiming!" for the finale of that whirl of the two striking, staggering, cursing men, was unexpectedly dramatic. they had surged out into the open, but conrad, little by little and step by step, or rather stagger by stagger, had given way before the mallet-like precision of the younger man's fists until kit's final blow seemed actually to lift him off his feet and land him--standing--against the adobe wall. an instant he quivered there, and then fell forward, glassy eyed and limp. singleton's car came whirling down the lane. billie leaped from it before it stopped, and ran in horror to the prone figure. one of the older mexicans tried to ward her off from the sight. "no good, señorita, it is the death of him," he said gently. "one stroke like that on the heart and it is--_adios_!" "what in the name of god--" began singleton, and kit wiped the blood from his eyes and faced him, staggering and breathless. "get him water! get busy!" he ordered. "i don't think he's done for, not unless he has some mighty weak spot he should have had labelled before he waded into this." the blood was still trickling from the cut in his head made by the wrench, and he presented an unholy appearance as they stared at him. "i'll explain, singleton, for i reckon you are white. i'll--after while----" "you'll explain nothing to me!" retorted singleton "if the man dies you'll explain to a jury and a judge; otherwise you'd better take yourself out of this country." kit blinked at those who were lifting conrad and listening to his heart, which evidently had not stopped permanently. "but give me a chance, man!" persisted rhodes. "i need some mending done on this head of mine,--then i'll clear it up. why, the evidence is right here--powdered glass for the stock at the far end of the trail--herrara knows--conrad's game--and----" he did not know why words were difficult and the faces moved in circles about him. the blood soaking his shirt and blouse, and dripping off his sleeve was cause enough, but he did not even know that. "take him away, captain pike," said singleton coldly. "he is not wanted any longer on either of the ranches. it's the last man i hire, conrad can do it in future." "conrad, eh?" grunted kit weakly, "you're a nice easy mark for the frankfurter game,--you and your pacifist bunch of near-traitors! why man----" but singleton waved him away, and followed the men who were carrying conrad to the bunk house. "all right, _all_ right! but take care you don't meet with a nastier accident than that before you are done with this game!" he said shaking his fist warningly after singleton, and then he staggered to his horse where pike was waiting for him. he got in the saddle, and reeled there a moment, conscious of hostile, watchful eyes,--and one girl's face all alone in the blur. "say," he said, "i heard you scream. you thought it was you i swore at. you're wrong there. but you are some little prophetess,--_you_ are! the job's gone, and herrara's got away with the evidence, and the jig's up! but it wasn't you i cussed at--not--at--all! come on, pike. this new ventilator in my head is playing hell its own way. come on--let's go by-bye!" chapter iv in the adobe of pedro vijil "there ain't no such animal," decided kit rhodes seated on the edge of the bed in pedro vigil's adobe. his head was bandaged, his face a trifle pale and the odor of medicaments in the shadowy room of the one deep-barred window. "no, captain, no man, free, white and twenty-one _could_ be such a fool. can't singleton see that if conrad's story was true he'd have the constable after me for assault with intent to kill? he's that sort!" "well, singleton thinks conrad would be justified in having you prosecuted, and jailed, and fined, and a few other things, but for the reputation of granados they let you down easy. you know it's _the_ dovery for the pass-up-the-fists of this section, and what the arizona papers would do would be comic if they ever got hold of the fact that singleton picked a new bird for the dove cage, and the dratted thing changed before their eyes to a fractious game rooster swinging a right like the hind leg of a mule! no, bub, we're orderly, peaceable folks around here, so for the sake of our reputation singleton has prevailed on his manager to be merciful to you, and conrad has in true pacifist spirit let himself be prevailed upon." "which means," grinned kit, "that i'm to be put off my guard, and done for nicely and quietly some moonless night when i take the trail! and he reports me either drunk or temporarily insane, does he? well, when the next time comes i'll change that gentleman's mind." "shucks, bub! thank a fool's luck that your skull was only scratched, and don't go planning future wars. i tell you we are peace doves around here, and you are a stray broncho kicking up an undesirable dust in our front yard. here is your coin. singleton turned it over to me and i receipted for it, and we have enough between us to hit the sonora trail, and there's not a bit of use in your hanging around here. you have no evidence. you are a stranger who ambled in, heard a sensational newspaper report of anti-ally criminal intent, and on the spot accused the highly respectable granados rancho of indulging in that same variety of hellishness! now there is your case in a nutshell, bub, and you wouldn't get the authorities to believe you in a thousand years!" "what about you?" "oh, i have just little enough sense to believe your hunch is right, but that won't get you anywhere. they think i'm loco too! i've an idea there is a lot more and rottener activities down south of the line with which our teutonic peace arbitrator is mixed up. but he's been on this job five years, all the trails are his, and an outsider can't get a look-in! now miguel herrara has been doing gun-running across the border for someone, and miguel was not only arrested by the customs officer, but miguel was killed two nights ago--shot with his own gun so that it looks like suicide. suicide nothing! his chief, whoever he is, was afraid miguel would blunder or weaken under government persuasion, so miguel was let out of the game. that case is closed, and no evidence against anyone. i reckon everyone knows that the guns and ammunition sneaked over is headed for rancho soledad. the owner of soledad, josé perez, is the valued friend of our nice little conrad, and it happens that conrad left granados this morning for that direction, ostensibly to negotiate with the political powers of sonora concerning a military guard for la partida in case revolutionary stragglers should ride north for fresh saddle-horses. all appeals to the neutral chair warmers at washington wins us no protection from that source;--they only have guns and men enough to guard some cherished spots in texas." "well, if the teuton is able for a trail i reckon he got nothing worse in the scrap than i, even if he did look like a job for the undertaker. that fellow travels on the strength of his belly and not the strength of his heart." "so you say," observed pike, grinning, "but then again there are others of us who travel on nerve and gall and never get any further! just put this in your pipe, bub, and don't forget it: conrad is _organised_ for whatever deviltry he is up to! there is no 'happen so' in his schemes. he is a cog in some political wheel, and it's a fifty-fifty gamble as to whether the wheel is german or mexican, but it is no little thing, and is not to be despised." "but i can't see how singleton, if singleton is square even----" "singleton is a narrow gauge disciple of universal peace by decree--which, translated, means plain damn fool. lord, boy, if a pack of prairie wolves had a man surrounded, would he fold his hands with the hope that his peaceful attitude would appeal to their better instincts or would he reach for a gun and give them protective pills? the man of sense never goes without his gun in wolf land, but singleton--well, in peace times he could have lived a long lifetime, and no one ever guessed what a weak sister he was, but he's sure out of place on the border." "i'm tired wearing this halo," observed rhodes, referring to the white handkerchief around his head. "also some of the dope you gave me seems to be evaporating from my system, and i feel like hitting the piman breeze. can we strike trail tomorrow?" "we cannot. doña luz has been dosing out the dope for you--mexican women are natural doctors with their own sort of herbs--and she says three days before you go in the sun. i've a notion she sort of let the mexicans think that you were likely to cash in, and you bled so like a stuck pig that it was easy enough to believe the worst." "perhaps that's why conrad felt safe in leaving me outside of jail. with doña luz as doctor, and a non-professional like you as assistant, i reckon he thought my chance of surviving that monkey wrench assault was slim, mighty slim!" "y--yes," agreed pike, "under ordinary conditions he might have been justified in such surmise, but that would be figuring on the normal thickness of the normal civilized skull, but yours--why, bub, all i'm puzzling over now is how it happens that the monkey wrench was only twisted a mite, not broke at all!" "you scandalous old varmint!" grinned kit. "go on with your weak-minded amusements, taking advantage of a poor lone cripple,--refused by the army, and a victim of the latest german atrocity! i suppose--i suppose,"--he continued darkly, "everyone on and around granados agrees that i was the villain in the assault?" "i couldn't say as to that," returned pike judicially. "doña luz would dose you, and plaster you, just the same if you had killed a half dozen instead of knocking the wind out of one. she's pretty fine and all woman, but naturally since they regard you as my _companero_ they are shy about expressing themselves when i'm around--all except singleton--and you heard him." "good and plenty," agreed kit. "say, i'm going to catch up on sleep while i've a chance, and you rustle along and get any tag ends of things needed for the trail. i'm going to strike for mesa blanca, as that will take us up into the country of that alisal mine. if we go broke there is mesa blanca ranch work to fall back on for a grub stake, but from what i hear we can dry wash enough to buy corn and flour, and the hills are full of burro meat. we'll browse around until we either strike it rich, or get fed up with trying. anyway, _companero_, we will be in a quiet, peaceful pastoral land, close to nature, and out of reach of teuton guile and monkey wrenches. _buenas noches_, señor. i'm asleep!" pike closed the door, and went from the semi-dark of the adobe out into the brilliant sunshine where billie, with a basket, was waiting under the _ramada_ with merced, and merced looked gloomy lest pedro should be blamed by señor singleton for practically turning his family out of the adobe that it might be given over to the loco americano. "tomorrow, can he go?" she asked hopefully. "me, i have a fear. not before is the adobe here watched by hidden men at night, and that is very bad! because that he is friend to you i say to everybody that i think the americano is dying in our house, but today he talks, also he is laughing. no more sick?" "no more sick, sure not, but it will be one more day. a man does not bleed like a gored bull and ride the next day under a sky hot enough to fry eggs. the tea of doña luz drove off the fever, and he only sleeps and talks, and sleeps again, but sick? not a bit!" "nor--nor sorry, i reckon?" ventured billie. "why, no child, not that i could notice. that scalawag doesn't seem to have much conscience concerning his behavior." "or his language!" she added. "sure, that was some invocation he offered up! but just between pals, billie, you ought to have been in hearing." "i--i don't suppose he even remembers that i was," she remarked, and then after a silence, "or--or even mentioned--us?" "why, no, billie. you made the right guess when you sized him up and thought he couldn't hold the job. he certainly doesn't belong, billie, for this ranch is the homing nest of the peace doves, and he's just an ungainly young game rooster starting out with a dare against the world, and only himself for a backer. honest,--if that misguided youth had been landed in jail, i don't reckon there's anyone in arizona with little enough sense to bail him out." "likely not," said billie. "well, there's the basket from tia luz, and i might as well go home." chapter v an "adios"--and after two days later in the blue clear air of the arizona morning a sage hen slipped with her young through the coarse grass by the irrigation ditch, and a flock of quail raised and fluttered before the quick rhythmic beat of a loping horse along the trail in the mesquite thicket. the slender gallant figure of his rider leaned forward looking, listening at every turn, and at the forks of the trail where a clump of squat mesquite and giant sahuarro made a screen, she checked the horse, and held her breath. "good pat, good horse!" she whispered. "they've got nothing that can run away from us. we'll show them!" then a man's quavering old voice came to her through the winding trail of the arroya. it was lifted tunefully insistent in an old-time song of the mining camps: _oh, mexico! we're coming, mexico! our six mule team, will soon be seen, on the trail to mexico!_ "we made it, pat!" confided the girl grimly. "we made it. quiet now--quiet!" she peered out through the green mesquite as captain pike emerged from the west arroya on a gray burro, herding two other pack animals ahead of him into the south trail. he rode jauntily, his old sombrero at a rakish angle, his eyes bright with enthusiasm supplied by that which he designated as a morning "bracer," and his long gray locks bobbed in the breeze as he swayed in the saddle and droned his cheerful epic of the trail: _a--and when we've been there long enough, and back we wish to go, we'll fill our pockets with the shining dust and then leave mexico! oh--mexico! good-bye my mexico! our six mule team will then be seen on the trail from mexico._ "hi there! you balaam--get into the road and keep a-going, you ornery little rat-tailed son-of-a-gun! pick up your feet and travel, or i'll yank out your back bone and make a quirt out of it! for----" _my name was captain kidd as i sailed as i sailed, my name was captain kidd, as i sailed! my name was captain kidd and most wickedly i di-i-id all holy laws forbid as i sailed!_ the confessor of superlative wickedness droned his avowal in diminishing volume as the burros pattered along the white dust of the valley road, then the curve to the west hid them, and all was silence but for the rustle of the wind in the mesquite and the far bay of singleton's hounds circling a coyote. but pat pricked up his ears, and lifted his head as if feeling rather than hearing the growing thud of coming hoofs. the girl waited until they were within fifty feet, when she pursed up her lips and whistled the call of the meadow lark. it sounded like a fairy bugle call across the morning, and the roan was halted quickly at the forks of the road. "howdy, señorita?" he called softly. "i can't see you, but your song beats the birds. got a flag of truce? willing to parley with the enemy?" then she emerged, eyeing him sulkily. "you were going without seeing me!" she stated with directness, and without notice of the quizzical smile of comradeship. "certainly was," he agreed. "when i got through the scrap with your disciple of _kultur_, my mug didn't strike me as the right decoration for a maiden's bower. i rode out of the scrap with my scratches, taking joy and comfort in the fact that he had to be carried." "there was no reason for your being so--so brutal!" she decided austerely. "lord love you, child, i didn't need a reason--i only wanted an excuse. give me credit! i got away for fear i'd go loco and smash singleton for interfering." "papa phil only did his duty, standing for peace." "huh, let the neutral league do it! the trouble with singleton is he hasn't brains enough to lubricate a balance wheel,--he can't savvy a situation unless he has it printed in a large-type tract. conrad was scared for fear i'd stumbled on a crooked trail of his and would tell the boss, so he beat me to it with the lurid report that i made an assault on him! this looks like it--not!" and he showed the slashes in his sombrero to make room for the blue banda around his head. "suppose you tell that hun of yours to carry a gun like a real hombre instead of the tools of a second-story man. the neighbors could hear a gun, and run to my rescue." the girl regarded his flippancy with disapproval. "he isn't my hun," she retorted. "i could worry along without him on our map,--but after all, i don't know a single definite thing against him. anyway, it's decided i've got to go away somewhere to school and be out of the ranch squabbles. papa phil thinks i get in bad company out here." "meaning me?" "well, he _said_ captain pike was demoralizing to the youthful mind. he didn't mention you. and cap certainly did go the limit yesterday!" "how so?" "well, he went to the junction for his outfit stuff----" "yes, and never showed up at the adobe until the morning star was in the sky!" [illustration: "you poor kid, you have a hard time with the disreputables you pick up."] "i know," she confessed. "i went with him. we stayed to see a hart picture at the theater, and had the time of our young lives. at supper i announced that i was going to adopt cap as a grandfather,--and then of course he had to go and queer me by filling up on some rank whiskey he had smuggled in with the other food! my stars!--he was put to bed singing that he'd 'hang his harp on a willow tree, and be off to the wars again'--you needn't laugh!" but he did laugh, his blue eyes twinkling at her recital. "you poor kid! you have a hard time with the disreputables you pick up. sure they didn't warn you against speaking to this reprobate?" "sure nothing!" was the boyish reply. "i was to be docked a month's spending money if i dared go near pedro vijil's adobe again while you were there, which was very foolish of papa phil!" she added judicially. "i reckon he forgot they tried that before." "and what happened?" "i went down and borrowed double the amount from old estevan, the trader at the junction, and gave him an order against the ranch. then cap and i sneaked out a couple of three-year-olds and raced them down in the cottonwood flats against some colts brought down by an old sierra blanca apache. we backed our nags with every peso, and that old brown murderer won! but cap and i had a wonderful day while our coin lasted, and--and you were going away without saying good-bye!" kit rhodes, who had blankly stated that he owned his horse and saddle and little beyond, looked at the spoiled plucky heiress of granados ranches, and the laughter went out of his eyes. she was beyond reason loveable even in her boyish disdain of restriction, and some day she would come back from the schools a very finished product, and thank the powers that be for having sent her out of knowledge of happy-go-lucky chums of the ranges. granados ranches had been originally an old spanish grant reaching from a branch of the intermittent rio altar north into what is now arizona, and originally was about double the size of rhode island. it was roughly divided into the home or hacienda ranch in arizona, and la partida, the cattle range portion, reaching far south into sonora. even the remnant of the grant, if intelligently managed, would earn an income satisfactory for a most extravagant princess royal such as its present chatelaine seemed to rhodes. but he had noted dubiously that the management was neither intelligent nor, he feared, square. the little rancherias scattered over it in the fertile valleys, were worked on the scratch gravel, ineffective mexic method by the juans and pedros whose family could always count on mesquite beans, and _camotes_ if the fields failed. there was seed to buy each year instead of raising it. there was money invested in farming machinery, and a bolt taken at will from a thresher to mend a plow or a buggy as temporarily required. the flocks of sheep on the arizona hills were low grade. the cattle and horse outfits were south in la partida, and the leakage was beyond reason, even in a danger zone of the border land. all this kit had milled around and around many times in the brief while he had ranged la partida. a new deal was needed and needed badly, else wilfreda bernard would have debts instead of revenue if singleton let things drift much longer. her impish jest that she was a damsel in distress in need of a valiant knight was nearer to truth than she suspected. he had an idiotic hungry desire to be that knight, but his equipment of one horse, one saddle, and one sore head appeared inadequate for the office. thus kit rhodes sat his horse and looked at her, and saw things other than the red lips of the girl, and the chiding gray eyes, and the frank regret at his going. it was more profitable not to see that regret, or let it thrill a man in that sweet warm way, especially not if the man chanced to be a drifting ranger. she was only a gallant little girl with a genius for friendships, and her loyalty to pike extended to pike's chum--that was what rhodes told himself! "yes," he agreed, "i was going without any tooting of horns. no use in cap pike and me hanging around, and getting you in bad with your outfit." "as if i care!" she retorted. "you might some day," he said quietly. "school may make a lot of difference; that, and changed surroundings for a year or two. but some day you will be your own manager, and if i'm still on the footstool and can be of service--just whistle, señorita." "sure!" she agreed cheerfully. "i'll whistle the lark call, and you'll know i need you, so that's settled, and we'll always be--be friends, trail-hunter." "we'll always be friends, lark-child." "i wanted cap pike to let me in on this prospecting trip, wanted to put in money," she said rather hesitant, "and he turned me down cold, except for a measly ten dollars, 'smoke money' he called it. i reckon he only took that to get rid of me, which i don't call friendly, do you? and if things should go crooked with him, and he--well--sort of needs help to get out, you'll let me know, won't you?" "yes, if it seems best," he agreed, "but you won't be here; you'll be shipped to a school, _pronto_!" "i won't be so far off the map that a letter can't reach me. cap pike won't ever write, but i thought maybe you----" "sure," agreed rhodes easily. "we'll send out a long yell for help whenever we get stuck." she eyed him darkly and without faith. "wish i knew how to make that certain," she confessed. "you're only dodging me with any kind of a promise to keep me quiet, just as cap did. i know! i'm jealous, too, because you're taking a trail i've always wanted to take with cap, and they won't let me because i'm a girl." "cheer up! when you are boss of the range you can outfit any little _pasear_ you want to take, but you and i won't be in the same class then, lark-child." "are you really going it blind, trailing with cap into the painted hills after that fascinating gold legend?" she demanded. "or have you some inside trail blazed for yourself? daddy pike is the best ever, but he always goes broke, and if he isn't broke, he has a jug at his saddle horn, so----" "oh it's only a little jug this time, and he's had a fare-you-well drink out of it with everyone in sight, so there's only one hilarious evening left in the jug now. just enough for a gladsome memory of civilization." "are you in deep on this prospect plan?" she persisted. "well, not that you could notice. that is, i've got a three months' job offered me down at whitely's; that will serve the captain as headquarters to range from until we add to our stake. whitely is rounding up stock for the allies down mesa blanca way, and pike will feel at home there. don't you worry, i'll keep an eye on pike. he is hilariously happy to get into that region with a partner." "i don't like it," she grumbled at him with sulky gray eyes. "pedro vijil just came back from the south, and brought his sister's family from san rafael. they're refugees from the federals because their men joined ramon rotil, the rebel leader, and merced is crying herself crazy over the tales of war they tell. one of their girls was stolen, and the mother and tia luz are both crying over that. so papa phil says he's going to send me away where i won't hear such horrors. i wish i was a man, and i'd join the army and get a chance to go over and fight." "huh!" grunted rhodes skeptically, "some more of us had hopes! our army officers are both praying and cursing to get a chance to do the same thing, but they are not getting it! so you and i, little girl, will wait till some one pitches a bomb into that dovery on the potomac. then we'll join the volunteers and swarm over after our people." "oh, yes, _you_ can! men can do anything they like. i told you i was jealous." "never mind, lark-child," he returned soothingly. "if i get over with a gun, you can come along and toot a horn. there now, that's a bargain, and you can practice tooting the lark's call until the time comes." "i reckon i'll have plenty of time to toot myself black in the face before you show up again at granados," she prophesied ruefully, and he laughed. "whistle an' i'll come to you, lassie," he said with sudden recklessness, "and that's for _adios_, billie." he held out his hand. "that's enough, rhodes," said a voice back of them, and singleton walked forward. "when you got your time, you were supposed to leave granados. is this what you've been hanging around for during the past week?" rhodes flamed red to his hair as he stared down at the elder man. "i reckon i'll not answer that now, mr. singleton," he said quietly. "you may live to see you made a mistake. i hope you do, but you're traveling with a rotten bunch, and they are likely to use a knife or a rope on you any time you've played the goat long enough for them to get their innings. i'm going without any grudge, but if i was an insurance agent, trying to save money for my company, i'd sure pass you by as an unsafe bet! keep on this side of the line, singleton, while the revolution is whirling, and whatever you forget, don't forget i said it! _adios_, señorita, and--good luck!" "good luck, kit," she half whispered, "and _adios_!" she watched him as he rode away, watched him as he halted at the turn of the trail and waved his hand, and singleton was quietly observing her the while. she frowned as she turned and caught him at it. "you thought he waited here, or planned to--to meet me," she flared. "he was too square to tell you the truth, but it was i rode out here to say good-bye, rode out and held him up! but i did not reckon anyone would try to insult him for it!" her stepfather regarded her grimly. she was angry, and very near to tears. "time you had your breakfast," he observed, "and all signs indicate i should have sent you east last year, and kept you out of the promiscuous mixups along the border. it's the dumping ground for all sorts of stray adventurers, and no place for a girl to ride alone." "he seemed to think i am as able to look after myself as you," she retorted. "you aren't fair to him because you take the word of conrad, but conrad lies, and i'm glad he got thrashed good and plenty! now i've got that off my mind, i'll go eat a cheerful breakfast." singleton walked silent beside her back to where his horse was grazing by the roadside. "huh!" grunted the girl with frank scorn. "so you got out of the saddle to spy? haven't you some black-and-tan around the ranch to do your dirty work?" "it's just as well to be civil till you know what you are talking about," he reminded her with a sort of trained patience. "i came out without my breakfast just to keep the ranchmen from thinking what tia luz thinks. she told me i'd find that fellow waiting for you. i didn't believe it, but i see she is not so far wrong." he spoke without heat or feeling, and his tone was that of quiet discussion with a man or boy, not at all that of a guardian to a girl. his charge was evidently akin to the horse ranch of granados as described by the old ranger: singleton had acquired them, but never understood them. "look here," said his protégée with boyish roughness, "that dutchman sees everything crooked, especially if there's an american in range, and he prejudices you. why don't you wake up long enough to notice that he's framing some excuse to run off every decent chap who comes on the place? i knew rhodes was too white to be let stay. i saw that as soon as he landed, and i told him so! what i can't understand is that you won't see it." "a manager has to have a free hand, billie, or else be let go," explained singleton. "conrad knows horses, he knows the market, and is at home with the mexicans. also he costs less than we used to pay, and that is an item in a bad year." "i'll bet we lose enough cattle to his friends to make up the difference," she persisted. "rhodes was right when he called them a rotten bunch." "let us hope that when you return from school you will have lost the major portion of your unsavory vocabulary," he suggested. "that will be worth a herd of cattle." "it would be worth another herd to see you wake up and show you had one good fight in you!" she retorted. "conrad has all of the ranch outfit locoed but me; that's why he passes on this school notion to you. he wants me out of sight." "i should have been more decided, and insisted that you go last year. heaven knows you need it badly enough," sighed singleton, ignoring her disparaging comment on his own shortcomings. and then as they rode under the swaying fronds of the palm drive leading to the ranch house he added, "those words of your bronco busting friend concerning the life insurance risk sounded like a threat. i wonder what he meant by it?" the telephone bell on the granados junction line was ringing when they entered the patio. singleton glanced at the clock. "a night letter probably," he remarked. "go get your coffee, child, it's a late hour for breakfast." billie obeyed, sulkily seating herself opposite tia luz--who was bolt upright behind the coffee urn, with a mien expressing dignified disapproval. she inhaled a deep breath for forceful speech, but billie was ahead of her. "so it was you! you were the spy, and sent him after me!" "_madre de dios!_ and why not?" demanded the competent luz. "you stealing your own horse at the dawn to go with the old captain pike. i ask of you what kind of a girl is that? also mercedes was here last night tearing her hair because of the girls, her sister's daughters, stolen away over there in sonora. well! is that not enough? that señor kit is also too handsome. i was a fool to send the medicine with you to pedro's house. he looked a fine caballero but even a fine caballero will take a girl when she follows after. _i_ know! and once in sonora all trails of a girl are lost. i know that too!" "you are all crazy, and i never saw him at pedro's house, never!" said the girl reaching for her coffee, and then suddenly she began to laugh. "did you think, did you make papa philip think, that i was eloping like this?" and she glanced down at her denim riding dress. "and why not? did i myself not steal out in a shift and petticoat the first time i tried to run away with my andreas? and beyond that not a thing under god had i on but my coral beads, and the red satin slippers of my sister dorotea! she pulled my hair wickedly for those slippers, and i got a _reata_ on my back from my grandmother for that running away. i was thirteen years old then! but when i was nearly sixteen we did get away, andreas and i, and after that it was as well for the grandmother to pay a priest for us, and let us alone. ai-ji! señorita, i am not forgetting what i know! and while i am here in granados there must be nothing less than a grand marriage, and may the saints send the right man, for a wrong one makes hell in any house!" billie forgot her sulkiness in her joy at the elopements of tia luz. no wonder she distrusted an american girl who was allowed to ride alone! but in the midst of her laughter she was reminded that singleton was still detained at the telephone in the adjoining room, and that his rather high-pitched tones betrayed irritation. "well, why can't you give the telegram to me? addressed to conrad? of course if it's a personal message i don't want it, but you say it is a ranch matter--and important. horses? what about them?" billie, listening, sped from the table to his side, and putting her hand over the telephone, whispered: "if brehman, the secretary, was here, they'd give it to him. they always do." singleton nodded to her, and grew decided. "see here, webster, one of our men was hurt, and brehman took his place and went east with that horse shipment. mr. conrad had to go down in sonora on business, and i am the only one here to take his place. just give me the message as you would give it to the secretary. but you'd better type a copy and send by mail that i can put it on file. all right? yes, go ahead." billie had quickly secured paper and pencil, but instead of taking them, singleton motioned for her to write the message. adolf conrad, granados ranch, granados junction, arizona. regret to report september shipment horses developed ailment aboard vessel, fifty per cent dead, balance probably of no military use, ogden, burns & co. word by word singleton took the message and word by word billie wrote it down, while they stared at each other. "developed ailment aboard vessel!" repeated singleton. "then there was something wrong on shipboard, for there certainly is not here. we have no sick horses on the ranch, never do have!" "but these people?" and billie pointed to the signature. "oh, they are the men who buy stock for the allies, agents for the french. they paid for the horses on delivery. they are safe, substantial people. i can't understand----" but billie caught his arm with a gasp of horror and enlightenment. "papa phil! think--_think_ what kit rhodes said! _'ground glass in the feed at the other end of the road! conrad's game--herrara knows!'_ papa phil,--miguel herrara was killed--killed! and conrad tried to kill kit! oh he did, he did! none of the mexicans thought he would get well, but tia luz cured him. and cap pike never went out of sight of that adobe until conrad had left the ranch, and i know kit was right. i know it, i know it! oh, my horses, my beautiful horses!" "there, there! why, child you're hysterical over this, which is--is too preposterous for belief!" "nothing is too preposterous for belief. you know that. everybody knows it in these days! is belgium too preposterous? is that record of poison and powdered glass in hospital supplies too preposterous? in _hospital_ supplies! if they do that to wounded men, why not to cavalry horses? why papa phil----" "hush--hush--hush!" he said pacing the floor, clasping his head in both hands. "it is too terrible! what can we do? what? who dare we trust to even help investigate?" "well, you might wire those agents for particulars, this is rather skimpy," suggested billie. "come and get some breakfast and think it over." "i might wire the office of the peace society in new york to----" "don't you do it!" protested billie. "they may have furnished the poison for all _you_ know! cap pike says they are a lot of traitors, and cap is wise in lots of things. you telegraph, and you tell them that if the sickness is proven to have started in granados, that we will pay for every dead horse, tell them we have no sick horses here, and ask them to answer, _pronto!_" "that seems rather reckless, child, to pay for all----" "i _am_ reckless! i am crazy mad over those horses, and over conrad, and over kit whom he tried to kill!" "tut--tut! the language and behavior of rhodes was too wicked for anyone to believe him innocent. he was a beastly looking object, and i still believe him entirely in the wrong. this loss of the horses is deplorable, but you will find that no one at granados is to blame." "maybe so, but you just send that telegram and see what we see!" chapter vi a dead man under the cottonwoods billie was never out of hearing of the telephone all day, and at two o'clock the reply came. philip singleton, rancho granados, arizona. kindly wire in detail the source of your information. no message went to granados from this office. no publicity has been given to the dead horse situation. your inquiry very important to the department of justice. ogden, burns & co. "very strange, very!" murmured singleton. "no matter how hard i think, or from what angle, i can't account for it. billie, this is too intricate for me. the best thing i can do is to go over to nogales and talk to an attorney." "go ahead and talk," agreed billie, "but i'd answer that telegram first. this is no township matter, papa phil, can't you see that?" "certainly, certainly, but simply because of that fact i feel i should have local advice. i have a legal friend in nogales. if i could get him on the wire----" an hour later when billie returned from a ride, she realized singleton had gotten his friend on the wire, for she heard him talking. "yes, this is granados. is that you, james? yes, i asked them to have you call me. i need to consult with you concerning a rather serious matter. yes, so serious i may say it is mysterious, and appalling. it concerns a shipment of horses. conrad is in sonora, and this subject can't wait--no, i can't get in touch with conrad. he is out of communication when over there--no, i can't wait his return. i've had a wire from ogden and burns, new york--said ogden and burns--all right, get a pencil; i'll hold the wire." there was a moment of silence, and if a telephonic camera had been installed at granados, mr. singleton might have caught a very interesting picture at the other end of the wire. a middle-aged man in rusty black of semi-clerical cut held the receiver, and the effect of the names as given over the wire was, to put it mildly, electrical. his jaw dropped and he stared across the table at a man who was seated there. at the repetition of the name, the other arose, and with the stealthily secretive movement of a coyote near its prey he circled the table, and drew a chair close to the telephone. the pencil and paper was in his hand, not in that of "james." that other was conrad. then the telephone conversation was resumed after mr. singleton had been requested to speak a little louder--there seemed some flaw in the connection. in the end singleton appeared much comforted to get the subject off his own shoulders by discussing it with another. but he had been convinced that the right thing to do was to motor over to the junction and take the telegrams with him for consultation. he would start about eight in the morning, and would reach the railroad by noon. yes, by taking the light car which he drove himself it would be an easy matter. billie heard part of this discourse in an absent-minded way, for she was not at all interested as to what some strange lawyer in nogales might think of the curious telegrams. she would have dropped some of that indifference if she had been able to hear the lurid language of conrad after the receiver was hung up. james listened to him in silence for a bit, and then said: "it's your move, brother! there are not supposed to be any mistakes in the game, and you have permitted our people to wire you a victory when you were not there to get the wire, and that was a mistake." "but brehman always----" "you sent brehman east and for once forgot what might happen with your office empty. no,--it is not singleton's fault; he did the natural thing. it is not the operator's fault; why should he not give a message concerning horses to the proprietor of the horse ranch?" "but singleton never before made a move in anything of management, letters never opened, telegrams filed but never answers sent until i am there! and this time! it is that most cursed rhodes, i know it is that one! they told me he was high in fever and growing worse, and luck with me! so you yourself know the necessity that i go over for the sonora conference--there was no other way. it is that rhodes! yes, i know it, and they told me he was as good as dead--god! if again i get him in these hands!" he paced the floor nervously, and flung out his clenched hands in fury, and the quiet man watched him. "that is personal, and is for the future," he said, "but singleton is not a personal matter. if he lives he will be influenced to investigation, and that must not be. it would remove you from granados, and you are too valuable at that place. you must hold that point as you would hold a fort against the enemy. when mexico joins with germany against the damned english and french, this fool mushroom republic will protest, and that is the time our friends will sweep over from mexico and gather in all these border states--which were once hers--and will again be hers through the strong mailed hand of germany! this is written and will be! when that day comes, we need such points of vantage as granados and la partida; we must have them! you have endangered that position, and the mistake won't be wiped out. the next move is yours, conrad." the quiet man in the habiliments of shabby gentility in that bare little room with the american flag over the door and portraits of two or three notable advocates of world peace and the american league of neutrality on the wall, had all the outward suggestion of the small town disciple of socialism from the orthodox viewpoint. his manner was carefully restrained, and his low voice was very even, but at his last words conrad who had dropped into a seat, his head in his hands, suddenly looked up, questioning. "singleton can probably do no more harm today," went on the quiet voice. "i warned him it would be a mistake to discuss it until after he had seen me. he starts at eight in the morning, alone, for the railroad but probably will not reach there." he looked at his watch thoughtfully. "the tucson train leaves in fifty minutes. you can get that. stop off at the station where brehman's sister is waitress. she will have his car ready, that will avoid the junction. it will be rough work, conrad, but it is your move. it is an order." and then before that carefully quiet man who had the appearance of a modest country person, adolf conrad suddenly came to his feet in military salute. "come, we will talk it over," suggested his superior. "it will be rough, yet necessary, and if it could appear suicide, eh? well, we will see. we--will--see!" * * * * * at seven in the morning the granados telephone bell brought singleton into the patio in his dressing gown and slippers. and doña luz who was seeing that his breakfast was served, heard him express surprise and then say: "why, certainly. if you are coming this way as far on the road as the jefferson ranch of course we can meet there, and i only need to go half way. that will be excellent. yes, and if judge jefferson is at home he may be able to help with his advice. fine! good-bye." when doña luz was questioned about it later she was quite sure mr. singleton mentioned no name, his words were as words to a friend. but all that day the telephone was out of order on the granados line, and singleton did not return that night. there was nothing to cause question in that, as he had probably gone on to nogales, but when the second day came and the telephone not working, billie started pedro vijil to ride the line to granados junction, get the mail, and have a line man sent out for repairs wherever they were needed. it was puzzling because there had been no storm, nothing of which they knew to account for the silent wire. the line was an independent one from the junction, and there were only two stations on it, the jefferson ranch and granados. but vijil forgot about the wire, for he met some sheep men from the hills carrying the body of singleton. they had found him in the cottonwoods below the road not five miles from the hacienda. his car he had driven off the road back of a clump of thick mesquite. the revolver was still in his hand, and the right temple covered with black blood and flies. there was nothing better to do than what the herders were doing. the man had been dead a day and must be buried, also it was necessary to send a man to jefferson's, where there was a telephone, to get in touch with someone in authority and arrange for the funeral. so the herders walked along with their burden carried in a _serape_, and covered by the carriage robe. pedro had warned them to halt at his own house, for telephone calls would certainly gather men, who would help to arrange all decently before the body was taken into the _sala_ of granados. there is not much room for conjecture as to the means of a man's taking off when he is found with a bullet in his right temple, a revolver in his right hand, and only one empty cartridge shell in the revolver. there seemed no mystery about the death, except the cause of suicide. it was the same evening that conrad riding in from the south, attempted to speak over the wire with granados and got from central information that the granados wire was broken, and singleton, the proprietor, a suicide. the coroner's inquest so pronounced it, after careful investigation of the few visible facts. conrad was of no value as a witness because he had been absent in magdalena. he could surmise no reason for such an act, but confessed he knew practically nothing of singleton's personal affairs. he was guardian of his stepdaughter and her estate, and so far as conrad knew all his relations with the personnel of the estate were most amicable. conrad acknowledged when questioned that singleton did usually carry a revolver when out in the car, he had a horror of snakes, and he had never known him to use a gun for anything else. doña luz moreno confused matters considerably by her statement that mr. singleton was going to meet some man at the jefferson ranch because the man had called him up before breakfast to arrange it. later it was learned that no call was made from any station over the wire that morning to granados. there was in fact several records of failure to get granados. no one but doña luz had heard the call and heard singleton reply, yet it was not possible that this communication could be a fact over a broken wire, and the wire was found broken between the jefferson ranch and granados. whereupon word promptly went abroad among the mexicans that señor singleton had been lured to his death by a spirit voice calling over a broken wire as a friend to a friend. for the rest of her life doña luz will have that tale to tell as the evidence of her own ears that warnings of death do come from the fearsome spirits of the shadowed unknown land,--and this in denial of all the padres' godly discourse to the contrary! a mr. frederick james of nogales, connected with a group of charitable gentlemen working for the alleviating of distress among the many border exiles from mexico, was the only person who came forward voluntarily to offer help to the coroner regarding the object of the dead man's journey to nogales. mr. james had been called on the telephone by mr. singleton, who was apparently in great distress of mind concerning mysterious illness and deaths of horses shipped from granados to france. a telegram had come from new york warning him that the department of justice was investigating the matter, and the excitement and nervousness of mr. singleton was such that mr. james readily consented to a meeting in nogales, with the hope that he might be of service in any investigation they would decide upon after consultation. when mr. singleton did not keep the engagement, mr. james attempted to make inquiries by telephone. he tried again the following morning, but it was only after hearing of the suicide--he begged pardon--the death of mr. singleton, that he recalled the fact that all of singleton's discourse over the telephone had been unusual, excitable to a degree, while all acquaintances of the dead man knew him as a quiet, reserved man, really unusually reserved, almost to the point of the secretive. mr. james was struck by the unusual note of panic in his tones, but as a carload of horses was of considerable financial value, he ascribed the excitement in part to that, feeling confident of course that mr. singleton was in no ways accountable for the loss, but---- mr. james was asked if the nervousness indicated by mr. singleton was a fear of personal consequences following the telegram, but mr. james preferred not to say. he had regarded mr. singleton as a model of most of the virtues, and while singleton's voice and manner had certainly been unusual, he could not presume to suspect the inner meaning of it. the telegraph and telephone records bore out the testimony of mr. james. the fact that the first telegram was addressed to the manager, mr. conrad, had apparently nothing to do with the case, since the telegraph files showed that messages were about evenly divided in the matter of address concerning ranch matters. they were often addressed simply to "granados rancho" or "manager granados ranch." this one simply happened to be addressed to the name of the manager. the coroner decided that the mode of address had no direct bearing on the fact that the man was found dead under the cottonwoods with copies of both telegrams in his pocket, both written in a different hand from his carefully clear script as shown in his address book. safe in his pocket also was money, a gold watch with a small gold compass, and a handsome seal ring. nothing was missing, which of course precluded the thought of murder for robbery, and philip singleton was too mildly negative to make personal enemies, a constitutional neutral. billie, looking very small and very quiet, was brought in by doña luz and mr. jefferson of the neighboring ranch, fifty miles to the east. she had not been weeping. she was too stunned for tears, and there was a strangely ungirlish tension about her, an alert questioning in her eyes as she looked from face to face, and then returned to the face of the one man who was a stranger, the kindly sympathetic face of mr. frederick james. she told of the telegrams she had copied, and of the distress of singleton, but that his distress was no more than her own, that she had been crying about the horses, and he had tried to comfort her. she did not believe he had a trouble in the world of his own, and he had never killed himself--never! when asked if she had any reason to suspect a murderer, she said if they ever found who killed the horses they would find who killed her papa phil, but this opinion was evidently not shared by any of the others. the report of horses dead on a transport in the atlantic ocean, and a man dead under the cottonwoods in arizona, did not appear to have any definite physical relation to each other, unless of course the loss of the horses had proven too much of a shock to mr. singleton and upset his nerves to the extent that moody depression had developed into temporary dementia. his own gun had been the evident agent of death. one of the mexicans recalled that singleton had discharged an american foreman in anger, and that the man had been in a rage about it, and assaulted mr. conrad, whereupon conrad was recalled, and acknowledged the assault with evident intent to kill. yes, he heard the man rhodes had threatened singleton with a nastier accident than his attempt on conrad. no, he had not heard it personally, as he was unconscious when the threat was made. "it wasn't a threat!" interrupted billie, "it was something different, a warning." "a warning of what?" billie was about to quote kit's opinion concerning singleton's ranch force, when she was halted by a strange thing--for billie; it was merely the mild steady gaze of the quiet gentleman of the peaceful league of the neutrals. there was a slight lifting of his brows as she spoke of a warning; and then a slight suggestion of a smile--it might have been a perfectly natural incredulous smile, but billie felt that it was not. the yellowish brown eyes narrowed until only the pupils were visible, and warm though the day was, billie felt a swift chill over her, and her words were cautious. "i can't say, i don't know, but kit rhodes had no grudge against papa phil. he seemed in some way to be sorry for him." she noted that conrad's gaze was on the face of mr. james instead of on her. "sorry for him?" "y-yes, sort of. he tried to explain why, but papa would not listen, and would not make any engagement with him. sent his money by captain pike and wouldn't see him. but kit rhodes did not make a threat, he did not!" her last denial was directly at conrad, who merely shrugged his shoulders as if to dispose of that awkward phase of the matter. "it was told me so, but the mexican men might not have understood the words of rhodes--he was in a rage--and it may be he did not mean so much as he said." "but he didn't say it!" insisted billie. "very good, he did not, and it is a mistake of mine," agreed conrad politely. "for quite awhile i was unconscious after his assault, naturally i know nothing of what was said." "and where is this man rhodes to be found?" asked the coroner, and conrad smiled meaningly. "nowhere,--or so i am told! he and a companion are said to have crossed the line into sonora twenty-four hours before the death of mr. singleton." "well, unless there is some evidence that he was seen later on this side, any threat he might or might not have made, has no relation whatever to this case. is there any evidence that he was seen at, or near, granados after starting for sonora?" no evidence was forthcoming, and the coroner, in summoning up, confessed he was not satisfied to leave certain details of the case a mystery. that singleton had discharged rhodes in anger, and rhodes had, even by intimation, voiced a threat against singleton could not be considered as having any bearing on the death of the latter; while the voice of the unknown calling him to a meeting at jefferson's ranch was equally a matter of mystery, since no one at jefferson's knew anything of the message, or the speaker, and investigation developed the fact that the telephone wire was broken between the two ranches, and there was no word at granados junction central of any message to granados after five o'clock the afternoon of the previous day. and, since philip singleton never reached the jefferson ranch, but turned his car off the road at the cottonwood cañon, and was found with one bullet in his head, and the gun in his own hand, it was not for a coroner's jury to conjecture the impulse leading up to the act, or the business complications by which the act might, or might not, have been hastened. but incomprehensible though it might seem to all concerned there was only one finding on the evidence submitted, and that was suicide. "papa phil never killed himself, never!" declared billie. "that would be two suicides in a month for granados, and two is one too many. we never had suicides here before." "who was the other?" "why, miguel herrara who had been arrested for smuggling, was searched and his gun taken, and yet that night found a gun to kill himself with in the adobe where he was locked up! miguel would not have cared for a year or two in jail; he had lived there before, and hadn't tried any killing. i tell you granados is getting more than its share." "it sure looks like it, little lady," agreed the coroner, "but herrara's death gives us no light or evidence on singleton's death, and our jurisdiction is limited strictly to the hand that held the gun. the evidence shows it was in the hand of mr. singleton when found." the jeffersons insisted that billie go home with them, as the girl appeared absolutely and pathetically alone in the world. she knew of no relatives, and tia luz and captain pike were the only two whom she had known from babyhood as friends of her father's. the grandmother of billie bernard had been the daughter of a spanish _haciendado_ who was also an officer in the army of mexico. he met death in battle before he ever learned that his daughter, in the pious work of nursing friend and enemy alike, had nursed one enemy of the hated north until each was captive to the other, and she rode beside him to her father's farthest northern rancho beyond the mexican deserts, and never went again to the gay circles of mexico's capital. late in her life one daughter, dorotea was born, and when alfred bernard came out of the east and looked on her, a blonde spanish girl as her ancestresses of valencia had been, the game of love was played again in the old border rancho which was world enough for the lovers. there had been one eastern summer for them the first year of their marriage, and philip singleton had seen her there, and never forgot her. after her widowhood he crossed the continent to be near her, and after awhile his devotion, and her need of help in many ways, won the place he coveted, and life at granados went on serenely until her death. though he had at times been bored a bit by the changelessness of ranch life, yet he had given his word to guard the child's inheritance until she came of age, and had kept it loyally as he knew how until death met him in the cañon of the cottonwoods. but the contented isolation of her immediate family left billie only such guardian as the court might appoint for her property and person, and andrew jefferson, judge jefferson by courtesy, in the county, would no doubt be choice of the court as well as the girl. beyond that she could only think of pike, and--well pike was out of reach on some enchanted gold trail of which she must not speak, and she supposed she would have to go to school instead of going in search of him! conrad spoke to her kindly as she was led to the jefferson car, and there was a subtle deference in his manner, indicating his realization that he was speaking--not to the wilful little maid who could be annoying--but to the owner of granados and, despite his five year contract as manager, an owner who could change entirely the activities of the two ranches in another year--and it was an important year. he also spoke briefly to mr. james offering him the hospitality of the ranch for a day of rest before returning to nogales, but the offer was politely declined. mr. james intimated that he was at conrad's service if he could be of any practical use in the mysterious situation. he carefully gave his address and telephone number, and bade the others good day. but as he was entering his little roadster he spoke again to conrad. "by the way, it was a mistake to let that man rhodes get over into sonora. it should be the task of someone to see that he does not come back. he seems a very dangerous man. see to it!" the words were those of a kindly person interested in the welfare of the community, and evidently impressed by the evidence referring to the discharged range boss. two of the men hearing him exchanged glances, for they also thought that rumor of the threats should have been looked into. but the last three words were spoken too softly for any but conrad to hear. the following week billie went to tucson with the jeffersons and at her request judge jefferson was appointed guardian of her person and estate, after which she and the judge went into a confidential session concerning that broken wire on the granados line. "i'm not loco, judge," she insisted, "but i want you to learn whether that wire was cut on purpose, or just broke itself. also i want you to take up that horse affair with the secret service people. i don't want conrad to be sent away--yet. i'd rather watch him on granados. i won't go away to school; i'd rather have a teacher at home. we can find one." "but, do you realize that with two mysterious deaths on granados lately, you might run some personal risk of living there with only yourself and two women in the house? i'm not sure we can sanction that, my child." billie smiled at him a bit wanly, but decided. "now judge, you know i picked you because you would let me do whatever i pleased, and i don't mean to be disappointed with you. half the men at the inquest think that kit rhodes did come back to do that shooting, and you know conrad and the very smooth rat of the charities society are accountable for that opinion. the mexican who dragged in kit's name is one of conrad's men; it all means something! it's a bad muddle, but kit rhodes and cap pike will wander back here some of these days, and i mean to have every bit of evidence for kit to start in with. he suspected a lot, and all granados combined to silence him--fool granados!" "but, just between ourselves, child, are you convinced rhodes did not make the statement liable to be construed into a threat against mr. singleton?" "convinced nothing," was the inelegant reply of his new ward. "i heard him say enough to hang him if evidence could be found that he was north of the line that morning, and that's why it's my job to take note of all the evidence on the other side. the horses did not kill themselves. that telegram concerning it did not send itself. papa phil did not shoot himself, and that telephone wire did not cut itself! my hunch is that those four things go together, and that's a combination they can't clear up by dragging in the name of a man who never saw the horses, and who was miles south in sonora with cap pike when the other three things happened. now can they?" chapter vii in the province of altar _there was a frog who lived in the spring: sing-song kitty, can't yo' carry me, oh? and it was so cold that he could not sing, sing-song kitty, can't yo' carry me, oh? ke-mo! ki-mo! dear--oh my! to my hi'--to my ho--to my----_ "oh! for the love of mike! bub, can't you give a man a rest instead of piling up the agony? these old joints of mine are creakin' with every move from desert rust and dry camps, and you with no more heart in you than to sing of springs,--cold springs!" "they do exist, cap." "uh--huh, they are as real to us this minute as the red gold that we've trailed until we're at the tag end of our grub stake. i tell you, bub, they stacked the cards on us with that door of the old soledad mission, and the view of the gold cañon from there! why, whitely showed us that the mission door never did face the hills, but looked right down the valley towards the rio del altar just as the soledad plaza does today; all the old mexicans and indians tell us that." "well, we've combed over most of the arroyas leading into the altar from rancho soledad, and all we've found is placer gravel; yet the placers are facts, and the mother lode is somewhere, cap." "worn down to pan dirt, that's what!" grunted pike. "i tell you these heathen sit around and dream lost mission tales and lost mine lies; dream them by the dozen to delude just such innocent yaps as you and me. they've nothing else to do between crops. we should have stuck to a white man's land, north into arizona where the three hills of gold are waiting, to say nothing of the lost stone cabin mine, lost not twenty miles from quartzite, and in plain sight of castle dome. now there is nothing visionary about _that_, kit! why, i knew an old-timer who freighted rich ore out of that mine thirty years ago, and even the road to it has been lost for years! we know things once did exist up in that country, kit, and down here we are all tangled up with mexican-indian stories of ghosts and enchantments, and such vagaries. i'm fed up with them to the limit, for everyone of them we listen to is different from the last. we'll head up into the castle dome country next time, hear me?" "sure, i hear," agreed kit cheerfully. "perhaps we do lose, but it's not so bad. since whitely sent his family north, he has intimated that mesa blanca is a single man's job, and i reckon i can have it when he goes--as he will. then in the month we have scouted free of whitelys, we have dry washed enough dust to put you on velvet till things come our way. say, what will you bet that a month of comfort around nogales won't make you hungry for the trail again?" "a gold trail?" queried the weary and dejected pike. "any old trail to any old place just so we keep ambling on. you can't live contented under cover, and you know it." "well," decided pike after a rod or two of tramping along the shaly, hot bed of a dry arroya. "i won't bet, for you may be among the prophets. but while you are about it, i'd be thankful if you'd prophesy me a wet trail next time instead of skimpy mud holes where springs ought to be. i'm sick of dry camps, and so is baby buntin'." "_'oh, there was a frog lived in the spring!'_" chanted kit derisively. "cheer up, cap, the worst is yet to come, for i've an idea that the gang of mexican vaqueros we glimpsed from the butte at noon will just about muss up the water hole in yaqui cañon until it will be us for a sleep there before the fluid is fit for a water bottle. _'oh, there was a frog lived in the spring!'_ buntin' baby, we'll fish the frog out, and let you wallow in it instead, you game little dusty rat! say, pike, when we load up with grub again we'll keep further west to the cerrado pintado. i'll follow a hunch of my own next trip." the older man grunted disdain for the hunches of kit, even while his eyes smiled response to the ever-living call of youth. to rhodes there was ever a "next time." he was young enough to deal in futures, and had a way with him by which friends were to be found for even unstable venturings with no backing more substantial than a "hunch." not that kit was gifted with any great degree of fatal beauty--men are not often pretty on the trail, unwashed, unshaven, and unshorn--added to which their equipment had reached the point where his most pretentious garment was a square of an indian _serape_ with a hole in the middle worn as a poncho, and adopted to save his coat and other shirt on the hard trail. cap pike growled that he looked like a mexican peon in that raiment, which troubled kit not at all. he was red bronze from the desert days, and his blue eyes, with the long black lashes of some celtic ancestor, looked out on the world with direct mild approval. they matched the boyish voice much given to trolling old-time ditties and sentimental foolishness. he led the dappled roan over the wild dry "wash" where the sand was deep and slippery, and the white crust of alkali over all. before him swayed the pack mules, and back of him captain pike sagged on the little gray burro, named in derision and affection, the baby bunting of the outfit. the jauntiness was temporarily eliminated from the old prospector. two months of fruitless scratching gravel when he had expected to walk without special delay to the great legendary deposit, had taken the sparkle of hope from the blue eyes, and he glanced perfunctorily at the walls of that which had once been a river bed. "what in time do you reckon became of all the water that used to fill these dry gullies?" he asked querulously. "why, it took a thousand years of floods to wash these boulders round, and then leave them high and dry when nicely polished. that's a waste in nature i can't figure out, and this godforsaken territory is full of them." "well, you grouch, if we didn't have this dry bed to skip along, we would be bucking the greasewood and cactus on the mesa above. so we get some favors coming our way." "skip along,--me eye!" grunted pike, as the burro toiled laboriously through the sand, and kit shifted and stumbled over treacherous, half-buried boulders. "say, kit, don't you reckon it's time for billie to answer my letter? it's over eight weeks now, and mail ought to get in once a month." rhodes grunted something about "mail in normal times, but these times were not normal," and did not seem much interested in word from granados. he had not the heart, or else had too much, to tell the old man that the letter to billie never reached her. when whitely went north he put it in his coat pocket, and then changed his coat! kit found it a month later and held it, waiting to find someone going out. he had not even mentioned it to whitely on his return, for whitely was having his own troubles, and could not spare a man for a four day trip to mail. whitely's folks lived north of naco, and he had gone there direct and returned without touching at nogales, or hearing of the tragedy at granados. the latest news of the mexican revolutions, and the all-absorbing question as to whether the united states would or would not intervene, seemed all the news the worried whitely had brought back. even the slaughter of a dozen nations of europe had no new features to a ranchman of sonora,--it remained just slaughter. and one did not need to cross boundaries to learn of killings, for all the world seemed aflame, and every state in mexico had its own wars,--little or big. then, in the records of the tumultuous days, there was scarce space for the press or people to give thought after the first day or two, to the colorless life going out in mystery under the cottonwoods of granados, and no word came to tell rhodes of the suspicion, only half veiled, against himself. the ranch house of mesa blanca was twenty miles from the hacienda of soledad, and a sharp spur of the carrizal range divided their grazing lands. soledad reached a hundred miles south and mesa blanca claimed fifty miles to the west, so that the herds seldom mingled, but word filtered to and from between the vaqueros, and rhodes heard that perez had come north from hermosillo and that el aleman, (the german) had made the two day trip in from the railroad, and had gone on a little _pasear_ to the small rancherias with juan gonsalvo, the half-breed overseer. the vaqueros talked with each other about that, for there were no more young men among them for soldiers, only boys and old men to tend the cattle, and what did it mean? the name of rhodes was not easy for the mexican tongue, and at mesa blanca his identity was promptly lost in the gift of a name with a meaning to them, el pajarito, (the singer). capitan viajo, (the old captain), was accepted by pike with equal serenity, as both men were only too well pleased to humor the indian ranch people in any friendly concessions, for back of some of those alert black eyes there were surely inherited records of old pagan days, and old legends of golden veins in the hills. the fact that they were left practically nameless in a strange territory did not occur to either of them, and would not have disturbed them if it had. they had met no american but whitely since they first struck mesa blanca. one month kit had conscientiously stuck to the ranch cares while whitely took his family out, and pike had made little sallies into the hills alone. on whitely's return he had made an errand to soledad and taken rhodes and pike along that they might view the crumbled walls of old soledad mission, back of the ranch house. the ancient rooms of the mission padres were now used principally as corrals, harness shop, and storage rooms. the situation in itself was one of rare beauty;--those old padres knew! it was set on a high plain or mesa, facing a wide valley spreading miles away to the south where mother-of-pearl mountains were ranged like strung jewels far against the mexican sky. at the north, slate-blue foothills lifted their sharp-edged shoulders three miles away, but only blank walls of soledad faced the hills, all portals of the old mission appeared to have faced south, as did soledad. the door facing the hills was a myth. and as rhodes stood north of the old wall, and searched its thirty-mile circle, he could understand how four generations of gold seekers had failed to find even a clue to the wealth those unknown padres had looked on, and sent joyous evidence of to the viceroy of the south. it would take years of systematic search to cover even half the visible range. a man could devote a long lifetime to a fruitless search there, and then some straying burro might uncover it for an indian herder who would fill his poncho, and make a sensation for a week or two, and never find the trail again! "it's just luck!" said kit thinking it all over as he tramped along the arroya bed, "it either belongs to you, or it doesn't. no man on earth can buy it and make it stay, but if it is yours, no man can keep you from it entirely." "what the devil are you yammering about?" asked pike grumpily. "oh, i was just thinking of how whitely exploded our little balloon of hopes when he took us over to size up the prospects at soledad. i wonder if perez has no white help at all around that place. we did not even see the foreman." "he's a half-breed, that juan gonsalvo. the indians don't like him. he's from down hermosillo way, and not like these piman children of nature. he and conrad are up to some devilment, but whitely thinks juan took the job, deluded as we are, with the notion that a gold mine was sticking up out of the ground at the soledad corrals, and it was to be his find. you see, bub, that story has gone the length of mexico, and even over to spain. oh, we are not the only trailers of ghost gold; there are others!" the slanting sun was sending shadows long on the levels, and the hills were looming to the east in softest tones of gray and amethyst; the whitish green of desert growths lay between, and much of brown desert yet to cross. "we can't make the foothills tonight even though there is an early moon," decided kit. "but we can break camp at dawn and make it before the sun is high, and the water will hold out that long." "it will hold for buntin' and the mules, but what of pardner?" asked the older man. "he's not used to this hard pan gravel scratching." "but he's thoroughbred, and he can stand it twelve hours more if i can, can't you, old pal?" the tall roan with the dot of black between the eyes returned his owner's caress by nosing his bare neck, and the hand held up to smooth the black mane. "i'll be glad enough to see him safe across the border in old arizona," observed pike. "i can't see how the herders saved him for you at mesa blanca when their own stock was picked of its best for the various patriots charging through the settlements." "some way, miguel, the indian vaquero, managed it, or got his girl to hide it out. whitely confessed that his indian cattlemen are the most loyal he can find down here." "but it's not a white man's land--yet, and i'm downright glad he's shipped his family north. there's always hell enough in sonora, but it's a dovecote to what it's bound to be before the end comes, and so, it's no place for white men's wives." "right you are! say, what was it whitely heard down in sinaloa concerning the enchanted cañon mine?" "oh, some old priest's tale--the same dope we got with a different slant to it. the gold nuggets from some shrine place where the water gushed _muy fuerte_, by a sycamore tree. same old nuggets sent out with the message, and after that the insurrection of the indians, and the priests who found it never lived to get out. why, bub, that is nearly two hundred years ago! stop and think of the noble castilians going over sonora with a fine tooth comb for that trail ever since and then think of the nerve of us!" "well, i'm nearer to it anyway than the dutchman who trekked in from the south last year with copies of the old mission reports as guide, for the yaquis killed him, and took his records, while they hide my horse for me." "huh! yes, and warn you to ride him north!" "correct;--but pike, it was a warning, not a threat! oh, i'm coming back all right, all right! that gold by the hidden stream sure has got me roped and hog tied for keeps." pike growled good-natured disdain of his confidence, and suggested that the stream, which was probably only a measly mud hole, could have dropped to purgatory in an earthquake tremor since those first old mission days, or filled up with quicksand. "right you are, cap. that's a first-rate idea," agreed kit the irrepressible. "next trip we'll start looking for streams that were and are not; we're in the bed of one now for that matter!" "somewhere ahead we should come into the trail south from carracita," observed pike, "but i reckon you'd just as soon camp with pard out of sight of the trail." there was silence for a bit as they plodded on up the wide dry bed of the river, and then kit turned, glancing at the old man keenly. "i didn't fool you much when i called that gang 'vaqueros,' did i?" he observed. "well, they didn't look good to me, and i decided i'd have to fight for my horse if we crossed trails, and--it wastes a lot of time, fighting does." "no, you didn't fool me. you'd be seven kinds of an idiot to walk in this gully of purgatory when you could ride safely on the mesa above, so i guessed you had a hunch it was the friendly and acquisitive patriots." "pike, they were between us and the palomitas rancherias of mesa blanca or i'd have made a try to get through and warn the indians there. those men had no camp women with them, so they were not a detachment of the irregular cavalry,--that's what puzzles me. and their horses were fresh. it's some new devilment." "there's nothing new in sonora, son. things happen over and over the same." the shadows lengthened, and the blue range to the east had sharp, black edges against the saffron sky, and the men plodding along over sand and between boulders, fell silent after the little exchange of confidence as to choice of trail. once kit left the gully and climbed the steep grade to the mesa alone to view the landscape over, but slid and scrambled down,--hot, dusty, and vituperative. "not a sign of life but some carrion crows moving around in the blue without flop of a wing," he grumbled. "who started the dope that mankind is the chosen of the lord? huh! we have to scratch gravel for all we rake in but the birds of the air have us beat for desert travel all right, all right!" "well, bub, if you saw no one's dust it must be that gang were not headed for palomitas or whitely's." "they could strike palomitas, and circle over to the east road without striking whitely's home corrals," said kit thoughtfully. "sure they could, but what's the object? if it's cattle or horses they're after the bigger ranch is the bigger haul?" "yes,--if it's stock they're after," agreed kit somberly. "why, lad, what--what's got you now?" "i reckon it's the damned buzzards," acknowledged the younger man. "i don't know what struck me as i sat up there watching them. maybe it's their blackness, maybe it's their provender, maybe it was just the loco of their endless drifting shadows, but for a minute up there i had an infernal sick feeling. it's a new one on me, and there was nothing i could blame it on but disgust of the buzzards." "you're goin' too shy on the water, and never knew before that you had nerves," stated pike sagely. "i've been there; fought with a pardner once,--jimmy dean, till he had to rope me. you take a pull at the water bottle, and take it now." kit did so, but shook his head. "it touches the right spot, but it was not a thirst fancy. it was another thought and--o bells of pluto! pike, let's talk of something else! what was that you said about the sinaloa priest story of the red gold? you said something about a new slant on the old dope." "uh-huh!" grunted pike. "at least it was a new slant to me. i've heard over and over about uprising of indians, and death of the two priests who found their mine, but this sinaloa legend has it that the indians did not kill the priests, but that their gods did!" "their gods?" "yeh, the special gods of that region rose up and smote them. that's why the indians barred out other mission priests for so long a spell that no white man remembered just where the lost shrine of the red gold was. of course it's all punk, bub, just some story of the heathen sheep to hide the barbecuing of their shepherds." "maybe so, but i've as much curiosity as a pet coon. what special process did their gods use to put the friars out of commission?" "oh, lightning. the original priests' report had it that the red gold was at some holy place of the tribes, a shrine of some sort. well, you know the usual mission rule--if they can't wean the indian from his shrine, they promptly dig foundations and build a church there under heavenly instructions. that's the story of this shrine of el alisal where the priests started to build a little branch chapel or _visita_, for pious political reasons--and built it at the gold shrine. it went down in the priests' letter or record as gold of rose, a deep red gold. well, under protest, the indians helped build a shack for a church altar under a great aliso tree there, but when lightning struck the priests, killed both and burned the shack, you can see what that manifestation would do to the indian mind." kit halted, panting from the heart-wearying trail, and looked pike over disgustedly. "holy mackerel! pike, haven't you _any_ imagination? you've had this new side to the story for over a month and never even cheeped about it! i heard you and whitely talking out on the porch, but i didn't hear this!" "why, bub, it's just the same old story, everyone of them have half a dozen different sides to it." "but this one explains things, this one has logic, this one blazes a trail!" declared the enthusiast. "this one explains good and plenty why no indian has ever cheeped about it, no money could bribe him to it. can't you see? of course that lightning was sent by their wrathy gods, of course it was! but do you note that place of the gold, and place of the shrine where the water rises, is also some point where there is a dyke of iron ore near, a magnet for the lightning? and that is not here in those sandy mesas and rocky barrancas--it's to the west in the hills, pike. can't you see that?" "too far from the old north and south trail, bub. there was nothing to take padres so far west to the hills. the indians didn't even live there; only strayed up for nuts and hunting in the season." "save your breath!" jeered kit. "it's me to hike back to mesa blanca and offer service at fifty dollars per, and live like a miser until we can hit the trail again. i may find a tenderfoot to buy that valley tract of mine up in yuma, and get cash out of that. oh, we will get the finances somehow! i'll write a lawyer soon as we get back to whitely's--god! what's that?" they halted, holding breath to listen. "a coyote," said pike. "no, only one animal screams like that--a wildcat in the timber. but it's no wildcat." again the sound came. it was either from a distance or else muffled by the barrier of the hill, a blood-curdling scream of sickening terror. a cold chill struck the men as they looked at each other. "the carrion crows knew!" said kit. "you hold the stock, pike." he quickly slipped his rifle from its case, and started up the knoll. "the stock will stand," said pike. "i'm with you." as the two men ran upward to the summit and away from the crunching of their own little outfit in the bed of the dry river, they were struck by the sound of clatter of hoofs and voices. "bub, do you know where we are?" asked pike--"this draw slants south and has brought us fair into the palomitas trail where it comes into the old yaqui trail, and on south to hell." "to hell it is, if it's the slavers again after women," said kit. "come quiet." they reached the summit where cacti and greasewood served as shield, and slightly below them they saw, against the low purple hills, clouds of dust making the picture like a vision and not a real thing, a line of armed horsemen as outpost guards, and men with roped arms stumbling along on foot slashed at occasionally with a _reata_ to hasten their pace. women and girls were there, cowed and drooping, with torn garments and bare feet. forty prisoners in all kit counted of those within range, ere the trail curved around the bend of a hill. "but that scream?" muttered kit. "all those women are silent as death, but that scream?" then he saw. one girl was in the rear, apart from the rest of the group. a blond-bearded man spurred his horse against her, and a guard lashed at her to keep her behind. her scream of terror was lest she be separated from that most woeful group of miserables. the horse was across the road, blocking it, as the man with the light beard slid from the saddle and caught her. kit's gun was thrown into position as pike caught his hand. "_no!_" he said. "look at her!" for the indian girl was quicker far. from the belt of her assailant she grasped a knife and lunged at his face as he held her. his one hand went to his cheek where the blood streamed, and his other to his revolver. but even there she was before him, for she held the knife in both hands against her breast, and threw herself forward in the haze of dust. the other guard dismounted and stared at the still figure on the trail, then kicked her over until he could see her face. one look was enough. he jerked the knife from the dead body, wiped it on her _manta_, and turned to tie a handkerchief over the cheek of the wounded horseman. kit muttered an oath of horror, and hastily drew the field glass from its case to stare at the man whose beard, a false one, had been torn off in the struggle. it was not easy to re-adjust it so that it would not interfere with the bandage, and thus he had a very fair view of the man's features, and his thoughts were of billie's words to conrad concerning slave raids in sonora. had billie really suspected, or had she merely connected his mexican friends with reports of raids for girls in the little indian pueblos? pike reached for the glass, but by the time he could focus it to fit his eyes, the man had re-mounted, riding south, and there was only the dead girl left there where she fell, an indian girl they both knew, anita, daughter of miguel, the major-domo of mesa blanca, whose own little rancheria was with the pimans at palomitas. "look above, cap," said kit. above two pair of black wings swept in graceful curves against the saffron sky--waiting! rhodes went back to the outfit for pick and shovel, and when twilight fell they made a grave there in the dusky cañon of the desert. chapter viii the slave trail they camped that night in the barranca, and next morning a thin blue smoke a mile away drew kit out on the roan even in the face of the heat to be, and the water yet to find. he hoped to discover someone who had been more fortunate in escape. he found instead an indian he knew, one whose gray hair was matted with blood and who stood as if dazed by terror at sound of hoofs. it was miguel, the pima head man of mesa blanca. "why, miguel, don't you know me?" asked kit. the eyes of the man had a strange look, and he did not answer. but he did move hesitatingly to the horse and stroked it. "_caballo_," he said. "_muy bueno, caballo._" "yes," agreed pardner's rider, "very good always." "_si_ señor, always." kit swung from the saddle, and patted the old man's shoulder. he was plainly dazed from either a hurt, or shock, and would without doubt die if left alone. "come, you ride, and we'll go to camp, then find water," suggested kit. "camp here no good. come help me find water." that appeal penetrated the man's mind more clearly. miguel had been the well-trusted one of the indian vaqueros, used to a certain dependence put upon him, and he straightened his shoulders for a task. "_si_ señor, a good padrone are you, and water it will be found for you." he was about to mount when he halted, bewildered, and looked about him as if in search. "all--my people--" he said brokenly. "my children of me--my child!" kit knew that his most winning child lay newly covered under the sand and stones he had gathered by moonlight to protect the grave from coyotes. but there was a rustle back of him and a black-eyed elf, little more than a child, was standing close, shaking the sand from her hair. "i am hearing you speak. i know it is you, and i come," she said. it was tula, the younger daughter of miguel,--one who had carried them water from the well on her steady head, and played with the babies on the earthen floors at the pueblo of palomitas. but the childish humors were gone, and her face wore the indian mask of any age. "tell me," said kit. "it is at palomitas. i was in the willows by the well when they came, juan gonsalvo and el aleman, and strange soldiers. all the women scream and make battle, also the men, and that is when my father is hurt in the head, that is when they are taking my mother, and anita, my sister. some are hiding. and el aleman and juan gonsalvo make the count, and sent the men for search. that is how it was." "why do you say el aleman?" asked rhodes. "i seeing him other time with don josé, and hearing how he talk. also anita knowing him, and scream his name--'don adolf!'--when he catch her. juan gonsalvo has a scarf tied over the face--all but the eyes, but the don adolf has the face now covered with hairs and i seeing him. they take all the people. my father is hurt, but lives. he tries to follow and is much sick. my mother is there, and anita, my sister, is there. he thinks it better to find them--it is his head is sick. he walks far beside me, and does not know me." "you are hungry?" she showed him a few grains of parched corn tied up in the corner of her _manta_. "water i have, and roots of the sand." "water," repeated miguel mechanically. "yes, i am the one who knows where it comes. i am the one to show you." the eyes of the girl met kit's gaze of understanding. "the hurt is of his head," she stated again. "in the night he made speech of strange old-time things, secret things, and of fear." "so? well, it was a bad night for old men and indian girls in the desert. let's be moving." tula picked up her hidden wicker water bottle and trudged on sandaled feet beside kit. miguel went into a heap in the saddle, dazed, muttering disjointed indian words, only one was repeated often enough to make an impression,--it was cajame. "what is cajame?" he asked the girl, and she gave him a look of tolerance. "he was of chiefs the most great. he was killed for his people. he was the father of my father." kit tried to recall where he had heard the name, but failed. no one had chanced to mention that miguel, the peaceful piman, had any claims on famous antecedents. he had always seemed a grave, silent man, intent only on herding the stock and caring for the family, at the little cluster of adobes by the well of palomitas. it was about two miles from the ranch house, but out of sight. an ancient river hill terminated in a tall white butte at the junction of two arroyas, and the springs feeding them were the deciding influence regarding location of dwellings. rhodes could quickly perceive how a raid could be made on palomitas and, if no shots were fired, not be suspected at the ranch house of mesa blanca. the vague sentences of miguel were becoming more connected, and kit, holding him in the saddle, was much puzzled by some of them. "it is so, and we are yet dying," he muttered as he swayed in the saddle. "we, the yaqui, are yet dumb as our fathers bade. but it is the end, señor, and the red gold of alisal is our own, and----" then his voice dwindled away in mutterings and rhodes saw that the indian girl was very alert, but watching him rather than her father as she padded along beside him. "where is it--alisal?" he asked carelessly, and her velvet-black eyes narrowed. "i think not anyone is knowing. it is also evil to speak of that place," she said. "what makes the evil?" "maybe so the padres. i no knowing, what you think?" but they had reached the place of camp where cap pike had the packs on the animals, waiting and restless. "well, you're a great little collector, bub," he observed. "you start out on the bare sand and gravel and raise a right pert family. who's your friend?" despite his cynical comment, he was brisk enough with help when miguel slid to the ground, ashen gray, and senseless. "now we are up against trouble, with an old cripple and a petticoat to tote, and water the other side of the range." but he poured a little of the precious fluid down the throat of the indian, who recovered, but stared about vacantly. "yes, señor," he said nodding his head when his eyes rested on rhodes, "as you say--it is for the water--as you say--it is the end--for the yaqui. dead is cajame--die all we by the mexican! to you, señor, my child, and el alisal of the gold of the rose. so it will be, señor. it is the end--the water is there, señor. it is to you." "that's funny," remarked pike, "he's gone loony and talking of old chief cajame of the yaquis. he was hanged by the mexican government for protesting against loot by the officials. a big man he was, nothing trifling about cajame! that old indian had eighty thousand in gold in a government bank. naturally the christian rulers couldn't stand for that sort of shiftlessness in a heathen! years ago it was they burned him out, destroyed his house and family;--the whole thing was hellish." the girl squatting in the sand, never took her eyes off pike's face. it was not so much the words, but the tone and expression she gave note to, and then she arose and moved over beside her father. "no," she said stolidly, "it is his families here, yaqui me--no pima! hiding he was when young, hiding with pima men all safe. the padre of me is son to cajame,--only to you it is told, you americano!" her eyes were pitiful in their strained eagerness, striving with all her shocked troubled soul to read the faces of the two men, and staking all her hopes of safety in her trust. "you bet we're americano, tula, and so will you be when we get you over the border," stated rhodes recklessly. "i don't know how we are going to do it, cap, but i swear i'm not going to let a plucky little girl like that go adrift to be lifted by the next gang of raiders. we need a mascot anyway, and she is going to be it." "you're a nice sort of seasoned veteran, bub," admitted pike dryly, "but in adopting a family it might be as well to begin with a he mascot instead of what you've picked. a young filly like that might turn hoodoo." "i reckon i'd have halted for a sober second thought if it hadn't been for that other girl under the stones down there," agreed rhodes. "but shucks!--with all the refugees we're feeding across the line where's the obstacle to this one?" the old prospector was busy with the wounded head for the indian and had no reply ready, but shook his head ominously. rhodes scowled and began uncoiling a _reata_ in case it would be needed to tie miguel in the saddle. "we've got to get some hustle to this outfit," he observed glancing at the sun. "it's too far to take them back to whitely's, and water has to be had. we are really nearer to soledad!" the indian girl came closer to him, speaking in a low, level manner, strange and secretive, yet not a whisper. "he does know--and water is there at that place," she said. "in the night i am hearing him speak all what the ancients hide. he no can walk to that place, maybe i no can walk, but go you for the gold in the hidden cañon. you are americano,--strong,--is it not? a brave heart and much of gold of rose would bring safe again the mother of me and my sister! all this i listen to in the night. for them the gold of rose by the hidden water is to be uncovered again. but see, his hands are weak, his head is like the _niño_ in the reed basket. a stronger heart must find the way--it is you." lowly, haltingly, she kept on that level-voiced decision. it was evident that the ravings of her father through the long hours of the dreadful night had filled her mind with his one desire: to dare the very gods that the red gold might be uncovered again, and purchase freedom for the indians on the exile road to the coast. so low were her words that even cap pike, a rod away, only heard the voice, but not the subject. it was further evident that she meant but the one man to hear. pike had white hair and to her mind was, like her father, to be protected from responsibilities, but rhodes loomed strong and kind, and braced by youth for any task. rhodes looked at her pityingly, and patted her head. "i reckon we're all a little loco, kid," he observed. "you're so paralyzed with the hell you saw, and his ravings that you think his dope of the gold is all gospel, but it's only a dream, sister,--a sick man's fancy, though you sure had me going for a minute, plum hypnotized by the picture." "it is to hide always," she said. "no man must know. no other eyes must see, only you!" "sure," he agreed. "you promising all?" "sure again! just to comfort you i promise that when i find the gold of el alisal i will use it to help get your people." "half," she decided. "half to you." "half it is! you're a great little planner for your size, kid. too bad it's only a dream." cap pike rose to his feet, and gave a hand to miguel, who reeled, and then steadied himself gradually. "most thanks, señor," he whispered, "and when we reach the water----" they helped him into the saddle, and rhodes walked beside, holding him as he swayed. they passed the new-made grave in the sand, and rhodes turned to the girl. "sister," he said, "lift two stones and add to that pile there, one for you and one for your father. also look around and remember this place." "i am no forgetting it," she said as she lifted a stone and placed it as he told her. "it is here the exile trail. i mark the place where you take for me the americano road, and not the south road of the lost. so it is,--these stone make witness." "i'll be shot if i don't believe you _are_ old cajames stock," said cap pike staring at her, and then meeting the gaze of rhodes in wonder at her clear-cut summing up of the situation. "but he was a handful for the government in his day, bub, and i'm hornswaggled if i'd pick out his breed for a kindergarten." the girl heard and understood at least the jocular tenor of his meaning, but no glance in his direction indicated it. she placed the second stone, and then in obedience to rhodes she looked back the way she had come where the desert growth crisped in the waves of heat. on one side lay the low, cactus-dotted hillocks, and on the other the sage green and dull yellow faded into the blue mists of the eastern range. "i am no forgetting it, this place ever," she said and then lifted her water bottle and trudged on beside rhodes. "it is where my trail begins, with you." cape pike grinned at the joke on the boy, for it looked as if the yaqui girl were adopting _him_! chapter ix a meeting at yaqui well good luck was with them, for the water hole in yaqui cañon had not been either muddied or exhausted, evidence that the raiders had not ranged that way. the sorry looking quartette fairly staggered into the little cañon, and the animals were frantic with desire to drink their fill. "i was so near fried that the first gallon fairly sizzled down my gullet," confessed cap pike after a long glorious hour of rest under the alamos with saturated handkerchief over his burning eyes. "that last three mile stretch was hell's back yard for me. how you reckon the little trick over there ever stood it?" the indian girl was resting near her father, and every little while putting water on his face and hands. when she heard the voice of pike she sat up, and then started quietly to pick up dry yucca stalks and bits of brushwood for a fire. "look at that, would you, bub," commented pike, "the minute she sees you commence to open the cook kit she is rustling for firewood. that little devil is made of whalebone for toughness. why, even the burros are played out, but she is fresh as a daisy after a half hour's rest!" rhodes noted that the excitement by which she had been swayed to confidence in the morning had apparently burned out on the trail, for she spoke no more, only served silently as generations of her mothers of the desert had done, and waited, crouched back of her father, while the men ate the slender meal of _carne seco_, _atole_, and coffee. cap pike suggested that she join them, but it was her adopted guardian who protested. "we won't change their ways of women," he decided. "i notice that when white folks try to they are seldom understood. how do we know whether that attitude is an humble effacement, or whether the rank of that martyred ancester exalts her too greatly to allow equality with white stragglers of the range?" cap pike snorted disdain. "you'll be making a pocahontas of her if you keep on that 'noble injun' strain," he remarked. "far be it from me! pocahontas was a gay little hanger-on of the camps,--not like this silent owl! her mind seems older than her years, and just notice her care of him, will you? i reckon he'd have wandered away and died but for her grip on him through the night." miguel sank into sleep almost at once after eating, and the girl waved over him an alamo branch as a fan with one hand, and ate with the other, while rhodes looked over the scant commissary outfit, reckoning mouths to feed and distance to supplies. the moon was at full, and night travel would save the stock considerably. by the following noon they could reach ranches either west or north. he was conscious of the eyes of the girl ever on his face in mute question, and while pike bathed the backs of the animals, and led each to stand in the oozy drainage of the meager well, she came close to kit and spoke. "you say it is a dream, señor, and you laugh, but the red gold of el alisal is no dream. he, my father has said it, and after that, i, tula, may show it to you. even my mother does not know, but i know. i am of the blood to know. you will take him there, for it is a medicine place, much medicine! he has said it to you, señor, and that gift is great. you will come, alone,--with us, señor?" kit smiled at her entreaty, patted her hair, and dug out a worn deck of cards and shuffled them, slowly regarding the sleeping indian the while. "what's on your mind?" demanded cap pike, returning with his white locks dripping from a skimpy bath. "our grub stake is about gone, and you've doubled the outfit. what's the next move?" "i'm playing a game in futures with miguel," stated kit, shuffling the cards industriously. "sounds loco to me, bub," observed the veteran. "present indications are not encouraging as to futures there. can't you see that he's got a jar from which his mind isn't likely to recover? not crazy, you know, not a lunatic or dangerous, but just jarred from pima man back to yaqui child. that's about the way i reckon it." "you reckon right, and it's the yaqui child mind i'm throwing the cards for. best two out of three wins." "what the----" "highest cards for k. rhodes, and i hike across the border with our outfit; highest cards for miguel and my trail is blazed for the red gold of alisal. this is miguel's hand--ace high for miguel!" again he shuffled and cut. "a saucy queen, and red at that! oh, you charmer!" "you got to hustle to beat that, bub. go on, don't be stingy." rhodes cut the third time, then stared and whistled. "the cards are stacked by the indian! all three covered with war paint. what's the use in a poor stray white bucking against that?" he picked out the cards and placed them side by side, ace, king and queen of hearts. "three aces could beat them," suggested pike. "go on bub, shuffle them up, don't be a piker." rhodes did, and cut ten of clubs. "not even the right color," he lamented. "nothing less than two aces for salvation, and i--don't--get--them!" a lonely deuce fell on the sand, and rhodes eyed it sulkily as he rolled a cigarette. "you poor little runt," he apostrophized the harmless two-spot. "you've kicked me out of the frying pan into the fire, and a good likely blaze at that!" "don't reckon i care to go any deeper into trouble than what we've found," decided pike. "ordinary indian scraps are all in the day's work--same with a mexican outfit--but, bub, this slave-hunting graft game with the state soldiery doing the raiding is too strong a combine for two lone rangers to buck against. me for the old u. s. border, and get some of this devilish word to the peace advocates at home." "they wouldn't believe you, and only about two papers along the border would dare print it," observed rhodes. "every time a band of sunny mexicans loot a ranch or steal women, the word goes north that again the bloodthirsty yaquis are on the warpath! those poor devils never leave their fields of their own will, and don't know why the americans have a holy dread of them. yet the yaqui is the best worker south of the line." "if he wasn't the price wouldn't be worth the slave trader's valuable time," commented pike. the indian girl made a quick gesture of warning, just a sweep outward of her hand along the ground. she didn't even look at them, but down the arroya, the trail they had come. "_caballos, hombres!_" she muttered in her throat. "the kid's right,--hear them!" said rhodes, and then he looked at him, and made a strange movement of eyes and head to direct the attention back of her in the thicket of cactus and squat greasewood. he did not look at once, but finally with a circular sweep of the locality, he saw the light glint on a gun barrel along the edge of a little mesa above them. "nice friendly attention," he observed. "someone sizing us up. time to hit the trail anyway, cap;--to get through on the grub we have to travel tonight." he rose and handed the water bottles to the girl to fill, while he tightened cinches. "it's a long day's trip, cap," he stated thoughtfully, "a long day out to carrizal, and a long one back to mesa blanca. i'll divide the dust and the grub fifty-fifty, and you get out to some base of supplies. i'd rather you'd take pardner, and keep on going across the line. the trail is clear from here for you, and enough water holes and settlements for you to get through. i don't think pardner would last for the back trip, but you can save him by riding at night; the burro and mule are best for us. here's the dust." while pike had been talking of crossing the border, kit had been rapidly readjusting the provision so that the old chap had enough to carry him to the first settlement, and the gold dust would more than pay for provision the rest of the way. "why--say, bub!" remonstrated pike. "you're so sudden! i don't allow to leave you by your lonesomes like this. why, i had planned----" "there's nothing else to do," decided rhodes crisply. "if you don't beat it with pardner, we'll lose him, sure! i'm going to take these indians back, and you can help most by waiting north of the line till you hear from me. i'll get word to you at granados. so, if there should be any trouble with these visitors of ours, your trail is clear;--savvy?" two men rode into view in the bend of the arroya. a cartridge belt across each shoulder, and one around each waist, was the most important part of their equipment. "_buenos dias_, señors," said one politely, while his little black eyes roved quickly over the group. "is there still water to be found in the well here? _dios!_ it is the heat of hell down there in the valley." "at your service, señor, is water fresh drawn," said rhodes, and turned to the girl, "oija, tulita!--water for the gentlemen. you ride far, señor?" "from soledad wells." "yes, i know the brand," remarked rhodes. "this is a good season in which to avoid too much knowledge, or too good a memory, señor," observed the man who had not spoken. "many herds will change hands without markets before tranquility is over in mexico." "i believe you, señor, and we who have nothing will be the lucky ones," agreed rhodes, regarding the man with a new interest. he was not handsome, but there was a something quick and untamed in his keen, black eyes, and though the mouth had cruel hard lines, his tone was certainly friendly, yet dominating. "what have you here?" he asked with a gesture toward miguel. "my indian who tried to save his women from slavers, and was left for dead," stated rhodes frankly. "and this?" he pointed to the girl filling again the water bottles. "she is mine, señor. we go to our own homes." "hum! you should be enlisted in the fights and become capitan, but these would drop by the trail if you left them. well, another time perhaps, señor! for the water many thanks. _adios!_" and with wave of the hand they clattered down the arroya. "queer," muttered rhodes, "did you catch that second chap signal to the gun man in the cactus? he craw-fished back over the mesa and faded away." "they didn't come for water alone--some scouten' party trailin' every sign found," decided pike. "i'll bet they had us circled before the two showed themselves. wonder who they are after?" "anyway they didn't think us worth while gathering in, which is a comfort. that second fellow looks like someone i've crossed trails with, but i can't place him." "they'll place you all right, all right!" prophesied pike darkly, "you and your interesting family won't need a brand." rhodes stared at him a moment and then grinned. "right you are, cap. wouldn't it be pie for the gossips to slice up for home consumption?" he kept on grinning as he looked at the poor bit of human flotsam whom he had dubbed "the owl" because of her silence and her eyes. she aroused miguel without words, watching him keenly for faintest sign of recovery. the food and sleep had refreshed him in body, but the mind was far away. to the girl he gave no notice, and after a long bewildered stare at rhodes he smiled in a deprecating way. "your pardon, don josé, that i outsleep the camp," he muttered haltingly. "it is a much sickness of the head to me." "for that reason must you ride slowly today," stated rhodes with quick comprehension of the groping mind, though the "don josé" puzzled him, and at first chance he loitered behind with the girl and questioned her. "how makes itself that i must know all the people in the world before i was here on earth?" she asked morosely? "me he does not know, don josé is of soledad and is of your tallness, so----" "know you the man who came for water at the cañon well?" he asked, and she looked at him quickly and away. "the name of the man was not spoke by him, also he said a true word of brands on herds--these days." "in these days?" reflected rhodes, amazed at the ungirlish logic. "you know what he meant when he said that?" "we try that we know--all we, for the deliverer is he named, and by that name only he is spoke in the prayers we make." rhodes stared at her, incredulous, yet wondering if the dusty vaquero looking rider of brief words could be the man who was called outlaw, heathen, and bandit by calendria, and "deliverer" by these people of bondage. "you think that is true;--he will be the deliverer?" "i not so much think, i am only remembering what the fathers say and the mothers. their word is that he will be the man, if--if----" "well, if what?" he asked as she crossed herself, and dropped her head. "i am not wanting to say that thing. it is a scare on the heart when it is said." "i'd rather be prepared for the scare if it strikes me," he announced, and after a thoughtful silence while she padded along beside him, she lowered her voice as though to hide her words from the evil fates. "then will i tell it you:--a knife in the back is what they fear for him, or poison in his cup. he is hated by strong haters, also he makes them know fear. i hearing all that in the patio at palomitas, and old tio polonio is often saying all saviors are crucified. how you think?" rhodes replied vaguely as to the wisdom of tio polonio, for the girl was giving him the point of view of the peon, longing for freedom, yet fatalistic as the desert born ever are. and she had known the rebel leader, ramon rotil, all the time! he had no doubt but that she was right. her statement explained the familiar appearance of the man he had not met before, though he had seen pictures in newspapers or magazines. then he fell to wondering what ramon rotil was doing in a territory so far from the troops, and---- "don josé is one of the strong men who are hating him much," confided the child. "also don josé comes not north alone ever anymore, always the soldiers are his guard. tio polonio tells things of these soldiers." "what kind of things?" "they are killing boys like rabbits in canannea,--pacifico boys who could grow to calendrista soldiers. such is done by the guard of don josé and all the friends of the deliverer are killed with a quickness. that is how the men of don josé perez please him most, and in the south there are great generals who work also with him, and his hand is made strong, also heavy, and that is what tio polonio is telling us often." when they reached the mouth of the little cañon of the yaqui well where the trails divide, pike shook hands and climbed into the saddle of pardner. "it's the first time i ever took the easy way out, and left the fight alone to a chum,--but i'll do it, bub, because you could not make a quick get-away with me tagging along. things look murkier in this territory every minute. you'll either have the time of your life, or a headstone early in the game. billie and i will put it up though we won't know where you're planted. i don't like it, but the minutes and water for the trail are both precious. come out quick as you can. so long!" pardner, refreshed by cooling drink and an hour's standing in wet mud of the well drainage, stepped off briskly toward the north, while rhodes lifted tula to the back of the pack mule, and miguel unheeding all plans or changes, drooped with closed eyes on the back of the little burro. the manager of the reorganized gold-search syndicate strode along in the blinding glare of the high sun, herding them ahead of him, and as pike turned for a last look backward at a bend of the trail, the words of the old darkey chant came to him on the desert air: _oh, there was a frog lived in the spring!_ chapter x a mexican eaglet the silver wheel of the moon was rolling into the west when the indian girl urged the mule forward, and caught the bridle of the burro. "what is it, tula?" asked rhodes, "we are doing well on the trail to mesa blanca; why stop here?" "look," she said. "see you anything? know you this place in the road?" he looked over the sand dunes and scrubby desert growths stretching far and misty under the moon, and, then to the rugged gray range of the mountain spur rising to the south. they were skirting the very edge of it where it rose abruptly from the plain; a very great gray upthrust of granite wall beside them was like a gray blade slanted out of the plain. he had noticed it as one of the landmarks on the road to mesa blanca, and on its face were a few curious scratchings or peckings, one a rude sun symbol, and others of stars and waves of water. he recalled remarking to pike that it must have been a prayer place for some of the old tribes. "yes, i know the place, when we reach this big rock it means that we are nearing the border of the ranch, this rock wall tells me that. we can be at palomitas before noon." "no," she said, and got down from the mule, "not to palomitas now. here we carry the food, and here we hide the saddles, and the mule go free. the burro we take, nothing else." "where is a place to hide saddles here?" and he made gesture toward the great granite plane glistening in the moonlight. "a place is found," she returned, "it is better we ride off the trail at this place." she did so, circling back the way they had come until they were opposite a more broken part of the mountain side, then she began deftly to help unsaddle. "break no brush and make all tracks like an apache on the trail," she said. miguel sat silent on the burro as if asleep. he had never once roused to give heed to the words or the trail through the long ride. at times where the way was rough he would mutter thanks at the help of kit and sink again into stupor. "i can't spare that mule," protested kit, but she nodded her head as if that had been all thought out. "he will maybe not go far, there is grass and a very little spring below. come now, i show you that hidden trail." she picked up one of the packs and led the burro. "but we can't pack all this at once," decided kit, who was beginning to feel like the working partner in a nightmare. "two times," said tula, holding up her fingers, "i show you." she led the way, nervous, silent and in haste, as though in fear of unseen enemies. rhodes looked after her irritably. he was fagged and worn out by one of the hardest trails he had ever covered, and was in no condition to solve the curious problems of the indian mind, but the girl had proven a good soldier of the desert, and was, for the first time, betraying anxiety, so as the burro disappeared in the blue mist, and only the faint patter of his hoofs told the way he had gone, kit picked up the saddle and followed. the way was rough and there was no trail, simply stumbling between great jagged slabs hewn and tossed recklessly by some convulsion of nature. occasionally dwarfed and stunted brush, odorous with the faint dew of night, reached out and touched his face as he followed up and up with ever the forbidding lances of granite sharp edged against the sky. from the plain below there was not even an indication that progress would be possible for any human being over the range of shattered rock, and he was surprised to turn a corner and find tula helping miguel from the saddle in a little nook where scant herbage grew. "no, not in this place we camp," she said. "it is good only to hide saddles and rest for my father. dawn is on the trail, and the other packs must come." he would have remonstrated about a return trip, but she held up her hand. "it must be, if you would live," she said. "the eyes of you have not yet seen what they are to see, it is not to be told. all hiding must be with care, or----" she made swift pantomime of sighting along a gun barrel at him, and even in the shadows he could fancy the deadly half closing of her ungirlish eyes. tula did not play gaily. tired as he was, kit grinned. "you win," he said. "let's hit what would be the breeze if this fried land could stir one up." they plodded back without further converse, secured the packs, and this time it was rhodes who led, as there appeared no possible way but the one they had covered. only once did he make a wrong turn and a sharp "s-st" from the girl warned him of the mistake. they found miguel asleep, and kit rhodes would willingly have sunk down beside him and achingly striven for the same forgetfulness, but tula relentlessly shook miguel awake, got him on the burro, unerringly designated the food bag in the dark, and started again in the lead. "i reckon you're some sort of indian devil," decided kit, shouldering the bag. "no mere mortal ever made this trail or kept it open." several times the towering walls suggested the bottom of a well, and as another and another loomed up ahead, he gloomily prophesied an ultimate wall, and the need of wings. then, just as the first faint light began in the eastern heavens, he was aware that the uneven trail was going down and down, zig-zagging into a ravine like a great gray bowl, and the bottom of it filled with shadows of night. the girl was staggering now with exhaustion though she would not confess it. once she fell, and he lifted her thinking she was hurt, but she clung to him, shaking from weakness, but whispering, "_pronto, pronto!_" "sure!" he agreed, "all the swiftness the outfit can muster." curious odors came to him from the shadowy bowl, not exactly a pleasing fragrance, yet he knew it--but his mind refused to work. as the trail grew wider, and earth was under his feet instead of rock slivers and round boulders, he discovered that he was leading the burro, the grub sack over his shoulder, and with the other arm was supporting the girl, who was evidently walking with closed eyes, able to progress but not to guide herself. then there was the swish-swish of grasses about their feet and poor bunting snatched mouthfuls as all three staggered downward. the light began to grow, and somewhere in the shadowy bowl there was the most blest sound known in the desert, the gurgle of running water! "we hear it--but we can't believe it--old buntin'," muttered kit holding the burro from steady and stubborn attempts to break away, "and you are just loco enough to think you smell it." then suddenly their feet struck rock again, not jagged or slippery fragments, but solid paving, and a whiff of faint mist drifted across his face in the gray of the first dawn, and the burro craned his neck forward at the very edge of a black rock basin where warm vapor struck the nostrils like a soporific. the girl roused herself at a wordless exclamation from rhodes, and began automatically helping miguel from the saddle, and stripping him to the breechcloth. kit's amazement startled him out of his lethargy of exhaustion. it was light enough now to see that her eyes were bloodshot, and her movements quick with a final desperation. "there!" she said and motioned towards a shelving place in the rock, "there--medicine--all quick!" she half lifted the staggering, unconscious indian, and kit, perceiving her intention, helped her with miguel to the shallow edge of the basin where she rolled him over until he was submerged to the shoulder in the shallow bath, cupping her hands she scooped water and drenched his face. "why,--it's warm!" muttered kit. "medicine," said tula, and staggered away. how rhodes shed his own garments and slipped into the basin beside miguel he never knew, only he knew he had found an early substitute for heaven. it was warm sulphur water,--tonic, refreshing and infinitely soothing to every sore muscle and every frazzled nerve. he ducked his head in it, tossed some more over the head and shoulders of the sleeping indian, and then, submerged to his arms, he promptly drifted into slumber himself. he wakened to the sound of baby bunting pawing around the grub pack. hunger was his next conviction, for the heavenly rest in the medicine bath had taken every vestige of weariness away. he felt lethargic from the sulphur fumes, and more sleep was an enticing thought, yet he put it from him and got into his clothes after the use of a handkerchief as a bath towel. miguel still slept and kit bent over him in some concern, for the sleep appeared curiously deep and still, the breath coming lightly, yet he did not waken when lifted out of the water and covered with a poncho in the shade of a great yucca. "i reckon it's some dope in these hot springs," decided kit. "i feel top heavy myself, and won't trouble him till i've rustled some grub and have something to offer. well, buntin', we are all here but the daughter of the glen," he said, rescuing the grub sack, "and if she was a dream and you inveigled me here by your own diabolical powers, i've a hunch this is our graveyard; we'll never see the world and its vanities again!" a bit of the blue and scarlet on a bush above caught his eye. it was the belt of tula, and he went upwards vaguely disturbed that he had drifted into ease without question of her welfare. he found her emerging from a smaller rock basin, her one garment dripping a wet trail as she came towards him. there was no smile in her greeting, but a look of content, of achievement. "my father," she said, "he is----" "sleeping beyond belief! good medicine sleep, i hope." she nodded her head comprehendingly, for she had done the impossible and had triumphed. she looked at the sack of food he held. "there is one place for fire, and other water is there. come, it is to you." she struck off across the sun-bathed little grass plot to a jumble of rock where a cool spring emerged, ran only a few rods, and sank again out of sight. the shattered rock was as a sponge, so completely was the water sucked downward again. marks of burro's hoofs were there. "baby buntin' been prospecting while we wallowed in the dope bath," said kit. "maybe so, maybe not," uttered the indian child, if such she could be called after the super-woman initiative of that forbidding trail. she was down on her knees peering at the tracks in the one little wet spot below the spring. "two," she said enigmatically. "that is good, much good. it will be meat." then she saw him pulling dry grasses and breaking branches of scrub growth for a fire, and she stood up and motioned him to follow. they were in a narrow, deep ravine separated from the main one by the miniature plain of lush grass, a green cradle of rest in the heart of the gray hills. she went as directly upward as the broken rock would permit, and suddenly he followed her into a blackened cave formed by a great granite slab thrusting itself upwards and enduring through the ages when the broken rock had shattered down to form an opposite wall. and the cloud bursts of the desert had swept through, and washed the sands clear, leaving a high black roof slanting upwards to the summit. tula moved ahead into the far shadows. he could see that beyond her somewhere a ray of light filtered blue, but he halted at the entrance, puzzled at the black roof where all the rock of the mountain was gray and white except where mineral streaks were of reds and russets and moldy greens. then he put his hand up and touched the roof and understood. soot from ancient fires was discernible on his hand, flakes of it fell to the floor, dry and black, scaling off under pressure. the scales were thick and very old, like blackened moss. he had seen blackened rock like that in other volcanic regions, but this was different. "it is here," said tula, and he followed the voice through a darker shadowed bit of the way, then through the ray of light, and then---- the first thing he saw was the raised hearth of a rather pretentious fireplace, or place of fire, for it resembled not at all the tiny little cooking hearth of desert indians. a stone hatchet lay beside it, and, what was much more surprising, two iron instruments of white man's manufacturing, a wedge and a long chisel. he picked up the chisel, weighed it in his hand, and looked at the girl. he was now becoming accustomed to the dim light and could see her eyes following his every movement with curious questioning. there was a tiny frowning wrinkle between her brows as if serious matters were being decided there. "it is here," she said again. "maybe someone dies when a white friend is shown the way--maybe i die, who knows?--but it is here--el alisal of the gold of the rose!" she made a little gesture and moved aside, and the chisel fell to the stone floor with a clang as kit shouted and dropped on his knees before an incredible thing in the gray wall. that upthrust of the rock wall had strange variety of color, and between the granite and the gray limestone there was a ragged rusty band of iron as a note of contrast to the sprinkling of glittering quartz catching the ray of light, but the quartz was sprinkled on a six inch band of yellow--not the usual quartz formation with dots of color, but a deep definite yellow held together by white crystals. "the red gold! it's the red gold!" he said feeling the yellow surface instinctively. "yes, señor, it is the red gold of el alisal, and it is to you," but her eyes were watching him hungrily as she spoke. and something of that pathetic fear penetrated his amazed mind, and he remembered. "no, tula, only my share to me. i do the work, but the great share is to you, that it may buy back your mother from the slavers of the south." "also my sister," said the girl, and for the first time she wept. "come, come! this is the time for joy. the danger is gone, and we are at rest beside this--why, it's a dream come true, the golden dream! come, help me cook that we may be strong for the work." she helped silently, fetching water and more sticks for the fire. there were many things to ask, but he asked no questions, only gazed between bites and sups at the amazing facts facing him. "i've seen ores and ores in my time, but nothing like this!" he exulted. "why, i can 'high grade' mule loads of this and take it out without smelting," and then he grinned at his little partner. "we just struck it in time,--meat is mighty near done." "plenty meat!" she said nodding her head wisely. "burro, big burro, wild burro! i see track." "wild burro? sure, that makes it simple till we rest up. you are one great little commissary sergeant." he noted that the pitch of the roof towards the face of the mountain carried the smoke in a sort of funnel to be sifted through high unseen crannies of shattered rock above. all was dark in the end of the gallery, but a perceptible draught from the portal bore the smoke upward. "it's too good to be true," he decided, looking it over. "i'm chewing bacon and it tastes natural, but i'm betting with myself that this is a dream, and i'll wake up in the dope pond with my mouth full of sulphur water." the girl watched him gravely, and ate sparingly, though parched corn had been her only sustenance through the trail of the dreadful night. her poor sandals were almost cut from her feet, and even while jesting at the unreality of it all, kit was making mental note of her needs--the wild burro would at least provide green hide sandals for her until better could be found, and she had earned the best. he was amazed at her keenness. she did not seem to think, but instinctively to feel her way to required knowledge, caring for herself in the desert as a fledgling bird tossed by some storm from the home nest. he remembered there were wild burros in the sonora hills, but that she should have already located one on this most barren of mountains was but another unbelievable touch to the trail of enchantment, and after a century of lost lives and treasure in the search for the indian mine, to think that this indian stray, picked up on a desolate trail, should have been the one to know that secret and lead him to it! "other times you have been here?" he asked as he poured coffee in a tin for miguel, and dug out the last box of crackers from the grub pack. "once i come, one time, and it was to make prayer here. it is mine to know, but not my mother, not other peoples, only the father of me and me. if i die then he show the trail to other one, not if i live. that is how." "he surely picked the right member of his honorable family," decided kit. "only once over the trail, once?" "i knowing it long before i see it," she explained gravely. "the father of me make that trail in the sand for my eyes when i am only little. i make the same for him in a game to play. when i make every turn right, and name the place, and never forget--then he bring me, for it is mine to know." "sufferin' cats!" muttered rhodes, eyeing her in wonder. "the next time i see an indian kid playing in the sand, i'll linger on the trail and absorb wisdom!" "come," she said, "you not seeing the one enchant look, the--how you say?--the not believe look." "well, take it from me, cinderella, i'm seeing not believe things this very now," announced kit, giving a fond look towards that comforting gleam of yellow metal bedding flecks of quartz. "i see it, but will have to sleep, and wake up to find it in the same place before i can believe what i think i see." with the food and drink for miguel in his hands he had followed the girl through the shadowed gallery of the slanting smoke-stained roof. his eyes were mainly directed to the rock floor lest he stumble and spill the precious coffee; thus he gave slight thought to the little ravine up which she had led him to the cave which was also a mine. but as he stepped out into the sunlight she stood looking up into his face with almost a smile, the first he had seen in her wistful tragic eyes. then she lifted her hand and pointed straight out, and the "enchant look," the "not believe" look was there! he stared as at a mirage for an incredulous moment, and then whispered, "great god of the desert!" for a little space, a few rods only, the mountain dipped steeply, and trickling water from above fell in little cascades to lower levels, where a great jagged wall of impregnable granite arose as a barrier along the foot of the mountain. but he was above the sharp outline of the huge saw with the jagged granite teeth, and between the serrated edges he could look far across the yellow-gray reaches of sand and desert growths. far and wide was the "not believe" look, to the blue phantom-like peaks on the horizon, but between the two ranges was a white line with curious dots drifting and whirling like flies along it, and smoke curling up, and---- then it was he uttered the incredulous cry, for he was indeed viewing the thing scarce to be believed. he was looking across the great rancho soledad, and the white line against the sand was the wall of the old mission where the vaqueros were herding a band of horses into the great quadrangle of the one-time patio turned into a corral since the buildings on three sides had melted down again into mother earth. he remembered riding around these lines of the old arches seeking trace of that door of the legend,--the door from which the aliso tree of the mine could be seen,--and there was nowhere a trace of a door. "queer that every other part of the prospect developed according to specifications and not the door," he grumbled whimsically. "cinderella, why have you hid the door in the wall from me?" she looked around uncertainly, not understanding. "no portal but it," she said with a movement of her head towards the great slab forming a pointed arch against the mountain and shielding the unbelievable richness there, "also el alisal, the great tree, is gone. this was the place of it; the old ones tell my father it was as chief of the trees and stand high to be seen. the sky fire took it, and took the padres that time they make an altar in this place." "um," assented kit, noting traces of ancient charcoal where the aliso tree had grown great in the moisture of the spring before lightning had decided its tragic finish, "a great storm it must have been to send sky fire enough to kill them all." "yes," said tula quietly,--"also there was already another shrine at this place, and the gods near." he glanced at her quickly and away. "sure," he agreed, "sure, that's how it must have been. they destroyed the aliso and there was no other landmark to steer by. white men might find a thousand other dimples in the range but never this one, the saw-tooth range below us has the best of them buffaloed. come along, señorita aladdin, and help me with the guardian of the treasure. we've got to look after miguel, and then start in where the padres left off. and you might do a prayer stunt or two at the shrine you mentioned. we need all the good medicine help you can evoke." as they approached the pool where the faintest mist drifted above the water warm from hidden fires of the mountain, kit halted before he quite reached the still form beside the yucca, and, handing the food and drink to the girl, he went forward alone. he was puzzled afterward as to why he had done that, for no fold of the garment was disturbed, nothing visible to occasion doubt, yet he bent over and lifted the cover very gently. the face of miguel was strangely gray and there was no longer sign of breath. the medicine of the sacred pool had given him rest, but not life. he replaced the blanket and turned to the girl;--the last of the guardians of the shrine of the red gold. "little sister," he said, "miguel grew tired of the trails of a hard land. he has made his choice to go asleep here in the place where you tell me the gods are near. he does not want us to have sad hearts, for he was very sad and very tired, and he will not need food, tula." her eyes filled with tears, but she made no reply, only unbound her hair as she had seen mourning women do, and seated herself apart, her face hidden in her arms. "no one is left to mourn but me, and i mourn!" she half chanted. "i say it for the mother of me, and for my sister, that the ghosts may listen. happily he is going now from hard trails! he has chosen at this place! happily he has chosen, and only we are sad. no debt is ours to pay at this place; he has chosen--and a life is paid at el alisal! happily he will find the trail of the birds from this place, and the trail of the clouds over the high mountain. no one is left to mourn but me; and i mourn!" rhodes understood no word of her lamentations, chanted now loudly, now lowly, at intervals hour after hour that day. he set grimly to work digging a grave in the lower part of the ravine, gathering dry grass for lining as best he could to make clear to the girl that no lack of care or honor was shown the last man of cajame's stock. the work took most of the day, for he carried stone and built a wall around the grave and covered it with slatelike slabs gathered from a shattered upheaval of long ago. tula watched all this gravely, and with approval, for she drew with her finger the mark of the sun symbol on one of the slabs. "it is well to make that mark," she said, "for the sons of cajame were priests of the sun. the sign is on the great rock of the trail, and it is theirs." with the chisel he carved the symbol as she suggested, glad to do anything for the one mourner for the dead man who had offered the treasure of the desert to him. "that is how he made choice," she said when it was marked plainly. "me, i think he was leading us on the night trail to this place--i think so. he is here to guard the gold of el alisal for you. that is how it will be. he has made choice." kit got away by himself to think over the unexpected situation. the girl climbed to a higher point, seated herself, and continued her chant of mourning. he knew she was following, as best she knew, the traditional formalities of a woman for the death of a chief. he found himself more affected by that brave fatalistic recital, now loud and brave, now weirdly slow and tender, than if she had given way to tempests of tears. a man could comfort and console a weeping stray of the desert, but not a girl who sat with unbound hair under the yucca and called messages to the ghosts until the sun,--a flaming ball of fire,--sank beyond the far purple hills. and that was the first day of many days at the hidden treasure place of the red gold. chapter xi gloom of billie the return of captain pike on kit's horse was a matter of considerable conjecture at granados, but the old prospector was so fagged that at first he said little, and after listening to the things billie had to tell him--he said less. "that explains the curious ways of the mexicans as i reached the border," he decided. "they'd look first at the horse, then at me, but asked no questions, and told me nothing. queer that no word reached us about singleton! no, it isn't either. we never crossed trails with any from up here. there's so much devilment of various sorts going on down there that a harmless chap like singleton wouldn't be remembered." "conrad's down at magdalena now, but we seldom know how far he ranges. sometimes he stays at the lower ranch a week at a time, and he might go on to sinaloa for all we know. he seems always busy and is extremely polite, but i gave him the adobe house across the arroya after papa phil--went. i know he has the mexicans thinking kit rhodes came back for that murder; half of them believe it!" "well, i reckon i can prove him an alibi if it's needed. i'll go see the old judge." "he'll tell you not to travel at night, or alone, if you know anything," she prophesied. "that's what he tells me. to think of old rancho granados coming to that pass! we never did have trouble here except a little when apaches went on the warpath before my time, and now the whole border is simmering and ready to boil over if anyone struck a match to it. the judge hints that conrad is probably only one cog in the big border wheel, and they are after the engineer who turns that wheel, and do you know you haven't told me one word of kit rhodes, or whether he's alive or dead!" "nothing to tell! we didn't find it, and he took the back trail with an indian girl and her daddy, and----" "an--indian girl?" "yes, a queer little kid who was in a lot of trouble. her father was wounded in one of the fracases they have down there every little while. nary one of us could give an address when we took different trails, for we didn't know how far we'd be allowed to travel--the warring factions are swarming and troublesome over the line." "well, if a girl could stand the trail, it doesn't look dangerous." "looks are deceptive, child,--and this isn't just any old girl! it's a rare bird, it's tougher than whalebone and possessed of a wise little devil. she froze to kit as a _compadre_ at first chance. he headed back to mesa blanca. i reckon they'd make it,--barring accidents." "mesa blanca? that's the whitely outfit?" "um!" assented pike, "but i reckon whitely's hit the trail by now. there's no real profit in raising stock for the warriors down there; each band confiscates what he needs, and gives a promissory note on an empty treasury." "well, the attraction must be pretty strong to hold him down there in spite of conditions," said billie gloomily. "attraction? sure. kit's gone loco on that attraction," agreed the old prospector, and then with a reminiscent light in his tired old eyes he added, "i reckon there's no other thing so likely to snare a man on a desert trail. you see, billie-child, it's just as if the great god had hid a treasure in the beginning of the world to stay hid till the right lad ambled along the trail, and lifted the cover, and when a fellow has youth, and health and not a care in the world, the search alone is a great game--and when he finds it!--why, billie, the dictionary hasn't words enough to tell the story!" "no--i--i reckon not," said his listener in a small voice, and when he looked around to speak to her again she had disappeared, and across the patio doña luz was coming towards him in no good humor. "how is it that poor little one weeps now when you are returned, and not at other times?" she demanded. "me, i have my troubles since that day they find the don filipe shot dead,--_jesusita_ give him rest! that child is watching the sonora trail and waiting since that day, but no tears until you are come. i ask you how is the way of that?" captain pike stared at her reflectively. "you are a bringer of news, likewise a faithful warden," he observed. "i'm peaceably disposed, and not wise to your lingo. billie and me were talking as man to man, free and confidential, and no argument. there were no weeps that i noticed. what's the reason why?" "the saints alone know, and not me!" she returned miserably. "i think she is scared that it was the señor rhodes who shooting don filipe, the vaqueros thinking that! but she tells no one, and she is unhappy. also there is reason. that poor little one has the ranchos, but have you hear how the debts are so high all the herds can never pay? that is how they are saying now about granados and la partida, and at the last our señorita will have no herds, and no ranchos, and no people but me. _madre de dios!_ i try to think of her in a little adobe by the river with only _frijoles_ in the dinner pot, and i no see it that way. and i not seeing it other way. how you think?" "i don't, it's too new," confessed pike. "who says this?" "the señor henderson. i hear him talk with señor conrad, who has much sorrow because the don filipe made bad contracts and losing the money little and little, and then the counting comes, and it is big, very big!" "ah! the señor conrad has much sorrow, has he?" queried pike, "and billie is getting her face to the wall and crying? that's queer. billie always unloaded her troubles on me, and you say there was none of this weeping till i came back?" "that is so, señor." "cause why?" "_quien sabe?_ she was making a long letter to señor rhodes in sonora,--that i know. he sends no word, so--i leave it to you, señor, it takes faith and more faith when a man is silent, and the word of a killing is against him." "great godfrey, woman! he never got a letter, he knows nothing of a killing. how in hell--" then the captain checked himself as he saw the uselessness of protesting to doña luz. "where's billie?" billie was perched on a window seat in the _sala_, her eyes were more than a trifle red, and she appeared deeply engrossed in the pages of a week-old country paper. "i see here that don josé perez of hermosillo is to marry doña dolores terain, the daughter of the general," she observed impersonally. "he owns rancho soledad, and promises the sonora people he will drive the rebel rotil into the sea, and it was but yesterday tia luz was telling me of his beautiful wife, jocasta, who was only a little mountain girl when he rode through her village and saw her first. she is still alive, and it looks to me as if all men are alike!" "more or less," agreed pike amicably, "some of us more, some of us less. doña dolores probably spells politics, but doña jocasta is a wildcat of the sierras, and i can't figure out any harmonious days for a man who picks two like that." "he doesn't deserve harmony; no man does who isn't true--isn't true," finished billie rather lamely. "look here, honey child," observed pike, "you'll turn man hater if you keep on working your imagination. luz tells me you are cranky against kit, and that the ranches are tied up in business knots tighter than i had any notion of, so you had better unload the worst you can think of on me; that's what i'm here for. what difference do the perez favorites make to our young lives? neither dolores nor jocasta will help play the cards in our fortunes." wherein captain pike was not of the prophets. the wells of sonora are not so many but that he who pitches his tent near one has a view and greetings of all drifting things of the desert, and the shadowed star of doña jocasta of the south was leading her into the soledad wilderness forsaken of all white men but one. chapter xii covering the trail each minute of the long days, rhodes worked steadily and gaily, picking out the high grade ore from the old indian mine, and every possible night he and the burro and tula made a trip out to the foot of the range, where they buried their treasure against the happy day when they could go out of the silent desert content for the time with what gold they could carry in secret to the border. for two days he had watched the soledad ranch house rather closely through the field glass, for there was more activity there than before; men in groups rode in who were not herding. he wondered if it meant a military occupation, in which case he would need to be doubly cautious when emerging from the hidden trail. the girl worked as he worked. twice he had made new sandals for her, and also for himself in order to save his boots so that they might at least be wearable when he got among people. all plans had been thought out and discussed until no words would be needed between them when they separated. she was to appear alone at palomitas with a tale of escape from the slavers, and he was carefully crushing and mashing enough color to partly fill a buckskin bag to show as the usual fruits of a prospect trip from which he was returning to mesa blanca after exhausting grub stake and shoe leather. the things of the world had stood still for him during that hidden time of feverish work. he scarcely dared try to estimate the value of the ore he had dug as honey from a hollow tree, but it was rich--rich! there were nuggets of pure gold, assorted as to their various sizes, while he milled and ground the quartz roughly, and cradled it in the water of the brook. by the innocent aid of baby bunting, two wild burros of the sierra had been enticed within reach for slaughter, and, aside from the food values, they furnished green hide which under kit's direction, tula deftly made into bags for carrying the gold. all activities during the day were carefully confined within a certain radius, low enough in the little cañon to run no risk in case any inquisitive resident of soledad should study the ranges with a field glass, though kit had not seen one aside from his own since he entered sonora. and he used his own very carefully every morning and evening on the wide valley of soledad. "something doing down there, sister," he decided, as they were preparing for the last trail out. "riders who look like cavalry, mules, and some wagons--mighty queer!" tula came over and stood beside him expectantly. he had learned that a look through the magic glasses was the most coveted gift the camp could grant to her, and it had become part of the regular routine that she stood waiting her turn for the wide look, the "enchant look," as she had called it that first morning. it had become a game to try to see more than he, and this time she mentioned as he had, the wagons, and mules, and riders. and then she looked long and uttered a brief indian word of surprise. "beat me again, have you?" queried kit good humoredly. "what do you find?" "a woman is there, in that wagon,--sick maybe. also one man is a padre; see you!" kit took the glasses and saw she was right. a man who looked like a priest was helping a woman from a wagon, she stumbled forward and then was half carried by two men towards the house. "not an indian woman?" asked kit, and again her unchildlike mind worked quickly. "a padre does not bow his head to help indian woman. caballeros do not lift them up." "well i reckon don josé perez is home on a visit, and brought his family. a queer time! other ranch folks are getting their women north over the border for safety." "don josé not bring woman to soledad--ever. he take them away. his men take them away." it was the first reference she had made to the slavers since they had entered the cañon, though she knew that each pile of nuggets was part of the redemption money for those exiles of whom she did not speak. but she worked tirelessly until kit would stop her, or suggest some restful task to vary the steady grind of carrying, pounding, or washing the quartz. he had ordered her to make two belts, that each of them might carry some of the gold hidden under their garments. she had a nugget tied in a corner of her _manta_, and other small ones fastened in her girdle, while in the belt next her body she carried all he deemed safe to weight her with, probably five pounds. at any hint of danger she would hide the belt and walk free. his own belt would carry ten pounds without undue bulkiness. and over three hundred pounds of high grade gold was already safely hidden near the great rock with the symbols of sun and rain marking its weathered surface. "a fair hundred thousand, and the vein only scratched!" he exulted. "i was sore over losing the job on billie's ranch,--but gee! this looks as if i was knocked out in the cold world to reach my good luck!" in a blue dusk of evening they left the camp behind and started over the trail, after tula had carefully left fragments of food on the tomb of miguel, placed there for the ghosts who are drawn to a comrade. kit asked no questions concerning any of her tribal customs, since to do so would emphasize the fact that they were peculiar and strange to him, and the indian mind, wistfully alert, would sense that strangeness and lose its unconsciousness in the presence of an alien. so, when she went, after meals, to offer dregs of the soup kettle or bones of the burro, she often found a bunch of desert blossoms wilting there in the heat, and these tributes left by kit went far to strengthen her confidence. it was as if miguel was a live partner in their activities, never forgotten by either. so they left him on guard, and turned their faces toward the outer world of people. knowing more than he dare tell the girl his mind was considerably occupied with that woman at soledad, for military control changed over night in many a province of mexico in revolutionary days, and the time at the hidden mine might have served for many changes. starlight and good luck was on the trail for them, and at earliest streak of dawn they buried their treasure, divided their dried burro meat, and with every precaution to hide the trail where they emerged from the gray sierra, they struck the road to mesa blanca. until full day came tula rode the burro, and slipped off at a ravine where she could walk hidden, on the way to palomitas. "buntin'," said kit, watching her go, "we'll have pardners and pardners in our time, but we'll never find one more of a thoroughbred than that raggedy indian witch-child of ours." he took the slanting cattle trail up over the mesa, avoiding the wagon road below, and at the far edge of it halted to look down over the wide spreading leagues of the mesa blanca ranch. it looked very sleepy, drowsing in the silence of the noon sun. an old indian limped slowly from the corral over to the ranch house, and a child tumbled in the dust with a puppy, but there was no other sign of ranch activity. as he descended the mesa and drew nearer the corrals they had a deserted look, not merely empty but deserted. the puppy barked him a welcome, but the child gave one frightened look at kit, and with a howl of fear, raced to the shelter of the portal where he disappeared in the shadows. "i had a hunch, babe, that we needed smoothing down with a currycomb before we made social calls," confessed kit to the burro, "but i didn't reckon on scaring the natives in any such fashion as this." he was conscious of peering eyes at a barred window, and then the old indian appeared. "hello, isidro!" "at your service, señor," mumbled the old man, and then he stared at the burro, and at the bearded and rather desert-worn stranger, and uttered a cry of glad recognition. "ai-ji! it is el pajarito coming again to mesa blanca, but coming with dust in your mouth and no song! enter, señor, and take your rest in your own house. none are left to do you honor but me,--all gone like that!" and his skinny black hands made a gesture as if wafting the personnel of mesa blanca on its way. "the general rotil has need the cattle, and makes a divide with señor whitely and all go,--all the herds," and he pointed east. kit bathed his face in the cool water brought out by valencia, isidro's wife, then unloaded the burro of the outfit, and stretched himself in the shade while the women busied themselves preparing food. "so general rotil makes a divide of the cattle,--of whitely's cattle? how is that?" he asked. and the old indian proceeded to tell him that it was true. the deliverer must feed his army. he needed half, and promised whitely to furnish a guard for the rest of the herd and help whitely save them by driving them to imuris, where the railroad is. "he said enemy troops would come from the south and take them all in one week or one month. he, rotil, would pay a price. thus it was, and señor whitely, and enough vaqueros, rode with the herds, and general rotil took the rest of the ranchmen to be his soldiers. of course it might be señor whitely would some day return, who knows? and he left a letter for the señor of the songs." the letter corroborated isidro's statements--it was the only way to save any of the stock. whitely thought there was a hundred or two still ranging in the far corners, but time was short, and he was saving what he could. the men were joining the revolutionists and he would be left without help anyway. if rhodes came back he was to use the place as his own. if he could round up any more horses or cattle on the range and get them to safety isidro would find some indians to help him, and whitely would divide the profits with him. "fine!--divides first with the deliverer, and next with me! can't see where that hombre gets off when it comes to staking his own family to a living. but it's a bargain, and this is my headquarters until i can get out. how long has whitely and his new friends been gone?" "four days, señor." "seen any stragglers of cattle left behind?" isidro's grandson, clodomiro, had found both horses and cattle and herded them into far cañons; a man might ride in a circle for five miles around the ranch house and see never a fresh track. clodomiro was a good boy, and of much craft. dinner was announced for the señor, and the women showed him welcome by placing before him the most beautiful repast they could arrange quickly, _chile con carne_, _frijoles_, _tortillas_, and a decanter of sonora wine--a feast for a king! after he had eaten, tobacco was brought him from some little hidden store, and isidro gave him the details of the slave raid of palomitas, and sonora affairs in general. kit was careful to state that he has been prospecting in the mountains and out of touch with ranch people, and it must be understood that all isidro could tell would be news to a miner from the desert mountains. and he asked if general rotil also collected stock from the ranch of soledad. whereupon isidro told him many things, and among them the wonder that soledad had been left alone--the saints only knew why! and juan gonsalvo, the foreman at soledad, had helped with the slave raid, and was known in palomitas where they took girls and women and men as well, even men not young! miguel, the major-domo, was taken with his wife and two daughters, the other men were young. the curse of god seemed striking sonora. a new foreman was now at soledad, marto cavayso, a hard man and,--it was said, a soldier, but he evidently got tired of fighting and was taking his rest by managing the horse herds of soledad. "doesn't look like rest to me," observed kit. "the soledad trail looks pretty well kicked into holes, with wagons, mules, and horsemen." isidro volunteered his opinion that work of the devil was going forward over there. "juan gonsalvo and el aleman were stealing women in sonora, and driving them the south trail for a price," he stated. "but what think you would be the price for a woman of emerald eyes and white skin carried up from the south under chains, and a lock to the chain?" "i reckon you are dreaming the lock and chain part of it, isidro," returned kit. "only murderers travel like that." "_si_, it is so. there at soledad it is heard. a killing was done in the south and soledad is her prison. but she is beautiful, and the men are casting lots as to whose she shall be when the guard is gone south again to don josé perez." "ah! they are don josé's men, are they? then the prisoner is guarded by his orders?" "who knows? they tell that she is a lost soul, and fought for a knife to kill herself, and the padre makes prayers and says hell will be hers if she does. elena, who is cook, heard him say that word, and elena was once wife to my brother, and she is telling that to clodomiro who makes an errand to take her deer meat, and hear of the strangers. he saw the woman, her bracelets are gold, and her eyes are green. the padre calls her doña jocasta. i go now and give drink to that burro and make him happy." "jocasta, eh? doña jocasta!" repeated kit in wondering meditation. "doesn't seem possible--but reckon it is, and there are no real surprises in sonora. anything could, and does happen here." he remembered pike telling the story of jocasta one morning by their camp fire in the desert. she was called by courtesy señora perez. he had not heard her father's name, but he was a spanish priest and her mother an indian half-breed girl--some little village in the sierras. there were two daughters, and the younger was blond as a child of old spain, jocasta was the elder and raven dark of hair, a skin of deep cream, and jewel-green eyes. kit had heard three men, including isidro, speak of doña jocasta, and each had mentioned the wonderful green eyes--no one ever seemed to forget them! their magnetism had caught the attention of don josé,--a distinguished and illustrious person in the eyes of the barefoot mountaineers. no one knew what jocasta thought of the exalted padrone of the wide lands, whose very spurs were of gold, but she knew there was scarce wealth enough in all the village to keep a candle burning on the virgin's shrine, and her feet had never known a shoe. the padre died suddenly just as don josé was making a bargain with him for the girl, so he swept jocasta to his saddle with no bargain whatever except that she might send back for lucita, her little sister, and other men envied perez his good luck when they looked at jocasta. for three years she had been mistress of his house in hermosillo, but never had he taken her into the wilderness of soledad,--it was a crude casket for so rich a treasure. kit steeped in the luxury of a square meal, fell asleep, thinking of the green-eyed doña jocasta whom no man forgot. he would not connect a brilliant bird of the mountain with that drooping figure he and tula had seen stumbling towards the portal of soledad. and the statement of isidro that there had been a killing, and doña jocasta was a lost soul, was most puzzling of all. in a queer confused dream the killing was done by tula, and billie wore the belt of gold, and had green eyes. and he wakened himself with the apparently hopeless effort of convincing billie he had never forgotten her despite the feminine witcheries of sonora. the shadows were growing long, and some indian boys were jogging across the far flats. he reached for his field glass and saw that one of them had a deer across his saddle. isidro explained that the boys were planting corn in a far field, and often brought a deer when they came in for more seed or provisions. they had a hut and _ramada_ at the edge of the planted land six miles away. they were good boys, benito and mariano bravo, and seldom both left the fields at the same time. he called to valencia that there would be deer for supper, then watched the two riders as they approached, and smiled as they perceptibly slowed up their broncos at sight of the bearded stranger on the rawhide cot against the wall. "see you!" he pointed out to kit. "these are the days of changes. each day we looking for another enemy, maybe that army of the south, and the boys they think that way too." the boys, on being hailed, came to the house with their offering, and bunkered down in the shadow with a certain shy stolidity, until kit spoke, when they at once beamed recognition, and made jokes of his beard as a blanket. but they had news to tell, great news, for a child of miguel had broken away from the slavers and had hidden in the mountains, and at last had found her way back to palomitas. she was very tired and very poor in raiment, and the people were weeping over her. miguel, her father, was dead from a wound, and was under the ground, and of the others who went on she could tell nothing, only that conrad, the german friend of don josé, was the man who covered his face and helped take the women. her sister anita had recognized him, calling out his name, and he had struck her with a quirt. the women left their work to listen to this, and to add the memories of some of their friends who had hidden and luckily escaped. "that white man should be crucified and left for the vultures," said the boy benito. "no," said the soft voice of valencia, "god was sacrificed, but this man is a white judas; the death of god is too good for that man. it has been talked about. he will be found some place,--and the judas death will be his. the women are making prayers." "it will soon be easter," said isidro. kit did not know what was meant by a "judas" death, though he did know many of the church legends had been turned by the indians into strange and lurid caricatures. he thought it would be interesting to see how they could enlarge on the drama of judas, but he made no comment, as a direct question would turn the indians thoughtful, and silence them. they all appeared alert for the return of rotil. no one believed he had retired utterly from the region without demanding tribute from soledad. it was generally suspected that perez received and held munitions for use against the revolutionists though no one knew where they were hidden. there were indian tales of underground tunnels of soledad mission for retreat in the old days in case of hostile attacks, and the soledad ranch house was built over part of that foundation. no one at soledad knew the entrance except perez himself, though it was surmised that juan gonsalvo had known, and had been the one to store the mule loads and wagon loads of freight shipped over the border before miguel herrara was caught at the work from the american side. perez was a careful man, and not more than one man was trusted at one time. that man seemed marked by the angels for accident, for something had always ended him, and it was no good fortune to be a favorite of don josé--doña jocasta was learning that! thus the gossip and surmise went on around rhodes for his brief hour of rest and readjustment. he encouraged the expression of opinion from every source, for he had the job ahead of him to get three hundred pounds of gold across the border and through a region where every burro was liable to examination by some of the warring factions. it behooved him to consider every tendency of the genus homo with which he came in contact. also the bonds between them,--especially the bonds, since the various groups were much of a sameness, and only "good" or "bad" according to their affiliations. simple benito and his brother, and soft-voiced motherly valencia who could conceive a worse death for the german judas than crucifixion, were typical of the primitive people of desert and sierra. "how many head of stock think you still ranges mesa blanca?" he asked isidro, who confessed that he no longer rode abroad or kept tally, but clodomiro would know, and would be in to supper. benito and mariano told of one stallion and a dozen mares beyond the hills, and a spring near their fields had been muddied the day before by a bunch of cows and calves, they thought perhaps twenty, and they had seen three mules with the mesa blanca brand when they were getting wood. "three mules, eh? well, i may need those mules and the favor will be to me if you keep them in sight," he said addressing the boys. "i am to round up what i can and remove them after señor whitely, together with other belongings." "others, señor?" asked isidro. rhodes took the letter from his pocket, and perused it as if to refresh his memory. "the old spanish chest is to go if possible, and other things of mrs. whitely's," he said. "i will speak of these to your wife if the plan can carry, but there is chance of troops from the south and--who knows?--we may be caught between the two armies and ground as meal on a _metate_." he thus avoided all detail as to the loads the pack animals were to carry, and the written word was a safe mystery to the indian. he was making no definite plans, but was learning all possibilities with a mind prepared to take advantage of the most promising. thus the late afternoon wore on in apparent restful idleness after the hard trail. the boys secured their little allowance of beans and salt, and corn for planting, but lingered after the good supper of valencia, a holiday feast compared with their own sketchy culinary performance in the _jacal_ of the far fields. they scanned the trail towards palomitas, and then the way down the far western valley, evidently loath to leave until their friend clodomiro should arrive, and isidro expected him before sunset. but he came later from towards soledad, a tall lad with fluttering ribbands of pink and green from his banda and his elbows, and a girdle of yellow fluttering fringed ends to the breeze,--all the frank insignia of a youth in the market for marriage. he suggested a gay graceful bird as he rode rapidly in the long lope of the range. his boy friends of the planted fields went out to meet him at the corral, and look after his horse while he went in to supper. he halted to greet them, and then walked soberly across the plaza where pepper trees and great white alisos trailed dusk shadows in the early starlight. "what _reata_ held you?" asked isidro. "has soledad grown a place for comradeship?" "no, señor," said the lad passing into the dining room where two candles gave him light in the old adobe room, "it is comradeship we do not need, but it is coming to us." he seated himself on the wooden bench and his grandmother helped him from a smoking plate of venison. he looked tired and troubled, and he had not even taken note that a stranger was beside isidro in the shadows. "what nettle stings you, boy?" asked his grandfather sarcastically, and at that he looked up and rose to his feet at sight of rhodes. "your pardon, señor, i stumbled past like a bat blind in the light," he muttered, and as he met kit's eyes and recognized him his face lit up and his white teeth gleamed in a smile. "the saints are in it that you are here again, señor!" he exclaimed, "and you came on this day when most needed." "eat and then tell your meaning," said isidro, but clodomiro glanced toward the kitchen, and then listened for the other boys. they were laughing down at the corral. clodomiro's horse had thrown one of them. "with your permission, grandfather, talk first," he said and the two men moved to the bench opposite, leaning over towards him as his voice was lowered. "today marto cavayso sent for me, he is foreman over there, and strange things are going forward. he has heard that general rotil stripped mesa blanca and that all white people are gone from it. he wants this house and will pay us well to open the door. it is for the woman. they have played a game for her, and he has won, but she is a wild woman when he goes near her, and his plan is to steal her out at night and hide her from the others. so he wants this house. he offered me a good gun. he offers us the protection of don josé perez." "but--why--that is not credible," protested kit. "he could not count on protection from perez if he stole the woman whom many call señora perez, for that is what they did call doña jocasta in hermosillo." "maybe so," assented clodomiro stolidly, "but now he is to be the _esposo_ of a doña dolores who is the child of general terain, so marto says. well, this doña jocasta has done some killing, and don josé does not give her to prison. he sends her to the desert that she brings him no disgrace; and if another man takes her or sinks her in the quicksands then that man will be helping don josé. that is how it is. marto says the woman has bewitched him, and he is crazy about her. some of the other men, will take her, if not him." kit exchanged a long look with the old indian. "the house is yours, señor," said isidro. "by the word of señor whitely, you are manager of mesa blanca." "many thanks," replied kit, and sat with his elbows on the table and his hands over his eyes, thinking--thinking of the task he had set himself in sonora, and the new turn of the wheel of fortune. "you say the lady is a prisoner?" he asked. "sure," returned clodomiro promptly. "she broke loose coming through a little pueblo and ran to the church. she found the priest and told him things, so they also take that priest! if they let him go he will talk, and don josé wanting no talk now of this woman. that priest is well cared for, but not let go away. after awhile, maybe so." "she is bright, and her father was a priest," mused kit. "so there is three chances out of four that she can read and write,--a little anyway. could you get a letter to her?" "elena could." kit got up, took one of the candles from the table and walked through the rooms surrounding the patio. some of them had wooden bars in the windows, but others had iron grating, and he examined these carefully. "there are two rooms fit for perfectly good jails," he decided, "so i vote we give this bewitched don marto the open door. how many guns can we muster?" "he promised to give me one, and ammunition." "well, you get it! get two if you can, but at least get plenty of ammunition. isidro, will your wife be brave and willing to help?" the old indian nodded his head vigorously and smiled. evidently only a stranger would ask if his valencia could be brave! the two brothers came in, and conversation was more guarded until clodomiro had finished his supper, and gone a little ways home with them to repay them the long wait for comradeship. when he came back kit had his plans fairly settled, and had a brief note written to señora jocasta perez, as follows: honored seÑora: one chance of safety is yours. let yourself be persuaded to leave soledad with marto. you will be rescued from him by an american. "i reckon that will do the trick," decided kit. "i feel like a blooming robin hood without the merry men,--but the indians will play safe, even if they are not merry. when can you get this to elena?" "in time of breakfast," said clodomiro promptly. "i go tonight, and tomorrow night he steals that woman. maybe elena helps." "you take elena a present from me to encourage that help," suggested kit, and he poured a little of the gold from his belt on the paper. "also there is the same for you when the lady comes safe. it is best that you make willing offer of your service in all ways so that he calls on none of his own men for help." "as you say, señor," assented clodomiro, "and that will march well with his desires, for to keep the others from knowing is the principal thing. she has beauty like a lily in the shade." "he tells you that?" asked kit quizzically, but the boy shook his head. "my own eyes looked on her. she is truly of the beauty of the holy pictures of the saints in the chapel, but marto says she is a witch, and has him enchanted;--also that evil is very strong in her. i do not know." "well, cross your fingers and tackle the job," suggested kit. "get what sleep you can, for you may not get much tomorrow night. it is the work of a brave man you are going to do, and your pay will be a man's pay." the eyes of the indian boy glowed with pleasure. "at your service, señor. i will do this thing or i will not see mesa blanca again." kit looked after clodomiro and rolled another cigarette before turning in to sleep. "when all's said and done, i may be the chief goat of this dame adventure," he told himself in derision. "maybe my own fingers need crossing." chapter xiii a woman of emerald eyes at the first break of dawn, rhodes was up, and without waiting for breakfast walked over to the rancherias of palomitas to see tula. she was with some little girls and old women carrying water from the well as stolidly as though adventure had never stalked across her path. a whole garment had been given her instead of the tatter of rags in which she had returned to the little indian pueblo. she replied briefly to his queries regarding her welfare, and when he asked where she was living, she accompanied him to an old adobe where there were two other motherless children--victims of the raiders. an old, half-blind woman stirred meal into a kettle of porridge, and to her kit addressed himself. "a blessing will be on your house, but you have too many to feed here," he said "and the child of miguel should go to the ranch house of mesa blanca. the wife of isidro is a good woman and will give her care." "yes, señor, she is a good woman," agreed the old indian. "also it may be a safe house for a maiden, who knows? here it is not safe; other raiders may come." "that is true. send her after she has eaten." he then sought out one of the older men to learn who could be counted on to round up the stray cattle of the ranges. after that he went at once back to the ranch house, and did not even speak to tula again. there was nothing to indicate that she was the principal object of his visit, or that she had acquired a guardian who was taking his job seriously. later in the day she was brought to mesa blanca by an elderly indian woman of her mother's clan, and settled in the quiet indian manner in the new dwelling place. valencia was full of pity for the girl of few years who had yet known the hard trail, and had mourned alone for her dead. there was a sort of suppressed bustle about _la casa de mesa blanca_ that day, dainties of cookery prepared with difficulty from the diminished stores, and the rooms of the iron bars sprinkled and swept, and pillows of wondrous drawnwork decorated the more pretentious bed. to tula it was more of magnificence than she had ever seen in her brief life, and the many rooms in one dwelling was a wonder. she would stand staring across the patio and into the various doorways through which she hesitated to pass. she for whom the wide silences of the desert held few terrors, hesitated to linger alone in the shadows of the circling walls. kit noted that when each little task was finished for valencia, she would go outside in the sunlight where she had the familiar ranges and far blue mountains in sight. "here it makes much trouble only to live in a house," she said pointing to the needlework on a table cover. "the bowls of food will make that dirty in one eating, and then what? women in fine houses are only as mares in time of thrashing the grain--no end and no beginning to the work,--they only tread their circle." "right you are, sister," agreed kit, "they do make a lot of whirligig work for themselves, all the same as your grandmothers painting pottery that smash like eggshells. but life here isn't all play at that, and there may be something doing before sleep time tonight. i went after you so i would have a comrade i knew would stick." she only gazed at him without question. "you remember, tula, the woman led by the padre at soledad?" she nodded silently. "it may be that woman is captive to the same men who took your people," he said slowly watching her, "and it may be we can save her." "may it also be that we can catch the man?" she asked, and her eyes half closed, peered up at him in curious intensity. "can that be, o friend?" "some day it must surely be, tula." "one day it must be,--one day, and prayers are making all the times for that day," she insisted stolidly. "the old women are talking, and for that day they want him." "what day, tula?" "the judas day." kit rhodes felt a curious creepy sensation of being near an unseen danger, some sleeping serpent basking in the sun, harmless until aroused for attack. he thought of the gentle domestic valencia, and now this child, both centered on one thought--to sacrifice a traitor on the day of judas! "little girls should make helpful prayers," he ventured rather lamely, "not vengeance prayers." "i was the one to make cry of a woman, when my father went under the earth," she said. it was her only expression of the fact that she had borne a woman's share of all their joint toil in the desert,--and he caught her by the shoulder, as she turned away. "why, kid cleopatra, it isn't a woman's work you've done at all. it's a man's job you've held down and held level," he declared heartily. "that's why i am counting on you now. i need eyes to watch when i have to be in other places." "i watch," she agreed, "i watch for you, but maybe i make my own prayers also;--all the time prayers." "make one for a straight trail to the border, and all sentries asleep!" he suggested. "we have a pile of yellow rock to get across, to say nothing of our latest puzzling prospect." as the day wore on the latest "prospect" presented many complications to the imagination, and he tramped the corridors of mesa blanca wondering why he had seen but one side of the question the night before, for in the broad light of day there seemed a dozen, and all leading to trouble! that emerald-eyed daughter of a renegade priest had proven a host in herself when it came to breeding trouble. she certainly had been unlucky. "well, it might be worse," he confided to bunting out in the corral. "cap pike might have tagged along to discourse on the general tomfoolery of a partner who picks up a damsel in distress at every fork of the trail. not that he'd be far wrong at that, baby. if any hombre wanted to catch me in a bear trap he'd only need to bait it with a skirt." baby bunting nodded sagaciously, and nuzzled after kit who was cleaning up the best looking saddle horse brought in from the indian herd. it was a scraggy sorrel with twitchy ears and wicked eyes, but it looked tough as a mountain buck. kit knew he should need two like that for the northern trail, and had hopes that the bewitched marto cavayso, whoever he was, would furnish another. he went steadily about his preparations for the border trail, just as if the addition of an enchantress with green-jewel eyes was an every day bit of good fortune expected in every outfit, but as the desert ranges flamed rose and mauve in the lowering sun there was a restless expectancy at the ranch house, bolts and locks and firearms were given final inspection. even at the best it was a scantily manned fort for defense in case mario's companions at dice should question his winning and endeavor to capture the stake. "i shall go part way on the soledad trail and wait what happens," he told isidro. "i will remain at a distance unless clodomiro needs me. there is no telling what tricks this cavayso may have up his sleeve." "i was thinking that same thought," said the old indian. "the men of perez are not trusted long, even by perez. when it is a woman, they are not trusted even in sight! go with god on the trail." the ugly young sorrel ran tirelessly the first half of the way, just enough to prove his wind. then they entered a cañon where scrub cottonwoods and greasebush gathered moisture enough for scant growth among the boulders worn out of the cliffs by erosion. it was the safest place to wait, as it was also the most likely place for treachery if any was intended to clodomiro. at either end of the pass lay open range and brown desert, with only far patches of oasis where a well was found, or a sunken river marked a green pasture in some valley. when he wrote the note he had not thought of danger to clodomiro, regarding him only as a fearless messenger, but if the boy should prove an incumbrance to cavayso after they were free of soledad, that might prove another matter, and as old isidro had stated, no one trusted a perez man when a woman was in question! he dismounted to listen and seek safe shadow, for the dusk had come, and desert stars swung like brilliant lamps in the night sky, and the white rocks served as clear background for any moving body. the plan was, if possible, to get the woman out with clodomiro while the men were at supper. the _manta_ of elena could cover her, and if she could walk with a water jar to the far well as any indian woman would walk, and a horse hid in the willows there----! it had been well thought out, and if nothing had interfered they should have reached the cañon an hour earlier. if clodomiro had failed it might be a serious matter, and kit rhodes had some anxious moments for the stolen woman while dusk descended on the cañon. he listened for the beat of horse hoofs, but what he heard first was a shot, and a woman's scream, and then the walls of the cañon echoed the tumult of horses racing towards him in flight. he recognized clodomiro by the bare head and banda, and a woman bent low beside him, her _manta_ flapping like the wings of a great bird as her horse leaped forward beside the indian boy. back of them galloped a man who slowed up and shot backward at the foremost of a pursuing band. he missed, and the fire was returned, evidently with some effect, for the first marksman grunted and cursed, and kit heard the clatter of his gun as it fell from his hand. he leaned forward and spurred his horse to outrun the pursuers. he was evidently marto. kit had a mental vision of fighting marto alone for the woman at mesa blanca, or fighting with the entire band and decided to halt the leader of the pursuers and gain that much time at least for the woman and clodomiro. he had mounted at the first sound of the runaways, and crouching low in the saddle, hid back of the thick green of a dwarfed mesquite, and as the leader came into range against the white rock well he aimed low and touched the trigger. the horse leaped up and the rider slid off as the animal sunk to the ground. kit guided his mount carefully along shadowed places into the road expecting each instant a shot from the man on the ground. but it did not come, and he gained the trail before the other pursuers rounded the bend of the cañon. the sound of their hoofs would deafen them to his, and once on the trail he gave the sorrel the rein, and the wild thing went down the gully like an arrow from a bow. he was more than a little puzzled at the silence back of him. the going down of the one man and horse had evidently checked all pursuit. relieved though he was at the fact, he realized it was not a natural condition of affairs, and called for explanation. the other three riders were a half mile ahead and he had no idea of joining them on the trail. it occurred to him there was a possible chance of taking a short cut over the point of the mesa and beating them to the home ranch. there was an even chance that the rougher trail would offer difficulties in the dark, but that was up to the sorrel and was worth the trial. the bronco took the mesa walls like a cat, climbed and staggered up, slid and tumbled down and crossed the level intervening space to the corral as the first sound of the others came beating across the sands. a dark little figure arose by the corral bars and reached for the horse as he slipped from the saddle. "quickly, tulita!" he said, stripping saddle and bridle from its back, "one instant only to make ourselves as still as shadows under the walls of the house." fast as he ran, she kept pace with him to the corridor where isidro waited. "all is well," he said briefly to the old man. "clodomiro comes safe with the señora, and the man who would steal her was shot and lost his gun. all has gone very well." "thanks to god!" said the old indian. "the stealing of women has ever been a danger near, but luck comes well to you, señor, and it is good to be under the protection of you." "open the door and show a light of welcome," said kit. "call your wife and let all be as planned by us. i will be in the shadows, and a good gun for safety of the woman if needed, but all will work well, as you will see." the three riders came up to the portal before dismounting, and valencia went forward, while isidro held high a blazing torch, and clodomiro dismounted quickly, and offered help to the woman. "my grandmother has all for your comfort, señora," he said, "will it please you to descend?" the man swung from the saddle, awkwardly nursing his right arm. "yes this is a safe place, doña jocasta," he declared. "it is all well arranged. with your permission i may assist you." he offered his left hand, but she looked from him to valencia, and then to clodomiro. "you are young to be a stealer of women;--the saints send you a whiter road!" she said. "and you may help me, for my shoulder has a hurt from that first shot of the comrade of this man." "no, señora," stated her captor, "the evil shot came from no comrade of mine. they did not follow us, those bandits--accursed be their names! they were hid in the cañoncita and jumped our trail. but have no fear, doña jocasta, they are left behind, and it will be my pleasure to nurse the wounds they have made." "be occupied with your own," she suggested pointing to his hand from which blood still dripped, "and you, mother, can show me the new prison. it can be no worse than the others." "better, much better, little dove," said marto, who followed after the two women, and glanced over their shoulders into the guest chamber of the iron bars, "it is a bird cage of the finest, and a nest for harmonies." then to valencia he turned with authority, "when you have made the señorita comfortable, bring the key of the door to me." "_si_, señor," said valencia bending low, and even as the prisoner entered the room, she changed the key to the outside of the door. marto nodded his approval and turned away. "now this shirt off, and a basin of water and a bandage," he ordered isidro. "it is not much, and it still bleeds." "true, it does, señor, and the room ordered for you has already the water and a clean shirt on the pillow. clodomiro, go you for a bandage, and fetch wine to take dust out of the throat! this way, señor,--and may you be at home in your own house!" unsuspecting, the amorous marto followed the old man into the room prepared. he grunted contemptuous satisfaction at evidences of comfort extending to lace curtains hanging white and full over the one window. "it is the time for a shirt of such cleanness," he observed, with a grin. "_jesusita!_ but the sleeve sticks to me! cut it off, and be quick to make me over into a bridegroom." the old man did as he was bidden, and when clodomiro brought in a woven tray covered with a napkin from which a bottle of wine was discernible, marto grinned at him. "it is a soft nest you found for me, boy," he said appreciatively, "and when i am capitan i will make you lieutenant." "thanks to you, señor, and hasten the day!" clodomiro assisted his grandfather, and stood aside at the door respectfully as the old man passed out with his primitive supply of salves and antiseptics, and only when all need of caution was ended the boy smiled at the would-be lothario, and the smile held a subtle mockery as he murmured, "the saints send you a good night's sleep, señor, and a waking to health--and clearer sight!" "hell and its blazes to you! why do you grin?" demanded the other setting down the bottle from which he had taken a long and grateful drink, but quick as a cat the boy pulled the door shut, and slipped the bolt on the outside, and laughed aloud. "not this night will you be bridegroom for another man's wife, señor!" he called. "also it is better that you put curb on your curses,--for the lady has a mind for a quiet night of sleep." marto rushed to the curtained window only to find iron bars and the glint of a gun barrel. isidro held the gun, and admonished the storming captive with the gentle fatalism of the indian. "it is done under orders of the major-domo, señor. there is no other way. if your words are hard or rough to the ears of the lady, there is a bullet for you, and a hidden place for your grave. this is the only word to you, señor. it is given me to say." "but--gods, saints, and devils--hearken you to me!" stormed the man. "this is a fool's joke! it can't go on! i must be back at sunrise--_i must!_" "you will see many suns rise through these bars if the padrone so pleases," murmured isidro gently. "that is not for us to decide." "to hottest hell with your padrone and you! bring him here to listen to me. this is no affair of a man and a woman,--curse her witch eyes and their green fires! there is work afoot,--big work, and i must get back to soledad. you know what goes over the trail to soledad,--every indian knows! it is the cache of ammunition with which to save the peon and indian slave,--you know that! you know the revolutionists must get it to win in sonora. a trap is set for tomorrow, a big trap! i must be there to help spring it. to you there will be riches and safety all your life for my freedom--on the cross i will swear that. i----" "señor, nothing is in my power, and of your traps i know nothing. i am told you set a trap for a lady who is in grief and your own feet were caught in it. that is all i know of traps," said isidro. kit patted the old man on the shoulder for cleverness, even while he wondered at the ravings of the would-be abductor. then he crept nearer the window where he could see the face of the prisoner clearly, and without the overshadowing hat he had worn on entrance. the face gave him something to think about, for it was that of one of the men who had ridden up to the yaqui spring the day he had found tula and miguel in the desert. how should this rebel who rode on secret trails with ramon rotil be head man at soledad for rotil's enemy? and what was the trap? "look well at that man, isidro," he whispered, "and tell me if such a man rode here to mesa blanca with general rotil." "no such man was here, señor, but this man was foreman at soledad before the deliverer came over the eastern range to mesa blanca. also the general and don josé perez are known as enemies;--the friend of one cannot be the friend of another." "true enough, isidro, but that does not help me to understand the trap set. call your wife and learn if i can see the doña jocasta." tula had crept up beside them, and touched him on the arm. "she asks for you, and sadness is with her very much. she watches us in fear, and cannot believe that the door is open for her." "if that is her only trouble we can clear it away for her, _pronto_," he stated, and they entered the patio. "it is not her only trouble, but of the other she does not speak. valencia weeps to look at her." "heavens! is she as bad looking as that?" "no, it is another reason," stated the girl stolidly. "she is a caged humming bird, and her wings have broken." kit rhodes never forgot that first picture of their kidnaped guest, for he agreed with clodomiro who saw in her the living representation of old biblical saints. the likeness was strengthened by the half moorish drapery over her head, a black mantilla which, at sound of a man's step, she hurriedly drew across the lower part of her face. her left arm and shoulder was bare, and valencia bent over her with a strip of old linen for bandage, but the eyes of doña jocasta were turned half shrinking, half appraising to the strange americano. it was plain to her that conquering men were merely the owners of women. "it is good you come, señor," said valencia. "here is a wound and the bullet under the skin. i have waited for isidro to help but he is slow on the way." "he is busy otherwise, but i will call him unless my own help will serve here. that is for the señora to say." the eyes of the girl,--she was not more,--never left his face, and above the lace scarf she peered at him as through a mask. "it is you who sent messenger to save an unhappy one you did not know? you are the americano of the letter?" "at your service, señora. may that service begin now?" "it began when that letter was written, and this room made ready," she said. "and if you can find the bullet it will end the unhappiness of this good woman. she weeps for the little bit of lead. it should have struck a heart instead of a shoulder." "ah, señora!" lamented valencia, "weep like a woman over sorrows. it is a better way than to mock." "god knows it is not for me to mock!" breathed the soft voice bitterly. "and if the señor will lend you his aid, i will again be in his debt." without further words kit approached, and valencia drew the cover from the shoulder and indicated where the ball could be felt. "i cannot hold the shoulder and press the flesh there without making much pain, too much," stated valencia, "but it must come out, or there will be trouble." "sure there will," asserted kit, "and if you or tula will hold the arm, and doña jocasta will pardon me----" he took the white shoulder in his two hands and gently traced the direction of the bullet. it had struck in the back and slanted along the shoulder blade. it was evidently fired from a distance and little force left. marto had been much nearer the pursuer, and his was a clean cut wound through the upper arm. the girl turned chalky white as he began slowly to press the bullet backward along its trail, but she uttered no sound, only a deep intake of breath that was half a sob, and the cold moisture of sickening pain stood in beads on her face. all of the little barriers with a stranger were forgotten, and the shielding scarf fell away from her face and bosom, and even with the shadowed emerald eyes closed, kit rhodes thought her the most perfect thing in beauty he had ever seen. he hated himself for the pain he was forcing on her as he steadily followed the bullet upward and upward until it lay in his hand. she did not faint, as he feared she might, but fell back in the chair, while valencia busied herself with the ointment and bandage, and tula, at a word from kit, poured her a cup of wine. "drink," he said, "if only a little, señora. your strength has served you well, but it needs help now." she swallowed a little of the wine, and drew the scarf about her, and after a little opened her eyes and looked at him. he smiled at her approvingly, and offered her the bullet. "it may be you will want it to go on some shrine to a patron saint, señora," he suggested, but she did not take it, only looked at him steadily with those wonderful eyes, green with black lashes, shining out of her marble madonna-like face. "my patron saint traveled the trail with you, señor americano, and the bullet is witness. let me see it." he gave it into her open hand where she balanced it thoughtfully. "so near the mark, yet went aside," she murmured. "could that mean there is yet any use left in the world for me?" "beauty has its own use in the world, señora; that is why rose gardens are planted." "true, señor, though i belong no more to the gardens;--no, not to gardens, but to the desert. neither have i place nor power today, and i may never have, but i give back to you this witness of your great favor. if a day comes when i, jocasta, can give favor in return, bring or send this witness of the ride tonight. i will redeem it." "the favor is to me, and calls for no redemption," said kit awkward at the regal poise of her, and enchanted by the languorous glance and movement of her. even the reaching out of her hand made him think of tula's words, 'a humming bird,' if one could imagine such a jewel-winged thing weighted down with black folds of mourning. "a caged humming bird with broken wings!" and that memory brought another thought, and he fumbled the bullet, and gave the first steady look into those emerald, side-glancing eyes. "but--there is a compact i should appreciate if doña jocasta will do me the favor,--and it is that she sets value on the life that is now her very own, and, that she forgets not to cherish it." "ah-h!" she looked up at him piteously a moment, and then the long lashes hid her eyes, and her head was bent low. "sinful and without shame have i been! and they have told you of the knife i tried to use--here!" she touched her breast with her slender ring-laden hand, and her voice turned mocking. "but you see, señor americano, even death will not welcome me, and neither steel nor lead will serve me!" "life will serve you better, señora." "not yet has it done so, and i am a woman--old--old! i am twenty, señor, and refused of death! jocasta benicia they named me. jocasta perdida it should have been to fit the soul of me, so why should i promise a man whom i do not know that i will cherish my life when i would not promise a padre? answer me that, señor whose name has not been told me!" "but you will promise, señora," insisted kit, smiling a little, though thrilled by the sadness of life's end at twenty, "and as for names, if you are doña perdida i may surely name myself don esperenzo, for i have not only hope, but conviction, that life is worth living!" "to a man, yes, and mexico is a man's land." "ay, it must be yours as well,--beautiful that thou art!" murmured valencia adoringly. "you should not give yourself a name of sadness, for this is our señor el pajarito, who is both gay and of honesty. he,--with god,--is your protection, and harm shall not be yours." doña jocasta reached out and touched kindly the bent head of the indian woman. "as you will, mother. with hope and a singer for a shield, even a prison would not be so bad, el pajarito, eh? do you make songs--or sing them, señor?" "neither,--i am only a lucky bluff. my old partner and i used to sing fool things to the mules, and as we could out-bray the burros my indio friends are kind and call it a singing;--as easy as that is it to get credit for talent in this beneficent land of yours! but--the compact, señora?" her brows lifted wearily, yet the hint of a smile was in her eyes. "yes, since you ask so small a thing, it is yours. jocasta makes compact with you; give me a wish that the life is worth it." "sure i will," said kit holding out his hand, but she shrunk perceptibly, and her hand crept out of sight in the black draperies. "you have not, perhaps, ever sent a soul to god without absolution?" she asked in a breathless hushed sort of voice. "no señor, the look of you tells me you have not been so unpardonable. is it not so?" "why, yes," returned kit, "it hasn't been a habit with me to start anyone on the angels' flight without giving him time to bless himself, but even at that----" "no, no!" as he took a step nearer. "the compact is ours without handclasp. the hand of jocasta is the hand of the black glove, señor." he looked from her to the two indians, the old woman kneeling beside jocasta and crossing herself, and tula, erect and slender against the adobe wall, watching him stolidly. there was no light on the subject from either of them. "pardon, i'm but a clumsy americano, not wise to your meanings," he ventured, "and beautiful hands look better without gloves of any color." "it may be so, yet i have heard that no matter how handsome a headsman may be, he wears a black mask, and hands are not stretched out to touch his." "señora!" "señor, we arrive at nothing when making speech of me," she said with a little sigh. "our ride was hard, and rest is best for all of us. our friend here tells me there is supper, and if you will eat with me, we will know more of how all this has come about. it is strange that you, a lone americano in this land, should plan this adventure like a bandit, and steal not only the major-domo of soledad, but the woman he would steal!" "it was so simple that the matter is not worth words except as concerns clodomiro, who was the only one in danger." "ah! if ever they had suspected him! you have not seen that band of men, they are terrible! of all the men of josé perez they are the blackest hearts, and if it had not been for the poor padre----" "tell me of him," said kit who perceived she was willing enough to speak plainly of all things except herself. "he is a good man?" "a blessing to me, señor!" she asserted earnestly as they were seated at the table so carefully prepared by valencia. "look you! i broke away from those animals and in a little mountain village,--such a one as i was born in, señor!--i ran to the altar of the little chapel, and that priest was a shield for me. against all the men he spoke curses if they touched me. well, after that there was only one task to do, and that was to carry him along. i think they wanted to kill him, and had not the courage. and after all that i came away from soledad without saving him;--that was bad of me, very bad! i--i think i went wild in the head when i saw the men play games of cards, and i to go to the winner! not even a knife for food would they give me, for they knew----" she shuddered, and laid down quickly the knife she had lifted from beside her plate, and glanced away when she found him regarding her. "it has been long weeks since i was trusted as you are trusting me here," she continued quietly. "see! on my wrists were chains at first." "and this marto cavayso did that?" demanded kit as she showed her scarred slender wrist over which valencia had wept. "no, it was before cavayso--he is a new man--so i think this was when conrad was first helping to plan me as an insane woman and have me put secretly to prison, but some fear struck josé perez, and that plan would not serve. in the dark of night i was half smothered in wraps and put in an ox-cart of a countryman and hauled north out of the city. two men rode as guard. they chained me in the day and slept, traveling only in the night until they met cavayso and his men. after that i remember little, i was so weary of life! one alcalde asked about me and cavayso said i was his wife who had run away with a gypsy fiddler, and he was taking me home to my children. of what use to speak? a dozen men would have added their testimony to his, and had sport in making other romance against me. they were sullen because they thought i had jewels hid under my clothes, and cavayso would not let them search me. it has been hell in these hills of sonora, señor pajarito." "that is easy to understand," agreed kit wondering at her endurance, and wondering at the poise and beauty of her after such experience. there was no trace of nervousness, or of tears, or self-pity. it was as if all this of which she told had been a minor affair, dwarfed by some tragic thing to which he had no key. "so, conrad was in this plot against you?" he asked, and knew that tula, standing back of his chair had missed no word. "you mean the german conrad who is manager of granados ranches across the border?" "señor, i mean the beast whose trail is red with the blood of innocence, and whose poison is sinking into the veins of mexico like a serpent, striking secretly, now here, now there, until the blood of the land is black with that venom. ay! i know, señor;--the earth is acrawl with the german lizards creeping into the shining sun of mexico! this so excellent don adolf conrad is only one, and josé perez is his target--i am the one to know that! a year ago, and don josé was a man, with faults perhaps; but who is perfect on this earth? then came don adolf riding south and is very great gentleman and makes friends. his home in hermosillo becomes little by little the house of perez, and little by little perez goes on crooked paths. that is true! first it was to buy a ship for coast trade, then selling rifles in secret where they should not be sold, then--shame it is to tell--men and women were sold and carried on that ship like cattle! not rebels, señor, not prisoners of battle,--but herdsmen and ranch people, poor indian farmers whom only devils would harm! thus it was, señor, until little by little don adolf knew so much that josé perez awoke to find he had a master, and a strong one! it was not one man alone who caught him in the net; it was the german comrades of don adolf who never forgot their task, even when he was north in the states. they needed a man of name in hermosillo, and josé perez is now that man. when the whip of the german cracks, he must jump to serve their will." "but josé perez is a strong man. before this day he has wiped many a man from his trail if the man made him trouble," ventured kit. "you have right in that, señor, but i am telling you it is a wide net they spread and in that net he is snared. also his household is no longer his own. the indian house servants are gone, and outlaw japanese are there instead. that is true and their dress is the dress of indians. they are japanese men of crimes, and german men gave aid that they escape from justice in japan. it is because they need such men for german work in mexico, men who have been taught german and dare not turn rebel. not an hour of the life of josé perez is free from the eyes of a spy who is a man of crimes. and there are other snares. they tell him that he is to be a governor by their help;--that is a rich bait to float before the eyes of a man! his feet are set on a trail made by adolph conrad,--he is trapped, and there is no going back. poison and shame and slavery and death have come upon that trail like black mushrooms grown in a night, and what the end of the trail will be is hid in the heart of god." "but your sympathy is with those women in slavery there in the south, and not with the evil friend of josé perez?" asked kit. "can you doubt, señor? am i not as truly a victim as they? i have not worked under a whip, but there are other punishments--for a woman!" her voice dropped almost to a whisper, and she rested her chin on her hand, staring out into the shadows of the patio, oblivious of them all. tula gazed at her as if fascinated, and there was a difference in her regard. that she was linked in hate against conrad gave the indian girl common cause with the jewel-eyed woman whose beauty had been the boast of a province. kit noticed it and was vastly comforted. the absolute stolidity of tula had left him in doubt as to the outcome if his little partner had disapproved of his fascinating protégée. he knew the thing she wanted to know, and asked it. "señora, the last band of indian slaves from sonora were driven from the little pueblo of palomitas at the edge of this ranch. and there are sisters and mothers here with sick hearts over that raid. can you tell me where those women were sent?" "which raid was that, and when?" asked jocasta arousing herself from some memory in which she had been submerged. "pardon, señor, i am but a doleful guest at supper, thinking too deeply of that which sent me here. your question?" he repeated it, and she strove to remember. "there were many, and no one was told whence they came. it was supposed they were war prisoners who had to be fed, and were being sent to grow their own maize. if it were the last band then it would be the time conrad had the wound in the face, here, like a knife thrust, and that----" "that was the time," interrupted kit eagerly. "if you can tell us where those people were sent you will prove the best of blessings to mesa blanca this night." she smiled sadly at that and looked from him to tula, whom she evidently noted for the first time. "it is long since the word of blessing has been given to jocasta," she said wistfully. "it would be a comfort to earn it in this house. but that band was not sent away,--not far. something went wrong with the boat down the coast, i forgot what it was, but there was much trouble, and the indians were sent to a plantation of the general terain until the boat was ready. i do not know what plantation, except that conrad raged about it. he and don josé had a quarrel, very terrible! that wound given to him by a woman made him very difficult; then the quarrel ended by them drinking together too much. and after that many things happened very fast, and--i was brought north." "and the indians?" "señor, i do not think anyone thought again of those indians. they are planting maize or cane somewhere along the rio sonora." tula sank down weeping against the wall, while valencia stroked her hair and patted her. doña jocasta regarded her curiously. "to be young enough to weep like that over a sorrow!" she murmured wistfully. "it is to envy her, and not mourn over her." "but this weeping is of joy," explained valencia. "it is as the señor says, a blessing has come with you over the hard road. this child was also stolen, and was clever to escape. her mother and her sister are yet there in that place where the maize is planted. if the boat has not taken them, then they also may get back. it is a hope!" "poor little one! and now that i could make good use of power, it is no longer mine," said jocasta, looking at kit regretfully. "a young maid with courage to escape has earned the right to be given help." "she will be given it," he answered quietly, "and since your patience has been great with my questions, i would ask more of this cavayso we have trapped tonight. he is raging of curious things there across the patio. isidro holds a gun on him that he subdue his shouts, and his offer is of rich bribes for quick freedom. he is as mad to get back to soledad as he was to leave it, and he tells of a trap set there for someone. it concerns ammunition for the revolutionists." "no, not for them, but for trade in the south," said jocasta promptly. "yes, soledad has long been the place for hiding of arms. it was the task of don adolf to get them across the border, and then a man of don josé finds a safe trail for them. sometimes a german officer from tucson is of much help there in the north. i have heard don josé and conrad laugh about the so easily deceived americanos,--your pardon, señor!" "oh, we are used to that," agreed kit easily, "and it is quite true. we have a whole flock of peace doves up there helping the hohenzollern game. what was the officer's name?" "a name difficult and long," she mused, striving to recall it. "but that name was a secret, and another was used. he was known only as a simple advocate--james, the name; i remember that for they told me it was the english for diego, which was amusing to me,--there is no sound alike in them!" "that's true, there isn't," said kit, who had no special interest in any advocate named james. "but to get back to the man in the cell over there and the ammunition, may i ask if he confided to you anything of that place of storage? i mean cavayso?" "no, señor; and for a reason of the best. he knows nothing, and all his days and nights were spent searching secretly for the entrance to that dungeon,--if it is a dungeon! he thought i should know, and made threats against me because i would not tell. myself, i think josé perez tells no one that hiding place, not even conrad, though conrad has long wanted it! i told don josé that if he told that he was as good as a dead man, and i believe it. but now," and she shook her head fatefully, "now he is sure to get it!" "but he swears he must get back to soledad by sunrise for a trap is set. a trap for whom?" persisted kit. doña jocasta shook her head uncomprehendingly. "god forbid he should get free to put those wolves on my track; then indeed i would need a knife, señor! he held them back from me on the trail, but now he would not hold them back." "but the trap, señora?" repeated the puzzled kit. "that man was in earnest,--dead in earnest! he did not know i was listening, his words were only for an indian,--for isidro. who could he trap? was he expecting anyone at soledad?" doña jocasta looked up with a little gasp of remembrance. "it is true, a courier did come two days ago from the south, and cavayso told me he meant to take me to the desert and hide me before don josé arrived. also more mules and wagons came in. and elena scolded about men who came to eat but not to work. yes, they smoked, and talked, and talked, and waited! i never thought of them except to have a great fear. yesterday after the lad brought me that letter i had not one thought, but to count the hours, and watch the sun. but it may be cavayso told the truth, and that don josé was indeed coming. he told me he had promised perez to lose me in the arroya maldioso if in no other way, and he had to manage that i never be seen again." "arroya maldioso?" repeated kit, "i don't understand." "it is the great quicksand of soledad, green things grow and blossom there but no living thing can cross over. it is beautiful--that little arroya, and very bad." "i had heard of it, but forgot," acknowledged kit, "but that is not the trap of which he is raving now. it is some other thing." doña jocasta did not know. she confessed that her mind was dark and past thinking. the ways of don josé and conrad were not easy for other men of different lives to understand;--there was a great net of war and scheming and barter, and don josé was snared in that net, and the end no man could see! "have you ever heard that marto cavayso was once a lieutenant of general rotil?" kit asked. "the deliverer!" she gasped, leaning forward and staring at him. a deep flush went over her face and receded, leaving her as deathly pale as when the bullet had been forced from the white shoulder. her regard was curious, for her brows were contracted and there was domination and command in her eyes. "why do you say this to me, señor? and why do you think it?" kit was astonished at the effect of his words, and quite as much astonished to hear anyone of the perez household refer to rotil as "the deliverer." "señora, if you saw him ride side by side with rotil, drinking from the same cup in the desert, would you not also think it?" tula rose to her feet, and moved closer to kit. "i too was seeing them together, señora," she said. "it was at the yaqui well; i drew the water, and they drank it. this man of the loud curses is the man." doña jocasta covered her eyes with her hand, and she seemed shaken. no one else spoke, and the silence was only broken by the muffled tones of marto in the cell, and the brief bark of clodomiro's dog at the corral. "god knows what may be moving forward," she said at last, "but there is some terrible thing afoot. take me to this man." "it may not be a pleasant thing to do," advised kit. "this is a man's game, señora, and his words might offend, for his rage is very great against you." "words!" she said with a note of disdain, and arose to her feet. she swayed slightly, and valencia steadied her, and begged her to wait until morning, for her strength was gone and the night was late. "peace, woman! who of us is sure of a morning? this minute is all the time that is ours, and--i must know." she leaned on valencia as they crossed the patio, and tula moved a seat outside the door of marto's room. kit fastened a torch in the holder of the brick pillar and opened the door without being seen, and stood watching the prisoner. marto cavayso, who had been pleading with isidro, whirled only to find the barrel of another gun thrust through the carved grill in the top of the door. "isidro," said kit, "this man is to answer questions of the señora. if he is uncivil you can singe him with a bullet at your own will." "many thanks, señor," returned isidro promptly. "that is a pleasant work to think of, for the talk of this shameless gentleman is poison to the air." "you!" burst out marto, pointing a hand at jocasta in the corridor. "you put witchcraft of hell on me, and wall me in here with an old lunatic for guard, and now----" bing! a bullet from isidro's rifle whistled past marto's ear and buried itself in the adobe, scattering plaster and causing the prisoner to crouch back in the corner. jocasta regarded him as if waiting further speech, but none came. "that is better," she said. "no one wishes to do you harm, but you need a lesson very badly. now marto cavayso,--if that be your name!--why did you carry me away? was it your own doing, or were you under orders of your general rotil?" "i should have let the men have you," he muttered. "i was a bewitched man, or you never would have traveled alive to see soledad. rotil? do not the handsome women everywhere offer him love and comradeship? would he risk a good man to steal a woman of whom josé perez is tired?" "you are not the one to give judgment," said a strange voice outside the barred window.--"that i did not send you to steal women is very true, and the task i did send you for has been better done by other men in your absence." cavayso swore, and sat on the bed, his head in his hands. outside the window there were voices in friendly speech, that of clodomiro very clear as he told his grandfather the dogs did not bark but once, because some of the mesa blanca boys were with the general, who was wounded. kit closed and bolted again the door of cavayso, feeling that the guardianship of beauty in sonora involved a man in many awkward and entangling situations. if it was indeed rotil---- but a curious choking moan in the corridor caused him to turn quickly, but not quickly enough. doña jocasta, who had been as a reed of steel against other dangers, had risen to her feet as if for flight at sound of the voice, and she crumpled down on the floor and lay, white as a dead woman, in a faint so deep that even her heartbeat seemed stilled. kit gathered her up, limp as a branch of willow, and preceded by tula with the torch, bore her back to the chamber prepared for her. valencia swept back the covers of the bed, and with many mutterings of fear and ejaculations to the saints, proceeded to the work of resuscitation. "to think that she came over that black road and held fast to a heart of bravery,--and now at a word from the deliverer, she falls dead in fear! so it is with many who hear his name; yet he is not bad to his friends. every indian in sonora is knowing that," stated valencia. chapter xiv the hawk of the sierras "that is what we get, tula, by gathering beauty in distress into our outfit," sighed kit. "she seems good foundation for a civil war here. helen of troy,--a lady of an eastern clan!--started a war on less, and the cards are stacked against us if they start scrapping. when mexican gentry begin hostilities, the innocent bystander gets the worst of it,--especially the americano. so it is just as well the latest richard in the field does not know whose bullet hit him in the leg, and brought his horse down." tula, who since their entrance to the civilized surroundings of mesa blanca, had apparently dropped all initiative, and was simply a little indian girl under orders, listened impassively to this curious monologue. she evidently thought white people use many words for a little meaning. "the deliverer says will you graciously come?" she stated for the second time. "neither graciously, gracefully or gratefully, but i'll arrive," he conceded. "his politeness sounds ominous. it is puzzling why i, a mere trifle of an american ranch hand, should be given audience instead of his distinguished lieutenant." "isidro and clodomiro are talking much with him, and the man marto is silent, needing no guard," said tula. "sure,--rotil has the whole show buffaloed. well, let's hope, child, that he is not a mind reader, for we have need of all the ore we brought out, and can't spare any for revolutionary subscriptions." kit followed tula into the _sala_ where a rawhide cot had been placed, and stretched on it was the man of yaqui spring. one leg of his trousers was ripped up, and there was the odor of a greasewood unguent in the room. isidro was beside him, winding a bandage below the knee. a yellow silk banda around the head of rotil was stained with red. but he had evidently been made comfortable, for he was rolling a cigarette and was calling isidro "doctor." two former vaqueros of mesa blanca were there, and they nodded recognition to kit. rotil regarded him with a puzzled frown, and then remembered, and waved his hand in salute. "good day, señor, we meet again!" he said. "i am told that you are my host and the friend of señor whitely. what is it you do here? is it now a prison, or a hospital for unfortunates?" "only a hospital for you, general, and i trust a serviceable one," kit hastened to assure him. "more of comfort might have been yours had you sent a courier to permit of preparation." "the service is of the best," and rotil pointed to isidro. "i've a mind to take him along, old as he is! the boys told me he was the best medico this side the range, and i believe it. as to courier," and he grinned, "i think you had one, if you had read the message right." "the surprises of the night were confusing, and a simple man could not dare prophesy what might follow," said kit, who had drawn up a chair and easily fell into rotil's manner of jest. "but i fancy if that courier had known who would follow after, he would have spent the night by preference at soledad." "sure he would,--hell's fire shrivel him! that shot of his scraped a bone for me, and put my horse out of business. for that reason we came on quietly, and these good fellows listened at the window of marto before they carried me in. it is a good joke on me. my men rounded up perez and his german slaver at soledad today--yesterday now!--and when we rode up the little cañon to be in at the finish what did we see but an escape with a woman? some word had come my way of a perez woman there, and only one thought was with me, that the woman had helped perez out of the trap as quickly as he had ridden into it! after that there was nothing to do but catch them again. no thought came to me that marto might be stealing a woman for himself, the fool! perez made better time than we figured on, and is a day ahead. marto meant to hide the woman and get back in time. it's a great joke that an americano took the woman from him. i hope she is worth the trouble," and he smiled, lifting his brows questioningly. "so that was the 'trap' that marto raved and stormed to get back to?" remarked kit. "i am still in the dark, though there are some glimmers of light coming. if marto knew of that trap it explains----" "there were three others of my men on the soledad rancho, drawing pay from perez. it is the first time that fox came in when we could spread the net tight. to get him at another place would not serve so well, for if soledad was the casket of our treasure, at soledad we make a three strike,--the cattle, the ammunition, and perez there to show the hiding place! it is the finish of four months' trailing, and is worth the time, and but for marto running loco over a girl, there would have been a beautiful quiet finish at soledad ranch house last night." "but, if your men have perez----" "like that!" and rotil stretched out his open hand, and closed it significantly, with a cruel smile in his black, swift-glancing eyes. "this time there is no mistake. for over a week men and stout mules have been going in;--it is a _conducta_ and it is to take the ammunition. well, señor, it is all well managed for me; also we have much need of that ammunition for our own lads." "and it was done without a fight?" asked kit. "i have heard that the men picked for soledad were not the gentlest band señor perez could gather." "we had their number," said rotil placidly. "good men enough, but with their cartridges doctored what could they do? i sent in two machine guns, and they were not needed. a signal smoke went up to show me all was well, and in another minute i heard the horses of marto and his girl. he must have started an hour before perez arrived. it is a trick of don josé's that no one can count on his engagements, but this time every hill had its sentinels for his trail, not anything was left to chance." "and your accident?" asked kit politely. "oh, i was setting my own guards at every pass when the runaway woman and men caught my ear and we took a short cut down the little cañon to head them off. i knew they would make for here, and that houses were not plenty--" he smiled as if well satisfied with the knowledge. "so, as this was a friendly house it would be a safe bet to keep on coming." he blew rings of smoke from the cigarette, and chuckled. "the boys will think a quicksand has swallowed us, and no one will be sleeping there at soledad." "is there anything i can do to be of service," asked kit. "i have a good room and a bed----" but the chuckling of rotil broke into a frank laugh. "no, señor!" he said with humorous decision, watching kit as he spoke, "already i have been told of your great kindness in the giving of beds and rooms of comfort. why, with a house big enough, you could jail all the district of altar! not my head for a noose!" kit laughed awkwardly at the jest which was based on fact, but he met the keen eyes of rotil very squarely. "the indians no doubt told you the reason the jail was needed?" he said. "if a girl picks a man to take a trail with, that is her own affair and not mine, but if a girl with chains on her wrists has to watch men throwing dice for her, and is forced to go with the winner--well--the man who would not help set her free needs a dose of lead. that is our american way, and no doubt is yours, señor." "sure! let a woman pick her own, if she can find him!" agreed rotil, and then he grinned again as he looked at kit. "and, señor, it is a safe bet that this time she'll find him!--you are a good big mark, not easily hidden." the other men smiled and nodded at the humor of their chief, and regarded kit with appreciative sympathy. it was most natural of course for them to suppose that if he took a woman from marto, he meant to win her for himself. kit smiled back at them, and shook his head. "no such luck for a poor vaquero," he confessed. "the lady is in mourning, and much grief. she is like some saint of sorrows in a priest's tale, and----" "the priests are liars, and invented hell," stated rotil. "that may be, but sometimes we see sad women of prayers who look like the saints the priests tell about,--and to have such women sold by a gambler is not good to hear of." no one spoke for a little. the eyes of rotil closed in a curious, contemptuous smile. "you are young, boy," he said at last, "and even we who are not so young are often fooled by women. trust any woman of the camp rather than the devout saints of the shrines. all are for market,--but you pay most for the saint, and sorrow longest for her. and you never forget that the shrine is empty!" his tone was mocking and harsh, but kit preferred to ignore the sudden change of manner for which there seemed no cause. "thanks for the warning, general, and no saints for me!" he said good naturedly. "now, is there any practical thing i can do to add to your comfort here? any plans for tomorrow?" "a man of mine is already on the way to soledad, and we will sleep before other plans are made. not even marto will i see tonight, knowing well that you have seen to his comfort!" and he chuckled again at the thought of marto in his luxurious trap. "my lads will do guard duty in turn, and we sleep as we are." "then, if i can be of no service----" "tomorrow perhaps, not tonight, señor. some sleep will do us no harm." "then good night, and good rest to you, general." "many thanks, and good night, don pajarito." kit laughed at that sally, and took himself out of the presence. it was plain that the deliverer had obtained only the most favorable account of kit as the friend of whitely. and as an american lad who sang songs, and protected even women he did not know, he could not appear formidable to rotil's band, and certainly not in need of watching. he looked back at them as the general turned on his side to sleep, and one of his men blew out the two candles, and stationed themselves outside the door. as he noted the care they took in guarding him, and glanced at the heavy doors and barred windows, he had an uncomfortable thrill at the conviction that it would serve as a very efficient prison for himself if his new friends, the revolutionists, ever suspected he held the secret of the red gold of el alisal. it was a bit curious that the famous lost mine of the old mission had never really been "lost" at all! isidro, looking very tired, had preceded him from the _sala_, as kit supposed to go to bed. the day and night had been trying to the old man, and already it was the small hours of a new day. there was a dim light in the room of doña jocasta, but no sound. tula was curled up on a blanket outside her door like a young puppy on guard. he stooped and touched her shoulder. "the señora?" he whispered. "asleep, after tears, and a sad heart!" she replied. "valencia thanks the saints that at last she weeps,--the beautiful sad one!" "that is well; go you also to sleep. your friends keep guard tonight." she made no reply, and he passed on along the corridor to his own rooms. the door was open, and he was about to strike a light when a hand touched his arm. he drew back, reaching for his gun. "what the devil----" "señor," whispered isidro, "make no light, and make your words in whispers." "all right. what's on your mind?" "the señora and the deliverer. know you not, señor, that she is sick with shame? it is so. no man has told him who the woman is he calls yours. all are afraid, señor. it is said that once ramon rotil was content to be a simple man with a wife of his own choosing, but luck was not his. it was the daughter of a priest in the hills, and josé perez took her!" "ah-h!" breathed kit. "if it should be this one----" "it is so,--she went like a dead woman at his voice, but he does not know. how should he, when don josé has women beyond count? señor, my valencia promised doña jocasta you would save her from meeting the general. that promise was better than a sleeping drink of herbs to her. now that the promise is made, how will you make it good?" "holy smoke--also incense--also the pipe!" muttered kit in the dark. "if i live to get out of this muddle i'll swear off all entangling alliances forevermore! come into the kitchen where we can have a fire's light. i can't think in this blackness." they made their way to the kitchen, and started a blaze with mesquite bark. the old indian cut off some strips of burro _jerke_ and threw them on the coals. "that is better, it's an occupation anyway," conceded kit chewing with much relish. "now, isidro, man, you must go on. you know the land best. how is one to hide a woman of beauty from desert men?" "she may have a plan," suggested isidro. "where is clodomiro?" asked kit, suddenly recalling that the boy had disappeared. the old man did not answer; he was very busy with the fire, and when the question was repeated he shook his head. "i do not know who went. if tula did not go, then clodomiro was the one. they were talking about it." "talking,--about what?" "about the german. he is caught at soledad, and must not be let go, or let die. all the indians of palomitas will be asking the deliverer for that man." "isidro, what is it they want to do with him?" asked kit, and the old indian ceased fussing around with a stick in the ashes, and looked up, sinister and reproving. "that, señor, is a question a man does not ask. if my woman tells me the women want a man for judas, i--get that man! i ask nothing." "good god! and that child, tula--" began kit in consternation, and old isidro nodded his head. "it is tula who asked. she is proving she is a woman; clodomiro goes for her because that is his work. your white way would be a different way,--of an alcalde and the word of many witness. our women have their own way, and no mistake is made." "but rotil, the general,--he will not permit----" "señor, for either mother or grandmother the general had an indian woman. he has the knowing of these things. i think tula gets the man they ask for. she is wise, that child! a good woman will be chosen to have speech with the deliverer--when they come." "there is a thought in that," mused kit, glancing sharply at the old man. "do they make choice of some wise woman, to be speaker for the others? and they come here?" "that is how it is, señor." "then, what better way to hide doña jocasta than to place her among indian women who come in a band for that task? many women veil and shroud their heads in black as she does. the music of her voice was dulled when she spoke to marto, and general rotil had no memory of having ever heard it. think,--is there to be found an old dress of your wife? can it be done and trust no one? doña jocasta is clever when her fear is gone. with tula away from that door the rest is easy. the dawn is not so far off." "dawn is the time the women of palomitas will take the road," decided isidro, "for by the rising time of the sun the deliverer has said that his rest here is ended, and he goes on to soledad where josé perez will have a trembling heart of waiting." "will they tell him whose trap he is caught in?" "who knows? the deliverer has plans of his own making. it was not for idleness he was out of sight when the trap was sprung. he sleeps little, does ramon rotil!" in a mesquite tree by the cook house chickens began to crow a desultory warning. and isidro proceeded to subtract stealthily a skirt and shawl from wooden pegs set in the adobe wall where valencia slept. she startled him by stirring, and making weary inquiry as to whether it was the time. "not yet, my treasure, that fighting cock of clodomiro crows only because of a temper, and not for day. it is i will make the fire and set maria to the grinding. go you to your sleep." which valencia was glad to do, while her holiday wardrobe, a purple skirt bordered with green, and a deeply fringed black shawl, was confiscated for the stranger within their gates. thrusting the bundle back of an olla in the corridor he touched tula on the shoulder. "the señor waits you in the kitchen," he muttered in the indian tongue, and she arose without a word, and went silent as a snake along the shadowy way. it took courage for isidro to enter alone the room of doña jocasta, as that was the business of a woman. but kit had planned that, if discovered, the girl should apparently have no accomplices. this would protect tula and valencia should rotil suspect treachery if an occupant of the house should disappear. it would seem most natural that a stolen woman would seek to escape homeward when not guarded, and that was to serve as a reasonable theory. she slept with occasional shuddering sighs, as a child after sobbing itself to sleep. that sad little sound gave the old indian confidence in his errand. it might mean trouble, but she had dared trouble ere now. and there could not be continual sorrow for one so beautiful, and this might be the way out! she woke with a startled cry as he shook her bed, but it was quickly smothered as he whispered her name. "it is best you go to pray in the chapel room, and meet there the women of palomitas. others will go to pray for a judas; among many you may be hidden." she patted his arm, and arose in the dark, slipping on her clothes. he gave her the skirt and she donned that over her own dress. her teeth were chattering with nervous excitement, and when she had covered herself with the great shawl, her hand went out gropingly to him to lead her. as they did not pass the door of the _sala_, no notice was given them by rotil's guard. mexican women were ever at early prayers, or at the _metate_ grinding meal for breakfast, and that last possibility was ever welcome to men on a trail. in the kitchen kit rhodes was seeking information concerning clodomiro from tula, asking if it was true he would fetch the women of palomitas to petition rotil. "maybe so," she conceded, "but that work is not for a mind of a white man. thus i am not telling you clodomiro is the one to go; his father was what you call a priest,--but not of the church," she said hastily, "no, of other things." looking at her elfin young face in the flickering light of the hearth fire, he had a realization of vast vistas of "other things" leading backward in her inherited tendencies, the things known by his young comrade but not for the mind of a white man,--not even for the man whom miguel had trusted with the secret of el alisal. gold might occasionally belong to a very sacred shrine, but even sacred gold was not held so close in sanctuary as certain ceremonies dear to the indian thought. without further words kit rhodes knew that there were locked chambers in the brain of his young partner, and to no white man would be granted the key. "well, since he has gone for them, there is nothing to say, though the general may be ill pleased at visitors," hazarded kit. "also you and i know why we should keep all the good will coming our way, and risk none of it on experiments. go you back to your rest since there is not anything to be done. clodomiro is at palomitas by now, and you may as well sleep while the dawn is coming." she took the strip of roasted meat he offered her, and went back to her blanket on the tiles at the door of the now empty room. chapter xv the "judas" prayer at mesa blanca isidro was right when he said ramon rotil slept but little, for the very edge of the dawn was scarce showing in the east when he opened his eyes, moved his wounded leg stiffly, and then lay there peering between half-shut eyelids at the first tint of yellow in the sky. "chappo," he said curtly, "look beyond through that window. is it a band of horses coming down the mesa trail, or is it men?" "neither, my general, it is the women who are left of the rancherias of palomitas. they come to do a prayer service at an old altar here. once mesa blanca was a great hacienda with a chapel for the peons, and they like to come. it is a custom." "what saint's day is this?" "i am not wise enough, general, to remember all;--our women tell us." "um!--saint's day unknown, and all a pueblo on a trail to honor it! call fidelio." there was a whistle, a quick tread, and one of the men of palomitas stood in the door. "take two men and search every woman coming for prayers--guns have been carried under _serapes_." "but, general----" "search every woman,--even though your own mother be of them!" "general, my own mother is already here, and on her knees beyond there in the altar room. they pray for heart to ask of you their rights in soledad." "that is some joke, and it is too early in the morning for jokes with me. i'm too empty. what have palomitas women to do with rights in soledad?" "i have not been told," said fidelio evasively. "it is a woman matter. but as to breakfast, it is making, and the _tortillas_ already baking for you." "order all ready, and a long stirrup for that leg," said the general, moving it about experimentally. "it is not so bad, but marto can ride fasting to soledad for giving it to me." "but, my general, he asks----" "who is he to ask? after yesterday, silence is best for him. take him along. i will decide later if he is of further use--i may--need--a--man!" there was something deliberately threatening in his slow speech, and the guards exchanged glances. without doubt there would be executions at soledad! rotil got off the cot awkwardly, but disdaining help from the guards hopped to a chair against the wall between the two windows. isidro came in with a bowl of water, and a much embroidered towel for the use of the distinguished guest, followed by a vaquero with smoking _tortillas_, and tula with coffee. the general eyed the ornate drawnwork of the linen with its cobweb fingers, and grinned. "i am not a bridegroom this morning, _muchachita_, and need no necktie of such fineness for my beauty. bring a plainer thing, or none." tula's eyes lit up with her brief smile of approval. "i am telling them you are a man and want no child things, my general," she stated firmly, "and now it proves itself! on the instant the right thing comes." she darted out the door, bumping into rhodes, and without even the customary "with your permission" ran past him along the corridor, and, suddenly cautious, yet bold, she lifted the latch of the guest room where she had seen what looked to her like wealth of towels,--and felt sure doña jocasta would not miss one of the plainest. stealthy as a cat she circled the bed, scarce daring to glance at it lest the lady wake and look reproach on her. but she stepped on some hard substance on the rug by the wooden bench where the towels hung, and stooping, she picked it up, a little wooden crucifix, once broken, and then banded with silver to hold it solid. the silver was beautifully wrought and very delicate, surely the possession of a lady, and not a thing let fall by chance from the pocket of valencia. tula turned to lay it carefully on the pillow beside the señora, and then stared at the vacant bed. only an instant she halted and thrust her hand under the cover. "cold,--long time cold!" she muttered, and with towel and crucifix she sped back to the _sala_ where rotil was joking concerning the compliment she paid him. "don't make dandies of yourselves if you would make good with a woman," he said. "even that little crane of a _muchacha_ has brain,--and maybe heart for a man! she has boy sense." kit, seeing her dart into the guest room, stood in his tracks watching for her to emerge. she gave him one searching curious look as she sped past, and he realized in a flash that his glance should have been elsewhere, or at least more casual. she delivered the towel and retired, abashed and silent at the jests of the man she regarded with awe as the god-sent deliverer of her people. once in the corridor she looked into valencia's room, then in the kitchen where valencia and maria and other women were hastening breakfast, and last she sought clodomiro at the corral. "where did you take her, and how?" she demanded, and the youth, tired with the endless rides and tasks of two days and nights, was surly, and looked his impatience. "she, and she, and she! always women!" he grumbled. "have i not herded all of them from over the mesa at your order? is one making a slow trail, and must i go herding again?" she did not answer, but looked past him at the horses. "which did the señora ride from soledad?" she inquired, and clodomiro pointed out a mare of shining black, and also a dark bay ridden by marto. "trust him to take the best of the saddle herd," he remarked. "why have you come about it? is the señora wanting that black?" "maybe so; i was not told," she answered evasively. "but there is early breakfast, and it is best to get your share before some quick task is set,--and this day there are many tasks." the women were entering the portal at the rear, because the chapel of the old hacienda was at the corner. there was considerable commotion as fidelio enforced the order to search for arms;--if the deliverer suspected treachery, how could they hope for the sympathy they came to beg for? "tell him there is nothing hidden under our rags but hearts of sorrow," said the mother of fidelio. "ask that he come here where we kneel to give god thanks that el aleman is now in the power of the deliverer." "general rotil does not walk, and there is no room for a horse in this door. someone of you must speak for the others, and go where he is." the kneeling women looked at each other with troubled dark eyes. "valencia will be the best one," said an old woman. "she lost no one by the pale beast, but she knows us every one. marta, who was wife of miguel, was always mother and spoke for us to the padre, or anyone, but marta----" she paused and shook her head; some women wept. all knew marta was one who cried to them for vengeance. "that is true," said valencia. "marta was the best, but the child of marta is here, and knows more than we. she has done much,--more than many women. i think the daughter can speak best for the mother, and that the deliverer will listen." tula had knelt like the others, facing a little shelf on the wall where a carven saint was dimly illuminated by the light of a candle. all the room was very dark, for the dawn was yet but as a gray cloak over the world, and no window let in light. the girl stood up and turned toward valencia. "i will go," she said, "because it is my work to go when you speak, but the deliverer will ask for older tongues and i will come back to tell you that." without hesitation she walked out of the door, and the others bent their heads and there was the little click-click of rosary beads, slipping through their fingers in the dusk. among the many black-shawled huddled figures kneeling on the hard tiles, none noticed the one girl in the corner where shadows were deepest, and whose soft slender hands were muffled in valencia's fringes. kit stood until he noted that the searching for arms did not include her, and then crossed the patio with fidelio on his way to the corrals. if the black mare of doña jocasta could be gotten to the rear portal, together with the few burros of the older women, she might follow after unnoticed. the adobe wall at the back was over ten feet high and would serve as a shield, and the entire cavalcade would be a half mile away ere they came in range from the plaza. he planned to manage that the mare be there without asking help of any indian, and he thought he could do it while the guard was having breakfast. it would be easy for them to suppose that the black was his own. thus scheming for beauty astray in the desert, he chatted with fidelio concerning the pilgrimage of the palomitas women, and the possibility of rotil's patience with them, when tula crossed the patio hurriedly and entered the door of the _sala_. the general was finishing his breakfast, while isidro was crouched beside him rewinding the bandage after a satisfactory inspection of the wound. the swelling was not great, and rotil, eating cheerfully, was congratulating himself on having made a straight trail to the physician of mesa blanca; it was worth a lost day to have the healing started right. he was in that complacent mood when tula sped on silent bare feet through the _sala_ portal, and halted just inside, erect against the wall, gazing at him. "hola! _niña_ who has the measure of a man! the coffee was of the best. what errand is now yours?" "excellency, it is the errand too big for me, yet i am the one sent with it. they send me because the mother of me, and anita, my sister, were in the slave drive south, and the german and the perez men carried whips and beat the women on that trail." her brave young heart seemed to creep up in her throat and choke her at thought of those whips and the women who were driven, for her voice trembled into silence, and she stood there swallowing, her head bent, and her hands crossed over her breast, and clasped firmly there was the crucifix she had found in the guest room. little pagan that she was, she regarded it entirely as a fetish of much potency with white people, and surely she needed help of all gods when she spoke for the whole pueblo to this man who had power over many lives. rotil stared at her, frowning and bewildered. "what the devil,--" he began, but isidro looked up at him and nodded assent. "it is a truth she is telling, excellency. her father was miguel, once major-domo of this rancho. he died from their fight, and his women were taken." "oh, yes, that!--it happens in many states. but this german--who says the german and perez were the men to do it?" "i, tula, child of miguel, say it," stated the girl. "with my eyes i saw him,--with my ears i heard the sister call out his name. the name was don adolf. over his face was tied a long beard, so! but it was the man,--the friend of don josé perez of soledad; all are knowing that. he is now your man, and the women ask for him." "what women?" "all the women of palomitas. on their knees in the chapel they make prayers. excellency, it robs you of nothing that you give them a judas for holy week. i am sent to ask that of the deliverer." she slid down to her knees on the tiles, and looked up at him. he stared at her, frowning and eyeing her intently, then chuckled, and grinned at the others. "did i not tell you she had the heart of a boy? and now you see it! get up off your knees, _chiquita_. why should you want a judas? it is a sweetheart i must find for you instead." "i am not getting up," said tula stolidly. "i am kneeling before you, my general. see! i pray to you on the tiles for that judas. all the women are praying. also the old women have made medicine to send el aleman once more on this trail, and see you,--it has come to pass! you have him in your trap, but he is ours. excellency, come once and see all the women on their knees before the saint as i am here by you. we make prayers for one thing:--the judas for our holy day!" "you young devil!" he grinned. "i wish you were a boy. here, you men help me, or get me a crutch. i will see these women on their knees, and if you don't lie----" with the help of fidelio and a cane, he started very well, and nodded to kit. "you pick well, amigo," he observed. "she is a wildcat, and of interest. come you and see. _por dios!_ i've seen a crucifixion of the penitentes and helped dig the hidden grave. also i have heard of the 'judas' death on holy friday, but never before this has so young a woman creature picked a man for it,--a man alive! courage of the devil!" tula arose, and went before them across the plaza to the door of the chapel. kit knew this was the right moment for him to disappear and get the black mare back of the wall, but rotil kept chuckling to him over the ungirlish request, and so pointedly included him in the party that there seemed no excuse available for absenting himself. a flush of rose swept upward to the zenith heralding the sun, but in the adobe room, with its door to the west, no light came, except by dim reflection, and as tula entered and the men stood at the threshold, they blocked the doorway of even that reflection, and the candle at the saint's shrine shone dimly over the bent heads of the kneeling women. rotil stood looking about questioningly; he had not expected to see so many. then at the sound of the click of the prayer beads, some recollection of some past caused him to automatically remove his wide-brimmed hat. "mothers," said tula quietly, "the deliverer has come." there was a half-frightened gasp, and dark faces turned toward the door. "he comes as i told you, because i am no one by myself, and he could not know i was sent by you. i am not anyone among people, and he does not believe. only people of importance should speak with a soldier who is a general." "no, _por dios_, my boy, you speak well!" said rotil, clapping his hand on her shoulder, "but your years are not many and it cannot be you know the thing you ask for." "i know it," asserted tula with finality. an old woman got up stiffly, and came towards him. "we are very poor, yet even our children are robbed from us--that is why we pray. don ramon, your mother was simple as we, and had heart for the poor. our lives are wasted for the masters, and our women children are stolen for the sons of masters. that is done, and we wish they may find ways to kill themselves on the trail. but the man who drove them with whips is now your man--and we mothers ask him of you." the wizened old creature trembled as she spoke, and scarce lifted her eyes. she made effort to speak further, but words failed, and she slipped to her knees and the beads slid from her nervous fingers to the tiles. she was very old, and she had come fasting across the mesa in the chill before the dawn; her two grandchildren had been driven south with the slaves--one had been a bride but a month--and they killed her man as they took her. valencia came to her and wiped the tears from her cheeks, patting her on the back as one would soothe a child, and then she looked at rotil, nodding her head meaningly, and spoke. "it is all true as tia tomasa is saying, señor. her children are gone, and this child of capitan miguel knows well what she asks for. the days of the sorrows of jesus are coming soon, and the judas we want for that day of the days will not be made of straw to be bound on the wild bull's back, and hung when the ride is over. no, señor, we know the judas asked of you by this daughter of miguel;--it is the pale beast called el aleman. for many, many days have we made prayers like this, before every shrine, that the saints would send him again to our valley. you, señor, have brought answer to that prayer. you have him trapped, but he belongs only to us women. the saints listened to us, and you are in it. men often are in prayers like that, and have no knowing of it, señor." kit listened in amazement to this account of prayers to mexican saints for a judas to hang on good friday! after four centuries of foreign priesthood, and foreign saints on the shrines, the mental effect on the aborigines had not risen above crucifixion occasionally on some proxy for their supreme earthly god, or mad orgies of vengeance on a proxy for judas. the great drama of calvary had taught them only new forms of torture and the certainty that vengeance was a debt to be paid. conrad was to them the pale beast whipping women into slavery,--and as supreme traitor to human things must be given a judas death! he shivered as he listened, and looked at the eyes of women staring out of the dusk for the answer to their prayers. "_por dios!_" muttered rotil, half turning to kit, yet losing nothing of the pleading strained faces. "does your head catch all of that, señor? can't women beat hell? and women breed us all! what's the answer?" "in this case it's up to you, general," replied kit. "i'm glad the responsibility is not mine. even as it is, women who look like these are likely to walk through my dreams for many a night!" rotil gloomed at them, puzzled, frowning, and at times the flicker of a doubtful smile would change his face without lighting it. no one moved or spoke. "here!" he said at last, "this child and two women have spoken, but there are over twenty of you here. three out of twenty is no vote--hold up your hands. come, don't hang back, or you won't get judas! there are no priests here, and no spies for priests, and there have been words enough. show your hands!" kit looked back into the darkest corner, wondering what the vote of jocasta would be; her mother was said to be indian, or half indian, and her hatred of the german would help her understand these darker tribal sisters. but in the many lifted hands her own could not be seen and he felt curiously relieved, though it was no affair of his, and one vote either way would weigh nothing. rotil looked at the lifted hands, and grunted. "you win, _muchacha_," he said to tula. "i think you're the devil, and it's you made the women talk. you can come along to soledad and fetch their judas back to them." "my thanks to you, and my service, excellency," said tula. "i will go and be glad that i go for that. but i swear by the body and blood, and i swear on this, that i only pay the debt of my people to el aleman." she was helping old tia tomasa to her feet with one hand, and held up the little crucifix to him with the other. she had noted that white people make oath on a cross when they want to be believed, and she wished with all her pagan heart to be believed by this man who had been a sort of legendary hero to her many months before she had seen his face, or dared hope he would ever grant favor to her--tula! but whatever effect she hoped to secure by emphasizing her oath on the christian symbol, she was not prepared for the rough grasp on her arm, or the harsh command of his voice. "holy god!" he growled, "why do you thrust that in my face,--you?" "excellency--i--" began tula, but he shook her as a cat would shake a mouse. "answer me! how comes it in your hands?" "i found it, señor--and did no harm." "when? where?" "why--i--i----" a note of warning flashed from some wireless across the girl's mind, for it was no little thing by which ramon rotil had suddenly become a growling tiger with his hand near her throat. "where?" he repeated. "on a trail, señor." "when?" "three days ago." "where?" "at the place where the soledad trail leaves that of mesa blanca." rotil stared at her, and then turned to kit. "do you know of this thing?" "no, general, i don't," he said honestly enough, "but these women have many such----" "no," contradicted rotil, "they haven't,--there's a difference." he had seized the crucifix and held it, while he scanned the faces, and then brought his gaze back to tula. "you will show me that place, and prove yourself, _muchacha_," he said grimly. "there's something--something--do you know, you damned young crane, that i can have my men shoot you against the wall out there if you lie to me?" "yes, my general, but it is better to give lead to enemies--and not friends. also a knife is cheaper." "silence! or you may get both!" he growled. "here, look well--you--all of you! have any of you but this creature seen it?" he held it out, and valencia, who was nearest, caught sight of it. "ai! tula!" she said in reproof, "you to take that when the poor----" tula flashed one killing look at her, and valencia stopped dead, and turned an ashen gray, and rotil watching! "ah--ha! i thought it!" he jeered. "now whose trick is it to make me a fool? come, sift this thing! you," to valencia, "have looked on this before. whose is it?" "señor--i----" "so!" he said with a sort of growl in the voice, "something chokes you? look at me, not at the others! also listen:--if a lie is told to me, every liar here will go before a firing squad. whose is this crucifix?" valencia's eyes looked sorrow on tula, still under his hand, and then on the wood and silver thing held up before her. the sun was just rolling hot and red above the mountains, and rotil's shaggy head was outlined in a sort of curious radiance as the light struck the white wall across the patio at his back. even the silver of the crucifix caught a glimmer of it, and to valencia he looked like the warrior padres of whom her grandmother used to tell, who would thunder hell's terrors on the frightened neophytes until the bravest would grovel in the dust and do penances unbelievable. that commanding picture came between her and rotil,--the outlaw and soldier and patriot. she stumbled forward with a pleading gesture towards tula. "excellency, the child does no harm. she is a stranger in the house. she has picked it up perhaps when lost by the señora, and----" "what señora?" "she who is most sorrowful guest here, excellency, and her arms still bruised from the iron chains of el aleman." "and her name?" "excellency, it is the woman saved from your man by the americano señor here beside you. and,--she asked to be nameless while sheltered at mesa blanca." "but not to me! so this is a game between you two--" and he looked from tula to kit with sinister threat in his eyes, "it is then _your_ woman who----" "ramon--no!" said a voice from the far shadows, and the black shawled figure stood erect and cast off the muffling disguise. her pale face shone like a star above all the kneeling indians. "god of heaven!" he muttered, and his hand fell from the shoulder of tula. "you--_you_ are one of the women who knelt here for vengeance?" "for justice," she said, "but i was here for a reason different;--it was a place to hide. no one helped me, let the child go! give these women what they ask or deny them, but send them away. to them i am nameless and unknown. you can see that even my presence is a thing of fear to them,--let them go!" he stared at her across those frightened dark faces. it was true they drew away from her in terror; her sudden uprising was as if she had materialized from the cold tiles of the chapel floor. kit noted that their startled eyes were wide with awe, and knew that they also felt they were gazing on a beauty akin to that of the pictured saints. even the glimmer of the candle touching her perfect cheek and brow added to the unearthly appearance there in the shadows. but ramon rotil gazed at her across a wider space than that marked by the kneeling indian women! four years were bridged by that look, and where the others saw a pale madonna, he saw a barefooted child weaving flowers of the mountain for a shrine where poverty prevented a candle. he had sold maize to buy candles, and shoes for her feet, and she had given him the little brown wooden crucifix. once in the height of her reign of beauty in the hacienda of perez, a ragged brown boy from the hills had lain in wait for her under the oleanders, and thrust a tightly bound package of corn husks into her hand, and her maid regarded with amazement the broken fragments of a wooden cross so poor and cheap that even the most poverty stricken of the peons could own one, and her wonder was great that her mistress wept over the broken pieces and strove to fit them together again. and now it lay in his hand, bound and framed in silver wires delicately wrought. he had traveled farther than she during the years between, and the memento of the past made him know it. "ramon, let them go!" she repeated with gentle appeal. "yes," he said, taking a deep breath as if rousing from a trance, "that is best. child--see to it, and have your way. señor, will you arrange that the señora has what comfort there is here? our horses wait, and work waits----" he saw valencia go with protecting, outstretched hands to jocasta, and turned away. jocasta never moved. to save her friends from his rage she had spoken, and to her the big moment of humiliation dreamed of and feared had come and been lived through. he had seen her on her knees among all that brown herd made up of such women as his mother and her mother had been. from mistress of a palace on an estate large as many european kingdoms she had become an outcast with marks of fetters on her arms, while he was knelt to as a god by the simple people of the ranges, and held power of life and death over a wide land! kit could not even guess at all the tempestuous background of the drama enacted there in the chill of the chapel at sunrise, but the clash of those two outlaw souls suddenly on guard before each other, thrilled him by the unexpected. rotil, profane, ruthless, and jeering, had suddenly grown still before the face of a woman from whom he turned away. "late! an hour late!" he grumbled, hobbling back to the plaza. "what did i tell you? hell of women! well, your damned little crane got what she started after--huh! why did she lie?" "well, you know, general," said kit doubtfully, "that the enmity between you and josé perez is no secret. even the children talk of it, and wish success to you--i've heard that one do it! doña jocasta is of a perez household, so it was supposed you would make prisoner anyone of their group. and tula--well, i reckon tula listened last night to some rather hard things the señora has lived through at soledad, and knew she would rather die here than go back there." kit realized he was on delicate ground when trying to explain any of the actions of any of the black and tan group to each other, but he sought the safest way out, and drew a breath of relief at his success, for rotil listened closely, nodding assent, yet frowning in some perplexity. "um! what does that mean,--rather die than go back?" he demanded. "no one has told me why the lady has come to mesa blanca, or what she is doing here. i don't see--what the devil ails you?" for kit stared at him incredulous, and whistled softly. "haven't you got it _yet_?" he asked. "last night you joked about a girl marto stole, and we stole from him again. don't you realize now who that girl is?" "_jocasta!_" it was the first time he had uttered her name and there was a low terrible note in his voice, half choked by smothered rage. "but how could marto,--or why should--" he began and then halted, checked by various conflicting facts, and stared frowningly at rhodes who again strove to explain that of which he had little knowledge. "general, i reckon marto was square to your interests about everything but the woman perez and conrad sent north into the desert, and it was marto's job to see that she never left it alive. evidently he did not report that extra task to you, for he meant to save the woman for himself. but even at that, general, you've got to give him credit. he says she bewitched him, and he couldn't kill her, and he wouldn't let the others have her. also he risked a whale of a beating up, and some lead souvenirs, in trying to save her, even if it was for himself. so you see, marto was only extra human, and is a good man. his heart's about broke to think he failed you, and i'll bet he wouldn't fail you again in a thousand years!" "yes, you have the right of that," agreed rotil. "i did not know; i don't know yet what this means about perez and--and----" "none of us do, general," stated kit. "i heard valencia say it must be something only a confessor could know,--but it must be rather awful at that! she was started north like an insane criminal, hidden and in chains. she explains nothing, but general, you have now the two men at soledad who made the plan, and you have here marto who was their tool--and perhaps--at soledad--" he paused questioning. "sure! that is what will be done," decided rotil. "see to it, you, after we are gone. bring doña jocasta to soledad with as much show of respect as can be mustered in a poor land, your girl and isidro's wife to go along, and any comforts you can find. yes, that is the best! some way we will get to the bottom of this well. she must know a lot if they did not dare let her live, and marto--well, you make a good talk for him, straight too--marto will go with me. tell no one anything. make your own plans. by sunset i will have time for this mystery of the chains of doña jocasta. be there at soledad by sunset." "at your command, general." then chappo and fidelio helped their leader into the saddle. marto, crestfallen and silently anticipating the worst, was led out next; a _reata_ passed around the saddle horn and circling his waist was fastened back of the saddle. his hands were free to guide his horse, but chappo, with a wicked looking gun and three full cartridge belts, rode a few paces back of him to see that he made no forbidden use of them. kit watched them ride east while the long line of women of palomitas took up the trail over the mesa to the north. their high notes of a song came back to him,--one of those wailing chants of a score of verses dear to the mexican heart. in any other place he would have deemed it a funeral dirge with variations, but with indian women at sunrise it meant tuneful content. kit listened with a shiver. because of his own vagrant airs they had called him "el pajarito" when he first drifted south over mexican trails,--but happy erratic tunefulness was smothered for him temporarily. over the vast land of riches, smiling in the sun, there brooded the threats of indian gods chained, inarticulate, reaching out in unexpected ways for expression through the dusky devotees at hidden shrines. the fact that occasionally they found expression through some perverted fragment from an imported cult was a gruesome joke on the importers. but under the eagle of mexico, whose wide wings were used as shield by the german vultures across seas, jokes were not popular. german educators and foreign priests with austrian affiliations, saw to that. the spiritual harvest in mexico was not always what the planters anticipated,--for curious crops sprung up in wild corners of the land, as indian grains wrapped in a mummy's robe spring to life under methods of alien culturists. vague drifting thoughts like this followed kit's shiver of repulsion at that indian joy song over the promise of a veritable live judas. on him they could wreak a personal vengeance, and go honestly to confession in some future day, with the conviction that they had, by the sufferings they could individually and collectively invent for judas, in some vague but laudable manner mitigated the sufferings of a white god far away whose tribulations were dwelt upon much by the foreign priesthood. he sensed this without analysis, for his was not the analytical mind. what brain kit had was fairly well occupied by the fact that his own devoted partner was the moving spirit of that damnable pagan _come, all ye_--drifting back to him from the glorified mesa, flushed golden now by the full sun. clodomiro came wearily up from the corral. the boy had gone without sleep or rest until his eyes were heavy and his movements listless. like the women of palomitas he also had worked overtime at the call of tula, and kit wondered at the concerted activity--no one had held back or blundered. "clodomiro," he said passing the lad a cigarette and rolling one for himself from good new tobacco secured from fidelio, "how comes it that even the women of years come in the night for prayers when you ride for them? do they give heed to any boy who calls?" clodomiro gave thanks for the cigarette, but was too well bred to light it in the presence of an elder or a superior. he smelled it with pleasure, thrust it over his ear and regarded rhodes with perfectly friendly and apparently sleepy black eyes. "not always, señor, but when tula sends the call of miguel, all are surely coming, and also making the prayer." "the call of miguel? why--miguel is dead." "that is true, señor, but he was head man, and he had words of power, also the old indians listened. now tula has the words, and as you see,--the words are still alive! i am not knowing what they mean,--the words,--but when tula tells me, i take them." "_o tippecanoe, and tyler too!_" hummed kit studying the boy. "what's in a word? do you mean that you take a trail to carry words you don't understand, because a girl younger than you tells you to?" the boy nodded indifferently. "yes, señor, it is my work when it is words of old prayer, and tula is sending them. it would be bad not to go, a quicksand would surely catch my horse, or i might die from the bite of a _sorrilla rabioso_, or evil ghosts might lure me into wide _medanos_ where i would seek trails forever, and find only my own! words can do that on a man! and tula has the words now." "indeed! that's a comfortable chum to have around--not! and have you no fear?" "not so much. i am very good," stated clodomiro virtuously. "some day maybe i take her for my woman;--her clan talks about it now. she has almost enough age, and--you see!" he directed the attention of rhodes to the strips of red and green and pink calico banding his arms, their fluttering ends very decorative when he moved swiftly. "oh, yes, i've been admiring them. very pretty," said kit amicably, not knowing the significance of it, but conscious of the wide range one might cover in a few minutes of simple sonora ranch life. from the tragic and weird to the childishly inane was but a step. clodomiro passed on to the kitchen, and kit smoked his cigarette and paced the outer corridor, striving for plans to move forward with his own interests, and employ the same time and the same trail for the task set by ramon rotil. rotil had stated that the escort of doña jocasta must be as complete as could be arranged. this meant a dueña and a maid at least, and as he had bidden tula have her way with her "judas," it surely meant that tula must go to soledad. very well so far, and as rotil would certainly not question the extent of the outfit taken along, why not include any trifles tula and he chanced to care for? he remembered also that there were some scattered belongings of the whitely's left behind in the haste of departure. well, a few mule loads would be a neighborly gift to take north when he crossed the border, and soledad was nearer the border! it arranged itself very well indeed, and as tula emerged from the patio smoothing out an old newspaper fragment discarded by fidelio, and chewing _chica_ given her by clodomiro, he hailed her with joy. "blessed indian angel," he remarked appreciatively, "you greased the toboggan for several kinds of hell for us this day of our salvation, but your jinx was on the job, and turned the trick our way! do you know you are the greatest little mascot ever held in captivity?" but tula didn't know what "mascot" meant, and was very much occupied with the advertisement of a suit and cloak house in the old nogales paper in which some trader at the railroad had wrapped fidelio's tobacco. it had the picture of an alluring lady in a dress of much material slipping from the shoulders and dragging around the feet. to the aboriginal mind that seemed a very great waste, for woven material was hard to come by in the desert. she attempted an inquiry concerning that wastefulness of americanas, but got no satisfactory reply. kit took the tattered old paper from her hand, and turned it over because of the face of singleton staring at him from the other side of the page. it was the account of the inquest, and in the endeavor to add interest the local reporters had written up a column concerning singleton's quarrel with the range boss, rhodes,--and the mysterious disappearance of the latter across the border! there was sympathetic mention made of miss wilfreda bernard, heiress of granados, and appreciative mention of the efficient manager, conrad, who had offered all possible assistance to the authorities in the sad affair. the general expression of the article was regret that the present situation along the border prevented further investigation concerning rhodes. the said rhodes appeared to be a stranger in the locality, and had been engaged by the victim of the crime despite the objections of manager conrad. there followed the usual praise and list of virtues of the dead man, together with reference to the illustrious spanish pioneer family from whom his wife had been descended. it was the first time kit had been aware of the importance of billie's genealogy, and remembering the generally accepted estimates of spanish pride, he muttered something about a "rose leaf princess, and a tennessee hill-billy!" "it's some jolt, two of them!" he conceded. _twinkle, twinkle little star, how i wonder what you are!_ "they say bunches of stars and planets get on a jamboree and cross each other's trail at times, and that our days are rough or smooth according to their tantrums. wish i knew the name of the luminary raising hell for me this morning! it must be doing a highland fling with a full moon, and i'm being plunked by every scattered spark!" chapter xvi the secret of soledad chapel it took considerable persuasion to prevail upon doña jocasta that a return to soledad would be of any advantage to anybody. to her it was a place fearful and accursed. "but, señora, a padre who sought to be of service to you is still there, a prisoner. in the warring of those wild men who will speak for him? the men of soledad would have killed him but for their superstitions, and rotil is notorious for his dislike of priests." "i know," she murmured sadly. "there are some good ones, but he will never believe. in his scales the bad ones weigh them down." "but this one at soledad?" "ah, yes, señor, he spoke for me,--padre andreas." "and a prisoner because of you?" "that is true. you do well to remind me of that. my own sorrows sink me in selfishness, and it is a good friend who shows me my duty. yes, we will go. god only knows what is in the heart of ramon rotil that he wishes it, but that which he says is law today wherever his men ride, and i want no more sorrow in the world because of me. we will go." valencia had gone placidly about preparations for the journey from the moment kit had expressed the will of the deliverer. to hesitate when he spoke seemed a foolish thing, for in the end he always did the thing he willed, and to form part of the escort for doña jocasta filled her with pride. she approved promptly the suggestion that certain bed and table furnishings go to soledad for use of the señora, and later be carried north to mrs. whitely, whose property they were. as capitan of the outfit, kit bade her lay out all such additions to their state and comfort, and he would personally make all packs and decide what animals, chests, or provisions could be taken. this was easier managed than he dared hope. clodomiro rode after mules and returned with benito and mariano at his heels, both joyously content to leave the planting of fields and offer their young lives to the army of the deliverer. isidro was busy with the duties of the ranch stock, and there was only tula to see bags of nuggets distributed where they would be least noticed among the linen, indian rugs, baskets and such family possessions easiest carried to their owner. he marked the packs to be opened, and tula, watching, did not need to be told. the emotions of the night and the uncertainty of what lay ahead left rhodes and doña jocasta rather silent as they took the trail to the gruesome old hacienda called by doña jocasta so fearful and accursed. many miles went by with only an occasional word of warning between them where the way was bad, or a word of command for the animals following. "in the night i rode without fear where i dare not look in the sunlight," said jocasta drawing back from a narrow ledge where stones slipped under the hoofs of the horses to fall a hundred feet below in a dry cañon. "yes, señora, the night was kind to all of us," returned kit politely. "even the accidents worked for good except for the pain to you." "that is but little, and my shoulder of no use to anyone. general rotil is very different,--a wound to a soldier means loss of time. it is well that shot found him among friends for it is said that when a wolf has wounds the pack unites to tear him to pieces, and there are many,--many pesos offered to the traitor who will trap rotil by any lucky accident." "yet he took no special care at mesa blanca." "who knows? he brought with him only men of the district as guard. be sure they knew every hidden trail, and every family. ramon rotil is a coyote for the knowing of traps." she spoke as all altar spoke, with a certain pride in the ability of the man she had known as a burro driver of the sierras. for three years he had been an outlaw with a price on his head, and as a rebel general the price had doubled many times. "with so many poor, how comes it that no informer has been found? the reward would be riches untold to a poor _paisano_." "it might be to his widow," said doña jocasta, "but no sons of his, and no brothers would be left alive." "true. i reckon the friends of rotil would see to that! faithful hearts are the ones he picks for comrades. i heard an old-timer say the deliverer has that gift." she looked at him quickly, and away again, and went silent. he wondered if it was true that there had been love between these two, and she had been unfaithful. love and doña jocasta were fruitful themes for the imagination of any man. valencia was having the great adventure of her life in her journey to soledad, and she chattered to tula as a maiden going to a marriage. three people illustrious in her small world were at once to be centered on the stage of war before her eyes. she told tula it was a thing to make songs of,--the two men and the most beautiful woman! when they emerged from the cañon into the wide spreading plain, with the sierras looming high and blue beyond, the eyes of kit and tula met, and then turned toward their own little camp in the lap of the mother range. all was flat blue against the sky there, and no indications of cañon or gulch or pocket discernible. even as they drew nearer to the hacienda, and kit surreptitiously used the precious field glasses, thus far concealed from all new friends of the desert, he found difficulty in locating their hill of the treasure, and realized that their fears of discovery in the little cañon had been groundless. in the far-away time when the giant aliso had flourished there by the cañon stream, its height might have served to mark the special ravine where it grew, but the lightning sent by pagan gods had annihilated that landmark forever, and there was no other. the glint of tears shone in the eyes of tula, and she rode with downcast eyes, crooning a vagrant indian air in which there were bird calls, and a whimpering long-drawn tremulo of a baby coyote caught in a trap, a weird ungodly improvisation to hear even with the shining sun warming the world. kit concluded she was sending her brand of harmony to miguel and the ghosts on guard over the hidden trail.--and he rather wished she would stop it! even the chatter of valencia grew silent under the spell of the girl's gruesome intonings,--ill music for her entrance to a new portal of adventure. "it sounds of death," murmured doña jocasta, and made the sign of the cross. "the saints send that the soul to go next has made peace with god! see, señor, we are truly crossing a place of death as she sings. that beautiful valley of the green border is the _sumidero_,--the quicksands from hidden springs somewhere above," and she pointed to the blue sierras. "i think that is the grave josé meant for me at soledad." "nice cheerful end of the trail--not!" gloomed kit strictly to himself. "that little imp is whining of trouble like some be-deviled prophetess." afterwards he remembered that thought, and wished he could forget! blue shadows stretched eastward across the wide zacatan meadows, and the hacienda on the far mesa, with its white and cream adobe walls, shone opal-like in the lavender haze of the setting sun. kit rhodes had timed the trip well and according to instruction of the general, but was a bit surprised to find that his little cavalcade was merely part of a more elaborate plan arranged for sunset at soledad. a double line of horsemen rode out from the hacienda to meet them, a rather formidable reception committee as they filed in soldier-like formation over the three miles of yellow and green of the spring growths, and halted where the glint of water shone in a dam filled from wells above. their officer saluted and rode forward, his hat in his hand as he bowed before doña jocasta. "general rotil presents to you his compliments, señora perez, and sends his guard as a mark of respect when you are pleased to ride once more across your own lands." "my thanks are without words, señor. i appreciate the honor shown to me. my generalissimo will answer for me." she indicated kit with a wan smile, and her moment of hesitation over, his title reminded him that no name but el pajarito had been given him by his indian friends. that, and the office of manager of mesa blanca, was all that served as his introduction to her, and to rotil. with the old newspaper in his pocket indicating that kit rhodes was the only name connected with the murder at granados, he concluded it was just as well. the guard drew to either side, and the officer and kit, with doña jocasta between them, rode between the two lines, followed by tula and valencia. then the guard fell in back of them, leaving clodomiro with the pack animals and the indian boys to follow after in the dust. doña jocasta was pale, and her eyes sought kit's in troubled question, but she held her head very erect, and the shrouding lace veil hid all but her eyes from the strangers. "señor pajarito," she murmured doubtfully. "the sun is still shining, and there are no chains on my wrists,--otherwise this guard gives much likeness to my first arrival at the hacienda of soledad!" "i have a strong belief that no harm is meant to you by the general commanding," he answered, "else i would have sought another trail, and these men look friendly." "god send they be so!" "they have all the earmarks,--and look!" they were near enough the hacienda to see men emerge from the portal, and one who limped and leaned on a cane, moved ahead of the others and stood waiting. "it is an honor that i may bid you welcome to your own estate, doña jocasta," he said grimly. "we have only fare of soldiers to offer you at first, but a few days and good couriers can remedy that." "i beg that you accept my thanks, _commandante_," she murmured lowly. "the trail was not of my choosing, and it is an ill time for women to come journeying." "the time is a good time," he said bluntly, "for there is a limit to my hours here. and in one of them i may do service for you." his men stood at either side watching. there were wild tales told of ramon rotil and women who crossed or followed his trail, but here was the most beautiful of all women riding to his door and he gave her no smile,--merely motioned to the americano that he assist her from the saddle. "the supper is ready, and your woman and the priest will see that care is given for your comfort," he continued. "afterwards, in the _sala_----" she bent her head, and with kit beside her passed on to the inner portal. there a dark priest met her and reached out his hand. "no welcome is due me, padre andreas," she said brokenly. "i turned coward and tried to save myself." "daughter," he returned with a wry smile at kit, and a touch of cynic humor, "you had right in going. the lieutenant would have had no pleasure in adding me to his elopement, and, as we hear,--your stolen trail carried you to good friends." kit left them there and gave his attention to space for the packs and outfit, but learned that the general had allotted to him the small corral used in happier days for the saddle horses of the family. there was a gate to it and a lock to the gate. chappo had been given charge, and when all was safely bestowed, he gave the key to the american. the brief twilight crept over the world, and candles were lit when kit returned to the corridor. rotil was seated, giving orders to men who rode in and dismounted, and others who came out from supper, mounted and rode away. it was the guard from a wide-flung arc bringing report of sentinels stationed at every pass and water hole. padre andreas was there presenting some appeal, and to judge by his manner he was not hopeful of success. yet spoke as a duty of his office and said so. "what is your office to me?" asked rotil coldly. "do your duty and confess him when the time comes if that is his wish. it is more than he would have given to her or the foreman who stored the ammunition. him he had killed as the german had miguel herrara killed on the border,--and herrara had been faithful to that gun running for months. when man or woman is faithful to josé perez long enough to learn secrets, he rewards them with death. a dose of his own brew will be fit medicine." "but the woman,--she is safe. she is----" "yes, very safe!" agreed rotil, sneering. "shall i tell you, pious father, how safe she is? the cholo who took food to perez and that german dog has brought me a message. see, it is on paper, and is clear for any to read. you--no not you, but don pajarito here shall read it. he is a neutral, and not a padre scheming to save the soul of a man who never had a soul!" kit held it to the light, read it, and returned it to rotil. "i agree with you, general. he offers her to you in exchange for his own freedom." "yes, and to pay for that writing i had him chained where he could see her enter the plaza as a queen, if we had queens in mexico! you had an unseen audience for your arrival. the guard reports that the german friend of perez seems to love you, don pajarito, very much indeed." "sure he does. here is the mark of one of his little love pats with a monkey wrench," and kit parted his hair to show the scar of the granados assault. "i got that for interfering when he was trying to kill his employer's herds with ground glass in their feed." "so? no wonder if he goes in a rage to see you riding as a lady's caballero while he feels the weight of chains in a prison. this world is but a little place!" "that is true," said padre andreas, "regarding kit, for the story of the horses was told to me by doña jocasta here in soledad!" "how could that be?" demanded rotil. "is it not true you met the lady first at mesa blanca?" "as you say," said kit, alert at the note of suspicion, "if the lady knows aught of granados, it is a mystery to me, and is of interest." "not so much a mystery," said the priest. "conrad boasted much when glasses were emptied with perez on the hermosillo rancho, and doña jocasta heard. he told the number of cavalry horses killed by his men, also the owner of that ranch of granados who had to be silenced for the cause." "thanks for those kind words, padre," said kit. "if doña jocasta has a clear memory of that boasting, she may save a life for me." "so?" said rotil speculatively. "we seem finding new trails at soledad. whose life?" "the partner of a chum of mine," stated kit lightly, as he did some quick thinking concerning the complications likely to arise if he was regarded as a possible murderer hiding from the law. "my own hunch is that conrad himself did it." "have you any idea of a trap for him?" "n-no, general, unless he was led to believe that i was under guard here. he might express his sentiments more freely if he thought i would never get back across the border alive." "good enough! this offer from perez is to go into the keeping of doña jocasta. you've the duty of taking it to her. we have not yet found that ammunition." "well, it did cross the border, and somebody got it." "he says it was moved to hermosillo before juan gonsalvo, the overseer, died." "was shot, you mean, after it was cached." "maybe so, but he offers to trade part of it for his liberty, and deliver the goods north of querobabi." "yes, general,--into the bodies of your men if you trust him." rotil chuckled. "you are not so young as you look, don pajarito, and need no warning. it is the room next the _sala_ where i will have perez and conrad brought. the señora can easily overhear what is said. it may be she will have the mind to help when she sees that offer he made." "it would seem so, yet--women are strange! they go like the padre, to prayers when a life is at stake." "some women, and some priests, boy," said the dark priest. "it may be that you do not know doña jocasta well." this remark appeared to amuse rotil, for he smiled grimly and with a gesture indicated that they were to join doña jocasta. she was rested and refreshed by a good supper. valencia and elena, the cook, had waited upon her and the latter waxed eloquent over the stupendous changes at soledad from the time of doña jocasta's supper the previous day. many of the angry men had been ready to start after marto who had cheated them, when a courier rode in with the word that don josé and señor conrad were close behind. then the surprise of all when don josé was captured, and it was seen that elena had been cooking these many days, not for simple vaqueros, but for some soldiers of the revolution by which peace and plenty was to come to all the land! it was a beautiful dream, and the deliverer was to make it come true! tula sat in the shadow against the wall, like some slender indian carving, mute and expressionless while the eyes of the woman rolled as the two old friends exchanged their wonder tales of the night and day! elena made definite engagement to be with the "judas" trailers on the dark friday, and both breathed blessings on rotil who had promised them the right man for the hanging. it was this cheerful topic kit entered upon with the written note from perez to the general. he had no liking for his task, as his eyes rested on doña jocasta, beautiful, resigned and detached from the scene about her. he remembered what rotil had said scoffingly of saints lifted from shrines--a man never forgot that shrine was empty! "mine is a thankless task, señora, but the general decided you are the best keeper of this," and he gave to her the scribbled page torn from a note book. she took it and held it unread, looking at him with dark tragic eyes. "i have fear of written words, señor, and would rather hear them spoken. so many changes have come that i dread new changes. no matter where my cage is moved, it is still a cage to me," she said wistfully. "i've a hunch, doña jocasta, that the bars of that cage are going to be broken for you," ventured kit, taking the seat she indicated, "and this note may be one of the weapons to do it. evidently señor perez has had some mistaken information concerning the stealing of you from here;--he thought it was by the general's order. so mistaken was he that he thought you were the object of rotil's raid on soledad, and for his own freedom he has offered to give you, and half his stock of ammunition, to general ramon rotil, and agree to a truce between their factions." "ah! he offers to make gift of me to the man he hates," she said after a long silence. "and the guns and ammunition,--he also surrenders them?" "he offers--but it is written here! since the guns, however, have been taken south, he cannot give them; he can only promise them, until such time----" "ho!" she said scornfully. "is that the tale he tells? it is true there are guns in the south, but guns are also elsewhere! he forgets, does josé perez,--or else he plays for time. this offer," and she referred to the note, "it is not written since we arrived--no. it was written earlier, when he thought i was held by that renegade far in the desert." "i reckon that is true, señora, for after receiving it, rotil had him chained in a room fronting the plaza that he might see you enter soledad with honors." "ramon rotil did that?" she mused, looking at the note thoughtfully, "and he gives to me the evidence against josé? señor, in the perez lands we hear only evil things and very different things about rotil. they would say this paper was for sale, but not for a gift. and--he gives it to me!" kit also remembered different things and evil things told of rotil, but they were not for discussion with a lady. he had wondered a bit that it was not the padre who was given the message to transmit, yet suddenly he realized that even the padre might have tried to make it a question of barter, for the padre wanted help for his priestly office in the saving of perez' soul, and incidentally of his life. "yes, señora, it seems a free-will offering, and he said to tell you it would be in the room adjoining this that perez would be questioned as to the war material. rotil's men have searched, and his officers have questioned, but perez evidently thinks rotil will not execute him, as a ransom will pay much better." "that is true, death pays no one--no one!" her voice was weighted with sadness, and kit wondered what the cloud was under which she lived. the padre evidently knew, but none of rotil's men. it could not be the mere irregularity of her life with perez, for to the peon mind she was the great lady of a great hacienda, and wife of the padrone. no,--he realized that the sin of doña jocasta had been a different thing, and that the shadow of it enveloped her as a dark cloak of silence. "it is true, señora, that death pays no one, except that the death of one man may save other lives more valuable. that often happens," remarked kit, with the idea of distracting her from her own woe, whatever it was. "it might have seemed a crime if one of his nurses had chucked a double dose of laudanum into bill hohenzollern's baby feed, but that nurse would have saved the lives of hundreds of thousands of innocents, so you never can tell whether a murderer is a devil, or a man doing work of the angels." "bill?" evidently the name was a new one to doña jocasta. "that's the name of the prussian pirate of the huns across the water. your friend conrad belongs to them." "my friend! my _friend_, señor!" and doña jocasta was on her feet, white and furious, her eyes flaming hatred. kit rhodes was appalled at the spirit he had carelessly wakened. he remembered the statement of the priest that he evidently did not know the lady well, and realized in a flash that he certainly did not, also that he would feel more comfortable elsewhere. "señora, i beg a thousand pardons for my foolishness," he implored. "my--my faulty spanish caused me to speak the wrong word. will you not forgive me such a stupid blunder? everyone knows the german brute could not be a friend of yours, and that you could have only hatred of his kind." she regarded him steadily with the ever ready suspicion against an americano showing in her eyes, but his regret was so evident, and his devotion to her interests so sincere, that the tension relaxed, and she sank back in her chair, her hand trembling as she covered her eyes for a moment. "it is i who am wrong, señor. you cannot know how the name of that man is a poison, and why absolution is refused me because i will not forgive,--and will not say i forgive! i will not lie, and because of the hate of him my feet will tread the fires of hell. the padre is telling me that, so what use to pray? of what use, i ask you?" kit could see no special use if she had accepted the threat of the priest that hell was her portion anyway. "oh, i would not take that gabble of a priest seriously if i were you," he suggested. "no one can beat me in detesting the german and what he stands for, but i have no plans of going to hell for it--not on your life! to hate conrad, or to kill him would be like killing a rattlesnake, or stamping a tarantula into the sand. he has been let live to sting too many, and padre andreas tells me you heard him boast of an american killing at granados!" "that is true, señor, and it was so clever too! it was pleasure for him to tell of that because of clever tricks in it. they climbed poles to the wires and called the man to a town, then they waited on that road and shot him before he reached the town. the alcalde of that place decided the man had killed himself, and conrad laughed with josé perez on account of that, because they were so clever!" "they?" queried kit trying to prevent his eagerness from showing in his voice. "who helped him? not perez?" "no, señor, in that sin josé had no part. it was a very important man who did not appear important;--quite the other way, and like a man of piety. his name, i am remembering it well, for it is diego,--but said in the american way, which is james." "diego, said in the american way?" repeated kit thoughtfully. "is he then an american?" "not at all, señor! he is aleman _commandante_ for the border. his word is an order for life or death, and josé perez is of his circle. the guns buried by perez are bought with the german money; it is for war of sonora against arizona when that day comes." "shucks! that day isn't coming unless the huns put more of a force down here than is yet in sight," declared kit, "but that 'diego' bothers me. i know many james',--several at granados, but not the sort you tell of, señora. will you speak of that murder again, and let it be put on paper for me? i have friends at granados who may be troubled about it, and your help would be as--as the word of an angel at the right hour." "a sad angel, señor," she said with a sigh, "but why should i not help you to your wish since you have guarded me well? it is a little thing you ask." the indian women at the far end of the _sala_ had lowered their voices, but their gossip in murmurs and expressive gestures flowed on, and only tula gave heed to the talk at the table of wars and guns, and secrets of murder, and that was no new thing in sonora. one door of the _sala_ opened from the patio, and another into a room used as a chapel after the old adobe walls of the mission church had melted utterly back into the earth. rotil had selected it merely because its only window was very high, an architectural variation caused by a wing of the mission rooms still standing when soledad hacienda was built. a new wall had been built against the older and lower one which still remained, with old sleeping cells of the neophytes used as tool sheds, and an unsightly litter of propped or tumbling walls back of the ranch house. the door from the _sala_ was slightly ajar, and the voice of fidelio was heard there. he asked someone for another candle, and another chair. and there was the movement of feet, and rearrangement of furniture. rotil entered the _sala_ from the patio, and stood just inside, looking about him. with a brief word and gesture he indicated that elena and valencia vacate. at tula he glanced, but did not bid her follow. he noted the folded paper in the hand of doña jocasta, but did not address her; it was to kit he spoke. "the door will be left open. i learn that conrad distrusts perez because he paid german money, and shipped the guns across the border, but perez never uncovered one for him. they are badly scared and ready to cut each other's throats if they had knives. doña jocasta may overhear what she pleases, and furnish the knives as well if she so decides." but doña jocasta with a shudder put up her hand in protest. "no knife, no knife!" she murmured, and rotil shrugged his shoulders and looked at kit. "that little crane in the corner would walk barefoot over embers of hell to get a knife and get at conrad," he said. "you have taste in your favorites, señor." he seemed to get a certain amusement in the contemplation of kit and tula; he had seen no other american with quite that sort of addition to his outfit. kit was content to let him think his worst, as to tell the truth would no doubt lose them a friend. it tickled the general's fancy to think the thin moody indian girl, immature and childlike, was an american's idea of a sweetheart! voices and the clank of chains were heard in the patio, and then in the next room. "why bring us here when your questions were given answer as well in another place?" demanded a man's voice, and at that doña jocasta looked at rotil. "yes, why do you?" she whispered. he stared at her, frowning and puzzled. "did i not tell you? i did it that you might hear him repeat his offer. what else?" "i--see," she said, bending her head, but as rotil went to the door, kit noted that the eyes of doña jocasta followed him curiously. he concluded that the unseen man of the voice was josé perez. then the voice of conrad was heard cursing at a chain too heavy. rotil laughed, and walked into the chapel. "i can tell you something, you german judas!" he said coldly. "you will live to see the day when these chains, and this safe old chapel, will be as a paradise you once lived in. you will beg to crawl on your knees to be again comfortably inside this door." "is that some mexican joke?" asked conrad, and rotil laughed again. "sure it is, and it will be on you! they tell me you collect girls in sonora for a price. well, they have grown fond of you,--the indian women of sonora! they say you must end your days here with them. i have not heard of a ransom price they would listen to,--though you might think of what you have to offer." "offer?" growled conrad. "how is there anything to offer in sonora when perez here has sent the guns south?" "true, the matter of ransom seems to rest with señor perez who is saving of words." "i put the words on paper, and sent it by your man," said perez. "what else is there to say?" "oh, that?" returned rotil. "my boys play tricks, and make jokes with me like happy children. yes, chappo did bring words on paper,--foolish words he might have written himself. i take no account of such things. you are asked for the guns, and i get foolish words on paper of a woman you would trade to me, and guns you would send me." "well?" "who gives you right to trade the woman, señor?" "who has a better right? she belongs to me." "very good! and her name?" "you know the name." "perhaps, but i like my bargains with witness, and they must witness the name." "jocasta--" there was a slight hesitation, and rotil interrupted. "she has been known as señora jocasta perez, is it not so?" "well--yes," came the slow reply, "but that was foolishness of the peons on my estates. they called her that." "very good! one woman called jocasta perez is offered to me in trade with the guns. josé perez, have you not seen that the doña jocasta perez is even now mistress of soledad, and that my men and i are as her servants?" jocasta on the other side of the door strangled a half sob as she heard him, and crept nearer the door. "oh, you are a good one at a bargain, ramon rotil! you try to pretend the woman cannot count in this trade, but women always count,--women like jocasta!" "so? then we will certainly take count of the woman--one woman! now to guns and ammunition. how many, and where?" "at hermosillo, and it will take a week." "i have no week to waste, and i do not mean the guns at hermosillo. you have five minutes, josé perez. also those playful boys are building a nice warm fire for the branding irons. and you will both get a smell of your own burning hides if i wait longer for an answer." "holy god!" shouted conrad. "why burn me for his work? from me the guns have been hid as well as from you;--all i got was promises! they are my guns,--my money paid, but he is not straight! here at soledad he was to show me this time, but i think now it was a trick to murder me as he murdered juan gonsalvo, the foreman who stored them away for him." "animal!" growled perez. "you have lost your head to talk of murders to me! two murders at granados are waiting for you, and it is not far to ship you back to the border! walk with care, señor!" "you are each wasting time with your truth telling," stated rotil. "this is no time to count your dead men. it is the count of the guns i want. and a sight of the ammunition." "give me a guide to hermosillo, and the price of guns can be got for you." "it is not the _price_ of guns i asked you for, it is guns,--the guns conrad and herrara got over the border for you. your time is going fast, josé perez." "they are not to be had this side of hermosillo, send me south if you want them. but it is well to remember that if an accident happens to me you never could get them,--never! i alone know their hiding place." "for that reason have i waited for your visit to soledad,--you and your carts and your pack mules," stated rotil. "do not forget that marto cavayso and other men of mine have been for weeks with your ranchmen. your pack train comes here empty, and means one thing only--they came for the american guns! your minutes are going, señor, and the branding irons are getting heat from the fire. one more minute!" "write the figures of the ransom, and grant me a messenger to hermosillo. you have the whip hand, you can make your price." "but me? what of _my_ ransom?" demanded conrad. "my money, and my time paid for those guns--i have not seen one of them this side of the border! if no guns are paid for me, money must be paid." "no price is asked for you. i told you the women have named no ransom." "women? that is foolishness. it is not women for whom you hold me! he has turned traitor, has perez! he wants me sent back across the border without that price of the guns for his mushroom government! he has told his own tales of herrara, and of singleton, and they are lies--all lies!" "but what of the tale of diego, said in the american way?" asked kit stepping inside the room. "diego! diego!" repeated conrad and made a leap at perez. "you have sold me out to the americans, you scum! james warned me you were scum of the gutters, and now----" the guard caught him, and he stood there shaking with fury in the dim light. perez drew away with a curse. "to hell with you and james and your crew on the border," he growled. "i care nothing as to how soon the damned gringos swing you both. when you germans want to use us we are your 'dear brothers.' when we out-trick you, we are only scum, eh? you can tell your _commandante_ james that i won the game from him, and all the guns!" "my thanks to you, general rotil, that i have been allowed to hear this," said kit, "also that i have witness. i'd do as much for you if the chance comes. two men were killed on the border by conrad under order of this james. herrara was murdered in prison for fear he would turn informer about the guns. singleton was murdered to prevent him investigating the german poisoning of cavalry horses. the german swine meant to control granados rancho a few months longer for their own purposes." "_meant_ to?" sneered conrad. "you raw cub!--you are playing with dynamite and due for a fall. so is your fool country! though perez here has lost his nerve and turned traitor to our deal, that is only a little puff of wind against the bulwarks of the fatherland! we will hold granados; we will hold the border; and with mexico (not this crook of the west, but _real_ mexico) we will win and hold every border state and every pacific coast state! you,--poor fool!--will never reach granados alive to tell this. you are but one american in the indian wilderness, and you are sure to go under, but you go knowing that though james and i die, and though a thousand more of us die, there will be ten thousand secret german workers in america to carry on our plan until all the world will be under the power of the prussian eagle! you,--who think you know so much, can add _that_ to finish your education in sonora, and carry it to hell with you!" his voice, coldly contemptuous at first, had risen to a wrathful shriek as he faced the american and hurled at him the exultance of the teuton dream. "i certainly am in great luck to be your one american confessor," grinned kit, "but i'll postpone that trip as long as possible. i reckon general rotil will let the padre help me make note of this education you are handing out to me. a lot of americans need it! have i your permission, general?" "go as far as you like," snapped rotil. "they have used up their time limit in scolding like old women. perez, i wait for the guns." "send me to hermosillo and i will recover enough for a ransom," said perez. rotil regarded him a moment through half-closed, sinister eyes. "that was your last chance, and you threw it away. chappo, strip him; fidelio, fetch the branding irons." perez shrank back, staring at rotil as if fascinated. he was striving to measure the lengths to which the "hawk of the sierras" would go, and a sudden gleam of hope came into his eyes as padre andreas held up a crucifix before chappo, waving him aside. "no, rotil,--torture is a thing for animals, not men! hell waits for the sinner who----" "hell won't wait for you one holy minute!" snapped rotil. "get back with the women where you belong; there is men's work to do here." he caught the priest by the arm in an iron grip and whirled him towards the _sala_. the man would have fallen but for kit who caught him, but could not save the crash of his head against the door. blood streamed from a cut in his forehead, and thus he staggered into the room where doña jocasta stood, horror-stricken and poised for flight. but the sight of the blood-stained priest, and the sound of a strange, half animal cry from the other room, turned her feet that way. "no, ramon! no-_no_!" she cried and sped through the door to fling herself between him and his victims. her arms were stretched wide and she halted, almost touching him, with her back to the chained man towards whom she had not glanced, but she could not help seeing the charcoal brazier with the red-hot branding irons held by fidelio. the gasping cry had come from conrad by whom the brazier was set. ramon rotil stared at her, frowning as if he would fling her from his path as he had the priest. "no, ramon!" she said again, still with that supplicating look and gesture, "send them out of here,--both these men. i would smother and die in a room with that german beast. you will not be sorry, ramon rotil, i promise you that,--i promise you by the god i dare not face!" [illustration: "no, ramon! no!" she cried, and flung herself between him and his victims.] "ho!" snarled perez. "is the priest also her lover that she----" "send the german out, and let josé perez stay to see that i keep my promise," she said letting her arms fall at her side, but facing rotil with an addition of hauteur in her poise and glance. "the price he will pay for the words he has spoken here will be a heavy price,--one he has risked life to hold! send that pale snake and your men outside, ramon." perez was leaning forward, his face strained and white, watching her. he could not see her face, but the glimpse of hope came again into his eyes--a woman might succeed with rotil where a priest would fail! rotil, still frowning at her, waved his hand to chappo and fidelio. "take him away," he said, "and wait beyond." the shuffling movement and clank of chains was heard, but she did not turn her head. instead she moved past rotil, lifted a candle, and went towards the shrine at the end of the room. a table was there with a scarf across it, and back of the table three steps leading up to a little platform on which were ranged two or three mediocre statues of saints, once brilliant with blue and scarlet and tinsel, but tarnished and dim from the years. in the center was a painting, also dark and dim in which only a halo was still discernible in the light of the candle, but the features of the saint pictured there were shadowed and elusive. for a moment she knelt on the lower step and bent her head because of those remnants of a faith which was all she knew of earthly hope,--and then she started to mount the steps. "the curse of god shrivel you!" muttered perez in cold fury--"come down from there!" without heed to the threat, she moved the little statues to right or left, and then lifted her hand, resting it on the wooden frame of the painting. "call the americano," she said without turning. "you will need a man, but not a man of altar. another day may come when you, ramon, may have need of this house for hiding!" rotil strode to the door and motioned kit to enter, then he closed both doors and gave no heed to perez, crouched there like a chained coyote in a trap. "come down!" he said again. "you are in league with hell to know of that. i never gave it to you! come down! i meant to tell after he had finished with conrad--i mean to tell!" "he waited too long, and spoke too much," she said to rotil. "keep watch on him, and let the americano give help here." kit mounted the step beside her, and at her gesture took hold of the frame on one side. she found a wedge of wood at the other side and drew it out. the loosened frame was lifted out by kit and carried down the three steps; it was a panel a little over two feet in width and four in height. "set it aside, and watch josé perez while general rotil looks within," she said evenly. rotil glanced at perez scowling black hate at her, and then turned to jocasta who held out the candle. "it is for you to see,--you and no other," she said. "you have saved a woman he would have traded as a slave, and i give you more than a slave's ransom." he took the candle and his eyes suddenly flamed with exultation as her meaning came to him. "_jocasta!_" he muttered as if scarce believing, and then he mounted the step, halted an instant in the panel of shadow, and, holding the candle over his head, he leaned forward and descended on the other side of the wall. "you damned she-wolf of the hills!" growled perez with the concentrated hate of utter failure in his voice. "i fed you, and my money covered your nakedness, and now you put a knife in my neck and go back to cattle of the range for a mate! you,--without shame or soul!" "that is true," she said coldly. "you killed a soul in the _casita_ of the oleanders, josé perez, and it was a dead woman you and the german chained to be buried in the desert. but even the dead come back to help friends who are faithful, josé,--and i am as the dead who walk." she did not look at him as she spoke, but sank on her knees before the dark canvas where only the faint golden halo gave evidence of some incarnated holiness portrayed there. her voice was low and even, and the sadness of it thrilled kit. he thought of music of sweet chords, and a broken string vibrating, for the hopelessness in her voice held a certain fateful finality, and her delicate dark loveliness---- rotil emerged from the doorway of the shrine and stood there, a curious substitute for the holy picture, looking down on her with a wonderful light in his face. "your ransom wins for you all you wish of me,--except the life of one man," he said, and with a gesture indicated that kit help her to her feet. he did so, and saw that she was very white and trembling. rotil looked at perez over her head, and perez scowled back, with all the venom of black hate. "you win!--but a curse walks where she walks. ask her? ask marto of the men she put under witchcraft! ask conrad who had good luck till she hated him! if you have a love, or a child, or anything dear, let her not look hate on them, for her knife follows that look! ask her of the knife she set in the heart of a child for jealousy of conrad! ai, general though you are, your whole army is not strong enough to guard you from the ill luck you will take with the gift _she_ gives! she is a woman under a curse. ha! look at her as i say it, for you hear the truth. ask the padre!" kit realized that perez was launching against her the direst weight of evil the mexican or indian mind has to face. though saints and heaven and hell might be denied by certain daring souls, the potency of witchcraft was seldom doubted. men or women accused of it were shunned as pariahs, and there had been known persons who weakened and dwindled into death after accusation had been put against them. he thought of it as she cowered under each separate count of the curse launched against her. she bent like a slender reed under the strokes of a flail, lower and lower against his arm, but when the deadly voice flung the final taunt at her, she straightened slowly and looked at rotil. "yes, ask the padre--or ask me!" she said in that velvet soft voice of utter despair. "that i sent an innocent soul to death is too true. to my great sorrow i did it;--i would do it again! for that my life is indeed a curse to me,--but his every other word a lie!" then she took a step forward, faltered, and fell back into the outstretched arm of kit. "take señora perez to the women, and come back," said rotil. kit noted that even though he moved close, and bent over the white unconscious face, he did not touch her. "señora perez!" repeated perez contemptuously. "you are generous with other men's names for your women! her name is the indian mother's name." "half indian," corrected rotil, "and her naming i will decide another time." kit returned, and without words proceeded to help replace the holy picture in its niche. in the struggle with the padre, a chunk of adobe had been knocked from the wall near the door, and he picked it up, crumbling it to a soft powder and sprinkled it lightly over the steps where foot prints were traceable in the dust. rotil who had gone to the door to recall the guard, halted and watched him closely. "good!" he said. "you also give me a thought concerning this animal; he will bark if he has listeners, and even the german should not hear--one never knows! i need a cage for a few hours. you have been a friend, and know secret things. will you lock him in your own room and hold the key to yourself?" "surest thing you know," answered kit though with the uncomfortable certainty that the knowledge of too many secret things in mexico was not conducive to long life for the knower. "i may also assure you that marto is keen on giving you honest service that his one fault may be atoned for." "he will get service," stated rotil. "you saved me a good man there, amigo." he flung open the door of the corridor and whistled for the guard. "remove this man and take your orders from capitan----" he halted, and his eyes narrowed quizzically. "it seems we never were introduced, amigo, and we know only your joy name of the singer, but there must be another." "oh, yes, there's another, all right," returned kit, knowing that conrad would enlighten rotil if he did not. "i'm the hombre suspected of that granados murder committed by conrad,--and the name is rhodes." "so? then the scolding of these two comrades gives to you your freedom from suspicion, eh? that is good, but--" he looked at kit, frowning. "see here, i comprehend badly. you told me it was the friend of your _compadre_ who was the suspected one!" "sure! i've a dandy partner across the border. he's the old man you saw at yaqui spring, and i reckon i'm a fairly good friend of his. he'd say so!" rotil's face relaxed in a grin. "that is clever, a trick and no harm in it, but--have a care to yourself! it is easy to be too clever, and on a trail of war no one has time to learn if tricks are of harm or not. take the warning of a friend, capitan rhodes!" "you have the right of it, general. i have much to learn," agreed kit. "but no man goes abroad to shout the crimes he is accused of at home,--and the story of this one is very new to me. this morning i learned i was thought guilty, and tonight i learn who is the criminal, and how the job was done. this is quick work, and i owe the luck of it to you." "may the good luck hold!" said rotil. "and see that the men leave you alone as the guard of perez. i want no listeners there." chapter xvii the story of doÑa jocasta ramon rotil stood a long minute after the clank of chains ceased along the corridor; then he bolted the outer door of the chapel, and after casting a grim satisfied smile at the screen of the faded canvas, he opened the door of the _sala_ and went in. valencia was kneeling beside doña jocasta and forcing brandy between the white lips, while elena bustled around the padre whose head she had been bathing. a basin of water, ruby red, was evidence of the fact that padre andreas was not in immediate need of the services of a leech. he sat with his bandaged head held in his hands, and shrank perceptibly when the general entered the room. doña jocasta swallowed some of the brandy, half strangled over it, and sat up, gasping and white. it was tula who offered her a cup of water, while valencia, with fervent expressions of gratitude to the saints, got to her feet, eyeing rotil with a look of fear. after the wounded priest and the fainting jocasta emerged from the chapel door, the two women were filled with terror of the controlling spirit there. he halted on the threshold, his eyes roving from face to face, including tula, who stood, back against the wall, regarding him as usual with much admiration. one thing more he must know. "go you without," he said with a gesture towards the two women and the priest. "i will speak with this lady alone." they all moved to the door, and after a moment of hesitation tula was about to follow when he stopped her. "you stay, girl. the doña jocasta may want a maid, but take yourself over there." so tula slipped silently back into the niche of the window seat where the shadows were deepest, and rotil moved towards the center table dragging a chair. on the other side of the table was the couch on which jocasta sat, white and startled at the dismissal of the woman and priest. "be composed," he said gentling his tone as one would to soothe a child. "there are some things to be said between us here, and too many ears are of no advantage." she did not reply; only inclined her head slightly and drew herself upright against the wall, gathering the lace _rebosa_ across her bosom where valencia had unfastened her garments and forgotten them in her fear. "first is the matter of my debt to you. do you know in your own mind how great that is?" "i--count it as nothing, señor," she murmured. "that is because you do not know the great need, and have not made count of the cases of rifles and ammunition." "it is true, i never looked at them. juan gonsalvo in dying blamed josé perez for the shot. it was fired by another hand,--but god alone knows! so juan sent for me, and josé never knew. the secret of soledad was given to me then, but i never thought to use it, until----" she ceased, shuddering, and he knew she was thinking of the blood-stained priest whirled into her presence. fallen though the state of the priesthood might be in mexico, there were yet women of jocasta's training to whom an assault on the clergy was little less than a mortal sin. he knew that, and smiled grimly at the remembrance of her own priestly father who had refused her in honest marriage to a man of her mother's class, and was busily engaged haggling over the gift price of her with josé perez when death caught him. the bewildered girl was swept to the estate of perez without either marriage or gift, unless one choose to consider as gift the shelter and food given to a younger sister and brother. all this went through his mind as she shrank and sighed because he had tossed a priest from his way with as slight regard as he would the poorest peon. she did not even know how surely the destiny of her mother and her own destiny had been formed by a priest's craft. she would never know, because her mind would refuse to accept it. there were thousands like her because of their shadowed inheritance. revolution for the men grew out of that bondage of women, and rotil had isolated moments when he dreamed of a vast and blessed freedom of the land--schools, and schools, and more schools until knowledge would belong to the people instead of to the priests! but he knew it was no use to tell thoughts like that to women; they were afraid to let go their little wooden saints and the jargon of prayers they did not understand. the mystery of it held them! thus brooded rotil, unlearned driver of burros and general of an army of the people! "we will forget all but the ammunition," he said. "it is as food to my men, and some of them are starving there to the east; with ammunition food can be commandeered. i knew the guns were on soledad land, but even a golden dream of angels would not have let me hope for as much as you have given me. it is packed,--that room, from floor to roof tiles. in the morning i take the trail, and there is much to be done before i go. you;--i must think of first. will you let me be your confessor, and tell me any wish of your heart i may help you to?" "my heart has no wish left alive in it," she said. "there have been days when i had wish for the hut under the palms where my mother lived. a childish wish,--but other wishes are dead!" "there is no going back," he said, staring at the tiles, and not looking at her. "it is of future things we must think. he said things--perez did, and you----" "yes!" she half whispered. "there is no way but to tell of it, but--i would ask that the child wait outside. the story is not a story for a girl child, ramon." he motioned to tula. "outside the door, but in call," he said, and without a word or look tula went softly out. there was silence for a bit between them, her hands were clasped at full length, and she leaned forward painfully tense, looking not at him, but past him. "it is not easy, but you will comprehend better than many," she said at last. "there were three of us. there was my little brother palemon, who ran away last year to be a soldier--he was only fourteen. josé would not let me send searchers for him, and he may be dead. then there was only--only lucita and me. you maybe remember lucita?" her question was wistful as if it would help her to even know he remembered. he nodded his head in affirmation. "a golden child," he said. "i have seen pictured saints and angels in great churches since the days in the hills, but never once so fair a child as little lucita." "yes, white and gold, and an angel of innocence," she said musingly. "always she was that, always! and there was a sweetheart, mariano avila, a good lad, and the wedding was to be. she was embroidering the wedding shirt for mariano when--god! god!" she got up suddenly and paced the floor, her arms hugging her shoulders tight as if to keep from sobbing. he rose and stood watching, but uttered no word. after a little she returned to the couch, and began to speak in a more even tone. "there is so much to tell. much happened. conrad was driving josé to do many things not at first in their plans. also there was more drinking,--much more! it was conrad made plans for the slave raids. he no longer asked josé's permission for anything; he gave command to the men and josé had to listen. only one secret thing was yet hidden from him, the hiding place of the guns from the north. josé said if that was uncovered he might as well give up his ranchos. in his heart he could not trust conrad. each had a watch set on the other! juan got his death because he made rendezvous with the german. "that is how it was when the slave raid was made north of here, and the most beautiful indian girl killed herself somewhere in this desert when there was no other way to escape the man;--the scar on the face of conrad was from her knife. it was a bad cut, and after that there was trouble, and much drink and mad quarrels. also it was that time juan gonsalvo was shot and died from it. juana, his sister, came in secret for me while he could yet speak, and that was when----" she halted, closing her eyes as if to shut out some horror. he thought she shrank from remembrance of how the secret of soledad was given to her, for juan must have been practically a dead man when he gave it up. after a moment she went on in the sad tone of the utterly hopeless. "i speak of the mad quarrels of those two men, ramon, but it was never of that i had fear. the fear came each time the quarrel was done, and they again swore to be friends, for in the new 'friend hours' of drinking, strange things happened, strange wagers and strange gifts." again she paused, and this time she lifted her eyes to rotil. "always i hated the german. i never carried a blade until after his eyes followed me! he tried to play the prince, the great gentleman, with me--a girl of the hills! only once he touched my hand, and i scoured it with sand afterwards while josé laughed. but the german did not laugh,--he only watched me! once when josé was in a rage with me conrad said he could make of me a great lady in his own land if i would listen. instead of listening i showed him my knife. after that god only knows what he told against me, but josé became bitter--bitter, and jealous, and spies always at my back! "so lucita and mariano and i made plans. they were to marry, and we three would steal away in secret and cross the border. that was happiness to plan, for my life--my life was hell, so i thought! but i had not yet learned what hell could be," she confessed drearily. "tell me," he said very gently. those who thought they knew "el gavilan," the merciless, would not have recognized his voice at that moment. "no, i had not learned," she went on drearily. "i thought that to carry a knife for myself made all safe--i did not know! i told you juana gonsalvo came for me very secretly to hear the last words of juan. but i did not tell you we lived in the _casita_, little lucita and i. it is across a garden from the hacienda, and was once a priest's house; that was in the days of the mother of josé. it is very sweet there under the rose vines, and it was sanctuary for us. when josé and the german had their nights of carouse we went there and locked ourselves in. there were iron bars on the high windows, and shutters of wood inside, so we were never afraid. i heard conrad tell josé he was a fool not to blow it up with dynamite some day of fiesta. it was the night after their great quarrel, and it was a terrible time. they were pledging friendship once more in much wine. officers from the town were at the hacienda with women who were--well, i would not go in, and josé was wild. he came to the _casita_ and called threats at me. i thought the german was with him, for he said conrad was right, and the house would be blown up with the first dynamite he could spare,--but threats were no new thing to us! i tried to soothe little lucita by talk of the wedding, and all the pretty bride things were taken out of the chest and spread on the bed; one _rebosa_ of white i put over her shoulders, and the child was dancing to show me she was no longer afraid----! "that was when juana came to the window. i knew her voice and opened the door. i did not want lucita frightened again, so i did not let her know a man was dying--only that a sick person wanted me for a little--little minute, and i would be back. "i knew juan gonsalvo had been killed because he had been trusted far enough,--i knew it! that thought struck me very hard, for i--i might be the next, and i wanted first to send those two children happily out of reach of sorrow. strange it is that because she was first, the very first in my heart, i went out that door in the night and for the first time left her alone! but that is how it was; we had to be so quick--and so silent--and it was her hand closed the door after us, her hand on the bolt! "juan gonsalvo had only fought for life until he could see me, and then the breath went. no one but i heard his whispers of the door of the picture here in soledad. he told me his death was murder, and his last word was against perez. it was only minutes, little minutes i was there, and the way was not far, but when i went back through the garden the door of the _casita_ stood wide and light streamed out! i do not know how i was sure it was empty, but i was, and i seemed to go dead inside, though i started to run. "to cross that garden was like struggling in a dream with bands about my feet. i wake with that dream many nights--many!--i heard her before i could reach the path. her screams were not in the _casita_, but in the hacienda. they were--they were--terrible! i tried to go--and then i knew she had broken away--i could see her like a white spirit fly back towards the light in the open door. the man following her tripped in some way and fell, and i leaped over him to follow her. we got inside and drew the bolt. "then--but there are things not to be told--they belong to the dead! "perez came there to the door and made demands for conrad's woman,--that is how he said it! he said she had gone to conrad's apartment of her own will and must go back. lucita knelt at my feet in her torn bridal garment and told how a woman had come as juana had come, and said that i wanted her. the child had no doubt, she followed, and--and it was indeed to that drunken beast they took her! "josé was also drunk, crazy drunk. he told me to stand away from that door for they were coming in, also that he had made gift of lucita to his friend, and she must be given up. then they began to fire guns in the lock! it seemed a long, long time she held to me there and begged me to save her, but it could not have been.... the lock gave way, and only the bolt held. i clasped her close to me and whispered telling her to pray, but i never took my eyes off the door. when i saw it shaking, i made the sign of the cross over her, and the knife i had carried for myself found her heart quickly! that is how i took on me the shadow of murder, and that is why the priest threatens me with the fires of hell if i do not repent--and i am not repenting, ramon." "by god, no!" he muttered, staring into her defiant eyes. "that was a fine thing, and your mother gave good blood to her children, jocasta. and then----?" "i laid her on the bed among her bridal laces, all white--white! over her breast i folded her still hands, and set a candle at her head, though i dared not pray! the door was giving way. "i pushed back the bolt, also i spoke, but it did not seem me! that is strange, but of a truth i did not know the voice i heard say: 'enter, her body is yours--and she no longer flees from you.' "'ha! that is good sense at last!' said josé, and conrad laughed and praised himself as a lover. "'i told you so!' he grunted. 'the little dear one knows that a nice white german is not so bad!' "and again i heard the voice strange to me say, 'she knows nothing, josé--and she knows all!' "josé stumbled in smiling, but conrad, though drunk, stopped at the door when he saw my hand with the knife. i thought my skirt covered it as i waited for him--for the child had told me enough--i--i failed, ramon! his oath was a curious choked scream as i tried to reach him. i do not know if it was the knife, or the dead girl on the bed made him scream like that, but i knew then the german was at heart a coward. "josé was too strong for me, and the knife could not do its work. i was struck, and my head muffled in a _serape_. after that i knew nothing. "days and nights went by in a locked room. i never got out of it until i was chained hand and foot and sent north in a peon's ox-cart. men guarded me until marto with other men waited for me on the trail. josé perez could have had me killed, yes. or he could have had me before the judges for murder, but silence was the thing he most wanted--for there is doña dolores terain yet to be won. he has sent me north that the general terain, her father, will think me out of his life. one of the guards told an alcalde i was his wife, he was sure that story would be repeated back to hermosillo! these are days in sonora when no one troubles about one woman or one child who is out of sight, and we may be sure he and conrad had a well-made story to tell. he knows it is now all over with me, that i have a hate of which he is afraid, so he does not have me shot;--he only sends me to soledad in the wilderness where fighting bands of the revolution cross all trails, and his men have orders that i am not to go out of the desert alive." "i see!" said rotil thoughtfully, "and--it is all gone now--the love of him?" "all the love in the world is gone, amigo," she said, looking away from him through the barred window where the night sky was growing bright from the rising moon. "i was a child enchanted by the glory of the world and his love words. out of all that false glitter of life i have walked, a blackened soul with a murderer's hand. how could love be again with me?" he looked at her steadily, the slender thing of creamy skin and madonna eyes that had been the dream of youth to him, the one devotee at an altar in whom he had believed--nothing in the humanity of the world would ever have faith of his again! "that is so, jocasta," he said at last, "you are a woman, and in the shadow. the little golden singing one is gone out of your life, and the new music must be different! i will think about that for you. go now to your sleep, for there is work of men to be done, and the night scarce long enough for it." he opened the door for her and stood with bent head as she passed. his men lounging in the patio could see that manner of deference, and exchanged looks and comments. to the victor belong the spoils in mexico, and here was a sweeping victory,--yet the general looked the other way! "child, accompany the señora," he said kindly to tula at the door. "chappo, bring marto to see me. the new american capitan said he was a man of value, and the lad was right. work of importance waits for him tonight." chapter xviii ramon rotil decides whatever the labors of marto cavayso for the night they appeared to have been happy ones, for ere the dawn he came to kit's door in great good humor. "amigo," he said jovially, "you played me a trick and took the woman, but what the devil is that to hold a grudge for? my general has made it all right, and we need help. you are to come." "glad to," agreed kit, "but what of this guard duty?" "lock the door--there is but one key. also the other men are not sleeping inside the portal. it is by order of general rotil." perez awoke to glare at his false major-domo, but uttered no words. he had not even attempted conversation with kit since the evening before when he stated that no americano could fool him, and added his conviction that the said americano was a secret service man of the states after the guns, and that rotil was a fool! kit found rotil resting in the chapel, looking fagged and spent. "marto is hell for work, and i had to stay by," he grumbled with a grin. "almost i sent for you. no other man knows, and behold!" stacked on either side were packing cases of rifles and ammunition, dozens and dozens of them. the dusty canvas was back in its place and no sign to indicate where the cases had come from. "it is a great treasure chest, that," stated rotil, "and we have here as much as the mules can carry, for the wagons can't go with us. but i want every case of this outside the portal before dawn comes, and it comes quick! it means work and there are only three of us, and this limp of mine's a trouble." "well," said kit, stripping off his coat, "if the two of you got them up a ladder inside, and down the steps to this point i reckon three of us can get them across that little level on record time. say, your crew will think it magic when guns and ammunition are let fall for you by angels outside of the gate." "the thought will do no harm," said rotil. "also i am not sure but that you speak true, and the magic was much needed when it came." they worked fast, and ere the first hint of dawn the cases were stacked in imposing array on the plaza. and no sign by which they could be traced. rotil looked at them, and chuckled at the wonder the men would feel. "it is time they were called, for it is a long trail, go you, capitan, and waken them, tell them to get ready the pack mules and get a move." "all right, but if they ask questions?" "look wise and say nothing! when they see the cases they will think you either the devil or san antonio to find what was lost in the desert. it is a favor i am doing you, señor." "sure you are! if the indians ever get the idea that i can win guns from out the air by hokus-pokus, i will be a big medicine chief, and wax fat under honors in sonora. head me to them!" rotil had seen to it that though sentinels stood guard at soledad, none were near enough the plaza to interfere with work of the night, and kit found their main camp down by the _acquia_ a quarter of a mile away. he gave orders as directed for the pack animals and cook wagon over which a son of the orient presided. that stolid genius was already slicing deer meat for broiling, and making coffee, of which he donated a bowl to kit, also a cart wheel of a _tortilla_ dipped in gravy. both were joyously accepted, and after seeing that the men were aroused from the blankets, he returned to the hacienda full of conjecture as to the developments to be anticipated from the night's work. that reserve stock of ammunition might mean salvation to the revolutionists. rain had fallen somewhere to the east in the night time, and as the stars faded there were lines of palest silver and palest gold in the grays of dawn on the mountains. as he walked leisurely up the slight natural terrace to the plaza, he halted a moment and laughed aloud boyishly at a discovery of his, for he had solved the century-old riddle of the view of el alisal seen from the "portal" of soledad. the portal was not anyone of the visible doors or gateways of the old mission, it was the hidden portal of the picture,--once leading to a little balcony under which the neophytes had gathered for the morning blessing and daily commands of their superiors! that explained its height from the floor. the door had at some later period been sealed, and a room built against it from the side towards the mountain. in the building of the ranch house that old strong walled section of the mission had been incorporated as the private chapel of some pious ranchero. it was also very, very simple after one knew of that high portal masked by the picture, and after one traced the line of vision from the outside and realized all that was hidden by the old harness room and the fragmentary old walls about it. he chuckled to think of how he would astonish cap pike with the story when he got back. he also recalled that conrad had unburdened his heart to him with completeness because he was so confident an american never _could_ get back! he was speculating on that ever-present problem when he noted that light shone yellow in the dawn from the plaza windows, and on entering the patio it took but a glance to see that some new thing was afoot. padre andreas, with his head upholstered in strips of the table linen, was pacing the patio reciting in a murmuring undertone, some prayer from a small open volume, though there was not yet light enough to read. valencia was bustling into the room of doña jocasta with an olla of warm water, while tula bore a copper tray with fruit and coffee. "this is of a quickness, but who dare say it is not an act for the blessing of god?" the padre said replying in an absent-minded manner to the greeting of kit. "true, padre, who can say?" agreed the latter politely, without the slightest idea of what was meant. but marto, who fairly radiated happiness since his reinstatement, approached with the word that general rotil would have him at breakfast, for which time was short. "it is my regret that you do not ride with me, señor," said rotil as he motioned him to a seat. "but there is work to be done at soledad for which i shall give you the word. i am hearing that you would help recover some of the poor ones driven south from palomitas, if they be left alive!" "i am pledged to that, general," stated kit simply. "who has your pledge?" "a dead man who cannot free me from it." "by god!" remarked rotil in a surprised tone. "by god, don pajarito, that is good! and it may be when that pledge is kept, you may be free to join my children in the fight? i make you a capitan at once, señor." "perhaps, after----" "sure,--after," agreed rotil chuckling. "for i tell you there is work of importance here, and when i am gone the thinking will be up to you! what message did you give the muleteers?" "to bring the animals to the plaza, and pack for the trail all the provisions found there." "provisions is good! they will burn with curiosity. there could be fun in that if we had time to laugh and watch them, but there is no time. marto!" marto, on guard at the door, came forward. "has the señor don josé perez received my message for conference?" "yes, my general. except that he wished your messenger in hell, he will be happy to join you according to order." "good!" grinned rotil, "it is well to conduct these matters with grace and ceremony where a lady is concerned. take him to the _sala_; it is illuminated in his honor. come, señor, i want for witness an americano who is free from sonora influence." "am i?" queried kit dubiously. "i'm not so sure! i seem all tangled up with sonora influences of all shades and varieties." rotil's jocularity disappeared as he entered the sala where quill pen and ink and some blank sheets from an old account book gave a business-like look to the table where four candles made a radiance. perez was there, plainly nervous by reason of the mocking civility of marto. his eyes followed rotil,--questioning, fearful! the latter passed him without notice and seated himself at the table. "call the padre," he said to marto. but that was scarce needed as the padre was hovering near the door waiting for the word. he seated himself by the table at a motion from rotil. the latter turned for the first time to perez, and bestowed on him a long, curious look. "they tell me, señor, that you were about to take as bride a lovely lady?" perez frowned in perplexity. evidently this was the last subject he had expected to hear touched upon. "perhaps so," he said at last, "but if this is a question of ransom we will not trouble the lady. i will arrange your figures for that." "this is not a matter of figures, señor perez. it is a marriage we are interested in, and it is all well arranged for you. the padre here will draw up the contract of marriage in the old form; it is better than the manner of today. you will give him your name, the names of your parents, the name of your parish and abode." "i will see you damned first!" "and, padre," continued rotil, giving no heed to that heartfelt remark, "use less than one-third of the page, for there must be space for the record of the bride, and below that the contract between the happy two with all witnesses added." "if you think--" began perez furiously. "i do not think; i know, señor! later you also will know," rotil promised with grim certainty. "this marriage is of interest to me, and has been too long delayed. it is now for you to say if you will be a bridegroom in chains, or if it please you to have the irons off." "this cannot be! i tell you a marriage is not legal if----" "oh, señor! your experience is less than i thought," interrupted rotil, "and you are much mistaken,--much! we are all witnesses here. señor rhodes will be pleased to unfasten those heavy chains to oblige the lady. the chains might not be a pleasant memory to her. women have curious prejudices about such things! but it must be understood that you stand quiet for the ceremony. if not, this gun of mine will manage it that you stay quiet forever." perez stood up, baffled and beaten, but threatening. "take them off, you!" he snarled, "though it is a hell of a ransom,--and that woman will pay. let no one forget that her pay will be heavy!" "that paying is for afterwards!" decided rotil airily, "but here and now we men would see a wedding before we leave soledad. capitan rhodes, will you bring in doña jocasta?" kit, in some wonder, went on the errand, and found the women eager to deck her with blossoms and give some joyous note to the wedding of the dawn, but she sat cold and white with the flowers of the desert springtime about her, and forbade them. "he terrifies me much in sending that word to wake me with this morning," she protested. "i tell you i will kill myself before i live one more day of life with josé perez! i told him all my heart in the _sala_ last night, and it means not anything to ramon rotil;--he would tie me in slavery to that man i hate!" "señora, i do not know what the general means, but i know it is not that. his work is for your service, even though appearance is otherwise." "you think that?" "i almost know it." "then i go," she decided. "i think i would have to go anyway, but the heart would be more heavy, _santa maria_!--but this place of soledad is strange in its ways." it was the first time he had seen her frightened, but her mouth trembled, and her eyes sought the floor. he reached out and took her hand; it was terribly cold. "courage, and trust rotil," he said reassuringly. "when you sift out the whole situation that is about all left to any of us here in the desert." he led her along the corridor, the women following. men with pack animals were gathering in wonder around the cases in the plaza, and through the portal they saw the impromptu bridal procession, and fell silent. the americano appeared to have a hand in every game,--and that was a matter of wonder. as they entered, padre andreas was reading aloud the brief history of jocasta benicia sandoval, eldest daughter of teresa sandoval and ignatius sanchez of santa ysobel in the sierras. padre andreas had balked at writing the paternity of children of teresa sandoval, but a revolver in rotil's hand was the final persuader. "this is to be all an honest record for which there are witnesses in plenty," he stated. "teresa sandoval had only one lover,--even though padre ignatius sanchez did call her daughters nieces of his! but the marriage record of señora jocasta sandoval shall have only truth." jocasta wrote her name to the statement as directed, and noted that josé had already signed. she did not look at him, but moved nearer to rotil and kept her eyes on the table. he noted her shrinking and turned to the priest. "señor," he said, "these two people will write their names together on the contract, but this is a marriage without kisses or clasping of hands. it is a civil contract bound by word of mouth, and written promise, under witness of the church. read the service." there was a slight hesitation on the part of perez when asked if he would take jocasta sandoval as wife, but the gun of rotil hastened his decision, and his voice was defiantly loud. jocasta followed quietly, and then in a benediction which was emptiest mockery, josé perez and jocasta sandoval were pronounced man and wife. "may i now go?" she murmured, but the contract was signed by all present before rotil nodded to kit. "you will have the honor of conducting the doña jocasta perez to breakfast," he said. "the rest of us have other business here. señora, will you do us the favor to outline to this gentleman the special tasks you would like attention given at once. there are some indian slaves in the south for whom the palomitas people ask help. you are now in a position to be of service there, and it would be a good act with which to establish a new rule at soledad." "thanks, general rotil," she answered, rather bewildered by the swiftness with which he turned over to her the duties devolving upon her newly acquired position. "i am not wise in law, but what i can i will do." "and that will be nothing!" volunteered perez. "a woman of my name will not make herself common in the markets or law courts,--to have her indian ancestry cast in my teeth!" "as to that," said rotil humorously, "there is not so much! the father of teresa sandoval was the priestly son of a marquise of spain! only one drop of indian to three of the church in the veins of señora perez, so you perceive she has done honor to your house. you will leave your name in good hands when god calls you to judgment." kit noted the sudden tension of perez at the last sentence, and a look of furtive, fearful questioning in his eyes as he looked at rotil, who was folding the marriage contract carefully, wrapping it in a sheet of paper for lack of an envelope. but, as squire of dames, kit was too much occupied to give further heed to business in the _sala_. doña jocasta expressed silently a desire to get away from there as soon as might be; she looked white and worn, and cast at rotil a frightened imploring glance as she clung to kit's arm. he thought he would have to carry her before they crossed the patio. "when ramon laughs like that--" she began and then went silent, shuddering. kit, remembering the look in the eyes of perez, did not care to ask questions. the older women went back to the kitchen to finish breakfast and gossip over the amazing morning, but tula remained near doña jocasta,--seeing all and her ears ever open. padre andreas followed, under orders from rotil, who told him to do any writing required of him by the señora perez, and arrange for safe couriers south when she had messages ready. his knowledge of villages and rancheros was more dependable than that of the vaqueros; he would know the names of safe men. doña jocasta sighed, and looked from one to the other appealingly. "it is much, very much to plan for before the sun is showing," she murmured. "is there not some little time to think and consider?" "even now the men of ramon rotil are packing the beasts for the trail," said the priest, "and he wants all your plans and desires stated before he goes east." "_my_ desires!" and her smile held bitterness as she turned to kit. "you, señor, have never seen the extent of the perez holdings in sonora. they are so vast that one simple woman like me would be lost in any plans of change there. josé perez meant what he said;--no woman can take control while he lives." "still, there are some things a woman could do best," ventured kit, "the things of mercy;" and he mentioned the palomitas slaves---- "that is true. also i am in debt for much friendship, and this child of palomitas must have the thing she asks. tell me the best way." "learn from perez which ranch of general estaban terain shelters the political prisoners taken from the district of altar," suggested kit. "either perez or conrad can tell." doña jocasta looked at the priest. "josé perez will hate you for this marriage, and we must seek safety for you in some other place," she said kindly, "but you are the one most able to learn this thing. will it please you to try?" padre andreas went out without a word. in his heart he resented the manner of the marriage ceremony, and scarce hoped perez would be acquiescent or disposed to further converse, and he personally had no inclination to ask help of the general rotil. he was surprised as he crossed the patio to see perez, still free from chains, walking through the portal to the plaza with marto cavayso beside him. he was led past the ammunition cases, and the men in their jubilant work of packing the mules. far out up the valley to the north a cloud of dust caught the red glow of sunrise, and the priest knew the vaqueros with the soledad cattle were already on the trail for the main body of revolutionists in the field. saddle horses were held a little apart in the plaza, and padre andreas hastened his steps lest they mount and be gone, but marto spoke to him sharply. "walk in front to do your talking," he suggested. "this gentleman is not inviting company for his _pasear_." josé perez turned a startled, piercing look on the priest. "did rotil send you?" he demanded. "no, señor, i came back to ask a simple thing concerning the altar people who went south for yucatan. can you give me the name of the ranch where they are held?" "i can,--but i give nothing for nothing!" he said bitterly. "already i am caught in a trap by that marriage, and i will see that the archbishop hears of your share in it. nothing for nothing!" "yet there may be some service i can give, or send south, for you," said the priest. perez regarded him doubtfully. "yes--you might get a message to general terain that i am a prisoner, on my own estate--if rotil does not have you killed on the road!" "i could try," agreed the priest. "i--i might secure permission." "permission?" "it is true, señor. i could not attempt it without the word of general rotil," announced padre andreas. "of what use to risk the life of a courier for no purpose? but i make a bargain: if you will tell which ranch the altar indians were driven to i will undertake to get word for you to a friend. of course i can get the information from the german if you say no." "damn the german!" swore perez. "good father," said marto, "you halt us on the way to join the advance, and we have no mind to take all the dust of the mule train. make your talk of fewer words." "shall i go to the german?" repeated the priest. "no,--let him rot alone! the plantation is linda vista, and conrad lied to general terain to get them housed there. he thought they were rebels who raided ranches in altar,--political prisoners. take general terain word that i am a prisoner of the revolutionists, and----" "señor, the sun is too high for idle talk," said marto briefly, "and your saddle waits." the priest held the stirrup for josé perez, who took the courtesy as a matter of course, turning in the saddle and casting a bitter look at the sun-flooded walls of soledad. "to marry a mistress and set her up as the love of another lover--_two_ other lovers!--is not the game of a man," he growled moodily. "if it was to do over, i----" "take other thoughts with you," said padre andreas sadly, "and my son, go with god!" he lifted his hand in blessing, and stood thus after they had turned away. perez uttered neither thanks nor farewell. the men, busy with the final packing, stared after him with much curiosity, and accosted the priest as he paced thoughtfully back to the portal. "padre, is this ammunition a gift of don josé, or is it magic from the old monks who hid the red gold of el alisal and come back here to guard it and haunt soledad?" inquired one of the boldest. "there are no hauntings, and that red gold has led enough men astray in the desert. it is best forgotten." "but strange things do come about," insisted another man. "marto cavayso swore he had witchcraft put on him by the green, jewel eyes of doña jocasta, and you see that since she follows our general he has the good luck, and this ammunition comes to him from god knows where!" "it may be the americano knows," hazarded the first speaker. "he took her from marto, and rides ever beside her. who proves which is the enchanter?" "it is ill work to put the name of 'enchantment' against any mortal," chided the priest. "that may be," conceded the soldier, "but we have had speech of this thing, and look you!--doña jocasta rode in chains until the americano crossed her trail, and don ramon, and all of us, searched in vain for the american guns, until the americano rode to soledad! enchantment or not, he has luck for his friends!" "as you please!" conceded the priest with more indifference than he felt. the americano certainly did not belong to soledad, and the wonder was that ramon rotil gave him charge of so beauteous a lady. padre andreas could easily perceive how the followers of rotil thought it enchantment, or any other thing of the devil. instinctively he disapproved of rhodes' position in the group; his care-free, happy smile ill fitted the situation at soledad. before the stealing away of doña jocasta she had been as a dead woman who walked; her sense of overwhelming sin was gratifying in that it gave every hope of leading to repentance, but on her return the manner of her behavior was different. she rode like a queen, and even the marriage was accepted as a justice! padre andreas secretly credited the heretic americano with the change, and mexican girls put no such dependence on a man outside of her own family,--unless that man was a lover! he saw his own influence set aside by the stranger and the rebel leader, and with doña jocasta as a firebrand he feared dread and awful things now that rotil had given her power. he found her with bright eyes and a faint flush in her cheeks over the letter kit was writing to the south. it was her first act as the wife of josé perez, and it was being written to the girl whom perez had hoped to marry! kit got considerable joy in framing her request as follows: to señorita dolores terain, linda vista rancho, sonora, honored seÑorita: as a woman who desires to secure justice and mercy for some poor peons of our district of altar, i venture to address you, to whom womanly compassion must belong as does beauty and graciousness. this is a work for the charity of women, rather than debates in law courts by men. i send with this the names of those poor people who were herded south for slavery by adolf conrad, a german who calls himself american. to your father, the illustrious general terain, this man conrad represented these poor people as rebels and raiders of this region. it is not true. they were simple peaceful workers on little ranches. they were given shelter at your rancho of linda vista to work for their food until they could be deported, but i send with this a payment of gold with which to repay any care they have been, or any debts incurred. if it is not enough, i pledge myself to the amount you will regard as justice. dear señorita, my husband, don josé, warns me that women cannot manage such affairs, but we can at least try. parents wait here for sons and daughters, and little children wait for their parents. will you aid in the christian task of bringing them together quickly? at your service with all respect, jocasta benicia perez, soledad rancho, sonora. "but you write here of gold sent by messenger, señor!--i have no gold, only words can i send," protested doña jocasta helplessly. "ah, but the words are more precious than all," kit assured her. "it is the right word we have waited for, and you alone could give it, señora. these people have held the gold ransom while waiting that word, and this child can bring it when the time is right." doña jocasta regarded tula doubtfully; she certainly gave no appearance of holding wealth to redeem a pueblo. "you,--the little one to whom even the deliverer listens?" she said kindly. "but the wealth of a little indian ranch would not seem riches to this illustrious lady, the doña dolores terain." "yet will i bring riches to her or to you, excellencia, if only my mother and my sister are coming again to palomitas," said tula earnestly. "but whence comes wealth to you in a land where there is no longer wealth for anyone?" kit listened with little liking for the conversation after the padre entered. it was a direct question, and to be answered with directness, and he watched tula anxiously lest she say the wrong thing. but she told the straight truth in a way to admit of no question. "long ago my father got gold for sacred prayer reasons; he hid it until he was old; when he died he made gift of it to me that my mother and sister buy freedom. that is all, excellencia, but the gold is good gold." she slipped her hand under her skirt and unfastened the leather strings of the burro-skin belt,--it fell heavily on the tile floor. she untied the end of it and poured a handful on the table. "you see, señora, there is riches enough to go with your words, but never enough to pay for them." "_santa maria!_" cried the amazed priest. "that is _red_ gold! in what place was it found?" tula laid her hand over the nuggets and faced him. "that secret was the secret of miguel who is dead." "but--some old indian must know----" tula shook her head with absolute finality. "no old indian in all the world knows that!" she said. "this was a secret of the youth of miguel, and only when old and dying did he give it for his people. this i,--tula, child of miguel tell you." padre andreas looked from the girl to kit and back again, knowing that the death of miguel was a recent thing since it had occurred after the stealing of the women. "where did your father die?" he asked. "in the hills of the desert." "and--who had absolving and burial of him?" "absolving i do not know, but this man, his friend, had the making of the grave," she said, indicating kit, and the eyes of the priest rested again on kit with a most curious searching regard. evidently even this little indian stray of the desert arrived at good fortune under the friendship of the american stranger,--and it was another added to the list of enchantings! "ah," he murmured meaningly, "then this strange señor also has the knowing of this indian gold? is it truly gold of the earth, or witches' gold of red clay?" and he went nearer, reaching his hand to touch it. "why all this question when the child offers it for a good christian use?" demanded doña jocasta. "see, here is a piece of it heavy enough to weigh down many lumps of clay, and north or south it will prove welcome ransom. it is a miracle sent by the saints at this time." "would the saints send the red gold of el alisal to a heretic instead of a son of the church?" he asked. "and this is that gold for which the padres of soledad paid with their lives long ago. there was never such red gold found in sonora as that, and the church had its own claim on it;--it is mission gold!" "no, not now," said tula, addressing doña jocasta,--"truly not now! they claimed it long ago, but the holding of it was a thing not for them. fire came out of the clouds to kill them there, and no one saw them alive anymore, and no other priest ever found the gold. this much is found by miguel, for a dead man's promise!" "the girl speaks straight, señora," ventured kit. "i have already told general rotil of the promise, but no good will come of much talk over the quality of gold for that ransom. to carry that message south and bring back the women is a task for council, but outside these walls, no tongue must speak of the gold, else there would be no safety for this maid." "yet a priest may ask how an americano comes far from his home to guard gold and a maid in sonora?" retorted padre andreas. "strange affairs move these days in altar--guns, ammunition, and the gold of dead men! in all these things you have a say, señor, yet you are but young in years, and----" "padre," interrupted doña jocasta with a note of command, "he was old enough to save this child from starvation in the desert, and he was old enough to save me when even you could no longer save me, so why object because he has guarded wealth, and means to use it in a way of mercy? heretic he may be, but he has the trust of ramon rotil, and of me. also it is forbidden to mention this belt or what it covers. i have given my word, and this is no time to halt the task we have set. it would better serve those lost people if you help us find a messenger who is safe." it was the first time the new señora perez assumed a tone of authority at soledad, and kit rhodes thanked his lucky stars that she was arrayed with him instead of against him, for her eyes glowed green lightning on the priest whose curiosity had gotten him into trouble. kit could not really blame him, for there was neither priest nor peon of the land who had not had visions of conquest if only the red gold of the alisal should be conveniently stumbled upon! and tula listened to the words of doña jocasta as she would have listened to a god. "i go," she said eagerly. "the trail it is strange to me, but i will find that way. i think i find in the dark that trail on which the mother of me was going!" doña jocasta patted the hand of the girl, but looked at kit. "that trail is not for a maid," she said meaningly. "i came over it, and know." "i think it is for me," he answered. "the promise was mine. i know none of the people, but the names are written. it is eighty miles." "three days." "more, double that," he said thoughtfully, and the eyes of tula met his in disapproval. it was the merest hint of a frown, but it served. she could do the errand better than she could guard the rest of the gold. if her little belt was lost it was little, but if his store should be found it would be enough to start a new revolution in sonora;--the men of rotil and the suspicious padre would unite on the treasure trail. it was the padre who gave him most uneasiness, because the padre was guessing correctly! the dream of a mighty church of the desert to commemorate all the ruined missions of the wilderness, was a great dream for the priest of a little pueblo, and the eyes of the padre andreas were alight with keen,--too keen, anticipation. "i go," stated tula again. "no other one is knowing my people." "that is a true word," decided padre andreas, "a major-domo of evil mind at linda vista could take the gold and send north whatever unruly vagabonds he had wished to be free from. let the maid go, and i can arrange to see her there safe." this kind offer did not receive the approval deserved. kit wished no man on the trail with tula who knew of the gold, and tula herself was not eager to journey into unknown regions with a man of religion, who had already learned from valencia of the elaborate ceremony planned for a "judas day!" little though tula knew of churchly observances, she had an instinctive fear that she would be detained in the south too long to officiate in this special ceremony on which she had set her heart. "not with a priest will i go," she announced. "he would shut me in a school, and in that place i would die. clodomiro can go, or isidro, who is so good and knowing all our people." "that is a good thought," agreed doña jocasta, who had no desire that padre andreas meet the family of terain and recount details of the perez marriage,--not at least until she had worn her official title a little longer and tested the authority it gave her. "that is a good thought, for i have no wish that my house be left without a priest. señor rhodes, which man is best?" but before kit could answer ramon rotil stood in the door, and his eyes went to the papers on the table. tula had recovered her belt, and fastened it under the _manta_ she wore. "so! you are working in council, eh?" he asked. "and have arrived at plans? first your own safety, señora?" "no, señor,--first the bringing back of the people driven off by the slavers. the letter is written; this child is to take it because the people are her people, but a safe man is wanted, and these two i cannot let go. you know josé perez, and his wife must not be without a man of religion as guard, yet he alone would not save me from others, hence the american señor----" "sure, that is a safe thought," and he took the seat offered by kit. but he shook his head after listening to their suggestions. "no. isidro is too old, and clodomiro with his flying ribbands of a would-be lover, is too young for that trail. you want--you want----" he paused as his mind evidently went searching among his men for one dependable. then he smiled at kit. "you saved me the right man, señor! who would be better than the foreman of soledad? would it not be expected that señora perez would send the most important of the ranchmen? very well then. marto is safe, he will go." "but marto--" began padre andreas, when rotil faced about, staring him into silence. "marto will return here to soledad today," he said, and the face of the priest went pale. it was as if he had said that the task of marto on the east trail would be ended. "yes, marto cavayso has been at hermosillo," assented doña jocasta. "he will know all the ways to arrive quickly." "that will be attended to. will you, señor, see to it that horse and provision are made ready for the trail? and you, señora? soledad in the wilderness is no good place for a lady. when this matter of the slaves is arranged, will it please you to ride south, or north? troops of the south will be coming this way;--it will be a land of soldiers and foraging." "how shall i answer that?" murmured doña jocasta miserably. "in the south josé perez may make life a not possible thing for me,--and in the north i would be a stranger." "josé perez will not make trouble; yet trouble might be made,--at first," said rotil avoiding her eyes, and turning again to kit. "señor, by the time marto gets back from the south, the pack mules will be here again. until they are gone from soledad i trust you in charge of señora perez. she must have a manager, and there is none so near as you." "at her service," said kit promptly, "but this place----" "ai, that is it," agreed rotil. "north is the safer place for women alone, and you--did you not say that on granados there were friends?" "why, yes, general," replied kit. "my friend, captain pike, is somewhere near, and the owner of granados is a lady, and among us we'll do our best. but it's a hard trip, and i've only one gun." "you will take your choice of guns, horses, or men," decided rotil. "that is your work. also you will take with you the evidence of señora perez on that matter of the murder. the padre can also come in on that,--so it will be service all around." chappo came to the door to report that all was ready for the trail, and rotil stood up, and handed to doña jocasta the marriage contract. "consider the best way of protecting this until you reach an alcalde and have a copy made and witnessed," he said warningly. "it protects your future. the fortunes of war may take all the rest of us, but the wife of perez needs the record of our names; see to it!" she looked up at him as if to speak, but no words came. he gazed curiously at her bent head, and the slender hands over the papers. in his life of turmoil and bloodshed he had halted to secure for her the right to a principality. in setting his face to the east, and the battle line, he knew the chance was faint that he would ever see her again, and his smile had in it a touch of self-derision at the thought,--for after all he was nothing to her! "so--that is all," he said, turning away. "you come with me a little ways, señor, and to you, señora, _adios_!" "go with god, ramon rotil," she murmured, "and if ever a friend is of need to you, remember the woman to whom you gave justice and a name!" "_adios_," he repeated, and his spurs tinkled as he strode through the patio to the portal where the saddle horses were waiting. the pack mules were already below the mesa, and reached in a long line over the range towards the cañon of the eastern trail. "you have your work cut out," he said to kit. "for one thing, marto cavayso will carry out orders, but you must not have him enter a room where doña jocasta may be. it would be to offend her and frighten him. he swears to the saints that he was bewitched. that is as may be, but it is an easy way out! when the pack mules come back, and marto is here, it is for you two to do again the thing we did last night. i may need soledad on another day, and would keep all its secrets. after you have loaded the last of the guns it is best for you to go quickly. here is a permit in case you cross any land held by our men;--it is for you, your family, and all your baggage without molestation. señora perez has the same. this means you can take over the border any of the furnishings of soledad required by the lady for a home elsewhere. the wagons sent north by perez will serve well for that, and they are hers." "but if he should send men of his own to interfere----" "he won't," stated rotil. "you are capitan, and soledad is under military rule. there is only one soul here over which your word is not law. i have given the german judas to your girl, and the women can have their way with him. he is as a dead man; call her." there was no need, for tula had followed at a discreet distance, and from beside a pillar gazed regretfully after her hero, the deliverer, whom she felt every man should follow. "_oija, muchacha!_" he said as kit beckoned her forward, "go to fidelio. he is over there filling the cantins at the well. tell him to give you the key to the quarters of el aleman, and hearken you!--i wash my hands of him from this day. if you keep him, well, but if he escapes, the loss is to you. i go, and not again will ramon rotil trap a judas for your hellishness." tula sped to fidelio, secured the key and was back to hold the stirrup of rotil as he was helped to the saddle. "if god had made me a man instead of a maid, i would ride the world as your soldier, my general," she said, holding the key to her breast as an amulet. "send your lovers instead," he said, and laughed, "for you will have them when you get more beef on your bones. _adios_, soldier girl!" she peered up at him under her mane of black hair. "myself,--i think that is true," she stated gravely, "also my lovers, when they come, must follow you! when i see my own people safe in palomitas it may be that i, tula, will also follow you,--and the help of the child of miguel may not be a little help, my general." kit rhodes alone knew what she meant. her intense admiration for the rebel leader of the wilderness had brought the glimmer of a dream to her;--the need of gold was great as the need of guns, and for the deliverer of the tribes what gift too great? but the others of the guard laughed at the crazy saying of the brown wisp of a girl. they had seen women of beauty give him smiles, and more than one girl follow his trail for his lightest word, but to none of them did it occur that this one called by him the young crane, or the possessor of many devils, could bring more power to his hand than a regiment of the women who were comrades of a light hour. but her solemnity amused rotil, and he swept off his hat with exaggerated courtesy. "i await the day, tulita. sure, bring your lovers,--and later your sons to the fight! while you wait for them tell marto cavayso he is to have a care of you as if you were the only child of ramon rotil! i too will have a word with him of that. see to it, capitan of the roads, and _adios!_" he grinned at the play upon the name of rhodes, and whirled his horse, joining his men, who sat their mounts and watched at a little distance. within the portal was gathered all those left of the household of soledad to whom the coming and the going of the revolutionary leader was the great event of their lives, and all took note of the title of "capitan" and the fact that the americano and the indian girl had his last spoken words. they had gone scarce a mile when fidelio spurred his horse back and with mexican dash drew him back on his haunches as kit emerged from the corridor. "general rotil's compliments," he said with a grin, "and marto will report to you any event requiring written record,--and silence!" "say that again and say it slow," suggested kit. "that is the word as he said it, capitan, 'requiring the writing of records, and--silence!'" "i get you," said kit, and with a flourish and a clatter, fidelio was soon lost in the dust. kit was by no means certain that he did "get" him. he felt that he had quite enough trouble without addition of records and secrecy for acts of the deliverer. chapter xix the return of tula the sentinel palms of soledad were sending long lines of shadows toward the blue range of the sierras, and gnarled old orange trees in the ancient mission garden drenched the air with fragrance from many petals. there had been a sand storm the day before, followed by rain, and all the land was refreshed and sparkling. the pepper trees swung tassels of bloom and the flaming coral of the occotilla glowed like tropic birds poised on wide-reaching wands of green. meadow larks echoed each other in the tender calls of nesting time, and from the jagged peaks on the east, to far low hills rising out of a golden haze in the west, there was a great quiet and peace brooding over the old mission grounds of the wilderness. doña jocasta paced the outer corridor, watched somberly by padre andreas on whom the beauty of the hour was lost. "is your heart turned stone that you lift no hand, or speak no word for the soul of a mortal?" he demanded. "already the terrible women of palomitas are coming to wait for their judas, and this is the morning of the day!" "it is no work of mine, padre," she answered wearily. "i am sick,--here!--that the beast has been all these days and nights under a roof near me. i know how the women feel, though i think i would not wait, as they have waited,--for good friday." "it is murder in your heart to harbor such wickedness of thought," he insisted. "your soul is in jeopardy that you do not contemplate forgiveness. even though a man be a heretic, a priest must do his office when it comes to a sentence of death. after all--he is a human." "i do not know that," replied doña jocasta thoughtfully, and she sank into a rawhide chair in the shade of a pillar. "listen, padre. i am not learned in books, but i have had new thoughts with me these days. don pajarito is telling me of los alemanos all over the world;--souls they have not, and serpents and toads are their mothers! here in mexico we have our flag from old indian days with the eagle and the snake. once i heard scholars in hermosillo talk about that; they said it was from ancient times of sky worship, and the bird was a bird of stars,--also the serpent." padre andreas lifted his brows in derision at the childishness of indian astrology. "myself, i think the indian sky knowers had the prophet sight," went on doña jocasta. "they make their eagle on the standard and they put the serpent there of the reason that some day a thing of poison would crawl to the nest of the eagle of mexico to comrade there. it has crawled over the seas for that, padre, and the beak and claws and wing of the eagle must all do battle to kill the head and the heart of it;--for the heart of a serpent dies hard, and they breed and hatch their eggs everywhere in the soil of mexico. señor padre, the indian women of palomitas are right!--the girl tula is a child of the eagle, and her stroke at the heart of the german snake will be a true stroke. i will not be one to give the weak word for mercy." her gaze, through half-closed lids, was directed towards the far trail of the cañon where moving dots of dark marked the coming of the palomitas women. a ray of reflected light touched the jewel green of her eyes like shadowed emeralds in their dusky casket, and the priest, constantly proclaiming the probable loss of her soul, could not but bring his glance again and again to the wondrous beauty of her. she had bloomed like a royal rose in the days of serene rest at soledad. "if the heretic americano gives you these thoughts which are not christian, it will be a day of good luck when you see the last of him," was his cold statement as he watched her. "my mind is not well satisfied as to his knowledge of secret things here in sonora. the indians say he is an enchanter or ramon rotil would never have left him here as capitan with you,--and that belt of gold----" "but it was not the belt of the americano!" "no, but he _knows_! i tell you that gold is of the gold lost before we were born,--the red gold of the padres' mine!" "but the old women are telling me that the gold was indian gold long before spanish priests saw the land! does the indian girl then not have first right?" "none has right ahead of the church, since all those pagans are under the rule of church! they are benighted heathen who must come under instruction and authority, else are they as beasts of the field." "still,--if the girl makes use of her little heritage for a pious purpose----" "her intent has nothing to do with that secret knowledge of the americano!" he insisted. "has he bewitched you also that you have so little interest in a mine of gold in anyone of the arroyas of your land?" she smiled at that without turning her head. "if a mountain of gold should be uncovered at soledad, of what difference to me? would he let a woman make traffic with it? surely not." "he?" "josé perez,--who else?" padre andreas closed his eyes a moment and arose, but did not answer. he paced the length of the corridor and back before he spoke. "it is for you to ask the americano that the prisoner be given a priest if he wants prayer," he said returning to their original subject of communication. "it is a duty that i tell you this; it is your own house." "señor rhodes is capitan," she returned indifferently. "it is his task to give me rest here to prepare for that long north journey. i do not rest in my mind or my soul when you talk to me of the german snake, so i will ask that you speak with capitan rhodes. he has the knowing of spanish." "too much for safety of us," commented the priest darkly. "who is to say how he uses it with the indians? it is well known that the american government would win all this land, and work with the indians that they help win it." "so everyone is saying in hermosillo," agreed doña jocasta, "but the american capitan has not told me lies of any other thing, and he is saying that is a lie made by foreign people. also--" and she looked at him doubtfully, "the man conrad cursed your name yesterday as a damned austrian whose country had cost his country much." "my mother was not austrian!" retorted padre andreas, "and all my childhood was in mexico. but how did conrad know?" "he told elena it was his business to know such things. the germans help send many mexican priests north over the border. he had the thought that you are to go with me for some reason political of which i knew nothing!" "i? did _i_ come in willingness to this wilderness? from the beginning to the end i am as a prisoner here;--as much a prisoner as is el aleman behind the bars! no horse is mine;--if i walk abroad for my own health a vaquero ever is after me that i ride back with no fatigue to myself! it is the work of the heretic americano who will have his own curse for it!" he fumed nervously over the unexpected thrust of austrian ancestry, and the beautiful eyes of doña jocasta regarded him with awakened interest. she had never thought of his politics, or possible affiliations, but after all it was true that he had been stationed at a pueblo where everything on wheels must pass coming north towards the border, also that was a very small pueblo to support a padre, and perhaps---- "padre," she said after a moment, "but for the americano you would be a dead man. think you what ramon would have done to a priest who let a vaquero carry me to the ranges! also i came back to soledad because the americano told me it was only duty and justice that i come for your sake as ramon has no liking for priests. you see, señor, our american capitan of soledad is not so bad;--he had a care of you." "too much a care of me!" retorted the priest. "know you not that the door of my sleeping room is bolted each night, and unbolted at dawn? he laughs with a light heart, and sings foolishly,--your new americano; but under that cloak of the simple his plotting is not idle!" "as to that, i think his light heart is not so light these days," said doña jocasta. "two days now the indian girl and marto cavayso could have been back in soledad, and he is looking, looking ever over that empty trail. before the sun was above the sierra today he was far there coming across the mesa." "a man does not go in the dark to look for a trail," said padre andreas meaningly. "he unbolted my door on his return, and to me he looked as a man who has done work that was heavy. what work is there for him to do alone in the hills?" "who knows? a horse herd is somewhere in a cañon beyond. there are colts, and the storm of yesterday might make trouble. the old father of elena says that storm has not gone far and will come back! and while the americano rides to learn of colts, and strays, he also picks the best mules for our journey to the border." "does he find the best mules with packs already on their backs in the cañons?" demanded the padre skeptically. "from my window i saw them return." "i also," confessed doña jocasta amused at the persistence of suspicion, "and the load was the water bags and _serape_! does any but a fool go into the wilderness without water?" "you cover him well, señora, but i think it was not horses he went in the night to count," said the priest sarcastically. "gold in the land is to him who finds it,--and i tell you the church will hear of that red gold belt from me! also there will be a new search for it! if it is here the church will see that it does not go with american renegades across the border!" "padre, all the land speaks peace today, yet you are as a threatening cloud over soledad!" "i speak in warning, not threat,--and i am not the only cloud in the sky. the women of vengeance are coming beyond there where the willows are green." doña jocasta looked the way he pointed, and stood up with an exclamation of alarm. "clodomiro! call clodomiro!" she said hurriedly, and as the priest only stared at her, she sped past him to the portal and called the boy who came running from the patio. she pointed as the priest had pointed. "they are strangers, they do not know," she said. "kill a horse, but meet them!" his horse was in the plaza, and he was in the saddle before she finished speaking, digging in his heels and yelling as though leading a charge while the frightened animal ran like a wild thing. doña jocasta stood gazing after him intently, shading her eyes with her hand. women came running out of the patio and padre andreas stared at her. "what new thing has given you fear?" he asked in wonder. "no new thing,--a very old thing of which elena told me! that green strip of willow is the edge of a quicksand where no one knows the depth. the women are thinking to make a short path across, and the one who leads will surely go down." the priest stared incredulous. "how a quicksand and no water?" he asked doubtfully. "there _is_ water,--hidden water! it comes under the ground from the hills. in the old, old days it was a wide well boiling like a kettle over a fire, also it was warm! then sand storms filled that valley and filled the well. it is crusted over, but the boiling goes on far below. elena said not even a coyote will touch that cañoncita though the dogs are on his trail. the indians say an evil spirit lives under there, but the women of mesa blanca and palomitas do not know the place." "it should have a fence,--a place like that." "it had, but the wind took it, and, as you see, soledad is a forgotten place." they watched clodomiro circle over the mesa trail and follow the women down the slope of the little valley. it was fully three miles away, yet the women could be seen running in fear to the top of the mesa where they cast themselves on the ground resting from fright and exertion. quite enjoying his spectacular dash of rescue, clodomiro cantered back along the trail, and when he reached the highest point, turned looking to the southeast where, beyond the range, the old yaqui trail led to the land of despair. he halted there, throwing up his hand as if in answer to some signal, and then darted away, straight across the mesa instead of toward the buildings. "tula has come!" said doña jocasta in a hushed voice of dread. "she has come, and señor rhodes is needed here. that coming of tula may bring an end to quiet days,--like this!" she sighed as she spoke, for the week had been as a space of restful paradise after the mental and physical horrors she had lived through. in a half hour clodomiro came in sight again just as kit rode in from the west. "get horses out of the corrals," he called, "all of them. that trail has been long even from the railroad." it was done quickly, and the vaqueros rode out as clodomiro reached the plaza. "_tula?_" asked kit. "tula is as the living whose mind is with the dead," said the boy. "many are sick, some are dead,--the mother of tula died on the trail last night." "good god!" whispered kit. "after all that hell of a trail, to save no one for herself! where is marto?" "marto walks, and sick ones are on his horse. i go back now that tula has this horse." "no, i will go. stay you here to give help to the women. bring out beds in every corridor. bring straw and blankets when the beds are done." doña jocasta put out her hand as he was about to mount. "and i? what task is mine to help?" she asked, and kit looked down at her gravely. "señora, you have only to be yourself, gracious and kind of heart. also remember this is the first chance in the lands of soledad to show the natives they have not alone a padrona, but a protecting friend. in days to come it may be a memory of comfort to you." then he mounted, and led the string of horses out to meet the exiles. while she looked after him murmuring, "in days to come?" and to the padre she said, "i had ceased to think of days to come, for the days of my life had reached the end of all i could see or think. he gives hope even in the midst of sadness,--does the americano." kit met the band where the trail forked to palomitas and mesa blanca. some wanted to go direct to their own homes and people, while marto argued that food and rest and a priest awaited them at soledad, and because of their dead, they should have prayers. tula said nothing. she sat on the sand, and caressed a knife with a slightly curved blade,--a knife not mexican, yet familiar to kit, and like a flash he recalled seeing one like it in the hand of conrad at granados. she did not even look up when he halted beside her though the others welcomed with joy the sight of the horses for the rest of the trail. "tula!" he said bending over her, "tula, we come to welcome you,--my horse is for your riding." she looked up when he touched her. "friend of me," she murmured wistfully, "you made me put a mark at that place after we met in the first dawn,--so i was knowing it well. also my mother was knowing,--and it was where she died last night under the moon. see, this is the knife on which anita died in that place. it is ended for us--the people of miguel, and the people of cajame!" "tula, you have done wonderful things, many deeds to make the spirit of miguel proud. is that not so, my friends?" and he turned to the others, travel-stained, sick and weary, yet one in their cries of the gratitude they owed to tula and to him, by which he perceived that tula had, for her own reasons, credited him with the plan of ransom. they tried brokenly to tell of their long fear and despair in the strangers' land,--and of sickness and deaths there. then the miracle of tula walking by the exalted excellencia of that great place, and naming one by one the palomitas names, forgetting none;--until all who lived were led out from that great planting place of sugar cane and maize, and their feet set on the northern way. when they reached this joyous part of the recital words failed, and they wept as they smiled at him and touched the head of tula tenderly. even a gorgeous and strange _manta_ she now wore was pressed to the lips of women who were soon to see their children or their desolate mothers. his eyes grew misty as they thronged about her,--the slender dark child of the breed of a leader. the new _manta_ was of yellow wool and cotton, bordered with dull green and little squares of flaming scarlet woven in it by patient indian hands of the far south coast. it made her look a bit royal in the midst of the drab-colored, weary band. she seemed scarcely to hear their praise, or their sobs and prayers. her face was still and her gaze far off and brooding as her fingers stroked the curved blade over and over. "an indian stole that knife from the german after his face was cut with it by her sister," said marto cavayso quietly while the vaqueros were helping the weaker refugees to mount, two to each animal. "that man gives it to her at the place where marta, her mother, died in the night. so after that she does not sleep or eat or talk. it is as you see." "i see! take you the others, and tula will ride on my saddle," said kit in the same tone. then he pointed to the beautifully worked _manta_, "did she squander wealth of hers on that?" marto regarded him with an impatient frown--it seemed to him an ill moment for the american joke. "tula had no wealth," he stated, "we lived as we could on the fine gold you gave to me for myself." "oh yes, i had forgotten that," declared kit in some wonder at this information, "but _mantas_ like that do not grow on trees in sonora." "that is a gift from the very grand daughter of the general terain," said marto. "also if you had seen affairs as they moved there at linda vista you would have said as does ramon rotil, that this one is daughter of the devil! i was there, and with my eyes i saw it, but if i had not,--an angel from heaven would not make me believe!" "what happened?" "the virgin alone knows! for women are in her care, and no man could see. as ordered, i went to the gates of that hacienda very grand. _sangre de christo!_ if they had known they would have strung me to a tree and filled me with lead! but i was the very responsible vaquero of rancho soledad in altar--and the lizards of guards at the gate had no moment of suspicion. i told them the indian girl carried a letter for the eyes of their mistress and the sender was doña jocasta perez. at that they sent some messenger on the run, for they say the doña dolores is fire and a sword to any servant of theirs who is slow in her tasks." "i heard she was a wonder of pride and beauty," said kit. "did you see her?" "that came later. she sent for tula who would give the letter to no one,--not even to me. the guard divided their dinner with me while i waited; if they were doing work for their general i was doing work for mine and learned many things in that hour! at last tula came walking down that great stair made from one garden to another where laurel trees grow, and with her walked a woman out of the sun. there is no other word, señor, for that woman! truly she is of gold and rose; her mother's family were of old spain and she is a glory to any day!" "did you feel yourself under witchcraft--once more?" queried kit. "_sangre de christo!_ never again! but josé perez had a good eye for making choice of women,--that is a true word! so doña dolores walked down to the drive with that _manta_ over her arm, also a belt in her hand,--a belt of gold, señor, see!" to the astonished gaze of kit rhodes he drew from under his coat the burro-skin belt he had directed the making of up there in the hidden cañon of el alisal. marto balanced it in his hand appreciatively. "and there was more of it than this!" he exulted, "for the way on the railroad was paid out of it for all the indians. that is why we lost two days,--our car was put on a side track, and for the sick it was worse than to walk the desert." "yes; well?" "doña dolores got in a fine carriage there. _madre de dios!_ what horses! white as snow on the sierras, and gold on all the harness! me, i am dreaming of them since that hour! they got in, tula also in her poor dress, and a guard told me to follow the carriage. it was as if san gabriel made me invitation to enter heaven! twenty miles we went through that plantation, a deep sea of cane, señor, and maize of a tree size,--the richness there is riches of a king. guards were everywhere and peons rode ahead to inform the major-domo, and he came riding like devils to meet doña dolores terain. i am not a clever man, señor, but even i could see that never before had the lady of linda vista made herself fatigue by a plantation ride there, and i think myself he had a scare that she see too much! at the first when doña dolores had speech with him, it was easy to see he blamed me, and his eyes looked once as if to scorch me with fire. then she pointed to the child beside her, and gave some orders, and he sent a guard with tula through another gate into a great corral where men and women were packed like cattle. señor, i have been in battles, but i never heard screams of wounded like the screams of joy i heard in that corral! some of these indians dropped like dead and were carried out of the gate that way as tula stood inside and named the names. "when it was over that woman of white beauty told that manager to have them all well fed, and given meat for the journey, for he would answer to the general if any stroke of harm came to anyone of them on the plantation of linda vista. then she gave to my hand the belt of gold to care for the poor people on the trail;--also she said the people were a free gift to doña jocasta perez, and there was no ransom to pay. myself i think the doña dolores had happiness to tell the general, her father, that josé perez had a wife, for that plan of marriage was but for politics. _sangre de christo!_ what a woman! when all was done she held out the _manta_ to tula, and her smile was as honey of the mesquite, and she said, "in my house you would not take the gift i offered you, but now that you have your mother, and your friends safe, will you yet be so proud?" and tula with her arms around her mother, stood up and let the thing be put over her head as you see, and that, señor capitan, is the way of the strange _manta_ of tula." "and that?" queried kit, indicating the belt. marto smiled a bit sheepishly and lowered his voice because the last of the horses were being loaded with the homesick human freight, and the chatter, and clatter of hoofs had ceased about them. "maybe it is the _manta_, and maybe i am a fool," he confessed, "but she told me to spend not one ounce beyond what was needed, for it was to use only for these sick and poor people of hers. there was a good game going on in that train,--and fools playing! i could have won every peso if i had put up only a little handful of the nuggets. that is why i think my general knew when he said she was the devil, for she stood up in that straight rich garment of honor and looked at me--only looked, not one spoken word, señor!--and on my soul and the soul of my mother, the wish to play in that game went away from me in that minute, and did not come back! how does a man account for a thing like that; i ask you?" kit thought of that first night on the treasure trail in the mountain above them, and smiled. "i can't account for it, though i do recognize the fact," he answered. "it is not the first time tula has ruled an outfit, and it is not the _manta_!" then he walked over and lifted her from the ground as he would lift a child, she weighed so little more! "little sister," he said kindly, "now that you are rested, you will ride my horse to soledad. your big work is done for your people. all is finished." "no, señor,--not yet is the finish," she said shaking her head, "not yet!" kit felt uncomfortably the weight in his pocket of the key of conrad's room. he had made most solemn promise it would be guarded till she came. he had studied up some logical arguments to present to her attention for herding the german across the border as a murderer the united states government would deal justice to, but after the report of marto concerning her long trail, and the death of her mother in the desert, he did not feel so much like either airing ideas or asking questions. he was rather overwhelmed by the knowledge that she had not allowed even marto to guess that the bag of gold was her very own! he took her on the saddle in front of him because she drooped so wearily there alone, and her head sank against his shoulder as if momentarily she was glad to be thus supported. "poor little eaglet!" he said affectionately, "i will take you north to cap pike, and someone else who will love you when she hears all this; and in other years, quieter years, we will ride again into sonora, and----" she shook her head against his shoulder, and he stopped short. "why, tula!" he began in remonstrance, but she lifted her hand with a curious gesture of finality. "friend of me," she said in a small voice with an undertone of sad fatefulness, "words do not come today. they told you i am not sleeping on this home trail, and it is true. i kept my mother alive long after the death birds of the night were calling for her--it is so! also today at the dawn the same birds called above me,--above _me_! and look!" they had reached the summit of the valley's wall and for a half mile ahead the others were to be seen on the trail to soledad, but it was not there she pointed, but to the northeast where a dark cloud hung over the mountains. its darkness was cleft by one lance of lightning, but it was too far away for sound of thunder to reach them. "see you not that the cloud in the sky is like a bird,--a dark angry bird? also it is over the trail to the north, but it is not for you,--_i_ am the one first to see it! señor, i will tell you, but i telling no other--i think my people are calling me all the time, in every way i look now. i no knowing how i go to them, but--i think i go!" chapter xx eagle and serpent marto cavayso gave to kit rhodes the burro-skin belt and a letter from doña dolores terain to the wife of josé perez. "my work is ended at the hacienda until the mules come back for more guns, and i will take myself to the adobe beyond the corrals for what rest there may be. you are capitan under my general, so this goes to you for the people of the girl he had a heart for. myself,--i like little their coyote whines and yells. it may be a giving of thanks, or it may be a mourning for dead,--but it sounds to me like an anthem made in hell." he referred to the greeting songs of the returned exiles, and the wails for the dead left behind on the trail. the women newly come from palomitas sat circled on the plaza, and as food or drink was offered each, a portion was poured on the sand as a libation to the ghosts of the lately dead, and the name of each departed was included in the wailing chant sung over and over. it was a weird, hypnotic thing, made more so by the curious light, yellow and green in the sky, preceding that dark cloud coming slowly with sound of cannonading from the north. though the sun had not set, half the sky was dark over the eastern sierras. "the combination is enough to give even a sober man the jim-jams," agreed kit. "doña jocasta is sick with fear of them, and has gone in to pray as far from the sound as possible. the letter will go to her, and the belt will go to tula who may thank you another day. this day of the coming back she is not herself." "mother of god! that is a true word. no girl or woman is like that!" the priest, who had talked with the sick and weary, and listened to their sobs of the degradation of the slave trail, had striven to speak with tula, who with head slightly drooped looked at him under her straight brows as though listening to childish things. "see you!" muttered marto. "that _manta_ must have been garb of some king's daughter, and no common maid. it makes her a different thing. would you not think the padre some underling, and she a ruler giving laws?" for, seated as she was, in a chair with arms, her robe of honor reached straight from her chin to her feet, giving her appearance of greater height than she was possessed of, and the slender banda holding her hair was of the same scarlet of the broideries. kit remembered calling her a young cleopatra even in her rags, and now he knew she looked it! he was not near enough to hear the words of the priest, but with all his energy he was striving to win her to some view of his. she listened in long silence until he ceased. then her hand went under her _manta_ and drew out the curved knife. she spoke one brief sentence, and lifted the blade over her head. it caught the light of the hovering sun, and the indians near enough to hear her words set up a scream of such unearthly emotion that the priest turned ashen, and made the sign to ward off evil. it was merely coincidence that a near flash of lightning flamed from the heavens as she lifted the knife,--but it inspired every indian to a crashing cry of exultation. and it did not end there, for a palomitas woman had carried across the desert a small drum of dried skin stretched over a hollow log, and at the words of tula she began a soft tum-tum-tum-tum on the hidden instrument. the sound was at first as a far echo of the thunder back of the dark cloud, and the voices of the women shrilled their emphasis as the drum beat louder, or the thunder came nearer. kit rhodes decided marto was entirely correct as to the inspiration back of that anthem. "_sangre de christo!_ look at that!" muttered marto, who meant to turn his back on the entire group, yet was held by the fascination of the unexpected. four indian youths with a huge and furious bull came charging down the mesa towards the corral. a _reata_ fastened to each horn and hind foot of the animal was about the saddle horn of a boy, and the raging bellowing creature was held thus at safe distance from all. the boys, shouting with their joy of victory, galloped past the plaza to where four great stakes had already been driven deep in the hard ground. to those stakes the bull would be tied until the burden was ready for his back--and his burden would be what was left of "judas" when the women of the slave trail got through with him! "god the father knows i am a man of no white virtues," muttered marto eyeing the red-eyed maddened brute, "but here is my vow to covet no comradeship of aught in the shape of woman in the district of altar--bred of the devil are they!" he followed after to the corral to watch the tying of the creature, around which the indian men were gathered at a respectful distance. but rhodes, after one glance at the bellowing assistant of indian vengeance, found himself turning again to tula and the padre. that wild wail and the undertone of the drum was getting horribly on his nerves,--yet he could not desert, as had marto. tula sat as before, but with the knife held in her open hand on the arm of the chair. she followed with a grim smile the careering of the bull, then nodded her head curtly to the priest and turned her gaze slowly round the corridor until she saw rhodes, and tilted back her head in a little gesture of summons. "well, little sister," he said, "what's on your mind?" "the padre asks to pray with el aleman. i say yes, for the padre has good thoughts in his heart,--maybe so! you have the key?" "sure i have the key, but i fetch it back to you when visitors start going in, and--oh yes--there's your belt for your people." "no; you be the one to give," she said with a glance of sorrow towards a girl who was youngest of the slaves brought back. "you, amigo, keep all but the key." "as you say," he agreed. "come along, padre, you are to get the privilege you've been begging for, and i don't envy you the task." padre andreas made no reply. in his heart he blamed rhodes that the prisoner had not been let escape during the absence of the girl, and also resented the offhand manner of the young american concerning the duty of a priest. the sun was at the very edge of the world, and all shadows spreading for the night when they went to the door of conrad's quarters. kit unlocked the door and looked in before opening wide. the one window faced the corral, and conrad turned from it in shaking horror. "what is it they say out there?" he shouted in fury. "they call words of blasphemy, that the bull is germany, and 'judas' will ride it to the death! they are wild barbarians, they are----" "never mind what they are," suggested kit, "here is a priest who thinks you may have a soul worth praying for, and the indians have let him come--once!" then he let the priest in and locked the door, going back to tula with the key. she sat where he had left her, and was crooning again the weird tuneless dirge at which marto had been appalled. but she handed him a letter. "marto forgot. it was with the chinaman trader at the railroad," she said and went placidly on fondling the key as she had fondled the knife, and pitching her voice in that curious falsetto dear to indian ceremonial. he could scarce credit the letter as intended for himself, as it was addressed in a straggling hand filling all the envelope, to capitan christofero rhodes, manager of rancho soledad, district of altar, sonora, mexico, and in one corner was written, "by courtesy of señor fidelio lopez," and the date within a week. he opened it, and walked out to the western end of the corridor where the light was yet good, though through the barred windows he could see candles already lit in the shadowy _sala_. the letter was from cap pike, and in the midst of all the accumulated horror about him, kit was conscious of a great homesick leap of the heart as he skimmed the page and found her name--"billie is all right!" how are you, capitan? (began the letter). that fellow fidelio rode into the _cantina_ here at la partida today. he asked a hell's slew of questions about you, and billie and me nearly had fits, for we thought you were sure dead or held for ransom, and i give it to you straight, kit, there isn't a peso left on the two ranches to ransom even baby buntin' if the little rat is still alive, and that ain't all kit: it don't seem possible that conrad and singleton mortgaged both ranches clear up to the hilt, but it sure has happened, every acre is plastered with ten per cent paper and the compound interest strips it from billie just as sure as if it was droppin' through to china. when conrad was on the job he had it all blanketed, but now saltpeter can't save it without cash. billie is all right, but some peaked with worry. so am i. but you cheer up, for i got plans for a hike up into pinal county for us three on a search for the lost dutchman mine, lost fifty years and i have a hunch we can find it, got the dope from an old half breed who knew the dutchman. so don't you worry about trailing home broke. the fidelio hombre said to look for you in six days after easter, and meet you with water at the rio seco, so we'll do that. he called you capitan and said the deliverer had made you an officer; how about it? he let loose a line of talk about your two women in the outfit, but i sort of stalled him on that, so billie wouldn't get it, for i reckon that's a greaser lie, kit, and you ain't hitched up to no gay juanita down there. i had a monkey and parrot time to explain even that tula squaw to billie, for she didn't savvy--not a copper cent's worth! she is right here now instructin' me, but i won't let her read this, so don't you worry. she says to tell you it looks at last like our old eagle bird will have a chance to flop its wings in france. the pair of us is near about cross-eyed from watchin' the south trail into altar, and the east trail where the troops will go! she says even if we are broke there is an adobe for you at vijil's, and a range for buntin' and pardner. billie rides pardner now instead of pat. i reckon that's all kit, and i've worked up a cramp on this anyway. i figured that maybe you laid low down there till the singleton murder was cleared up, but i can alibi you on that o. k., when johnny comes marchin' home! so don't you worry. yours truly, pike. he read it over twice, seeking out the lines with _her_ name and dwelling on them. so billie was riding pardner,--and billie had a camp ready for him,--and billie couldn't savvy even a little indian girl in his outfit--_say!_ he was smiling at that with a very warm glow in his heart for the resentment of billie. he could just imagine pike's monkey and parrot time trying to make billie understand accidents of the trail in sonora. he would make that all clear when he got back to god's country! and the little heiress of granados ranches was only an owner of debt-laden acres,--couldn't raise a peso to ransom even the little burro! well, he was glad she rode pardner instead of another horse; that showed---- then he smiled again, and drifted into dreams. he would let bunting travel light to the rio seco, and then load him for her as no burro ever was loaded to cross the border! he wondered if she'd tell him again he couldn't hold a foreman's job? he wondered---- and then he felt a light touch on his arm, and turned to see the starlike beauty of doña jocasta beside him. truly the companionship of doña jocasta might be a more difficult thing to explain than that of the indian girl of a slave raid! her face was blanched with fear, and her touch brought him back from his vision of god's country to the tom-tom, and the weird chant, and the thunder of storm coming nearer and nearer in the twilight. "señor!" she breathed in terror, "even on my knees in prayer it is not for anyone to shut out this music of demons. look! yesterday she was a child of courage and right, but what is she today?" she pointed to tula and clung to him, for in all the wild chorus tula was the leader,--she who had the words of ancient days from the dead miguel. she sat there as one enthroned draped in that gorgeous thing, fit, as marto said, for a king's daughter, while the others sat in the plaza or rested on straw and blankets in the corridor looking up at her and shrilling savage echoes to the words she chanted. "and that animal,--i saw it!" moaned doña jocasta. "mother of god! that i should deny a priest who would only offer prayers for that wicked one who is to be tortured on it! señor, for the love of god give me a horse and let me go into the desert to that storm, any place,--any place out of sight and sound of this most desolate house! the merciful god himself has forsaken soledad!" as she spoke he realized that time had passed while he read and re-read and dreamed a dream because of the letter. the sun was far out of sight, only low hues of yellow and blue melting into green to show the illumined path it had taken. by refraction rays of copper light reached the zenith and gave momentarily an unearthly glow to the mesa and far desert, but it was only as a belated flash, for the dusk of night touched the edge of it. and the priest locked in with conrad had been forgotten by him! at any moment that girl with the key might give some signal for the ceremony, whatever it was, of the death of the german beast! "sure, señora, i promise you," he said soothingly, patting her hand clinging to him. "there is my horse in the plaza, and there is marto's. we will get the padre, and both of you can ride to the little adobe down the valley where elena's old father lives. he is mexican, not indian. it is better even to kneel in prayer there all the night than to try to rest in soledad while this lasts. at the dawn i will surely go for you. come,--we will ask for the key." together they approached tula, whose eyes stared straight out seeing none of the dark faces lifted to hers, she seemed not to see kit who stopped beside her. "little sister," he said, touching her shoulder, "the padre waits to be let out of the room of el aleman, and the key is needed." she nodded her head, and held up the key. "let me be the one," begged doña jocasta,--"i should do penance! i was not gentle in my words to the padre, yet he is a man of god, and devoted. let me be the one!" the indian girl looked up at that, and drew back the key. then some memory, perhaps that kneeling of doña jocasta with the women of palomitas, influenced her to trust, and after a glance at kit she nodded her head and put the key in her hand. "you, señor, have the horses," implored doña jocasta, "and i will at once come with padre andreas." "_pronto!_" agreed kit, "but i must get you a _serape_. rain may fall from that cloud." she seemed scarcely to hear him as she sped along the patio towards the locked door. kit entered his own room for a blanket just as she fitted the key in the lock, and spoke the padre's name. the next instant he heard her screams, and a door slam shut, and as he came out with the blanket, he saw the priest dash toward the portal leading from the patio to the plaza. he ran to her, lifting her from the tiles where she had been thrown. "conrad!" she cried pointing after the flying figure. "there! quickly, señor, quickly!" he jerked open the door and looked within, a still figure with the face hidden, crouched by a bench against the wall. in two strides kit crossed from the door and grasped the shoulder, and the figure propped there fell back on the tiles. it was the dead priest dressed in the clothes of conrad, and the horror of that which had been a face showed he had died by strangulation under the hands of the man for whom he had gone to pray. doña jocasta ran wildly screaming through the patio, but the indian voices and the drum prevented her from being heard until she burst among them just as conrad leaped to the back of the nearest horse. "el aleman! el aleman!" she screamed pointing to him in horror. "he has murdered the padre and taken his robe. it is el aleman! your judas has killed your priest!" kit ran for his own horse, but with the quickness of a cat tula was before him in the saddle, and whirling the animal, leaning low, and her gorgeous _manta_ streaming behind like a banner she sped after the german screaming, "judas! judas! judas of palomitas!" and, as in the other chants led by her, the indian women took up this one in frenzied yells of rage. the men of the corral heard and leaped to saddles to follow the flying figures, but kit was ahead,--not much, but enough to be nearest the girl. straight as an arrow the fugitive headed for mesa blanca, the nearest ranch where a fresh horse could be found, and doña jocasta and some of the women without horses stood in the plaza peering after that wild race in the gray of the coming night. [illustration: the indian girl was steadily gaining on the german.] a flash of lightning outlined the three ahead, and a wail of utter terror went up from them all. "mother of god, the cañon of the quicksand!" cried doña jocasta. "tula! tula! tula!" shrilled the indian women. tula was steadily gaining on the german, and kit was only a few rods behind as they dashed down the slight incline to that too green belt in the floor of the brown desert. he heard someone, marto he thought, shouting his name and calling "_sumidero! sumidero!_" he did not understand, and kept right on. others were shouting at tula with as little result, the clatter of the horses and the rumble of the breaking storm made all a formless chaos of sound. the frenzied scream of a horse came to him, and another lightning flash showed conrad, ghastly and staring, leap from the saddle--in the middle of the little valley--and tula ride down on top of him! then a rope fell around kit's shoulders, pinioning his arms and he was jerked from the horse with a thud that for a space stunned him into semi-unconsciousness, but through it he heard again the pitiful scream of a dumb animal, and shouts of marto to the frenzied indians. "ha! clodomiro, the _reata_! wait for the lightning, then over her shoulders! only the horse is caught;--steady and a true hand, boy! ai-yi! you are master, and the mother of god is your help! run your horse back,--run, curse you! or she will sink as he sinks! _sangre de christo!_ she cuts the _reata_!" kit struggled out of the rope, and got to his feet in time to see the flash of her knife as she whirled to her victim. again and again it descended as the man, now submerged to the waist, caught her. his screams of fear were curdling to the blood, but high above the german voice of fear sounded the indian voice of triumph, and from the vengeful cry of "judas! judas! judas of the world!" her voice turned sharply to the high clear chant kit had heard in the hidden cañon of the red gold. it was as she said--there would be none of her caste and clan to sing her death song to the waiting ghosts, and she was singing it. as those weird triumphant calls went out from the place of death every indian answered them with shouts as of fealty, and in the darkness kit felt as if among a circle of wolves giving tongue in some signal not to be understood by men. he could hear the sobs of men and boys about him, but not a measure of that wild wail failed to bring the ever recurring response from the brown throats. marto, wet and trembling, cursed and prayed at the horror of it, and moved close to kit in the darkness. "jesus, maria, and josé!" he muttered in a choked whisper, "one would think the fathers of these devils had never been christened! _sangre de christo!_ look at that!" for in a vivid sheet of lightning they saw a terrible thing. tula, on the shoulders of the man, stood up for one wavering instant and with both hands raised high, she flung something far out from her where the sands were firm for all but things of weight. then her high triumphant call ended sharply in the darkness as she cast herself forward. she died as her sister had died, and on the same knife. doña jocasta stumbled from a horse, and clung to kit in terror. "mother of god!" she sobbed. "it is as i said! she is the eagle of mexico, and she died clean--with the serpent under her feet!" * * * * * in a dawn all silver and gold and rose after the storm, there was only a trace at the edge of the sand where two horses had carried riders to the treacherous smiling arroya over which a coyote would not cross. and one of the indian women of palomitas tied a _reata_ around the body of her baby son, and sent him to creep out as a turtle creeps to that thing cast by tula to the women cheated of their judas. the slender naked boy went gleefully to the task as to a new game, and spit in the dead face as he dragged it with him to his mother who had pride in him. it was kicked before the women back over the desert to soledad, and the boys used it for football that day, and tied what was left of it between the horns of the roped wild bull at the corral. the bellowing of the bull when cut loose came as music to the again placid indian women of palomitas. they were ready for the home trail with their exiles. it had been a good ending, and their great holiday at soledad was over. chapter xxi each to his own a straggling train of pack mules followed by a six-mule wagon, trailed past yaqui springs ten days later, and was met there by the faithful chappo and two villainous looking comrades, who had cleaned out the water holes and stood guard over them until arrival of the ammunition train. "for beyond is a dry hell for us, and on the other side the deliverer is circled by enemy fighters who would trap him in his own land. he lies hid like a fox in the hills waiting for this you bring. water must not fail, and mules must not fail; for that am i here to give the word for haste." "but even forty mule loads will not serve him long," said kit doubtfully. "like a fox in the hills i tell you, señor capitan,--and only one way into the den! beyond the enemy he has other supplies safe--this is to fight his way to it. after that he will go like a blaze through dry meadows of zacatan." kit would have made camp there for the night, but chappo protested. "no, señor! every drop in the sand here is for the mules of the army. it is not my word, it is the word of my general. four hours north you will find little coyote well. one day more and at the crossing of rio seco, water will be waiting from the cold wells of la partida. it is so arrange, señor, and the safe trail is made for you and for excellencia, the señora. in god's name, take all your own, and go in peace!" "but the señora is weary to death, and----" "that is true, capitan," spoke doña jocasta, who drooped in the saddle like a wilted flower. "but the señora will not die, and if she does it is not so much loss as the smallest of the soldiers of el gavilan. we will go on, and go quickly, see!--there is yet water in the cantin, and four hours of trail is soon over." ugly chappo came shyly forward and, uncovered, touched the hem of her skirt to his lips. "the high heart of the excellencia gives life to the men who fight," he said and thrust his hand in a pocket fastened to his belt. "this is to you from the deliverer, señora. his message is that it brought to him the lucky trail, and he would wish the same to the doña jocasta perez." it was the little cross, once sent back to her by a peon in bitterness of soul, and now sent by a general of mexico with the blessing of a soldier. "tell him jocasta takes it as a gift of god, and his name is in her prayers," she said and turned away. clodomiro pushed forward,--a very different clodomiro, for the fluttering bands of color were gone from his arms and his hair--the heart of the would-be bridegroom was no longer his. he was stripped as for the trail or for war, and fastened to his saddle was the gun and ammunition he had won from cavayso who had gone quickly onward with his detachment of the pack. but clodomiro halted beside chappo, regardless of need for haste on the trail, and asked him things in that subdued indian tone without light, shade, or accent, in which the brown brothers of the desert veil their intimate discourse. "there, beyond!" said chappo, "two looks on the trail," and he pointed west. "two looks and one water hole, and if wind moves the sand no one can find the way where we go. it is not a trail for boys." "i am not now a boy," said clodomiro, "and when the safety trail of the señora is over----" but chappo waved him onward, for the wagon and the pack mules, and even little gray bunting had turned reluctant feet north. clodomiro had come from soledad because elena,--who never had been out of sight of the old adobe walls,--sat on the ground wailing at thought of leaving her old sick father and going to war, for despite all the persuasions of doña jocasta, elena knew what she knew, and did not at all believe that any of them would see the lands of the americano,--not with pack mules of ramon rotil laden with guns! "if tula had lived, no other would have been asked," rhodes had stated. "but one is needed to make camp for the señora on the trail,--and to me the work of the packs and the animals." "that i can do," clodomiro offered. "my thought was to go where tula said lovers of hers must go, and that was to el gavilan. but this different thing can also be my work to the safe wells of the american. that far i go." thus the three turned north from the war trail, and clodomiro followed, after making a prayer that the desert wind would hear, and be very still, and fill no track made by the mules with the ammunition. this slight discussion at the parting of the ways concerning two definite things,--need of haste, and conserving of water,--left no moment for thought or query of the packs of furnishings deemed of use to señora perez in her removal to the north. doña jocasta herself had asked no question and taken no interest in them. stripped of all sign of wealth and in chains, she had ridden into soledad, and in comfort and much courtesy she was being conducted elsewhere. how long it might endure she did not know, and no power of hers could change the fact that she had been made wife of josé perez;--and at any turn of any road luck might again be with his wishes, and her estate fall to any level he choose to enforce. at dusk they reached the little coyote well, and had joy to find water for night and morning, and greasewood and dead mesquite wood for a fire. the night had turned chill and clodomiro spread the _serape_ of doña jocasta over a heap of flowering greasewood branches. it was very quiet compared with the other camps on the trail, and had a restful air of comfort, and of that jocasta spoke. "always the fear is here, señor," she said touching her breast. "all the men and guns of ramon rotil did not make that fear go quiet. every cañon we crossed i was holding my breath for fear of hidden men of josé perez! you did not see him in the land where he is strong; but men of power are bound to him there in the south, and--against one woman----" "señora, i do not think you have read the papers given to you by padre andreas to put with the others given by general rotil," was kit's quiet comment. he glanced toward the well where the boy was dipping water into a wicker bottle. "have you?" "no, señor, it is my permit to be passed safely by all the men of ramon rotil," she said. "that i have not had need of. also there is the record that the american murder at granados was the crime of conrad." "but, señora, there is one other paper among them.--i would have told you yesterday if i had known your fear. i meant to wait until the trail was ended, but----" "señor!" she breathed leaning toward him, her great eyes glowing with dreadful question, "_señor!_" "i know the paper, for i signed it," said kit staring in the leaping blaze. "so did the padre. it is the certificate of the burial of josé perez." "señor! _madre de dios!_" she whispered. "death reached him on his own land, señora. we passed the grave the first day of the trail." her face went very white as she made the sign of the cross. "then he--ramon----?" "no,--the general did not see perez on the trail. he tried to escape from cavayso and the man sent a bullet to stop him. it was the end." she shuddered and covered her eyes. kit got up and walked away. he looked back from where he tethered the mules for the night, but she had not moved. the little crucifix was in her hand, he thought she was praying. there were no more words to be said, and he did not go near her again that night. he sent clodomiro with her _serape_ and pillow, and when the fire died down to glowing ash, she arose and went to the couch prepared. she went without glance to right or left--the great fear had taken itself away! clodomiro rolled himself in a _serape_ not far from her place of rest, but kit rhodes slept with the packs and with two guns beside him. from the start on the trail no man had touched his outfit but himself. he grinned sometimes at thought of the favorable report the men of rotil would deliver to their chief,--for the americano had taken all personal care of the packs and chests of doña jocasta! he was as an owl and had no human need of sleep, and let no man help him. the trail to the cañon of the rio seco was a hard trail, and a long day, and night caught them ere they reached the rim of the dry wash where, at long intervals, rain from the hills swept down its age-old channel for a brief hour. doña jocasta, for the first time, had left the saddle and crept to the rude couch afforded by the piled-up blankets in the wagon; clodomiro drove; and kit, with the mules, led the way. a little water still swished about in their water bottles, but not enough for the mules. he was more anxious than he dared betray, for it was twenty miles to the lower well of la partida, and if by any stroke of fortune cap pike had failed to make good--cap was old, and liable to---- then through the dusk of night he heard, quite near in the trail ahead, a curious thing, the call of a bird--and not a night bird! it was a tremulous little call, and sent a thrill of such wild joy through his heart that he drew back the mule with a sharp cruel jerk, and held his breath to listen. was he going _loco_ from lack of sleep,--lack of water,--and dreams of---- it came again, and he answered it as he plunged forward down a barranca and up the other side where a girl sat on a roan horse under the stars:--his horse! also his girl! if he had entertained any doubts concerning the last--but he knew now he never had; a rather surprising fact considering that no word had ever been spoken of such ownership!--they would have been dispelled by the way she slipped from the saddle into his arms. "oh, and you didn't forget! you didn't forget!" she whimpered with her head hidden against his breast. "i--i'm mighty glad of that. neither did i!" "why, lark-child, you've been right alongside wherever i heard that call ever since i rode away," he said patting her head and holding her close. he had a horrible suspicion that she was crying,--girls were mysterious! "now, now, now," he went on with a comforting pat to each word, "don't worry about anything. i'm back safe, though in big need of a drink,--and luck will come your way, and----" she tilted her cantin to him, and began to laugh. "but it has come my way!" she exulted. "o kit, i can't keep it a minute, kit--we did find that sheepskin!" "what? a sheepskin?" he had no recollection of a lost sheepskin. "yes, cap pike and i! in the bottom of an old chest of daddy's! we're all but crazy because it came just when we were planning to give up the ranch if we had to, and now that you are here--!" her sentence ended in a happy sigh of utter content. "sure, now that i'm here," he assented amicably, "we'll stop all that moving business--_pronto_. that is if we live to get to water. what do you know about any?" "two barrels waiting for you, and cap rustling firewood, but i heard the wagon, and----" "sure," he assented again. "into the saddle with you and we'll get there. the folks are all right, but the cayuses----" a light began to blaze on the level above, and the mules, smelling water, broke into a momentary trot and were herded ahead of the two who followed more slowly, and very close together. cap pike left the fire to stand guard over the water barrels and shoo the mules away. "look who's here?" he called waving his hat in salute. "the patriots of sonora have nothing on you when it comes to making collections on their native heath! i left you a poor devil with a runt of a burro, a cripple, and an indian kid, and you've bloomed out into a bloated aristocrat with a batch of high-class army mules. and say, you're just in time, and you don't know it! we're in at last, by je-rusalem, we're _in_!" kit grinned at him appreciatively, but was too busy getting water to ask questions. the wagon was rattling through the dry river bed and would arrive in a few minutes, and the first mules had to be got out of the way. "you don't get it," said billie alongside of him. "he means war. we're in!" "with mexico? _again?_" smiled kit skeptically. "no--something real--helping france!" "no!" he protested with radiant eyes. "me for it! say, children, this is some homecoming!" the three shook hands, all talking at once, and kit and billie forgot to let go. "of course you know cap swore an alibi for you against that suspicion conrad tried to head your way," she stated a bit anxiously. "you stayed away so long!" "yes, yes, lark-child," he said reassuringly, "i know all that, and a lot more. i've brought letters of introduction for the government to some of conrad's useful pacifist friends along the border. don't you fret, billie boy; the spoke we put in their wheel will overturn their applecart! the only thing worrying me just now,--beautifullest!--is whether you'll wait for me till i enlist, get to france, do my stunt to help clean out the brown rats of the world, and come back home to marry you." "yip-pee!" shrilled pike who was slicing bacon into a skillet. "i'm getting a line now on how you made your other collections!" billie laughed and looked up at him a bit shyly. "i waited for you before without asking, and i reckon i can do it again! i'm--i'm wonderfully happy--for i didn't want you to worry over coming home broke--and----" "whisper, lark-child. _i'm not!_" "what?" "whisper, i said," and he put one hand over her mouth and led her over to the little gray burro. "now, not even to pike until we get home, billie,--but i've come out alive with the goods, while every other soul who knew went 'over the range'! buntin' carries your share. i knew you were sure to find the sheepskin map sooner or later," he lied glibly, "but luck didn't favor me hanging around for it. i had to get it while the getting was good, but we three are partners for keeps, buntin' is yours, and i'll divide with pike out of the rest." billie touched the pack, tried to lift it, and stared. "you're crazy, kit rhodes!" "too bad you've picked a crazy man to marry!" he laughed, and took off the pack. "seventy-five pounds in that. i've over three hundred. lark-child, if you remember the worth of gold per ounce, i reckon you'll see that there won't need to be any delay in clearing off the ranch debts,--not such as you would notice! and maybe i might qualify as a ranch hand when i come back,--even if i couldn't hold the job the first time." "o kit! o cap! o me!" she whispered chantingly. "don't you dare wake me up, for i'm having the dream of my life!" but he caught her, drew her close and kissed her hair rumpled in the desert wind. and as the wagon drew into the circle of light, that was the picture doña jocasta saw from the shadows of the covered wagon:--young love, radiant and unashamed! she stared at them a moment strangely in a sudden mist of tears, as clodomiro jumped down and arranged for her to alight. cap pike looking up, all but dropped the coffeepot. "some little collector--that boy!" he muttered, and then aloud, "you _kit_!" kit turned and came forward leading billie, who suddenly developed panic at vision of the most beautiful, tragic face she had ever seen. "some collector!" murmured cap pike forgetting culinary operations to stare. "shades of sheba's queen!" but kit, whose days and nights of mesa blanca and soledad had rather unfitted him for hasty adjustments to conventions, or standardized suspicion regarding the predatory male, held the little hand of billie very tightly, and did not notice her gasp of amazement. he went forward to assist doña jocasta, whose hesitating half glance about her only enhanced the wonder of jewel-green eyes whose beauty had been theme of many a mexic ballad. for these were the first americanos she had ever met, and it was said in the south that americanos might be wild barbaros,--though the señor of the songs---- the señor of the songs reached his hand and made his best bow as he noted her sudden shrinking. "here, doña jocasta, are friends of good heart. we are now on the edge of the lands of la partida, and this little lady is its padrona waiting to give you welcome at the border. folks, this is señora perez who has escaped from hell by help of the guns of el gavilan." "doña jocasta!" repeated cap pike standing in amazed incredulity with the forgotten skillet at an awkward angle dripping grease into the camp fire, but his amazement regarding personality did not at all change his mental attitude as to the probable social situation. "some collector, brother, but hell in sonora isn't the only hell you can blaze the trail to with the wrong combination!" kit turned a silencing frown on the philosopher of the skillet, but billie went toward the guest with outstretching hands. "doña jocasta, oh!" she breathed as if one of her fairy tales of beauty had come true, and then in spanish she added the sweet gracious old castillian welcome, "be at home with us on your own estate, señora perez." jocasta laid her hands on the shoulder of the girl, and looked in the clear gray eyes. "you are spanish, señorita?" "my grandmother was." "thanks to the mother of god that you are not a strange americana!" sighed jocasta in sudden relief. then she turned to her american courier and guard and salvation over the desert trails. "i saw," she said briefly. "she is as the young sister of me who--who is gone to god! make yourself her guard forever, don pajarito. may you sing many songs together, and have no sorrows." after the substantial supper, kit heard at first hand all the veiled suspicion against himself as voiced in the fragment of old newspaper wrapped around fidelio's tobacco, and he and doña jocasta spread out the records written by the padre, and signed by jocasta and the others, as witness of how philip singleton met death in the arroya of the cottonwoods. "it is all here in this paper," said jocasta, "and that is best. i can tell the alcalde, yes, but if an--an accident had come to me on the trail, the words on the paper would be the safer thing." "but fear on the trail is gone for you now," said kit smiling at her across the camp fire. neither of them had said any word of life at mesa blanca or soledad, or of the work of tula at the death. the german had strangled a priest, and escaped, and in ignorance of trails had ridden into a quicksand, and that was all the outer world need know of his end! the fascinated eyes of billie dwelt on jocasta with endless wonder. "and you came north with the guns and soldiers of ramon rotil,--how wonderful!" she breathed. "and if the newspapers tell the truth i reckon he needs the guns all right! cap dear, where is that one josé ortego rode in with from the railroad as we were leaving la partida?" "in my coat, honey. you go get it--you are younger than this old-timer." jocasta followed billie with her eyes, though she had not understood the english words between them. it was not until the paper was unfolded with an old and very bad photograph of ramon rotil staring from the front page that she whispered a prayer and reached out her hand. the headline to the article was only three words in heavy type across the page: "trapped at last!" but the words escaped her, and that picture of him in the old days with the sombrero of a peon on his head and his audacious eyes smiling at the world held her. no picture of him had ever before come her way; strange that it should be waiting for her there at the border! the indian boy at sight of it, stepped nearer, and stood a few paces from her, looking down. "it calls," he said. it was the first time he had spoken except to make reply since entering the american camp. doña jocasta frowned at him and he moved a little apart, leaning,--a slender dark, semi-nude figure, against the green and yellow mist of a palo verde tree,--listening with downcast eyes. doña jocasta looked from the pictured face to the big black letters above. "is it a victorious battle, for him?" she asked and kit hesitated to make reply, but billie, not knowing reason for silence, blurted out the truth even while her eyes were occupied by another column. "not exactly, señora. but here is something of real interest to you, something of soledad--oh, i _am_ sorry!" "what does it say,--soledad?" "see!--i forgot you don't know the english!" * * * * * troops from the south to rescue don josé perez from el gavilan at soledad turn guns on that survival of old mission days, and level it to the ground. soledad was suspected as an ammunition magazine for the bandit chief, and it is feared señor perez is held in the mountains for ransom, as no trace of him has been found. * * * * * "now you've done it," remarked kit, and billie turned beseeching eyes on the owner of soledad, and repeated miserably--"i _am_ so sorry!" but doña jocasta only lifted her head with a certain disdain, and veiled the emerald eyes slightly. "so!" she murmured with a shrug of the shoulder. "it is then a bandit he is called in the words of the american newspaper?" cap pike not comprehending the rapid musical spanish, leaned forward fishing for a coal to light his pipe, noting her voice and watching her eyes. "there you have it already!" he muttered to kit. "all velvet, and mad as hell!" billie, much bewildered, turned to kit as for help, but the slender hand of doña jocasta reached out pointing to the headlines. "and--this?" she said coldly. "it is, you say, not victorious for ramon rotil, that--bandit?" "it says, señora," hesitated billie, "that he is hid in the hills, and----" "that we know," stated doña jocasta, "what other thing?" "'he has a wound and was carried by his men to one of his retreats, a hidden place,'" read billie slowly, translating into spanish as she went on. "that is all except that the federals had to retreat temporarily because a storm caused trouble and washed out a bridge over which their ammunition train has to go. the place of the accident is very bad. timber and construction engineers are being rushed to service there, but for a few days luck is with the hawk." "so!--for a few days!" repeated doña jocasta in the cool sweet voice. "in a few days ramon rotil could cross mexico. he is el gavilan!" things were coming too fast for billie. she regarded the serenity of doña jocasta with amazement, and tried to imagine how she would feel if enemy guns battered down the old walls of granados, or--thought of terror--if kit should be held in the hills and tortured for ransom! "speaking of floods," remarked pike in amiable desire to bridge over an awkward pause, "we've used half the water we brought, and need to make a bright and early start tomorrow. rio seco is no garden spot to get caught in short of water. our la partida mules are fresh as daisies right off a month of range, but yours sure look as if they had made the trip." "what does he say,--the old señor?" asked doña jocasta. billie translated for her, whereupon she arose and summoned clodomiro by a gesture. "my bed," she said briefly, "over there," and she indicated a thicket of greasewood the wagon had passed on their arrival. "also this first night of safety you will be the sentinel to keep guard that señor rhodes may at last have sleep. all the danger trail he had none." cap pike protested that he do guard duty, but the smile of doña jocasta won her way. "he is younger and not weary, señor. it is good for him, and it pleases me," she said. "the camp is yours," he agreed weakly, and against his better judgment. he did not like indians who were like "sulky slim brown dumb snakes"; that was what he muttered when he looked at clodomiro. in his irritation at the indian's silence it didn't even occur to him that he never had known any snakes but dumb ones. but if the voice of clodomiro was uncannily silent, his eyes spoke for him as they followed doña jocasta. kit could only think of a lost, homesick dog begging for the scent of the trail to his own kennel. he said so to billie as he made her bed in the camp wagon. "cap and i will be right here at the hind wheels," he promised. "yes,--sure, i'll let the indian ride herd for the night. doña jocasta is right, it's his turn, and we seem to have passed the danger line." "knock wood!" cautioned billie. so he rapped his head with his knuckles, and they laughed together as young happy things do at trifles. then he stretched himself for sleep under the stars and almost within arm's reach of the girl--the girl who had ridden to meet him in the night, the wonderful girl who had promised to wait until he came back from france ... of course he could get into the army _now_! they would need men too badly to turn him down again. if there was a trifle of discrepancy in sight of his eyes--which he didn't at all believe--he had the dust now, also the nuggets, to buy any and all treatment to adjust _that_ little matter. he had nearly four hundred pounds, aside from giving all he dared give at once as tula's gift to those women of the slave raid. after the war was over he would find ways of again crossing over to the great treasure chest in the hidden cañon. the little information pike had managed to convey to him about that sheepskin map told him that the most important indications had been destroyed during those years it had been buried for safe-keeping. the only true map in existence was the one in his own memory,--no use to tell pike and billie that! he could leave them in comfort and content, and when he got back from france--he wondered how long it would last--the war. hadn't the greatest of americans tried three years ago to hammer the fact into the alleged brain pans of the practical politicians that the sooner the little old united states made guns, and ships, and flying machines for _herself_, the sooner she could help end that upheaval of hell in europe?... and they wouldn't listen! listen?--they brought every ounce of influence they could round up to silence those facts,--the eternally condemned ostriches sticking their own heads in the sand to blind the world to the situation! now they were in, and he wondered if they had even ten rounds of ammunition for the cartridge belts of the few trained soldiers in service? they had not had even three rounds for the showy grand review attempted in texas not long since; also the transportation had been a joke, some of the national guards started, but never did arrive--and france was a longer trail than texas. god! they should be ready to fight as the french were ready, in twelve hours--and it would have to be months--a long unequal hell for a time over there, but only one finish, and the brown rats driven back to their den! after that the most wonderful girl would--would--would---- then all the sleep due him on the sleepless trail settled over him like a net weighted, yet very caressing, and the world war and the wonderful girl drifted far away! beyond, on the other side of the fire, and out of the circle of light, clodomiro bore the _serape_ of doña jocasta, and made clear the place for her couch. she had returned to the light of the fire and was scanning again the annoying paper of the americanos. especially that remembered face of the audacious eyes. they were different eyes in these latter days, level and cynical, and sometimes cruel. "he calls," said clodomiro again beside her. she had not heard him, and turned in anger that he dare startle her. "who does he call?" she asked irritably tossing aside the paper. "all mexico, i think. all mexico's heart," and he touched his breast. "me, i do not sleep. i do your work and when the end of the trail is yours, i ask, excellencia, that you send me back that i find him again,--the deliverer!" "what did ramon rotil ever do for you that you fret like a chained coyote because his enemies are strong?" "not anything, excellencia. me, he would not know if i told him my name, but--he is the deliverer who will help the clans. also, _she_ would go,--tula. _sangre de christo!_ there would be no chain strong enough to hold her back if his wounds cried for help." "if--his wounds cried for help!" repeated doña jocasta mechanically. "it is true, excellencia, el gavilan was giving help to many people in the lands he crossed. now the many will forget, and like a hawk with the weight of an arrow in his breast he will fly alone to a high nest of the hills. death will nest with him there some night or some day, excellencia. and the many will forget." "quiet you!" ordered doña jocasta angrily. abashed, clodomiro went silent, and with a murmured apology took himself into the shadows. she lifted the pictured face barely discernible now in the diminished light. "and--the many will forget!" she repeated irritably. "the boy has the truth of it, but if _she_ had lived, so terribly wicked,--so lost of god, i wonder if----" she lifted her face looking up at the still stars as if for light on a thought, then flung her hands out despairingly and turned away to the couch by the green bush of fragrant yellow bloom. but not to sleep. long after the americanos were wrapped in slumber a little blaze sent glimmer of light through the undergrowth, and she saw clodomiro stretched beside the fire. he had tossed a bit of greasewood on the coals that he might again study the face of el gavilan. she had heard him say that if no desert wind lifted the sand he could follow to that hidden nest of the hawk. it was very dark now except for glimmer of stars through lacy, slow-drifting clouds,--there was no wind. later there would be a waning moon! much of every waking life is a dream, and her dreams were of the no man's land of the desert,--the waterless trail from which she had been rescued for peace! twice during the night kit roused from the depths sufficiently to realize that sleep is one of the greatest gifts to man. once clodomiro was stretched by the little fire inspecting the paper he could not read, the second time he thought baby bunting was nosing around trying to get close to human things. both times he reached out his hands to the precious packs beside which he slept on the trail. all were safe, and he drifted again into a great ocean of slumber. he was wakened at dawn by the voice of cap pike, keyed high for an ultra display of profanity. "by the jumping je-hosophat, i knew it!" he shrilled. "that's your latest collection, begod! i hoped he wouldn't, and knew he would! the all-firedest finest pair of mules on granados, and every water bag in the outfit! can you beat it?" at the first shout kit jumped to his feet, his eyes running rapidly over his pack saddle outfit. all was safe there, and as billie lifted her head and looked at him drowsily over the edge of the wagon bed he realized that in the vital things of life all was well with his world. "let sheba run your camp, and run it to hell, will you?" went on cap pike accusingly. he was thrashing around among the growth back of the soledad outfit wagon where the mules had been tethered. "two--four--six, and baby buntin'--yes sir! lit out by the dark of the moon, and left neither hide nor hair,--" "oh, be reasonable, cap!" protested kit. "buntin' isn't gone--she's right alongside here, waiting for breakfast." "you're shoutin' she's here; so is every dragged-to-death skate you hit camp with! it's billie's crackerjack mules, the pick of the ranch, that the bare-legged greasy heathen hit the trail with! and every water bag!" "well," decided kit, verifying the water statement by a glance at the barrels, "no one is to blame. the boy didn't want to come this trail. he stuck until we were over the rough of it, and then he cut loose. a pair of mules isn't so bad." "now, of course not!" agreed cap sarcastically. "a mere a-number-one pair of mules belonging to another fellow is only a flea bite to offer a visitor for supper! well, all _i_ got to say----" "don't say it, cap dear," suggested billie. "the indian was here because of doña jocasta, and _she_ can't help it! as she doesn't understand english, she'll probably think you're murdering some of us over here. whist now, and put your muzzle on! we'll get home without the two mules. i'll go and tell her that the hysterics is your way of offering morning prayers!" she slipped away, laughing at his protests, but when a little past the fire place she halted, standing very still, peering beyond at something on the ground under the greasewood where the _serape_ of doña jocasta had been spread. no _serape_ or sleeper was there! kit noted her startled pause, and in a few strides was beside her; then, without a word, the two went forward together and he picked up the package of papers laid carefully under the greasewood. he knew without opening them what they were,--the records made for her safety, and for his, in soledad, place of tragedies. "they are the papers i was to put on record for her in case--well, i'll do it, and you'll take care of the copies for her, billie, and--and do your best for the girl if a chance ever comes. we owe her a lot more than she will ever guess,--our gold come out of mexico under the guard arranged for her, and when i come back----" "but kit," protested billie, "to think of her alone with that thieving indian! he took flour and bacon too! and if she hopes to find her husband----" "she doesn't," concluded kit thoughtfully turning over the certificate signed by the padre and him, of the husband's safe burial in the sands of soledad. he glanced at billie in doubt. one never knew how safe it was to tell things,--some things,--to a woman; also billie was so enchanted by jocasta's sad beauty, and---- "no, i reckon she doesn't hope much along that line. she has probably gone back to the wilderness for another reason,--one i never suspected until last night. and lark-child, we won't talk about that, not at least till i return from the 'back of beyond' over there," and he pointed eastward where shafts of copper light touched the gray veil of the morning. after his first explosion of amazement cap pike regarded the elopement, as he called it, very philosophically, considering his disgust over lost mules and flour and bacon. "what did i tell you right here last night?" he demanded of kit. "soft as velvet and hard as hell,--that's what i said! she looks to me like a cross between a saint in a picture frame and a love bird in a tree, and her eyes! yet after all no man can reckon on that blood,--she is only a girl of the hills down there, and the next we hear of her she'll likely be leaden' a little revolution of her own." the young chap made no reply, but busied himself hastening a scant breakfast in order that the worn mules be got to water before the worst heat of a dry day. also the losses to the culinary outfit did make problems for the trip. cap eyed him askance for a space, and then with a chuckle wilfully misconstrued his silence and lowered his tone. "i don't blame you for feeling downhearted on your luck, bub, for she sure was a looker! but it's all in a lifetime, and as you ramble along in years, you'll find that most any hombre can steal them, and take them home, but when it comes to getting a permanent clinch on the female affections----" billie, who was giving a short ration of water to the burro, called across to ask what kit was laughing at in that hilarious way. she also stated that she did not think it a morning for hilarity, not at all! that wonderful, beautiful, mystery woman might be going to her death! after the packs were all on, cap pike swung the mules of the first wagon into the home trail and passed over the mesa singing rakishly. _oh-h! biddy mcgee has been after me, since i've been in the army!_ and billie turned in the saddle to take a last look over the trail where the woman of the emerald eyes had passed in the night. "all my life i have looked, and looked into the beautiful mirages of the south desert wondering what would come out of it--and _she_ was the answer," she said, smiling at kit. "tomorrow i'll feel as if it was all a dream, all but the wonderful red gold, and you! some fine day we'll take a little _pasear_ down there, i'll follow that dream trail, and----" "you will not!" decided the chosen of her heart with rude certainty. "the dreams of that land of mirages are likely to breed nightmares. you are on the right side of the border for women to stay. our old american eagle is a pretty safe bird to roost with." "well," debated the only girl, "if it comes to that, mexico also has the eagle, and had it first!" "yes, contrary child," he conceded, herding the mules into line, "so it has,--but the eagle of mexico is still philandering with a helmeted serpent. wise gamblers reserve their bets on that game, we can only hope that the eagle fights its way free!" available by internet archive (https://archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/jackyoungranchma grinrich transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). in chapter vii the indian name "ikuts tárush" is mentioned twice. the "u" in both words has a macron above it and is represented as [=u]. jack, the young ranchman [illustration: "jack could not understand why the calf had not been choked to death."--_page ._] jack, the young ranchman or a boy's adventures in the rockies by george bird grinnell author of "pawnee hero stories," "blackfoot lodge tales," etc. [illustration] new york frederick a. stokes company publishers copyright, , by frederick a. stokes company nineteenth printing printed in the united states of america preface. far away in the west, close to the backbone of the continent, lies the sage-brush country where the happenings described in the following pages took place. the story is about real things and about real people, many of whom are alive to-day. the ranch lies in the rocky mountains, in a great basin, walled in by mountains on every hand, and , feet above the level of the sea. the life there was exciting. there was good hunting--antelope and elk and bears and buffalo; and, far away--yet near enough to be very real--there were wild indians. it is a pleasure to review those days in memory. contents chapter page i. jack danvers ii. prairie wolves and antelope iii. the road to the ranch iv. a grizzly killed v. roping and riding vi. an ancient massacre vii. hugh chased by indians viii. jack's first antelope ix. john monroe, halfbreed x. cows in a snow-drift xi. jack's first elk xii. antelope kids xiii. jack kills a lion xiv. wolves and wolf-hounds xv. digging out a wolf's den xvi. birds and their nests xvii. hunting on the mountain xviii. with the horse roundup xix. busting broncos xx. a trip to smith's hole xxi. jack's first camp-fire xxii. a load of blacktail xxiii. occupations of a cripple xxiv. a berrying party xxv. an elk hunt xxvi. jack rides a wild horse xxvii. a mysterious cave xxviii. what the cave held xxix. swiftfoot in new york illustrations "jack could not understand why the calf had not been choked to death." frontispiece "jack crept up past hugh ... and took a careful aim." "the animal launched itself from its perch full towards jack." "raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired." jack, the young ranchman chapter i jack danvers the door-bell rang, and from the library jack heard the soft tread of aunt hannah, as she walked through the hall to answer it. there was a murmur of voices, and then hannah's tones, loud and high pitched: "guns! no indeedy, chile, ye can't leave 'em here. not here, chile. take 'em away. no, i don't keer if they is mr. sturgis'. go 'way. i won't take 'em. gib 'em to the policeman; ye can't get me to tetch 'em. go 'way." "what is it, hannah?" said jack, as he went to the door. "don't ye come here, honey. this man here, he's got some guns he wants to leave. says they're for your uncle will. don't ye go near 'em." "these are two rifles that mr. genez has been sighting. mr. sturgis told him to deliver them here to-day," said the messenger. "all right; give 'em to me," said jack, as he took them; and the messenger ran down the steps. "oh look out, honey, look out," said aunt hannah, shrinking away from jack; "they'll go off and kill you, sure." "pshaw, hannah," said jack, "what are you talking about? they wouldn't go off of themselves, and anyhow they ain't loaded." "there, what'd i tell ye?" cried aunt hannah. "do be keerful. many's the time i heard your grandpaw say them's the most dang'ous kind. he allus did say that it was the guns that wan't loaded that went off and killed folks. 'deed he did." jack took the guns up to his uncle's room, and put them on the bed, and went back to the library. he had hardly got there, and gone to the window to look out into the darkening street, when he heard the front door close and a quick, light footfall in the hall. "oh, uncle will," he said, "is that you?" "hello, jack, are you there?" was the reply. "i want to speak to you," and a moment later mr. sturgis entered the room and stepped over to the fireplace. "well, jack," said he, "are you ready to start in to-morrow to be a cowboy?" "yes, uncle will, i'm all ready," was the reply. "you're sure you don't want to back out now? you know," added mr. sturgis, "that you may see some rough times. some days you will be wet and cold and hungry, and will wish that you were in a good house and by a warm fire, with a hot meal ready for you. it isn't all fun and play and good times out on the ranch." "i know that, uncle will," answered jack, "but there must be plenty of fun, too, and i think i am going to like it." "i believe so, too, my boy, but i want you to remember that there are two sides to almost everything. you will have lots of fun on the ranch, and that is what you think most of now, but you must remember also that it will not be all pleasure and no pain." "why, uncle will, don't you suppose i know that? a fellow's bound to be too hot or too cold sometimes, and to hurt himself now and then, but i guess i can stand it, and i don't think you need feel afraid that i'll want to come home before i have to." as he said this, jack looked quite injured, and stood very straight. "no, no, my boy. i don't doubt your pluck; but i want you to understand well before we start what it is that you have to look forward to. "now," continued mr. sturgis, "everything is ready for our start, and all we have to do to-morrow is to go to the train and get into the sleeping-car." "let's sit down in front of the fire and talk a little, uncle will. you have plenty of time before dinner, haven't you?" "yes, i have half an hour before it will be time to dress; i'll smoke a pipe and talk to you for that time. now, ask your questions." jack danvers was a new york boy about fourteen years old. he lived in east th street, near park avenue, and mrs. danver's brother, will sturgis, had a ranch out on the plains, on which were many horses and cattle. mr. sturgis spent the summer on the ranch, but often came to new york for the winter. the ranch was in a wild country, where there were bears and elk and deer and antelope, and sometimes buffalo and indians. jack was not a very strong boy. he was slim and pale and spent most of his time reading, instead of playing out of doors as all boys should. in the summer when he was in the country and in the open air he grew brown and hearty, but through the winter he became slender and white again. jack had no brothers and sisters, and his parents were often anxious about his health. they had thought several times of moving to the country to live, so that jack might have an out-door life all the year round, but mr. danvers' business was so confining that he was obliged to be in town constantly, and mrs. danvers was not willing to leave him. dr. robertson, whom mr. danvers had consulted, had given much thought to the boy's case, and at last had advised his mother to send him out to his uncle's ranch for a year, or at least for a summer, telling her that a few months of rough life in the open air would do him more good than all the medicines in the world. when dr. robertson told her this, mrs. danvers at first thought the advice dreadful. she said, "oh, doctor, i couldn't think of doing that. why the life out there is one of constant danger and hardship. there are cowboys and indians and wild animals of all sorts. i should never have an easy moment while jack was away." "my dear madam," said the doctor, "medicine is often very unpleasant to take, unpleasant for the patient and sometimes for his friends as well. i can build your boy's system up from time to time with tonics, but i can do him no permanent good. my medicines are only palliatives; the real trouble is with his environment. if the conditions of his life are changed, he will be certain to throw off the lassitude and weakness which he now feels, and to become a stout and hearty boy about whose general health you need have no farther concern; but it is important that now, when eight or ten years of schooling and study are before him, he should have a well-nourished body. i know of nothing that promise so much in this direction as a course of open-air life and vigorous exercise. now he stays too much in the house and cares for nothing but books. this is not natural for a boy of his age. he ought to be full of animal spirits and to be working them off by climbing trees, running races and fighting. think this matter over carefully, mrs. danvers, and let me know what you and your husband decide." after much thought and many long talks, the parents had at last made up their minds to let their boy go. all preparations had been made, and on the next day jack and his uncle were to take the train for the far west. "well, uncle will," said jack, "first, i want to know how long it will take us to get out to the ranch?" "five days, unless something happens to delay us," said mr. sturgis. "next," said jack, "i want to know what i can do on the ranch. i want to help in the work, you know, but i don't know how to ride, or how to do anything that you have to do out there among the cattle and horses. i'll have to learn a great deal before i can be of any use." "yes, of course, you will have to learn. you will pick up riding and roping readily enough, but to learn the ways of the prairie and the mountains is not so easy, and unless you are with some one that knows all that and tries to teach you, it will take you a long time to learn. you can easily learn the cowboy part of your education from almost any of us out at the ranch, but there is only one man there who can teach you how to become a good mountain man; that is old hugh johnson. he has lived on the plains and in the mountains for more than forty years, and has hunted, trapped and fought indians from the mississippi to the pacific, and from the saskatchewan to the rio grande. he knows the plains and the mountains better than any one i ever saw, and is like an indian for reading sign." "what do you mean by reading sign, uncle will?" said jack. "sign is a word which may mean a great many things. sign may be the tracks of animals, or of people, or the smoke of fires, or an old camp, or clothing dropped by some one who has passed along. anything that shows that animals or people have been in a certain place is called sign. sign may be old or fresh, and there is always something about it that should tell you more than the mere fact that whatever made it has been there. you ought to be able to tell when the sign was made, and sometimes how it came to be made. sometimes the sign is merely the way the wild animals act. i remember years ago, when the sioux and cheyennes were troublesome, i was travelling alone with hugh, and one night when we camped, he rode out to kill a buffalo heifer. before long he came back and told me that he had seen indian sign, and that as soon as it was dark we must start and travel on all night. when i asked him what he had seen, he said that the animals were uneasy and the buffalo were running, and that some one was chasing them not far off. we hid our horses in a ravine and crept on top of a near-by hill from which we could see a good stretch of country. sure enough, before long we saw buffalo running as if frightened, and a little later we saw, far off, two indians chasing a little bunch. we lighted no fire that evening, but soon after dark rode away, and did not rest till we had put forty miles behind us." "do you think they would have tried to kill you, if they had seen you?" asked jack. "i don't know," said his uncle, "we were not taking any chances. "now, when you get to the ranch," he went on, "you will learn a lot about the birds and animals, and if your tastes lie that way, and you keep your eyes open, you will find out much of the life of these wild things that few people know. although i have been out there so many years and have always tried to observe things, i see every season something that i never saw before, and learn more and more how little i really know about the beasts and the birds of the west--even those that are most common about the ranch. only last year i saw for the first time a little blind coyote puppy dug out from a hole in a ravine and was astonished to find that, instead of being yellow it was dark blue, almost black in fact. you could get a great collection of pets together at the ranch. young elk, young antelope and deer and wolves, possibly a buffalo calf, some foxes, and birds of a dozen different kinds, grouse, ducks, magpies, young hawks. why, you could have a regular menagerie." "oh, what fun that would be," said jack. "i should like that. but how do you catch all these things? i supposed that young deer and antelope could run so fast that they could not be caught. i thought that they ran even faster than the old ones." "they can run very fast and they are hard to catch as soon as they are a few weeks old," said his uncle; "but when they are quite young--for the first few days after they are born--they can scarcely run at all. during this time the mother hides them, telling them, i suppose, in her own language, to lie perfectly still until she returns. the young one lies flat on the ground, and the old mother goes off a little way--not far though--and feeds about. if she sees any one coming, or if danger of any kind threatens, she runs away and only returns after it is past. meanwhile, the little one, lying there among the grass or weeds or undergrowth, and keeping perfectly still, is not noticed by the hunter or the wild animal that is passing along, and when the mother returns, she finds it just where she left it. it is said that at this time of their lives, these young animals give out no scent, and so they are not found by the wolves, unless these brutes happen to come right upon them." "well, but how do you catch them then?" said jack. "when we see an old doe antelope by herself on the prairie at about the season of the year when the young are born, we watch her and we can tell pretty well whether she has a young one or not. if we think she has a kid, we can get some idea of where it is hidden by the way the mother acts. then the only way to find it is to go to the place and search the ground over foot by foot, until the young one is found or the task is given up. usually both kids will be found side by side, but sometimes they are three or four feet apart. when they are taken up, they do not struggle or try to get away. they hang perfectly limp, and if you try to make them stand up, their legs give way under them and they sink down again. it is often twenty-four hours before they seem to take any interest in what is going on about them, but when they get hungry, and after they have once drunk some milk, they are tame, and as soon as they become strong, very playful. young antelope are not always easily reared, but young deer and elk are more hardy. if a buffalo calf is caught it can be given to a cow to rear. wolf or coyote puppies can be reared on a bottle. those animals do not easily become tame and trustful. they are likely to be shy and to dodge and jump away if any sudden motion is made, but when they are pleased, when any one in whom they have confidence approaches them, they lay back their ears and wag their tails and wriggle their bodies just like an affectionate dog. once we had a young bear at the ranch for a year and a half, and he was an amusing pet. if you gave him a bottle of milk he would stand on his hind legs, and holding the bottle in both hands he would tilt it up and let the milk trickle down his throat until the bottle was empty, when he would throw it away." "uncle will, i think we're going to have a splendid time out west. i don't feel as if i could wait for to-morrow to come." "it will be here before you know it, old fellow; and we'll be at the ranch before you know it too." chapter ii prairie wolves and antelope one morning, a few days later, a train was speeding westward among the foothills of the rocky mountains, bearing the travellers towards their summer home. the grey monotone of the prairie was unbroken by any bit of colour. the soil, the sage-brush, the dead grass that had grown the summer before, were all grey, unvaried except where a great rock or a bush taller than its fellows cast a long black shadow. now and then the train passed close to some high butte, whose sides were gashed and gullied by deep ravines, and whose summit was crowned by a scattered fringe of black pines. far off on either side, rose great mountains, covered with a mantle of snow, the most distant looking like far-off white clouds. from this snowy covering long fingers of white ran down the narrow valleys and ravines, seeming like white clasps holding the covering close in its place. the nearer foothills were white towards their tops, and against the shining snow the black pine trees stood out in strong contrast. scattered over the grey plain were horses and cattle, most of them in little herds, but now and then a single cow was seen and near her a staggering calf, which had just been born, to face the scorching heats and bitter colds of the high plains. suddenly as the train rushed around a low knoll, a dozen animals were seen, running swiftly along, parallel with the track, and less than three hundred feet distant. in colour they were bright yellow, almost red, with white patches and white legs, and two or three of them had black and nearly straight horns. they were graceful, and ran very swiftly, easily keeping pace with the train. "oh, uncle will," said jack, grasping his uncle's arm, "what are those? they're not deer, i am sure. they must be antelope. how pretty they are, and see how fast they run! why, they are going faster than the train, i do believe. they just seem to skim over the ground." "yes, those are antelope, the swiftest animal on the plains. and yet the coyotes catch a good many of them, just by running them down. now, how do you suppose they do that, jack?" and his uncle smiled at the boy's puzzled expression. "i don't know. you said they were the swiftest animals on the plains, and yet you say that the coyotes catch them. that seems to mean that the coyotes are swifter. doesn't it?" asked jack. "not exactly," replied his uncle; "it only means that they are smarter--more cunning. a single coyote who undertook to run down a single antelope, would get very tired and very hungry before he accomplished it, but when two or three coyotes are together, it is quite a different thing. the coyotes do not all run after the antelope together. they take turns, and while one runs, the others rest, so at last they tire the antelope out." "but i should think that when the antelope ran, it would leave all the wolves behind, those that were resting even more than the one that was chasing it." "it would do so if it ran straight away and out of the country, but this it does not do. instead, it runs in large circles. when three or four prairie wolves decide that they want antelope meat for breakfast, one of them creeps as close as possible to the animal they have selected, and then makes a rush for it, running as fast as he possibly can, so as to push the antelope to its best speed and to tire it out. meantime his companions spread out on either side of the runner, and get on little hills or knolls, so as to keep the chase in sight. they trot from point to point, and pretty soon when the antelope turns and begins to work back towards one of them, this one tries to get as nearly as possible in its path, and as it flies by, the wolf dashes out at it and runs after it at the top of its speed, while the one that had been chasing the antelope stops running, and trots off to some near-by hill, where, while the water drips off his lolling tongue, he watches the race and gets his breath again. after a little the antelope passes near another coyote, which takes up the pursuit in its turn. and so the chase is kept up until the poor antelope is exhausted, when it is overtaken and pulled down by one or more of the hungry brutes." "why, i should think the coyotes would kill all the antelope after awhile," said jack. "of course the coyotes do not catch every antelope they start," said his uncle. "sometimes the game runs such a course that it does not pass near any of the waiting wolves, and only the one that starts it has any running to do. then the chase does not last long; the wolves give up. sometimes the antelope is so stout and strong that it tires out all its pursuers. yet they catch them more frequently than one would think, and it is not at all uncommon to see coyotes chasing antelope, although, of course one does not often see the whole race and its termination. often if a wolf running an antelope comes near to a man, he gives up the chase and that particular antelope is saved. it is a common thing for a single coyote to chase an old doe with her kids, just after the little ones have begun to run about. at that time they are very swift for short distances, but have not the strength to stand a long chase. in such a case a mother will often stay behind her young, and will try to fight off the coyote, butting him with her head and striking him with her forefeet. he pays little attention to her, except to snap at her, and keeps on after the kids. several times i have seen a mother antelope lead her young one into the midst of a bed of cactus, where the wolf could not go without getting his feet full of thorns. if the bed is small, the wolf will make fierce dashes up to its borders, trying to frighten the little ones, so that they will run out on the other side and he can start after them again, but usually the mother has no trouble in holding them. i have several times killed young antelope whose legs had been bitten up by coyotes, but which had got away. one hot day last summer a gang of section-men were working in a railroad cut west of here, when suddenly a big buck antelope ran down one side of the cut, across the track and up the other side. his sudden dash into the midst of them startled the men, and as they stood looking up where he had crossed, a coyote suddenly plunged down the side of the cut, just as the antelope had done. the readiest of the section men threw a hammer at him, and the wolf turned and scrambled up the bank and was not seen again. "i wonder what the men thought?" said jack. "two or three years ago i camped one afternoon near rock creek, and as there was very little feed, we turned the horses loose at night to pick among the sage-brush and grease wood. early in the morning, before sunrise, while the man with me was getting breakfast, i started out to get the horses. they were nowhere to be seen, and i climbed to the top of the hill back of camp, from which, as it was the only high place anywhere about, i felt sure that i could see them. just before i got to the top of the hill an old doe antelope suddenly came in view, closely followed by a coyote. both of them seemed to be running as hard as they could, and both had their tongues hanging out as if they had come a long way. suddenly, almost at the heels of the antelope--much closer to her than the other wolf--appeared a second coyote which now took up the running, while the one that had been chasing her stopped and sat down and watched. the antelope ran quite a long distance, always bearing a little to the left, and now seeming to run more slowly than when i first saw her. as she kept turning, it was evident that she would either run around the hill on which i stood, or would come back near it. at first i was so interested in watching her that i forgot to look at the wolf that had stopped. when i did so, he was no longer in the same place, but was trotting over a little ridge that ran down from the hill and was watching the chase that was now so far off. he could easily have cut across and headed the antelope, but he knew too well what she would do to give himself that trouble. after a little, it was evident that the antelope would come back pretty near to the hill, but on the other side of it from where she had passed before, and the wolf which i had first seen chasing her, trotted out two or three hundred yards on the prairie and sat down. the antelope was now coming back almost directly towards him, and i could see that there were two wolves behind her, one close at her heels and the other a good way further back. the first wolf now seemed quite excited. he no longer sat up, but crouched close to the ground, every few moments raising his head very slowly to take a look at the doe, and then lowering it again so that he would be out of sight. sometimes he crawled on his belly a few feet further from me, evidently trying to put himself directly in the path of the antelope; and this he seemed to have succeeded in doing. as she drew near him i could see that she was staggering, she was so tired, and the wolf behind could at any moment have knocked her down, if he had wanted to, but he seemed to be waiting for something. the wolf that was following him was now running faster and catching up. "when the antelope reached the place where the first wolf was lying hidden, he sprang up and in a jump or two caught her neck and threw her down. at the same moment, the two wolves from behind came up, and for a moment there was a scuffle in which yellow and white and grey and waving tails were all mixed up, and then the three wolves were seen standing there, tearing away at their breakfast. "great scott! that must have been exciting," said jack. "it was," said his uncle; "i had been so interested in watching this thing, which after all had not taken more than ten or fifteen minutes of time, that i had forgotten all about the horses. it only needed a moment's looking to see them, a short distance down the stream, and before i had got to them and brought them back to camp, i heard bill's voice singing out breakfast." "i always thought," said jack, "that the antelope could run so fast that they could get away from all their enemies except hunters that carried rifles. is there any other wild animal besides the coyote that catches them?" "yes, the golden eagles often kill them when they are quite young, though if any old ones are near they will fight the birds and keep them from catching the kids. once in winter i saw an eagle attack two kids that were feeding at a little distance from a big bunch of perhaps a thousand antelope. at this time the young ones were seven or eight months old, and so quite large and strong. the eagle had been sitting somewhere on the hillside and flew down over the kids to pounce on one of them. they immediately began to run to the herd, and when the eagle made a dart at them, they both stopped, reared on their hind legs, a good deal in the position of the unicorn that we sometimes see fighting for the crown, and struck at the bird with their forefeet. perhaps the eagle was not very hungry, but at all events this turned him and the kids ran on. he made two more swoops at them before they reached the herd, but each time they fought him off in the same way by rearing up and striking at him. of course when they got in among the other antelope the eagles left them and flew away. "you know that in old times, before they had horses or fire-arms, the indians used to catch antelope in traps." "no, i didn't know that," said jack, "how did they do it? i should think it would have needed a pretty big trap to hold an antelope." "it was something on the same plan as the way in which they trapped the buffalo; they built two long straight fences which almost came together at one end and were far apart at the other. at the end of the fences where they almost came together, the indians either built a corral or dug a deep pit which they roofed over by slender poles on which they put grass and dirt. now you have heard that the antelope is very curious. if he sees anything that he does not understand or can't quite make out he is likely to go up closer to it, so as to see what this object really is. the indians took advantage of this weakness of the antelope and by means of it decoyed bunches of them into the space between the widely separated ends of these two fences. other indians were hidden behind the fence, and as soon as the herd got started down between these wings the indians near the end of the fence ran out and got behind the antelope, which were then forced to run down towards the pit or the corral. if it was a pit, they broke through the roof in running over it, or they ran into the corral where they were killed by the indians, who were hidden near-by. "down in utah and colorado, south-west of here, i have seen in several places the remains of these fences and corrals. i do not know that the indians hereabouts ever caught the antelope in pits, but men who have lived up north with the blackfeet and cheyennes, tell me that up there they used the pits instead of the corrals. "so you see, my boy, the antelope has his troubles like other people. it isn't all cake and pie for him, even though he can run fast and lives out on the prairie where he can see a long distance." "that's so, uncle will," said jack, "i never thought of all these things." while the two had been talking they had forgotten about the antelope, and these had now been long left behind. now the train with a long groaning whistle plunged into the darkness of a snow shed, and a few moments later ran out past the border of a large lake, the surface of which was covered with ducks and geese which rose from the water until the air was fairly dark with their numbers. the whistle of the duck's wings and the clamour of the honking geese could be heard, even though the car windows were shut, and the passengers all gathered at the windows to look at the great flocks of birds. when they had passed out of sight of the lake his uncle said to jack: "that is the medicine lake, and the next stop is our station. better ring the bell for the porter, so that he can have all our things together ready to put off." "well, thomas," he said to the smiling coloured man who came up, brush in hand, "we are going to leave you now. please get all our things ready to throw off. you know the train does not stop long." "all right sir, all right," said thomas, "i'll see that nothing is left. hope you will have a good drive out, mr. sturgis. nice day you've got. don't always have such nice weather, this time of the year." and he brushed furiously. chapter iii the road to the ranch the little cluster of buildings which the travellers saw when they stepped from the cars to the station platform was smaller than any village that jack had ever been in. there were the station, the section house and the great round water tank, all painted red, and on the other side of the track a row of five one-story houses, four of unpainted logs, and one of boards, with large glass windows, evidently a store. standing on the platform were a man holding a mail sack, two men wearing broad-brimmed hats, enormous fringed leather trousers, and small high heeled boots with great spurs. not far from the platform stood a heavy spring-waggon, to which were hitched two good-sized chestnut horses, very nervous, or else half broken, for they were rearing and plunging and shying away from the train, yet were perfectly controlled by their driver, a large stoop-shouldered, white-bearded man. as the train drew out of the station, this team made a wide circle and then drove up to the platform, and as it reached it, the driver called out cheerily: "how are you mr. sturgis? how are you, sir. glad to see you;" and he reached out and caught mr. sturgis' hand in a cordial grasp. "this your nephew? how are you, my son? i'm glad you've come out into this country to visit with us. we'll try to make a cowman of you before you go back." "how are you, hugh?" said mr. sturgis. "i am glad to see you, and glad to get back again. i have had enough of the town for a little while. yes, this is my nephew, jack danvers. i want you to know him and like him, for i hope that you two will see a good deal of each other before snow flies. jack has never been away from home before. he has everything to learn about life in the mountains, and there is no one who can teach him so well as you." "well, well," said hugh, "i don't know as i'm much of a hand to break in a cowboy. i took to it too late. but let's get your things loaded. if you'll take these lines i'll pack the waggon." in a very few moments the small trunks, bundles, gun-cases and bags were stored in the deep box of the waggon, and hugh, stepping in again, took the lines and they drove off north over the rolling prairie. the horses, which started with a rush, for a little time occupied all his attention. old tin cans lying near the roads, and bits of paper quivering in the wind, caused them to shy, and often they tried to bolt, but the firm hand on the reins, and the low soothing voice soon quieted them, and before long they were jogging steadily and swiftly over the prairie road. "they'll be a good team, hugh, after a little driving," said mr. sturgis. "that's what;" replied hugh. "they're good now, only they're a little mite skeery yet, but they'll soon get over that. i don't know as i ever saw a team that promised better. they're right quiet, too, when you get 'em going." just as he said this, a great bird rose with a roar of wings, almost under the horses' feet, and the right quiet animals, turning at right angles, bolted over the prairie, the waggon bumping and bouncing over the sage-brush in a way that made the two men hold on for dear life, while jack, who was sitting between them, clung to the back of the seat, somewhat uneasy lest he should be thrown over the dashboard. gradually hugh checked the horses' speed and turned them back to the road, and when they were again quiet, he looked down at jack and said to him, with a twinkle of fun in his eye: "i expect this prairie isn't as smooth as some of your park roads back in the states, my son." "my, no! it bumped, didn't it? and i don't think your horses are so very quiet yet, mr. hugh. but what was that big bird that made such a noise when it flew up? was it a partridge? i've heard about the noise they make getting up, but i didn't suppose they were as big as that." "that was a sage hen, my son. you'll see lots of them before night. it's getting along towards nesting time for them, and maybe we'll find some nests, and maybe get some young ones this spring. i've raised a brood or two, but they always went off after they got big. along in the fall, say in october, just before it gets cold weather, they get together in big droves, hundreds and hundreds together, and stay like that all winter. they're big, but they ain't much account. they taste too strong of the sage. the young ones about half grown are good eating, though not near so good as the blue grouse or the pheasant. now, you take young blue grouse, just when they are feeding on the little red huckleberries that grow on the mountains, and, i tell you, they are tender and as nice tasting as any bird there is. there's as much difference between them and these sage hens as there is between a nice fat yearling mountain sheep in october and an old buck antelope at the same time of the year." as they went on, mr. sturgis and hugh began to speak of matters on the ranch, of cows and calves and horses and colts and brands, and of places and people jack had never heard of, so that he paid no heed to their talk, but occupied himself in watching the prairie over which they were driving, and the wild creatures which lived on it. there were many of these, chiefly birds, and these of kinds new to him, familiar only with the commoner birds of the sea-coast. most of them were small and dull-coloured, but not all; for, flying up from the road, yet often standing close to it while the waggon passed, were little birds with bright yellow throats and black chins, and which seemed to have little black horns on either side of the head. there were great flocks of these, and jack determined to remember and ask his uncle what they were. at one time a great, long-eared animal sprang from under a bush by the side of the road and half hopped, half ran off over the prairie. it was mostly white, and had long ears, and jack thought it must be a rabbit of some kind. when it sprang into view, the horses gave a great bound and tried to run, and not until they had again been brought down to a trot was he able to ask what it was, and to learn that it was a jack-rabbit. by this time they had gone quite a long way, and as they reached the top of a ridge, mr. sturgis pointed toward a range of distant hills which cut off the view, and asked his nephew how far off he thought they were. "oh, i don't know, uncle will; how far are they?" "they are about twenty miles distant, and we have to go ten miles beyond them. do you see that low place in the line of the horizon, just to the right of the horses' heads? well, we go through that. there is a narrow valley there, and we go up that, and then over the hill and down into the basin, where the ranch is." "what makes those mountains look so grey, uncle will? they shine almost like silver. in some places the mountain looks black, but it's mostly grey." "the black is the dark green of the growing pine timber, and the grey is where the timber has been burned, and is dead. for the first year or two after the fire has passed over the forest and killed them, the trees are black or keep their bark. then the wind and rain and snow beating on the soft coating of charcoal, wear off the charred surface and the bark, and the wood becomes grey from the weather, just the colour of an old fence rail. the trees continue to stand for a good many years, and give this grey colour to the mountain side. gradually the roots rot, and one by one the trees fall to the ground. often they lie across each other, six or eight feet high, and this is the "down timber" which it is so hard to travel through. sometimes it is even dangerous to pass through a piece of this dead timber. if it has been dead a long time, so that the roots of many of the trees have become rotten and weakened, the trees are easily thrown down by a high wind. i have seen a tall, thick tree pushed over by a mule knocking its pack against it, and in a gale of wind have seen the trees falling all around me. of course, if one of them fell on a horse it would kill him." by this time the waggon had begun to go down into some low but very rough and barren hills, cut up in every direction by ravines and water-courses. there was no grass and the ground was bare, except for low sage-brush here and there, and the rocks seemed to be bent and twisted. sometimes a little pointed hill was capped by a great broad slab of stone, or again a narrow ridge was crowned with pinnacles which looked like pyramids or church steeples, or men or animals. it was a queer-looking place, and not like anything that jack had ever seen before. he asked his uncle about it, and he explained. "these are what the old french trappers of early days used to call _mauvaises terres_--bad lands--because no grass grows on them. the soil is all sand or clay, and very dry. all this country you see was once the bottom of a big bay where the tide rose and fell." "tide rose and fell, uncle will! how could that be? where did the tide come from? i didn't think that the ocean was within a thousand miles of here;" said jack. "that is true to-day, jack," said his uncle; "but the time i am talking about was long, long ago, in what the men who study the earth's history call jurassic time. no one knows how many years ago it was, but it is safe to say it was millions. in those times the salt ocean, or an arm of it, lay just east of the rocky mountains and the water in this bay where we are now was partly fresh and partly salt. great forests grew here, and strange animals lived among them and fed along the shores of this bay. if we had time to get out and look for them, we could find beaches, where the sand was washed up by the waves, and shells, and the bones of these great animals. a big book could be written about these bad lands here, just as big books have been written about other bad lands." "they're surely queer places," said hugh. "i've seen it down in kansas, and down on henry's fork of green river, and up in oregon, where the ground was stuck full of bones and teeth. some of the leg-bones was nigh as thick as my body, and some of the big heads had long teeth as long as my hand. they must have been big animals, and mighty dangerous too, i reckon." "what makes the dirt all those different colours, uncle will," asked jack; "in some places it's white, in others yellow or brown or black, and in some, bright red, like bricks." "that red colour," said mr. sturgis, "is where the earth has been burnt. all through the soil here there are seams or veins of a crumbly brown substance, which is called lignite. it is a sort of coal about half made, and like coal it will burn. sometimes a seam of this lignite catches fire from some cause or other, and may burn for years, baking the earth close to it. the heat turns it red, just as bricks which have been burned turn red." by this time they were passing out of the bad lands and down into a flat through which flowed a broad river. there was no bridge over it, and jack wondered how they were going to get across, but when they came to the water's edge the horses trotted in, were stopped to drink, and then walked on across, although the water came up to their bellies and washed and gurgled about the waggon, so that jack began to think that perhaps they might be swept away. pretty soon it grew more shallow, and then they came to the bank, and once more the waggon started off down the valley at a brisk rate. soon they crossed a narrow little stream flowing between deep banks, climbed another hill, and then turning away from the river, went up a narrow valley, shut in on one side by a high wall of rock and on the other by a great mountain dotted with cedars. on this mountain hugh said there were some mountain sheep, and he pointed out to jack tracks in the road where some of these animals had crossed that morning. further on, in a broad rolling valley, they saw some antelope, but by this time the cold wind had made jack chilly and tired, and his uncle wrapped him up to the throat with blankets and robes, and propping him up between hugh and himself, told him to go to sleep. just as he was about to do this, something happened which woke him up very thoroughly. chapter iv a grizzly killed jack was just dropping off to sleep when he heard, very faintly, hugh's voice, saying, "got your gun handy, mr. sturgis, and some cartridges? get it out quick then, there's a bear coming down from that bluff, and he's liable to cross the road a half mile beyond here; i'll run the horses and we may get there as soon as he does; he can't hear nor smell us in this wind." the last part of this sentence sounded very loud to jack, for the word, bear, had thoroughly waked him up. when he opened his eyes, he seemed to have the seat all to himself. his uncle will's head was down between his knees, and he was feeling under the waggon-seat, while hugh was half standing up and putting the whip on the horses. they did not need much urging to make them run, and in a minute the waggon was bounding along the road, jumping and swaying so that jack held on to the back of the seat as hard as he could. his uncle had found his rifle, and was hurriedly fumbling with the straps of the case, and at the same time muttering questions to hugh, asking where the bear was likely to cross. in a moment more the rifle was pulled from its case, a cartridge slipped into the breech, and then the waggon topped a little rise of ground, and there before them, just crossing the road, was a big brown animal that looked something like a big dog without any tail. as they saw it, the horses tried to shy out to one side, but hugh was ready for them and held them firmly. mr. sturgis rose to his feet and raised his gun to his shoulder, but hugh said, "hold on, hold on; wait till we get to where he crosses and then jump out. you will catch him as he rises the hill." meantime the bear had crossed the road and disappeared in a ravine, and in a moment more hugh drew up the horses, so that they almost reared, checked the waggon, mr. sturgis jumped out, and at that moment the bear was seen only fifty yards off, swiftly galloping up the hill. there was a shot, and then another, and the bear turned over and rolled down the hill out of sight. the horses danced, plunged, reared, and then ran some little distance before hugh could stop them. but jack looking back saw his uncle wave his hand and call out a cheery "all right!" in a moment the horses stopped, and jack jumped out and ran toward his uncle, not heeding hugh's call to him to wait. before he had reached mr. sturgis, however, the waggon had passed him, and when he got to the spot his uncle and hugh were unhitching the horses, and in a moment had tied them to the hind wheels of the waggon. "where's the bear, uncle will," said jack, "where did he go to?" "i think he is down there in the ravine, my boy, but don't go down there yet. we'll get out your gun and load it, and then we'll go down and look for him." "that is the way to do it," said hugh. "don't never go near no game without your gun, and a load in it, and above all, when it is a bear. don't go near him, even if your gun is loaded, unless you can see him plain and are sure that he is dead. it is better to stand off and throw rocks at him for ten or fifteen minutes than to go up close and have him jump up and hit you once." jack's gun was soon out of the waggon, and when it had been loaded, he walked down the hill by his uncle's side, while hugh, who was unarmed, followed a little behind them. they soon reached a point where they could see into the bottom of the ravine, and there lay the bear, doubled up in a heap and apparently dead. "roll a rock down on him, hugh," said mr. sturgis, "and let's see if there is any life left in him." two or three big stones rolled down the steep slope caused no movement in the bear, and very slowly they approached him, but he did not now seem nearly so big to jack as when he had crossed the road. "he is only a yearling, mr. sturgis," said hugh. "say about fifteen or sixteen months old, but he has surely got a nice hide, and he will make a nice little robe for the boy here." "yes," said mr. sturgis, "but if we stop to skin him, it will bring us mighty late to the ranch." "oh, uncle will," said jack, "let's skin him; what difference does it make whether we get to the ranch an hour sooner or later. just think, this is the first big animal i have ever seen killed. i think we ought to take his skin along with us." "all right, my boy," said mr. sturgis, "we will skin him; it won't take more than half an hour. take hold of his front paws, hugh, and drag him out to a level place, and we'll take his coat off; and jack, do you go down this ravine a little way and see if you can find any water; before we get through we'll probably all want a drink, and certainly some of us will want to wash our hands." jack wanted to wait there and watch the operation of skinning the bear, but he did as he was told, and after walking down the ravine a few hundred yards, he found a place where a little water was trickling out of the side of the bank, and flowed away in a very thin small stream. there was so little of it that it was impossible for any one to drink, and there was no place where one could wash one's hands. he followed it down a little way further, and presently it fell over some rocks and into a little pool, almost as big as a water bucket. walking in the sun had made him thirsty, and he stooped and took a swallow or two of the water, but, although it was clear and cold, it was very bitter, and a little of it was enough for him. as he started back to where the bear lay, suddenly he saw coming down the side of the ravine toward him, a yellowish dog, with a long bushy tail and pricked ears, and he thought at once of the indian dogs that his uncle had described to him, and wondered whether perhaps there was a camp of indians somewhere near. in a moment after, the dog saw him, paused for an instant, and then turning about, with long bounds, ran up the hill, and after stopping a moment at the crest, it looked back and then disappeared from view. when he got back to where the men were at work he found that the bear was already half skinned, and while he watched the finishing of the work, he told them of the water that he had found and of the dog that he had seen. "i guess your dog was a coyote, jack," said his uncle. "there are no indians about here now, are there, hugh?" "no, not yet, mr. sturgis. there's likely to be a camp or two travelling along when summer comes, but they haven't started in to move yet. the grass is not high enough and the ponies can't get any feed. i expect your boy saw a coyote." "do you mean one of the little wolves that run down antelopes, uncle will?" said jack. "yes, one of those," said his uncle. "the smartest animal that travels the prairie, aren't they, hugh?" "they surely are," said the old man, as he gave a last cut with his knife, and then tore the hide free from the bear. "well, now, mr. sturgis," he continued, "i will take this hide up the hill and tie it up, and then go down to the spring and wash up, and then we will hitch up and roll. we have wasted considerable time here, but them horses are able to travel good, and we ought to get to the ranch by eight o'clock; before nine, anyhow." twenty minutes later the team was once more swiftly trotting along the smooth road, and jack, wrapped up in robes and blankets, was cogitating on bear hunting as he dropped off to sleep. jack was awakened by a sharp jerk that nearly threw him from his seat, to hear hugh growl: "well i didn't hit that crossing very well. lucky i slowed up." the waggon was passing through a shallow brook, flowing down from mountains which could be plainly seen in the bright moonlight to the left of the road. their sides were patched with glistening snow, and one could follow the dark irregular outline of their crest, cutting off the star-dotted sky, but jack could not tell whether they were near or far away. to the right there seemed a far stretching plain, white in the moonlight. it was all strange, and for a little while jack hardly knew where he was, but gradually he recovered his wits, and moved and stretched out his legs. "awake, jack?" said his uncle. "we're almost there now. only a few miles more and we'll be at home and get some supper. you'll be ready for that, i guess." "yes," said jack, "i feel pretty hungry. it's cold too, isn't it?" "well," said hugh, "you see it comes pretty near being winter yet out here. we're pretty high up in the air, and summer comes on slow and don't stay long when it gets here. i reckon you have heard the old saying that we have in this country about the weather. they say it's nine months winter and three months late in the fall. i expect that's because we have frosts and snow-storms every month in the year. last summer in july we had a big hailstorm that cut down everything in the garden even with the ground, and knocked all the leaves off the quaking asps back of the house. the potatoes sprouted again and got about four inches high when there came another storm and cut 'em down again. so last year we didn't have no garden." before hugh had finished this long speech, jack had gone to sleep again, not to awake until he was lifted from the waggon at the ranch and was carried up to the house in hugh's strong arms. the warmth and light of the room they entered confused him and made him still more sleepy, and he ate his supper in a daze and then went to bed. chapter v roping and riding jack danvers' sleep was deep and dreamless during his first night at the ranch, and when he was awakened next morning by his uncle's call, he could hardly tell where he was. as he jumped out of bed he saw by the dim light that came in through the small window that he was in a little room, furnished only with a bed, a washstand, a chair and his trunk. from the window he looked out on some level land, a grove of small trees and beyond them a very high hill, rising sharply and strewn with great stones. gradually the drive of the day before and its incidents came back to his memory, and he knew that he was at the ranch. he dressed quickly, for he felt that there must be many strange things to see, and he did not want to miss any of them. as soon as he had finished dressing, he opened his door and stepped out into another larger room, in which were chairs, a lounge, a stove and a good many shelves with books on them. this was the ranch sitting-room. there was no one here, but somewhere not far off he could hear the rattle of dishes, and passing through another room, he found himself in an open door-way looking into the kitchen where a pleasant-faced young woman was cooking. she smiled at him as she said, "good-morning. did you sleep well? i guess you did, and i don't believe you remember much about getting here last night, do you? you were dead tired and were almost asleep while you were eating supper, and went sound asleep as soon as you were through." "no, ma'am, i don't remember getting here at all. i remember the drive and uncle will's killing the bear, and the horses and hugh, but i don't remember eating supper." "well," said mrs. carter, "you must be rested by this time, and now we'll have breakfast pretty soon. would you rather sit here till it is ready, or go out doors?" "i think i'll go out doors and look around, if there is time before breakfast," said jack. "oh, there's plenty of time," said mrs. carter. "you'll hear the horn when breakfast is ready." so jack opened the door and went out. standing in front of the low grey log-house, he looked down a little valley, bounded on either side by low hills and soon spreading out into a wide plain. very far away on the other side of the plain were high hills, some of them brown like the near-by prairie, others white, like chalk. over these distant hills the sun was just rising, and all the broad plain was flooded with yellow light. down on the prairie not very far from the house some antelope were feeding, and beyond them on a hillside some cattle. to the left were low log buildings--stables, jack supposed--and some high-walled pens. near the door of one of the buildings, hens were picking about, and close to the house three or four of these were quarrelling with a lot of black-birds over a bone lying on the grass, from which all the meat had been picked. by one of the pens calves were standing, looking through the bars, and now and then bawling to the cows that were being milked within. behind the house was a high mountain on which grew pines, and high up on its side a number of small animals were moving swiftly, and behind them, one a little larger than the rest. as he looked at these animals they grew larger, and before long jack could see that they were horses, and that the last one was a man on horseback, driving them. they came toward the house very fast and soon were plainly seen, and a little later the rumble of their galloping was heard, and they crowded into the corral. the man put up the bars and rode to the stable and unsaddled. just after this, the horn sounded, and jack saw his uncle, hugh and two other men come toward the house, and soon all were seated at breakfast. after the meal was over, mr. sturgis said to his nephew: "now, jack, i am going to ride out to-day to look for some horses, and i am going to leave you and hugh here to keep camp. hugh is going over into the pasture, and if he has time after he gets back, he will give you some lessons in shooting. you had better go with him. you can ride old grey for the present, until you begin to feel at home on a horse. i am going out now to saddle up. do you want to come down to the corral?" they walked down toward the big pen into which jack had seen the horses driven, but before they got to it a cloud of dust rose from it, and the horses were seen to be running around in it. jack asked: "what is frightening the horses, uncle will?" "the men are catching up their riding animals," said mr. sturgis. "run ahead and climb up on the fence, if you want to see them roping." jack ran on and clambered up on the top rail, just as another great cloud of dust rose. he saw the horses all standing, huddled in one corner of the pen, but one was following one of the men who held the end of a long rope which was about the horse's neck. just then hugh, carrying some ropes in his hand, came out of the stable, and unhooking the gate of the pen, went in, hooked the gate behind him, and walked toward the horses. as he saw jack on the fence he called out: "you've come down to get your horse, have you? before very long we'll have you coming in here and catching him for yourself. you'll have to learn to throw a rope." he walked slowly toward the horses, and soon some of them started to run around the pen, always keeping close to the fence. hugh held the long rope in both hands, the part in his left hand being in a small coil, while from his right hand a long loop trailed behind him in the dust. suddenly he threw his right hand forward, the large loop flew out and settled over the head of a small grey horse that was galloping by. the horse stopped short and turned toward hugh, who walked away toward the gate of the pen, gathering up the rope until the horse was quite close to him. he led the horse through the gate, tied him to the fence outside, and taking another rope went back into the pen. "climb over," he said to jack, "and come here. you might as well get used to horses now as any other time." jack climbed down the bars into the pen, though it did seem to him as if it were rather a dangerous place, for he did not feel at all sure that the horses might not run against and knock him down, and then run over and trample him to death. they seemed to rush about like a lot of wild creatures. just as he got to the ground, and was walking over to hugh, the gate opened again and his uncle came in, and he too had a rope in his hand. "that's right, my boy," said his uncle. "you can't begin too soon. i see that hugh has caught your horse; do you think that you can catch his?" "i don't believe he can do it the first time or two, mr. sturgis. we'll have to practise a little on a post first, but i thought he might as well get down here among the horses," said hugh. "now, son, you watch me close. notice everything i do, so that you'll remember next time. now, you see this rope is lying on the ground. just watch how i take it up and hold it." jack saw that hugh took the loop of the rope with his right hand, and the free end in a small coil in his left hand, holding the end of the rope pressed against the palm of the hand with his little finger. "now, d'ye see," he said, "how i hold it? your right hand must hold both the loop and the free rope about a foot and a half from the hondu--that's the eye the rope runs through. then it will always keep open and run free. always give a twist to the rope as you gather it; then it won't kink on you. now, watch my right arm and the loop of the rope." he moved his right arm a little forward, turning his hand as he did so, and the loop flew forward and lay spread out open on the ground just before him. it seemed very easy. "now," said hugh, "i'll catch old baldy, and we'll be going." he walked toward the horses and they started to run, and as they started, he began to swing the rope around his head, and the loop was partly open. in a moment his hand reached forward, the loop flew out and settled over three or four horses that were crowded together, and they all stopped. then a big bald-faced roan came out of the group toward hugh, and sure enough the rope was about his neck. hugh started toward the corral gate, leading the horse, and jack was just going to follow, when the horses started again, and, turning, he saw his uncle swinging his rope, and in a moment he had his horse, and they all went out of the corral together. the gate was left open so that the horses that were not needed might go out on the prairie again. the two horses were led up to the stable door, and there hugh dropped the ropes on the ground, leaving them standing there, not tied to anything. as he entered the door he said to jack: "come in, son, and i'll show you your saddle and bridle and blanket. you know every man here has his own saddle, and no one ever uses it except the man that owns it. your saddle is here, and you ought always to hang it on its peg, and hang bridle, blanket and rope over it, so that they won't get dirty or be gnawed by anything, and so you'll always know where they are. you see, if you lose your things you'll have to go without any. no one'll lend you theirs. now, the first thing you've got to learn is how to saddle your horse. i'll saddle old baldy first, and you watch me close and try to see what i do. you see," he said, as he took down from a peg a great saddle with a high horn and big wooden stirrups, "these saddles that we use out here are different from the little flat things that they ride in the states. i saw one of them once. an englishman had it, and it was queer for a fact. i thought the man would slip off it every time the horse gave a jump, but he didn't. he stuck to it good. only he got all raw after he'd been riding it a month or two. now, these saddles are hard, made of wood and leather, so we have to put plenty of blanket under 'em to keep the horse's back from getting sore. you see, this blanket is folded so that it's just a little longer and a little wider than the saddle. there's about three or four inches in front of the saddle, and three or four behind. now i throw it on old baldy, so that the front edge comes just about where the mane ends on the withers, and then i pass my hand all over it to see that there ain't any wrinkles in the folds. if wrinkles are there they're liable to press on the horse's back and make it sore. when it's all smooth, the saddle goes on like this," and grasping the heavy saddle by its horn he swung it over the horse's back, so that stirrups and cinches swung clear, and the saddle fell in its place. "now, these cinches, you see, come up to meet the latigo straps on this side. you reach under the horse's chest and get hold of the forward cinch first, slip the latigo through the ring, and then through the saddle ring, and again through the cinch ring and saddle ring, and then pull, until the cinch is tight, so, and tie the strap like that. the flank cinch you don't pull so tight; if you pull on that too much, it is liable to make your horse buck. now, the bridle; always leave your reins hanging down over the head when you get off, and then your horse won't move. "now, i'll saddle up your horse. i guess you'll find those stirrups about right. i fixed 'em for you last night when you was in bed. i'll tie up your rope here to these strings. you won't need it with old grey. he won't run away, even if you do get off and go and leave him." then he saddled the grey with jack's saddle. "now, let's see you mount. here, stand by your horse's left shoulder and gather up your reins in your left hand. now, catch hold of the mane with the same hand. now, face a little toward the saddle and take the stirrup in your right hand, turn it so that the open end is toward you, and put your left foot in it. now, take hold of the horn and pull yourself up from the ground. go ahead, you won't fall; that's it; now, put your leg over, and there you are. after two or three times you'll be all right." as he spoke thus, hugh stepped into his own saddle and, stooping, began to gather up his rope which was still on the ground, and then lifting his bridle rein, his horse started to walk toward the house. jack sat on his horse, feeling a little queer and wondering what he should do when his horse began to move. but it did not move; it stood there with its head hanging down as if asleep. in a moment hugh looked around and called out, "come on, son, lift your bridle rein and put your heel against his side and he'll start." jack did this, and his horse seemed to wake up, and moved on. as they rode on, side by side, hugh explained to jack which hand he should hold his reins in, how to guide his horse, by moving his hand to the left or to the right, so that the reins would press on the side of the neck away from that toward which he wished to turn, and how to hold on to his horse with his legs. he told him a good deal about riding and roping and handling horses and cattle, but much of it jack hardly understood, and perhaps hugh thought of this, for in a little while he began to point out the different hills and stream valleys, and to tell jack the name of each. he showed him the points of the compass, and explained to him how to guess the direction by the position of the sun in the sky. they were riding along the foot of the mountain, and crossing little valleys with steep ridges between. down each valley ran a foaming brook and on each ridge grew sage-brush, and among the sage-brush were many great rocks, most of them smoothed and polished. a little way off, these big stones sometimes looked like animals lying down. "we're going over to look at some cows that we've been keeping in this pasture all winter," said hugh, as they rode up one of the hillsides. "they're right tame and we can ride right in among them. they're beginning to have their calves now, and i like to go over every day and look at 'em, to try to keep 'em together. there's lots of coyotes around, and they take a calf now and then, if they can get it and its mother away from the bunch. i put some baits out the last heavy snow we had, and got five of 'em, and the next snow that comes i'll put out some more. they're getting pretty smart though, and don't take poison like they used to in old times." "how do you manage to poison them, hugh?" asked jack. hugh did not answer, but pointed across a valley to a bit of hillside that had just come in view, and said, "there's a bunch of coyotes now trying to get a calf. come on." and without a word more he galloped away. jack had just time to see that he was riding toward an animal about which a lot of smaller animals were dancing, when suddenly old grey threw up his head and began to gallop after hugh, and for a few minutes jack had all he could do to keep from falling off his horse, as it wound in and out among the rocks and the sage-brush. it seemed pretty rough riding, and he had an awful pain in his side, but pretty soon his horse stopped galloping and began to walk, and he saw that he was near hugh, who was sitting on his horse, looking at a cow, close by which stood a little tottering calf. the cow seemed angry and shook her head as if she would like to charge on the horses. "look at that fool of a critter," said the old man, "she left the bunch and came near losing her calf by coyotes, and now she wants to fight us for driving them off. i always did say that cows had no sense." "were those coyotes that were running around? i could not see very well, because old grey was going so fast, and i had a hard time to keep from falling off," said jack. "well, well, you'll have to learn to stick on to your horse. i forgot that you wan't used to riding. we'll sure have to practise riding," said hugh. "now, let's drive this heifer over to the bunch. she's in big luck that she didn't lose that calf, young as it is." "i thought coyotes were little animals, and i should think that a big cow could keep them away, and that all the calf would have to do would be to stay close to its mother." "that would be all right, son, if the cow and calf had just a little bit of sense, but you see that's just what they ain't got. the coyotes get around them, and first one and then another makes a dash at the cow and tries to make her mad, or to scare her calf away from her. if the calf leaves its mother only a little way it gets a bite, and if the cow gets mad and begins to chase the coyotes, very likely the calf gets left behind, and may be gets two or three bites, or even gets pulled down. the only safe place for a calf is right close by its mother's side. now, i believe that cow has quieted down, so that we can start her toward the bunch. you stop here till i see." hugh rode toward the cow, calling at her, and after a moment she turned and walked away from him, the calf staggering at her side. "come on," called hugh. "she'll go all right now." they rode on behind the cow for a mile or two, and then, after crossing a ridge, saw down in the flat before them more than a hundred cows and calves. they rode down among them, when the cow that they had been driving stopped, and then after hugh had looked at some of the animals, he said, "now, i am going up there where there's a warm spot to smoke. after that, we'll go back to the house." a little way up the valley was a clump of trees, and near these the two stopped, dismounted, and threw down their reins and sat down, while the horses fed near by. chapter vi an ancient massacre it was warm and pleasant where they sat, in the sun and out of the wind, though on the mountain behind them great drifts of snow lay in the ravines. hugh had taken from his pocket a black wooden pipe and a plug of tobacco, and was shaving off the tobacco into the palm of his hand. soon he had a pipeful, and crushing it between his palms, he filled his pipe and lighted it. as he leaned back and blew out the streams of white smoke from his nostrils, he pointed to a near-by hill and said: "we'll go around that hill going back, and i'll show you a place where there was quite a killing of indians a good many years back. it was before my time in this country, more than forty years ago, but i knew some of the men that was in the fight, if you can call it a fight where there wasn't no fighting. there's lots of old lodge poles and bones lying on the ground there yet, and i can remember years ago, they was old rotten robes and all kinds of truck lying around. the men that did the killing didn't carry anything away. they just killed everything in the camp that was alive, and then went off and left it." "i think i've heard my uncle tell about that, but i wish you would tell me the story, hugh. i'd like to hear it," said jack. "i'll tell you all i've heard of it, but let's wait till we get to the place. now we've got to sit here and smoke, and then we'll go home that way, and then this afternoon i want you to take your rifle and come out and we'll see how it's sighted. then maybe in two or three days we'll go out and kill a buck antelope. that's about the only meat that's good now. well," he continued after a time, as he knocked the ashes from his pipe, "let's be moving. let's see you mount now. that's good. "now, we'll have to ride a little faster if we're going to stop at that old killing ground. so come on. try to hold your saddle tight between your legs, and swing with your horse. you'll get into it in only a short while. come on, now." hugh started his horse, and jack did the same, and they galloped off together. at first the boy bounced about a good deal, but after a little he began to see what hugh meant, and by sitting back a little in the saddle and easing himself with his toes when the horse struck the ground, he sat more comfortably, and before he had gone very far he began to enjoy his ride. the cool wind blew against his face and through his hair, the sun was bright, little birds rose from the prairie as they galloped along, and it was very pleasant. he looked up at hugh, who was watching him with a kindly smile, and laughed outright. "it's splendid, isn't it?" he said. hugh answered something, but the wind blew his words away. presently hugh drew in his horse and they turned and rode up over a little hill and stopped, looking across a narrow valley through which a little stream flowed. on the other side, only a short way off, in a half circle, rose another hill on which grew many cedar bushes among the great rocks. in the valley many grey sticks were lying on the ground, and here and there among the sticks were spots of white. "there's the place," said hugh, "where the camp was wiped out. let's 'light down here, and i'll fill my pipe and tell you the story." when his pipe was going well he turned to jack, and said: "it was a camp of fifteen lodges of 'rapahoes, and the white men was a bunch of thirty trappers. this is the way i heard it. it was more than forty years ago that a war-party of 'rapahoes attacked a small train of emigrants and killed them all, except one young boy about as old as you, who hid in the brush when the charge was made. a few days later a couple of trappers came along that way and found the boy. he told them the story, and when they looked around over the place where the killing was done, they found that it was 'rapahoes that done it. these two men took the boy with them, and they made up their minds that the 'rapahoes had got to sweat for this, and when they got into the fort they told other men about it, and they all figured on it the same way. "this killing was done in the summer, and the next spring, when the men were coming in from their trapping they camped somewheres near here in the hills, and stopped two or three days. before they started on into the fort, one of the men who was out hunting saw a camp of indians coming--a small party--and he watched 'em until they camped, and then crawled up close to the lodges. after he'd watched them awhile, he made out that they were 'rapahoes, and he took the news to camp. the men there turned out, and during the night they got all around the indians and cached on the hillside among the cedars and rocks. you can think how it must have been that night, the lodges all standing here white in the darkness, and the men lying hid on the hillside waiting for day. at last it began to grow grey in the east, and then light, and pretty soon a smoke began to come from one lodge and then from another, and then a man stepped out, or a woman started down to the creek to get water, or a boy to bring in the horses, and then the first shot came and the people began to run out, and to run this away and that away, but as fast as they came out they were shot down. after all the people were killed, they killed the dogs and horses; everything that there was alive, and then they went away. they never went down into the camp." he paused to relight his pipe, and jack said: "but how did they know that these were the people who killed the emigrants?" "they didn't," said hugh, "but they knew that they were 'rapahoes. that's the way it used to be in them days; if a piegan or a sioux, or a cheyenne killed a white man, his friends killed the next indian they met of the tribe that had done the killing. the indians did the same, and many a man has been killed in revenge for something that he had never heard of." "that seems very unfair," said jack, "i never heard of anything like it before." "well, it don't seem just right; that's so," said hugh, "but anyhow, that's the way it used to be in old times. come on now. let's go down to where the camp stood." they rode down to the little flat and stopped their horses in the middle of this old camp-ground. hugh pointed to several spots where there were a few broken, bent and weathered sticks, and said: "you see, the lodges stood wherever you see those lodge poles. if you look in the middle of each of those circles you will find the old ashes of the fire and the stones that were around it. see here!" dismounting, he walked to one of the circles and picked up two or three pieces of charred wood, which he held up. "that fire once cooked a man's dinner, and look here!" he added, stooping down and feeling in the dirt for something which he released with a hard pull "here's a knife, a regular old-fashioned bowie-knife; what we used to call an arkansas toothpick." he knocked the heavy blade against a stone, to free it from the dirt which clung to it, and passed it to jack. "why, what a big knife," said jack. "it's almost like a sword; but it isn't very sharp." "not very," said hugh, "but notice how it's whetted, round on one side and flat on the other. that's the way indians always whet their knives. queer, isn't it? let's look around for something more. let your horse go, after you've thrown down the reins; he won't move." the two separated and began to look over the ground, and in a moment jack called out in a solemn way. "oh, hugh, look here; see what i have found!" and as the old man came up to him, he pointed out a human skull that lay half buried in the dirt in a little washout. "that's one of 'em," said hugh, as he picked it up. it was very old, grey with weather, and all the teeth had fallen out. higher up the hill were splinters of bones and even some whole bones of legs and arms, and sticking out of the ground among them was a long piece of iron, which when dragged from its resting-place, proved to be a rifle barrel. "well, now," remarked hugh, "if we keep this up we'll have a horse-load of truck to pack home with us." they looked further, gathering up one thing after another, and at length when they were ready to go home they had five indian skulls, the rifle barrel, the knife, an old-fashioned t. gray axe, such as was used in trade with the indians in early days, some pieces of the wood of saddles, a couple of elk-horn fleshers and a stone scraper. all these things were very old; the iron deeply rusted, the bones and wood grey and split with age and weather. hugh bundled these things into his coat and tied it on behind his saddle, and they set out for the ranch. just as they got to the corral, the dinner horn sounded, and after unsaddling and putting their treasures upon the roof, which hugh easily reached from the ground, they went to the house. jack thought that he had never tasted a dinner quite as good as that one, and when he had finished he felt quite uncomfortable. a little while after dinner, hugh said to jack: "now, son, go in and bring out your rifle, and let's see how it's sighted and how it pulls off. a man always must learn how his gun shoots before he can expect to kill anything. i've seen young fellows from the states come out to hunt, and start in and shoot away a heap of ammunition without hitting anything, and come to find out, they had never sighted their guns, and didn't know anything about where they shot. 'course they couldn't hit anything. you get a box of ca'tridges and your gun, and we'll try to find out just what it can do, and afterwards what you can do." when the gun was in his hands he explained its working to his hearer, and then took it apart, put it together again, and told jack to do this, correcting his mistakes and telling him a good deal about guns in general and this gun in particular. then he proposed to go out on the prairie to shoot at a mark, and told jack to carry his gun and to hold it so it would not point at any one. "i'm always scary about a gun," he said, "and the older i get the more afraid of 'em i am. i've seen a heap of accidents in my time from guns, and once, when i was young, i came near killing my best friend, just by foolishness. so i like to see everybody as careful of a gun as he knows how to be. you've been told, i expect, never to point your gun at anything except what you mean to shoot at. this business of sighting your gun at people and animals, and saying to yourself, 'oh, couldn't i just hit that,' is just baby play, and i don't think there's any need to tell you not to do that. there's another thing. don't carry a ca'tridge in your gun unless you're expecting game to jump up in front of you any time. don't carry your gun loaded on your horse. something may happen. you may kill the man you're riding with, or his horse, or your own horse. in old times we had to carry our guns loaded, but since we've got these britch-loaders it ain't needful. i expect you'd feel mighty mean if you killed a man, just by your carelessness, or if he killed you the same way. i came mighty near getting killed that way once by an indian i was travelling with. we sat down side by side on top of a high hill to look over the country, and he had his rifle across his knees with the muzzle pointing toward me, and he was playing with the hammer of his gun, raising and lowering it. i didn't like it very much, and got up and walked away, thinking i'd come back and sit down on the other side of him. in less than a minute after i moved, his gun went off, and if i had been sitting there the ball would have gone through me. i was scared some when i thought how near i'd come to being bored through, but i wasn't a patch on the indian. he was scared grey. you see it was known that he and i were together, and if he had killed me by accident, it would have been hard for him to prove it, and he'd likely have got killed for murdering me. "we'll try the gun at that hill over there. do you see that white rock, the small one to the left of that sage-bush? that's about a hundred yards away. load your gun and shoot at that. first sight at the rock. see that the top of the foresight just shows over the notch of the hind sight. hold the gun tight to your shoulder and pull the trigger slowly. try to hold your gun steady on the mark, and when the sight is on it, pull. don't load it yet." jack had been listening carefully and trying to remember all that hugh had said to him, and now he raised the rifle to his shoulder and sighted at the stone. he was surprised to see how large it looked through the sights of the rifle, and how it seemed to jump about. he could not hold the gun steady, and at last took it down, saying, "i can't hold it still." "try it a few times, and then you can fire a shot. put your gun up and, as soon as the foresight is on the mark, pull." jack did this two or three times, and the last time said, "that time i think i would have hit it." "good," said hugh. "now put a ca'tridge in the gun and shoot. remember, you must keep the butt of your gun pressed close to your shoulder. if you don't do that, the gun will kick your shoulder and hurt. i don't want that to happen, it might spoil your shooting." jack put a cartridge in the gun, closed the breech, and partly raised the gun to his shoulder. "haven't you forgot something?" said hugh. "i don't know; what?" answered jack. "we most generally cock our guns before we shoot," said hugh, drily. a little ashamed, jack cocked his gun, aimed and fired. at the report he was pushed back a little, but he was made glad by seeing a little puff of dust rise from the ground somewhere near the stone. "that was a right good shot," said hugh earnestly. "if you can do as well as that every time we'll be sending you out to get meat for the ranch pretty soon. the ball struck the ground only two or three inches to the left of the rock. that shot would have killed an antelope if you'd aimed at his heart. try another, and let's see if you can do it again." the second shot was not quite so good, and when jack took down the gun he said to hugh: "it kicked harder that time." "not so," was the reply, "you forgot to hold the butt close to your shoulder, as i told you to. you must always do that. after a little, you will do it without thinking about it. now let me fire two or three shots. i want to see how the sights are myself." he fired several shots, the first two striking a little above the mark, the third just below it, while the fourth did not knock up any dust, but seemed to jar the stone, and was followed by a curious screaming sound, loud at first, and quickly dying away. "that was the ball singing," said he, in answer to jack's question. "the lead hit the rock and glanced off and went sailing away over the prairie. you must just see the tip of the foresight on the mark. draw it fine. if you pull the trigger when it's there, you will hit every time." an hour more was spent in shooting at this mark, and before it was over, jack had come to understand a great deal about his gun, and had received much praise from his teacher. "you're doing well, my son, and it won't take you long to learn how to shoot. if you pick up riding, roping and packing as easily as you do shooting, your uncle will be hiring you to work for wages before snow flies. now let's go up to the house and wipe out the gun." after hugh had shown jack how to clean his rifle, and had explained to him the importance of keeping it clean, free from rust and sand, and always ready for use under all circumstances, he said, "of course, in these days we don't have to look out for enemies like we used to in old times. nowadays the wars are pretty much over in these parts, yet of course there's plenty of places where the indians are bad yet, and nobody knows when they'll make trouble anywhere. why, nobody will ever know how many people got killed there when they were building the railroad back on the plains. i scouted from julesburg west to cheyenne at that time, and it was an everyday matter to find two or three graders stuck full of arrows along the track. that was the time when the pawnee scouts were guarding the road, and it was fun to see them fellows get out when there was an alarm and chase the hostiles. them pawnees just loved a fight, and they had never been whipped when major north was leading them, so they did not know what fear was. they'd turn out at any time of the day or night and chase the sioux and cheyennes as long as their horses could run. it was a picnic for them. "i had some good friends in that camp. one fellow, especially, that they called itching buffalo, was brave, and he had powerful medicine. they said he had been down into one of them houses where the medicine animals have their councils. the others used to say that he couldn't be killed, and it's sure that he was always in the front of the fighting and never got hit. there's surely something queer about indian medicine. take old whirlwind, the cheyenne, in that fight he had with the sacs. every feather was cut from his war bonnet, but not a bullet hit him, nor his medicine that he carried on it. "but i'm forgetting that you don't know anything about these things. it's likely you will though, if you and i are much together. what i started to say was this. in old times a man's life often depended on his having his gun ready for use. if he went out for his horse, picketed close to camp, or went for wood, or down to the creek for water, he carried his gun with him, and it was always in good order and ready for use. it isn't that way here or now, but it may be so yet. so you'd better learn to keep your gun clean, and to have it with you always. it ain't much trouble to learn this, and it may save your life sometime. "well, there comes the men with a bunch of horses. let's go down to the corral and look 'em over." chapter vii hugh chased by indians jack's first long ride had made him pretty sore; all his muscles pained him. hugh said he must keep riding and soon he would be all right. for several days after this, hugh and jack rode together, and each day they went a little further and in a new direction. each day jack found riding easier, and before long he felt perfectly at home on old grey. each day after they got home from the ride, they took the rifle down on the flat in front of the house and fired a number of shots at the white rock, and several times jack hit it, and all his shots were good ones, and the bullets struck close to the mark. hugh was pleased with the boy's steadiness and told him that before long they would go out and take a hunt. besides the rifle-shooting jack was learning something about horses and how to use them. now, when he went into the corral with hugh, he no longer felt afraid that the horses would run over him. the day after their first ride, hugh and jack led old grey up to a big section of a cottonwood log that mrs. carter used in mounting her horse, and, standing on this, jack saddled and bridled the grey. hugh showed him how to do it, and then stood by and watched, and when jack did anything wrong, he corrected him, and helped him change it. after two or three days jack understood how to saddle up so well that hugh no longer watched him. one day jack had his first lesson in roping--what he had always read of as lassoing. hugh called the rope a lassrope, or a reata--this being a spanish word meaning rope. the two took a rope and went into the big corral, and for a time practised throwing at the snubbing post, which stood in its centre. hugh showed jack just how it was done, and after he had thrown the rope two or three times he handed it to jack, and told him to coil it and to throw it. in two or three days jack found that he could catch the post about half the time, and that throwing the rope, which at first had seemed to him such hard work, was very easy. several times he caught old grey in the corral. after he had come to understand as much as this, hugh had him practise on horseback, showing him how to throw from the saddle, and how to fasten his rope by two or three turns about the horn, so as to hold anything that he might catch with the noose. he warned him how to handle his rope in taking the turns around the horn, with the thumb and finger held up, not down, so that he should not get them caught under the rope, for many men have lost their fingers in this way, having them cut off between the rope and the horn when the pull came in throwing a steer. so it was that as they rode along, jack would throw the rope at one sage-bush after another, pulling up those which he caught and then gathering the rope for a fresh throw. this was pretty good fun, and when he grew tired of it, he would coil up his rope and hang it on his saddle by the loop that was fastened there to hold it, and then he and hugh would talk about the things they saw, and those that hugh had seen and heard in his long life on the prairie. the whole of each day was passed in the open air; and this life, so different from that led by the boy in his city home, soon began to affect his health and his spirits. his appetite increased enormously, his flesh began to harden, and his face, under exposure to the keen cool wind and the unshadowed rays of the sun, to take on a hue of brown that it had never shown before. each night he was heartily and healthily tired, and an hour or two after supper he went to bed, where he slept like a log until called next morning. each day began with the sun and was enjoyed through every hour. as he became accustomed to his horse, hugh taught him to mount from the right side, as the indians do, and urged him to learn to ride bareback, telling him of the skill shown by the indians in their war and hunting trips, when they use no saddle, but cling to the naked horse. after he had been a week at the ranch, his uncle told jack that he was going to send in to the railroad, and advised him to write to his mother, and to tell her that it might be a month or more before she would again hear from him, and the boy did so, sending a long and enthusiastic account of the place and the people. mr. sturgis also wrote to his sister and brother-in-law, telling what jack's life had been up to that time, of the marked interest felt by the boy in all that he saw and did, and of his changed appearance and improved health. these letters made two people in the distant city very happy. one afternoon, after they had been practising with the rifle, and had cleaned and put it away, hugh said to jack, "now, son, to-morrow, unless your uncle wants me to do something else, we'll ride over toward sand creek and see if we can't kill something. mrs. carter says we're about out of meat, and she wants me to kill an antelope. let me see that butcher knife of yours that i took off your belt the other day. if it's a new one it'll need grinding, of course." jack ran and brought the knife, and hugh looked at it and tried its edge on his thumb. "yes," said he, "it's just out of the shop and we'll have to put an edge on it. no telling till i get it on the stone what sort of a piece of steel it is. come on and turn for me and i'll find out." they went down to the blacksmith's shop, and while jack turned the handle of the grindstone, hugh ground the knife and afterwards whetted it on the oil-stone until its edge was keen. "'pears to me," he said, "that this is a pretty good knife. i expect your uncle bought it for you! most young fellows that come out here carry a dirk knife with a big bone handle and a guard, that ain't no earthly use except in a fight, and they don't expect to fight; they expect to use the knife to butcher with. what you want is just a common skinning knife, such as a butcher uses--what you've got here. now put it back in your sheath, and if we have any luck to-morrow, you'll have a chance to try it." when they had left the shop and walked up to the house, and hugh had seated himself on the ground in the sun, and jack had thrown himself down beside him, the boy said: "hugh, you spoke the other day about the pawnees, and said you had seen them and had some friends among them. i wish you'd tell me about them. i've read about them in cooper's novels. don't you remember that leather stocking when he got very old lived among the pawnees, and had the young chief hard heart, for his son. he must have been a splendid man. i remember the description of the fight, when he killed the dakota chief. it was fine." "well," said hugh, "i never knew any of them people; likely they were before my time, but the story you read was likely true, for them pawnees has surely killed plenty sioux. i expect there's nothing a pawnee likes better than to get at the sioux. i have seen quite a few pawnees in my time, and i've stopped some in their villages, and they're good people, no mistake about that. they are kind, and they give you the best they've got; and they're brave. i don't want to be with better people. some of 'em helped me out of a bad fix once, and i ain't never forgot it. that's the time i saw the prettiest horse i ever looked at. it was while i was scouting up at the end of the track that i saw him. he belonged to an indian,--sioux or cheyenne, i expect--anyhow they were hostiles, and they chased me, and if i had had far to go, i expect they'd have caught me. they might have done so anyhow if it hadn't been for them pawnees. "i had gone out from the graders' camp to see if i couldn't get an antelope, for the camp was clean out of fresh meat. i rode up out of the valley, and along on the high prairie, back from the creek, but not too far back, for i expected likely i'd get jumped, and i wanted to have a good show to make a run for it. there hadn't been no indians seen for quite a while, and the boys working on the track were getting pretty bold. one of them even wanted to go hunting with me. he didn't have no horse to ride, said he would go afoot, that he could keep up, if i didn't ride too fast. i told him he had better stop in camp if he wanted to keep his hair safe, and, anyhow, he couldn't go with me. i knew that because indians hadn't been seen, that didn't signify there weren't none in the country. the more you don't see them fellows--when you're in a hostile country--the harder you've got to look out for 'em. and there was a company, or part of a company, of major north's pawnees camped about ten or fifteen miles further up the creek, and i expected that the sioux, if there was any about, would cut in behind the pawnees, and likely tackle the graders' camp, if they saw any show to get away with it. well, i hadn't gone more'n a couple of miles or so before i came over a little rise, and saw a buck antelope feeding, in easy shot. i killed him and tied him to the saddle, and started back to camp; but i hadn't gone far when i saw three indians come in sight, right between me and the camp. they saw me as soon as i did them, and as soon as they saw me, they charged. they were quite a ways off, maybe a mile or more; but that did not give me much time to fool away. i cut loose the meat from my saddle, and started for the bluffs, thinking i'd get down into the creek valley, and either head them and get to camp, or else ride for the pawnee camp. when i got to the bluffs, looking all the time for a place to get down, by george! i couldn't see one; it was so steep, even in the best place, that you couldn't get no horse down, without he had wings. of course a man could have clumb down afoot, but not a horse. well, the indians were a-coming all the time, and one of 'em was nigh a half mile ahead of the other two; those two had not gained much, but the fellow in the lead, he was surely a-coming. while i was looking for a place to get down i'd noticed a little point running out into the valley, with three pines on it, and i made for them, for i says to myself, 'i ain't a-going to let them fellows have this horse, and then get killed afoot.' "i got to the trees and stopped and got off. the lead indian kept a-coming; and, sir, he surely had a good horse. it was a big iron-grey, powerful and swift, i could tell by the way he overhauled my horse, for mine wan't no slouch, and i hadn't let him linger much by the way. why, when that grey's foot struck the ground it seemed like he was galloping on cushions, it was so easy. the indian came up to within about four hundred yards of the trees, and then he wheeled his horse and rode off in a wide circle and met his party, and they stopped and talked a while, and then they started and charged straight at me. they did not worry me much, for i knew they wouldn't come right close, and they couldn't get around me. if they'd been able to circle in behind me, i expect they'd have bothered me considerable. as it was, i kept watching that grey horse, and thinking about him, and figuring to see if there wasn't some way i could get hold of him; but i did not see any. the indians kept a-charging up and a-charging up, every time coming a little closer. one of them had a gun, and every time they turned off, he would shoot toward me; but they were too far off to hit anything. you see, in them days, britch-loaders weren't very common anywhere, and the indians, of course, knew less about 'em than white people. they calculated on my having a muzzle-loader, and were trying to tempt me to shoot, so as to make a charge when my gun was empty, and finish me before i could load. i had a little britch-loading sharp's rifle, with paper cartridges, but i could load pretty fast if i had to, could beat a muzzle-loader all to death. "at last the indians came up so close that i made up my mind i would give them a shot, and i thought i would try the man riding the grey, just on the chance that if i killed him, the grey might keep on towards my horse and i would get a chance to catch him. i stood up against the tree and took a careful aim at the man, shooting plenty high, for they were a long shot off. just as i pulled though, the man i was shooting at swung his horse, and my ball went by him and killed the horse of the man behind him. it fell, and the rider jumped up and ran off, jumping from side to side, like he was plenty scared i would shoot at him. they all stopped away out of range and began to talk again, when, all of a sudden, i saw six more men ride up in sight, quite a long way off. thinks i to myself, 'if these is more sioux, i am surely in for it now;' but in a moment i noticed that these six men were coming in pairs, the way soldiers ride, and then i knew it was a bunch of pawnees. i ran to untie my horse and charge out, but the sioux had seen the pawnees as soon as i did, and they had just everlastingly lit out over the prairie. the pawnees struck out after the sioux, and by the time i was in the saddle and riding, they were a couple of miles ahead of me, and going hard. i knew it was no use for me to run my horse down trying to catch them, so i rode out to where i had dropped my meat, picked it up, and went back to the graders' camp. "the next day i went up to the pawnee camp, for i kept thinking about that grey horse, and if the pawnees had captured him, i wanted to buy him. i knew that they would understand just as well as i did how good a horse he was, and i thought likely that if they had got him, they would not sell him; but i was going to make a bluff at buying him, anyhow. when i got to the camp i talked a while with major north's brother, who was in command there, and at last told him about the chase that they had had yesterday, and how the sioux had had me cornered. i said i wanted to see one of the indians that was in the fight. when the head man of these six came to the tent, i saw that it was old ik[=u]ts tár[=u]sh, and i talked with him about the chase, and asked him what they had done. he said that they had killed two of the sioux. then i asked him about the grey horse, and whether they had got it. he shook his head. "'no,' he said, 'that horse got killed. the horse and the two men who were riding him were both killed, and the other man and his horse got away.' i don't know when i've been more sorry about the death of any dumb beast, that wasn't a dog, than i was that time. ik[=u]ts tár[=u]sh was sorry too." chapter viii jack's first antelope after breakfast next morning, hugh and jack saddled their horses and set out for sand creek. before they started, hugh brought out from the house a gun sling which he fastened to jack's saddle on the left side. it was like a long narrow leather bag open at both ends, and held by two long straps, one of which passed over the horn of the saddle, while the other was tied behind the cantle, so that the bag lay along the horse's side under the left hand stirrup leather, and just below where the rider's knee would come. then he slipped the rifle in, so that the stock lay along the horse's shoulder and within easy reach of the hand. this, he told jack, was the best way to carry his rifle, and although at first the gun seemed in jack's way, and a little uncomfortable, he soon got used to feeling it there. the day was bright and pleasant, and skirting the base of the mountain for two or three miles, they rode over the ridge which separates the waters of sand creek from the muddy. the prairie was everywhere the same dull brown; a few cattle and horses were seen feeding on the distant hillsides. far away toward the sand creek, hugh pointed out a number of white dots on the prairie, which he told jack were antelope. he said to him: "now, son, when we get near those antelope, who is going to do the hunting, you or me?" "why, i don't know, hugh. i've been wondering about that. you know what it is best to do, and if you will tell me, i'll try to do just as you say." "that's good, son," said hugh, "i want you to kill the meat, if we get any, but it's a heap better for you to start in right to learn how to hunt than it is for you to kill anything. i guess the best way is for me to do the hunting for a little while, so that you can watch me and learn. now, i'll tell you two or three things about hunting that it's worth while for you to remember. when you're hunting, always go alone if you can, or else with one other man, if you and he understand each other. you'll never have any luck if you hunt with a man who is always crazy to be ahead. if he acts that way, you just quit him and don't go with him again. such a man will everlastingly scare away the game, and he'll wear out your patience, and make you wish he was somewhere else a good many times before you get to camp. if you're alone you'll have yourself to blame for any blunders you make, and it's easy for you to forgive yourself for the fool things you do, but it ain't easy to forgive any one else. if you're hunting with a man who understands how to hunt better'n you do, let him do the hunting, and, if he wants it bad, let him do the shooting too. but i wouldn't hunt with a man that makes a hog of himself, if i was you. "if you're hunting with another man, always have it understood who is to hunt and who is to shoot. don't ever hunt side by side with any one. two men are twice as easy seen as one, and make twice as much noise; so they are more likely to be noticed by the game. you can bet that the game is always on the watch, and, do the best you can, it is pretty likely to see you. so you want to go slow, and to be just as careful as you know how. when you get to the top of the hill, go mighty slow. only take a step or two at a time, and look over every inch of the ground that you can see beyond you, as your head rises. always take your hat off. a hat sticks up two or three inches higher than your eyes, and can be seen before you can see whatever it is that's looking at you. in the same way you'll see the horns of an elk or an antelope that's over the ridge from you before you see his head. "when you see any game, don't dodge down quick, so's to get out of sight. even if the animal seems to be looking right at you, don't move, or, if you do, lower your head very slowly. the chances are that the animal hasn't seen you, or if it has, that it don't know what you are, and if you keep still, it won't notice you. likely after staring at you for a minute or two, it'll look some other way, or put down its head to take a bite of grass. then you must drop down out of sight and begin to crawl to the top of the hill. you must remember that when you see this head, there's the whole crest of the hill between your shoulder, from which you must shoot, and the antelope's heart that you must shoot at. you've got to see the antelope's whole body before you can shoot, and you've got to get up to the top of the hill before you can see his whole body. while you are getting to the top of the hill, you must watch out and not show yourself, either to the animal you have seen, or to any others that there are with it. likely as not there will be six or eight others in the bunch, scattered about on the hillside, and all of 'em keeping a good look-out. to get a standing shot, you must keep out of sight of all of 'em. for a part of the way to the top of the hill you can go stooping down low, then you'll have to get down on your hands and knees and creep, and at last you'll have to drop flat on your belly and crawl. if the grass is any way thick and high, you won't have much trouble, but if it's short and thin, maybe the antelope will see you and run off. "remember to keep your head down, and don't feel that you've got to look every two or three minutes to see whether the game is there or not. it won't run without it gets scared, and if it starts to run, your looking won't stop it. when, by crawling as carefully as you know how, you've got up so you can see your animal again, wait until it puts its head down to feed, or looks away from you, and then raise your head a little bit to see if there are any others with it, so as to get an idea of the general situation. when you raise your head, if you can see the whole body of your antelope, you had better shoot. if the animal is broadside toward you, shoot at his heart; if head toward you, at the point of his breast; if tail toward you, shoot between the hams, about three inches below the tail; if quartering to you, at the point of the shoulder, or, if quartering from you, at the flank, just in front of the ham. you want your bullet to go through the heart, and you must remember that the heart lies just back of the fore legs, and low down. the life lies low. don't forget that. there is a little curl of hair on an antelope just back of the elbow, and here the hair is thin, and the dark skin shows through and makes this curl look black. that is the mark i always shoot at, if i can. an antelope hit there don't go far. "now, it ain't much use for me to tell you all these things, because you've got to see 'em done and to do 'em yourself before you can know much about hunting, but maybe what i've told you will make it easier for you to learn. "there's one thing i ain't told you about, because i suppose you know all about it without being told. that's the wind. all animals are terrible keen smellers, and of course you can't never get up to them from the windward side. you've always got to go to leeward. let the wind blow from them to you, not from you to them." "i think i understand all that you've told me," said jack, "and i'll try to remember it. do you think we'll get any game to-day?" "oh, we'll sure see some antelope," answered hugh, "but maybe we won't find what we want in a good place. you see, the does are going to have young ones pretty soon now, and so i don't like to kill 'em. the bucks are in better order, and if we can find one of them in a place where we can get at him, we'll try to kill him." as they rode on farther and farther, the country became more broken, and they passed over one little ridge after another, with little valleys between. they had almost reached the top of one of these ridges, when hugh suddenly stopped and looked intently toward the right, where the valley widened out a little. jack stopped and looked too, but he could see nothing except the brown prairie. "see 'em?" said hugh, after a moment. "no, i don't see anything," replied jack. "look down on the hillside, just above that little alkali lake," said hugh. "there's two antelope there--old does, i reckon. we won't bother with them. likely they'll get our wind after we've gone a little further, and run up by us." "oh, yes, i see them now," said jack. they crossed the next valley and rode up over the ridge beyond, and as they went down that hill, hugh called out, "here they come, sure enough;" and looking to his right, jack saw two antelope running towards them very fast. they ran smoothly and evenly, and as easily and fast up hill as down, or on the level. in a moment they were passing quite close in front of the riders, and had run up the hill and disappeared over its crest. "we've got to watch out now," said hugh. "we're liable to run on an antelope any minute. don't ride up over these hills in a hurry, and keep a good look-out." the next hill they came to, hugh checked his horse before he got to the top, and looked carefully over the ground ahead. after doing this, he lifted his bridle rein and let his horse take a few steps forward, and then stopped again and looked. then he went forward again--quite to the top of the hill, and looked again. nothing was seen, and they went on down into the valley and across it. jack noticed that as he went up the hill old baldy seemed to be looking just as his rider was. his ears were pricked up; he moved slowly and carefully and seemed to be expecting something all the time. each time they came to the crest of a hill the same thing was repeated, but nothing was seen. at length, however, after one of the looks, hugh bent low over his horse's neck, and at the same time turned him round and rode down the hill again. jack, who had kept close to hugh's side, had seen nothing, for his head was a foot or two below the old man's. after they had got part way down the hill, hugh spoke in a low tone and said, "there's a couple of antelope on the side hill just above here. they're lying down, and i guess we can get up within shot. throw down your rope and take your gun and come on." in a moment jack was off his horse, and had thrown down his bridle rein and his rope. then he pulled his rifle out of its case and went to hugh, who had taken his rifle from its case and stood waiting for him. jack was beginning to feel excited, and his heart was pounding against his ribs, and as he ran up to hugh, he was not looking where he was going, and he caught his foot in a sage-bush, and would have fallen flat if hugh had not reached out his hand and caught him by the shoulder. "steady, son: steady," said hugh. "don't be in such a rush. there's plenty of time, and if you're going to do any hunting you mustn't go ramming around this way. go slow and easy. those antelope ain't going to run away unless we've scared 'em already, and if we've scared 'em, they're out of shot by this time." "let's hurry, hugh, and maybe we can get a shot at them." "easy, easy. don't i tell you that you can't make anything by rushing 'round. i want you to learn how to hunt, not to act like a rattlehead. now come with me and go slow and quiet, and we'll take a look." the two walked forward toward the mountain for a hundred yards or so, jack eagerly pressing forward, while hugh walked slowly. the wind was now blowing in their faces. at length hugh pointed to their right and ahead, and said to jack, "now, those antelope are over the ridge there, lying down on the hillside. do you want me to go up and find 'em, and then come back and get you, so's you can shoot at 'em, or would you rather go up yourself and find 'em, and take the shot? you can do just whichever you like." "oh, may i go up alone and do it all myself? that'll be splendid. i'd rather do that than have any help," said jack, "can i start now?" "yes," said hugh. "go ahead, but mind and be careful, or else the first thing you know you'll see them antelope a long way off. i'll set here and smoke till i hear the shot." as he said this, hugh sat down on the ground, and putting his rifle beside him, felt in his pocket for his pipe, while jack went on towards the hilltop. he walked very fast, keeping his eyes fixed on the crest of the hill before him, and before he had come to the top of the ridge he was breathing pretty fast. as he got nearer to the top, he began to be still more excited. he remembered what hugh had said about shooting at a particular spot on the antelope, and he hoped he could hit it. if he did, he felt sure that the antelope would drop. it would be great to take the animal in and be able to say that he had killed it, and not hugh. suddenly, as he was thinking of these things, he heard a queer noise off to his left, and then he saw that he was on top of the hill and could see over quite a good deal of the valley in front of him. he thought that the antelope must be somewhere near here. he began to look, very carefully, when suddenly he again heard this curious noise, something like a person blowing his nose, and looking hard in the direction of the sound, he suddenly saw two buck antelope running away from him not very far off. they disappeared over a hill, and in a moment were seen again much further off, running up a high hill, on top of which they stopped and stood looking at him, again making that curious sound. he felt sure that they were the antelope he had been looking for, and he was so disappointed that he felt like crying, only that would do no good. they were now much too far away to shoot at. he watched them for a little while, and then began to walk along the hilltop to make sure that there were no more antelope there. he soon convinced himself of this, and then turned to go back to hugh. before he had gone far, he saw him coming, riding his own horse and leading the grey. "well," said hugh, "i saw the antelope run off, and so i brought the horses. what scared them?" "i don't know, hugh," was the answer, "but i guess i did. i got up on the hill and was looking around, and suddenly i heard some queer noises off there, and then i heard them again, and then two antelope ran over the hill and up on the mountain there, and stopped and looked." "well," said hugh, "i expect you must have let 'em see you. you've got to be mighty careful when you're crawling up on game." jack mounted his horse and rode off beside hugh. for a little while he kept still, thinking, and struggling with his disappointment; then he spoke and said: "hugh, i tried to be smart just now, and so i lost those antelope. because you have taught me how to do a few things, i thought i could creep up to those animals alone. i made a mistake and i know it now. don't let me make any more like it, please." hugh's face lighted up with pleasure as he heard these words, and he answered, "son, i'm mighty glad to hear you say this. you talk like a man, and you're going to make a good one, i know it. i figured quite a spell to-day before i made up my mind what i'd do about them antelope, but i was a little mite afraid you was getting the big-head, and i thought i'd try you the way i did. if you'd asked me to take you up to the antelope, you'd have got the shot, and likely now we'd have been butchering, but i expect it is better the way it is. you've learned a lesson of one kind, and before the day's over i'll give you a lesson in hunting. come on, now, let's lope while we can." they went on, galloping across the little valleys and going slowly up the hills. before very long jack again saw hugh bend his head and back away from the ridge, and then turn and ride a few yards down the hill and dismount. jack did the same, and as he drew his rifle from its scabbard, hugh said to him, "there's a big buck just over the hill, and i think we can get him. is your gun loaded?" "no," replied jack. "that's right, but you'd better load it now and keep it at half-cock, and then follow me and do just what you see me do." hugh walked quietly up the hill and jack followed him. again he was excited, but this time he was not breathing fast, and now he felt sure that he would get a shot. when hugh had nearly reached the top of the hill, he stopped, took off his hat and dropped it on the ground, and putting his hand behind him motioned jack to stop. after a long look he took two or three steps forward and then stopped again; then two or three more, and then he slowly lowered his head and walked forward in a stooping position. then he dropped to his knees, and turning, beckoned jack, who had imitated all his motions, to his side. "the buck is just over there," he whispered, pointing to the crest before him. "creep up beside me, and look through the grass and try to see him. don't raise your head and don't hurry. there's plenty of time." on hands and knees they crept forward a few feet, and then hugh stretched out his hand and touched jack, and motioned with his head. the boy stared at the grass before them which was shivering in the wind, but he could see nothing beyond it but the blue sky. at length hugh bent toward him and whispered, "don't you see his horns?" instantly jack saw that what he had seen several times and had supposed were two black looking weed stalks were the slender horns of an antelope. hugh saw the change in his companion's face, and whispered again, "crawl up a few feet more and then get up slowly, rest your left elbow on your knee, and aim just behind the shoulder and low down." jack crept up past hugh, and, rising very slowly on one knee, took a careful aim. the buck was lying on a point of the hill, with his face toward the valley and his back toward jack, who aimed at the side just behind the shoulder and low down, and fired. the buck sprang to his feet, and in half a dozen low, rabbitlike jumps, disappeared over the hill. jack had not had time to wonder whether he had missed or not, when he heard hugh's voice at his ear saying, "son, you done that well; no one could have done it better. now, let's go and get the horses." "well, but hugh, where is the antelope? did i hit him or did i miss?" asked jack. "why, you hit him, of course. look where he ran. don't you see that if you'd missed him he would have been in sight before now, either crossing that flat or running up on one of the hills. he ain't gone far. he's our meat." "oh, i hope so," gasped jack, who suddenly began to tremble as if he were cold. [illustration: "jack crept up past hugh ... and took a careful aim."--_page _.] when they had mounted, hugh led the way to the place where the antelope had been lying. here he pointed out the hoof tracks and followed them down the hill. before long he stopped, and pointing at the ground, said, "see there." jack looked, and saw a dark splash on the ground, and clinging to a tuft of the brown prairie grass, several bright red drops. after a moment's hesitation, he exclaimed, "oh, that's blood, isn't it? then i must have hit him." "yes, indeed, he is hit. now, you see if you can follow that blood trail. don't keep looking at the ground just in front of you, look ahead of you and don't try to go too fast." jack looked on the ground ahead of him, and saw other splashes, and starting on, soon saw that he could follow the marks much more easily and quickly in that way than he could by watching those which were close under his horse's head. they went on for a hundred yards further, and then, as they rounded the point of a little knoll, hugh said, "there's your meat," and looking, jack saw something white showing above the grass, and a moment later he was looking down on his first antelope. it was a splendid big buck, and jack, jumping off his horse, ran to it and for a moment could hardly believe his eyes. then he tore off his hat and threw it up in the air and just yelled and hurrahed as loud as he could. hugh meantime, smiling as if greatly pleased, had thrown down the ropes of both horses and twisted them around a sage-bush, and when he came up to the antelope, jack was looking it all over, opening its mouth, stretching out its slender legs, and smoothing down its coarse rough hair. "isn't he pretty, though? and how slim his legs are! no wonder he can run. and he's got a black tongue, just like a pure breed alderney cow. but he must be pretty old, for he hasn't got any front teeth in his upper jaw. do you think he'll be very tough? and see, he only has two hoofs on each foot. are all antelopes that way? some caribou that uncle will killed once in canada had four hoofs on each foot, two little ones and two big ones. oh, ain't i glad i didn't miss. but i never thought about missing. i just aimed as near as i could where you told me to. i'm so glad i didn't just wound him. oh, this is the best day of my life." so jack chattered on, until hugh interrupted him by taking hold of the animal and turning it over, saying as he did so, "you done well, my son, mighty well. i watched you shoot and you couldn't have done better if you'd been killing antelope as long as i have. you were steady as a rock. now, look a'here. you see this little hole? that's where the ball went in; and this big one is where it came out. you want to remember that; going in, the ball makes a small hole, coming out, a big one. you ask a heap of questions, but i'll try and answer some of 'em. you'll have to stop on the prairie longer than i have to find an antelope with front teeth in his upper jaw. they don't have 'em. no more does any other animal that i ever saw that chews the cud. first chance you get, look at a cow's mouth, or a deer's, or an elk's, or a sheep's. you'll see they're all alike in that. a horse has upper front teeth, and so does a hog, but those are about the only animals that eat grass that has 'em, in this country. now, we've got to butcher. i'll do that, because i know how, and after a while you can learn to. i guess we'll take this fellow in whole. you'd like to have 'em see him that way, i reckon." hugh rapidly prepared the animal for transportation to camp, and then, bringing up the horses and tightening the saddles on both, he lifted the antelope on old grey, and tied it on behind the saddle with the leather strings, tied its head up, so that the horns should not strike the horse, and the legs to each of the cinch rings of the saddle. thus it was firm. he looked at the sky for a moment, and then said, "let's fill the pipe." sitting down, he lit his pipe, and while he smoked said: "antelope don't have no front teeth in the upper jaw, as i told you, and they don't have no dew-claws like a deer or a steer. i can't tell why they don't, but i can tell you what the indians say about the dew-claws. now a deer ain't got no gall, and this is the way the deer lost his gall and the antelope his dew-claws. "a long time ago, they say, deer had galls and antelope had dew-claws. according to the pawnees tell, in those days all the animals could talk to each other, and one day the antelope and the deer met out on the prairie. they had quite a talk, giving each other the news, and at last the deer got to bragging about himself, telling how smart he was and how he could beat all the other animals running. 'why,' says the antelope, 'you may be a pretty considerable fast runner, but you couldn't beat me.' 'bet you i can,' says the deer. 'bet you ye can't,' says the antelope. "well, they bantered each other for quite a spell, and at last they made it up that they'd run a race on the prairie, and they bet their galls on the race. whoever won was to take both. well, at last the day came for the race, and they ran, and the antelope beat the deer all hollow. so the deer handed over his gall to the antelope. he felt terrible bad, about it though, and seemed so broke up that the antelope felt sorry for him and made him a present of his dew-claws, to make his heart good." as he finished the story, hugh knocked the fire out of his pipe and said, "well, let's be going." they mounted and rode back toward the ranch. jack's heart was full of gladness, and he felt proud of what he had done, and proud that hugh praised him. as they rode by the stables and up to the house, one of the cowboys called out to hugh, "why don't you carry your meat instead of making the kid pack it?" to which hugh replied, winking at jack, "the kid killed it, and the kid's got to pack it." jack thought this a very good joke. chapter ix john monroe, half-breed when he looked out of the window next morning, jack could see only a little way, for it was snowing and blowing very hard, and the fine snow-flakes filled the air and were whirled about in dense clouds. the brush and the mountain behind the house could not be seen, and even the stables and corrals were hidden. after breakfast he sat for a little while by the window, looking out and watching the snow-flakes, but he soon got tired of that. his uncle was writing near the stove. there was no one to talk to, and he did not feel like reading. at length he thought that he would go down to the bunk-house where the men slept, and see what hugh was doing. he could see the outline of the house amid the whirling snow, and supposed hugh was there. he told his uncle what he was going to do, and mr. sturgis looked up and said, "all right, go down to the bunk-house, but go straight there, don't try to go anywhere else. it is easy to get lost in this snow." when jack entered the bunk-house, a great cloud of snow blew in the open door after him, and as he banged it to behind him, he saw hugh standing up plaiting a raw-hide rope, reuben mending his saddle with strings of wet raw-hide, which he took from a bucket of water beside him, while joe had his feet cocked up on the stove and was smoking and talking to the others. jack went up to the stove and sat down on a box near reuben, and watched him, and after a moment joe went on speaking. "i seen red cahill yesterday when i was riding. he was going down from washakie to the fort, and calculated he'd stop all night to powell's. he told me that there's five head of our horses ranging up on grey bull. there's the old gotch-eared black mare, and her three-year old, two-year old, and yearling, and that yellow gelding that the boss traded for with them emigrants when they came through here two years ago. you mind we ain't seen that gelding since his feet got well, and i always thought he'd took the trail back the way he come. but it seems not. i don't expect the roundup will fetch them horses in, but it may. anyhow we can go and get 'em 'most any time, only it's a long way to ride for five head of horses. "did red say anything about the indians at washakie?" asked hugh. "that's what he did," said joe. "he said we won't see no indians down here this summer. you know them arapahoes that's up there to washakie is kinder friends to them cheyennes that broke out last fall down in kansas, and got took in to roberson, and then broke jail there, and most all got killed. he says there's some cheyennes staying up there with the arapahoes and they're all stirred up and uneasy over that killing down to roberson." "yes," said hugh, "and i don't wonder at it. it was a doggoned shame the way they treated them indians. it was all right to capture them and bring 'em in and shut 'em up. that's war all right enough. but after they'd got 'em locked up, to shut down on their grub and their water was about the worst thing that i ever heard of this government doing, and it sure done some pretty bad things. i don't care so much for the men. it's men's business to get into trouble and to fight and get killed or to starve, but when i think of them women and young girls and little children not having anything to eat or drink for seven days i tell you it makes me mad. i expect if them folks back east who pretends to think so much about indians could know about that, they'd raise quite a fuss. but they ain't never likely to hear of it. "what was it, hugh?" said jack. "oh," said hugh, "it was just a killing of indians, like plenty of others that's happened out in this western country, only this time the soldiers took away all the guns the indians had and didn't give them no food nor water for seven days and then they let 'em get out, and killed 'em as they run. i believe they killed sixty or seventy of them and all but about twenty was women and little children, but i don't feel much like talking about it any more, so let's quit it." jack had never before heard hugh speak as he spoke now; so sternly and sharply that jack had nothing to say and sat silent on his box, watching the others work. at length reuben ventured a remark and said: "this here snow-storm'll do a heap of good to the meadows, and the way it's blowing now it orter pile some of these ravines full of snow, and make the water last a heap longer than it commonly does." "yes," said hugh. "this is going to be a right good year, for feed, and this here storm won't do no harm. it ain't cold enough to hurt young calves and colts. it may make the coyotes a little hungry though, and if any one of you boys rides to-morrow, he'd better take some baits with him--i mean to put out some poison along the mountains myself." "that's a good idee," said joe; "i believe i'll go out and mix up some tallow now." joe took his feet down from the stove, yawned, stood up, and walked to the window and looked out. suddenly he exclaimed, "gosh!" and stepping out the door uttered a loud "hallo-o-a." jack ran to the window and looked out. for a moment the storm had lulled; the wind had stopped blowing, and the snow falling, and the boy saw, a few hundred yards away, on the crest of a hill, a snow-covered horseman, followed by two pack animals. joe's shout had reached the rider, who had stopped and was now looking toward the house. then the wind again began to howl and the snow to fly, and in an instant the whole scene was blotted out. jack went outside and stood by joe, who seemed to be listening. "what is it, joe?" he said. "didn't you see the way that fellow was going? he was plum lost, heading straight for the mountains. if he's a pilgrim he'd a got tangled up in the ravines and likely froze to death. don't talk now; listen." in a moment, the two were joined by hugh and rube, and all stood listening. presently someone said, "there he comes," and a moment later, the little group of animals stopped in front of the bunk-house. the rider stiffly dismounted, and began to take off the packs from his horses. "well, seh," he said, "my glad my get here." hugh stepped out into the snow to help unpack the stranger's horses, and when the snow-covered man saw him, he exclaimed in surprise, "why, hallo, hugh, h'ole man, my think you was dead long time." "why, i'm durned if it ain't old john monroe," said hugh. "come in, come in and get dry; the boys'll tend to your horses. well, well; how are you? living up north, yet? how's the old man? tell me all the news." "well, seh," said old john, "this very curieuse. my comin' down here pour veeseet my girl. she married one man, live on bear river. now my goin' down there, meet h'ole hugh. bien curieuse," and he stared at hugh as if he could hardly believe his eyes. hugh laughed. "why, son," he said, speaking to jack, "this old man and me has travelled together a good many years when i stopped up north with his people. you see, he's a piegan half-breed, raised in canada among the crees and frenchmen. his father came out into this country long before i was born, must have been more'n sixty-five years ago. the old man worked for the hudson bay company in early days, and john here has been working for fur companies all his life. he's one of the best timber-hunters that ever was. i'm right glad to see him. we'll have to get him to stop with us here for a while, i expect." a moment later hugh turned to john and spoke to him in some strange language, and for a little while jack sat there and watched the two talking and making signs to each other. he had heard his uncle tell of the sign language that the indians used, and he felt sure that this must be it. when he left them to go up to the house the two men were still talking busily. after dinner jack again went down to the bunk-house. hugh and john were still giving the news to each other, but now they spoke a language that jack could understand--that is, hugh did, but john's english made up only a small part of his speech, which was partly french and partly indian, with a good many signs. some parts of what he said jack could not understand at all. "well, son," said hugh after awhile, "i have got a whole bag full of news from up north, and i'm mighty glad to have it. i've got a whole lot of friends in the blackfoot camp, and i've got plenty of questions yet to ask the old man. "tell me, john, are the young men going to war much these days? in my time with the tribe the horse-stealing parties were out about all the time, except in the worst winter weather," said hugh. "yas," answered john, "plenty war-parties he goin' h'out h'all time, take plenty horses. goin' to crow, h'assinaboine, gros ventres, pend d'oreilles, h'all peoples. sometime goin' 'gainst white mans." "and i suppose plenty of people come to war against them, too," said hugh. "if they take lots of horses, they lose lots too, i expect." "hoh' yas," said john, "plenty horses stolen. last summer crows he take 'im 'bout two hundred, one night. lone person he loss 'bout hundred. you know it heavy runner--white mans call 'im brocky. well, seh, last summer, crees he comin' down pour steal 'im horses. somebody see it, h'every body h'running try pour keel 'im crees. young man, wolf eagle, cree shoot it 'im in h'arm. heavy runner he chase 'im one cree; cree jump in washout pour fight; shoot it 'im heavy runner in forehead; heavy runner shoot it, keel 'im cree. heavy runner get well, may be bullet follow bone of his haid round, no go through. plenty dances over cree his scalp. war now, not so good lak' in h'ole days. too much soldier now; chase it war-party, take away horses." "yes, i expect it's a heap different up there now from what it used to be; like it is everywhere in the country since the railroads come and turned things upside down. there's too many people in the country now, and they ain't the right sort of people either." "yas, hugh, h'ole man, peoples lak' you an' me we can' change, we too h'ole. we been loky we was borned in good times, mais we had bad lok we lived too long." "well, anyhow, john, i'd like mighty well to go up north again, and maybe i will some day. when you goin' back there?" "my not know yet. maybe one, two mont'. suppose maybe you goin' back sem time my go?" john stopped talking, and taking his pipe from his fire bag, began to clean and fill it. this was rather a long slow process, during which nothing was said. after the pipe was going well, john sat back, and casting his eyes about the bunk-house noticed the bear-skin hanging against the wall. pointing to it, he said, "you kill it' 'im bear, hugh?" "no, the boss killed that fellow. it must have just come out, for it was right fat. there is lots of bears here, john, but no buffalo. we've got to go more'n two hundred miles to kill buffalo. last year i seen one dead one out on the prairie about twenty-five miles from here, but that's the only one i've seen about here in a long time. plenty buffalo up north, i expect." "plenty," was the answer. "he trade it two store, carroll. h'all h'ingin' comin' trade; cree, h'assinaboine, gros ventres, sircee, blackfeet, blood, piegan; got plenty whisky, trade plenty h'robe. sometime he faightin', _les chauvages_, when he bin dronk. sometimes he keel it two tree h'ingin' faightin: sometime in winter, cole he keel it, froze 'im so he was die. you know it calf shirt, blood chief; well, seh, he keel it 'im white mans. calf shirt he dronk, want keel it white mans, one h'woman run quick tole um. when calf shirt cornin' pour faight, white mans shoot it 'im, maybe six, seven, ten time. soon he daid." "well, well!" exclaimed hugh, "it's like old times yet up north after all." chapter x cows in a snow-drift the next morning the snow had ceased falling and the sun shone bright and clear. hugh declared that it was just the day for putting out his coyote baits, which he intended to string along the mountains north of the house, to try to poison some of the coyotes that were watching the calves. these baits were blocks of wood in which one and a half inch augur holes had been bored to a depth of three inches. into these holes melted tallow had been poured until the holes were full. the coyotes were expected to eat little balls of tallow containing strychnine scattered on the ground, and to remain near the blocks, licking at the tallow in the augur holes, until the poison which they had taken should act, so that they would die near the blocks. thus the wolfer would get the skins of the animals that he killed. hugh put the blocks containing the baits in two sacks and lashed them on a pack horse, and soon with jack and john he was riding through the snow north along the mountain-side. soon after starting, hugh tied a piece of elk-hide to one end of his rope, and taking a turn of the other around the horn of his saddle, dragged it behind him over the snow. this, he told jack, was to lead the wolves to follow the trail, so that they might come to the baits. "of course," he said, "they'd follow it up anyhow, but the smell of this hide'll keep 'em thinking about eating." after they had gone a few hundred yards, hugh dismounted on top of a little ridge, and here threw down one of his pieces of wood, and about it scattered several balls of poisoned tallow and a handful of chips of dried meat, which he took from a sack. this he repeated at intervals of half a mile as they went along. when they reached the spot where the cows were, they found most of them feeding on a warm, sheltered hillside, which was almost free from snow. there were now many more calves than when they had seen them last. hugh sat for a long time looking at the animals, while john monroe rode to the top of a near-by hill, from which after a moment he called aloud, made some motions with his hands and pointed. "that's good," said hugh to jack. "he sees them cows." they galloped up to john who motioned toward the mountains where a number of dark animals were seen standing in the snow. "well, john," said hugh, "we've got to get them out. it's a bad place, too. there's a big drift there. i'll bet the snow's four feet deep." riding toward the cows, they saw that there were seven of them standing in the deep snow, which reached half way up to their backs. two or three of them had moved a little, treading down the snow about them so that they had room to turn around; beside these, calves were standing. all the cows looked cold and hungry and fierce-eyed, and two or three shook their heads angrily as the horsemen pushed their way toward them through the ever-deepening snow. "well, now, boys," said hugh, "we've got to break a road as near the critters as we can, and then rope 'em and snake 'em out. son, you'll have to look out. every one of them cows is fighting mad, and likely every one of 'em's got a calf, which will make her fight harder. john, you and me'd better take this nearest one first. son, when we get the ropes on her, maybe you can get around and hurry the calf along close to her." for a few moments hugh, john and jack rode back and forth through the deep snow, until they had broken a trail from a point where the snow was only knee-deep nearly to where the nearest cow stood. each time when they got near her, she shook her head at them and looked as if she were going to charge. when the road through the snow was pretty well broken, john and hugh rode up near to the cow, and then separating, each of them threw his rope. hugh's settled fairly over both horns, but john's caught only one of them, slipped off and had to be gathered and thrown again. then both men turned their horses toward the path and slowly dragged the cow over and through the snow. as the cow, bellowing and struggling furiously, passed along, a pitiful feeble cry came from the hole where she had stood, and jack, spurring his horse up to the place, saw standing there a little weak staggering calf. the snow was deep, even where the cow had been dragged, and the calf could not get out of the hole. as jack sat there gazing at it, suddenly a rope flew over the calf's neck, and looking, jack saw john whirling his horse, and then saw the calf fly out of the hole and over the snow at the end of the rope. he followed to where hugh sat on his horse by the cow, which lay on its side, all tangled up in the rope. there john loosed the calf, which, after a moment, staggered to its feet; and then hugh, by a few jerks on his rope, freed the cow, which got up and began to lick the calf. then, the two old men rode back to where the other cows stood in the snow. jack could not understand why the calf had not been choked to death, nor how the cow had been tied, and then so suddenly untied. he determined that he would watch. he hurried back to where the men were breaking another path, but before he reached them they had roped the cow and were dragging it over and through the snow. the cow bellowed piteously, but moved along so steadily and fast that she could not struggle. jack drew out of the way to let them pass, and then rode up to the hole, where he saw the little calf. this time he thought he would try his hand; he threw his rope twice and at last it went over the calf's head; then he very gently pulled it tight, and taking a turn of the rope over the saddle-horn, turned and rode slowly toward the others. he did not want to go fast, for he did not want to hurt the calf. before he had gone far he met john riding back. he called to him: "hurry! hurry! ride more fast, else you're goin' kill 'im de calf. you choke it 'im." jack hurried on then, and stopped when he was near hugh, who, as before, was holding the tied cow. "loose the calf as quick as you can, son, and let it get up." jack dismounted and took the rope from the calf's neck, but it lay there perfectly still. "oh, hugh, i'm afraid i've killed it," said jack. hugh dismounted quickly, leaving the horse standing with the rope stretched tightly between the horn of the saddle and the cow, and walked to the calf. "you choked it too long," he said. "but i guess we can fix it." he worked over the calf for a little while, and soon it began to breathe again without any help. "there! he's all right now; but the next time you snake a calf by the neck, hurry him along. if you cut off his wind too long, he'll die on you." "why, the reason i went slowly was that i didn't want to hurt it. if mr. monroe hadn't told me to come faster, it would have been dead before i got here." "it sure would," said hugh. "if you're handling cattle you have to be quick about it often. it's easier on the critters, even if it does look rough. there, that calf can stand now, i guess. let's drag it over to its mother and turn her loose. now we've got to get the others out. i expect old john'll wonder what's keeping us." he took the calf by the fore legs and dragged it over the snow to where its mother lay, then mounted his horse, and seeing that jack also had mounted, quickly freed the cow from the rope. when she sprung to her feet, she ran to the calf and began to lick it, and in a few moments it stood up. meantime jack and hugh had gone back and met john, who was slowly dragging a large cow over the snow. she struggled and fought, and the little pony that john was riding had his hands full to keep her moving in the right direction. as soon as hugh's rope fell over her horns, and the two horses began to pull together, she moved swiftly and steadily along. jack rode on to get the calf. at first he thought there was none there, but looking carefully he saw a foot and part of a leg sticking out from the snow where the cow had been standing. he dismounted, and digging away the snow, by pulling and pushing he brought to light a big strong calf, which at once stood up. this time, jack did not try to be tender with the calf. he threw his rope over its head, took the turn of his rope over the saddle-horn, pulled the calf up out of the snow pit and then galloped back to where the cow lay. as soon as he cast the rope off the calf, which this time he did without dismounting, the animal stood up and bawled for its mother. hugh turned her loose, and they all went back for another cow. in this way they pulled out all the cows and their calves, and before the middle of the day had started back to the ranch. the weather had become milder, and now the snow was melting a little. "might be such a thing, my son, as we'd find a coyote at some of these baits. 'tain't likely though. still we'll go back the same way we came." "snow on ground, maybe coyotes pretty hungry. why you no make 'em trap like h'ingin?" said john. "ain't wolves enough for it, and besides that, i don't believe i ever thought of it before. might be a good idea, though. maybe i'll try it next winter, if coyotes is anyways like as plenty as they are now. poison's no good any more." "what kind of trap is that, hugh?" asked jack. "why, it's sorter like a pitfall trap that i've heard tell of. you kill a bull, and all around him build up a kind of a fence of poles close together, and all leaning toward each other at the top, where you leave quite a hole. then you pile up rocks and dirt around your poles, so's to make a little mound for the wolves to walk on up to the hole. if they're hungry enough they'll jump down into the hole to get at the meat, but they can't jump out again because the hole is too high up. they can't climb up the poles and they can't dig through 'em. so there you've got 'em." "long time ago," said john, "he catch 'im plenty big wolves, plenty coyote that way, _les shauvages_. my grand'mère, when she was little girl, 'bout as h'ole as jacques, h'ingins not make it beaver, not make it h'robes pour trade. h'only trade 'im wolf skin. ver' curieuse." "oh, mr. monroe," said jack, "is that a coyote off there?" "no, that sinopah--what you say it, hugh?" was the reply. "kit fox is what i call him, some calls 'em swift. i've heard folks say that they were the fastest thing that runs on the prairie, but it ain't so, by a long shot. there's just plenty of swifter animals. still you can see easy enough where people get the idea that they run so fast. they're mighty level-gaited and seem to sort o' glide along instead of running. just watch that fellow now and see how smooth he runs. "hallo, hugh," interrupted john, "you get it one coyote?" "well, looks like it, don't it?" said hugh. the little wolf lay near the block of wood, from the holes in which much of the tallow had been licked. it was a pretty creature, about as large as a small setter dog, yellowish grey in colour, and with thick heavy fur and a bushy tail. its sharp nose gave it a wise, cunning look. "he been two of it here, hugh," said john, whose eyes was constantly wandering about over the snow. "two coyote and sinopah." "yes; the other one's gone back along the trail to the ranch. they've eat up all the scraps i scattered here. well, i'll put this one on the horse, and skin it at the house." hugh thrust the coyote into one of the sacks on the pack horse, and they went on. a mile or two further along on the trail they found where the second coyote had turned off toward the mountain, and both men said that this one had probably not eaten any of the poisoned tallow. that afternoon hugh showed jack how to skin a coyote. chapter xi jack's first elk the next two or three weeks were warm and bright and the snow melted fast. the little brooks that ran down from the mountains were full of water. out on the edge of the hay meadows the men were working with ploughs, spades and hoes, mending the irrigation ditches, which would be used to turn the water on the hay land after all the snow water had run off and the dry season had come. there was much of this work to be done, and all were busy at it, except john monroe and jack, who rode together each day. one morning they went out to look at the cows, and then on past them, and out to the end of the mountain. here turning west, they followed a narrow winding trail up the hill, until they had reached the crest of the ridge and could look over much of the prairie below. here they dismounted, and leaving the horses in a little hollow where they could feed, they clambered upon a high rock-crowned knoll and sat there looking over the prairie. it was a wide and beautiful prospect that they saw; fifteen or twenty miles of prairie, which from this height looked as if it were level, marked here and there with lakes that shone like silver in the sun, or with white patches of snow in the sheltered ravines. beyond were mountains; those in front of them dotted with black pines and with white patches of rock; those to the right rising in brown foothills to peaks which were almost as red as blood. suddenly, john, who had been smoking in silence, said: "my see 'im two h'elk." "two elk, mr. monroe; oh, where?" said jack. "you look on prairie, that a-way," said john, pointing, "just crossin' from chalk bluff there, two small little spots movin'. that h'elk." jack strained his eyes to find them, but he could see nothing. he had not yet learned how to look for objects on the prairie. presently, just as he was going to tell john that he could not see them, he dropped his eyes to the prairie nearer the point of the mountain and saw two dark spots, which seemed to be moving. "i see them now, mr. monroe," he exclaimed eagerly. "are those elk? i don't see how you know. i can see that they move, and so they must be animals, but i should never know what they were." "yes, that's h'elks," repeated john. "suppose you want it kill 'im one h'elk? get it some meat?" "oh, wouldn't i like to? could we get a shot, do you think? they're awful far off," said jack. "maybe he comin' right up here. suppose he comin' up one trail, he come to us. suppose he take trail we come by, smell 'im horses, then goin' run off quick. suppose we go to point of mountain, see 'im bote trails. maybe we get it shot. come." they clambered down from the rocks and soon caught their horses. jack mounted first, and sat there impatient to start. but john checked him, saying: "suppose no hurry. good you fix it saddle." so jack controlled himself, and remembering what hugh had told him about taking care of his horse's back, he dismounted and tightened his saddle. john had done the same, and they mounted and rode off together, keeping on the crest of a ridge, on one side of which ran the trail they had followed up the hill. on the other side was a little valley overgrown with aspens, among which ran a brook. if he had been alone, jack would have galloped as hard as he could to the end of this ridge, so as to see the elk soon and to find out what they were doing, but he remembered again what hugh had told him, and he remembered too, how he had lost the first antelope he had tried to hunt. so he asked no questions and rode quietly along, feeling pretty sure that john must know what he was doing. at length, when they had nearly reached what seemed the end of the ridge, john pointed to the valley where the brook ran, and said: "suppose he comin' h'up there, we get 'im suer." a little while afterward, he said, "leave 'em horses here," and dismounted, and taking his gun from its scabbard, he walked forward toward the end of the ridge, where great rocks lay scattered over the ground. jack, as he followed, noticed that john, as he walked, made no sound. the gravel did not crunch under his moccasins, his trousers did not rub against the weeds and bushes. as he made each step, his toe touched the ground first, then the ball of his foot, and then his heel. if he had been a cat walking over a carpet, he could not have made less noise. it seemed to jack that every time he himself put down his foot, it made a loud rattling on the ground, the sides of his feet scraped against the bushes, and he made a great noise. before they had gone very far, john turned and made a sign for jack to stop. then he cautiously went forward and peered over some rocks, and then slowly lowering his head, he beckoned jack to come to him. when he had reached john, the old man pointed and said: "suppose you look. see 'im h'elk comin' h'up this side?" jack raised his head very cautiously and looked over the rock, and there, only a few hundred yards away, coming up the side of the ridge he saw two animals nearly as big as horses. their bodies and legs were graceful and deer like, but they carried their heads and necks very awkwardly. their noses pointed straight out in front, and they moved their heads slowly from side to side. they had no horns, but where the horns should have been were odd thick bunches, only a little longer than their ears. their bodies were brownish yellow. he had hardly had time to see these things, when john touched him on the shoulder, and motioned him to come with him. they went back a little distance from the rocks, and entering a ravine that ran down to the valley, crept part of the way toward the timber, and then up the side of the ravine toward the elk. from the top of the ridge they could see the game coming directly toward them. the animals did not stop to feed, but walked straight on, as if they were going somewhere. "soon he comin' close. suppose you shoot, try kill 'im daid. suppose he wounded, maybe run far. hard time catch 'im. that bad. now wait." for some minutes they sat there, john saying nothing and doing nothing, but jack feeling very anxious. he remembered the great pair of elk antlers that his uncle had at home, and though these elk here had no horns, still they were the same kind of animals. he wanted very much to kill one, and his heart had been beating fast ever since he had started. while they sat there though, he seemed to quiet down a little; he still wanted just as much to kill the elk, but when he saw how calm john was, he felt a little bit ashamed that he should be so excited, and this made him cool down still more. at length john said: "suppose h'elk pretty close. my goin' look now." he crept up and peeped over the ridge and then drawing back, motioned jack to come to his side, which he did, creeping as close to the ground as possible. john signed to him to shoot. he crept up very carefully, raised his head slowly, and there he saw these two great animals about to cross the ravine, hardly forty yards below him. they were walking, but, before he raised his rifle to shoot, both elk stopped, and seemed to be looking over the country beyond the ravine. jack aimed carefully behind the elk's shoulder and low down, and fired. both elks slowly turned their heads and looked toward the hunters, but neither moved. "shoot," whispered john, and jack threw out his shell, loaded and shot again, aiming at the same place, and, as the second shot rang out, the elk fell on its side, and its companion turned and trotted swiftly away. "ha! you shoot good," said john, as he rose to his feet and walked toward where the elk lay. jack wanted to shout out hurrahs, he was so glad, but he said nothing and walked along by john's side, trying to seem unconcerned, but with a broad smile of happiness upon his face. in a moment they had reached the great animal, which lay there with its slender brown legs outstretched, and its smooth yellow body glistening in the sun. "ha!" said john, "you make it good shoot. good shoot," and he pointed to the elk's body, where, close behind the fore leg, were two tiny holes, not two inches apart, where both the boy's bullets had entered. either shot would have killed him. while jack was looking at the elk, admiring his graceful, strong body, and wondering at the queer, soft warm bunches that grew out of his head, and which he knew must be the young growing horns, john sharpened his knife and prepared to cut up the bull. bending its head back close to one of its shoulders, he turned the animal on its back, and propped it in position by placing a large stone under its hip. before using his knife, however, he said to jack, "suppose you no want it skin, take it meat to house. now, skin no good for moccasins. biemby, be good." jack would have liked to carry in the whole elk, so that all might see what a splendid animal he had killed, but he was ashamed to say so to john, and returned a cheerful "all right," to his suggestion. john's sharp knife quickly cut off the elk's hams and shoulders and then, turning the animal on its side, the long strips of meat lying on either side of the backbone--the sirloins--were torn out. then very deftly john tied the hams together and threw them across jack's saddle, fastening them to the cinch rings, put the shoulders and sirloins on his own horse, and they mounted and rode off down the mountain. the ride toward the ranch was a happy one for jack. he was glad that he had killed the elk, glad that he had made two such good shots, and he hummed a little song to himself as he rode along and every now and then reached down and smoothed the skin of the elk hams. he could not help thinking how badly he would have felt if he had missed the shot, and the elk had run away, or even if he had missed and john had killed it. this was much better. although this was only the second animal that he had killed, jack was beginning to feel some confidence in his shooting, and was beginning too to understand that he knew nothing about hunting. he could not understand how it was that hugh and john seemed to know exactly what to do. he could see though that they were never in a hurry, that they were not uneasy about whether the game was going to run away or not, that they were patient and took plenty of time. all this was just what hugh had told him about hunting, and jack determined that he would try hard to remember and always to act on it. the sun was just setting as they rode up to the house. two of the men could be seen coming across the prairie, driving a bunch of horses before them, and hugh was just coming down to the corral to let out the milk cows. he smiled as he saw the meat on the horses, and called out, "well, son, you've got some meat, i see." "yes, seh," said john, "jack make it good shoot. good shoot, my tellin' you." "you killed it, did you, son? why, that's good. where'd ye hit it?" "good shoot my tellin' you," repeated john. "plum centre. _il l'a brisé le coeur deux fois._ two time." "you don't say! why, son, you're goin' to make a sure enough hunter all right. now, let's hang this meat upon the pole, where the flies won't bother it." they took the meat off the horses at the foot of a tall pole that stood near the corner of the house, and by means of a pully at the top of the pole, it was hoisted far above the ground where it would be cool and dry, and out of the way of the flies. a few days later john monroe packed his horses, and started on to bear river to visit his daughter. he said that he would return toward the end of the summer and see them again. chapter xii antelope kids "son, do you want to ride down to the lake with me," said hugh one day in june, as they sat at dinner. "yes, hugh, i'd like to go. right after dinner?" said jack. "yes, if your uncle don't want me, we might as well start right off. you get your gun and catch up the horses, and i'll come down and saddle up as soon as i can." jack caught the horses and took them to the barn, where he found hugh waiting, and in a few moments they were on their way. when they had nearly reached the lake, hugh turned to jack and said, "now, maybe we'll see some fun. this morning when i was in the pasture, i saw an old doe antelope down on the flat here, and i reckon she's got kids hidden somewhere. we can lie behind the hill and watch for them. maybe we'll have company too; there's likely to be a coyote or two about, so you may as well fetch your gun with you." they left the horses in a little hollow, and creeping up to the top of the hill, carefully looked over it. at first they could see nothing living, but after a moment hugh said, "look out! keep close! there's a coyote coming out of the gulch over there." they watched the cunning animal as it trotted out into the flat where the grass was up to its belly, and there it began to quarter the ground, just like a hunting dog, yet every moment or two it would pause and look up toward the hills, as if it were afraid of something that was coming. what this something was they soon saw, for presently a doe antelope came galloping over the hills toward the flat, and when she saw the coyote she ran faster, directly toward it. as soon as it saw the doe, the coyote dropped its head and tail and started to run away, at first slowly, but, as the antelope drew nearer to it, much faster, until presently it was running nearly as fast as the doe. before it had crossed the flat the antelope had nearly caught it, and now the coyote was running as fast as it could, with its tail tucked between its legs, like a frightened cur. as the little wolf ran up to the hill on which they were lying, the antelope caught up with it, and several times struck it with her hoof, and each time she did so, the wolf yelled with pain, just as a dog would yell when struck with a whip. wolf and antelope passed close by the watchers and soon disappeared over the next hill. then hugh said to jack, "look out, now! that coyote has a partner somewhere about, and, unless i am mistaken, he will show up in two or three minutes." sure enough, when they turned around and looked at the flat, there was a coyote just beginning to search through the grass, as the other one had done. it was evident that these two wolves were working together, and that while one led the doe away from the neighbourhood of her young ones, the other searched to try to find out where they were hidden. however, the old doe seemed to be pretty wise and did not chase the first coyote far; so that the one left on the ground had hardly time to begin his hunt before the antelope made her appearance again on the flat, and drove him off. as she began to do this, hugh said to jack, "now, turn around and keep a good look-out for the other coyote; you may get a chance to kill him as he comes back." they had not been watching very long when the little wolf that had just been chased away came trotting unconcernedly around the base of the knoll, only a short distance from them. they sat quite still and he did not notice them, but went on until he reached the top of the rise from which he could see the flat. here he stopped only about forty yards from jack, and a careful shot dropped him in his tracks. "well," said hugh, "that's a good shot, and a good job too. that other coyote will have to go now and hunt up another partner. i reckon we've saved them kids. maybe if we lie here a little longer and watch, the old doe will go up to her young ones, and we'll see where they are hidden; then, if you like, we can catch them and take them home." "let's wait and see if we can find them," said jack. "i'd like awfully well to see them and see what they look like, but i don't want to take them away from the old one; she's had trouble enough with these coyotes; let's leave her young ones with her." "that suits me to a t," said hugh. "let's move down a little bit from the top of the hill and skin this coyote, and we can look at the old doe every little while, and if she isn't bothered, likely before long she will go to her young ones." they skinned the wolf, and every now and then either hugh or jack went to the top of the hill and looked over at the antelope. the coyotes bothered her no more; she fed about in the flat, and at length went up on a little side hill and lay down for an hour or two. then she rose and began to feed again, and after wandering about in rather an aimless fashion for half an hour, she walked over to a bare hillside, where nothing seemed to be growing, and in a moment they saw two tiny kids standing by her side. "now," said hugh, "you notice well where those kids are, and we'll go and get the horses and ride over to them. you will see that just as soon as we show ourselves, the kids will disappear and the old one will run off. you won't be able to see the kids until you're right on top of them." sure enough, when they rode over the hills, and the old doe saw them, she cantered away and no young ones were to be seen, but when they reached the spot, two small grey objects looking at a little distance like stones, lay on the ground there. jack dismounted and picked one up; its legs and head hung down as if it were dead; it made no movement and uttered no sound, but its bright little eye was full and round. "that's the way it is with them," said hugh. "until they are a week or ten days old they act just like that. i expect it's born in them to act like they are dead until their mother tells them it's safe to seem to be alive." it was a little hard for jack to leave the kids here. they were such queer-looking little beasts that his wish to possess them almost overcame the sympathy he had felt for their mother, but after what he had said to hugh he was ashamed to change; and so, rather regretfully, he left the kids lying there on the hillside, for their mother to find when she came back. as they rode toward the house, talking of the animals they had been watching, jack was loud in his sympathy for the antelope, and declared that if he could do so, he would kill every coyote in the country. "well, i don't know, son," said hugh, "coyotes are mean and do right smart of mischief, but they've got feelings, just like folks. did ye ever think of that?" "how do you mean, hugh?" asked jack. "why, i mean that they've got to eat and drink, and sleep, just like the antelope, or, for the matter of that, just like us. they've got little ones to look out for and feed, and i make no doubt the old mother coyote thinks just as much of her young ones as the antelope does of hers. i don't mean to say that i like coyotes; they're pesky critters, and often i get mad with them and feel, like you do, that i'd like to kill 'em all; but what i say is that it ain't no more cruel for a coyote to kill an antelope, than it is for an antelope to take a bite of grass." "i never thought of it in that way, hugh, but that is so. but you can't help feeling sorry for the little kids and for the old ones, too." "that's all right enough, but what i say is, if you are going to feel sorry for one thing, you've got to feel sorry for all. and what's more, talking about coyotes, they're so almighty smart, that you can't help admiring them, and thinking they earn all they get." talking about these things, they rode over the low hills till they had come to the edge of the valley leading up to the house. here hugh checked his horse and pointed to a small animal, walking about in an aimless way near the gully through which the creek flowed. "there's a badger," he said. "now, if you like, we can get down into the creek bed and creep up close to him and watch him for a spell. what do you say?" "that'll be bully; let's do it; but can we get close enough to see him well?" "there won't be any trouble about that, but we'll have to go back a little ways," said hugh. "come on." they rode back a short distance, and around a little hill, and dismounting, walked down into the bed of the stream. the banks of the narrow water-course were eight or ten feet high, and of course hid them from anything on the level of the valley. after they had gone some little distance, hugh signed with his hand to jack to wait, and slowly raising his head above the bank, looked through a bunch of grass growing on its edge. after a moment he motioned jack to come up beside him, and whispered to him, "he's right close, not twenty feet away;" and he pointed. jack looked carefully over the bank and saw a queer short-legged grey animal with white stripes on his face, walking about and smelling at some little piles of earth. the long hair on either side of its body almost swept the ground, its face had an expression of great cunning, and its nose was long and pointed. it was a heavy, thickset animal, only about two feet long and very broad, but it stepped lightly enough from place to place, snuffing at each lump of earth or tuft of grass that it came to, not as if it were very much interested in it, but as if it felt that it would not do to pass by anything without examining it. sometimes it would scrape away a little dirt, and smell the ground, and then move on. often it lifted its head high and sniffed the air, moving its nose about and wrinkling it, as if to catch the faintest scent. now and then it sat up on its haunches and looked about, as if to see if any danger were near. when it did this, it held itself much as jack had seen a woodchuck. "he keeps a pretty good look-out, don't he?" whispered hugh. "you bet," said jack, "he looks as if he knew pretty well how to take care of himself. how strong he seems to be, and what a sly, cunning face he has." a few moments later the badger suddenly sat up very straight, with his fore legs hanging down by his side, and looked sharply toward a hill away from the house. in a few seconds the animal dropped down on all fours and galloped away toward a near-by hillside. "i expect he hears something coming, and he's making tracks for his hole. ah, that's what it is," said hugh, and he pointed to the hill toward which the badger had looked. over this hill a man came riding, and about his horse were trotting half a dozen great, gaunt hounds. one of them saw the badger, and instantly the whole pack swept down the hill toward it, but just before the leading dog overtook it, the badger disappeared, and the dogs checked themselves and stopped. "i expect that's the powell kid," said hugh, as he climbed up the bank, followed by jack. "he has a lot o' hounds, and catches considerable many coyotes." as they walked back toward their horses, they met the rider, a boy only a little older than jack, who seemed to know hugh very well, and who shook hands with jack, giving him a hard grip that almost hurt him. "well, kid," said hugh, "did ye get any coyotes to-day?" "yes, i got three, and started two more, but they got so big a start on me that i couldn't catch 'em. i got a kitfox too, but the dogs tore him all to pieces. like to have got that badger that was near you, but he holed too quick." "better ride on up to the house and unsaddle, and get supper, and stop," said hugh. "it's too late for ye to get home to-night." "all right," said the boy, and whistling to his dogs, he rode on. hugh and jack soon overtook him, and when the three reached the barn, the stranger's horse was put in a stall, while the others were turned out. at the house young powell was cordially welcomed by mr. sturgis, and soon all were seated at the supper table. that evening the two boys had a long talk, and afterward a consultation with hugh. then hugh went to mr. sturgis and asked him if he was willing to have jack and himself go over the next day to the powell ranch for two or three days, so that jack might have a chance to see the hounds run coyotes. jack's uncle said that he thought it a very good idea. so the next morning, just about sunrise, they set out on the thirty-mile ride. chapter xiii jack kills a lion as they started off this morning jack felt good; he had been promoted; he was riding a new horse. the grey, on which he had taken his first lessons in riding, was old and steady and slow; very good to travel over the prairie on, but past his usefulness for any purpose except hunting or going after the saddle horses. so, a week or two before, hugh had caught up for him a new horse, and he had tried it several times. it was a brown, seven years old, perfectly gentle, yet with plenty of spirit. hugh had ridden it a good deal, and told him that it was one of the best horses at the ranch; kind, gentle, very swift, and, better than all, a good hunting horse. he had said, "you don't need to watch the brown when you're riding over the prairie, going anywhere, but if you ever start him after a bunch of elk or a band of buffalo, look out for him, unless you want to get right into the middle of them. he can catch elk too easy, and is faster than any buffalo cow i ever saw." jack wanted a good name for the horse. he did not like to call him merely brown; he wanted a name that would mean something. half a dozen names had been suggested, but none of them seemed quite to fit the horse. at last he decided that he would call the animal by the name of some indian tribe. blackfoot seemed a pretty good name, because the horse's feet were all black, but after thinking it over with a good deal of care, he determined to call the horse pawnee. this morning when they mounted and rode away, young powell was loud in his praise of jack's horse. he said, "i'll bet he's got the legs of any of these three horses. mine is pretty fast and keeps pretty close to the dogs in the chase, but yours will run away from him as if he was standing still." "that's right," said hugh, "he's an awful good horse, and what's more, he's just as kind as he's good. you can get off him to hunt, and leave him, and you'll feel sure when you come back he'll be feeding in the same place. if you fire a shot, he puts up his head and looks at you with his ears pricked up, to see whether you've killed or not. then, after you have butchered, if you lead him up to an animal to put the meat on him, he'll snort and curve his neck and look like he was terrible scared; but when you commence to lift the meat to put it on his back, he'll kind of crouch down and lean towards you, to make it easier for you to get it on. you can shoot off him and he'll never move. sometimes i've thought that when i raised the gun to my shoulder to shoot he stopped breathing for a minute. i know he always kind o' spreads his legs to hold himself steady. you've got a good horse now, son, and i'd advise you to hang on to him as long as you're here at the ranch." the ride down the valley was a pleasant one. the blue iris stood thick in the damp places. the brilliant red and yellow flowers of the cactus dotted the hillsides. white poppy blossoms swung in the wind, and, if one had been on foot the tiny blooms of the yellow violets, which send their roots so far down into the hard dry soil of the prairie, could have been seen thickly scattered on the slopes. it was a time, too, of singing birds. the clear, sweet whistle of the meadow-lark came from the hills near-by, and was answered from other farther hills in a faint refrain, which sounded like an echo. the little finches of the prairie rose from the ground high in air, and then descended slowly on motionless wings, singing as if their throats would burst. from far on high fell the tinkling notes of the unseen prairie skylark floating above them. little ground squirrels and prairie dogs were busy everywhere, but as the horsemen and troop of dogs drew near, they scattered to their holes, and, after a few angry barks and squeaks, disappeared from sight. now and then as they passed over some swell of the prairie they startled an antelope or two or three, which ran up on the neighbouring hills and stood there stamping and snorting. the dogs would look at them eagerly yet doubtfully, and would perhaps trot a little way toward them, but young powell always whistled them back. the prairie and the air above it were full of pleasant sights and sounds. young powell said to jack, "the dogs had some hard runs yesterday, and i don't want them to be chasing antelope to-day, and so far from home. i don't run antelope often, anyhow, though i've got some with these dogs, but i use them mainly for wolves and coyotes; and it's a bad thing to have a lot of dogs think that they can run anything that gets up before them on the prairie. if i was going to run antelope, i'd have a special bunch of dogs for running them, and for nothing else." "then they've caught antelopes, have they?" asked jack. "it hardly seems to me as if anything could catch an antelope, when it's really running as hard as it can." "oh, i don't know," said powell, "there's lots of difference in antelopes. some of them can run twice as fast as others. i almost roped an old doe once in a fair chase, and i wasn't riding anything but a slow cow pony at that. i never felt quite sure though whether i could have caught her or not, or whether she was just fooling me. i ran her and she took down a valley, and i caught up with her, and got so close that i was just getting my rope ready to throw, when she ran across a little green place where the grass stood pretty high. i would not have tried to cross it if i hadn't been after her, for it looked kind of wet, but i couldn't stop, and i put the spurs into the old horse, and he jumped right into the middle of it and stayed there, and i kept going and hit the hard ground on the other side. when i got up and caught the horse, the antelope was out of sight. still, i know mighty well that there's a big difference in antelope. you take an old buck, and even if you get a good start on him, the dogs have a hard time to get up to him. you take an old doe, or a yearling buck, and it's almost always caught a heap easier. you see those two little blue dogs, the smooth ones, the two that are ahead? they're the fastest dogs i've got. i always depend on them to stop a coyote or a wolf. if they can catch him and throw him it's a mighty short time till the other dogs get up, and then they all pitch in and chew him. these two yellow, rough-haired dogs here, the biggest ones, they're the fighters. they bring up the tail of the chase, but when they get to the wolf they don't stop, they pitch right in. if it's a coyote, one of them generally gets him across the chest and the other in the flank, and then the rest of the dogs take hold wherever they can, and they all pull in different directions. it don't take no time at all to kill a coyote, but of course a big wolf is different. i've had three dogs killed by wolves, and each one only had one bite. they're terrible strong, powerful animals. "i want to show you twelve pups that i've got at the ranch. they're little fellows yet, but i expect to get some awful good dogs out of them. i tell you a dog don't last any time at all at this sort of work. some of 'em get cut up by the wolves, and some break their legs or sprain their shoulders, running, and some get hurt by the horses. it's a pretty rough life on a dog; but while they last they've an awful good time." chatting thus, they covered mile after mile of prairie. jack's horse stepped along lightly and easily. from time to time hugh lit his pipe and smoked. powell watched his dogs. the sun was warm, the air clear and pleasant, and jack thought that he had never enjoyed a morning more. suddenly, just in front of the two blue hounds that were trotting before them, a jack-rabbit bounced up and scurried away at top speed. in an instant all the dogs were running for it, and jack and young powell were close at their heels. it was a short run. the leading blue dog pressed the rabbit hard; he dodged in front of the second dog, and in a moment had to dodge again, which threw him into the jaws of the first and he had run his last race. it was short but exciting; doubly so to jack who had never seen anything of the sort. powell jumped down among the hounds and cuffed and scolded them, while he took from them the fragments of the rabbit, and then mounted, and they all went on. a little later the dogs all broke away again after a badger which showed himself on the side hill; but he dodged into his hole before they reached him, and the dogs came back, looking foolish. powell now took from a pocket in his saddle a whip, with a handle about a foot and a half long, and a lash of eight or ten feet, and whenever a dog pressed forward ahead of the horses, he struck at it, and after a little while the whole pack followed obediently at his horse's heels. [illustration: "the animal launched itself from its perch full towards jack." --_page _.] it was long past noon when they reached some high hills, rough and scarred with broken bad lands, on which grew a few stunted pines and cedars. they were climbing these hills, jack a little in advance, when he saw rise from a shelf in the rocks, a long, slim, yellow animal, which began to sneak away up a ravine. "oh, hugh, what's that?" the boy cried; and at the same time powell gave a yell, which started all the dogs forward. "a mountain lion," hugh called back: "the dogs will tree him, sure! look out for him!" jack hardly heard the words, for he was pressing forward close after the dogs, not thinking of the rough ground over which he was riding, but half wild with the excitement of the chase. the horses climbed the steep scarp of the hills at a run, and in a moment jack found himself galloping over smooth, bare, yellow soil, fifty yards behind the last of the hounds, while the two blue dogs seemed but a few feet behind the lion. in a moment more the beast was safe among the branches of a cedar, the dogs clustered about its trunk, leaping into the air and showing the greatest excitement. when he was almost at the foot of the tree, jack drew up his horse, and the moment it stopped, threw his gun to his shoulder and fired full into the chest of the lion, which stood facing him snarling and angrily twitching his tail this way and that. as the gun cracked, the animal launched itself from its perch full toward jack; and, as he looked up at it and saw it flying toward him, with gleaming teeth and outstretched paws, his heart jumped up into his throat. it looked about forty feet long. he never knew whether he spurred pawnee or whether the horse started of its own accord, but it made three or four jumps, and when jack looked back, there was the lion on the ground surrounded by all the dogs, which were pulling and tugging at it viciously. the beast was still, and jack rode back near to it, to be heartily scolded by hugh, who had just come up. "son," said he, "you done a fool trick that time. if you'd been on any other horse you might have been badly scratched. if you wanted to shoot at the lion, and i make no doubt you did, you'd ought to have stopped further off. you'll never make no sort of a hunter if ye don't think. it's all right for a man to take risks if there's anything to be made by taking them, but a man who takes risks just because he don't know no better is a fool. what's more, if you act this way, you're liable to make a fool of me. i'd have looked nice, wouldn't i, if you'd gone back to the ranch all scratched up. now, of course," he went on more mildly, "i know you ain't anything but a boy, and you can't be expected to have a man's sense, but i want you to get sense as fast as you can, and sense means experience. i'm trying to give you as fast as i can the sense that it's took me forty years to learn. now, let's see where you hit that fellow. i expect you made a right good shot, for i didn't see the critter stir after he struck the ground." meantime young powell had driven the dogs from the lion, and they had all stretched themselves out in the shade of a cedar, where they were lying, panting, with their tongues hanging far out of their mouths. one of them, jack noticed, had a long bright red cut, extending nearly from shoulder to hip, from which the blood was dripping fast. they turned the lion over and found the bullet hole in the middle of the chest. it was a good shot, indeed, and the animal's wild spring out of the tree was his expiring effort. he was a very large animal, and quite old, as shown by the condition of his teeth. "well, son," said hugh, "you certainly are in the biggest kind of luck. it's seven years since i've seen a lion about here, and they're never anyways common. of course we wouldn't have got this fellow if it hadn't been for the dogs; and it's great luck for you who have only been out a month or two now, to have had such a chance as this. you made a mighty good shot, too, and when you take this hide back east you'll sure have something to talk about. i expect, though, your ma wouldn't have been very happy if she'd been here and seen that lion come sailing out of that tree after you." when they looked at the wounded hound they found that the long cut in its skin was much less serious than it seemed at first; it was hardly more than a scratch made by a last convulsive kick by the lion, and, while it had cut the skin, and would leave a scar, it did not really injure the dog. they skinned the lion, leaving the claws on the hide, and rolled up the skin, tying it behind jack's saddle, and then started on their way. the sun was low in the west when they came in sight of the powell ranch. they rode up to the barn and began to unsaddle, while the dogs went straight to the house. before they had stabled the horses they heard a clear voice calling, "why, charley, what's the matter with blue dan? he's all cut up." and when they reached the door of the house they saw mrs. powell and charley's sister, bess, a little girl of thirteen, bathing the wounded dog, which seemed proud of the attention he was receiving. hugh and jack were cordially welcomed by mrs. powell, and later by her husband, when he came in from riding; and the story of the killing of the lion had to be told twice over. every one congratulated jack on his good fortune, and it appeared that this was the first time the dogs had ever seen a lion. "they have killed plenty of wolves, foxes, and coyotes," said mr. powell, "and two or three wolverenes, and of course a few bob-cats, but i think they never chased a lion before." after supper charley took jack out, and after considerable whistling, succeeded in bringing up to the house two tame coyotes, pets of which charley was very proud. "we dug them out of a hole in the bank of a gulch a couple of miles from here," he told jack. "there were three of them, and they were so small that their eyes weren't open yet. i had to kill one, for it took to killing chickens. i sort of hated to do it, but i knew it was no use to try to keep him and hens both, and i was afraid he would teach the other two his tricks, so i shot him. these two fellows are all right. there's only one thing they do that makes me mad. sometimes they wander away off onto the prairie, hunting for themselves; and two or three times i have gone after them with the dogs, thinking that they were wild coyotes. they will run and run as hard as they know how, and then, when the dogs are just about catching up to them, they'll flop over on their backs and lie there with their legs in the air until the dogs come up to them. of course when the dogs get up to them and smell them, they know them, and won't touch them. then the coyotes get up and play around and wag their tails and jump about, like they'd been doing something almighty smart. in that way they just have fun with us." when bed-time came that night, jack was ready for it. his thirty-mile ride and the excitement of the day had made him very weary. chapter xiv wolves and wolf-hounds at breakfast next morning mr. powell said, "i suppose you boys will go out with the dogs to-day, and i wish you would go over east to where the blue stallion's bunch ranges. there's two yearlings been killed since i was over there last, and i believe it's wolves that done it. if them worthless dogs of yours would kill a few wolves instead of all these coyotes they'd come nearer earning their keep than they do." "well, i don't know," answered charley, "i don't think they've done so bad. seven wolves since christmas is pretty good, i think; and the coyotes does a heap of mischief, and are sure worth killing. "well, well," said his father, "do the best you can to get these wolves. it's all right to kill the coyotes, but one wolf is worse than ten of them little fellows." "well, what time are you boys going to start out," said hugh. "i expect you won't want to leave here till after dinner. i was thinking i'd go with you, but the first thing i want to do is to stretch that lion's skin, and i expect i've got to set and watch it till it begins to get dry, or else them dogs of yours will be chewing and tearing it." "oh," said charley, "we'll have plenty of time to get over to the blue stallion's range if we start after dinner, and of course it might be such a thing as we'd run onto one of them wolves, if they are there. did you see any tracks, father? or was it just the way the colts were killed?" "no," said his father, "i didn't have no time to hunt around for sign, but it wan't nothing but wolves that killed them yearlings. if they'd only been one of them, he might have got out away from the bunch and been cut off and killed by coyotes, but that wouldn't happen twice in a few days. it's wolves, i tell you, and the chances are they've got young ones somewheres not so very far off. there's something that 'ud make it worth your while to hunt 'em. you might get a nest of young pups." "great scott!" said jack, "that would be fine." while hugh added, "there's a chance for you, charley, to get up the greatest pack of wolf-dogs there ever was on earth. get a lot of wolf pups, tame 'em and train 'em to catch and kill the wild wolves." after breakfast charley took jack down to the barn and showed him two litters of greyhound puppies, both very small now, but likely to be large enough next spring, charley said, to be used with the old dogs. they were queer, blunt-nosed, thick-legged little beasts, which waddled about in most clumsy fashion. from there the boys went down to the hen-house, where, with great pride, charley exhibited his chickens and some pigeons--the only ones within thirty miles. he complained that the hawks killed the pigeons if they ventured far from home, but said that from repeated frights, the birds were learning to keep closer about the building. when they reached the house again, they found hugh busy pegging out the lion's skin. he had skinned out the head, cut off every bit of flesh and fat from the hide, and pierced a number of small holes along its margin, and was now busy with a lot of sharp pointed wooden pegs, stretching the skin on the grass, flesh side up, so that it would dry and be preserved. this was new work to jack, and he watched it closely and asked a number of questions about it. "you see," said hugh in reply, "if the hide ain't stretched and dried, it ain't no good. some folks just take and nail up a hide any way at all against the side of the house, and of course it will dry that way, but it don't dry smooth, and it's apt to get twisted and to be no account. if i take in two hides, one dried this way, and one dried on the side of a house, and try to sell them to a dealer, he'll give me more for the one that is smooth and square than he will for one that is rough and crumpled and pulled to one side. after you know how, it ain't much more trouble to do the thing right than it is to do it wrong, so i think it pays better to do it right. there's lots to drying a hide that a good many people don't know. now, a thin hide, like this one here, glazes over quick, and don't take no time at all to dry, except maybe the lips, the feet, and the tail, but if i had a bear hide, or a beef's hide, i wouldn't stretch it out here in the hot sun to dry, or if i did, i'd build some sort of a shade over it, so that it would dry slowly. you take them hides that's right thick, and they're awful liable to burn if the sun's right hot. now you take it when they was beaver in the country; no man ever thought of putting his fur out in the sun to dry. he hung his pelts up in the brush or in trees in the shade, and let the wind do the drying for him, and not the sun. there," he continued, as he pushed in his last peg to hold the tail straight, "now, in an hour or two that hide will be set, so it'll hold its shape, and then you can take it up and hang it up in the barn. now i'm going over to the creek to clean the meat off this skull. it's a big one, and you might as well take it home with you, 'long with the hide." the work of cutting the meat from the skull, and of removing the brain, by breaking it up with a stick, did not take very long, but while it lasted jack and charley were much interested in watching the shoals of tiny fish which gathered in the stream, just below where hugh was working, and fed on and fought over the fragments of brain and meat which floated down to them. "where in time did these fish all come from, hugh?" asked charley. "i never saw any fish in the creek before. it seems like they ought to be big ones here too. these little fellers are bound to grow up, i expect." "i guess not," said hugh. "i guess these are the little kind that don't never grow no bigger. you take these little chickadees or these little brown ground birds; you never heard of them growing as big as an eagle or goose, did you? i expect likely there's a good many different sorts of fishes, just like there's a good many sorts of birds and animals, and each sort has its own size that it grows up to be, and it don't grow no bigger. these little fellows that you see here have come from a long way down the creek. you see, the water carries down the smell of the meat and the blood, and these fish follow up the trail through the water, just the same as a dog or a coyote will follow your trail over the prairie." "yes, i know that's so, hugh," said jack. "i've seen something just like this, fishing for bluefish, down in great south bay." "what's great south bay, and where's it at?" said charley. "why, it's on the south shore of long island, and it opens out into the ocean. if you could see far enough, and the world wasn't round, you could look across from there to europe." "jerusalem, down at the edge of the salt water!" murmured hugh. "yes," said jack, "i've been down there fishing. they anchor the boat somewhere near the channel and then chop up a lot of bunkers, that's a very oily fish, you know, and then they throw this chopped-up fish overboard, a little at a time, and it floats down with the tide and makes a long slick on the water. it looks like a long, shiny ribbon. well, the bluefish swimming around strike this slick, and follow it up until they come near to the boat, where the fishermen have their lines out with pieces of bunker on the hooks, then the fun begins. i have seen 'em catch bluefish that were longer than my rifle barrel." "well, well," said hugh; "i expect them fish is mighty good eating, too. i'd like to catch one, but what i'd like better would be to stand on the shore there, and look out over that big water and maybe see the ships go sailing by." after a last scrape and a last shake of the now partly cleaned skull, hugh turned to charley and said, "kid, have ye got any ant-hills round here, where i can put this skull for awhile? i'd like to get them ants to finish up this job for me, but i don't want to put the skull where the dogs or the coyotes or the badgers will get hold of it and pack it off." "there's plenty of ant-hills," said charley, "on the side hill just up the creek, and i don't think nothing will touch the skull if you put it there. coyotes and badgers don't come round the house much and the dogs won't be likely to get up there on the hill." "we'll chance it, i guess, anyhow," said hugh; and they walked over to the hillside and half buried the skull in one of the largest and busiest of the ant-hills. after waiting a few moments, they saw that the new supply of food had been discovered and was being swarmed over by the eager ants, and then returning to the house, they found dinner was ready. after dinner they saddled up and rode east over the prairie, to the range where the blue stallion held his bunch of horses. nothing was seen on the way, for, as charley said, the coyotes were pretty well cleared out immediately about the ranch. they had gone perhaps six miles, when a sound like the weak bark of a dog was heard from a near-by hillside, which charley and hugh both thought was a coyote barking. they galloped in the direction of the sound and when they topped the rise a little wolf was seen making off, more than half a mile away. it took a minute or two for the dogs to view him, but presently one of them saw him and started, and in an instant afterward the whole pack were strung out, closely followed by the riders. the speed of pawnee gave jack a great advantage over his companions, and he was soon but a short distance behind the heavier and slower dogs. presently he had forged up alongside of them, and at length had passed all the hounds except the two blue ones the coyote had not run straight away, but had bent his course a little to the north, and dogs and horses, taking advantage of this turn, had cut off the corner and made a decided gain on him. slowly but steadily the blue dogs crept up; both were running at about the same rate of speed, yet one kept three or four lengths behind the other, but both were gaining on the wolf. as they passed over a little swell in the prairie the leading dog was only a yard behind the prey, and just after jack had come in sight of them again, both dogs put on a burst of speed, and the leading one, catching the coyote by the ham, tossed his head, and coyote and dog rolled over together. almost at the same moment the second hound had the wolf by the throat, and, as jack checked his horse, the big yellow dogs swept by him, and in an instant each had his hold and each stood braced back, pulling against the other five. a moment later charley came up, and then hugh, and all dismounted, while charley made the hounds loose their hold, and horses and dogs stood about with lowered heads and heaving flanks. "that fellow got too much of a start on us," said charley, "i didn't think they'd catch him, and they wouldn't have done it either if he had not been a young one. he didn't really think they were after him until they'd come pretty close, and then it was too late for him to get away. his hide isn't very badly torn. i guess i'll take it along with me, and i'll get the bounty, even if i can't sell the hide." the time taken in skinning the wolf gave all the animals an opportunity to get their wind again, and when charley had tied the hide on behind his saddle, all mounted and started on. jack was full of enthusiasm for this sport. never before had he enjoyed such a fast ride, or had before him something that he felt he must overtake, or felt so strong a sympathy with the pursuers as on this afternoon. "yes," said charley, "it's lots of fun, but you want to see them when they get a good start on a wolf. then, besides the fun of the chase, there's the excitement of the fight that's sure to take place at the end of the chase. we ran down an old wolf last fall that killed one of the dogs, crippled another, and beat off the whole pack. he ran again when we came up, but they stopped him, and we finally had to kill him with a six-shooter. the dogs would not tackle him he was so big and strong." "i never saw anything like it," said jack, "when that small hound, that seemed not to weigh half as much as the coyote, threw up his head, the coyote just turned a summersault and before i could think what was going to happen next, the other dog had him by the neck, and it seemed to be all over." they had not finished exchanging opinions about this chase, when, as they rode down into a narrow gully, a great animal jumped up from the shade of a little bush, dashed across a ravine and up the other side, while yells from charley and hugh proclaimed this a wolf; but the dogs had disappeared over the edge of the ravine before the men got their horses started into a run. for a long way the prairie before them was smooth and level, and it seemed as if the whole chase must take place before their eyes. the dogs were running bunched up close at the heels of the wolf, the two blue dogs being only a little in the lead. pawnee was running free, and nearly as fast as he could, for jack never thought of checking him, or even of holding him up. the wolf seemed to be less swift than the coyote had been, and ran a little heavily, and the dogs were manifestly gaining on him, while jack was gaining on the dogs. very slowly but very steadily the pack, still keeping quite close together, crept up to the wolf, and at last the two blue dogs, this time side by side, forged up to his quarters. at the same moment, as it seemed, they reached out, and each catching him by a ham, gave him a little twitch and he rolled over, and before he could gain his feet was covered by the dogs. in a moment jack was beside them, and, putting a strong pull on pawnee, the horse plunged his forefeet into the ground, half threw himself on his haunches to stop, and jack, unprepared for the sudden halt, flew out of the saddle, turned a summersault and came down heavily on his back, close to the struggling mass of dogs and wolf. he was a good deal jarred, but jumped to his feet and retreated a few yards. the struggle still continued, but in a moment more it was over, and the dogs had the wolf stretched out and were pulling against each other as he had seen them pull at the coyote. but there was one dog lying on the ground, breathing hard and bleeding freely from a horrible gash in his side. charley and hugh now came up, and the former, with his pistol in hand, stepped up to the dogs. the wolf was quite dead, but though he proved to be a young one he had badly damaged the pack before he died. two or three of the dogs had bad cuts, and the bite that had disabled one of the yellow hounds had crushed two ribs and had probably entered the lungs, for the dog was bleeding at the mouth and nose, as an animal does that has been shot through the lungs. charley felt badly over the injury to his pets, and declared that they could go no further that day, but that he must take the pack back to the ranch, and must carry the crippled dog on his horse. they bound up its wounds with such rough surgery as was possible, and then, placing it across charley's horse, started slowly for the ranch. they had gone but a mile or two when, as they were riding along, they noticed a faint odour of decaying meat. hugh left them here, and telling them that he would soon rejoin them, rode away against the wind. half or three quarters of an hour later he overtook them. for a little while he was busy filling and lighting his pipe, and then he turned to charley and said, "well, kid, if you want to start that new pack of hounds, i guess we can do it to-morrow. i have found the place where the old wolf has got her puppies, and, unless she moves them to-night, we ought to be able to dig them out to-morrow. i expect you'll all be glad to use a pick and shovel doing this, if for no other reason than to save your stock." "why, hugh," said jack, "how in the world did you find where they were?" "well," said hugh, "you all noticed that smell of rotten meat back there a ways. i thought maybe it might come from the wolf's hole, or of course it might come from some animal that had died. i followed it up and it grew stronger and stronger, and at last i came to the edge of a ravine, where i could see the wolf's hole, and, from the carrion about it, i saw that they were still living there. to-morrow, if powell feels like it, we'll go up there with the waggon and maybe get the pups." "you bet, father'll feel like it," said charley. "he'll do most anything to get rid of these wolves." when they reached the ranch, the first thing to be done was to care for the wounded dogs. two of them had to have stitches taken to close their cuts, while the one most badly hurt had his wound washed out, the fragments of shattered bone removed, and was then placed so that he could not move. there seemed a fair prospect of his recovery. at supper that night mr. powell was told of the discovery of the wolf's den, and gladly promised that he would go over there with the waggon and plenty of tools, in the hope that the young wolves might be captured or destroyed. chapter xv digging out a wolf's den as all hands were down at the barn next morning, the two men hitching up the team and the boys saddling their horses, hugh said, "i guess i'll ride in the waggon this morning and let old baldy have a rest. i'm getting to be too old to race round over the prairie the way i've been doing the last two days. but i want you to look out for yourself to-day, son. i don't want anything bad to happen to you while we're off here away from the ranch. you seem to have a natural way of getting yourself into trouble. two days ago you came pretty near being clawed by a lion, and yesterday you took a sort of a running jump into a scuffle between dogs and a wolf. you've got to look out for yourself and try to keep a head on your shoulders and think where you're going. when i saw you fly out of the saddle yesterday i could not help wondering whether you'd kill two or three dogs when you came down, or yourself. do you feel pretty sore this morning?" "well," said jack, "my shoulders are pretty lame, and my head aches a little, but i think i'll be all right after i've ridden a little way." they started off all together, the boys riding soberly just ahead of the waggon. the prairie was rough with sage-brush and the team could only advance at a walk; so it took them nearly two hours to get to the ravine where the wolf's hole was. if jack had been alone he would not have been able to find the place, but charley seemed to know just where it was, and when jack spoke to him about this he said, "oh, it's easy enough. you see, i am riding all the time, and i know pretty nearly every hill and ravine within ten miles of the ranch, in any direction. then, of course, there's the big high hills for landmarks, and even if i don't know the precise place that i am going to i can always ride toward the hill that i know lies beyond it. then of course, the sun always gives a fellow his direction, and often the wind too, though you can't depend on that, for sometimes the hills make eddies, and the wind seems to change its direction." "why did you leave all the dogs at home?" said jack, "i should think they might be useful in case you find the old wolf near the den." "we ain't likely to do that," said charley. "she's fed her puppies early this morning, and is probably lying up on some hill, quite a little way from the hole, and will see us and sneak off long before we get to it. besides that, the dogs have had hard work for the last three or four days, and some of them are cut up too badly to take out, and even those that are well are likely to get tender-footed if they are run too often." when they reached the ravine where the hole was, they drove down into it and stopped the team on the windward side. hugh went up to look at the place, and returning, announced that he believed the pups were still there. they picketed out the horses where they could feed, and then carried up near to the hole the picks and spades, and a slatted box that had been prepared to hold the puppies, if they caught them, some sacks and a lot of leather strings, and a long slim pole that hugh had cut that morning. "now," said hugh, "i am going to try and find the direction this hole takes, and while i am doing that it would be good for you boys to cover up this mess." the mouth of the hole was foul with decaying meat, old bones, parts of calves, colts, and rabbits that had been brought there by the old wolf for the young to eat and play with, and a little fresh dirt thrown over all this made the place much pleasanter. hugh worked for some time with his pole, trying to determine the direction in which the hole ran, but without much success. he could thrust the stick in for five or six feet, but, twist it as he might, it would not go further than that. the two men, therefore, took their picks and vigorously attacked the side of the bank, breaking down the dirt, which they afterward shovelled out. the bank was steep, and in order to make room to work they had to loosen and remove a considerable quantity of dirt, so that their progress was slow. the morning was warm, and the work gradually grew harder and harder. about six feet from the entrance the hole took a sharp upward turn, and then seemed to run straight in. probing it with his pole, hugh felt something soft, and then pushing it in a little further, reached a wall of dirt, which he pronounced the end of the den. by moving the point of the pole from side to side he could feel the young wolves, and once, when he gave a sharp push, a sound like the yelping of a pup in pain came from the hole. "now, powell," said hugh, "if we can make this hole a little larger, so that i can work my pole, i'll put a rope on the end of it and try and snare some of them puppies. we've got to go pretty careful, though. i expect these little fellows are pretty good size by now, and they're likely as not to make a bolt out of the hole when we get close to them, and maybe get off. wish we had one of the dogs here. i'll tell you what you two boys do: you get your gun, son, and charley, you take your six-shooter, and stand just behind us, and if anything runs out, you try to kill it, but look out you don't shoot your father nor me, and look out you don't shoot the horses. these pups can't run very fast yet, and you'll have plenty of time to take a careful sight at them, and get them." the boys did as they were told, and while the work with pick and shovel progressed, waited and watched. nothing came out, however, and after a time hugh declared that he was going to try to snare the pups. he fastened a short rope to the end of his pole and made in it a running noose about a foot in diameter. then he lay down and began to angle for the little wolves. for some time he worked without success, but at length, giving a quick jerk, he rose to his feet, declaring, "i've got one," and dragged to the light a kicking, yelping puppy, caught by a hind leg. it was a dull white, woolly little beast, sharp-nosed and thick-legged, and about as big as a three months' old newfoundland pup. as soon as it appeared, it was seized by mr. powell, who had wisely put on his heavy leather gloves. the creature fought like a little demon, and bit, and kicked, and struggled, and yelled, but soon a string of buckskin was tied about its muzzle, confining its jaws, its four legs were tied together, and it was thrown in a gunny sack, which was tied up and put in the slatted box. again and again hugh tried to get another, but without success, and finally, in disgust, he threw his pole aside, and the men attacked the bank again. another hour's work enabled them to look into the hole, and to see a mass of grey huddled together, almost within arm's length of the opening. hugh declared that if one of his arms were only six feet long, instead of three, he would reach in and haul the puppies out one by one with his hand. the entrance to the hole was now so large that either of the boys might have crawled in, as both proposed to do, but the men declined to permit this. cutting off his pole to about the depth of the hole, hugh again began to try to noose the pups, and this time with success, for one by one he hauled out three more, which were disposed of as the first had been. the last pup, taking advantage of a moment when he had moved away from the hole, bolted out, but was struck a mighty blow with the spade by mr. powell and killed on the spot. "well," said powell, "i calculate that's a mighty good day's job. those five pups during the winter would have eaten five hundred dollars' worth of beef, and might have killed five thousand dollars' worth. it seems like i ought to make you men a good present for what you have done to help get rid of these varmints." "pshaw!" said hugh, "we've been mighty glad to do it, and i expect son, here, would be mighty glad to take his pay in one or two of them pups that's in the waggon." "yes, indeed, mr. powell," said jack, "we've been glad to help, and it's been great fun. of course, if you and charley don't want all these pups, i'd like one of them for myself, to see if i could not tame him and make a dog of him. it would be great fun to walk up and down the streets of new york, leading a real wolf at the end of a chain. i expect he'd take first prize at all the dog shows." "i expect likely he would," said mr. powell, "and you'd be certain sure he had a good straight pedigree, running back to the first wolf that ever came to america." mrs. powell had put a lunch in the waggon, but before this could be eaten water must be found. charley said that not more than a half-mile away there was a good clear spring, running out from under a rock in the bank, and when they went to the place they spent a pleasant hour eating their lunch, and lying in the shade of the waggon. jack and charley looked once or twice at the wolf pups, to see that they were still alive and still properly tied, and, at length, as the sun began to fall toward the western horizon, the party started for the ranch. when they got there, it was necessary to make a permanent cage for the wolf puppies, as no box or rope would hold them long after their jaws were free. charley asked hugh what they had better do. they could build a log pen, but if they did that the pups would be likely to dig out under the logs. hugh studied for a while and at length said, "i'll tell you what we've got to do; we've got to build a regular cage, with walls so smooth and high that the pups can't climb up them, and running down into the ground so far that they won't be likely to dig out under them. now, you go and ask your pa if we can use a lot of fence poles from that pile he has over there. we'll sharpen them and drive them down as far as we can into the dirt, close together in a circle, and then we'll saw them off about three feet high and wire a roof of poles to the top of them; but, before we do that we'll pave the cage with a lot of big flat stones. i reckon if we do that we'll have the bulge on these fellows, and they can't get away from us." the plan was adopted. a circle was traced in the ground and the earth loosened all about its borders. then a lot of fence poles were cut into four-feet lengths, sharpened at one end and driven firmly into the ground, close together about the circle. next the boys brought flat stones from the prairie and made a neat pavement on the ground inside the cage. other poles cut to a proper length were laid across the top of the cage and firmly wired down, all except the last two, which were left loose. the box containing the wolf pups was now brought up, the little fellows one by one were taken out of their sacks, their lashings cut, and they were dropped into the cage, and then the last two poles were placed in position and fastened. several heavy sticks were laid across the roof to hold it down, so that the roof poles should remain firm, even though considerable force were exerted on them. they all drew back when the work was done, and eyed it with satisfaction, and for a time watched the four puppies within, restlessly trotting about the cage and constantly pushing their noses between the poles in the endeavour to squeeze out. everything seemed to be firm, however, and they left the pups to their own devices. "seems to me there's one thing we've forgotten, charley," said hugh. "how are you going to feed and water them puppies? i did forget all about that, didn't i? you can stick food in anywhere between the poles, but we'll have to take off part of the roof again and put a dish in for them to drink out of. when that is there it can be filled as often as they need it, from the outside." by the time this change had been made it was supper time, and all hands went to the house. chapter xvi birds and their nests the next day hugh and jack set out to return to the ranch. before leaving, all hands went out and took a look at the wolf puppies. they seemed to be all right, but had evidently made some attempts to gnaw their way out, but their young teeth could not make much impression in the tough spruce sticks which formed their cage. "after they get a little bigger," said hugh to charley, "unless they should grow tame, you will either have to drive more poles into the ground or else you'll have to kill the pups. they're so big now that i think it's pretty doubtful whether they ever get tame at all, and of course if they don't get tame, the only thing to do is to kill them. i've seen a heap of wolf and coyote puppies caught, but they've got to be mighty young ever to lose their wildness, and to get so that you can do anything with them. we'll have to leave our pup here until it gets a little older and we see whether they are likely to get tame or not." they bade good-bye to the powell family, with cordial thanks for all their kindness, and invitations for them to come over to the ranch and visit them for a few days. jack said to charley, "after awhile, when the elks' horns get big, and they get fat, come over with the waggon and we'll go out and kill two or three, and you can take back the meat with you. hugh says we only have to go two or three miles from the house upon the mountain, to get all the elk we want." on their way back they rode down the bluffs, not far from where jack had killed the lion, and here, as they were going along, jack suddenly saw, not far in front of him, a queer, dark grey object, shaped somewhat like a big tortoise, running along on the prairie in front of him. in a moment he recognised that it was a sage grouse, with wings partly extended and body held low, and for a moment he did not know what to make of the bird's action. "hold on, son," said hugh, "there's where she started from;" and he pointed to a low sage-bush a little to one side. "get off your horse and go and look under that, and see what there is there." jack did so, and saw a hollow in the ground, scantily lined with bits of grass, in which were thirteen greyish eggs, not so large as an ordinary hen's egg. "oh, hugh!" he called back, "there are thirteen eggs; can't we take them along?" hugh rode up to the spot, leading jack's horse, and looked at the nest. "well, now," he said, "seems to me i would not bother with that nest; we've got a long way to go yet, and the chances are we'd smash the eggs before we got home, and if we didn't do that, they'd be pretty sure to get cold, and wouldn't hatch. let's leave that old hen alone, and some day we'll hunt up a nest right close to home, and get a setting of eggs there. 'tain't no use to take these eggs without they're going to do us some good." "well, all right," said jack, rather reluctantly, as he turned away. "we've got a long way to go, but do you suppose we'll be able to find another nest near the ranch?" "i expect we will," was the answer; "though of course it isn't any sure thing; it's getting pretty late to find eggs now; we won't have any trouble finding young ones, though." jack mounted, and from the saddle looked about to try to see the old hen, but she had disappeared; so they went on. the supper horn sounded that night just as they were riding up the valley, toward the house, and before they had unsaddled all hands were seated at the table. before the meal was ended, jack had to tell the story of his killing the lion, and of the death of the wolf; and after supper he brought in his roll of hides, and spread out both the lion and the wolf skin on the floor, so that all might see them. the men were loud in their congratulations, and joe declared that he would have given a horse to have been in jack's place. "you're in the biggest kind of luck, jack," he said. "i've been riding the range right around here now for five years and i never caught a glimpse of a lion yet. i've helped to rope three bears, but of course that's no trick at all if you know your horse. i roped a cow elk once, and what's more, brought her into the ranch. i had better luck that time than old vicente, down below here. he roped a bull elk, just on the edge of the rocky ground. his horse was small and the elk drug him a little way, and he got scared and turned his rope loose, and the elk went off up the mountain, dragging a twelve-dollar raw-hide rope behind him. but i'd have liked almighty well to have been along with you fellows, and had a chance to have a shot at that lion. you were sure in great luck." "well," said jack, "i don't believe i'd have had a chance myself if it hadn't been for pawnee; he ran just as hard as he could, and got away ahead of the other horses, and so i had the luck to get the shot." "well," said joe, "you made the most of your chance, anyhow. maybe it isn't every fellow that would have shot as straight as you did, if he'd had the chance to shoot at all." mr. sturgis, too, had words of congratulation for jack; but later in the evening he cautioned him not to let his excitement carry him into dangerous places. "you see, jack," he said, "just as hugh feels responsible to me for your safety, so i feel responsible to your father and mother. you might live out here for two or three years without ever getting close to a lion, but you managed to do it after you'd been here only a couple of months. the life here is as safe as it is anywhere, but a man must use the same precautions against danger that he would in any other part of the world. he must use common sense, and not expose himself to the risk of being clawed by a lion, or run over by a team, or hurt by a fighting cow. you've been lucky enough so far, and have carried yourself well, but i want you to use as much discretion as you can." "all right, uncle will," said jack, "i'll try to remember what you and hugh tell me. i confess that when i was galloping after the lion, or again after the wolf, i didn't think of a single thing except trying to get as close to the animal as i could; but when the lion jumped out of the tree at me, i was a little frightened. i didn't have time to be much frightened, because pawnee jumped so quickly and took me out of the beast's way." "what do you think, uncle will, about the wolf puppy that we left at mr. powell's," jack went on. "will it ever get tame? i should like to own a wolf that was as tame as a dog, and to take it back to new york with me. wouldn't it make people stare! i don't believe half the people would believe it was a wolf." "you'd better ask that question of hugh," said his uncle; "he knows more about those things than i. i have never seen a tame wolf, myself, though i have heard of many of them; but i fancy that pups that are caught as old as he seemed to be do not ever really get tame. i do not believe that this wolf puppy will ever be of any particular use to you. but if you are going to start the menagerie we talked of before we came out here, it is time you began. the antelope kids can be got now, and if i were you i would try to get two or three. then there are some ducks' nests down by the lake that you might rob, and bring the eggs up to be hatched out at the house. there are two old hens out here now, i believe, that want to set, and you might try each of them with a lot of wild ducks' eggs. rube found the nests day before yesterday, and i think would like to go down there and help you get them. in the course of two or three days the horse roundup will be here, and for a day or two we'll all be busy cutting out horses and branding colts. after that, antonio is going to ride some wild horses, and i suppose you want to be here for that; so you had better get your ducks' eggs now, or the first thing you know they'll be swimming in the lake and you'll never get your hands on them." "all right, uncle will," said jack. "if rube will go with me, we'll start right after breakfast to-morrow morning." "well," said his uncle, "you ask him to-morrow morning at breakfast. he'll go with you if he can." after breakfast next morning, rube and jack went down to the lake, each carrying a small wooden box, partly filled with hay. the ducks' nests were easily found. one of them belonged to quite a small bird, which flew off close to the ground as the riders approached. they found that this nest contained nine roundish eggs, about the colour of old ivory, that is yellowish white. the other nest, which was not far off, belonged to a larger bird, and in this there were eleven somewhat larger eggs. all the eggs from the first nest were placed in one box, and those from the second in another, and they returned to the house, riding very slowly and carefully, carrying the boxes in their hands, so that they should not be jarred or shaken. in the hen-house the two old hens were provided with good nests of clean hay, each in a barrel, which was covered at night so as to prevent anything from disturbing them, and one setting of eggs was put under each hen. rube declared that he didn't feel quite safe about those hens, they were so big and the eggs were so small that he was afraid they would break them. "and if they don't break them," he said, "they're liable to step on the young ones when they hatch out, and kill half of them. still, i suppose we've got to take that risk." the morning had only half gone when the eggs were disposed of, and jack looked about to see what else he could do. there was no one about the house except mrs. carter, who was sewing, and rube, who had gone down to the stable and was working there. jack threw himself on the grass just outside the house door, and lay there in the warm sun. for a while he did nothing except to think over the last few days, and remember what fun he had had. he determined that before night he would write a long letter to his father, telling him that he would rather not go back and go to school and college, for he wanted to be a ranchman. after a time he noticed some swallows circling about over the grass near him. they were very small and did not look like the swallows that he had seen back east, most of which have breasts about the colour of iron rust. these little fellows were wonderfully quick, so much so that sometimes it was hard for the eye to follow them. they made wide circles out over the grass, or again flew so close to the house that it seemed as if they must dash themselves against the logs. suddenly, one of them flew squarely toward the house, but when he had almost reached it, turned upward and alighted on one of the roof poles, where he sat, twittering faintly, and occasionally arranging his feathers. sometimes the little bird walked a few inches, turning himself this way and that, and then jack could see that his back was almost the colour of a peacock's tail, shining green in some places, and shining purple in others. he felt sure that he could describe this bird well enough so that his uncle could tell him what it was. all at once, to his surprise, the swallow walked into a hole between two of the roof poles, and was not seen again, but a moment afterward another little bird, just like the first, except that its back was dull brown, walked out of the hole and flew away over the valley. jack did not know very much about birds, but he decided that this last one was the female, and that these two little swallows had a nest somewhere in the roof. he determined too that he would watch them and see what they did every day, for they were so pretty and so quick and graceful that it was fun to look at them. about noon he saw his uncle and hugh ride up to the barn and unsaddle, and before long he was asking about the swallows. "why yes," said his uncle, "those birds build there every year. they are a pair of violet green swallows; there are lots of them here in the mountains, and they build in little holes in the dead trees, or in the rocks; but these two have a nest somewhere up in the roof, every summer. i think it was last year that the young ones, when they were about full-grown, flew out of the nest and fell into the muslin that forms the ceiling of the sitting-room. they scrambled around there for nearly a whole day, and made so much noise that finally we cut a hole in the muslin and got them out. they were about as big as the old ones, and full feathered, and the next morning we took them out and put them on the roof, and the old ones at once fed them and began to teach them to fly. if you want to find out what birds there are about here, you had better take my bird book down from the shelf and study it a little each day. i can help you, for i know the names of most of the common birds." saying this, his uncle went into the house. "how are the calves, hugh?" said jack. "have the coyotes been bothering them at all?" "not a bit," said hugh; "they are all right, and big and strong. i expect in the course of a month now your uncle will be bringing them over to the corrals to brand, but we won't do that until after we've got through with the horses. the roundup ought to be along here most any time now, and when it gets here you'll see quite a lot of fun when we get to working them." chapter xvii hunting on the mountain for several days the people at the ranch kept looking for the arrival of the horse roundup, but it did not come. one morning at breakfast mr. sturgis said to hugh, "well, hugh, instead of sitting about here any longer, you might go up to-day on to the mountain and look around to find some good strong corral poles and posts. some of the poles in the big corral are getting pretty weak, and as soon as the roundup has passed, we may as well make that corral over. try to find poles that are easy got out, and of course as near home as you can; and if you get a chance, you might kill a heifer or a young bull, if you should see one." "all right," said hugh. "i'll be glad to take a little ride; i'm getting tired of sitting round waiting for them horses. son," he continued, speaking to jack, "do you want to go along?" "yes, indeed, hugh, i'd like to first-class," was the reply. after breakfast they started, and began to climb the mountain behind the house, following a steep trail which led up the side of a deep, narrow valley, down which a large brook flowed. jack had never ridden in this direction before, but he had often wondered what there was on top of the mountain, and he was glad to have a chance to go there. pawnee followed close after old baldy up the narrow trail, and not much was said by the riders, but jack's eyes were busy looking at the rough mountain side and at the precipices of red rock that overhung the way. after some time they crossed a narrow side valley, where there was a little grass and underbrush and a few tall pines. as they were riding through this, jack suddenly saw quite a large bird running along before them. it seemed to be hurt; its wings were trailing on the ground, it ran half crouched down, and every now and then it would fall over on its side, and then recover itself and struggle along a little further. "oh, hugh!" he called out, "see that bird! wait a minute, i want to catch it." hugh stopped his horse, and jack, jumping down, ran after the bird and almost put his hand on it. it just managed to struggle out of his fingers and ran along before him, tottering as if it were very feeble. he followed it for twenty or thirty yards further, not quite catching it, when suddenly, with a great whirr of wings, it rose from the ground and flew off up the mountain side. jack stopped and watched it with open mouth, and then turned to go back to his horse. when he reached it hugh said to him with a smile: "where's your bird?" "that's the most mysterious thing i ever saw," said jack. "i almost had that bird three or four times, and suddenly it flew off as if nothing was the matter with it." "well," said hugh, "didn't you ever see that before? that's an old blue grouse, and her young ones are scattered around on the ground right where we're standing. she just pretended she was hurt to lead you away from them, and as soon as we are gone she will come back to them. you'd better look out where you put your foot down, or you might step on one. they're here right close, and yet we might look for half a day and not be able to find one of them." "well," said jack, "that's curious. i think i have heard my uncle tell about birds doing that sort of thing, but i never saw it until to-day. that was a pretty big bird, but not as big as a sage hen, is it?" "no," said hugh, "they're quite a little bit smaller than a sage hen, and still they're lots bigger than a pheasant, and they're awful good eating, too." jack mounted and they rode on up the trail. after quite a long scramble up the steep mountain trail they came to a rolling, grassy plateau, interrupted here and there by clumps of pines, and occasionally by great knobs of red granite rock. they rode for several miles over this upland without seeing anything that was interesting, until, as they were approaching one of these tall knobs of rock, they heard a loud piercing whistle come from it. hugh stopped his horse, and when jack rode up beside him, said: "now, let's watch them rocks for a little while, and see whether we can see that fellow." "what fellow do you mean, hugh," said jack; "the thing that made that noise?" "yes," said hugh, "that's what some folks call a mountain marmot, but i call it a woodchuck, because it looks just like the woodchucks i used to see when i was a boy down in kentucky, only it's considerable bigger, and it's got a kind of a yellow belly. it can make more noise for its size than most any beast i know of." they sat there for a few moments and watched the rock about which the hot air was dancing, when suddenly hugh said, "i believe i see him; i think he just stuck his head out of that crack in the rock. do you see there, near the top? follow that crack along with your eye and you'll notice a little grey knob that was not there a minute ago." "oh, i see it," said jack. "well," said hugh, "now watch that and see if it don't move." after a few seconds the knob moved, and, in a minute an animal came out of the crevice in the rock and sat up. "that would be a good shot," said hugh, "if we had not come up here to try to hunt; but your uncle wants us to try to kill him some meat, if we can; so we won't shoot at woodchuck. let's ride on and when we get a little nearer to him he'll give one them whistles of his and then dodge into that crack in the rock." it happened just as hugh had said, and soon after they began to move forward, the animal gave another shrill whistle and again disappeared from view. "there's quite a piece of burnt timber about a half mile off here to the north; let's go over and look at that, and see if we can get the fence-poles that we need; then we'll leave our horses and go afoot a little way, to see if we can see any elk." they rode over to the timber which had been killed by fire some years before. hugh spent some little time looking at it, but at length rode out into an open park, unsaddled his horse and tied its rope to a little tree, jack doing the same. they took their rifles and started off along the edge of the timber on foot. "i see some elk sign in this timber, and some of it is right fresh, but if you see any elk before i do, don't shoot. i don't want to kill any old cows now, because their calves are right young and they'd be liable to starve to death. if we can find a heifer we'll kill one; she'll be in a pretty good order, and just what they want at the ranch." they had not gone far before jack noticed in the dirt some tracks, and just as he was about to speak of them, hugh stopped and said: "now, son, i want you to look at these tracks: you see they look considerable like cattle tracks, but they ain't, they're elk. now, look at this track here," he said, pointing to one of the largest, "that looks a good deal like the track of a two-year-old critter, but just see how long it steps; that will show you that it's an elk; the sign shows that it's a bull, but a young one. these other tracks you see here, they're cows and heifers and a yearling or two. now, you see, these tracks are fresh; just notice how the dirt in each one seems kind of shining and polished. a big heavy animal putting its hoof down hard on the dirt makes the place where its weight rested look like that. now, this track that i told you was a bull's, looks different; you can see that for yourself; it isn't polished but it looks kind of dull. the reason for that is that the wind has blown the dust about in the hoof mark and has partly covered it up. on dry ground like this an old track can always be told by that. now, over there," he continued, pointing, "are some tracks made in the spring, when the ground was wet. of course, you see that they sink in deep, as any tracks would that were made in the mud. it ain't much use for me to tell you about these things, except to make you notice quicker what the difference is in the different tracks you see. a man's got to study tracks a heap before ever he can become a good trailer. there isn't anything but experience that'll teach you what a track means, but often they tell a pretty plain story to a man who knows how to read them. it's wonderful to me to go out up in the mountains when there's a fresh snow on the ground. you can see just what all the birds and animals have been doing since the snow fell; and often from the tracks you see you can tell just what they were thinking about." "yes, indeed, hugh," said jack, "uncle will has talked to me about that, and he told me, too, that you were the best trailer he'd ever seen. i want to keep my eyes open and try to learn from you as much as i can." "well," replied hugh, "i have been learning for a good many years, and you can't expect to pick it all up in a few months. i'm mighty glad though to tell you all i know." from here they went on, and soon, turning to the right, followed a narrow game trail which led along the top of a deep ravine, down which flowed a brook that they could hear splashing and bubbling among the rocks. they had not gone very far when a stick cracked down below them by the brook, and hugh stopped and stood listening. he slipped a cartridge into his gun, and jack imitated him, and then both crouched in the trail and listened. a moment later something was heard climbing the bank toward them, and hugh, turning to jack, whispered, "it's a bear. get ready." jack cocked his gun and looked with all his eyes, and presently, not twenty yards below, he saw a brown animal step out of the bushes. "shoot," said hugh; and jack, aiming at the point of the bear's shoulder, fired. the animal dropped and rolled out of sight among the bushes; but in a moment he re-appeared, galloping toward them. "shoot," said hugh again, and jack threw the rifle to his shoulder and fired, but the bear kept on. "shoot again," said hugh; "carefully, this time." and again jack aimed at the bear, now not ten yards from them, and fired. this time the animal doubled up and rolled down the hill again, but before it reached the fringe of bushes its motion stopped and it lay stretched out in the sunlight. "good boy," said hugh, "i believe you missed him with your second shot, but the third one was all right. did you feel like running?" "no," said jack, "i don't believe i did. i was too busy shoving cartridges into my rifle, and trying to hit the right spot, to think about anything else. but was he charging us, hugh?" "no," said hugh, "i don't expect he was. you see, he hadn't no idea that we were 'round until your first shot hit him, and he didn't know where that came from, and was just trying to get away. he happened to run in our direction, that was all. i don't think he wanted to be mean. well, you've killed your first bear, son, and you're surely getting to be a real old hunter. you take to it in the right way, and i'm right glad you do. if you and me could travel together for a year or two, i'd guarantee to make a hunter of you. well now, let's go down and skin that little fellow." they found the bear quite dead and with only two bullet holes in his hide. the first one showed that jack's first shot had been a bad one; he had fired at the point of the bear's shoulder, but had hit it in the top of the head, just grazing the skull. there was nothing to show where the second shot had gone, but the third one had pierced his chest and had gone lengthwise through his body. "there," said hugh, "you see what i told you; that first shot gave him a rap on the head and sort o' stunned and dazed him, and i don't believe he knew which way he was running. i suppose you'd like to take off his hide, because he's the first bear you've ever killed, but it ain't in very good order. you see, he's partly shed off, and what's left of his old winter coat is all sunburned. still, we may as well skin him. you can use the hide for a while, and then, if you like you can cut off his front paws, just to keep the long claws. you see, he's a little fellow, just about the size of the one your uncle killed that day we came out from town." jack helped to skin the bear, and found that it was hard, slow work. "yes," said hugh, to whom he spoke of this, "skinning a bear is some like skinning a beaver; you can't strip the hide at all, you've got to cut every inch." after the hide had been removed they carried it up to the trail and made a bundle of it, and then, going down to the brook, washed the blood from their hands, and hugh sat down and smoked. as they sat there jack noticed two or three birds fly down toward where the bear lay, and then two or three more. he asked hugh what these were, but hugh had not seen them. he proposed that they should go up to the trail where the bear-skin lay, and from which they could see the carcass and the birds that visited it. they climbed the bank and were hardly seated on the trail when a small grey bird pitched down out of a pine tree on to the carcass, and began to peck at the meat. it was at once followed by two or three others. "now, those birds," said hugh, "are what i call meat hawks; some calls them camp robbers. i expect they're a kind of a winter bird, anyhow there's lots of them 'round in winter; they're the tamest creatures you ever see. i've seen it sometimes when i was skinning a deer, hung up, that they'd 'light on the legs of the deer and peck at the meat, and sometimes they'd flutter right down to the ground at my feet and eat the scraps that fell from my knife. they're dreadful easy caught, too, if anybody was to take the trouble, and when you catch 'em they don't seem a mite scared, but just peck and fight and claw you as if they were as big as you are. there, that one," he continued, as a large dark brown bird with a beautiful long crest flew down to the carcass, "is a kind of a blue jay, i reckon. anyway, he looks some like the blue jays i used to see back in the states when i was a boy, except that he's kind of brownish blue instead of being light blue. those camp robbers are afraid of him, and they leave until he gets through, but if a magpie comes along, then the blue jay leaves, and of course if a raven or an eagle comes, the magpie has to do the waiting." just as he spoke, a queer, chippering noise was heard in one of the pines, and two beautiful magpies, with glossy black heads and tails and white under parts, came to the ground, and after hopping gracefully about for a moment or two, began to feed on the carcass. "well," said hugh, "we might stop here all day, watching these birds, but we'd better be moving. we'll go back to the horses another way, and, as i've got to pack this bear hide, you'll have to kill an elk, if we see any." their way back was through beautiful green timber, free from underbrush, the ground being covered with a soft black mould of decaying pine needles. they had been walking briskly for some little time, and jack thought they must be getting near the horses, when suddenly hugh stopped and said; "son, look around you and see whether you see anything." jack thought there must be something special to see, and looked carefully about. he could see only the green pines, their grey trunks, and the black earth, sometimes brightened by shafts of sunlight which came through openings in the green canopy above them. after a minute he said, "no, hugh, i don't see anything." "well," said hugh, "there's something to see, and i expect it's something that you never saw before. let's go on a little way." he stepped forward, turning a little to his right, and walked up to the foot of a large tree, where jack had noticed a patch of sunlight; but when they got to the foot of the tree, to his astonishment and delight, the boy saw lying there a little bright red, white spotted animal, which he knew must be a calf elk. it looked a good deal like a very young fawn, but was three or four times as large. jack was on his knees beside it in a moment, patting it and smoothing its skin, and declaring it was the prettiest thing he had ever seen. it lay there absolutely without motion, and as he lifted its legs one by one, and let them go again, they dropped back limp as if the animal were dead. "well, son, i don't know what we're going to do with this calf," said hugh; "it's most too big for you to carry, and i can't pack both the calf and the bear hide. do you want to take it with you or to leave it here?" "oh, hugh," said jack, "let's take it along; i think i can carry it, and we can't be very far from the horses now." "no," said hugh, "we ain't. i guess we'll manage to pack it to them, then it will be easy to get it down the hill. do you think you could carry it? take it right across your shoulders, holding the fore legs in one hand and the hind legs in the other. i'll lift it up for you, but i reckon it's too heavy for you to pack far." jack took the calf on his back, but, as hugh had said, it was pretty heavy, and before long he had to put it down. hugh left him there, watching the calf and the bear-skin, went on to where the horses were and brought them back. from behind his saddle he took a gunny sack, in which he put the calf, cutting a hole in the side through which its head protruded, and then tying the sack in front of jack's saddle, and putting the bear-skin behind his own, they started for the house. when they came out on the trail where they could overlook the valley, they saw near the ranch a great herd of animals, and hugh said, "well, there's the horse roundup at last. now we'll have plenty of work for the next few days, cutting out these horses and branding our own colts." chapter xviii with the horse roundup when hugh and jack reached the house, after putting the young elk in a calf-pen in the stable, they found a number of strangers there, and all the corrals seemed to be overflowing with horses. in one some men were still working, but when the supper horn sounded all hands came to the house. the supper table that night was longer than it had been since jack had been at the ranch. there were nine strange cowboys there, all of whom, however, seemed to be well acquainted with mr. sturgis and hugh and rube and joe. still, they were not very talkative at supper, but after it was over and they were sitting about outside the house, smoking, many stories were told of the daily happenings of the last two or three weeks while they had been gathering the horses. jack would have enjoyed sitting about to listen to this talk, but when hugh suggested that they should go down to the corrals and walk through the horses, he readily accompanied him. in the first pen that they entered the horses stood crowded so close together that it looked at first as if they could not push their way through them, but as they went on, the animals crowded to one side and made a narrow lane through which they could walk. two months before, when jack had first come to the ranch, it would have made him nervous to be so close to the heads and heels of these wild horses, but now he scarcely thought of it. hugh looked the horses over and talked about them with the enthusiasm of a real horseman. he pointed out the beauties of this one and that, and called attention to one colt after another, telling which mare was its mother, and having some little story about each one. one of the corrals seemed to be occupied chiefly by mares and colts, with some young horses, and of these a number of the mares seemed to recognise hugh, and pushed their way up to him, reaching out their noses to be patted, and sometimes thrusting their heads over his shoulder. he explained to jack that these were old horses that had been long on the place, and were accustomed to being brought up and held in the corral, where they were gentled and petted a little, and that they seemed not to forget this, and were always willing to make friends whenever they were brought up. he said, too, that their foals and yearlings and two and three-year olds, which often all followed the mother, themselves grew gentle and liked to be noticed by the men, and that, of course, animals that were tame were much more easily handled and broken to saddle or to harness than the wild colts that had been running on the range all their lives. two or three of the yearlings in this corral were cripples, with twisted, misshapen limbs, and jack asked hugh whether these would ever recover, and if not, what they were good for. "no," said hugh, "they won't never get well, and they ain't worth nothing. it's a shame to use colts so that they break down like that. that comes of running a little young colt hard for twenty-five or thirty miles on the roundup. of course these little fellows after they get some strength can travel pretty nearly as well as an old horse, but if you run them too far or too fast in bringing in the horses, their soft, gristly little bones get bent and twisted, and they don't ever get straight again. there's a heap of good foals ruined every year, just because a lot of fool cow punchers want to get a bunch of horses into the corral in an hour and a half, when by rights they ought to take three hours to do it in. all them crippled yearlings ought to be killed, they're no good now, and they'll never be any better than they are. they just eat the grass that might support a good horse." after an hour or two in the corrals, as it began to grow dark, hugh and jack went back toward the house. on the way jack stopped in at the hen-house to look at his setting hens and put the covers on the barrels in which their nests were. as he was doing this he heard from beneath one of the hens a faint, peeping sound, and lifting up one wing he saw beneath it the tiniest little duckling that he had ever seen. it was too dark to see much, and he had to leave the hen-house without finding how many of his eggs had hatched, but he made up his mind that the next morning, no matter what happened, he must prepare a coop for this brood of ducks. when they reached the house they found that a number of the tired cowboys were already rolled up in their blankets, and sleeping. there were four in the bunk-house, three on the floor of the dining-room, and the others were just taking their blankets over to the barn, to sleep in the soft, sweet-smelling hay. hugh said to jack, "you'd better turn in, too, son; to-morrow will begin pretty early in the morning, and you won't have any too much time to sleep if you go to bed now." it was not yet light next morning when jack heard the bustle which announced that all hands were astir, and he at once got up and dressed, to find himself only just in time for breakfast. it was plain daylight by the time the meal was over, and most of the men at once went down to the corrals. jack hurried down to the hen-house, but, on looking at his ducks' eggs, found that only a part of one setting had hatched, and putting a little food near the hen's nest, he left them, determining to postpone the building of his coop until the following day. he went on down to the corral and found that the men were busy turning out the horses on to the prairie, where they were to be herded by two riders. some of the men had brought wood to the big round corral, and just outside it, and close to the fence, some were kindling fires, while others were chopping poles and logs into wood small enough to be used on these fires. a great lot of iron bars, four or five feet long, stood against the corral fence, and on looking closely at these, jack saw that each had a handle on one end and an iron letter on the other. these, he supposed, must be the branding irons, and these fires were for heating them. after a time most of the horses had been turned out, but a large number, almost all of them old mares, with their colts, had been cut out and confined in a series of pens that were connected by a gate with the round corral, outside which the fires were burning. by the time these were going well, and the various branding irons had been put in them to heat, three or four of the men drove into the big corral a bunch of thirty or forty mares, whose little colts stayed close by their sides. many of these mares seemed quite wild, and all raced around the walls of the pen, as if very much frightened. it seemed to jack as if these little colts, some of which hardly looked bigger than jack rabbits, must all be killed by being stepped on. yet each colt kept close to its own mother's side, and a little bit under her, so that it was well protected from being harmed by any other mare that crowded close upon it. two or three men with ropes now entered the corral and, as the horses ran about them, each one threw his rope over a colt, and as soon as the rope caught a colt's neck, a couple of men quickly dragged it out into the middle of the corral, and taking hold of it, threw it down, holding it so that it should not injure itself in its struggles; then one of the men ran to the fence and called for a particular iron, bearing the brand which showed on the mother of the colt. when this was given him he ran back to where the colt lay and carefully pressed it on its shoulder or neck or hip, and held it there. the hair and skin hissed under the hot iron, a little smoke arose, the colt tried to struggle, and then, after the brand had been properly placed, it was allowed to spring to its feet and to run back to the bunch. meantime, its mother had been whinnying, calling, and sometimes running out from the circle of the horses, almost up to the men who were holding down her colt. when it was freed and ran back to her, she nosed it all over and then contentedly took her place with the other old mares. the work of branding went on rapidly. now and then some man would catch a colt with too large a loop, the little animal's head and forequarters would pass through it and it would be caught around the body. when held in this way it was of course much harder to handle than when caught by the neck, and before the men got their hands on it, it would go through a series of extraordinary antics, rearing, plunging, bucking and dancing; but at last it would be caught, thrown down and treated like the others. a man who caught a colt in this fashion was much laughed at by the other cowboys and advised to take lessons in roping. as soon as all the colts in the corral had been branded, the horses there were turned out and a fresh lot of mares and colts brought in. all through the morning this went on. jack, though at first he sat on the top rail of the corral and watched, was soon called down from his lofty perch and set to work. for some time he passed the hot irons in to the men who were doing the branding, then he was sent to get more wood, and afterwards for a bucket of water. the cowboys were all good-natured and very friendly with him, and chaffed him as he ran here and there, trying to carry out their orders. after dinner the work continued, and one thing happened that made jack feel badly. a little colt, frightened at something, had run a few steps in front of its mother, as all the horses were racing about the pen, and just as the rope caught its neck, it stopped. the mother, lumbering along behind it, tripped over the tightened rope and fell on the colt, and when it got up one of its fore-legs swung loose. "there's a dead colt," said one of the men, and in a minute they caught it and threw it down. then one of the older men took the hurt leg and moved it backward and forward, while he held his ear close to the animal's shoulder. "yes," he said, "its shoulder is smashed, i can hear the bones grate. hand me that hatchet, jim." the hatchet was passed to him, and he struck the little colt twice with it in the head, and two of the men carried the carcass to the fence and passed it through. jack did not understand this, which had happened so quickly, and asked hugh, who happened to be standing near him, why they killed the colt. "why," said hugh, "when the mare fell on it she broke its shoulder, and it couldn't never have got well, in fact, it couldn't even have followed its mother around, it would just have had to suffer for a few days and then die; so of course it was better to kill it now." "what a pity!" said jack, as he looked at the pretty little animal lying at his feet, whose eyes were already glazing. "wasn't there any way to have cured it?" "no," said hugh, "i expect not, and it would have cost more to try to cure it than it could ever have been worth; i expect it was better to kill it off right now." when supper time had come that night, all the colts had been branded, and orders were given that after mr. sturgis's horses had been cut out of the bunch, next morning, the roundup should move on. after supper that night, jack sat down near three or four of the cowboys who were smoking their pipes and cigarettes by the corner of the house, and listened to their talk. one of them seemed to be telling a story. "i tell you," he said, "it was about the funniest thing i ever saw. you see, we'd run the bear may be a mile and a half, and two or three of us had put our ropes on him, but he always managed to slip out. it was a pretty hot day, and his tongue was hangin' out about a yard, and toward the end he was pretty mad, and when we got close, he'd turn round and charge back on us. one time when he did this he passed pretty close to mat, who was on a slow horse, and mat managed to catch him by the hind leg, and the rope stayed; but when mat tried to hold him, the bear turned round and charged, and mat got kind o' scared, and just turned the rope loose from his saddle and ran, and the bear went on. well, pretty quick, we came to a little pile of rocks, with three or four cedars growing around them, and the bear stopped at these rocks and wouldn't run no further. we run up pretty close to him and tried to rope him, but he was sort o' half under the rocks and we couldn't catch him. he had mat's rope on his hind leg yet, and it was lying out on the prairie, and we commenced to make fun of mat, and to tell him to ride in there and pick up his rope and drag the bear out, but of course we didn't expect he'd try to do no such fool thing as that, but we kept on making fun of him, and the first thing we knew he started to ride by the bear and pick up his rope. when he got right close, just as he was goin' to stoop for the rope, there comes the bear sailing out after him, and lookin' mighty savage, i tell ye. he turned his old horse and run, and the bear run, and when he looked around and saw the bear not very far off, he rode his horse under one of them cedar trees, and just reached up and caught hold of a branch and curled up over it, and his horse ran on, and he went climbing on toward the top of the tree. we just set there on our horses and laughed at mat, so long and so hard that the bear ran on and went plumb out of the country, carrying mat's rope, and we never see him again." soon after the sun rose next morning mr. sturgis's horses were being cut out of the bunch and turned into one of the big corrals, and by ten o'clock the horse roundup had started on its way again, and all the strangers with it. that afternoon hugh and jack busied themselves making a pen for the little ducks, all of which had now hatched out. each of the old hens was put in a coop, which stood at opposite corners of the pen, and boards standing on their sides made a fence and prevented the newly hatched birds from wandering away, yet gave them a little space of grass, over which they could walk and feed. jack had never seen such little bits of ducklings as some of these were, and hugh told him that he thought they must be teal. after the pen was finished he spent some little time catching small grasshoppers, which he threw to the birds, and it was comical to see the excitement which they showed and the way in which they fought over this food. they also gave a lesson to the little calf elk. up to this time it had paid no attention to them, but had wandered about its pen with slow steps, constantly looking for a place to get out. now, however, when jack reached his hand over to pat it, it caught the sleeve of his shirt in its mouth and chewed it a little, and when he put his hand near to its nose, it tried to take the whole hand into its mouth. "oh," said hugh, "that fellow's getting hungry; he's about ready to drink now. put your fingers in his mouth and i'll go and get some milk and we'll teach him how to drink." hugh went up to the house, and soon returned with a small pail, holding about a pint of warm milk. "now," he said to jack, "get inside the pen and hold the can in your left hand, and then lower the hand he's sucking until it's in the milk, so that he'll draw some milk into his mouth when he sucks." jack did so, and as soon as the calf began to taste the milk it showed quite a little excitement, shaking its body and pushing with its head against the can, and pretty soon it pushed so hard that it almost knocked the can out of jack's hand, and spilt most of the milk. he kept up the work until the calf had drunk all the milk in the pail, but it was not nearly satisfied, and bawled after jack as he went out of the barn. "now," said hugh, "we must give it another drink before supper, and then another just before dark. just as soon as we can learn it to drink it will be perfectly tame, and you can turn it out to wander around the house. you'll have to watch it, though, for if it goes off a little way from the house the coyotes are liable to catch it. fact is, i think we'd better make a little corral for it, out in the brush, and leave it out there days where it can get plenty of sunlight and learn how to pick grass a little, and then shut it up here every night where it will be safe. it will be tame though, from now on." as they were going up to the house, hugh said, "well, i expect you'll be ready to see tony go at the broncs to-morrow morning. i heard your uncle say we'd start in the first thing in the morning." "yes, indeed, hugh," said jack, "that's something i want very much to see, and i expect to have a lot of fun. do you suppose any of those wild horses will throw tony?" "it's hard to say," replied hugh; "he's an awful good rider, and i don't expect he gets thrown very often, but every man that follows bronco busting is liable to get thrown and killed every time he gets on a wild horse. i've ridden plenty of wild horses in my time, but i don't ride no more. it's boy's work, that's what it is." "i am going up to take another look at the little ducks, hugh," said jack; and he went on toward the pen. in a minute hugh heard his name called loudly, and went on up toward the duck pen. "oh, hugh," said jack, as he drew near, "something's killed three of those littlest ducks already, and here is blood on the top of one of the coops. what can it be?" hugh looked about and apparently saw no sign, but in a moment he lifted his finger to call jack's attention, and stood listening. jack heard faintly a bird's call, which sounded familiar, but at first he could not think where he had heard it. "that's what it is," said hugh; "them durned magpies have found these ducks, and now they'll kill them all, unless we kill them. you stop here a minute or two while i go to the house and get your uncle's shot-gun and your rifle, and we'll see if we can't ambush them fellows." jack felt very badly as he stood there waiting; three of these dear little ducks had gone in an hour; at this rate they would not last very long. presently hugh came back with the gun, and, giving jack his rifle, he loaded the shot gun, and they sat down in the bushes not far from the pen. "now," said hugh, "them magpies will be back pretty quick, and we'll have to lie here right quiet. if you get a chance at one sitting on a branch, kill him, and i'll try to take any others that may be there, as they fly away. there may be only one or two of them, and if we kill them and hang them up around the pen, that'll likely scare off any other, that may come." they had not been waiting more than a few moments before they heard the magpies calling not far off, and presently one, almost at once followed by two others, appeared in the branches of one of the aspens close to the ducks' pen. they peered down at it curiously, and jack, seizing a moment when one of them stood still, fired, and the bird dropped. the other two rose in the air, but hugh, standing up, shot first one and then the other, and both fell into the bushes. hugh got three long sticks and, sharpening an end of each, stuck them in the ground about the pen, and to each one tied one of the dead magpies, which swung to and fro in the breeze, and would be likely to act as scarecrows to any others that might come. chapter xix busting broncos after breakfast next morning, jack hurried down to the corrals and climbed up on the fence, whence he could see all that was going on. crowded in one corner of the large corral stood the horses, most of them with heads down and dull and sleepy looks. rube and joe were in the stables, saddling the ponies that they were to ride, and as mr. sturgis and hugh came down from the house, the two boys led their horses up near the gate of the smaller round corral and tied them to the fence. soon all the men entered the round corral, the gate between that and the large corral was opened and two of the men went toward one end of the bunch of horses. a wild bay colt started to run away from them, and the other horses tried to follow it, but rube ran forward, headed them off and turned them back, so that all except the bay remained huddled in the corner. this one trotted swiftly along close to the corral fence until he reached the open gate leading into the smaller corral. he turned into that and the men ran forward, passed through and shut the gate. the bay horse trotted swiftly several times about the corral and made a pretty picture. he held his head high and his ears forward; his neck was arched, his coat shone in the sun and his long black tail was spread out behind him, and almost swept the ground. he was a real beauty. suddenly joe stepped forward with a rope in his hand and swung the loop about his head, and as he did so the horse, frightened, broke into a gallop. in a moment the loop of the rope flew out, not toward the horse's head, as jack had expected, but toward the ground in front of it. joe's hand was thrown up in the air and in a moment the young horse was standing on his hind legs pawing the air with fore feet, which were held together by the rope, while joe, and in a moment hugh and rube, were pulling back on it with all their might. it had all happened so quickly that jack did not at all understand how it had been done. if the young horse had been frightened before, he was terrified now. in vain he strove to free himself from this rope which was gripping his fore feet and holding them tightly together. he reared again and again on his hind legs, walking on them and striking with his forefeet; then he came down on all fours and tried to run, but still he was held fast. for a moment or two he flew about with his head toward the men, but at length he turned his side toward them, and as they pulled on the rope, he lost his balance and fell heavily on the soft dust which covered the ground. the men kept the rope taut, and rube, letting go, ran swiftly to the animal's head and sat on it. the others ran around to the horse's feet, pulled back the front ones, cast a loop of the rope around the hind ones and drew them forward, and in a moment all four feet were tied together, and the men, breathing a little quickly from the exertion, stood back and looked at him. "he's a nice one," said hugh. "yes," said rube, "he's a good 'un. he'll make you hunt timber, tony, you bet." "maybe;" said antonio, who had just come from the stable carrying on one arm his saddle, blanket, hackamore and quirt. he wore his spurs and about each thigh was tied a buckskin wrapper which enveloped the whole leg above the knee. the horse, after some ineffectual struggles, lay still, breathing heavily, and with the sweat starting from his skin. jack had by this time jumped down from the fence and approached the group of men. "keep behind him, son, and near his head; then he can't kick you, even if he does get his feet free," said hugh. "why does rube sit on his head, hugh?" asked jack. "so's to keep him from getting up," was the reply. "don't you know that if a horse is lying on his side, he can't get up unless he raises his head first. so when you throw a horse, if you don't want him to get up, just sit on his head." while they were talking, joe had spread the hackamore, and in a moment the horse's head had been lifted from the ground and the hackamore slipped over it. then the blind--a strip of black leather--was tied to the cheek pieces of the hackamore on each side, completely covering the horse's eyes. "turn him loose now, boys, and let him get up," said mr. sturgis, "and we'll see if we can get him out of the gate." the rope was quickly cast off the feet, and another put around the neck, and the horse, as soon as he felt that he was free, stood up, but as the blind entirely covered his eyes, he could see nothing and stood perfectly still. for a few moments antonio worked about him, first going to his head and taking his muzzle in both hands while he breathed several times into the horse's nostrils, then patting him and smoothing his skin on neck, shoulders, and body on both sides. at first the horse flinched each time the man's hand touched him, but as antonio spoke soothingly to him, and he found that he was not hurt, he seemed to grow used to the handling and to be less frightened. then antonio said: "pretty quick i goin' raise blind. maybe you lead him out gate." with more soothing words he worked around to the horse's head, shoved him about so that his head was toward the gate, and pushed the blind up a little so that the animal could see the ground at his feet. one of the boys slapped the horse's quarters with a rope and it made a plunge or two forward, which carried it through the gate, where it stood still again, and antonio pushed down the blind, looking carefully at it to see that the animal's eyes were entirely covered. "why doesn't he move when his eyes are covered, hugh?" said jack. "i know he can't see, but i should think he would kick and plunge even if he did nothing else." "well now, son," said hugh slowly, "i want you to think a little bit and see if you can't answer that question yourself. of course you don't know much about this country or its ways, but i shouldn't think you would have to ask that question. just you think about it till we git this horse started, and then i'll talk to you about it." meantime antonio had again been patting the horse, and at length had taken his saddle blanket and held it under the horse's nose so that he might smell it. then he rubbed the blanket along the neck on both sides, on the withers and flanks, laid it over the neck and pushed it down on the back. the horse flinched and snorted whenever the blanket touched him in a new place, but seemed quickly to lose his fear and stood still. soon antonio began to whip the horse with the blanket all over. then he folded the blanket and tossed it lightly on the horse's back. the animal flinched again with a sidewise motion and groaned, but antonio patted it, and the blanket remained there. one of the boys went to the off side and held the blanket in place, and in a moment antonio came up with the saddle, which he placed on the blanket, the man on the off side letting down the stirrup and the cinch gently, so as to frighten the horse as little as possible. antonio cautiously reached under the belly, caught the cinch, and, passing the latigo through the rings, by a slow pull drew it tightly against the belly. as the horse felt the relentless tightening of the broad band it squealed in fright and kicked viciously at first with both hind feet and then with each separately, but its fore feet did not leave the ground. "goin' to tie the stirrups, tony?" said joe. "no, dees hawse quiet. you see;" was the reply, as antonio gathered up the reins of the hackamore and put his foot in the stirrup. he raised himself slowly until his full weight rested on it, and though at first the horse yielded he made no move, and the rider threw his leg over the saddle and settled himself firmly in the seat. joe and rube ran to their horses and mounted and took a position on either side and a little behind antonio, and so close to him that they could reach his horse with their whips. then antonio reached slowly forward on either side the bay colt's head, pushed up the blind, sat back in the saddle and, with a wild yell, brought down the quirt on the horse's flank. the yell was echoed by the hazers on either side, and they plied their quirts. the horse, blinded and confused by the sudden light, the noise and the pain, gave a few wild plunges, and then he realised that the first thing he must do was to get rid of the terrible weight that was bearing him down and crushing in his sides. he lowered his head, arched his back, and putting his feet together began to shoot into the air and come down stiff legged. at this the yells and the whipping of the hazers increased, and the group of onlookers by the corral shouted laughter and cheers for horse and man. the bucking lasted only for a short time, and soon the horse, forced to it by the quirting, started off in a swift run over the prairie. the hazers followed him for half a mile, to see that he was going well, and then, stopping on a little hill, continued to watch him. meantime, mr. sturgis, jack and hugh went into the corral again, cut out another horse and put it in the round corral. then jack, and hugh went outside and sat on the ground in the sun, with their backs against the corral fence, and hugh filled his pipe and smoked. when hugh's pipe was going, jack said: "now, hugh, i wish you'd tell me why the horse stands still when he's blindfolded. he didn't stand quite still all the time though, for he kicked like the mischief when they were saddling him, and how he jumped when antonio pushed the blind off." "well now, son, ain't you thought that out yet?" replied hugh. "i expect i'll have to tell you then. it's so that the colt kicked when he felt the cinch gripping him, but you took notice, i expect, that his front feet never left the ground. he didn't move out of his tracks, even if he did let out with his heels. "now, i want you to listen to what i have to say, and think about it, for it may help you some time to see for yourself other things that seem blind, and save you asking questions that might make people think you didn't know nothing. now, here's this yer horse," he continued, waving his pipe toward the prairie, "he's a four-year-old, as i told you, born and raised on the prairie, likely never had a rope on more'n once in his life, maybe driven up here once a year with the roundup. but all his life he's been running free; he's wild. all his life he's depended on his eyes and nose to tell him what's dangerous, and on his legs to take him away from it. all this time he's been able to use these things. there never was a night so dark that he couldn't use 'em all. now, all of a sudden his legs are tied up so he can't run, a hackamore is put round his nose so he can't hardly smell nor breathe, and his eyes are shut up so it's all black to him; he can't see nothing. he's so scared that he don't know what to do. even when his legs is free he still can't see nothing, and he knows he can't travel without his eyes; he's had falls enough when he was a colt to know that a horse needs eyes to run with. so it is that he stands still. it's the same with an old horse. if you want to put anything on him that he don't like to carry, just blind him, and he'll stand still till the blind's taken off." "i never thought of that, hugh, that a horse can see in the dark, but the dark even of a dark night must be very different from a blind." "it sure is," replied hugh. "hello, there comes tony and the horse; mighty quiet too." the horse as it drew near was seen to be white with lather on its breast and neck, and dripping with sweat over its whole body. it trotted along slowly and the fight was all gone out of it. every now and then it would bore with its head, or would try to turn off to one side, but the firm hand of the rider always brought its head around again, and it trotted on toward the corral. arrived there, antonio reached forward and pulled the blind down over its eyes, and then springing from the saddle, began to take it off. one of the boys put a rope about the horse's neck and then pulled the long hair of the tail out, to show that it had been ridden, and it was led to the big corral and turned loose with the wild horses. the boys joked antonio about the horse, but he only smiled and answered that the horse was too gentle. this could not be said of the next one, however, a big iron-grey, which fought from the moment it felt the rope on its forefeet. it was quiet while it was being saddled, but as soon as the blind was raised, it went into a perfect fury of squealing, bucking, kicking, and fighting. none of this stirred antonio from his seat, but two or three times the animal reared up so straight that those who were watching involuntarily called, "look out," and saw the rider grasp the saddle horn and loosen one foot from the stirrup, prepared to slip off if the horse fell over backward. at length, however, urged on by the hazers, it started off and ran half a mile and then stopping short, again began to buck furiously, but soon started on again and disappeared over the hills, the hazers close behind. it was a long time before antonio returned, with the boys still riding behind him, and horse and man both seemed tired by the fierce battle that they had been through, but, though exhausted by the struggle, the horse's eye rolled fiercely, while the rider's face was stern and set and his hand firm as he guided the big grey up to the corral gate. "well, tony," called out hugh, "that's a hard one. he'll need a heap of riding yet, before he's right gentle." "yes, sir," was the reply, "he big strong hawse; shake me pretty hard when he comin' down; pitch all different ways. maybe some time he get me off." the next horse was a contrast to both the others. after he had been blinded and untied, he would not stand up until he had been hit hard with the rope, and after being saddled and mounted he would not move, and when quirted he just stood still and grunted. after ten minutes of vain effort to start him, antonio declared that he had never before seen a horse like this one, and that it was fit only for a pack horse. the animal was unsaddled and taken to another corral, where a pack saddle was cinched on him, and he was left to spend the day there alone. all through the day the work of breaking went on, and all day jack sat on the corral bars and watched it, and at night when supper time came, antonio acknowledged to jack, who asked him the question, that he was pretty tired. "it's hard work," said hugh, "almighty hard, and slow. it's slower here than most places, but we get a heap better horses, breaking 'em this way--kinder gentling 'em the way you saw before we put the saddle on. ef there was time to do it, and there wan't so many horses, they'd all ought to be gentled from colts up. no trouble to break 'em that way, and never no horses spoiled like they is this way. now you take that grey this morning; ef he ain't handled just so, he's going to be a regular devil. but tony here is an awful good rider, and he's got a good disposition too, and i reckon he'll bring the grey through all right." the work of gentling the horses went on day after day for a week or more, and jack never wearied of watching the work. the patience shown by antonio in handling the horses surprised him, for he had noticed that joe and rube sometimes got angry at the horses they rode, and swore at them and lashed them with their ropes. he asked his uncle why there was such a difference. "i always thought mexicans got angry easily, but tony never seems to. i should think sometimes he'd get mad." "tony has good judgment," said his uncle, "and that's the reason i have him ride these colts. it is very easy to spoil any horse by fighting with him, and if he comes to look on a man as his enemy, he will never be worth much. i have these horses broken as gently as i can, and i find that people are willing to pay me more for a saddle horse than they pay people who just break their horses any way at all. it is profitable to use care in breaking horses." chapter xx a trip to smith's hole some weeks passed. the work of the ranch went on. jack was now becoming a useful member of the society there, for he had come to feel so much at home that there were many things that he could do about the place. every day he gained more confidence in himself and it was no longer thought necessary that he should have some one with him when he rode out away from the ranch on the prairie. one night his uncle had suggested that he should go out and bring in the milk cows, and he did so, and after this it became his regular duty to look for them, if they did not come up to the corral to be milked at night. a little later joe had asked him one morning to go out and bring in the saddle horses, which were feeding high up in the mountain, but could be seen from the house. he did so, and after a few days this became a part of his regular work. for such riding as this he did not use pawnee, but rode, instead, old grey, or the pilot, or any one of three or four other gentle horses that were always close about the ranch. he remembered hugh's advice, given to him soon after he had come out, and always carried his gun with him. during these rides he had killed two coyotes and a badger, the skins of which he had taken off and stretched quite nicely, under hugh's direction. he had had two or three chances to shoot antelope, too, but always close to the house, and so he had not fired at them, for mr. sturgis liked to see these wild creatures of the prairie near the ranch, and had asked that no hunting be done close at home. jack had tended his live stock, and his ducks were now quite large and full feathered birds, and were very tame, and pretty well able to take care of themselves. when they were still little bits of fluffy things, hugh had advised him to cut off the tip of one wing from each, and he had done so. the birds, therefore, could not fly, and wandered about on foot, feeding with the hens and dabbling in the brook. hugh warned him that he would have to look out for them when the weather got cool, or else they might start off to go south on foot, and if they ever wandered off on the prairie the coyotes would surely pick them up at once. the calf elk had grown very large, and was annoyingly tame. it was sure to be where it was not wanted, and mrs. carter once declared to jack that she wished some one would kill the little brute, for if she left the kitchen door open it would go in, and put its nose into every dish in the place. although he had many things to do, they did not take up all jack's time. he spent many hours lying on the hills, watching the beasts and the birds and the insects, and this seemed to him better fun than anything about the ranch, except the long talks that he had with hugh, whose stories of old times were always interesting. he had gotten down his uncle's bird book from the shelf in the sitting-room, and had learned the names of many birds of the prairie, and from hugh he had learned also how the larger beasts and birds lived, and what they did in summer and autumn and winter and spring. one evening as hugh and jack were sitting on the steps of the bunk-house, watching the lengthening shadows of the mountains creep further and further out over the prairie, hugh said to jack: "son, your uncle wants me to go off and get a horse load of meat, and i am thinking of going over to smith's hole, to see if i can't kill a couple of blacktail bucks; they ought to be getting pretty fat by this time. i expect i'll have to be gone two or three days, and i thought maybe you'd like to go, if you can get joe and rube to look after your live stock. what do you say?" "oh, hugh," said jack, "that would be fine. do you know, i have been out here now nearly four months and i've never slept out of doors yet. i don't know what a camp is. i'd love to go over there with you, and it would be splendid to see these deer. you see, i have never seen a deer since i have been here." "well," said hugh, "i expected maybe you'd like to go, and i'd surely like to have you come. we'll speak to your uncle about it. i expect we'd better start day after to-morrow, because i've got to look over them pack riggings, and see if they're all in order. i expect we'd better take two pack horses. we won't have much of anything to carry going, besides our beds, but if we get two or three deer, the horses will both have loads coming back, and i'd rather lead a pack horse than walk and lead my own horse loaded with meat." mr. sturgis was quite willing that jack should go. the following day was devoted to putting in order the pack saddles, blankets and necessary ropes, and the morning after, they started. hugh rode old baldy, and jack, pawnee. one of the pack horses had nothing on his saddle, while the other carried the blankets, their few cooking utensils and provisions. hugh and rube put the load on the pack horse, and threw ropes about it and pulled them tight in a very short time, but although jack watched closely, he had no idea how the ropes went over the load, nor why they held it fast. when they were ready, hugh mounted, and, taking the rope of the pack horse, started on, while jack followed, leading the unloaded animal. half the morning had passed without a word having been exchanged between the two riders, when hugh, halting in a sheltered spot out of the wind, dismounted, threw down his rope and his bridle rein, and felt in his pocket for his pipe. "'light down," he said to jack, as he came up, "and let the horses rest a while. i want to smoke." jack was quite willing to do so, for he felt as if his right arm would soon be pulled out of the socket, with the labour of dragging the lazy pack horse. "what's the matter with you?" continued hugh. "arm tired?" "yes," said jack, "that horse pulls back so he nearly drags me out of the saddle." "sho!" said hugh. "you ought to put a hackamore on him, and then pass the rope under your leg and take a turn of it round the saddle horn. if he pulls back then, it cuts off his wind, and he won't do it very long." "i'll do it," said jack; "wish i'd thought of it before. i'd almost made up my mind to turn him loose and drive him." "we'll do that after we get a little further," said hugh. "we can't drive that horse you're leading yet awhile, he'd keep trying to turn back and go home, and make us more trouble than it is to lead him." "hugh, i wish you'd tell me how you tied that load on this morning," said jack. "it seems to be firm, and yet i should think the ropes would come loose and you'd have to tie it up every little while." "well," said hugh, "that's something you've got to learn, of course, packing; it's a regular trade, and when you know how to do it right, your load stays on your horse; if you don't know how to do it, your load comes loose and makes you trouble from the time you start in the morning till you get into camp at night. i calculated that that would be one of the things you'd learn something about on this trip. you see, it takes two to pack a horse; one man on the nigh side and one on the off side. now, we'll probably get into camp early to-night, and have a chance to look round a little bit and see if there's any deer in the hills right close to where we camp, and if there ain't, we'll move on five or six miles further to-morrow, and then i'll give you your first lesson in packing. let's look at this load now;" and he rose to his feet. they went up to the pack horse, and hugh, taking jack in front of it, told him to look at the two loads that hung on either side of the animal. "you see," he said, "they just balance each other, and that is the main secret of packing, to put the loads on the two sides of the horse so that each pulls against the other. if either one is heavier than the other, it is pulling down all the time upon its side, and makes the saddle and everything swing over that way; that tends to loosen the ropes, and is likely to make the horse's back sore besides. you'll notice that when i make up the side packs to-morrow morning, i'll weigh them in my hands, and if i find that one is lighter than the other, i'll put something into it to make the weights even. but i can tell you more in five minutes by showing you, than i can in an hour by talking, so let's move on; but first we'll make a hackamore for that horse of yours." hugh showed jack how to fix his rope around the horse's head and nose, so that it made a sort of headstall for it, like a halter; then when jack mounted, he passed the rope under his leg, took a couple of turns around the saddle, and the pack animal, after pulling back once or twice, gave it up and followed readily enough close to pawnee's hips. it was three o'clock in the afternoon when, after passing over some low hills, they rode down to a little spring, near which stood a grove of small cottonwoods. beyond was a great stretch of rough, broken, bad land country where there seemed to be no grass, and which looked like a jumble of steep naked hills, separated by deep ravines. "that's the hole," said hugh, "and it's a terrible good hunting-ground for deer and elk in winter." "why," said jack, "it doesn't look to me as if there were grass enough there to feed a jack rabbit, let alone an elk." "well," said hugh, "that's so; it does look pretty barren, but there's lots of feed there, all the same. there's little fine grass grows on them hills, and the wind keeps them always bare through the winter. besides that, it's a heap sight warmer over here than it is on the prairie, close to the house. you wouldn't think there'd be much difference, but there's lots. then, down in the bottom of these ravines there's worlds of good feed. it's a great wintering place for the elk and the deer that summers over on the mountains back of the house." they stopped their horses on a little level spot, close to the trees, and dismounted there. "throw down your bridle rein, son," said hugh, "and come and help me take off this pack. whenever you're travelling with a pack train, and stop to camp, the first thing is to take off the packs, and after the pack animals have all been attended to, you can unsaddle your own horse. now, look here!" jack went up to hugh, who was standing on the nigh side of the loaded pack horse, and saw him untie the end of the rope from the cinch, and throw it off the load in front. "now," said hugh, "you go around to the off side and loosen up that rope, so that i can get it off this side." jack did so; first pulling at two or three different parts of the rope, and as he pulled at each, hugh called: "no." at last he pulled on a rope which came easily to him, and as the part slacked toward him, the rope dropped off the forward corner of the pack. "now," said hugh, "take it off the hinder corner;" and when jack took hold of the rope about the hinder corner, it was loose and slipped off. hugh pulled the slack toward him and freed the pack on his side, and then threw the big rope off the horse. "now," he said, "stand under that bundle and let it down easy when i untie the swings;" and in a moment more the bundle dropped into jack's arms and he put it on the ground. they unsaddled all the horses and picketed them out. hugh put the saddles and all their camp furniture in the brush, saying: "we won't make camp until we come back. let's go out now and see what the prospect is for game." chapter xxi jack's first camp-fire hugh and jack walked a quarter of a mile down the ravine, at whose head they had left the horses, without seeing any sign of game. then, clambering up the steep bank to the north, they crossed a hill and entered another ravine. jack saw that there was good grass in the narrow bottoms of these water-courses, as hugh had said, and in almost each one of several that they crossed a little stream flowed. the sun was getting low and the air cooler, when, as they topped one of these hills to descend into another ravine hugh stopped, made a motion of warning with his hand, and then, slowly lowered his head and backed away from the ridge. "there's two deer just below us, feeding in the creek bottom, and i believe they're near enough to the ridge to shoot. we'll go round about opposite them and take a look and see what the chances are. i wouldn't be a bit surprised if we could get a good shot at them." "how far below us are they, hugh?" said jack. "not more than a hundred yards," was the reply. "i think we can see them from the ridge, and get one, or maybe both of them. but, now there's one thing i want to say to you: look out you don't over-shoot. when a man's shooting downhill, the way we may have to do from here, he's terrible likely to draw his sight too coarse, and to shoot too high. if you get a chance to shoot, draw your sight down just as fine as you can, and hold low down on the animal. it is better to shoot under than it is to shoot over, anyhow; don't forget this." they walked briskly along, and in a very few moments hugh said, "hold on now; i'll go up and take a look." he did so, cautiously peering over the ridge, with bared head, and then, bending down, he motioned jack to his side. "they're right there," he whispered, "and it's an easy shot. you take the big buck and i'll try the little fellow when he runs. remember now, hold low and steady. if the deer is standing with his tail toward you, aim about for his loin, and try to break his back." they crept forward on hands and knees, and not until they had reached the very crown of the hill did they raise their heads. then they saw the wished-for game, two fine mule deer bucks, busily feeding on the green grass that grew near the stream. they were graceful creatures, one of them much larger than the other and with a fine head of horns; the other had small horns and was evidently young. their ears were very large, and their tails, which were white, all except a black tip, were constantly in motion. both deer stood broadside on; the larger one somewhat in advance of the other. "you shoot first," said hugh. "take the big one, and remember, hold low." jack put his rifle to his shoulder, feeling as cool and steady as ever he did in his life, and aiming just behind the big buck's elbow, fired, and the deer dropped in his tracks. the little fellow made one or two jumps, and then stood looking, when hugh's ball pierced his breast, and he too fell to the ground. "well," said hugh, "that's a good job, son. if i'd thought we were going to get meat so quick, i'd a fetched a pack horse along, but i didn't much think we would. so i'll go down and butcher them deer, and you go back to camp and put a pack saddle on one of the pack horses and fetch it over here. mind you take the saddle and the blanket and the lash rope that goes together; don't mix up the riggings. you'd better bring the pack horse you led; it hasn't had nothing to do all day except to pack its saddle, and it might as well work for its grub now. you can't see the camp from here, but i don't expect there's any danger of your losing your way. you know we crossed four of these gulches coming, and when you get to the fifth you want to turn to your right and follow up the creek, and soon you'll come in sight of the camp. keep the sun on your right hand all the time. do you think you can do it?" "oh, i guess so, hugh," said jack; "now that you've told me how many ravines we crossed; i didn't notice, myself, i only knew we'd crossed a number of them." "well," said hugh, "you've got to learn to take notice of just them things, if you're going to be a prairie man. now mind, if you should not be able to find your way to camp, and think you're lost, don't keep on travelling; just climb up to the top of the nearest hill and set there, and before night you'll see or hear me. but i don't expect but what you'll find your way back to camp all right." hugh went on downhill toward the deer, and jack set out on his return to camp. he kept count of the ravines as he crossed them, and when he came to the fifth, looked around to see if there was anything there that he could recognise. it all looked strange to him, but he turned to his right and followed the stream up, and, before he had gone very far, he noticed a clump of willows that he remembered they had passed soon after leaving camp. a few steps beyond this a grove of trees appeared, and a moment later he saw the horses. "now, the question is," he said to himself, as he hurried toward camp, "can i find my way back to hugh? i'll try hard, anyhow." he loosened the pack horse from its picket pin, led it to the saddles, and choosing the right rigging, saddled the animal and tied the lash rope to the saddle. it was the first time he had ever put a pack saddle on a horse, and he did not feel sure that he had done it right, but he spent little time over it, thinking that the important thing now was to get the horse to hugh, so that they could bring their meat to camp before the sun set. he found his way back without difficulty to the place they had shot from, and from there saw hugh, who had finished butchering, smoking his pipe by the two carcasses. when jack reached him, hugh said, "well, you didn't have no trouble, did you?" "not a bit," said jack. "i'd a notion at one time that maybe i was lost, for the ravine that we came down looked strange to me on my way back, but i followed it up and got to camp all right." "well," said hugh, "it's a mighty good plan, when you're going along in a strange country, to stop every now and then and take a look behind you, and see how the country looks after you pass through it. of course as you go along you see how things look ahead of you, but sometimes they look mighty different from the other side. i'd ought to have spoken to you about that before. say," he continued, as he rose to his feet and looked at the pack horse, "who saddled that horse?" "why, i did, of course," answered jack; "what's the matter with it? i kind o' felt as if there was something wrong when i started, but i was in a rush to get back here, and so hurried along without stopping to think about it." "well," said hugh, "there is something wrong, but we ain't got time now to let you find out what it is. don't you see you've got the saddle on hind side before? you must have cinched the horse up from the off side instead of from the near." "of course," said jack, "i see it now. that must be what made it seem so queer when i was saddling; but you see, both ends of the pack saddle look alike. i don't think i would have made that mistake with a riding saddle." "no, i expect not," said hugh, "if you had, you'd probably have found it out when you tried to mount. now, i'll put this saddle on right and then we'll take these deer to camp as quick as we can. the sun will be down before long, and we want daylight to cook supper and spread our beds by." they packed the two deer on the horse. hugh did most of the work of packing, but jack helped now and then by holding up the load on one side, and pulling a rope or two. as they drew near the camp hugh said, "we've got lots of daylight yet and can make a nice camp here, and to-morrow morning we'll hunt a little way on horseback. we don't want to have too good luck right at the start, if we do we'll have to go back home again too soon." hugh hung up the two deer to the branches of a tree, and then told jack to go down to the stream and dip up a bucket of water, while he would gather wood and start the supper. by the time the water had been brought, the fire was blazing, and hugh had their small mess box open on the ground and had taken from it a little piece of bacon, the coffee and sugar in the two cans, and a sack which contained several loaves of bread. "now, you see," he said, "we're in luck this trip, for mrs. carter gave us a sack full of bread, so we won't have to bake none while we're out. all we've got to do now is to fry a little meat and cook a cup of coffee, and our supper's ready. you fill that coffee kettle with water and set it on to boil while i cut some of that fat deer meat." by the time the water was boiling, fat ribs of one of the deer were sizzling in the frying-pan, giving out an odour that made jack feel very hungry. hugh put the coffee into the hot water, let it boil for two or three minutes, then stood it off the fire but close to it, where it would keep warm, and told jack to cut some slices of bread. when he had done this, hugh told him to set the table, which made jack look rather blank, for he did not know precisely what hugh meant, but he laid out two of the tin plates, two cups, and for each a knife, fork and spoon, and hugh nodded, as much as to say that this was right. the deer meat, the bread and the hot coffee, with plenty of sugar in it, seemed to jack to make about the best meal that he had ever tasted. when they had finished eating, hugh said, "now, let's unroll our beds and get ready to sleep, and then we won't have anything more to do except to sit by the fire here until we get sleepy." he pointed out to jack a good place for his bed, where the grass was smooth and there were no stones or roots or bits of stick lying on the ground, and the bed was soon unrolled and ready for occupancy. hugh made his own bed and then returned to the fire and again lit his pipe. the sun had set, and the air was so cool as to make the warmth of the fire very pleasant. jack lay down by it and stretched out his legs in the comfortable heat. "better put your coat on, son," said hugh; "it gets cool mighty fast after the sun goes down. it's good for you to keep right warm until you turn into your blankets. if you go to bed feeling chilly, it's liable to take you a long time to go to sleep." jack followed this advice, and after putting on his coat lay down again by the fire, for he was tired and a little bit sleepy. "tell me something about these deer that we killed, hugh," he said; "they don't look like any of the deer that i ever saw in central park; their ears are big, and their tails are different. are these the regular deer that we have in the east?" "i expect not," said hugh; "these are what we call blacktails out here. you took notice, i expect, that the tips of their tails were black; i guess that's what gives them the name. they've got another name, though. i have heard your uncle call them mule deer, and he says that that name comes from their having such big ears. they've got sure enough big ears, all right, and i guess that's a pretty good name for 'em. i have heard him say that 'way over west, toward the coast, there's another kind of deer that's the real blacktail; it's got a big tail that's black all over. these deer here are good meat, but they're a kind of a fool animal, after all. sometimes if you shoot one, the others with it will just kind of jump round, looking to see where the noise comes from; they don't seem to have sense enough to run away; but i expect that don't mean much except that they haven't been hunted. i've seen elk and mountain sheep do the same thing, and of course buffalo will stand and let you shoot at them as long as you want to. 'pears to me always as if deer and elk didn't depend much on their eyes. if a man keeps right still they don't seem to see him; or, anyway, they ain't afraid of him; but if they once get a smell of him, they don't wait to ask no questions, but just light out of the country. "you killed that deer mighty well, son," he went on, "you're getting to be steady as anybody need be. i wondered, when you drew up to shoot, whether you'd have any trouble catching your sight. i thought maybe you would, because this was the first deer you'd shot at; but you didn't seem to be a mite flustered." "no," said jack, "i didn't feel excited. of course i wanted to kill the deer, but i was thinking hard about what you had told me of the danger of over-shooting. i don't believe i thought of anything else." they were sitting by the fire, not talking, when suddenly from the hills to the north, sounded a series of frightful yells and howls, which made jack sit up very straight. "what in the world's that, hugh?" he said, seeing that hugh had not changed his position nor apparently heard this dreadful noise. "that yelling?" said hugh. "why i forgot that you'd never been in camp before. now, what do you expect that is?" "why, i don't know," said jack; "it sounded like a lot of demons fighting." "well, i'll tell you what it is," said hugh, "it's just some miserable coyote that's found the place where we butchered them deer, and is telling all the other coyotes about it." "but, hugh," said jack, "there must be at least a hundred there, from the noise they make." "not so," said hugh; "i don't believe there's more than one. i told you the other day that one of them woodchucks could make more noise for its size than any beast i knew; but when i said that, i expect i must have forgot the coyote. sometimes if two or three get together and howl, you'd think there was a thousand. they'd be a terrible beast to hear at night if one was anyway scary." "i should think so," said jack; "i didn't know what was going to happen when i heard that fellow begin just now." "well," said hugh, "he and his partners will have a good feast to-night; but i expect you're getting sleepy, and we want to be up with the sun to-morrow, so maybe we might as well turn in now." "all right, hugh, i am getting sleepy and i guess i'd like to go to bed." "say we do," said hugh. "one thing i'll tell ye, seeing that you've never slept out of doors before; when you go to bed, take off your coat, your pants and your shoes; the less a man has on him when he is in bed the better he rests." hugh filled his pipe again and put some more wood on the fire, which blazed up brightly; and jack, sitting on the edge of his bed, began to undress. "put your shoes and the clothes that you take off under the head of your bed," said hugh, "then, if it should come on to rain or snow during the night, they won't get wet. you've got a lot of little odds and ends of things to learn about being in camp, and i want to tell you all of them that i can think of, because if you know them you'll be a heap more comfortable than you will if you don't." before long, jack was snugly wrapped in his blankets, watching the flickering fire and the bright stars that shone out of the black sky above him. presently hugh turned into his blankets, and the fire went down. jack had been sleepy when he went to bed, but now he felt wakeful. he could hear queer little things moving about in the grass close to his head; the leaves of the trees rustled in the gentle breeze; the horses cropped the grass and walked about not far off, and each one of these sounds seemed loud to him. every now and then there would be a burst of howling from the hills, and altogether, jack felt strange. but soon he slept. chapter xxii a load of blacktail "wake up, son, it's getting toward morning, and i want to get started. _levez_, as the frenchmen say up north." jack opened his eyes very slowly, and pushed the blankets down from his head and saw the bright light of the fire and hugh moving about it; but the stars still shone brightly from the black sky above, and there was nothing to show that it was not the middle of the night. "is it time to get up, hugh?" jack asked; "i'm awful sleepy." "yes, you've got to get up if you're going hunting with me. if you'd rather, you can lie in your blankets till the sun gets up, but you can't hunt if you do that," was the reply. jack pushed down the blankets, but the air was cold, and he hated to get up. "put on your shoes," said hugh, "and come over and dress here by the fire where it's warm. the nights are getting mighty cool now, and i expect you feel it." "isn't it cold, though," said jack, as he drew on his shoes, and with his clothes in his arms ran over to the fire. "this is nice and warm, isn't it?" "well, you've got to hurry up now and dress; breakfast is near ready." jack saw that meat was sputtering in the frying pan, and that the coffee-pot was standing by the fire, and hurried into his clothes. "now," said hugh, "i expect you want to wash your face. hold your hands and i'll pour." he dipped a cup into the bucket of water, and, while jack held his hands together, poured a tiny stream into them, while the boy washed his hands and face. "well," said jack, "that's a new kind of a wash basin to me." "is it?" said hugh. "well, it saves you washing in the dark down by the spring. you may as well go down there though and get a bucket of fresh water, and we'll heat that while we're eating, so that we can wash up the dishes before we start." jack did as he was bade, and by the time he had returned with the water, hugh had taken the food off the fire, and they began their breakfast. after the meal was over jack went out and brought in the saddle horses, while hugh was washing up the dishes, and after saddling his own, rolled up his bed and was ready to start. a few moments later, hugh was in the saddle, and they rode off over the prairie, nearly in the direction that they had gone the night before, but keeping away from the hole, so as to go around the heads of all the ravines. "i wanted to get out early," said hugh, "so's to go over here a couple of miles and get up on top of a high hill by sunrise. from there we can see a long distance, and if there's any deer feeding, we can see them and figure how to get up to them." it was still dark, but now in the east there was a streak of pale light along the horizon, and the stars above it were growing dim. they galloped briskly along over the dark prairie, now and then hearing a rush of feet and the stamping and blowing of antelope which they had started. before they reached the hill of which hugh had spoken the dawn was fairly upon them, and the eastern sky was red. they left their horses in a little hollow, and on foot climbed to the top of the hill, but it was not yet light enough for them to see very much. before long, however, the limb of the sun appeared over the eastern horizon, and at once the air seemed to clear, and they could see a long distance. "oh, look at that, hugh," said jack, pointing north-west, "there's a big animal out there, and a little one near it. what are they? why i believe that's an elk." hugh looked in the direction to which jack pointed, and said: "yes, that's an elk all right, and a calf with her; we don't want anything of her. i don't see exactly what she's doing down here on the prairie with that little calf; she ought to be up in the hills. there's four antelope right close, almost within gunshot; but we don't want antelope either. what we came after is deer; and there they are," he continued, pointing toward the hole, where, in a depression at the head of a ravine, three dark coloured animals were feeding. they were a long way off, and jack could not tell whether they had horns or not; in fact, he would not have known what they were, but he saw that they were not elk nor antelope; their colour told him so much. they could not be wolves, for they stood too high on their legs, and had no tails that he could see; so it seemed certain that they must be deer, or some other animal that he had not seen. "what had we better do, hugh?" he said; "do you think we can get up to them?" "yes," said hugh, "there won't be no trouble about that, but what i'd like to know now is, which way this wind is going to blow. the easiest way to get at them is to go around north of them. i think that ridge would bring us within shot, but if the wind starts up to blow from the west or north or north-west, they'd sure smell us, and we wouldn't get no shot. i'd rather set here a spell and see what the wind is goin' to do. they'll feed for two hours, maybe three, yet before they lie down. let's just keep our eye on 'em and see how they act." hugh filled his pipe and smoked, and waited for the wind. for some time this did not come, and the smoke from his pipe went straight upward. presently, however, a gentle air from the north-west carried away a big puff of smoke, and then it was calm once more. but soon the breeze began to blow very gently from the north-west, and hugh, as he finished his pipe and knocked the ashes out from it, said: "well, i thought that was likely the way it would act. now, we've got to go round them deer and try to get up on them from toward the hole." they mounted and rode briskly back the way they had come, for some little distance, and then, turning east, toward the rim of the hole, went more slowly. when they reached the edge of the prairie, from which they could look down on the broken bad lands, where they had been the evening before, they followed the rim north, keeping a sharp look-out ahead for any possible game that might start there, and also watching closely the ravines which ran down into the hole. at length hugh said: "'pears to me that we ought to be pretty close to where them deer is. let's go slow and careful now, and look the ground over." the next two ridges were passed very cautiously, but on reaching the summit of the third, hugh dropped his head and said, "there they are; we're too far down. let's take our horses back to the next ravine, and come up here and watch the deer. they'll likely work this way before very long." after they had left their horses, hugh took jack up to the crest of the hill and pointed out the deer to him. they were feeding on a hillside, a quarter of a mile away, but their heads were pointed toward the hole, and hugh felt sure that with a little patience they would get a shot. they sat there waiting, for more than an hour, while the deer fed about, almost in the same place. at last the biggest of them raised his head and took a long look down the ravine, and then one to either side; then he started, walking slowly toward the hole. the other two did not seem to pay any attention to him, but after the leader had gone fifty or seventy-five yards, one of the others stopped feeding and trotted after him, and these two walked along together, directly toward the hunters. the third deer remained where he was; he had evidently found something that he greatly liked and did not intend to leave it; but at last, finding that he was being deserted, he too raised his head and trotted after the others. he had not come up with them when they passed within seventy-five yards of the hunters, and hugh said: "raise up now and kill the big one. i'll stop him, and as soon as he stops, you shoot." jack slowly raised himself, and resting his left elbow on his knee, aimed at the leading buck. the other deer was walking by the big buck's side. as jack brought his rifle to his shoulder, hugh bleated, in imitation of a fawn, and both deer stopped and turned their heads toward him. "now," said hugh. and as jack's rifle sounded, both deer fell to the ground. hugh said, "slip another cartridge in quick; that other fellow may get up and run off;" and they started down toward the fallen animals. the third deer turned, bounded gracefully up the hill, paused for a moment on its crest to look, and then disappeared. "but hugh," said jack, as he hurried down the hill, "what made the other deer fall; did i hit both? i couldn't have done that for i only aimed at one." "well, son," said hugh, "it looks to me as if your ball went through the big deer and killed the little one too; but we'll soon know." in a moment they stood by the deer, and hugh, seizing the smaller one by one of its horns, thrust his knife into its chest. "well," said he, "we've got him anyhow." then he bled the other deer, and then they looked for the bullet holes. it was as hugh had said, jack had not remembered what hugh had told him the night before about aiming low when he was shooting downhill, and had hit the big buck a little higher up than he had intended, but low enough to kill him. the ball had passed between the ribs, out on the other side, and had passed through the heart of the further deer. "that's a pretty lucky shot," said hugh; "you might hunt a good many years and not do that over again. you've beaten me all hollow this trip, and have killed three times as many deer as i have. i expect you're what i call a lucky hunter, and if you only keep on trying hard, and don't get to feeling too big about your good luck, you'll do well right along." "i'm surely going to try hard, hugh. i don't think i have done anything very bad since that first day when i tried to hunt antelope alone. i think i learned a heap that day, and i have been glad a good many times since that i didn't kill those first antelope." "that's right," said hugh; "i believe that was an awful good lesson for you, and i hope you'll always remember it. i ain't a mite uneasy but what you'll always do well in your hunting, for you're mighty cool headed. i have hunted with a heap of men that couldn't stand it to see game. seems like whenever they saw an animal standing near 'em, they just got crazy right off. why, i have seen men that would tremble and shake like they had the ague, if they had a chance like you had just now. well," he went on, "i believe we might as well butcher, and then start back and pack up our camp. we'll put one deer on one of the pack horses and then bring the whole outfit over here and pack the other three deer on the other horse. we've got all the meat we want, and we can start now and get back to the ranch by night. i did expect to be gone three or four days but we've had such terrible fine luck that we've got all the meat we need, and it's no use stopping. if we do we're likely to kill something more, and we haven't got no way to pack it." the work of butchering the deer did not take long; they dragged the carcasses a little way up the hill, turned them over to drain, and left them lying on the prairie. twenty minutes' ride brought them to the camp, where the pack horses were soon saddled. the beds and the mess outfit were put on one of them, and here hugh gave jack his first lesson in packing, showing him how the bundles were put on in the swing ropes, and then how the diamond hitch was thrown. after half a dozen trials, jack thought he understood how the rope should go, and which ones the packer on either side should pull. "that's enough for one lesson," said hugh; "now, before we fasten this load on with the last rope, we'll throw one of them deer carcasses on top, and put the lash rope over it." this was done, and jack for the first time helped to pack a horse, working on the off side. "you're pretty small," hugh said, "to pack yet a while. a fellow's got to be tall enough to reach up, so that he can put up a bundle on top of the pack, and so that he can get a good pull on the ropes, forward and backward. your legs are a little mite short for that part of the work yet. after this, when you and me go out, if you're going to help pack, we'll have to pick short-legged pack ponies." "well," said jack, "i suppose my legs will get longer after a while." "you bet," said hugh, "they'll be all right after a little while, and it ain't needful that you should do much packing yet, but it's mighty handy to know how to do it." the other deer was put on the second pack horse, and roughly lashed in place, and when they reached the two animals killed that morning, one deer was hung on either side of the saddle, while the third was put on top. jack helped to pack this load too, and did his work better because the horse was standing on a side hill, which added six or eight inches to the boy's apparent height. "now," said hugh, as they were ready to start, "we don't need to haul these animals behind us all day long; we'll just tie up their ropes and drive them; they'll travel good going home." hugh coiled up the rope of each horse and made it fast to the lash rope on top of the pack. then, mounting, they started the pack animals across the prairie in the direction of the ranch. when they had gone two or three miles they crossed a ravine, from the side of which bubbled a clear, cold spring, and here they stopped and took a long, refreshing drink. at the edge of the water were some tracks in the wet earth, which to jack looked like the tracks of a small dog. he asked hugh what they were, and hugh told him they were the tracks of coyote puppies. "they've only just left here," said hugh; "likely they heard us coming and skipped out." they had hardly come up on to the prairie from this ravine when they saw three half-grown coyote puppies shambling along only a short distance in front of them. the puppies saw the men at once, and galloped off, with drooping tails, and heads turned back over their shoulders, looking for all the world like three little dogs that expected to have a stone thrown after them. "i wouldn't shoot at them," said hugh, as jack reached down his hand to draw his rifle from its scabbard: "i don't know how these pack horses are about shooting, and if you were to fire a shot, it might make one of 'em buck, and get us into some little trouble." it was nearly night before the ranch house was seen. chapter xxiii occupations of a cripple a few days after their return from smith's hole, jack met with quite a bad accident. joe had driven the waggon around on to the mountain to get a load of poles, and hugh and jack rode up by the short trail to help him. while they were loading the waggon, jack carelessly dropped the end of a heavy pole on to his foot, and crushed it quite badly. hugh at once took off his shoe and stocking and examined the foot, but did not find that any bones were broken. he bandaged it with a couple of handkerchiefs, wet with cold water, and putting jack on his horse, they returned to the ranch. the ride down the mountain side was very painful for the boy, but whenever they passed a brook, hugh bathed the foot in cold water, which somewhat relieved the pain. when they reached the ranch jack's foot was badly swollen, and he was at once put to bed, where he stayed for two days. after that he was allowed to sit up, with his foot resting on a chair, and the next two days he spent chiefly in reading, though his uncle and the men often came in and talked with him, giving him the news. hugh made a crutch for him, and on the fifth day he was allowed to hobble about with that, but was warned not to put his foot to the ground, unless he wanted to go to bed again. it was pretty dull work doing nothing, for jack greatly preferred riding over the prairie to sitting on a chair in front of the ranch door. the first day that he used the crutch, jack amused himself for a time by calling his flock of tame wild ducks about him and feeding them; but after a while, the ducks having had all the grain they wanted, walked off in single file to the brush, and left him alone. he thought of getting one of the men to bring the elk to him, but this was such a stupid beast that he thought it would prove a poor companion. as the men were leaving the house after dinner, jack called to hugh and said, "hugh, can't you think of something for me to do? i'm getting awful tired of staying right here in one place." "well," said hugh, "i wish it was so you could get on your horse and ride with me this afternoon. i'm going over into the pasture and then down round by the lake. i'd like right well to stop here and talk with you all the afternoon, but i can't do it. them cows has got to be looked after. you surely ought to have some one to keep you company, though. i'll tell you what it is; i'll go down to the barn and fetch up pawnee, and picket him around here close to you. maybe he'd be sort of company for you." "that's just the thing," said jack; "i wish you'd do it. it's nearly a week now since i've seen him." hugh went down to the barn, and after a little while returned, leading the horse with jack's rope about its neck. he drove a picket pin into the sod, not far in front of the boy's chair, and fastened the rope to it. then he went into the house, and came out again with a cup in which were a dozen lumps of sugar. "now, son," he said, "i've got a job for you that'll keep you busy all the afternoon, and it's something that you'll like to do, and something that may some day be right useful to you. you put in your time this afternoon teaching this horse to come to you when you whistle to him. you can't much more than make a start to-day, but if you keep it up for a few days, you can make him so that he'll come to you just as far as he can hear you whistle." "that'll be splendid, hugh, if i can only do it; but how can i teach him? i remember reading a book once about a man who lived in mexico, and he had trained his horse just that way; and i remember that whenever he had left his horse and was on foot, and his enemies got after him, he'd whistle, and the horse would come dashing up, and he'd jump into the saddle and ride away. you see, his was the fastest horse in all that country, and they never could catch him." "well, now," said hugh, "there's no reason why you shouldn't teach yours to do just that same thing, and yours is just about the fastest one in all this country; so you might be just like the fellow you read about in the book. now, after a while, when the horse is feeding quite a little way from you, you whistle to him, and then pull on his rope and make him come up to you and give him a lump of sugar. don't give him only one, and then let him wander off and pick grass again, and the next time he gets pretty well toward the end of his rope, whistle to him again, and draw in on the rope and bring him up close to you and give him another lump of sugar. do that half a dozen times, not too close together, and the first thing you know you'll see him start toward you just as soon as you whistle. mind you always whistle to him the same way. are you a pretty good whistler? can you whistle loud?" "no, i can't whistle very loud," said jack. "i can whistle a little, but i can't whistle real shrill." "well, hold on now; what will we do for a whistle? seems to me your uncle's got a dog whistle somewhere in the house, that he always used with old dan, that bird dog that he hunted with. i think i saw that whistle this winter in the cigar box on top of the book shelves. hold on a minute." hugh went into the house and a few minutes later came out again with the dog whistle and gave it to jack. "now," he said, "if you're going to teach the horse to mind that whistle, you'll have to get your uncle to give it to you, and carry it with you all the time. if he gets to learn one sound he'll mind that and no other. try him now, before i start off." pawnee was busy eating grass, nearly at the full length of the rope, when jack gave a long shrill blast on his whistle, and, at the unusual sound, the horse raised his head and looked about. jack began to gather in the rope, and pawnee, following it, walked up to him and stuck out his nose. jack offered him a piece of the sugar, at which he at first sniffed rather suspiciously, and then ate and seemed to enjoy. he reached out his nose for more, but jack threw down the rope and turned away, and presently the horse walked back and began to eat the grass again. "that's all right," said hugh, "you'll see that before night he'll come quick when you blow that whistle. well, so long; i must be going;" and hugh walked away to the corral to get his horse. jack sat there most of the afternoon, and from his chair trained his horse, and it proved as hugh had said, that before supper time pawnee knew that a blast on the whistle meant that he was to be offered a lump of sugar, which he was always ready to take. jack was perfectly delighted with his success, and determined that he would keep up this education of the horse until it had been so thoroughly trained that it would seek him at the whistle wherever he might be. the interest that he felt in this lightened up the next two or three days wonderfully. each day he hopped about on his crutch a little more easily, and at last he was able to put his injured foot to the ground without much pain. he worked with pawnee down in the corral and out on the flat in front of the house, and at last he took the rope off the animal and turned it loose, letting it wander where it would, and when he found that he could call the loose horse from a distance of a quarter of a mile, and it came galloping or trotting toward him at the sound of the whistle, he felt that he had really accomplished a great feat. hugh congratulated him heartily on his success. "i had a horse once," he said, "that i trained to do this, and there was lots of times when it was mighty handy to me. most folks think that a horse is just a fool and don't know nothing; but it ain't so. a horse, if you treat it right, is a mighty knowledgeable critter, but most people don't know enough to see what there is in one, and think you can't get nothing out of it without you use a quirt, spurs, and maybe a club. of course it's a mighty nervous animal, and it's always been used to being chased, and so it is scary, but there's lots of sense to a horse if you take it right." at length jack's foot was well enough for him to ride; but his first two or three rides were close about the ranch and on old grey, which could be trusted not to make any sudden movements, and so not to oblige jack to use his lame foot, which, however, was recovering rapidly, the cold water treatment, which hugh had insisted on giving it having proved very effective. during this period of his confinement, jack had seen more of shep, the ranch dog, than he ever had before. this was a big yellow shaggy shepherd dog, very affectionate and a very good watch dog, but rather a foolish, puppy-like beast, that was not especially popular with anyone. hugh had said of him, "that dog there thinks he's a runner, and he thinks he's a fighter too, and he ain't neither one nor the other. he'll start off and chase an antelope or a jack rabbit, like he thought he was going to catch it without any trouble, but the things run off ahead of him, not a bit scared, and he just runs himself down and comes back with his tongue hanging out a yard, looking, and i expect feeling, like a fool. he ain't never caught nothing yet, and i don't expect he ever will catch anything." it was after dark one evening, when jack and hugh were sitting before the ranch door, and shep was lying at hugh's feet, that they heard a coyote howl right close to the house. the dog sprang to his feet and rushed around the corner of the house to where the sound had come from, and they could hear the patter of his feet as he raced down toward the blacksmith's shop. suddenly from the shop there came a tumult of growling, yelling and worrying, a noise as if a lot of dogs were fighting. "by george!" said hugh, "i believe that fool dog has ran into a nest of coyotes." hugh ran around the corner of the house, and toward the sounds, which still continued, and jack, grasping his crutch, half ran, half hopped, after him. in a moment he heard hugh shouting, the noise of the fighting ceased, and as jack reached the corner of the blacksmith's shop, he met hugh coming back with shep running before him. "well, now, what do you suppose i found when i got down there?" said hugh. "just inside the garden fence was this dog and six or eight coyotes on top of him, just everlastingly making the fur fly. it's mighty lucky for him that he's got so much of this long yellow hair; if he hadn't had, he'd have been eaten up before i got there. i expect he's some cut up as it is." they took shep into the kitchen, and by the light of the lamp looked over him, and found that, as hugh had said, he was bitten and cut in a dozen places. none of the wounds were very serious, but only his shaggy coat had protected him. "do you know," said hugh, after they were again seated in the bright moonlight, "i believe that was just a scheme of them coyotes to kill this dog. you took notice, didn't you, how close that one that howled was to us? i never saw a coyote come so close to the house before. i believe he just came up here to tole shep down behind the blacksmith's shop, where his partners were waiting. it was a pretty sharp trick now, wasn't it?" a few days after this, hugh and mr. sturgis looked at jack's foot and pronounced it well. it no longer pained him at all, but sometimes he thought it felt a little stiff as he walked. he now resumed his riding after the saddle horses and the milk cows, and besides this, went out almost daily with hugh or with his uncle on their excursions in one direction or another, after horses and cattle. one day, the cows that had been kept in the pasture were brought up to the corrals, in order that the calves might be branded. they were all put in one of the large corrals and then, one by one, the cows were cut out and driven through a chute into another large corral, leaving all the calves together; then the branding began. fires were built just outside the corral fence, and the branding irons put in them to heat. then, one by one the calves were roped, thrown and held down until the hot iron had been put on them. it took a long time to brand the hundred and four calves in this bunch, and by the time the work had been finished all hands were hot, tired and covered with dust. it was a relief to every one when the gates were opened and the calves and their mothers allowed to come together again. "i'll tell you what it is, son," said hugh, "working cattle and horses isn't all fun; there's a heap of hard work to it, and i believe i'm getting pretty old to do work of that kind. fact is, you see, i wasn't raised to this sort of business. we didn't have no cattle in this country till about ten or a dozen years ago. that's the reason i always said i ain't no cowman and won't never be. a man's got to be brung up to the business to do it well." chapter xxiv a berrying party one afternoon as jack was up on the side of the mountain gathering saddle horses he saw far off over the prairie a waggon and two riders coming toward the ranch. he did not know who it could be. since the horse roundup had left, no strangers had been seen. soon after he had unsaddled, the team came in sight over the hill, and at length it was near enough for him to recognise that one of the riders was a woman, and that there were two people in the waggon. a little later, the party reached the barn and proved to be mr. and mrs. powell and charley and the little girl. they had come over to visit mr. sturgis. mr. powell wanted to kill some meat, and mrs. powell said that she had determined to come with him and to ask mrs. carter if she would not go up on the mountains with her, berrying. the visitors were made welcome. while they were attending to the horses, jack said to charley, "how are the wolf puppies getting along? have they got tame yet?" "no," said charley, "i can't do nothing with them. they're just as afraid of me now as they were the day we got them; but there's something mighty queer about them. with mother and bess they're right tame; they seem to like to see them, and they take meat out of their hands, and like to have their heads patted and to be scratched. but just as soon as i get near the cage, they all huddle together on the other side of it, and if i go around to that side they run away to the other. same way with father. they seem to be afraid of a man, but they don't mind a woman a mite. two or three times i've been going to kill them all, but bess begged so hard for me to keep them that i haven't done anything. she says she reckons she can make 'em right tame, but that won't do no good if they're always scared of a man." "maybe they haven't forgotten that you and your father caught 'em," said jack. "maybe they haven't," said charley; "anyhow they're awful afraid of father and me; they're doing right well, though, growing big and sleek and handsome. they make friends with the dogs too. often i see one of the dogs with his nose close up to the bars of the pen, and the puppies all standing there smelling at him and wagging their tails. i believe some day i'll put on one of bessie's dresses and go down there and see if they won't be friendly with me. let's ask hugh what we can do to tame them." as the boys walked to the house they overtook hugh and put this question to him. "well, i don't know," said hugh. "i've seen mighty few tame wolves. fact is, i don't know that i ever saw any, but i've talked with men that claimed to have had 'em, and they all said that it wan't no use to try to tame 'em without you caught 'em when they was little bits of fellows; a good deal smaller than these were when we caught 'em. i did know one man that had a wolf that he said followed him round just like a dog, but he caught that one when it was a little mite of a thing, before it had its eyes open. you might try starving these of yours, charley; not give 'em anything to eat for three or four days, and then take some food down to 'em and make 'em take it out of your hand; that might make 'em lose that shyness, but i don't know as it would. anyhow, it's worth trying. but i expect they'd make a heap o' noise nights while you were starving 'em; might cut your sleep short a little bit." "i believe i'll try that, hugh," said charley, "when we get back. they'll be kind o' used to being fed by tom while we're away, and maybe they'll strike up some sort of a friendship with him, and that'll make it easier for me when we get back." "it does seem kind o' curious," said hugh, "that they should have taken to the gal that way." "yes, indeed," said charley; "they're just as friendly with her as can be. you ask her to tell you about how they act." the three sat down on the grass near the kitchen door, and charley called to his sister, who came out and sat down with them. "tell me about them wolf puppies of yourn, sis," said hugh; "charley says you've made 'em right tame to you, but they won't come near him. how did ye do it?" "why, i don't know, mr. hugh," said bess. "i used to go down and sit by the pen and watch them, and at first when i did that, they'd all crowd over to the opposite side and watch me, but after i'd been doing it a little while they seemed to kind o' get used to me and forget that i was there. they'd walk round and keep trying to get out, and sometimes they'd play with each other, just like puppies, and sometimes they'd get angry and get to fighting. sometimes, when charley was away, i used to take their food down to them, and at last i got into the way of handing them bits of meat in my fingers. at first they wouldn't touch it, but after a while they got so they'd take it, and they've been getting tamer ever since. i can put my hand into the cage now and pat them and there isn't one of them that will snap at me." "sho," said hugh, "you must have a mighty good way with animals." "that's so," said charley; "she has. two years ago she took a bucking colt that we had, that nobody could ride without getting all jarred up, and commenced to fool with it, and now it's her saddle horse, the one she rode when she came up to-day." "sho," said hugh; "didn't it hurt you when he bucked with you, sis?" "why, no, he never did buck. the first time i got on him he went off as quiet as could be. but i didn't try to ride him for quite a while, until after i'd made friends with him. then when he got right tame, i used to take him up to the horse block and get on it and pat him all over, and at last one day i jumped on him and sat there for a little while and then jumped off, and did this for a good many days, and then i tried riding him a little way." "see there now," said hugh, "that's what it is to understand how to treat an animal. if we had a few girls like you, bess, working the horses on these prairies, there wouldn't be so many of 'em mean to ride." before supper was ended that evening it had been agreed that all hands should spend the next day on the mountain, gathering raspberries, which grew there in great abundance. it was arranged that the women should make an early start, and with joe as driver should go up by the waggon road, while the others, on saddle horses, should ride up by the short trail. they would lunch and spend the day on the heights, returning in time for supper in the evening, with their berries. by nine o'clock next morning, those who had climbed the mountain by the trail were scattered out through the raspberry patch, hard at work filling their buckets with the delicious fruit. an hour or two later the waggon arrived, and by midday all the pails were filled. when mrs. carter and mrs. powell began to unpack their lunch, hugh said to them, "if you'll wait half an hour before calling people to eat, i'll bring you something that you haven't seen for a long time, and that maybe will help you out with your drinking, if not with your eating." he called jack and charley to follow, and taking a couple of gunny sacks in his hand, strode off through the timber. the three climbed briskly the tall rocky hill, and emerging from the forest on to the slope above, found themselves standing at the edge of a deep and narrow gorge, in the bottom of which still lay a snowdrift. "now," said hugh, "let's jump down there and fill these sacks with this snow, and take it back to the women. i know mrs. carter fetched a jug of cream along, and a lot of sugar, and if we take them back some of this clean snow, maybe she can make some ice-cream. how would that go with the berries, eh?" "first class," said both the boys. jumping down into the snow they scraped away the dusty surface and partly filled the sacks with clean white snow. then hugh shouldered the heavier of the two, and charley powell the lighter one and they made their way down the hill to the party again. when mrs. carter saw the snow she declared at once that she would give them ice-cream for their lunch, and before long all hands were enjoying the unusual luxury. toward the middle of the afternoon the party separated again, the waggon carrying the women back by the road, while the others began slowly to saddle up to return by the trail. bess was the first to mount, and set out down the mountain, closely followed by shep, the ranch dog, which seemed to have taken a great fancy to her. the others followed, but had not overtaken the little girl when suddenly they heard shep bark furiously, and bessie's voice calling eagerly, "oh, hurry, hurry! here's a bob-cat up in a tree." jack was the first to arrive on the scene, to find bess sitting on her horse, pointing up into a big pine, at the foot of which shep stood looking up in great excitement, barking angrily at a wildcat that was perched among the branches, half way up the tree. jack's first impulse was to shoot the brute, but before he did so, he had a thought, and jumping off his horse he walked up to bessie and said, "wouldn't you like to shoot it, bessie? take my gun if you would." by this time hugh and charley were there, and the latter was about to shoot at the cat with his pistol, but hugh said, "hold on, boy; let's see whether bessie don't want to kill it." bess said, "i'd like real well to shoot it, jack, if you'll let me. i don't like bob-cats. this spring, one of 'em carried off one of my setting hens, and all the little chickens died." "well," said hugh, "you better hop off and shoot it; it's liable not to stay there much longer." bessie jumped to the ground and took the rifle. jack said to her, "draw it down just as fine as you can, and try to shoot him just back of the shoulder and low down." the little girl put the gun to her shoulder as if she were used to it, and in a moment it rang out, and the wildcat, jumping far out from the branches, fell to the ground and was at once pounced on by shep. when they walked up to it, it was quite dead. "now," said jack, "we'll take him to the ranch and skin him, and you can take the hide home with you when you go." "yes," said hugh, "it'll make you a nice mat, only it's a pity the fur's so thin; it ain't begun to get good yet. two months from now it will be right thick and warm, but the winter coat hasn't hardly started yet." bess felt very proud of her shot and wanted to have the wildcat tied on behind her saddle, but charley said, "no, i'm afraid it might make that horse buck, and i don't want to get you thrown off on this side hill." finally hugh took the cat, and they went on to the ranch. when they reached the house jack and charley skinned the cat and pegged the hide out on the grass to dry. after this had been done, jack took bess and charley and showed them the calf elk, which was now quite big and had lost its summer coat and its spots. bess admired it greatly. "it isn't nearly as pretty," she said, "as the young antelope, and it carries its head in a clumsy way, but it seems strong and graceful, and isn't it tame?" "yes," said jack, "it's tame enough, and it looks nicely enough, but it's a stupid beast; it seems to have no sense, and not to care for anything except just eating. i like even my ducks better than this elk. let's go and try to find them; they wander about so that i never know just where they are; but maybe we can find them somewhere along the brook." after a good deal of searching and calling, the ducks were discovered a long distance down the brook. they were now as large as old birds, and fully feathered, and were pretty, graceful little creatures. charley declared that the small ones were teal, for he had killed some like them the fall before. "yes," said jack, "they're teal all right enough; i looked them up in my uncle will's bird book. they're what the book calls cinnamon teal. it's a kind of duck that we don't have in the east; it only lives out here in the rocky mountains and toward the pacific ocean." that night bess had a fine time telling the story of how the bob-cat had been killed. it had been started from near to the trail by the dog, which followed it so fast that it ran up a tree almost before bess saw it. then she had called to the others. as jack was going to bed that night mr. sturgis shook hands with him and said: "it was very nice of you, jack, to let the little girl shoot that bob-cat, instead of doing it yourself. i like to see a boy do a thing of that kind." chapter xxv an elk hunt at breakfast next morning, mr. powell said to hugh: "do you suppose you could take them two boys up on to the mountain and kill three or four elk? i want to talk with mr. sturgis to-day about getting some of these saddle horses of his, and i'd like to go on home to-morrow, but i want to take some meat with me. if you and the boys can kill it, i'll stay down here at the ranch while you're gone." "well," said hugh, "i don't know why the three of us can't kill what you need, as well as four, and if mr. sturgis hasn't anything else for me to do, i'll take the boys up on the hill and we'll see what we can find." mr. sturgis told them by all means to go. charley got his rifle out of the wagon, hugh and jack caught and saddled a couple of pack horses, and they were soon climbing the trail. when they had reached the plateau, they rode north for three miles until they had come to a little open park, where there was a spring and good grass. here they picketed out all the horses to feed, and set out to hunt on foot. they passed through a piece of dead timber and soon came upon signs of elk. most of the tracks were old, and they had gone some little distance before they saw anything showing that game had passed along recently. the country here became more rough and broken, and the green timber grew in scattering clumps. as each ridge was reached, a pause was made, and the ravine below carefully looked over before they showed themselves above the hill. there were great masses of red granite and scattering pines and groves of quaking aspens, which made good cover, but all this ground had to be carefully looked over, so that their advance was slow. both jack and charley had hunted enough now so that they did not talk, or, if they spoke, they did so in very low tones. after a time, hugh, who was ahead, came upon a fresh trail made by eight or ten elk, and this they followed. the animals were moving along slowly, but feeding as they moved. sometimes they would scatter out a little to nibble at the tufts of grass growing among the rocks, or to crop the tender twigs of the young aspens, but they did not loiter much. the trail was fresh and showed that it had been made within a few hours--since the sun had risen. hugh told the boys that they would have to go very slowly and carefully, for they would probably come on the game soon after noon, when it was lying down, and that this was the worst time at which to approach any game, for then it has nothing to do except to watch for the approach of its enemies. they followed the trail, hurrying where they could, but being very cautious as they went over the hills; but though the trail grew fresher, so that at one place where they crossed a little stream, the muddy water was still standing in the tracks of the elk, they saw nothing of them. they had gone down into a valley wider than most of those that they had crossed, and were approaching the little creek which flowed down through it. along the stream bed grew a narrow belt of tall pines, and beyond this was some dead standing timber with young pines growing among it only three or four feet high. as the hunters approached the belt of green timber, a stick cracked just beyond it, and, at the same moment, something was seen to move. a moment later, jack, who was a little to the right of hugh, and behind him, saw an elk, and without a second's delay, raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired, and the elk hobbled off a hundred yards and fell among some low junipers. meantime, hugh and charley had run through the belt of timber and saw half a dozen elk among the dead trees beyond. there were a cow and calf, a young bull and three heifers. at the sound of jack's gun the animals jumped here and there, apparently unable to tell where the noise had come from. [illustration: "raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired."--_page _.] hugh pitched his gun to his shoulder and fired at the bull, whose shoulder he could just see through a narrow opening between two trees. charley fired at a heifer, but did not see her fall, and then, slipping in another cartridge, he fired again at a fat cow that was dashing along through the low brush and over the down timber at a rate that would soon have carried her out of sight. the cow fell, and hugh, turning, called to the boys not to shoot again. "we've got three elk," he said, "maybe four; all the meat powell wants, and all that we can carry down the hill in one load." the boys came toward him, and they started to look over the ground to see what they had killed. the bull was dead; so were jack's heifer and the two that charley had shot at. "well," said hugh, "we've pretty near got more than we know what to do with, but i guess we can take it all down, but we'll have to pack the saddle horses. now, son, can you go back to where the horses are and bring them on, while charley and i butcher?" "yes, i'm pretty sure i can find them," replied jack. "i noticed which way we came and i don't think i'll have any trouble." "all right," said hugh, "we've got quite a job here, butchering, and i'd like to keep charley because he knows something about it; but if you think you can't find the horses, you'd better stay here and let charley go and get 'em." "no," said jack, "i'm sure i can find them, and i'll bring them." jack started; the distance was greater than he had supposed, but he had watched the country as they were following the elk trail and he had no trouble in getting back to where the horses were. he tied up the rope of one of the pack animals and fastened it to the saddle, put the reins of the two saddle horses over the saddle horns, mounted pawnee, and, leading one pack horse, started back toward his companions. the three loose animals followed very well, and he had no trouble with them, and it was not long before all five were tied up in a little park close to where hugh and charley were at work. these had butchered and cut up the elk, and had dragged the meat up to the edge of this park. before packing the horses, hugh sat down and filled his pipe. from the park where they were sitting they could see, through an opening in the trees, the broad valley where the ranch stood. the wide stretch of gray, brown and yellow was marked here and there by winding lines of vivid green, showing the courses of the little brooks; the tiny lakes, blue as the sky which they reflected, lay like gems in the sombre setting. far beyond were the white bluffs, and again to the south the brick red point of a tall mountain, running up to black pine-clad ridges. it was very still. no breeze stirred the sprays of the pines; even the leaves of the aspens hung motionless. the air was fragrant with the odour of pine and sage, and soft and smoky, like an indian summer day. it was a time for being lazy, and hugh smoked slowly, as if he wanted to make his pipe last as long as possible. at length it was smoked out, and he rose to his feet, saying, "well, i'd like to set here all day, but we've got to get this meat to camp." the heavy loads were put on the pack horses, and then, using their lariats, they slung a pair of elk hams across the saddle of each riding animal, and, on foot, started for the ranch. "i expect, son," said hugh, as they moved off, "you'd have liked to bring that bull's head along." "yes," said jack, "i thought of that. it isn't a very big one and i didn't kill it myself, but still i would like to save it." "well," said hugh, "we might have brung it if we hadn't killed so much meat, but you see these horses now are all pretty well loaded, and we've got some timber to go through, and an elk's head's a mighty unhandy thing to pack, anyhow, and it ain't a very big head, so i thought maybe we'd leave it. you'll have plenty of chances before long to get a better one." "all right," said jack; "but i want to get a big head before i start back east. i'd like to get one bigger than uncle will has back there; that always looked awful big to me, and i'd feel proud if i could kill a bigger one." "yes," said hugh, "that was a nice head. i mind when he killed it. i expect he was pretty proud of that, himself. your uncle was pretty keen to hunt when he first came out into this country, but he don't seem to care much for it now; except bear, he always likes to kill bear, and i expect he likes to kill sheep, too." "tell you what it is, jack," said charley, "we've got a mighty good head on top of the barn, over at our place, and if you don't get one that suits you before you go, if you come over, you can have that one. we don't want it, and it's a mighty good one, i tell you. three or four men that's come by the place have wanted to buy it, but father wouldn't sell it to 'em. he'd be tickled, though, if you'd take it. he thinks a whole lot of you." "thank you, charley," said jack; "maybe i'll do it, if i don't get a good head; but i want one that i've killed myself." "yes, of course," said charley; "but i mean if you don't happen to kill one." they had almost reached the park, leading to the trail, when, crossing through some dense green timber, where the ground was wet underfoot, hugh stopped and said: "come up here, son; here are some birds you never saw before." jack dropped the reins of his horse and stepped up beside hugh, who pointed out to him four or five birds, smaller than chickens, standing beneath a great pine, and two or three more perched on its lower limbs. "those," said hugh, "are what we call fool hens, they're some like blue grouse, but not near so large. they're the gentlest birds in the mountains. just walk up to them slowly, and see how close you can get to them before they move." jack approached the birds with slow, cautious steps, and not until he was within ten feet of them did they seem to notice him; then, one or two of them stretched up their necks and looked at him, ruffling up the feathers about their heads in a curious way. the birds sitting on a limb of the tree still paid no attention to him, but seemed half asleep, their necks drawn in, and their feathers puffed out. as jack advanced still nearer, two or three of the birds on the ground walked away from him, while two others sprang up into the low limbs of the pine, and stood there with necks outstretched, gazing at him. "now," said hugh, "we ain't got no time now to fool with them birds, but if we had, you could cut a stick, and put a string with a noose on the end of it, and drop it over their heads and catch one or two of 'em, maybe more. that's what gives 'em their name; they're so gentle that folks just call them fool hens." charley, who had come up, said, "i believe if i had a rock or two i could kill those fellows; but there ain't no rocks here, it's all just this muck, under foot." "oh, let 'em alone," said hugh; "we've killed meat enough for one day." "well," said mr. powell, when they reached the ranch that night, "you youngsters have done well, and i've got my meat without working for it. i expect you all had a hand in this killing." "yes," said jack, "but charley did the best of any of us; he killed two, and hugh and i only got one apiece." "yes," said hugh, "charley done well. by rights, though, we hadn't ought to have killed more than one elk apiece, but i knew you wanted meat, and there wasn't much time to talk about it when the elk jumped up. by rights i oughtn't to have shot at all, for i might have known these boys could do the killing, but i saw the bull, and i knew he'd be in good order, and so i killed him; but as soon as i saw what was down, and spoke to the boys, they stopped right off. they're good boys to hunt with; i don't want to see any better. i don't know who taught charley how to hunt, but he understands himself pretty well." the meat was hung up to cool where it would be out of the reach of the coyotes and the next morning, with a loaded waggon, mr. powell and his wife drove off toward their ranch. bess and charley stopped behind for a little while, talking with jack, who promised that if he could, he would ride over to the ranch once more before he went back east. at last the young people mounted and started. just as they did so, jack called out: "do the best you can to tame those wolf puppies, charley. i want to take one of them east with me, if i possibly can." chapter xxvi jack rides a wild horse jack had noticed that the horns of the bull elk, killed the day before by hugh, were white and polished, and that the rough part near the base seemed to be full of little fragments of bark, while at the very base, where the horns joined the head, there were bits of dried, thin skin, and marks of blood. he spoke to hugh about this, and asked if these horns were not now full grown. "yes," said hugh, "they're hard now, and the velvet has been rubbed off, and when the velvet is gone they don't grow no more. a bull carries his horns until along toward spring, say in march, and then they drop off. i expect likely your uncle has told you how these horns grow, and i mind that you killed a bull, yourself, along in the spring, when the horns hadn't much more than started." "yes," answered jack. "uncle will has told me all about how the horns grow. it would be hard to believe, if one didn't know that it was so, that these great big horns grow in just a few months." "that's what they do," said hugh, "and as soon as they are hard, and the velvet has been cleaned off them, the bulls begin to travel about and gather up their families. it's wonderful to see the way an old bull will travel over the country, hunting it just as careful as can be, to find cows, and when he gets one or two or three, he rounds 'em up and drives 'em ahead of him over the country that he's hunting. i've watched a bull all day long, travel along the foot of a range of high hills, going up every ravine and hunting it out, just about as faithful as a hunting dog would, and a few days after, i have ridden in that same range of country and found the same old bull, with a bunch of eighteen or twenty cows and calves and heifers, that he'd managed to gather up in that time." "this is the time of year when they whistle, isn't it, hugh?" said jack. "yes, for about a month now, sometimes for longer, you can hear 'em whistle to each other on the hills. i expect it's a kind of a brag; one saying, 'here i am; i'm the boss of this range,' and another, on another hill, calling out, 'here i am; i'm the boss.' i've seen it where you could hear a dozen bulls whistling at the same time. it's a mighty nice sound when you hear it a little way off, but if you're close to the bull that's calling, it sounds more like a part of the neighing of a horse, and ain't nice or pretty." "then the elk are travelling around a good deal now, are they, hugh?" "no, not right now," said hugh; "but in the course of a week they'll be travelling and whistling. just about now the bulls are in the finest kind of order, fat as beef steers, but just as soon as they begin to travel and hunt for cows, and fight, they begin to lose their fat; and along about next month, say the middle of october, they get right poor, and ain't fit to eat. you see, at this time of the year the bull has his work cut out for him; he's got to hunt up cows, keep 'em together, drive off the young bulls, and fight the old ones." "did you ever see a fight, hugh?" said jack. "plenty of 'em," was the reply. "they charge each other, head on, and push and push, as hard as you ever see two range bulls push. their horns clatter right smart when they come together, and there they stand, head to head, noses down, and just shove and shove. if both of 'em are the same size they may keep that up for an hour or two, but if one is considerable bigger than the other, he will push the little fellow back, slowly at first, but gradually faster and faster, until he gets a side push on him, and then the little fellow's got to be mighty spry, to get out of the way before the big one hits him with his horns." "it must be great to see a fight like that," said jack. "well, you'd think so; two big animals and with big horns like that, but really, it ain't much fun; they fight so slow; there's no jumping around, no quick work. i'd sooner see a pair of range bulls fight; they've got more go to 'em." "still, i'd like mighty well to see it," said jack. "well," said hugh, "maybe we'll get to see it before this month's over; we can't tell, though. there's one thing i don't want to do, and that is, to camp in among a lot of elk at this time of year; they make so much noise with their whistling, and their running around, and their splashing water (if it's near a lake or a creek), a man don't get no chance to sleep. i've seen it where i've had to get up at night and fire my rifle in the direction of the elk to see if i couldn't drive 'em away." "hugh, if i were to tell that at home, in the east, i don't think people would believe me." "well, of course," said hugh, "there's lots of things happens out in this western country that seems strange to people that live back east there. i suppose they could tell me a lot of things that happens back there that i'd find it pretty hard to swallow." later in the day, joe said to jack, "jack, you're getting to be quite a cow puncher, but there's one thing you ain't done yet; you ain't ridden a wild horse." "that's so, joe; but i'm afraid my legs are pretty short to hold on to a bucking horse." "well, yes," said joe, "they are a little short, but we've got a wild horse out here, or anyhow, a horse that ain't never been ridden, that i believe you could ride. don't you want to try it now, and surprise your uncle and the old man?" "why, of course, joe; i'd like to do that, if i thought i could stick on, but i wouldn't like to get thrown off." "well, now look here," said joe, "you know that orphan colt? he's coming three years old, and he's just as tame as tame can be. let's you and me get him into the corral and put a saddle on him, anyhow, and see what he does. i don't believe he'll be a mite afraid of the saddle, and i expect he'd carry you right off as gentle as can be. you'd feel kind of good if you could ride him up to the house and show him to your uncle and hugh, and say that you'd broke him yourself." "yes, indeed, joe, that would be fine; i'd like that, sure." "well, let's go down and try him now; he's over there in the pasture, and we can get him in and saddle him up, anyhow." they had no trouble whatever in getting the orphan into the corral. his mother had died when he was a little fellow, and he had been reared by hand. after he was in the corral they walked up to him and put a rope about his neck, and led him back and forth. then joe got jack's saddle and bridle, and both were put on the colt without any trouble. he stood perfectly still, but, as the cinch was being drawn tight, he turned his head and looked back at himself, as if he wondered what in the world they were trying to do with him. after the saddle had been put on, he was led up and down, and although he walked awkwardly, he still made no signs of giving trouble. "now," said joe, "i know he ain't going to do anything. if you like, i'll get on him and ride him round a little bit, myself, just to see how he acts, but of course if i do that then you can't say you were the first man to mount him." "no," said jack, "he seems quiet; i'll get on him, myself; but let's take him out of the corral and on to the grass, where it will be softer if he throws me." "all right," said joe; and they led the colt to the gate and out on to the smooth, level flat, where the sod was soft and springy. "now," said joe, "you can mount here, if you want to, or maybe i'd better run him about a little, so that he can feel the string and stirrups flapping against his sides, and get used to 'em." joe ran a quarter of a mile down the valley, leading the horse, which galloped after him quietly enough, except that now and then, when one of the stirrups knocked hard against his side, he pranced and sheered off to one side. when joe reached jack again, he said: "he's as awkward as can be, and don't know nothing. of course, he may throw you, or he may fall with you, but i don't believe he will. you better try him anyhow. get on, and i'll try and keep along with you. just start in slowly at first." jack mounted, and the horse stood perfectly still. he kept on standing still, for when jack lifted the bridle and clucked to him, and stuck his heels into his ribs, the colt, not knowing what these signs meant, did not move. "hold on," said joe, "i'll hit him behind with the rope; maybe that'll start him." he did so, and the horse took a jump or two forward, and then again stood fast. "i'll tell you what we've got to do," said joe; "i'll have to lead him for a while." "that'll be a queer sort of horse-breaking," said jack; "me sitting on the horse and you leading him around." "never you mind," said joe; "it ain't breaking this horse needs, it's education, but he needs that a whole lot." he put the rope around the horse's neck, and when jack again lifted his bridle rein, and dug his heels into the animal's ribs, joe pulled on the rope, and the colt started. this was repeated a good many times, and at last the orphan seemed to realize something of what was wanted of him, and jack found that he could ride him about the flat at a walk, without difficulty. by this time he was feeling quite at home on the colt's back, and wanted to go faster, and once, when the horse was walking, he said: "now, joe, i'm going to try to start him into a lope, so when i stick my heels into his side, you hit him with the rope." joe did so, and the colt started off at a clumsy gallop, but as he was not in the least bridle wise, jack could not guide him, and in a moment he stepped with his right forefoot into a little washout and awkwardly enough fell over onto his right side, and lay there. his fall was so slow that if jack had been a practiced horseman he could readily have sprung off, alighting on his feet, but he was not quick enough, and the horse fell upon the boy's right leg. happily the ground was soft, and the large wooden stirrup kept the horse's body from pressing heavily on the confined leg. joe was beside jack in a moment, asking him if he were hurt, to which jack replied: "not a bit." "can you get your leg out? is the horse lying on it?" said joe. "well," said jack, "he's lying on it a little, but i think maybe i can work it out." "don't try for a minute," said joe, "wait till i lift on the horn of the saddle." he took the horn in both hands, and lifting on it, raised the horse's body slowly, and jack drew out his leg and stood up. joe kicked the horse angrily, saying: "get up, you fool brute," and the orphan rose to his feet. "i'm mighty sorry he fell with you," said joe, "but i'm mighty glad he didn't hurt you. now, you wait here a moment until i go and get a quirt, and i'll get on that horse and teach him how to move." "you go and get the quirt," said jack, "and i'll get on the horse, and i think i can make him move. all he needs, i guess, is to be made to understand what is wanted of him." with the quirt in his right hand, jack mounted again, and again put the horse into a gallop, watching the ground ahead of him, and doing his best to guide him where it was smooth. in a half or three quarters of an hour the orphan had greatly improved in his method of travelling, and really seemed to understand what it was to carry a rider. a little later mr. sturgis and hugh came riding over the hills, and when they reached the flat, jack rode up to them on the orphan, and said to his uncle: "you don't want to hire anybody to bust broncos for you, do you, mr. sturgis?" "why, jack, what are you doing on the orphan? i didn't know that he'd ever had a saddle on him." "he never did until this afternoon," said joe, "but this new cowboy of ours thought he'd make a good saddle horse, and he's been riding him. he stayed with him good, you bet. the horse throwed himself once, but that didn't make a mite of difference to jack, he just made the horse get up, and got on him, and put the quirt on to him, and rode him all over the flat." "well, my boy," said mr. sturgis, "i'm glad you had the pluck to try this fellow, and if he makes a good horse, i think we'll have to give him to you." "thank you, uncle will," said jack, "that will be pretty fine to have a horse that's really my own." they were still talking, when suddenly hugh said, "by george! there's old john coming back," and looking toward the hill, they saw a rider, followed by two pack horses, coming down toward the ranch. it was john monroe. he had left his daughter's home more than a week before, and was now on his way back to the north. all at the ranch were glad to see him, and he, on his part, seemed delighted to meet them all again. he unpacked his horses at the bunk house, and turned them all loose, as if he expected to stay here for some time. that evening jack questioned him about the distance that he would have to travel before he reached his home. john said he didn't know how many miles it was, but he thought it would take him about twenty-five days' travel to reach the piegan camp. just where this camp would be he could not tell, but it would not be difficult to find, after he had come to the country in which the tribe ranged. he said that perhaps it might take longer if the weather should be bad, or if enemies should be met with who might try to take his horses, or even to kill him, but neither of these things was likely to happen. the season of the year promised good weather, and enemies could surely be avoided by watchfulness and care. hugh and john had much to say to each other about the doings of the old days, and the more jack heard of their talk, the more eager he became to see something of this strange life, which seemed to him so much more wild, and so much more natural than even the life on the ranch. john monroe stayed at the ranch for ten days, before continuing his journey toward his northern home. before he left he invited hugh and jack to come north the next summer and visit the piegan tribe. he told jack much about the summer life of these indians, and assured him that if he would visit them he would be made welcome, not only by him, but by the whole tribe, and that, if he travelled about with them in their journeys after the buffalo, on which they subsisted, he would see a great deal that would be new and strange to him that he would enjoy. jack was, of course, crazy to go. he even wanted to start now and spend the winter with the tribe, but mr. sturgis very positively vetoed any such proposition, although he said he thought it would be very good for jack to make the trip next summer, if he could get away from the east for the length of time required for the trip. so when the time came for john's departure, they shook hands in the hope of meeting again another season. chapter xxvii a mysterious cave "son, these blue grouse are getting to be a pretty good size now; why don't you take your rifle, or maybe your uncle's shot gun, and go out and try and get a mess this morning?" said hugh to jack. they were down at the barn saddling up. hugh was going into town to get the mail, and jack was at a loss what to do with himself during the two days of hugh's absence. "where had i better go, hugh? up on the mountain?" said jack. "no," said hugh, "you'll find the old hens and their broods along the little creeks, right close up to the mountain, but not high up on it. i wouldn't be a mite surprised if you could get quite a few birds right up on the heads of the creeks that run down through the pasture. but say; there's one thing you want to remember; if you take your rifle with you, only heads counts." "what do you mean by that, hugh?" said jack. "why," said hugh, "if you shoot with your rifle at one of them little birds, and hit it in the body, there ain't nothing left except a few feathers. you'll spoil all the meat. so i want you to shoot the heads off all the birds you see; don't aim at the bodies at all. fire at the heads, or, if they have got their necks stretched up, aim at the neck, just below the head. you needn't be afraid that you'll lose many shots that way. young birds are right gentle, and they'll let you fire half a dozen shots at 'em, and won't move without they're hit. of course it would be better if you had one of them little pea rifles, that don't make no noise and shoot a mighty small ball, but your gun will do, and it's pretty good practice shooting the heads off grouse; you get to learn just when to pull your gun off. you have to get up pretty close to the birds, but they'll let you do that. draw your sight down right fine, and aim at the neck, just under the head. you'll get so after a little that you can knock 'em every time." hugh finished saddling, rode up to the house, tied his bundle of mail behind his saddle and trotted off over the hills; while jack filled his belt with cartridges, and then, mounting pawnee, rode off toward the mountain. before long he passed down into the valley of a little brook, and followed it up, looking among the willows and along the hillside, to see if he could discover any birds. he had not gone far before he noticed above him, on the hillside, some small moving objects, which he soon made out to be young sage grouse. these were not just what he was after, but he thought they would do to practice on, and dismounting and throwing down his horse's rein, he walked toward them. in the brood there were eight or ten birds, about as large as hens, all keeping quite close together, and following their much larger mother. they paid no attention to him, and he walked up to within fifteen or twenty yards, and stood watching them, before beginning to shoot. they made their way slowly along the hillside, feeding as they went. now and then one of them would run wildly about, chasing a grasshopper here and there, and at length capturing it, and sometimes two or three followed the same insect. as they walked along, they kept calling to each other with faint peeping cries, and if one got off a little to one side of the group, he soon turned and ran back to it. it was rather pleasant to watch them, but jack had come out to kill some birds, and, putting a cartridge into his gun, he made ready to shoot. at first they did not stand still long enough for him to catch sight on one, but he walked along slowly after them, and presently one of the grouse stretched up his neck and stood looking. jack fired at it, and the bird fell to the ground, while all the others stretched their necks to their fullest lengths, and looked about to see what had made the noise. before he could reload and fire again, they had resumed their feeding and moved on. before long, however, he had another shot, but this time he missed. again the birds looked about, and again started on. at his third shot the bird fired at, instead of dropping at once, made a great fluttering, and immediately the whole brood took wing and flew off over the ridge and were not seen again. jack's first shot had been a capital one, cutting the bird's neck just below the head. his third shot had been too low, and had not killed the bird at once, and its fluttering and flouncing over the ground had frightened the others. he tied the two grouse to his saddle and went on along the mountain side. nothing was seen on the next two streams that he crossed, but as he looked down into the valley of the third, he saw, quite a long way off, something that at once arrested his attention. down in the flat was a coyote, jumping and prancing about, as if in great excitement, and quite close to it, sometimes standing still, and again running toward the coyote, which retreated, was a badger. for two or three minutes jack sat there watching them, wondering what they could be doing, but the strange game--if it was a game--was kept up. he determined that he would get off and watch; so leaving his horse behind the hill, he crept up to its crest and lay there, to try to discover what the animals were doing. sometimes the coyote ran very fast, almost up to the badger, which, in turn, ran toward the coyote, which then retreated, and when the badger had stopped his advance, the coyote lay down, rested his head on his paws, waved his tail from side to side, and sometimes rolled over. the badger then started to walk off, but before he had gone far the coyote got on his legs again and recommenced his play. this continued for quite a long time, during which the animals worked further and further away from jack. the badger seemed to be trying to cross the valley and go up onto the next hillside, and the coyote seemed to be teasing him. it was rather a mysterious performance to jack, and he determined that he would ask hugh whether he had ever seen anything like it, and what it meant. when the two animals had got so far from him that he could no longer see them distinctly, he went back to his horse, mounted and rode on. as soon as the coyote saw him, he left the badger and ran up on the hill, where he watched jack for a few moments, and then went off, while the badger trotted briskly along up on the hillside, and presently disappeared in a hole. in a ravine not far beyond this jack found his first brood of blue grouse. the birds were half grown, and he rode in among them before seeing them. they flew up the ravine, but he saw where some of them alighted, and, riding on until he was near the spot, he dismounted again. he walked along very cautiously, looking everywhere on the ground for the birds, but before he saw them, two rose, with a great fluttering of wings, almost beneath his feet, and flew on further up the ravine. he had been looking so carefully for these birds that he felt sure that they must be hiding, and not walking along, for if they had been moving he would certainly have seen them. a few steps further on, his eye suddenly caught a brown shape on the grey ground, which in an instant he saw was a grouse, crouching flat on the soil, its head and tail pressed against it, and its bright brown eye closely watching him. he slowly raised his rifle to his shoulder, and firing very carefully, cut off its head. a little further on, two that he had not seen flew, and then he saw another in the ground, but it flew before he had time to shoot. then he saw another and raising his rifle just as he saw its shape, he pulled the trigger the instant his eye fell full upon it. it occurred to him now that the birds were watching him all the time, and that as soon as they caught his eye they realised that they were seen, and flew away. in this, jack was quite right, for often one's face may be turned full toward a hiding bird, and one may all look around it without its moving, but if he looks fairly at its eye, the bird is almost sure to flush. before long he had four of the young blue grouse, and going back to his horse, he mounted again. by this time the morning was pretty well gone, and he hesitated whether to go home for dinner, or to spend the afternoon here beneath the cliffs. finally he determined to ride up the ravine a little further, on the chance of seeing more of this scattered brood, and then, if he did not find any, to go home. following up the valley a short distance, a grouse rose under pawnee's feet, and flew up the hillside, alighting among some low pines that grew at the very base of the cliff. jack thought the bird might have gone into a tree, and clambered up on the chance of getting a shot. when he reached the pines he could not find the bird, and after looking for it a little while, he sat down to rest, and to watch some little striped squirrels that were playing among the rocks just above him. while he sat watching the squirrels, he suddenly heard a rushing sound, so close to his ear that he dodged, and a great hawk, with long tail and sharp pointed wings, darted over one of the squirrels, and in an instant rose in the air with the tiny creature in its talons. it had happened so quickly that jack hardly realised the squirrel's capture until he saw the hawk rise, and with a few strong strokes of its wings, swing up and alight on a shelf of the cliff, above the tops of the tall pines that grew on the hillside. here the blue rock was stained white, and jack made up his mind that the hawk had a nest there. he determined to climb up and see if he could not get to it, and learn what was in it. there might be young birds, and these would make capital pets if they could be tamed. it seemed a long way up to where the hawk sat, and the cliff looked sheer as a wall, but here and there were crevices and places where the water had worn away the rock, and he thought that perhaps he could get up to the nest. the climb to the base of the cliff was long and slow. when he reached it he saw that it would be impossible to get far up if he carried his gun with him, so he left it here, resting against a rock, and clambered up toward the nest for thirty or forty feet, and then he reached a place where he could get no further. but a little below, he had passed a narrow shelf, running out to one side, and going down to this, he made his way very carefully under the cliff to a crevice, up which he worked a short distance, and then this ran out and ended in a bare, smooth wall. he would have to give it up: the nest could not be reached. he thought it would be shorter and easier to follow the crevice down to the steep hillside at the foot of the cliff, instead of going back along the shelf, as he had come. going down was easy, until he had almost reached the foot of the wall, and could see, five or six feet below him, ground on which he could walk. here the crevice ended. it was rather a long jump down to the ground, and that sloped off so sharply that he did not feel sure that if he jumped he could stop himself. he turned around, therefore, and let himself down backward, feeling with his toes for some little knob of rock on which to rest his feet, but, as he let himself down the rock all seemed smooth, and he could find no foothold. he was now clinging by the ends of his fingers to the rock above, too far down to draw himself up again, and yet with his feet a foot or more above the ground. there was nothing for it but to let himself go, and he dropped. the slope which his feet struck was too steep for a foothold. he fell over backward, and rolled thirty or forty feet down the slope, bringing up in a clump of bushes. jack was a little shaken and bruised by his roll, but not hurt. he picked himself up and looked back at the way he had come, and congratulated himself that it had been no worse. he started to climb up the slope again to get his gun, but first it was necessary that he should get out of the brush into which he had rolled. to his right there seemed a place where the bushes were thinner than those over which he had passed on his way down, and he turned in this direction to make the ascent. he had gone only a few steps when he stopped, for there before him was a great dark hole in the side of the hill. it was shaped almost like a door, high, and not very wide, and within all seemed black. grass and bushes grew up in the entrance, and there was no sign that anything ever passed in or out. this hole looked rather mysterious to jack, and he wondered what there could be in it. he walked up to it and looked as hard as he could into the blackness, but he could see nothing. he wanted very much to go in, yet it was useless to do so unless he could see something when he got there. "if i only had a lantern now," thought jack, "or even a candle, i could go in and see what is there. i'll bet no one at the ranch knows of this cave, and i'd like to find out all about it and tell them. that would be a good story to take back." he thought for awhile, and decided that he must make a torch; but what could he make it of? for a little while he could think of nothing to use. he remembered that in the books that he had read, people had always had birch bark for torches, or fat with which to make candles, but he had neither. then he thought of pine torches of which he had read. there were plenty of pines growing here on the mountain, but nothing that he could make a torch of. suddenly he remembered that dried pine needles burn brightly, though only for a little while, and that on the ground not far from here he had seen a half dozen pine limbs, twisted off from one of the trees in some heavy wind storm. he thought if he could tie a good many bunches of these needles together, they would make a torch for him. he crept out of the underbrush and saw near by several of these pine limbs, with the dried red needles on them, and he picked a number of the bunches. now he needed some string. "if i only had pawnee here," he thought, "i could take the strings from my saddle;" but pawnee was feeding far below him in the valley. as he cast his eye about him, in perplexity, he saw a yucca plant growing on the slope, and he remembered what hugh had told him about using the fibre of this plant for thread. he climbed up to it, cut off a number of the long bayonet-shaped leaves, selected a straight dead stick, and went back to his pile of pine needles. splitting the tough leaves of the yucca, he found that they could be used as strings, and with these strings he bound his bunches of pine needles, one beneath the other, to the stick, and soon had what he thought might perhaps serve him as a torch. going back to the mouth of the cave, he again looked into it, and listened, but all was darkness and silence. he parted the low growing bushes at the entrance, and stepped in, and then, lighting a match, touched it to the top of his torch. the bunch of pine needles flared up for two or three seconds, and then went out, but the light was enough to show that for six or eight feet further in there was a smooth floor to the cave, paved with small stones. the walls above and on either side seemed high. a second match, touched to another bunch of pine needles, gave another flame, lasting only an instant. plainly, the torch would not burn from the top downward. the only thing to do was to light it below, and let the flames run up the stick. jack lighted another match, took two or three steps forward, and then touched the torch at its lower part. the pine needles flared up, the flame caught the next bunch above, and then the next. jack could see on the ground before him some feathers, a half dozen slender sticks, and, far back, raised above the floor of the cave, was a pale, dim thing. there was a whirring sound, something struck his hat, something else struck the torch, he dropped it, and it went out. chapter xxviii what the cave held there was something alive in the cave, and jack did not wait to see what it was. with two or three long jumps he passed out of the entrance and stood again among the underbrush, through which the bright sun was sending down its long sheaves of light. nothing more happened, and as he looked back into the cave it was all quiet there. he was breathing fast, startled and excited, yet not exactly frightened, and when he reached the open air and had recovered from his start, he felt curious to know what had made the strange noise and what had hit him. it did not seem that it could be anything very terrible, for if it had been, it would have struck him harder and made more noise. he looked back into the cave, but the darkness gave no answer to the question in his mind. he could see two or three tiny sparks faintly glowing, which went out one by one as he watched them. this was the remains of his torch. he wondered what that dim pale shape could be, that he had seen for an instant, but too indistinctly to tell what it was. though he was anxious to know more about the cave, he did not feel like venturing into it again without a light, and he determined to go home and tell his uncle, and, in a day or two to return, better prepared for the investigation. his mind was so full of what he had seen that he started down the hill toward his horse, altogether forgetting his gun, and when he remembered it, he had a long climb back to recover it. it was the middle of the afternoon before he reached the house, and there was no one about to whom he could talk of his adventure except mrs. carter. to her he told his story, but she could throw no light on the matter, nor, indeed, could his uncle when he consulted him at supper. "why, jack," said he; "that is very interesting, and you were lucky to find such a place. it was pretty keen of you too, to think of making the torch as you did. i fancy it would have served you better though, if you had put some wads of grass with your pine needles. it would have burned more slowly and steadily, and would have given you a pretty fair light. i do not wonder that you wanted to get out of the cave when you heard that noise and were hit. were you much scared?" "yes, i guess i was, uncle will. my heart was beating hard when i got out, but the light seemed to cool me down right off. that's queer, isn't it?" "oh, i don't know," said his uncle; "it seems to me very natural. wait till hugh gets back, jack, and then we three will go up on the hill, with plenty of lights, and will see what there is in the cave, and where it goes to." with this, jack was forced to be content. during the next two days jack thought a great deal about the cave, and on the evening of the second day, when hugh returned from town, jack met him at the barn, and while he was unsaddling, poured into his ear the tale of his discovery. hugh seemed much impressed, but ventured no opinion, though he asked a number of questions. "what did the thing feel like that hit you on the head, son?" said he. "why, it was something soft, and not very big. it just hit my hat a light blow, not much more than enough to dent it in, i should think, but there was the queerest noise at the same time that i ever heard. i don't know how to describe it. it was like something moving quickly through the air. just the faintest sound you can think of, but it seemed close to my ear." "well," said hugh, "i reckon you're a great hand to have things happen to you. now ain't it a queer thing that you should just about roll into this place, and me live about here all these years and never know that it was there. you done well to make the light you did, and to go in like you did. it kind o' makes a man go slow to see everything black ahead of him. we'll know to-morrow what there is there, unless your uncle wants me to do something else." "no," said jack, "i'm sure he don't, for he said that we'd all three go up there together and find out what there is in the cave." "all right," said hugh, "that will suit me first class. i expect when we get there maybe we won't find anything very strange, and then again, maybe we will. caves ain't very common in this country, but i've seen a good many of 'em; some of 'em where the indians have been in, and drawed all kinds of pictures on the walls. and then away south-west of here, up in the mountains, there's lots of caves that the indians used to live in. some of 'em are away high up on the cliffs, right hard places to get to, but those indians lived there, and you can see their bed places, and where they have had their fires, and sometimes you'll find the pots that they used to cook in, and everywhere, all about, there's lots of pieces of broken pots. but all that was a long time ago. i expect the indians that lived down on the prairie, at the foot of these cliffs, were likely hostile, and the fellows that had their houses up in the caves lived there so's to get away from them that was down on the plains. i reckon you've heard tell of the pueblo people that live down there yet. they live in regular houses, built of 'dobes. some of them houses are like three or four built on top of each other, and they haven't got a door nor a window on the outside. they climb up into 'em by ladders, that they haul up after 'em, and then they're just like they was in a fort. i expect they got to building them houses because people were hazing them, and they had to have protection, nights." after breakfast next morning the three started for the cave, carrying two lanterns and some candles. when they came to the place where jack had seen the badger and the coyote, he told hugh about it, and asked him what sort of a game these two animals were playing. mr. sturgis laughed when the question was asked, and hugh smiled, too. "son," he said, "your uncle, here, asked me that same question about six years ago, when he first saw a badger and a coyote acting that way. i have seen it a heap of times, and i'll tell you what i believe it means. you know, in these days, since there ain't no buffalo, any more, the coyotes are pretty nearly always hungry. i believe that a coyote sometimes, when he finds a badger out on the prairie, just keeps a-bothering him and a-bothering him until he gets the badger right mad, and gets him so he wants to fight. you know, a badger ain't a very good-tempered animal, nohow. well, after the coyote has pestered him a while, the badger gets so cross that he just wants to get hold of that coyote, and the coyote keeps pretty close to him, and the badger keeps following him, and so the coyote leads him along, until presently maybe he runs across two or three other coyotes, and then they all pitch into the badger and kill him, and eat him." "that seems mighty queer, hugh," said jack. "i didn't suppose a coyote knew enough to make a plan like that." "well, of course," said hugh, "i don't know that it is so; no coyote ever told me that it was, but i've seen them acting that way often, and i can't think of no other meaning to it except that. but a coyote is smart enough to do that, or most anything else. it may be that the coyote just enjoys teasing the badger, and making him fighting mad, but if that was so, i wouldn't look to see the thing happen as often as it does. a coyote's got a heap of meanness in him, though; i've seen a couple of 'em spend an hour or two just bothering a big wolf, and i'm certain they did that just for the fun of it. the wolf was crossing a big sheet of ice, where a creek had overflowed, and it was pretty slippery, and he could not handle himself very well, nor turn quick. one of the coyotes would run pretty close in front of him, and the wolf would make a grab at him, and while he was doing that, the other coyote would run up behind him and nip him. why, them two little rascals had a heap of fun with that big wolf before he got off the ice and on to the bare ground, where he had a good footing." before long they reached the place where jack told them they must leave their horses, and then they started up the hill. hugh said, "we'd better all take our ropes with us; we don't know but what we might need 'em when we get up there." they clambered up the steep ascent, jack in advance, and feeling quite important at the thought that he was now acting as guide for hugh and his uncle. once, when they stopped to rest, he pointed out where the hawk's nest was, and showed them where he had rolled down the hill and into the bushes. "it's a wonder you didn't break your neck," said his uncle. "well," said hugh, "it would be a wonder if we didn't know that boys are all the time getting into scrapes, where a grown man would be killed, and the boys come out of it without even getting scratched up." as he said this he looked hard at jack, who thought he must be referring to his scrape with the mountain lion. it was not long before they were all standing in the brush, at the entrance to the cave. "well," said mr. sturgis, as he peered into the opening, "it's black enough in there, certainly." "dark as a wolf's mouth," said hugh. they lighted the two lanterns, and giving jack a candle, they prepared to go in. "do you want to lead the way, jack?" said his uncle, "or shall one of us go first?" "no," said jack, "i'd like to be first to go in. you know, i feel as if this cave belonged to me." "that's right, son," said hugh; "you're the leader of this party. go right in, and we'll follow you. only i don't want you to go too fast, or too far ahead. i've seen these caves sometimes where there's a big drop off in the bottom, and i'd hate almightily to be following you and see you fall off into a big hole. you go ahead, but go mighty slow, and we'll be right close behind you. you two might leave your guns out here, i don't reckon there's nothing to hurt anybody inside. i don't see no signs where anybody has been in this cave this season, except where son walked the other day." mr. sturgis and jack left their guns here, but hugh retained his. then the three went into the cave, jack a little in advance. they had made only two or three steps into it when jack again heard the queer whirring noise, and saw hugh suddenly strike at something with his hand, and then heard a faint, squeaking cry, and a sound as of something soft striking the ground. "there's what hit you," said hugh. "oh, what is it?" said jack. "bats," said hugh. "i suspicioned it was them, from what you said, but i wan't certain. they can't do no harm, but look here!" and hugh stooped and picked up two or three feathers, and one of the slender sticks that jack had noticed the day before, and said: "this has been a sacred place for the indians. see these presents? these are eagle feathers, and here are a lot of arrows that have been given, maybe, to the sun." "but those look pretty old, hugh," said mr. sturgis. "yes," was the reply, "these were left here a long time ago. don't ye see they've got stone points? this here arrow looks like a cheyenne arrow, but it's old." "there, uncle will!" said jack, interrupting, "there's that white thing. let's see what that is." they moved forward a little, very slowly, and in a moment saw that the cave was a small one, not more than forty feet long. on a bed of stones, raised above the floor lay a whitish bundle, about three feet long and two wide, tied up with leather thongs. "ha!" said hugh. "what is it, hugh?" said jack. "why don't you see?" said hugh. "this here cave is a grave and that's the body of a person that was buried here." "it must have been a little bit of a child, then," said jack. "not so," hugh answered, "that's a grown person, either a man or a woman. that's the way they tie 'em up in bundles when they bury 'em. i expect that indian was put here a long time ago." hugh put down his lantern, bent forward and took hold of the bundle by either end, and lifted it from the ground. it seemed to weigh very little, and as he replaced it on its bed of stones, he repeated, "a long time ago. why, that bundle don't weigh nothing. there can't be nothing in it except just the very driest kind of bones, and that hide that it's wrapped in is just like paper; when i lifted it, my fingers went right through it." jack stared at the bundle, wondering how long it had been here, who it had been, and thinking of the life that it had led so long ago. meantime, the other two had turned aside and were looking about the cave, which was only ten or twelve feet wide. hugh picked up an earthenware pot, which stood at one end of the bed of stones, and calling jack, showed it to him. by the light of the lantern it seemed to be dark red and grey, and it had once held something, as its sides and bottom, within, were dark with crusted dust. "i expect when they buried this fellow," said hugh, "they left some grub for him to eat, in this pot." near the pot, but resting on the floor of the cave, was a small sack made of what seemed like leather. this, when jack felt of it, seemed heavy. the covering was hard and dry. on the walls at either side of the cave were scratched in the rock, rude figures of men, a great circle with lines starting out from it, which hugh said meant the sun, and a rude figure of a bird with a great hooked beak--the thunder bird. after they had satisfied their curiosity, mr. sturgis and hugh turned to go, but jack lingered behind. "oh, hugh," he called, "can't we take this bundle with us? i'm sure it would be a greater curiosity, back east, than the mummies from egypt that i have seen in the museum there." "well now, son," said hugh, "i don't reckon i'd bother that fellow, if i was you. fetch the pot and that little sack along with you, if you want 'em, and then come out here in the sunshine, and we'll talk about it." they sat down by the mouth of the cave, and hugh and mr. sturgis filled their pipes. "now, look here, son," said hugh, "how would you like it if some day some fellow was to come along to the place where your great-great-grandfather had been buried, and should talk about carrying off his bones for a curiosity?" "well," said jack, "i don't suppose i'd like it very much." "i don't expect you would," said hugh, "and the indians feel the same way about their dead grandfathers that you might feel about yours. you don't want that bundle in there for anything except because it's a curiosity, and if i was you, i wouldn't bother it. it can't do no one any harm for you to take these other things; they're real curiosities, because they're the old-time things the indians used to make and use; but i wouldn't bother them bones. let's see what you've got." they opened the sack carefully, but the covering of hide tore to pieces as they tried to unwrap it. hugh spread out his coat, so that nothing might be lost and all bent eagerly forward to see what the relics might be. the largest thing was a great pipe made of black carved stone; then there were eight arrow heads of black, white and brown flint, finely worked, and one smaller piece of flint, shaped a little like an arrow head, but which hugh said was used in painting skins. when they were all unwrapped, hugh said: "there, son, you've sure got some real old relics, now. i don't know as i ever see a nicer lot of arrow points, and i'm sure i never see a pipe like that. them things is mighty old. i wouldn't be a mite surprised if that fellow died before america was discovered." jack was delighted with the find. he still felt that he would like to have the bundle, and, above all, would like to know what there was inside of it, but he made up his mind that it was better to do as hugh had said. after they had reached their horses, he wrapped the pot carefully up in his coat and tied it to the horn of his saddle, and all the way home he rode with his hand on it, so that it should not be jarred and broken. when they reached home he spread his trophies out on the kitchen table to show to mrs. carter, and said to her, "won't these make a great show in my room in new york?" chapter xxix swiftfoot in new york at last the time approached when mr. sturgis and jack were to leave the ranch and take their departure for the distant east. the weather had long been growing cooler, and was now cold. the leaves of the aspens had turned yellow, and one by one had loosed their holds upon the trees, and twirled slowly toward the ground. the bull elk had ceased whistling. the deer had taken on their winter coats. the lake was frozen, and the migrating ducks and geese had gone. snow storms were more frequent, and often the ground was white for days at a time, until some interval of mild weather melted the snow again. one day, some weeks after the powells' last visit, charley had driven over in the waggon and brought jack a wolf puppy, now large and well grown. it was a great grey animal, heavily coated, sleek, smooth, and in good condition, with a long, pointed head, which looked a little like that of a collie dog. though perfectly tame with charley, the wolf was shy of strangers, and at first, when approached by jack or any of the men at the ranch, seemed timid, and shrank for protection behind young powell. charley had foreseen this, and had arranged to spend two or three days at the ranch, in order that the wolf might learn to know his master. "if i leave him here strange to you, you see," he said, "he'll either leave you when i go away, and come back to the ranch, or else he'll run away and become wild, and i don't want to turn no wolves loose on this range. i tried what hugh told me to with the pups, and now they're all tame as the dogs." while charley stayed, jack devoted his whole time to making friends with the wolf, and everybody at the ranch was as kind to it as possible. after a day or two hugh and jack succeeded in overcoming the wolf's suspicions, and had no difficulty in calling it to them and in putting their hands on it. it did not like to be held, and, at first, if firmly grasped, would struggle and snap, in its effort to escape, but the biting seemed to be more a threat than an effort to really bite, and it soon learned that no harm was intended to it. after the wolf had come to be no longer afraid of jack, charley neglected it, paying it no attention, while jack fed it, petted it, and played with it. he was surprised to find how much like a young dog it was, how readily it responded to his advances, and how precisely it resembled a dog in the way it showed pleasure, fear, or suspicion. hugh made for the wolf a collar of raw-hide, to which, at first, it objected, trying hard to rub it off against the ground, and to push it from its neck with its paws, but after a little it became accustomed to this. two or three times jack and charley ventured to ride out over the prairie with the wolf following them. their rides, though short, were often fast, yet the wolf never seemed to have any trouble in keeping up with the horses, and sometimes when they were galloping quite fast it would trot along by the side of one of them without seeming at all hurried. from this, jack called him swiftfoot. when it came time for charley to go, he and jack parted with not a little sadness on both sides. they had grown fond of each other during the summer, and both regretted jack's coming absence. charley looked back a good many times before the waggon disappeared over the hill, and jack, who stood at the ranch door, holding swiftfoot by his collar, did not turn away until his friend had quite disappeared from view. the wolf, too, seemed uneasy at the parting, and puzzled as well. he looked at the waggon, and then at jack, and wagged his tail, and once or twice struggled to get away, as if he wished to follow charley, but he soon forgot his doubts, and later in the day took great delight in a game of ball with jack out on the flat. a few days later, mr. sturgis and jack left the ranch for the railroad. again hugh drove them in, and with the same team of horses that had taken them out six months before. swiftfoot was placed in a wooden cage, immediately behind the seat of the waggon, where he would be close to jack, who petted and talked to him until he had become a little used to his strange surroundings and to the motion of the waggon. when the railroad station was reached, quite a crowd gathered on the platform to inspect swiftfoot, but before long the train pulled in, and the crate holding the wolf was put in the baggage car. the train had scarcely started before jack, who was anxious about his pet, proposed to his uncle that they should go forward and see how the wolf was getting along, and they did so. the baggage master seemed very glad to see them. he said to mr. sturgis, as soon as he entered the car: "see here, partner, i don't like that crate you put aboard here. 'pears to me it's mighty flimsy, and if that animal in there takes a notion to break out, he might eat me up. i'm afraid of him." "oh," said mr. sturgis, "he can't get out, and if he could, he wouldn't hurt you. look over there," and he pointed to jack, who was sitting on the crate, talking to swiftfoot, who had his nose through the bars, licking jack's hand, and was beating a rapid tattoo on the sides of the crate with his wagging tail. "oh, uncle will!" called jack, "can't i let him out? he's awful frightened in here, and i think if he had a chance to run up and down the car a few times, and to make friends with the baggage master, he wouldn't mind it so much." "hold on! hold on, young fellow!" said the baggage-master, "i don't want to make friends with him. you keep him behind them bars, and we'll be just as good friends as i want to be." "oh, i wish you'd let me take him out, just so that he can smell around. i'll put a rope on him, and won't let him get away. come up here and pat him, and see how friendly he is. he was awful scared, though, when i first came in. he was all crouched up in one corner of the box, and his eyes were shining fearfully. he looked savage." "why," said the baggage master, who seemed to be recovering his nerves, "he does seem gentle, don't he?" "yes," said mr. sturgis, "he's perfectly tame. we've had him around the ranch there for a long time, but i presume he's frightened at all the noise and the motion. i really think if you would let the boy take him out and show him the inside of the car, and would try to make friends with him yourself, you'd get to like him. i'll make it worth your while if you do." the man went up to the cage, and, after a little persuasion by jack, patted the head of the wolf, which seemed grateful for attention and sympathy from anyone. then he consented that the crate should be opened and the wolf led about the car by jack, but while this was being done, he took his seat on top of a tall pile of trunks which reached nearly to the roof. before long, however, he came down from there and was petting the wolf, seeming almost as much interested in him as his owner, and when at length jack put swiftfoot again in his crate, the wolf, although howling after him, no longer seemed terrified, as at first. jack made frequent visits to the baggage car, and at each change of baggage masters, the operation of introducing the new one to the wolf was repeated. so the journey was made between the west and new york, but before they reached that city mr. sturgis told jack that swiftfoot was by long odds the most expensive piece of baggage that he had ever carried with him on the road. * * * * * in the big depot in new york, where the train come hurrying in, and from which they hurry out, where there are always crowds of people going, and other crowds coming, and others, still, waiting for the arrival of friends, mr. and mrs. danvers stood watching the passengers that were walking out from the nine-forty express. "they ought to have come before this, john," said mrs. danvers. "do you think they could have missed the train?" "wait a little;" said her husband; "there come some more people." far down the platform they could see a tall man hurrying along, and by his side a well grown boy, leading an enormous grey dog. "that looks like will, but it can't be he, for that isn't johnny with him," said mrs. danvers. "no," said her husband, "that isn't our boy." they continued to watch the distant people as they approached, but mrs. danvers did not see her boy. suddenly, she was half crushed by a vigorous embrace, and turning, saw beside her, her son, but a very different son from him who had left her in the spring. then, he had been a little fellow; now, he seemed to her a young man. then, he was white, slender and listless; now, he was brown, broad-shouldered and boisterous. by his side stood a great grey dog, with lowered head and tail, looking up with suspicious eyes at the hurrying crowds about him. "why, johnny, johnny," said his mother, "can this be you? it isn't; i am sure it isn't. will sturgis, what have you done? i want my boy again. you have brought me a big bear." jack's father was hardly less astonished and delighted, but he showed less excitement. "yes," said mr. sturgis to his sister, "i have brought you back a very different boy from the one i took away. i think after you have had a chance to see him, and to talk with him, you will find that he is a better boy all around. in fact, i think i can say that when jack left here six months ago he stopped being a boy and began to be a man." "what is that enormous creature you have there, johnny?" "why, mother, that's swiftfoot, my tame wolf. he's as gentle as can be, and i expect you'll find him a real good house dog." "come along," said mr. danvers; "let us walk home. the night is fine, and i hardly thought it worth while to have the carriage here. bring your checks along and we'll send up for the baggage right away." jack and his mother found the walk home a very short one. mrs. danvers took her son's arm and leaned on it, while jack carried his rifle and led swiftfoot with the other hand. he was happy to see his mother again, and proud to be leading his wolf through new york streets. he thought what fun it would be to show swiftfoot to his old schoolmates here, none of whom had ever seen a wolf, and of how much he would have to tell them of the western life, about which they knew nothing. when they reached the house, aunt hannah was lying in wait to bid her boy welcome. she had nursed him from his tiniest babyhood, and he was not surprised to have her throw her arms around him and kiss him, while tears of gladness ran down her cheeks. after a moment of congratulation from her, he dragged swiftfoot forward, and said, "here hannah, is a new friend that i want you to like. it's swiftfoot, my tame wolf." "a wolf!" shrieked hannah. "oh, lordy!" and she flew through the dining-room and slammed the pantry door behind her. transcriber's note: minor spelling inconsistencies, mainly hyphenated words, have been made consistent. obvious typographical errors have been corrected. a list of illustrations has been added so as to aid the reader. produced from scanned images of public domain material from the google print project.) a damaged reputation by harold bindloss author of "alton of somasco" "mistress of bonaventure" etc., etc. [illustration] r. f. fenno & company east th street, new york copyright, , by r. f. fenno & company contents. chapter i. page brooke pauses to reflect chapter ii. brooke takes the trail chapter iii. the narrow way chapter iv. saxton makes an offer chapter v. barbara renews an acquaintance chapter vi. an arduous journey chapter vii. allonby's illusion chapter viii. a bold venture chapter ix. devine makes a suggestion chapter x. the flume builder chapter xi. an embarrassing position chapter xii. brooke is carried away chapter xiii. the old love chapter xiv. brooke has visitors chapter xv. saxton gains his point chapter xvi. barbara's responsibility chapter xvii. brooke attempts burglary chapter xviii. brooke makes a decision chapter xix. brooke's bargain chapter xx. the bridging of the cañon chapter xxi. devine's offer chapter xxii. the unexpected happens chapter xxiii. brooke's confession chapter xxiv. allonby strikes silver chapter xxv. barbara is merciless chapter xxvi. the jumping of the canopus chapter xxvii. the last round chapter xxviii. brooke does not come back chapter xxix. a final effort chapter xxx. the other chance chapter xxxi. brooke is forgiven a damaged reputation. i. brooke pauses to reflect. it was a still, hot night, and the moon hung round and full above the cedars, when rancher brooke sat in his comfortless shanty with a whisky bottle at his hand. the door stood open, and the drowsy fragrance of the coniferous forest stole into the room, while when he glanced in that direction he could see hemlock and cedar, redwood and balsam, tower, great black spires, against the luminous blueness of the night. far above them gleamed the untrodden snow that clothed the great peaks with spotless purity; but this was melting fast under the autumn sun, and the river that swirled by the shanty sang noisily among the boulders. there are few more beautiful valleys than that one among all the ranges of british columbia, but its wild grandeur made little impression upon brooke that night. he felt that a crisis in his affairs was at hand, and he must face it boldly or go under once for all, for it was borne in upon him that he had already drifted perilously far. his face, however, grew a trifle grim, and his fingers closed irresolutely on the neck of the bottle, for drifting was easy in that country, and pleasant, so long as one did not remember. even when the great peaks were rolled in tempest cloud, the snow fell but lightly among the quatomac pines. bright sunlight shone on them for weeks together, and it was but seldom a cold blast whipped the still, blue lake where the shadows of the cedars that distilled ambrosial essences lay asleep. there were deer and blue grouse in the woods, salmon in the river, and big trout in the lake; and the deleterious whisky purveyed at the nearest settlement was not inordinately dear. it had, however, dawned on brooke by degrees that there were many things he could not find at quatomac which men of his upbringing hold necessary. in the meanwhile, his sole comrade, jimmy, who assisted him to loaf the greater part of every day away, watched him with a curious little smile. jimmy was big, loose-limbed, and slouching, but in his own way he was wise, and he had seen more than one young englishman of brooke's description take the down-grade in that colony. "feeling kind of low to-night?" he said, suggestively. "now, i'd have been quite lively if tom gordon's bella had made up to me. bella's nice to look at, and 'most as smart with the axe as a good many men i know. i guess if you got her you wouldn't have anything to do." brooke's bronzed face flushed a trifle as he saw his comrade's grin, for it was what had passed between him and tom gordon's bella at the settlement that afternoon which had thrust before him the question what his life was to be. he had also not surmised that jimmy or anybody else beyond themselves had been present at that meeting among the pines. bella was certainly pretty and wholly untaught, while, though he had made no attempts to gain her favor they had not been necessary, since the maid had with disconcerting frankness conferred it upon him. she had, in fact, made it evident that she considered him her property, and brooke wondered uneasily how far he had tacitly accepted the position. his irresponsive coolness had proved no deterrent; he could neither be brutal, nor continually run away; and there were times when he had almost resigned himself to the prospect of spending the rest of his life with her, though he fancied he realized what the result of that would be. the woman had the waywardness and wildness of the creatures of the forest, and almost as little sensibility, while he was unpleasantly conscious that he was already sinking fast to her level. with a soulless mate, swayed by primitive instincts and passions, and a little further indulgence in bad whisky, it was evident that he might very well sink a good deal further, and brooke had once had his ideals and aspirations. "jimmy," he said, slowly, "i'm thinking of going away." jimmy shook out his corn-cob pipe, and apparently ruminated. "well, i'd 'most have expected it," he said. "the question is, where you're going to, and what you're going to do? you don't get your grub for nothing everywhere, and living's cheap here. it only costs the cartridges, and the deerhides pay the tea and flour. besides, you put a pile of dollars into this place, didn't you?" "most of six thousand, and i've taken about two hundred out. of course i was a fool." jimmy nodded with a tranquil concurrence which his comrade might not have been pleased with at another time. "bought it on survey, without looking at it?" he said. "going to make your fortune growing fruit! it's kind of unfortunate that big peaches and california plums don't grow on rocks." brooke sat moodily silent awhile. he had, as his comrade had mentioned, bought the four hundred acres of virgin soil without examining it, which is not such an especially unusual proceeding on the part of newly-arrived young englishmen, and partly explains why some land-agency companies pay big dividends. for twelve months he had toiled with hope, strenuously hewing down the great redwoods which cumbered his possessions; and expended the rest of his scanty capital in hiring assistance. it was only in the second year that the truth dawned on him, and he commenced to realize that treble the sum he could lay hands upon would not clear the land, and that in all probability it would grow nothing worth marketing then. in the meanwhile something had happened which made it easier for him to accept the inevitable, and losing hold of hope he had made the most of the present and ignored the future. it was sufficient that the forest and the river fed him during most of the year, and he could earn a few dollars hewing trails for the government when they did not. his aspirations had vanished, and he dwelt, almost, if not quite, content in a state of apathetic resignation which is not wholesome for the educated englishman. it was jimmy who broke the silence. "what was it you done back there in england? i never asked you before," he said. brooke smiled somewhat drily, for it was not a very unusual question in that country. "nothing the police could lay hands on me for. i only quarrelled with my bread and butter. i had plenty of it at one time, you see." "that means the folks who gave it you?" said jimmy. "exactly. it was the evident duty of one of them to leave me his property, and i think he would have done it, only he insisted on me taking a wife he had fixed upon as suitable along with it. there was, however, the difficulty that i had made my own choice in the meanwhile. i believe the old man was right now, though i did not think so then, and when we had words on the subject i came out to make a home for the other woman here." "and you let up after two years of it?" "i did," said brooke, with a trace of bitterness. "the girl, however, did not wait so long. before i'd been gone half the time she married a richer man." jimmy nodded. "there are women made that way," he said reflectively. "still, you wouldn't have to worry 'bout bella. once you showed her who was to do the bossing--with a nice handy strap--she'd stick to you good and tight, and 'most scratch the eyes out of any one who said a word against her husband. still, i figure she's not quite the kind of woman you would have married in the old country." that was very evident, and brooke sat silent while the memories of his life in the land he had left crowded upon him. he also recoiled from the brutality of the one his comrade had pictured him leading with the maid of the bush, though it had seemed less appalling when she stood before him, vigorous and comely, a few hours ago. he had, however, made no advances to her. on that point, at least, his mind was clear, and now he realized clearly what the result of such a match must be. yet he knew his own loneliness and the maid's pertinacity, and once more it was borne in upon him that to stay where he was would mean disaster. rising abruptly he flung the bottle out into the night, and then, while jimmy stared at him with astonishment and indignation, laughed curiously as he heard it crash against a stone. "that's the commencement of the change," he said. "after this i'll pitch every bottle you bring up from the settlement into the river." "well," said jimmy, resignedly, "i guess i can bring the whisky up inside of me, and you'd get hurt considerable if you tried slinging me into the river. the trouble is, however, i'd be seeing panthers all the way up whenever i brought along a little extra, and i'm most scared of panthers when they aren't there." brooke laughed again, for, as he had discovered, men take life lightly in that country, but just then the soft beat of horse hoofs rose from across the river, and a cry came out of the darkness. "strangers!" said jimmy. "quite a crowd of them. with the river coming down as she's doing it's a risky ford. we'll have to go across." they went, rather more than waist-deep in the snow-water which swirled frothing about them, for the ford was perilous, with a big black pool close below; and found a mounted party waiting them on the other side. there was an elderly man who sat very straight in his saddle with his hand on his hip, and brooke, at least, recognized the bearing of one who had commanded cavalry in the old country. there was also a younger man, dismounted and smoking a cigarette, two girls on cayuse ponies, and an indian, whose appearance suggested inebriation, holding the bridles of the baggage mules. the men were certainly not ranchers or timber-right prospectors, but now and then of late a fishing party had passed that way into the wilderness. "i understand the ford is not very safe, and the indian has contrived to leave our tents behind," said the older man. "if you can take us across, and find the ladies, at least, shelter of any kind for the night, it would be a kindness for which i should be glad to make any suitable recompense." jimmy grinned, for it was evident that the speaker was an insular englishman, and quite unacquainted with the customs of that country, wherein no rancher accepts payment for a night's hospitality. brooke had, however, a certain sense of humor, and touched his big shapeless hat, which is also never done in western canada. "they can have it, sir," he said. "that is, if they're not very particular. take the lady's bridle, jimmy. keep behind him, sir." jimmy did as he was bidden, and brooke seized the bridle of the cayuse the other girl rode. the half-tamed beast, however, objected to entering the water, and edged away from it, then rose with forehoofs in the air while brooke smote it on the nostrils with his fist. the girl, he noticed, said nothing, and showed no sign of fear, though the rest were half-way across before he had an opportunity of doing more than cast a glance at her. then, as he stood waist-deep in water patting the trembling beast, he looked up. "i hope you're not afraid," he said. "it will be a trifle deeper presently." he stopped with a curious abruptness as she turned her head, and stood still with his hand on the bridle a moment or two gazing at her. she sat, lithe and slim, but very shapely, with the skirt of the loose light habit she had gathered in one hand just clear of the sliding foam, and revealing the little foot in the stirrup. the moon, which hung round and full behind her shoulder, touched one side of the face beneath the big white hat with silvery light, that emphasized the ivory gleam of the firm white neck. he could also just catch the sparkle of her eyes in the shadow, and her freshness and daintiness came upon him as a revelation. it was so long since he had seen a girl of the station she evidently belonged to. then she laughed, and it seemed to him that her voice was in keeping with her appearance, for it reached him through the clamor of the river, soft and musical. "oh, no," she said. "what are we stopping for?" brooke, who had seldom been at a loss for a neat rejoinder in england, felt his face grow hot as he smote the pony's neck. "i really don't know. i think it was the cayuse stopped," he said. the girl smiled. "one would fancy that the water was a trifle too cold for even a pony of that kind to be anxious to stay in it." they went on with a plunge and a flounder, and twice brooke came near being swept off his feet, for the pony seemed bent on taking the shortest way to the other bank, which was, as it happened, not quite the safest one. still, they came through the river, and brooke dragged the cayuse up the bank in time to see the rest disappear into the shanty. then he boldly held up his hand, and felt a curious little thrill run through him as he swung his companion down. "it was very good of you to come across for us, and i am afraid you must be very wet," she said. "this is really a quite inadequate recompense." then she turned and left him with the pony, staring vaguely after her, flushed in face, with a big piece of minted silver in his hand. it was at least a minute before he slipped it into his pocket with a curious little laugh. "this is almost too much, and i don't know what has come over me. there was a time when i would have been quite equal to the occasion," he said. then he turned away to the stables, where jimmy, who came in with an armful of clothing, found him rubbing down the cayuse with unusual solicitude, in spite of its attempts to kick him. "i guess you'll have to change," he said. "those things aren't decent, and you can put the deerskin ones on. the old man's a high-toned englishman going camping and fishing, and, by what she said, the younger girl's struck on frontiersmen. when you get into that jacket you'll look the real thing." brooke had no great desire to look like one of the picturesque desperadoes who are, somewhat erroneously, supposed, in england, to wander about the pacific slope, but as he mended his own clothes with any convenient piece of flour bag, he saw that his comrade's advice was good. when he entered the shanty jimmy had supper ready, but he realized, as he had never done since he raised its log walls, the comfortless squalor of the room. the red dust had blown into it, it was littered with discarded clothing, lines and traps, and broken boots, while two candles, which flickered in the draughts, stuck in whisky bottles, furnished uncertain illumination. he had made the unsteady table, and jimmy had made the chairs, but the result was no great credit to either of them, while nobody who was not very hungry would have considered the meal his comrade laid out inviting. still, his guests had evidently no fault to find with it, and during it the girl whose pony he had led once or twice glanced covertly at him. she saw a tall man with a bronzed face of not unpleasant english type, attired picturesquely in fringed deerskin which had crossed the mountains from the prairie. he had grey eyes, and his hair was crisped by the sun; but while he was, she decided, distinctly, personable and still young, there was something in his expression which puzzled her. it was neither diffidence nor embarrassment, and yet there was a suggestion of constraint about him which his comrade was wholly free from. brooke, on his part, saw a girl with brown eyes and hair who held herself well, and had a faint suggestion of imperiousness about her, and wondered with an uneasiness he was by no means accustomed to what she thought of him, since he felt that the condition of his dwelling must show her the shiftless life he led. still, he shook off that thought, and others that troubled him, and played his part as host, talking, with a purpose, only of the canadian bush, until, when the meal was over, jimmy, who felt himself being left out, turned to the guests. "a little whisky would have come in to settle those fried potatoes down," he said. "i would have offered you some, but my partner here slung the bottle into the river just before you came." there was a trace of a smile in the face of the grey-haired man, but the girl with the brown eyes looked up sharply, and once more brooke felt his face grow a trifle hot. men do not as a rule fling whisky bottles into rivers without a cogent reason, especially in canada, where liquor is scarce. he was, however, both astonished and annoyed at himself that he should attach the slightest value to this stranger's good opinion. then, when the others seconded jimmy's suggestion, he took a dingy fiddle from its case, and, although there is little a rancher of that country will not do for the pleasure of a chance guest, wondered why he had complied so readily. he played french-canadian dances, as the inhabitants play them, and though only some of them may be classed as music, became sensible that there was a curious silence of attention. "that violin has a beautiful mellow tone," said the younger girl, whom he had scarcely noticed. "i am, however, quite aware that there is a good deal in the bowing." "it might have!" said jimmy, who disregarded his comrade's glance. "there was once a man came along here who said it would fetch the most of one thousand dollars. still, every old canadian lumberman can play those things, and you ought to hear him on the one he calls the chopping. play it for them, and i'll open the door so they can see the night and hear the river singing." the military gentleman stared at him, and even the girl with the brown eyes, who was very reposeful, appeared surprised at this flight of fancy, which nobody would, from his appearance, have expected of jimmy. "the chopping? oh, yes, of course i understand," she said. "this is the place of all places for it. we have never heard it in such surroundings." brooke smiled a little. "i'm afraid it is difficult to get moonlight and mystery out of an american steel first string," he said. "one can't keep it from screaming on the shifting." he drew the bow across the strings, and save for the fret of the snow-fed river which rose and fell in deep undertone, there was a curious silence in the room. the younger girl watched the player with grave appreciation in her eyes, and a little flush crept into her companion's cheek. perhaps she was thinking of the dollar she had given the man who could play the famous nocturne as she had rarely heard it played before, and owned what, though she could scarcely believe it to be a genuine cremona, was evidently an old italian fiddle of no mean value. there was also silence for at least a minute after he had laid down the bow, and then brooke held out the violin to the girl who had praised its tone. "would you care to try the instrument?" he said. "no," said the girl, with quiet decisiveness. "not after that, though it is, i think, a better one than i have ever handled." "and i fancy i should explain that she is studying under an eminent teacher, who professes himself perfectly satisfied with her progress," said the man with the grey hair. brooke said nothing. he knew the compliment was sincere enough, but he had seen the appreciation in the other girl's eyes, and that pleased him most. then, as he put away the fiddle the man turned to him again. "i am far from satisfied with our siwash guide," he said. "in fact, i am by no means sure that he knows the country, and as we propose making for the big lake and camping by it, i should prefer to send him back if you could recommend us anybody who would take us there." brooke felt a curious little thrill of anticipation, but it was the girl with the brown eyes he glanced at. she, of course, said nothing, but, though it seemed preposterous, brooke fancied that she knew what he was thinking and was not displeased. "with your approval i would come myself, sir," he said. "there is nothing just now to keep me at the ranch." the other man professed himself pleased, and before brooke retired to his couch in the stable the matter was arranged. he did not, however, fall asleep for several hours, which was a distinctly unusual thing with him, and then the face of the brown-eyed girl followed him into his dreams. its reposefulness had impressed him the more because of the hint of strength and pride behind it, and again he saw her sitting fearlessly on the plunging horse in the midst of the river with the moon round and full behind her. ii. brooke takes the trail. the sun had not cleared the dark firs upon the steep hillside, though the snow on the peaks across the valley glowed with saffron light, when brooke came upon the girl with the brown eyes sitting on a cedar trunk beside the river, and she looked up with a smile when he stopped beside her. there was nobody else about, for the rest of the party had apparently not risen yet, and jimmy had set out to catch a trout for breakfast. save for the song of the river all the pine-shrouded hollow was very still. "i was wondering if i might ask what you thought of this country?" said brooke. "it is, of course, the usual question." the girl laughed a little. "if you really wish to know, i think it is the grandest there is on this earth, as i believe it will be one of the greatest. still, my liking for it isn't so astonishing, because, although i have lived in england, i am a canadian." brooke made a little deprecatory gesture. "it's a mistake i've been led into before, and i'm not sure you would consider it a compliment if i told you that i scarcely supposed you belonged to canada. it also reminds me of a friend of mine who had spent a few months in spain, and took some pains to teach a man, who, though he was not aware of it, had lived fifteen years in cuba, castilian. still, perhaps you will tell me what you thought of england." the girl did not invite him, but she drew her skirt a trifle aside, and brooke sat down upon the log beside her. she looked even daintier, and appealed to his fancy more, in the searching morning light than she had done when the moon shone down on her, which he was not altogether prepared for. her eyes were clear and steady in spite of the faint smile in them, and there was no uncertainty of coloring on cheek or forehead, which had been tinted a delicate warm brown by wind and sun. "when you came up i was just contrasting this valley with one i remember visiting in the old country," she said. "it was in the west. major hume, who is with us now, once took me there, and we spent an afternoon at a house which, i think, is older than any we have in canada." "in a river valley in the west country?" said brooke. the girl nodded. "yes," she said. "ivy, with stems thicker than your wrist, climbs about the front of it, and a lawn mown until it looks like velvet slopes to the sliding water. a wall of clipped yews shuts it in, and the river slides past it silently without froth or haste, as though afraid that any sound it made would jar upon the drowsy quietness of the place. there is a big beech wood behind it, and one little meadow, green as an emerald, between that and the river----" "where the stepping-stones stretch across. a path comes twisting down through the dimness of the wood, and there are black firs upon the ridge above." "of course!" said the girl. "that is, beyond the ash poles--but how could you know?" brooke smiled curiously. "i was once there--ever so long ago." his companion seemed a trifle astonished. "then i wonder if you felt as i did, that those shadowy woods and dark yew hedges shut out all that is real and strenuous in life. one could fancy that nobody did anything but sit still and dream there." brooke smiled a little, though it had not escaped his attention that she seemed to take his comprehension for granted. "well," he said, reflectively, "there was very little else one could do. anything that savored of strenuousness would have been considered distinctly bad form in that valley." a little sardonic twinkle flickered in the girl's eyes. "oh," she said, "i know. the distinction between those who work and those who idle is marked in your country. it even seems to be considered a desirable thing for a man to fritter his time away, so long as he does it gracefully. still, there is room for all one's activities, and the big thoughts that lead to big schemes here. how far does your ranch go?" "to the lake," said brooke, who understood the purport of the question. "there are four hundred acres of it, and i have, i don't mind telling you, been here rather more than two years." the girl glanced at the very small gap in the forest, and again the man guessed her thoughts. "and that is all you have cleared?" "yes," said brooke, with a little smile. "one can lounge very successfully here. still, even if there was not a tree upon it the soil wouldn't be worth anything, and it's only in places one can find a foot or two of it. when i first came in, an enterprising gentleman in the land agency business sold me this wilderness of rock and gravel to feed cattle and grow fruit trees on, though i fancy i am not the only confiding stranger who has been treated in the same fashion in this country." for a moment a curious expression, which brooke could attach no meaning to, crept into his companion's face, but though there was a faint flush in her cheeks it grew suddenly reposeful again. "i gave you a dollar last night," she said, and stopped a moment. "i have, as i told you, lived in england, and i recognized by your voice that you came from there, but, of course, i hadn't----" brooke smiled at her. "if you look at it in one light, i scarcely think that explanation is gratifying to one's vanity. still, you have also lived in canada, and you ought to know that whoever parts with a dollar in this country, even under a misapprehension, very rarely gets it back." the girl regarded him gravely a moment with the faint warmth still showing in her sun-tanned cheeks, and then looked away towards the sliding water. she said nothing whatever, although there was a good deal to be deduced from the man's speech. then she rose as major hume came out of the house. they left the ranch that day, and for a week brooke led them through dark fir forests, and waited on them in their camps. he would also have stayed with them longer could he have found a reasonable excuse, but, as it happened, a most exemplary siwash whom he knew appeared, and offered his services, when they reached the lonely mountain-girt lake. then he said farewell to major hume, and was plodding down the homeward trail with his packs slung about him, when he met the girl coming up from the lake. she carried a cluster of the crimson wine-berries in her hand, and stopped abruptly when she saw him. she and her younger companions had been fishing that afternoon, and though brooke could not see the latter amidst the serried trunks, their voices broke sharply through the stillness of the evening. it was significant that both he and the girl stood still without speaking until the voices grew less distinct. then she said, quietly, "so you are going away?" "yes," said brooke, a trifle grimly. "an indian i can recommend came in this afternoon. that made it unnecessary for me to stay." "you seem in a hurry to go." brooke made a little gesture. "i fancy i have stayed with major hume quite as long as is good for me. the effort it cost me to go away was sufficiently unpleasant already. it is, you see, scarcely likely that i shall ever spend a week like the past one again." there was sympathy in his companion's eyes, for she had seen his comfortless dwelling, and guessed tolerably correctly what manner of life he led. it would, she realized, have been easier for him had he been born a bushman, for there was no doubt in her mind that he was one who had been accustomed to luxury in england. "you are going back to the ranch?" she said. "for a little while, and then i shall take the trail. where it will lead me is more than i know, but the ranch is as great a failure as its owner. and yet a month--or even a week--ago i was dangerously content to stay there." the girl fancied she understood him, for she had seen broken men who had lost heart in the struggle sink to the indian's level, and ask no more than the subsistence they could gain with rod and gun. that was, perhaps, enough for an indian, but it seemed to her a flinging of his birthright away in the case of a white man. her face was quietly grave, and brooke felt a little thrill run through him as he looked at her. she stood, slender and very shapely, with unconscious pride in her pose, in front of the great cylindrical trunk of a cedar whose grey bark forced up every line of her white-clad figure, and he realized, when he met the big grave eyes, that he had pulled himself upon the edge of a precipice a week ago. he had let himself drift recklessly during the last two years, but it was plain to him now that he would have gone down once for all had he mated with bella. "i think you are doing wisely," she said, quietly. "there is a chance for every man somewhere in this country." brooke smiled drily. "i am going to look for mine. whether i shall find it i do not know, but i am, at least, glad i have seen you. otherwise, i might have settled down at the ranch again." "what have i to do with that decision?" and the girl regarded him steadily. "it is a trifle difficult to explain. still, you see, your gracious kindliness reminded me of a good deal that once was mine, and after the past week i could never go back to the old life at the ranch. no doubt there comes to every one who attempts to console himself with them, a time when the husks and sty grow nauseating. i do not know why i should tell you this, and scarcely think i would have done so had there been any probability of our ever meeting again." there was full comprehension in the girl's eyes, as well as a trace of compassion, and she held out a little hand. "good-bye!" she said, quietly. "if they are of any value, my good wishes go with you." brooke made her a little deferential inclination, as the dainty fingers rested a moment in his hard palm; then he swung off his big shapeless hat and turned away, but the girl stood still, looking after him, until the lonely, plodding figure faded into the shadows of the pines, while it was with a little thrill of sympathy she went back to camp, for she realized it was a very great compliment the man had paid her. he was, it seemed, turning his back on his possessions, and going away, because she had awakened in him the latent sense of responsibility. she was, however, also a little afraid, for no one could foresee what the result of his decision would be, and she felt that to help in diverting the course of another's life was no light thing. in the meanwhile, brooke held on up the hillside with long, swinging strides, crashing through barberry thickets and trampling the breast-high fern, until he stopped and made his camp on the edge of the snow-scarped slopes when the soft darkness fell. his road was rough, and in places perilous, but there was a relief in vigorous action now the decision was made, and the old apathy fell from him as he climbed towards the peaks above. it was, however, several days later when he reached the ranch, and came upon jimmy sprawling his ungainly length outside it, basking in the sun. still, the latter took his corn-cob pipe from his lips, and became attentive when he saw his face. this, he realized, was not altogether the same man who had left him a little while ago. "get up!" said brooke, almost sharply. "i want you to listen to me. if it suits you to stay here by yourself, you can; in the meanwhile, do what you like, which will, of course, be very little, with the ranch. in return, i'll only ask you to take care of the fiddle until i send for it. i'm going away." jimmy nodded, for he had expected this. "that's all right!" he said. "i guess i'll stay. i don't know any other place where one can grub out enough to eat quite so easily. where're you going to?" "i don't quite know," and brooke smiled grimly. "up and down the province--anywhere i can pick up a dollar or two daily by working for them." "the trouble is that they're so blamed hard to stick to when you've got them," said jimmy, reflectively. "now, you don't want dollars here." "if i had two thousand of them i'd stay, and make something of the ranch, rocky as it is." "it couldn't be done with less, and i guess you're sensible. i'm quite happy slouching round here, but there's a kind of difference between you and me. that girl with the big eyes has been putting notions into you?" brooke made no disclaimer, and jimmy laughed. "it's a little curious--you don't even know who she is?" "her name is barbara. she is, she told me, a canadian." "canada's quite a big country," said jimmy, reflectively. "you could put england into its vest pocket without knowing it was there. i guess it will be a long while before you see her again, and if you meet her in the cities she's not going to remember you. you'd find her quite a different kind of young woman there. when are you going?" "at sundown. i'd go now, but i want a few hours' rest and sleep." jimmy looked at him with sudden concern in his face. "then i'll be good and lonely to-night," he said. "say, do you think i could take out the fiddle now and then to keep me company? i guess i could play it, like a banjo, with my fingers." "no," said brooke, drily, "that's the one thing you can't do." he flung himself down in his straw-filled bunk, dressed as he was, for he had floundered through tangled forest since the dawn crept into the sky; and the shadows of the cedars lay long and black upon the river when he opened his eyes again. jimmy was busy at the little stove, and in another few minutes the simple meal, crudely served but barbaric in its profusion, was upon the table. neither of the men said very much during it, and then jimmy silently helped his comrade to gird his packs about him. the sun had gone, and the valley was dim and very still when they stood in the doorway. "good luck!" said jimmy. "you'll come back by-and-by?" brooke smiled curiously as he shook hands with him. "if i'm ever a rich man, i may." then he went out into the deepening shadows, and floundering waist-deep through the ford, plodded up the climbing trail with his face towards the snow. it grew a trifle grim, however, when he looked back once from a bare hill shoulder, and saw a feeble light blink out far down in the hollow. jimmy, he knew, was lying, pipe in hand, beside the stove, and, after all, the lonely ranch had been a home to him. a man without ambition who could stifle memory might have found the life he led there a pleasant one. bountiful nature fed him, the hills that walled the valley in shut out strife and care, and now he was homeless altogether. he had also just six dollars in his pockets, and that sum, he knew, will not go a very long way in western canada. as he gazed, the fleecy mist that rolled up from the river blotted out the light, and the man felt the deep stillness and loneliness as he had not done since he first came there. that sudden eclipse of jimmy's light seemed very significant just then, for he knew it would never burn again as a beacon for him. the last red gleam had also faded off the snow, and, with a jerk at the pack straps that galled his shoulders, he set his lips, and swung away into the darkness of the coming night. iii. the narrow way. the big engine was running slowly, which did not happen often, and brooke, who leaned on the planer table, was thankful for the respite. a belt slid round above him, and on either side were turning wheels, while he had in front of him a long vista of sliding logs, whirring saws, and toiling men. the air was heavy with gritty dust, and a sweet resinous smell, while here and there a blaze of sunshine streamed into the great open-sided building. something had gone wrong with the big engine, and its sonorous panting, which reverberated across the still, blue inlet, had slackened a trifle. there was not, as a result of this, power enough to drive all the machines in the mill, and brooke was waiting until the engineer should set matters right. it was very hot in the big shed. in fact, the cedar shingles on the roof were crackling overhead; and brooke's thin jean garments were soaked with perspiration. the dust the planer threw off had also worked its way through them, and adhered in smeary patches to his dripping face, while his hair and eyebrows might have been rubbed with flour. that fine powder was, however, not the worst, for he was also covered with prismatic grains of wood, whose sharp angles caused him an intolerable irritation when his garments rasped across his flesh. his hands were raw and bleeding, there was a cramp in one shoulder, and an ache, which now and then grew excruciating, down all the opposite side of him. the toilers are, as a rule, at least, liberally paid in western canada, but a good deal is expected from them, and the manager of the mill had installed that planer because it could, the makers claimed, be run by one live man. the workmen, however, said that if he held to the contract he would very soon be dead, and brooke was already worn out with the struggle to keep pace with steam. it was a long while since he had toiled much at the ranch, and in england he had not toiled at all, while, as he stood there, gasping, and hoping that the engineer would not get through his task too soon, he remembered that on the two eventful occasions in his life when he had made a commendable decision, it had brought him only trouble and strain. the way of the virtuous, it seemed, was hard. he turned languidly when a man who carried an oil can came by and stopped a moment beside him. "you're looking kind of played out," said the newcomer. "it's not astonishing," said brooke. "i feel quite that way." "then i guess that's a kind of pity. the boss will have the belt on the relief shaft in a minute now, and he allows he's going to cut every foot as much as usual by the supper hour. you'll have to shake yourself quite lively. how long've you been on to that planer?" "a month." "well," said the engineer, "she broke the last man up in considerably less time than that. weak in the chest he was, and when we were driving her lively he used to cough up blood. he had to let up sudden one day, and he's in the hospital now. say, can't you strike somebody for a softer job?" "i'm afraid i can't," said brooke, drily. "i'll have to go on till i'm beaten." the engineer made a little gesture of comprehension as he passed on, for the attitude the englishman had adopted is not uncommon in the dominion of canada, or the country where toil is at least as arduous to the south of it. men who demand, and not infrequently obtain, the full value of their labor, are proud of their manhood there, and there was an innate resoluteness in brooke, which had never been wholly awakened in england. suddenly, however, the belt above him ran round; there was a clash as he slipped in the clutch, and a noisy whirring which sank to a deeper tone when he flung a rough redwood board upon the table. the whirring millers took hold of it, and its splintery edges galled his raw hands as he guided it, while thick dust and woody fragments torn off by the trenchant steel, whirled about him in a stream until his eyes were blinded and his nostrils filled. then the board slid off the table smooth on one side, and he knew that he was lagging when the hum of the millers changed to a thin scream. they must not at any cost be kept waiting for their food, for by inexorable custom so many feet of dressed lumber every day was due from that machine. he flung up another heavy piece, reckless of the splinters in his hand, made no pause to wipe the rust from his smarting eyes, and peering at the spinning cutters blindly thrust upon the end of the board, and wondered vaguely whether this was what man was made for, or how long flesh and blood could be expected to stand the strain. the board went off the table with a crash, and it was time for the next, while brooke, who bent sideways with a distressful crick in his waist, once more faced the sawdust stream with lowered head. it ceased only for a second or two, while he stooped from the table to the lumber that slid by gravitation to his feet, and he knew that to let that stream overtake him and pile up would proclaim his incapacity and defeat. so long as he was there he must keep pace with it, whatever tax it laid upon his jaded body. he did it for an hour, flagging all the while, for it was a task no man could have successfully undertaken unless he had done such work before, and brooke's head was aching under a tension which had grown unendurable that afternoon. then the screaming millers closed upon a knot in the wood, and, half-dazed as he was, he thrust upon the board savagely, instead of easing it. there was a crash, a big piece of steel flew across the table, and the hum of the machine ceased suddenly. brooke laughed grimly, and sat down gasping. he had done his best, and now he was not altogether sorry that he was beaten. he was still sitting there when a dusty man in store clothes, with a lean, intent face, came along and glanced at the planer before he looked at him. "you let her get ahead of you, and tried to make up time by feeding her too hard?" he said. "no," said brooke. "not exactly! she got hold of a knot." "same thing!" said the other man. "you've smashed her, anyway, and it will cost the company most of three hundred dollars before we get her running again. you don't expect me to keep you after that?" brooke smiled drily. "i'm not quite sure that i'd like to stay." "then we'll fix it so it will suit everybody. i'll give you your pay order up to now, and you'll be glad i ran you out by-and-by. there are no chances saw-milling unless you're owner, and it's quite likely somebody's got a better use for you." brooke understood this as a compliment, and took his order, after which he had a spirited altercation with the clerk, who desired him to wait for payment until it was six o'clock, which he would not do. then he went back to his little cubicle, which, with its flimsy partitions one could hear his neighbor snoring through, resembled a cell in a hive of bees, in the big boarding-house, and slept heavily until he was awakened by the clangor of the half-past six supper bell. he descended, and, devouring his share of the meal in ten minutes, which is about the usual time in that country, strolled leisurely into the great general room, which had a big stove in the middle and a bar down one side of it. he already loathed the comfortless place, from the hideous oleographs on the bare wood walls down to the uncleanly sawdust on the floor. he sat down, and two men, whose acquaintance he had made during his stay there, lounged across to him. trade was slack in the province then, and both wore very threadbare jean. there was also a significant moodiness in their gaunt faces which suggested that they had felt the pinch of adversity. "you let up before supper-time?" said one. "i did," said brooke, a trifle grimly. "i broke up the kenawa planer in the tomlinson mill. that's why i came away. i'm not going back again." one of the men laughed softly. "then it was only the square thing. since we've been here that planer has broke up two or three men. held out a month, didn't you? what were you at before that?" "road-making, firing at a cannery, surrey packing. i've a ranch that doesn't pay, you see?" the other man smiled again. "so have we! half the deadbeats in this country are landholders, too. two men couldn't get away with many of the big trees on our lot in a lifetime, and one has to light out and earn something to put the winter through. this month jake and i have made 'bout twenty dollars between us. i guess your trouble's want of capital--same as ours. one can't do a great deal with a hundred dollars. still, you'd have had more than that when you came in?" "i had," said brooke, drily. "i put six thousand into the land, or rather the land-agent's bank, besides what i spent on clearing a little of it, and when i've paid my board and for the clothes i bought, i'll have about four dollars now." "that's how those land-company folks get rich," said one of the men. "was it a piece of snow mountain he sold you, or a bottomless swamp?" "rock. one might have drained a swamp." the men smiled. "well," said the first of them, "that's not always easy. a man's not a steam navvy--but the game's an old one. it was the indian spring folks played it off on you?" "no. it was devine." there was a little silence, and then the men appeared reflective. "now, if any man in that business goes tolerably straight, it's devine," said one of them. "of course, if a green britisher comes along bursting to hand over the bills for any kind of land, he'll oblige him, but i'd sit down and think a little before i called devine a thief. anyway, he's quite a big man in the province." the bronze deepened a trifle in brooke's face. "i can't see any particular difference between a swindler and a thief. in any case, the man robbed me, and if i live long enough i'll get even with him." "that's going to be quite a big contract," said one of the men. "it's best to lie low and wait for another fool when you've been taken in. besides, there's many a worse man in his own line than devine. there was one fellow up at jamieson's when the rush was on. he could talk the shoes off a mule--and he was an englishman. whatever any man wanted, fruit-land, mineral-land, sawing lumber, and gold outcrop, he'd got. picked it out on the survey map and sold it him. for 'most a month he rolled the dollars in, and then the circus began. the folks who'd made the deals went up to see their land, and most of them found it belonged to another man. you see, if three of them wanted maple bush, that's generally good soil and light to clear, and he'd only one piece of it, he sold the same lot to all of them. they went back with clubs, but that man knew when to light out, and he didn't wait for them." brooke sat silent awhile. he knew that the story was not a very unlikely one, for while, in view of the simplicity of the canadian land tenure legislation, there is no reason why any man should be swindled, as a matter of fact, a good many are. he was also irritated that he had allowed himself to indulge in what he realized must have appeared a puerile threat. this was, of course, of no moment in itself, but he felt that it showed how he was losing hold of the nice discretion he had, at least, affected in england. still, he meant exactly what he had said. during the greater portion of two years he had attempted a hopeless task, and then, discovering his folly, resigned himself, and drifted idly, perilously near the brink of the long declivity which englishmen of good upbringing not infrequently descend with astonishing swiftness in that country, and for that, rightly or wrongly, he blamed the man who had robbed him. then the awakening had come, and he saw that while there were many careers open to a man with six thousand dollars, or even half of them, there was only strenuous physical toil for the man with none. he had attempted it, but proficiency in even the more brutal forms of labor cannot be attained in a day, and he now looked back on a year of hardship and effort which had left an indelible mark on him. it had been a season when there was little industrial enterprise, and he had no friends, while the dollars he gained were earned for the most part by the strain of overtaxed muscles and bleeding hands. he had toiled up to his waist in snow-water at the mines, swung the shovel under the lashing deluge driving a government road over a big divide, hung from dizzy railroad trestles holding with fingers bruised by the hammer the spikes the craftsmen drove, and been taught all there is to learn about exposure and fatigue. he had braced himself to bear it, though he had lived softly in england, but each time he crawled into draughty tent or reeking shanty, wet through, with aching limbs, at night, he remembered the man who had robbed him. it was, perhaps, not altogether astonishing that under such conditions the wrong done him should assume undue proportions, and that when a slipping hammer laid his knuckles bare he should charge the smart to devine, and long for the reckoning. the man who had condemned him to this life of toil had, he told himself, grown rich by theft, and he dwelt upon his injury until the memory of it possessed him. it was not, however, the physical hardship that troubled him most, but the thought of the opportunities he had lost, for since he had seen the girl with the brown eyes they had assumed their due value. devine had not only taken his dollars, but had driven him out from the society of those who had been his equals, and made him one who could scarcely hope to meet a woman of refinement on friendly terms again. coarse fare and a life of brutal toil were all that seemed left to him. there were, he knew, men in that country who had commenced with a very few dollars, and acquired a competence, but they were not young englishmen brought up as he had been. "you are the only man i've ever heard say anything good about any one in the land business, and it does not amount to much at that," he said. "devine has been successful so far, but even gentlemen of his talents are liable to make a mistake occasionally, and if ever he makes a big one, it will probably go hardly with him. that, at least, is one consolation." another man who had been standing near the bar sauntered towards them, cigar in hand. he was dressed in store clothing, and his hands were, as brooke noticed, not those of a workman, though they seemed wiry and capable. he had penetrating dark eyes, and the western business man's lean, intent face, while brooke would have guessed his age at a little over thirty. "i don't mind admitting that i heard a little," he said. "those land-agency fellows have a good deal to account for. you're not exactly struck on devine?" "no," said brooke, drily. "i have no particular cause to be. still, that really does not concern everybody." "beat him out of six thousand dollars!" said one of his companions. the stranger laughed a little. "he has done me out of a good many more, but one has to take his chances in this country. you are working at the tomlinson mill?" "no," said brooke. "i was turned out to-day." "got no notion where to strike next?" "no." the stranger, who did not seem at all repulsed by his abruptness, looked at him reflectively. "i heard they were wanting survey packers up at the johnston lake in the bush," he said. "a government man's starting to run the line through to the big range thursday. if you took him this card up he might put you on." brooke took the card, and a little tinge of color crept into his face. "i appreciate the kindness, but still, you see, you know nothing whatever about me," he said. the stranger laughed. "i wouldn't worry. we're not particular in this country. go up, and show him the card if you feel like it. i've been in a tight place myself once or twice, and we'll take it as an introduction. a good many people know me--you are mr. brooke?" brooke admitted it, and after a few minutes' conversation, the stranger, who informed him that he had come there in the hope of meeting a man who did not seem likely to put in an appearance now, moved away. "thomas p. saxton. what is he?" said brooke to his companions, as he glanced at the card. "puts through mine and sawmill deals," said one of the men. "i'd light out for johnston lake right away, and if you have the dollars take the cars. atlantic express is late to-night, waiting the empress boat, and if you get off at chumas, you'll only have 'bout twelve leagues to walk. i figure it will cost you four dollars." brooke decided that it would be advisable to take the risk, and when he had settled with his host and a storekeeper, found he had about six dollars left. when he went out, one of the ranchers looked at the other. he was the one who had spoken least, and a quiet, observant man, from ontario. "i'm not that sure it was good advice you gave him," he said. "no," said his companion. the other man appeared reflective. "i was watching saxton, and he kind of woke up when brooke let out about devine. now, it seems to me, it wasn't without a reason he put him on to that survey." his companion laughed. "it doesn't count, anyway. the government's dollars are certain." "well," said the ontario man, drily, "if i had to give one of the pair any kind of a hold on me, i figure from what i've heard it would be devine instead of saxton." iv. saxton makes an offer. it was raining as hard as it not infrequently does in the mountain province, and the deluge lashed the sombre pines that towered above the dripping camp, when brooke stood in the entrance of the surveyor's tent. he was wet to the skin, as well as weary, for he had walked most of thirty miles that day over a very bad trail, and was but indifferently successful in his attempts to hide his anxiety. the surveyor also noticed the grimness of his wet face, and dallied a moment with the card he held, for he had known what fatigue and short commons were in his early days. "i'm sorry i can't take you, but i've two more men than i've any particular use for already," he said at last. "i can't give you a place to spread your blankets in to-night either, because the freighter didn't bring up all our tents. still, you might make beasley's hotel, and strike saxton's prospectors, if you head back over the divide. he has a few men up there opening up a silver lead." brooke said nothing, and the surveyor turned to his assistant as he moved away. "it's rough on that man, and he seems kind of played out," he said. "i can't quite figure, either, why saxton sent him here, when he's putting men on at his mine. it seems to me i told him i was only going to take men who'd packed for me before." in the meanwhile, brooke stood still a few moments in the rain. he was aching all over, and his wet boots galled him, while he was also very hungry, and uncertain what to do. there was nothing to be gained by pushing on four leagues to beasley's hotel, even if he had been capable of doing it, which was not the case, because he had just then only two or three copper coins worth ten cents in his pocket. it was, he knew, scarcely likely he would be turned out for that reason, but he had not yet come down to asking a stranger's charity. supper, which he would have been offered a share of, was also over, and there was not a ranch about, only a dripping wilderness, for he had plodded on after the surveyor from the lonely settlement at johnston lake. it was very enviously he watched two men piling fresh branches on a crackling fire. darkness was not far away, and already a light shone through the wet canvas of the surveyor's tent. a cheerful hum of voices came out from the others, and a man was singing in one of them. the survey packers had, at least, a makeshift shelter for the night, food in sufficiency, and such warmth as the fires and their damp blankets might supply, while he had nowhere to lay his head. the smell of the stinging wood smoke was curiously alluring, and he felt as he glanced at the black wall of bush which closed in upon the little camp that his hardihood was deserting him, and in another minute he would go back and offer his services in return for food. then his pride came to the rescue, and, turning away abruptly, he plodded back into the bush, where a bitter wind that came down from the snow blew the drips from the great branches into his face. he kept to the trail instinctively, though he did not know where he was going, or why, when one place had as little to commend itself as another, he blundered on at all, except that he was getting cold, until the creeping dark surprised him at a forking of the way. he knew that the path he had come by led through a burnt forest and thin willow bush, while great cedars shrouded the other, which apparently wound up a valley towards the heights above. they promised, at least, a little more shelter than the willows, but that, he fancied, must be the trail that crossed the divide and it led into a desolation of rock and forest. he had very little hope of being offered employment at the mine the surveyor had mentioned, and stood still for several minutes with the rain beating into his face, while, though he did not know it then, a good deal depended on his decision. a little mist rolled out of the valley, and it was growing very cold, while the dull roar of a snow-fed torrent made the silence more impressive. then, attracted solely by the sombre clustering of the cedars, which promised to keep off at least a little of the rain, he turned up the valley with a shiver, and finally unrolled his one wet blanket under a big tree. there was an angle among its roots, which ran along the ground, and, scooping a hollow in the withered sprays, he crawled into it, and lay down with his back to the trunk. the roar of the river seemed louder now, and he could hear a timber wolf howling far off on the hillside. he was very cold and hungry, but his weariness blunted the sense of physical discomfort, though as yet his activity of mind remained, and he asked himself what he had gained by leaving the ranch, and could find no answer. still, even then, he would not regret that he had broken away, for there was in him an inherent obstinacy, and he would have struggled on at the ranch had not the absence of funds precluded it, and consideration shown him that it would be merely throwing his toil away. life, it seemed, had very little to offer him, but now he had made the decision he would adhere to it, though he had arrived at the resolution in cold blood, for it was his reason only which had responded to the girl's influence, and as yet what was spiritual in him remained untouched. he would not live as the indians do, or sink into a sot. there were vague possibilities before him which, though this appeared most unlikely, might prove themselves facts, and the place he had been born to in england might yet be his. that was why he would not sell his birthright for a mess of stringy venison, and the deleterious whisky sold at the settlement, which seemed to him a most unfair price. still, he went no further, even when he thought of the girl, which he did with dispassionate admiration. worn-out as he was, he slept, and awakened in the grey dawn almost unfit to rise. there was a distressful pain in his hip-joints, which those who sleep in the open are acquainted with, and at the first few steps he took his face went awry, but his physical nature demanded warmth and food, and there was only one way of obtaining it before the life went out of him. whatever effort it cost him, he must reach the mine. he set out for it, limping, while the sharp gravel rolled under his bleeding feet as he floundered up the climbing trail. it seemed to lead upwards for ever between endless colonnades of towering trunks, and when at last pine and cedar had been left behind, there was slippery rock smoothed by sliding snow to be clambered over. still, reeling and gasping, he held on, and it was afternoon, and he had eaten nothing for close on thirty hours, when a filmy trail of smoke that drifted faintly blue athwart the climbing pines beneath him caught his eye. he braced himself for the effort to reach it, and went down with loose, uneven strides, smashing through sal-sal and barberry when he reached the bush again. the fern met above his head, there were mazes of fallen trunks to be scrambled through, and he tore the soaken jean that clung about him to rags in his haste. still, he had learned to travel straight in the bush, and at last he staggered into sight of the mine. there was a little scar on the hillside, an iron shanty, a few soaked tents and shelters of bark, but the ringing clink of the drills vibrated about them, and a most welcome smell of wood smoke came up to him with a murmur of voices. brooke heard them faintly, and did not stop until a handful of men clustered about him, while, as he blinked at them, one, who appeared different from the others, pushed his way through the group. "you seem considerably used up," he said. "i am," said brooke, hoarsely, "i'm almost starving." it occurred to him that the man's voice ought to be familiar, but it was a few moments before he recognized him as the one who had sent him on the useless journey after the surveyor. "then come right along. it's not quite supper-time, but there's food in the camp," he said. brooke went with him to the shanty, where he fell against a chair, and found it difficult to straighten himself when he picked it up. saxton, so far as he could remember, asked no questions, but smiled at him reassuringly while he explained, somewhat incoherently, what had brought him there, until a man appeared with a big tray. then brooke ate strenuously. "some folks have a notion that one can kill himself by getting through too much at once when he's 'most starved," said saxton. "i never found it work out that way in this country." "were you ever almost starved?" said brooke, who felt the life coming back to him, with no great show of interest. "oh, yes," said saxton, drily. "twice, at least. i was three days without food the last time. one has to take his chances in the ranges, and you don't pick up dollars without trouble anywhere. still, we'll talk of that afterwards. had enough?" brooke said he fancied he had, and saxton hammered upon the iron roof of the shanty until a man appeared. "give him a pair of blankets, ike. he can sleep in the lean-to," he said. brooke went with the man, vacantly, and in another few minutes found himself lying in dry blankets on a couch of springy twigs. he was sensible that it was delightfully warm, but he could not remember how he got there, and was wondering why the rain no longer lashed his face, when sleep came to him. it was next morning when he was awakened by the roar of a blasting charge, and lay still with an unusual sense of comfort until the silence that followed it was broken by the clinking of the drills. then he rose stiffly, and put on his clothes, which he found had been dried, and was informed by a man who appeared while he was doing it that his breakfast was waiting. brooke wondered a little at this, for he knew that it was past the usual hour, but he made an excellent meal, and then, being shown into a compartment of the little galvanized iron shanty, found saxton sitting at a table. the latter now wore long boots and jean, and there were pieces of discolored stone strewn about in front of him. he looked up with a little nod as brooke came in. "feeling quite yourself again?" he said. "yes," said brooke, "thanks to the way your men have treated me. this is, of course, a hospitable country, but i may admit that i could scarcely have expected to be so well looked after by one i hadn't the slightest claim upon." "and you almost wondered what he did it for?" brooke was a trifle astonished, for this certainly expressed his thoughts, but he was in no way disconcerted, and he laughed. "i should, at least, never have ventured to suggest that anything except good-nature influenced you," he said. "still, you felt it? well, you were considerably used up when you came in, and, as i sent you to the surveyor, who didn't seem to have any use for you, i felt myself responsible. that appears sufficient?" now, brooke had mixed with men of a good many different stations, and he was observant, and, as might have been expected, by no means diffident. "since you ask, i scarcely think it does," he said. saxton laughed. "take a cigar. that's the kind of talk i like. we'll come to the point right away." brooke lighted a cigar, and found it good. "thanks. i'm willing to listen as long as appears necessary," he said. "you have a kind of grievance against devine?" "i have. according to my notion of ethics, he owes me six thousand dollars, and i shall not be quite content until i get them out of him, although that may never happen. i feel just now that it would please me especially to make him smart as well, which i quite realize, is unnecessary folly." the canadian nodded, and shook the ash from his cigar. "exactly," he said. "a man with sense keeps his eye on the dollars, and leaves out the sentiment. it's quite apt to get in his way and trip him up. well, suppose i could give you a chance of getting those dollars back?" "i should be very much inclined to take it. still, presumably, you do not mean to do it out of pure good-nature?" "no, sir," said saxton, drily. "i'm here to make dollars. that has been my object since i struck out for myself at fourteen, and i've piled quite a few of them together. i'd have had more only that wherever i plan a nice little venture in mines or land up and down this province, i run up against devine. that's quite straight, isn't it?" "i fancy it is. you are suggesting community of interest? still, i scarcely realize how a man with empty pockets could be of very much use to you." "i have a kind of notion that you could be if it suited you. i want a man with grit in him, who has had a good education, and could, if it was necessary, mix on equal terms with the folks in the cities." "one would fancy there were a good many men of that kind in canada." saxton appeared reflective. "oh, yes," he said, drily. "the trouble is that most of them have got something better to do, and i can't think of one who has any special reason for wanting to get even with devine." "that means the work you have in view would scarcely suit a man who was prosperous, or likely to be fastidious?" "no," said saxton, simply. "i don't quite think it would. still, i've seen enough to show me that you can take the sensible point of view. we both want dollars, and i can't afford to be particular. i'm not sure you can, either." brooke sat silent awhile. he could, at least, appreciate the canadian's candor, while events had rubbed the sentiment he had once had plenty of out of him, and left him a somewhat hard and bitter man. the woman he believed in had used him very badly, and the first man he trusted in canada had plundered him. brooke was, unfortunately, young when he was called upon to face the double treachery, and had generalized too freely from too limited premises. he felt that in all society there must be a conflict between the men who had all to gain and those who had anything worth keeping, and sentiment, it seemed, was out of place in that struggle. "as you observed, i can't afford to be too particular," he said. "still, it is quite possible i might not be prepared to go quite so far as you would wish me." the canadian laughed. "i'll take my chances. nobody can bring up any very low-down game against me. well, are you open to consider my offer?" "you haven't exactly made one yet." "then we'll fix the terms. until one of us gives the other notice that he lets up on this agreement, you will do just what i tell you. pay will be about the usual thing for whatever you're set to do. it would be reasonably high if i put you on to anything in the cities." "is that likely?" "i've a notion that we might get you into a place where you could watch devine's game for me. i want to feel quite sure of it before i take any chances with that kind of man. if i struck him for anything worth while, you would have a share." brooke's face flushed just a trifle, and again he sat silent a moment or two. then he laughed somewhat curiously. "well," he said, "i suppose there are no other means, and the man robbed me." saxton smiled. "if we pull off the deal i'm figuring on, your share might 'most work up to those six thousand dollars. they're yours." brooke realized that it was a clever man he was dealing with, but in his present state of mind the somewhat vague arrangement commended itself to him. he was, he decided, warranted in getting his six thousand dollars back by any means that were open to him. more he did not want, for he still retained in a slight degree the notions instilled into him in england, which had, however, since he was seldom able to indulge in them, not tended to make him happier. "there is a point you don't seem to have grasped," he said. "since i am not to be particular, can't you conceive that it would not be pleasant for you if devine went one better?" saxton laughed. "i've met quite a few englishmen--of your kind--already," he said. "that's why i feel that when you've taken my dollars you're not going to go back on me without giving me warning. besides, devine would be considerably more likely to fix you up in quite another way. now, i want an answer. is it a deal?" "it is," said brooke, who, in spite of the fashion in which he had expressed himself during the last few minutes, felt a slight warmth in his face. though he could not afford to be particular, there was one aspect of the arrangement which did not commend itself to him. saxton nodded. "then, as you'll want to know a little about mining, we'll put you on now, helping the drillers, at $ . a day. you'll get considerably more by-and-by. take this little treatise on the minerals of the province, and keep it by you." v. barbara renews an acquaintance. there was an amateur concert for a commendable purpose in the vancouver opera-house, which, since the inhabitants of the mountain province do not expect any organized body to take over their individual responsibilities, was a somewhat unusual event, and miss barbara heathcote, who had not as yet found it particularly entertaining, was leaning back languidly in her chair. "there are really one or two things they do a little better in the old country," she said. the young man who sat beside her laughed. "there must be, or you never would have admitted it," he said. "still, i'm not sure you would find many folks who would believe you here." "one has to be candid occasionally," and barbara made a little gesture of weariness. "there is still another hour of it, but, i sincerely hope, not another cornet solo. what comes next? we were a little late, and nobody provided me with a programme. they are inconsistent. milly, i notice, has several." the man opened the paper which a girl barbara glanced at handed him. "a violin solo," he said. "i think they mean schumann, but it's not altogether astonishing that they've spelt it wrong. a man called brooke is put down for it." "brooke!" said barbara, a trifle sharply. "where does he come from? do you know him?" "i can't say i do----" the man commenced reflectively, and stopped a moment when he saw the little smile in the girl's brown eyes. "what were you thinking?" "i was wondering whether that means he can't be worth knowing." "well," said the man, good-humoredly, "there are, i believe, one or two decent folks in this city i haven't had the pleasure of meeting, but you were a trifle too previous. i don't know him, but if he's the man i think he is, i've heard about him. he came down from the bush lately, and somebody put him on to naseby, the surveyor. naseby's busy just now, doing a good deal for the government--crown mineral lands, i think, or something of that kind--and he took the man. i understand he's quite smart at the bush work, and naseby's pleased with him. that's about all i can tell you. you're scarcely likely to know him." barbara sat silent a space, looking about her while the amateur orchestra chased one another through the treacherous mazes of an overture. the handsome building was well filled, but there were one or two empty places at hand, for the man who had sent her there had taken a row of them and sent tickets to his friends, as was expected from a citizen of his importance. it was, in the usual course, scarcely likely that she would know a man who had lately been installed in a subordinate place in a surveyor's service, for her acquaintances were people of position in that province, and yet she had a very clear recollection of a certain rancher brooke who played the violin. "i once met a man of that name in the bush," she said, with almost overdone indifference. "still, he is scarcely likely to be the same one." her companion started another topic, and neither of them listened to the orchestra, though the girl was a trifle irritated at herself for wishing that the overture had been shorter. at last, when the second violins were not more than a note behind the rest, the music stopped, and barbara sat very still with eyes fixed on the stage while the usual little stir and rustle of draperies ran round the building. then there was silence for a moment, and she was sensible of a curious little thrill as a man who held a violin came forward into the blaze of light. he wore conventional evening-dress in place of the fringed deerskin she had last seen him in, and she decided that it became his somewhat spare, symmetrical figure almost as well. the years he had spent swinging axe and pounding drill had toughened and suppled it, and yet left him free from the coarsening stamp of toil, which is, however, not as a rule a necessary accompaniment of strenuous labor in that country. standing still a moment quietly at his ease, straight-limbed, sinewy, with a little smile in his frost-bronzed face, he was certainly a personable man, and for no very apparent reason she was pleased to notice that two of her companions were regarding him with evident approbation. "i think one could call him quite good-looking," said the girl beside her. "he has been in this country a while, but i wouldn't call him a canadian. not from this side of the rockies, anyway." "why?" asked barbara, mainly to discover how far her companion's thoughts coincided with her own. "well," said the other girl, reflectively, "it seems to me he takes it too easily. if he had been one of us he'd have either been grim and serious or worrying with the strings. we're most desperately in earnest, but they do things as though they didn't count in the old country. now he has got the a right off without the least fussing, as if he couldn't help doing it." the explanation was rather suggestive than definite, but barbara was satisfied with it. she was usually a reposeful young woman herself, and the man's graceful tranquillity, which was of a kind not to be met with every day in that country, appealed to her. then he drew the bow across the strings, and she sat very still to listen. it was not music that a good many of his audience were accustomed to, but scarcely a dress rustled or a programme fluttered until he took the fiddle from his shoulder. then, while the plaudits rang through the building, his eyes met barbara's. leaning forward a trifle in her chair, she saw the sudden intentness of his face, but he gazed at her steadily for a moment without sign of recognition. then she smiled graciously, for that was what she had expected of him, and again felt a faint thrill of content, for his eyes were fixed on her when as the tumult of applause increased he made a little inclination. he was not permitted to retire, and when he put the fiddle to his shoulder again she knew why he played the nocturne she had heard in the bush. it was also, she felt, in a fashion significant that it had now, in place of the roar of a snow-fed river, the chords of a grand piano for accompaniment, though the latter, it seemed to her, made an indifferent substitute. the bronze-faced man in deerskin had fitted the surroundings in which she had seen him, and they had been close comrades in the wilderness for a week. it could, she knew, scarcely be the same in the city, but she saw that he was, at least, equally at home there. it was only their relative positions that had changed, for the guide was the person of importance in the primeval bush, and the fact that he had waited without a sign until she smiled showed that he had not failed to recognize it. when at last he moved away she turned to the man at her side. "will you go down and ask mr. brooke to come here?" she said. "you can tell him that i would like to speak to him." the young man did not express any of the astonishment he certainly felt, but proceeded to do her bidding, though it afforded him no particular pleasure, for there was a certain imperiousness about barbara heathcote which was not without its effect. brooke was putting away his fiddle when he came upon him. "i haven't the pleasure of your acquaintance, mr. brooke, but it seems you know a friend of mine," he said. "if you are at liberty, miss heathcote would like to see you." "miss heathcote?" said brooke, for it had happened, not unnaturally, that he had never heard the girl's full name. her companions, of whom he had not felt warranted in inquiring it, had called her barbara in the bush, and he had addressed her without prefix. "yes," said the other, who was once more a trifle astonished. "miss barbara heathcote." he glanced at brooke sharply, or he would not have seen the swift content in his face, for the latter put a sudden restraint upon himself. "of course! i will come with you at once," he said, and a minute or two later took the vacant place at barbara's side. "you do not appear very much surprised, and yet it was a long way from here i saw you last," she said. brooke fancied she meant that it was under somewhat different circumstances, and sat looking at her with a little smile. she was also, he decided, even better worth inspection than she had been in the bush, for the rich attire became her, and the garish electric radiance emphasized the gleam of the white shoulder the dainty laces clung about and of the ivory neck the moonlight had shone upon when first they met. "no," he said. "the fact is, i have seen you already on several occasions in this city." barbara glanced at him covertly. "then why did you not claim recognition?" "isn't the reason obvious?" "no," said barbara, reflectively, "i scarcely think it is--unless, of course, you had no desire to renew the acquaintance." "does one usually renew a chance acquaintance made with a packer in the bush?" "it would depend a good deal on the packer," said barbara, quietly. "now this country is----" there was a trace of dryness in brooke's smile. "you were going to say a democratic one. that, of course, might to some extent explain the anomaly." "no," said barbara, sharply, with a very faint flush of color in her face, "i was not. you ought to know that, too. explanations are occasionally odious, and almost always difficult, but both major hume and his daughter invited you to their house if you were ever in england." "the major may have felt himself tolerably safe in making that offer," said brooke, reflectively. "you see, i am naturally acquainted with my fellow briton's idiosyncrasies." the girl looked at him with a little sparkle in her eyes. "i do not know why you are adopting this attitude, or assigning one to me," she said. "did we ever attempt to patronize you, and if we had done, is there any reason why you should take the trouble to resent it?" brooke laughed softly. "i scarcely think i could afford to resent a kindness, however it was offered; but there is a point you don't quite seem to have grasped. how could i be certain you had remembered me?" the girl smiled a little. "your own powers of recollection might have furnished a standard of comparison." brooke looked at her steadily. "the sharpness of the memory depends upon the effect the object one wishes to recollect produced upon one's mind," he said. "i should, of course, have known you at once had it been twenty years hence." the girl turned to her programme, for now she had induced him to abandon his reticence his candor was almost disconcerting. "well," she said. "tell me what you have been doing. you have left the ranch?" brooke nodded and glanced at the hand he laid on his knee, which, as the girl saw, was still ingrained and hard. "road-making for one thing," he said. "chopping trees, quarrying rock, and following other useful occupations of the kind. they are, one presumes, healthy and necessary, but i did not find any of them especially remunerative." "and now?" brooke's face, as she did not fail to notice, hardened suddenly, and he felt an unpleasant embarrassment as he met her eyes. he had decided that he was fully warranted in taking any steps likely to lead to the recovery of the dollars he had been robbed of, but he was sensible that the only ones he had found convenient would scarcely commend themselves to his companion. there was also no ignoring the fact that he would very much have preferred her approbation. "at present i am surveying, though i cannot, of course, become a surveyor," he said. "the legislature of this country has placed that out of the question." barbara was aware that in canada a man can no more set up as a surveyor without the specified training than he can as a solicitor, though she did not think that fact accounted for the constraint in the man's voice and attitude. he was not one who readily betrayed what he felt, but she was tolerably certain that something in connection with his occupation caused him considerable dissatisfaction. "still," she said, "you must have known a little about the profession?" "yes," said brooke, a trifle unguardedly. "of course, there is a difference, but i had once the management of an estate in england. what one might call the more useful branches of mathematics were also, a good while ago, a favorite study of mine. one could find a use for them even in measuring a tree." the girl had a question on her lips, but she did not consider it advisable to ask it just then. "you would find a knowledge of timber of service in canada?" she said. "not very often. you see the only apparent use of the trees on my possessions was to keep me busy two years attempting to destroy them, and of late i have chiefly had to do with minerals." "with minerals?" said the girl, quickly, and then, as he volunteered no answer, swiftly asked the question she had wished to put before. "whose was the estate in england?" brooke did not look at her, and she fancied he was not sorry that the necessity of affecting a show of interest in the music meanwhile made continuous conversation difficult. his eyes were then turned upon a performer on the stage. "the estate--it belonged to--a friend of mine," he said. "of course, i had no regular training, but connection and influence count for everything in the old country." barbara watched him covertly, and once more noticed the slight hardening of his lips, and the very faint deepening of the bronze in his cheeks. it was only just perceptible, but though the sun and wind had darkened its tinting, brooke had a clear english complexion, and the blood showed through his skin. his companion remembered the old house in the english valley, with its trim gardens and great sweep of velvet lawn, where he had admitted that he had once been long ago. the statement she had fancied at the time was purposely vague, and she wondered now if he had meant that he had lived there, for barbara possessed the not unusual feminine capacity for putting two and two together. she, however, naturally showed nothing of this. "i suppose it does," she said. "i wonder if you ever feel any faint longing for what you must have left behind you there. one learns to do without a good deal in canada." brooke smiled curiously. "of course! that is one reason why i am pleased you sent for me. this, you see, brings it back to me." he glanced suggestively round the big, brilliantly-lighted building, across the rows of citizens in broadcloth, and daintily-dressed women, and then turned and fixed his eyes upon his companion's face almost too steadily. the girl understood him, but she would not admit it. "you mean the music?" she said. "no. the music, to tell the truth, is by no means very good. it is you who have taken me back to the old country. imagination will do a great deal, but it needs a fillip, and something tangible to build upon." barbara laughed softly. "i fancy the c. p. r. and an allan liner would be a much more reliable means of transportation. you will presumably take that route some day?" "i scarcely think it likely. they have, in the western idiom, no use for poor men yonder." "still, men get rich now and then in this country." the man's face grew momentarily a trifle grim. "it would apparently be difficult to accomplish it by serving as assistant survey, and the means employed by some of them might, if they went back to the old life, tend to prevent them feeling very comfortable. i"--and he paused for a second--"fancy that i shall stay in canada." barbara was a trifle puzzled, and said nothing further for a space, until when the singer who occupied the stage just then was dismissed, the man turned to her. "how long is a chance acquaintance warranted in presuming on a favor shown him in this country?" barbara smiled at him. "if i understand you correctly, until the other person allows him to perceive that his absence would be supportable. in this case, just as long as it pleases him. now you can tell me about the road-making." brooke understood that she wished to hear, and when he could accomplish it without attracting too much attention, pictured for her benefit his life in the bush. he also did it humorously, but effectively, without any trace of the self-commiseration she watched for, and her fancy dwelt upon the hardships he lightly sketched. she knew how the toilers lived and worked in the bush, and had seen their reeking shanties and rain-swept camps. labor is accounted honorable in that land, but it is none the less very frequently brutal as well as strenuous, and she could fancy how this man, who, she felt certain, had been accustomed to live softly in england, must have shrunk from some of his tasks, and picture to herself what he felt when he came back at night to herd close-packed with comrades whose thoughts and his must always be far apart. that many possibly better men had certainly borne with as hard a lot longer, after all, made no great difference to the facts. she also recognized that there was a vein of pathos in the story, as she remembered that he had told her it was scarcely likely he would ever go back to england again. that naturally suggested a good deal to her, for she held him blameless, though she knew it was not the regularity of their conduct at home which sent a good many of his countrymen out to canada. at last he rose between two songs, and stood still a moment looking down on her. "i'm afraid i have trespassed on your kindness," he said. "i am going back to the bush with a survey expedition to-morrow, and i do not know when i shall be fortunate enough to see you again." barbara smiled a little. "that," she said, "is for you to decide. we are 'at home' every thursday in the afternoon--and, in your case, in the evening." he made her a little inclination, and turned away, while barbara sat still, looking straight in front of her, but quite oblivious of the music, until she turned with a laugh, and the girl who sat next to her glanced round. "was the man very amusing?" she said. "no," said barbara, reflectively. "i scarcely think he was. i gave him permission to call upon us, and never told him where we lived." "still, he would, like everybody else in this city, know it already." "he may," said barbara. "that, i suppose, is what i felt at the time, but now i scarcely think he does." "then one would fancy that to meet a young man of his appearance who didn't know all about you would be something quite new," said her companion, drily. barbara flushed ever so slightly, but her companion noticed it. she was quite aware that if she was made much of in that city it was, in part, at least, due to the fact that she was the niece of a well-known man, and had considerable possessions. vi. an arduous journey. it was late at night, and raining hard, when a line of dripping mules stood waiting beneath the pines that crowded in upon the workings of the elktail mine. a few lights blinked among the log-sheds that clustered round the mouth of the rift in the steep hillside, and a warm wind that drove the deluge before it came wailing out of the blackness of the valley beneath them. the mine was not a big one, but it was believed that it paid thomas p. saxton and his friends tolerably well, in spite of the heavy cost of transport to the nearest smelter. a somewhat varying vein of galena, which is silver-lead, was worked there, and saxton had, on several occasions, declined an offer to buy it, made on behalf of a company. on the night in question he stood in the doorway of one of the sheds with brooke, for whom the surveyor had no more work just then, beside him. brooke wore long boots and a big rubber coat, on whose dripping surface the light of the lantern saxton held flickered. here and there a man was dimly visible beside the mules, but beyond them impenetrable darkness closed in. "it's a wicked kind of night," said saxton, who, brooke fancied, nevertheless, appeared quite content with it. "you know what you've got to do?" "yes," said brooke, a trifle drily, "you have given me tolerably complete instructions once or twice already. the ore is to be delivered to allonby at the dayspring mine not later than to-morrow night, and i'm to be contented with his verbal acknowledgment. the getting it across the river will, i fancy, be the difficulty, especially as i'm to send half the teamsters back before we reach it." "still, you have got to send them back," said saxton. "jake and tom will go on, and when you have crossed the ford that will be two mules for each of you. not one of the other men must come within a mile of the trail forking. it's part of our bargain that you're to do just what i tell you." brooke laughed a little. "i'm not going to grumble very much at leading two mules. i have done a good deal harder work quite frequently." "you'll find it tough enough by the time you're through. you must be in at the mine by daylight the day after to-morrow, anyway. allonby will be sitting up waiting for you." brooke said nothing further, but went out into the rain, calling to one of the teamsters, and the mules were got under way. the trail that led to the elktail mine sloped steep as a roof just there, and was slippery with rain and mire, but the mules went down it as no other loaded beasts could have done, feeling their way foot by foot, or glissading on all four hoofs for yards together. the men made little attempt to guide them, for a mule is opinionated by nature, and when it cannot find its own way up or down any ascent it is seldom worth while for its driver to endeavor to show it one. when they reached the level, or rather the depth of the hollow, for of level, in the usual sense of the word, there is none in that country, brooke, who was then cumbered with no bridle, turned and looked round. the lights of the elktail had faded among the pines, and there was only black darkness about him. here and there he could discern the ghostly outline of a towering trunk a little more solid than the night it rose against, and he could hear the men and beasts floundering and splashing in front of him. a deep reverberating sound rose out of the obscurity beneath, and he knew it to be the roar of a torrent in a deep-sunk gully, while now and then a diminishing rattle suggested that a hundred-weight or so of water-loosened gravel had slipped down into the chasm from the perilous trail. it was a difficult road to travel by daylight, and, naturally, considerably worse at night, while brooke had already wondered why saxton had not sent off the ore earlier. that, however, was not his business, and, shaking the rain from his dripping hat, he plodded on. it was still two or three hours before daylight when they reached a wider and smoother trail, and he sent away three of the men. "it's a tolerably good road now, and saxton wants you at the mine," he said. one of the teamsters who were remaining laughed ironically. "i'm blamed if i ever heard the dip down to the long ford called a good trail before!" "well," said one of the others, "what in the name of thunder are you going that way for?" brooke, who was standing close by, fancied that a man who had not spoken kicked his loquacious comrade viciously. "tom never does know where he's going. it's the mule that does the thinking for both of them," he said. there was a little hoarse laughter, and those who were going back vanished into the deluge, while brooke, who took a bridle now, went on with two men again. it was darker than ever, for great fir branches met overhead just there, but they at least kept off a little of the rain, and he groped onward, splashing in the mire, until the roar of a river throbbed across the forest as the night was wearing through. then the leading teamster pulled up his mules. "it's a nasty ford in daylight, and she'll be swirling over it waist-deep and more just now," he said. "still, we've got to take our chances of getting through." "it will be light in two hours," said brooke, suggestively. "of course, you know better than i do whether we could make the wasted time up." the man laughed curiously. "i guess we could, but there's two concerned bush ranchers just started their chopping over yonder. i had a kind of notion the boss would have told you that." it commenced to dawn on brooke that saxton had a reason for not desiring that everybody should know he was sending ore away, but he was too wet to concern himself about the question then. "i don't think he did," he said. "anyway, if we have to go through in the dark there's nothing to be gained by waiting here." they went on, down what appeared to be the side of a bottomless gully, with the stones and soil slipping away from under them, while half-seen trees flitted up out of the obscurity. then they reached the bed of a stream, and proceeded along it, splashing and stumbling amidst the boulders. in the meanwhile the roar of the river was growing steadily louder, and when they stopped again they could hear the clamor of the invisible flood close in front of them. it came out of the rain and darkness, hoarse and terrifying, but while the wind drove the deluge into his face brooke could see nothing beyond dim, dripping trees. "well," said the leading teamster, "i have struck a nicer job than this one, but it has got to be done. tether the spare mule, each of you, and then get in behind me." brooke had no diffidence about taking the last place in the line. though he was in charge of the pack train, it was evident that the men knew a good deal more about that ford than he did, and he had no particular desire to make himself responsible for a disaster. then there was a scrambling and splashing, and he found himself suddenly waist-deep in the river. he was, however, tolerably accustomed to a ford, and though the mule he led objected strenuously to entering the water, it proceeded with that beast's usual sagacity once it was in. he endeavored to keep its head a trifle up-stream, and as close behind his two companions as he could, but apart from that he left the beast to the guidance of its own acumen, for he knew that it is seldom the sagacious mule takes any risk that can be avoided. twice, at least, his feet were swept from under him, and once he lost his grip on the bridle, and simultaneously all sight of his companions and the beast he led. then he felt unpleasantly lonely as he stood more than waist-deep in the noisy flood, but after a few yards floundering he found the mule again, and at last scrambled up, breathless and gasping, beneath the pines on the farther side. "hit it square that time!" said the teamster. "i'm not quite so sure as i'd like to be we can do it again." they went back through the river for the rest of the mules, and were half-way across on the return journey when the leader shouted to them that they should stop. the water seemed deeper than it had been on the previous occasion, and brooke found it difficult to keep his footing at all as he peered into the darkness. the rain had ceased, but there was little visible beyond the faint whiteness of sliding froth, and a shadowy blur of trees on either shore. he could see nothing that might serve any one as guide, and the leading teamster was standing still, apparently in a state of uncertainty, with dim streaks of froth streaming past him. "i'm 'most afraid we're too far down-stream," he said. "anyway, we can't stay here. head the beasts up a little." his voice reached the others brokenly through the roar of the torrent, and with a pull at the bridle brooke turned his face up-stream. he could hear the rest splashing in front of him until his mule lost his footing, and he sank suddenly up to the breast. then there was a shout, and a struggling beast swept down on him with the swing of an eddy. brooke went down, head under, and one of the teamsters appeared to be shouting instructions to him when he came up again. he had not the faintest notion of what they were, and swung round with the eddy until he was driven violently against a boulder. there was a mule close beside him, and he contrived to grasp the bridle, and found to his astonishment that he could now stand upright without difficulty. exactly where the others were, or where the opposite side of the river lay, he did not at the moment know; but the mule appeared to be floundering on with a definite purpose, and he went with it, until they scrambled up the bank, and he found two other men and one beast already there. "one of them's gone," said the teamster. "there'll be trouble when we go back, but i guess it can't be helped. anyway, there's 'most a fathom in the deep below the ford, and no mule would do much swimming with that load." "a fathom's quite enough to cover the bags up so nobody's going to find them," said the other man. brooke did not quite understand why, since the ore was valuable, this fact should afford the teamster the consolation it apparently did, but he was not in a mood to consider that point just then, and all his attention was occupied when they proceeded again. the trail that climbed the rise was wet and steep, and seemed to consist largely of boulders, into which he blundered with unpleasant frequency. it was but little better when they once more plunged into the forest, for the way was scarcely two feet wide, and wound round and through thickets of thorn and fern which, when he brushed against it, further saturated him. he was wet enough already, but the water which remained any time in his clothing got slowly warm. it also dipped into splashy hollows and climbed loose gravel banks, while once a hoarse shout from the leader, which changed to a howl of pain, was followed by a stoppage. the man had stumbled into a clump of the horrible devil's club thorn, than which nothing that grows anywhere is more unpleasant when it gets a good hold on human flesh. he was cut loose, and his objurgations mingled with the soft splashing from the branches as they blundered on until a faint grey light filtered down, and the firs they passed beneath grew into definite form. it had also become unpleasantly chilly, and a thin, clammy mist rose like steam from every hollow. then the trees grew thinner as they climbed steadily, until at last brooke could see the black hill shoulders rise out of the trails of mist, and the leader pulled up his mules. "we've done 'bout enough for one spell, and nobody's going to see us here," he said. "get a fire started. i'm emptier'n a drum." brooke, who knew where to find the resinous knots, was glad to help, and soon a great fire blazed upon a shelf of rock. the mules were tethered and forage given them, and the men lay steaming about the blaze until the breakfast of flapjacks, canned stuff, and green tea was ready. it was despatched in ten minutes, and rolling his half-dried blanket about him, brooke lay down to sleep. he had a strip of very damp rock for mattress, and a bag of ore for pillow, but he had grown accustomed to a hard bed in the bush, and had scarcely laid his head down when slumber came to him. food and sleep, he had discovered, were things to be appreciated, for it was not always that he was able to obtain very much of either. his stay in the canadian cities had been brief, and the night he had spent with the brown-eyed girl at the opera-house had already drifted back into the past. it was raining when he awakened, and they once more took the trail, while during what was left of the day they plodded among the boulders beside frothing streams, crept through shadowy forests, and climbed over treacherous slopes of gravel and slippery rock outcrop round the great hill shoulders above. everywhere the cold gleam of snow met the eye, save when the mists that clung in ragged wisps about the climbing pines rolled together and blotted all the vista out. the smell of fir and balsam filled every hollow, and the song of the rivers rang through a dead stillness that even to brooke, who was accustomed to it, was curiously impressive. there was no sign of man anywhere, save for the smear of trampled mire or hoof-scattered gravel, and no sound that was made by any creature of the forest in all the primeval solitude. for no very evident reason, tracts of that wild country remain a desolation of grand and almost overwhelming beauty, and in such places even the bushman speaks softly, or plods on faster, as though anxious to escape from them, in wondering silence. the teamsters, however, appeared by no means displeased at the solitude, and brooke was not in a condition to be receptive of more than physical impressions. his long boots were full of water, his clothes were soaked, the sliding gravel had galled his feet, and his limbs ached. the beasts were also flagging, for their loads were heavy, and the patter of their hoofs rose with a slower beat through the rain, while the teamsters said nothing save when they urged them on. they rested again for an hour and lighted another fire, and afterwards found the trail smoother, but evening was closing in when, scrambling down from a hill shoulder, they came upon a winding valley. it was filled with dusky cedars, and the mist rolled out of it, but the teamsters quickened their pace a trifle, and smote the lagging beasts. then, where the trees were thinner, brooke saw a faint smear of vapor a little bluer than the mist drawn out across the ragged pines above him, and one of his companions laughed. "well," he said, "i guess we're there at last, and if boss allonby isn't on the jump you'll be putting away your supper, and as much whisky as you've any use for inside an hour." "is it a complaint he's often troubled with?" said brooke. the teamster grinned. "he has it 'bout once a fortnight--when the pack beasts from the settlement come in. it lasts two days, in the usual way, and on the third one every boy about the mine looks out for him." brooke asked no more questions, though he hoped that several days had elapsed since the supplies from the settlement had come up, and in another few minutes they plodded into sight of the mine. the workings appeared to consist of a heap of débris and a big windlass, but here and there a crazy log hut stood amidst the pines which crowded in serried ranks upon the narrow strip of clearing. the door of the largest shanty stood open, and the shadowy figure of a man appeared in it. "good-evening, boys," he said. "you have brought the ore and saxton's man along?" one of the teamsters said they had, and turned to brooke with a laugh. "you're not going to have any trouble to-night," he said. "he's coming round again, and when he feels like it, there's nobody can be more high-toned polite!" vii. allonby's illusion. the shanty was draughty as well as very damp, and the glass of the flickering lamp blackened so that the light was dim. it, however, served to show one-half of allonby's face in silhouette against the shadow, as he sat leaning one elbow on the table, with a steaming glass in front of him. brooke, who was stiff and weary, lay in a dilapidated canvas chair beside the crackling fire, which filled the very untidy room with aromatic odors. it was still apparently raining outside, for there was a heavy splashing on the shingled roof above, and darkness had closed down on the lonely valley several hours ago, but while brooke's eyes were heavy, allonby showed no sign of drowsiness. he sat looking straight in front of him vacantly. "you will pass your glass across when you are ready, mr. brooke," he said, and the latter noticed his clean english intonation. "the night is young yet, that bottle is by no means the last in the shanty, and it is, i think, six months since i have been favored with any intelligent company. i have, of course, the boys, but with due respect to the democratic sentiments of this colony they are--the boys, and the fact that they are a good deal more use to the country than i am does not affect the question." brooke smiled a little. his host was attired somewhat curiously in a frayed white shirt and black store jacket, which was flecked with cigar ash, and had evidently seen better days, though his other garments were of the prevalent jean, and a portion of his foot protruded through one of his deerhide slippers. his face was gaunt and haggard, but it was just then a trifle flushed, and though his voice was still clear and nicely modulated, there was a suggestive unsteadiness in his gaze. the man was evidently a victim of indulgence, but there was a trace of refinement about him, and brooke had realized already that he had reached the somewhat pathetic stage when pride sinks to the vanity which prompts its possessor to find a curious solace in the recollection of what he has thrown away. "no more!" he said. "i have lived long enough in the bush to find out that is the way disaster lies." allonby nodded. "you are no doubt perfectly right," he said. "i had, however, gone a little too far when i made the discovery, and by that time the result of any further progress had become a matter of indifference to me. in any case, a man who has played his part with credit among his equals where life has a good deal to offer one and intellect is appreciated, must drown recollection now and then when he drags out his days in a lonely exile that can have only one end. i am quite aware that it is not particularly good form for me to commiserate myself, but it should be evident that there is nobody else here to do it for me." brooke had already found his host's maudlin moralizings becoming monotonous, but he also felt in a half-contemptuous fashion sorry for the man. he was, it seemed to him, in spite of his proclivities, in the restricted sense of the word, almost a gentleman. "if one may make the inquiry, you came from england?" he said. allonby laughed. "most men put that question differently in this country. they talk straight, as they term it, and apparently consider brutality to be the soul of candor. yes, i came from england, because something happened which prevented me feeling any great desire to spend any further time there. what it was does not, of course, matter. i came out with a sheaf of certificates and several medals to exploit the mineral riches of western canada, and found that mineralogical science is not greatly appreciated here." he rose, and taking down a battered walnut case, shook out a little bundle of greasy papers with a trembling hand. then a faint gleam crept into his eyes as he opened a little box in which brooke saw several big round pieces of gold. the dulness of the unpolished metal made the inscriptions on them more legible, and he knew enough about such matters to realize that no man of mean talent could have won those trophies. "they would, i fancy, have got you a good appointment anywhere," he said. "as a matter of fact, they got me one or two. it is, however, occasionally a little difficult to keep an appointment when obtained." brooke could understand that there were reasons which made that likely in his host's case, but he had by this time had enough of the subject. "what are you going to do with the ore i brought you?" he said. allonby's eyes twinkled. "enrich what we raise here with it." "it is a little difficult to understand what you would gain by that." allonby smiled suggestively. "i would certainly gain nothing, but thomas p. saxton seems to fancy the result would be profitable to him." "but does the dayspring belong to saxton?" allonby emptied his glass at a gulp. "as much as i do, and he believes he has bought me soul and body. the price was not a big one--a very few dollars every month, and enough whisky to keep me here. if that failed me, i should go away, though i do not know where to, for i cannot use the axe. he is, however, now quite willing to part with the dayspring, which has done little more than pay expenses." a light commenced to dawn on brooke, and his face grew a trifle hot. "that is presumably why he arranged that i should bring the ore down past the few ranches near the trail at night?" "precisely!" said allonby. "you see, saxton wants to sell the mine to another man--because he is a fool. now the chief recommendation a mine has to a prospective purchaser is naturally the quality of the ore to be got out of it." "but the man who proposed buying it would send an expert to collect samples for assaying." allonby's voice was not quite so clear as it had been, but he smiled again. "it is not quite so difficult for a mine captain who knows his business to contrive that an expert sees no more than is advisable. a good deal of discretion is, however, necessary when you salt a poor mine with high-grade ore. it has to be done with knowledge, artistically. you don't seem quite pleased at being mixed up in such a deal." brooke was a trifle grim in face, but he laughed. "i have no doubt that, considering everything, it is a trifle absurd of me, but i'm not," he said. "one has to get accustomed to the notion that he is being made use of in connection with an ingenious swindle. that, however, is a matter which rests between saxton and me, and we may talk over it when i go back again. why did you call him a fool?" allonby leaned forward in his chair, and his face grew suddenly eager. "i suppose you couldn't raise eight thousand dollars to buy the mine with?" brooke laughed outright. "i should have some difficulty in raising twenty until the month is up." "then you are losing a chance you'll never get again in a lifetime," and allonby made a little gesture of resignation. "i would have liked you to have taken it, because i think i could make you believe in me. that is why i showed you the medals." brooke looked at him curiously for a moment or two. it was evident that the man was in earnest, for his gaunt face was wholly intent, and his fingers were trembling. "it is a very long time since i had the expectation of ever calling eight thousand dollars my own, and if i had them i should feel very dubious about putting them into any mine, and especially this one." allonby leaned forward further, and clutched his arm. "if you have any friends in the old country, beg or borrow from them. offer them twenty per cent.--anything they ask. there is a fortune under your feet. of course, you do not believe it. nobody i ever told it to would even listen seriously." "i believe you feel sure of it, but that is quite another thing," and brooke smiled. allonby rose shakily, and leaned upon the table with his fingers trembling. "listen a few minutes--i was sure of attention without asking for it once," he said. "it was i who found the dayspring, not by chance prospecting, but by calculations that very few men in the province could make. i know what that must appear--but you have seen the medals. tracing the dip and curvature of the stratification from the elktail and two prospectors' shafts, i knew the vein would approach the level here, and i put five thousand dollars--every cent i could scrape together--into proving it. we struck the vein, but while it should have been rich, we found it broken, displaced, and poor. there had, you see, been a disturbance of the strata. i borrowed money, worked night and day, and starved myself--did everything that would save a dollar from the rapidly-melting pile--and at last we struck the vein again, and struck it rich." he stopped abruptly and stood staring vacantly in front of him, while brooke heard him noisily draw in his breath. "you can imagine what that meant!" he continued. "after what had happened in england i could never go back a poor man, but a good deal is forgiven the one who comes home rich. then, while i tried to keep my head, we came to the fault where the ore vein suddenly ran out. it broke off as though cut through with a knife, and went down, as the men who knew no better said, to the centre of the earth. now a fault is a very curious thing, but one can deduce a good deal when he has studied them, and a big snow-slide had laid bare an interesting slice of the foundations of this country in the valley opposite. it took me a month to construct my theory, and that was little when you consider the factors i had to reckon with--ages of crushing pressure, denudation by grinding ice and sliding snow, and titanic upheavals thousands of years ago. the result was from one point of view contemptible. with about four thousand dollars i could strike the vein again." "of course you tried to raise them?" allonby made a grimace. "for six long years. the men who had lent me money laughed at me, and worked the poor ore back along the incline instead of boring. somebody has been working it--for about five cents on the dollar--ever since, and when i told them what they were letting slip all of them smiled compassionately. i am of course--though once it was different--a broken man, with a brain clouded by whisky, only fit to run a played-out mine. how could i be expected to find any man a fortune?" his brain, it was evident, was slightly affected by alcohol then, but there was no mistaking the genuineness of his bitterness. it was too deep to be maudlin or tinged with self-commiseration now. the little hopeless gesture of resignation he made was also very eloquent, and while the rain splashed upon the roof brooke sat silent regarding him curiously. the dim light and the flickering radiance from the fire were still on one side of his face, forcing it up with all its gauntness of outline, but the weakness had gone out of it, and for once it was strong and almost stern. then a little sardonic smile crept into it. "a fortune under our feet--and nobody will have it! it is one of fate's grim jests," he said. "i spent a month making a theory, and every day of six years--that is when i was capable of thinking--has shown me something to prove that theory right. now saxton wants to swindle another man into buying the mine for--you can call it a song." he poured out another glass with a shaking hand, and then turned abruptly to his companion. "put on your rubber coat and come with me," he said. brooke would much rather have retired to sleep, but the man's earnestness had its effect on him, and he rose and went out into the rain with him. allonby came near falling down the shaft when they stood at its head, but brooke got him into the ore hoist and sent him down, after which he descended the running chain he had locked fast hand over hand. the level, as he had been told, was close to the surface, and while allonby walked unsteadily in front of him with a blinking candle in his hat, they followed it into the face of the hill. twice his companion stumbled over a piece of the timbering, and the light went out, while brooke wondered uneasily if there was another sinking anywhere ahead as he lighted it again. he knew a little about mining, since he had on one or two occasions earned a few dollars assisting in the driving of an adit. finally, allonby stopped and leaned against the dripping rock, as he took off his hat and held the candle high above his head. then he turned and pointed down the gallery the way they had come. "look at it!" he said, thickly. "until we struck the ore where you see the extra timbering, i counted the dollars every yard of it cost me as i would drops of my life's blood. i worked while the men slept, and lived like a chinaman. there was a fortune within my grasp if those dollars would hold out until i reached it--and fortune meant england, and i once more the man i had been. then--we came to that." he swung round and pointed with a wide, dramatic gesture which brooke fancied he would not have used in his prosperous days, to a bare face of rock. it was of different nature to the sides of the tunnel, and had evidently come down from above. brooke understood. the strata his companion had been working in had suddenly broken off and gone down, only he knew where. he sat down on a big fallen fragment, and there was silence for a space, emphasized by the drip of water in the blackness of the mine. brooke was very drowsy, but the scene, with its loneliness and the haggard face of his companion showing pale and drawn in the candle-light, had a curious effect on him, and in the meanwhile compelled him to wakefulness. "you know where that broken strata has dipped to?" he said, at last. allonby, who laughed in a strained fashion, sat down abruptly, and thrust a bundle of papers upon his companion. "almost to a fathom. if you know anything of geology, look at these." brooke, who unrolled the papers, knew enough to recognize that, even if his companion had illusions, they were the work of a clever man. there was skill and what appeared to be a high regard for minute accuracy in every line of the plans, while he fancied the attached calculations would have aroused a mathematician's appreciation. he spent several minutes poring over them with growing wonder, while allonby held the candle, and then looked up at him. "they would, i think, almost satisfy any man, but there is a weak point," he said. allonby smiled in a curious fashion. "the one the rest split on? i see you understand." "you deduce where the ore ought to be--by analogy. that kind of reasoning is, i fancy, not greatly favored in this country by practical men. they prefer the fact that it is there established by the drill." allonby made a little gesture of impatience. "they have driven shaft and adit for half a lifetime, most of them, and they do not know yet that one law of nature--the sequence of cause and effect--is immutable. i have shown them the causes--but it would cost five thousand dollars to demonstrate the effect. well, as no one will ever spend them, we will go back." he had come out unsteadily, but he went back more so still, as though a sustaining purpose had been taken from him, and, as he fell down now and then, brooke had some difficulty in conveying him to the foot of the shaft. when he had bestowed him in the ore hoist, and was about to ascend by the chain, allonby laughed. "you needn't be particularly careful. i shall come down here head-foremost one of these nights, and nobody will be any the worse off," he said. "i lost my last chance when that vein worked out." then brooke went up into the darkness, and with some difficulty hove his companion to the surface. they went back to the shanty together, and as allonby incontinently fell asleep in his chair, brooke retired to the bunk set apart for him. still, tired as he was, it was some little time before he slept, for what he had seen had made its impression. the shanty was very still, save for the snapping of the fire, and the broken-down outcast, who held the key of a fortune the men of that province were too shrewd to believe in, slept uneasily, with head hung forward, in his chair. brooke could see him dimly by the dying light of the fire, and felt very far from sure that it was a delusion he labored under. when he awakened next morning allonby was already about, and looked at him curiously when he endeavored to reopen the subject. "it is not considerate to refer next morning to anything a man with my shortcomings may have said the night before," he said. "i think you should recognize that fact." "i'm sorry," said brooke. "still, it occurred to me that you believed very firmly in the truth of it." allonby smiled drily. "well," he said, "i do. what is that to you?" "nothing," said brooke. "i shall, as i think i told you, be worth about thirty dollars when the month is out. what is the name of the man saxton wishes to sell the mine to?" "devine," said allonby, and went out to fling a vitriolic reproof at a miner who was doing something he did not approve of about the windlass, while brooke, who saw no more of him, departed when he had made his breakfast. viii. a bold venture. it was a hot morning shortly after brooke's return to the elktail mine, and saxton sat in his galvanized shanty with his feet on a chair and a cigar in his hand. the door stood open and let a stream of sunlight and balsamic odors of the forest in. he wore soil-stained jean, and seemed very damp, for he had just come out of the mine. thomas p. saxton was what is termed a rustler in that country, a man of unlimited assurance and activity, troubled by no particular scruples and keen to seize on any chances that might result in the acquisition of even a very few dollars. he was also, like most of his countrymen, eminently adaptable, and the fact that he occasionally knew very little about the task he took in hand seldom acted as a deterrent. it was characteristic that during the past hour he had been endeavoring to show his foreman how to run a new rock-drilling machine which he had never seen in operation until that time. brooke, who had been speaking, sat watching him with a faint ironical appreciation. the man was delightfully candid, at least with him, and though he was evidently not averse from sailing perilously near the wind it was done with boldness and ingenuity. there was a little twinkle in his keen eyes as he glanced at his companion. "well," he said, "one has to take his chances when he has all to gain and very little to let up upon. that's the kind of man i am." "i believe you told me you had got quite a few dollars together not very long ago," said brooke, reflectively. the smile became a trifle plainer in saxton's eyes. "i did, but very few of them are mine. somehow i get to know everybody worth knowing in the province, and now and then folks with dollars to spare for a venture hand them me to put into a deal." "on the principle that one has to take his chances in this country?" saxton laughed good-humoredly. "well," he said, "i never go back upon a partner, anyway, and when we make a deal the other folks are quite at liberty to keep their eyes on me. they know the rules of the game, and if they don't always get the value they expected they most usually lie low and sell out to another man instead of blaming me. it pays their way better than crying down their bargain. still, i have started off mills and wild-cat mines that turned out well, and went on coining dollars for everybody." "which was no doubt a cause of satisfaction to you!" saxton shook his head. "no, sir," he said. "i felt sorry ever after i hadn't kept them." brooke straightened himself a trifle in his chair, for he felt that they were straying from the point. "industrial speculations in this province remind me of a game we have in england. perhaps you have seen it," he said, reflectively. "you bet a shilling or half-a-crown that when you lift up a thimble you will find a pea you have seen a man place under it. it is not very often that you accomplish it. still, in that case--there is--a pea." "and there's nothing but low-grade ore in the dayspring? now, nobody ever quite knows what he will find in a mine if he lays out enough dollars looking for it." "that," said brooke, drily, "is probably correct enough, especially if he is ignorant of geology. what i take exception to is the sprinkling of the mine with richer ore to induce him to buy it. such a proceeding would be called by very unpleasant names in england, and i'm not quite sure it mightn't bring you within the reach of the law here. mind, what you may think fit to do is, naturally, no concern of mine, but i have tolerably strong objections to taking any further personal part in the scheme." "the point is that we're playing it off on devine, the man who robbed you, and has once or twice put his foot on me. i was considerably flattened when i crawled from under. he's a big man and he puts it down heavy." "still, i feel it's necessary to draw the line at a swindle." saxton made a little whimsical gesture. "call it the game with the pea and thimble. devine has got a notion there's something in the mine, and i don't know any reason why i shouldn't humor him. he's quite often right, you see." "it does not affect the point, but are you quite sure he isn't right now?" "you mean that allonby may be?" "i shouldn't consider it quite out of the question." saxton laughed softly. "allonby's a whisky-skin, and i keep him because he's cheap and it's a charity. everybody knows that story of his, and he only trots it out when he has got a good bottle of old rye into him. at most other times he's quite sensible. anyway, devine doesn't want the mine to keep. he has to get a working group with a certain output and assays that look well all round before he floats it off on the english market. if he knew i was quietly dumping that ore in i'm not quite sure it would rile him." brooke sat silent a space. he had discovered by this time that it is not advisable to expect any excess of probity in a mining deal, and that it is the speculator, and not the men who face the perils of the wilderness (which are many, prospecting), who usually takes the profit. a handful or two of dollars for them, and a big bank balance for the trickster stock manipulator appeared to be the rules of the game. still, nobody can expect to acquire riches without risk or labor, and it seemed no great wrong to him that the men with the dollars should lose a few of them occasionally. granting that, he did not, however, feel it warranted him in taking any active part in fleecing them. "still, if another bag of ore goes into the dayspring you can count me out," he said. "no doubt, it's a trifle inconsistent, but you will understand plainly that i take no further share in selling the mine." saxton shook his head reproachfully. "those notions of yours are going to get in your way, and it's unfortunate, because we have taken hold of a big thing," he said. "i'm an irresponsible planter of wild-cat mining schemes, you're nobody, and between us we're going to best devine, the biggest man in his line in the province, and a clever one. still, that's one reason why the notion gets hold of me. when you come in ahead of the little man there's nothing to be got out of him, and devine's good for quite a pile when we can put the screw on." again brooke was sensible of a certain tempered admiration for his comrade's hardihood, for it seemed to him that the project he had mooted might very well involve them both in disaster. "you expect to accomplish it?" he said. "well," said saxton, drily, "i mean to try. we can't squeeze him much on the dayspring, but we want dollars to fight him with, and that's how we're going to get a few of them. it's on the canopus i mean to strike him." "the canopus!" said brooke, who knew the mine in question was considered a rich one. "how could you gain any hold on him over that?" "on the title. by jumping it. devine takes too many chances now and then, and if one could put his fingers on a little information i have a notion the canopus wouldn't be his. i guess you know that unless you do this, that, and the other, after recording your correct frontage on the lead or vein, you can't hold a mine on a patent from the crown. suppose you have got possession, and it's found that there was anything wrong with the papers you or your prospectors filed, the minerals go back to the crown again, and the man who's first to drive his stakes in can re-locate them. it's done now and then." brooke sat silent a space. a jumper--as the man who re-locates the minerals somebody else has found, on the ground of incorrect record or non-compliance with the mining enactments, is called--is not regarded with any particular favor in that province, or, indeed, elsewhere, but his proceedings may be, at least, perfectly legitimate, and there was a certain simplicity and daring of conception in the new scheme that had its effect on brooke. "i will do what i can within limits," he said. saxton nodded. "then you will have to get into the mine, though i don't quite know how we are going to fix it yet," he said. "anyway, we've talked enough for one day already, and you have to go down to the settlement to see about getting those new drills up." brooke set out for the settlement, and slept at a ranch on the way, where he left his horse which had fallen lame, for it was a two days' journey, while it was late in the afternoon when he sat down to rest where the trail crossed a bridge. the latter was a somewhat rudimentary log structure put together with the axe and saw alone, of a width that would just allow one of the light wagons in use in that country to cross over it, and, as the bottom of the hollow the river swirled through was level there, an ungainly piece of trestle work carried the road up to it. there was a long, white rapid not far away, and the roar of it rang in deep vibrations among the rocks above. brooke, who had walked a long way, found the pulsating sound soothing, while the fragrance the dusky cedars distilled had its usual drowsy effect on him, and as he watched the glancing water slide by his eyes grew heavy. he did not remember falling asleep, but by and by the sombre wall of coniferous forest that shut the hollow in seemed to dwindle to the likeness of a trim yew hedge, and the river now slid by smooth and placidly. there was also velvet grass beneath his feet in place of wheel-rutted gravel and brown fir needles. still, the scene he gazed upon was known to him, though it seemed incomplete until a girl with brown eyes in a long white dress and big white hat appeared at his side. she fitted the surroundings wonderfully, for her almost stately serenity harmonized with the quietness and order of the still english valley, but yet he was puzzled, for there was sunlight on the water, and he felt that the moon should be shining round and full above her shoulder. then when he would have spoken the picture faded, and he became suddenly conscious that his pipe had fallen from his hand, and that he was dressed in soil-stained jean which seemed quite out of keeping with the english lawn. that was his first impression, but while he wondered vaguely how he came to have a pipe made out of a corn-cob, which cost him about thirty cents, at all, a rattle of displaced gravel and pounding of hoofs became audible, and he recognized that something unusual was going on. he shook himself to attention, and looking about him saw a man sitting stiffly erect on the driving seat of a light wagon and endeavoring to urge a pair of unwilling horses up the sloping trestle. they were cayuses, beasts of native blood and very uncertain temper, bred by indians, and as usual, about half-broken to the rein. they also appeared to have decided objections to crossing the bridge, for which any one new to the province would scarcely have felt inclined to blame them. the river frothed beneath it, the ascent was steep with a twist in it, and a small log, perhaps a foot through, spiked down to the timbers, served as sole protection. it would evidently not be difficult for a pair of frightened horses to tilt a wheel of the very light vehicle over it. still, the structure compared favorably with most of those in the mountains, and brooke, who knew that it is not always advisable to interfere in a dispute between a bush rancher and his horses, sat still, until it became evident to him that the man did not belong to that community. he was elderly, for there was grey in the hair beneath the wide hat, while something in the way he held himself and the fit of his clothes, which appeared unusually good, suggested a connection with the cities. it was, however, evident that he was a determined man, for he showed no intention of dismounting, and responded to the off horse's vicious kicking with a stinging cut of the whip. the result of this was a plunge, and one wheel struck the foot-high guard with a crash. the man plied the whip again, and with another plunge and scramble the beasts gained the level of the bridge. here they stopped altogether, and one attempted to stand upright while brooke sprang to his feet. "hadn't you better get down, sir, or let me lead them across?" he said. the man, tightening both hands upon the reins, cast a momentary glance at him, and his little grim smile and the firm grip of his long, lean fingers supplied a hint of his character. "not until i have to," he said. "they're going to cross this bridge." brooke moved a few paces nearer. it was one thing for a rancher accustomed to horses and bridges of that description to take pleasure in such a struggle, but quite another in the case of a man from the cities, and he had misgivings as to the result of it. the latter, however, showed very little concern, though the near horse was now apparently endeavoring to kick the front of the wagon in. then brooke sprang suddenly towards them as both backed the wagon against the log. he fancied that one wheel was mounting it when he seized the near horse's head, but after that he had very little opportunity of noticing anything. the beast plunged, and came near swinging him off his feet, the wagon pole creaked portentously, and the whip fell swishing across the other horse's back again. then there was a hammering of hoofs, and a rattle; the team bolted incontinently, and because the bridge was narrow, brooke, who lost his hold, sprang upon the log that very indifferently guarded it. it was, however, rounded on the top, and next moment he found himself standing knee-deep in the river, shaken, and considerably astonished, but by no means hurt. a drop of ten feet or so is not very apt to hurt an agile man who alights upon his feet. he saw the wagon bounce upon the half-round logs, as with the team stretching out in a furious gallop in front of it, it crossed the trestle on the opposite side, and vanish into the forest; and then finding himself very little the worse, proceeded to wade back to the bridge. he was plodding up the climbing trail beneath the firs when a shout came down and he saw the man had pulled the wagon up. when brooke drew level he looked at him with a little dry smile. "i guess you and the cayuses came off the worst," he said. brooke glanced at the horses. they were flecked with lather but quiet enough now, and it was evident that the driver had beaten the spirit out of them on the ascent. "i fancied the result would have been different a little while ago," he said. the stranger laughed. "i 'most always get my way," he said. "still, i didn't pull the team up to tell you that. you're going in to the settlement?" brooke said he was, and the stranger bade him get up, which he did, and seized the first opportunity of glancing at his companion. there is, it had already appeared to him, a greater typical likeness between the business men of the pacific slope, in which category he placed his companion, than is usual in the case of englishmen. even when large of frame they seldom put on flesh, and the characteristic lean face and spare figure alone supply a hint of restlessness and activity, which is emphasized by mobility of features and quick nervous gesture. the man who drove the wagon was almost unusually gaunt, and while his eyes, which were brown, and reminded brooke curiously of somebody else's, seemed to scintillate with a faint sardonic twinkle, there was a suggestion of reticence in his firm thin lips, and an unmistakable stamp of command upon him. he also held himself well, and brooke fancied that he was in his own sphere a man of some importance. his first observation was, however, not exactly what brooke would have expected from an englishman of his apparent station. "i'm much obliged to you," he said. "i don't like to be beaten, and it's a thing that doesn't happen very often. besides, when a horse is too much for a man it's kind of humiliating. there's something that doesn't strike one as quite fitting in the principle of the thing." brooke laughed. "i'm not sure it's worth while to worry very much over a point of that kind, especially when it seems likely to lead to nothing beyond the probability of being pitched into a river." "still," said the stranger, with the little twinkle showing plainer in his eyes, "in this case it was the other man who fell in." "i fancy it quite frequently is," said brooke, reflectively. "that is usually the result of meddling." the stranger nodded, and quietly inspected him. "you have been here some time, but you are an englishman," he said. "i am," said brooke. "is there any reason why i should hide the fact?" "you couldn't do it. how long have you been here?" "four years in all, i think." "what did you come out for?" brooke was accustomed to western brusquerie, and there was nothing in his companion's manner which made the question offensive. "i fancy my motive was not an unusual one. to pick up a few dollars." "got them yet?" "i can't say i have." the stranger appeared reflective. "there are not many folks who would have admitted that," he said. "when a man has been four years in this country he ought to have put a few dollars together. what have you been at?" "ranching most of the time. road-making, saw-milling, and a few other occupations of the same kind afterwards." "what was wrong with the ranch?" persistent questioning is not unusual in that country, for what is considered delicacy depends largely upon locality, and brooke laughed. "almost everything," he said. "it had a good many disadvantages besides its rockiness, sterility, and an unusually abundant growth of two-hundred-feet trees. still, it was the man who sold it me i found most fault with. he was a land agent." "one of the little men?" "no. i believe he is considered rather a big one--in fact about the biggest in that particular line." the little sardonic gleam showed a trifle more plainly in the stranger's eyes. "he told you the land was nicely cleared ready, and would grow anything?" "no," said brooke. "he, however, led me to believe that it could be cleared with very little difficulty, and that the lumber was worth a good deal. i daresay it is, if there was any means whatever of getting it to a mill, which there isn't. he certainly told me there was no reason it shouldn't grow as good fruit as any that comes from oregon, while i found the greatest difficulty in getting a little green oat fodder out of it." "you went back, and tried to cry off your bargain?" brooke glanced at his companion, and fancied that he was watching him closely. "i really don't know any reason why i should worry you with my affairs. my case isn't at all an unusual one." "i don't know of any why you shouldn't. go right on." "then i never got hold of the man himself. it was one of his agents i made the deal with, and there was nothing to be obtained from him. in fact, i could see no probability of getting any redress at all. it appears to be considered commendable to take the newly-arrived britisher in." the other man smiled drily. "well," he said, "some of them 'most seem to expect it. ever think of trying the law against the principal?" "the law," said brooke, "is apt to prove a very uncertain remedy, and i spent my last few dollars convincing myself that the ranch was worthless. now, one confidence ought to warrant another. what has brought you into the bush? you do not belong to it." the stranger laughed. "there's not much bush in this country, from kootenay to caribou, i haven't wandered through. i used to live in it--quite a long while ago. i came up to look at a mine. i buy one up occasionally." "isn't that a little risky?" "well," said the other, with a little smile, "it depends. there are goods, like eggs and oranges, you don't want to keep." "and a good market in england for whatever the colonials have no particular use for?" the stranger laughed good-humoredly. "did you ever strike any real good salt pork in canada?" "no," said brooke, decisively, "i certainly never did." "then where does the best bacon you get in england come from? same with cheese--and other things." "including mines?" "well, when any of them look like paying it's generally your folk who get them. know anything about the dayspring?" "not a great deal," brooke said, guardedly. "i have been in the workings, and it is for sale." "ore worth anything at the smelter?" now brooke was perfectly certain that such a man as his companion appeared to be would attach no great importance to any information obtained by chance from a stranger. "there is certainly a little good ore in it," he said, drily. "that is about all you mean to tell me?" "it is about all i know definitely." the stranger smiled curiously. "well," he said, "i'm not going to worry you, and i guess i know a little more." brooke changed the topic, and listened with growing interest, and a little astonishment, to his companion as they drove on. the man seemed acquainted with everything he could mention, including the sentiments of the insular english and the economics as well as the history of their country. he was even more astonished when, as they alighted before the little log hotel at the pine-shrouded settlement, the host greeted the stranger. "you'll be mr. devine who wrote me about the room and a saddle horse?" he said. "yes," said the other man, who glanced at brooke with a little whimsical smile, "you have addressed me quite correctly." brooke said nothing, for he realized then something of the nature of the task he and saxton had undertaken, while it was painfully evident that he had done very little to further his cause at the first encounter. he also found the little gleam in devine's eyes almost exasperating, and turned to the hotel-keeper to conceal the fact. "has the freighter come through?" he said. "no," said the man. "bob, who has just come in, said he'd a big load and we needn't expect him until to-morrow." devine had turned away now, and brooke touched the hotel-keeper's arm. "i don't wish that man to know i'm from the elktail," he said. "well," said the hotel-keeper, "you know saxton's business best, but if i had any share in it and struck a man of that kind looking round for mines i'd do what was in me to shove the dayspring off on to him." ix. devine makes a suggestion. there was only one hotel, which scarcely deserved the title, in the settlement, and when brooke returned to it an hour after the six o'clock supper, he found devine sitting on the verandah. he had never met the man until that afternoon, and had only received one very terse response to the somewhat acrimonious correspondence he had insisted on his agent forwarding him respecting the ranch. he had no doubt that the affair had long ago passed out of devine's memory, though he was still, on his part, as determined as ever on obtaining restitution. he had, however, no expectation of doing it by persuasion, though the man was evidently a very different individual from the one his fancy had depicted, and, that being so, recrimination appeared useless, as well as undignified. he was, therefore, while he would have done nothing to avoid him, by no means anxious to spend the remainder of the evening in devine's company. the latter was, however, already on the verandah, and looked up when he entered it. "i had almost a fancy you meant to keep out of my way," he said. brooke sat down, and there was a trace of dryness in his smile. "if i had felt inclined to do so, you would scarcely expect me to admit it? i don't mean because that would not have been complimentary to you," he said. devine laughed, and handed his cigar-case across. "take one if you feel like it. i quite see your point," he said. "some of you folks from the old country are a trifle tender in the hide, but i don't mind telling you that there was a time when i spent an hour or two every day keeping out of other men's way. they wanted dollars i couldn't raise, you see, and now and then i had to spend mornings in the city because i couldn't get into my office on account of them. i meant to pay them, and i did, but there was no way of doing it just then." brooke's smile was a trifle curious, and might have been construed into implying a doubt of his companion's commendable intentions, but the latter did not appear to notice it, and he took one of the cigars offered him, and found it excellent. though they were to be adversaries, there was nothing to be gained by betraying a puerile bitterness against the man, and now he had met him, brooke was not quite so sure as he could have wished that he disliked him personally. he meant to secure his six thousand dollars if it could be done, which appeared distinctly doubtful, and sentiment of any kind was, he assured himself, out of place. still, he did not altogether relish devine's cigar. "they were probably persistent men," he said. devine glanced at him sharply, but brooke's face was, or at least he hoped so, expressionless. "well," he said, tranquilly, "i contrive to pay my debts as the usual thing, but we'll let that slide. what are you at up here in the bush?" "mining, just now," said brooke. "to be more definite, acting as handy man about a mine." "you'd make more rock-drilling. feel fond of it?" "i can't say i do. still, i have a notion that it is going to lead to the acquisition of a few dollars presently." devine sat silent at a space, apparently reflecting, and then looked up again. "now," he said, "suppose i was to make you an offer, would you feel inclined to listen to me?" brooke had acquired in england a composure which was frequently useful to him, but he was young, and started a trifle, while once more the blood showed through his unfortunately clear skin. "i think i could promise that much, at least," he said. "well," said devine, "i have some use for a man who knows a little about bush ranches and mines, and understands the english folks who now and then buy them from me. i could afford to pay him a moderate salary." brooke closed one hand a trifle, and the bronze deepened in his face. the opportunity saxton had been waiting for was now, it seemed, being thrust upon him, and yet he felt that he could not avail himself of it. it was clear that he had everything to gain by doing so, but there was, he realized now, a treachery he could not descend to. he strove to persuade himself that this was a sentimental weakness, for it had become even more apparent of late that with the knowledge he had gained of that country there would be no great difficulty in making his way once he had the dollars he had been robbed of again in his hands, and he had had a bitter taste of the life that must be dragged through by the man with none. still, the fact that his instincts, which, as occasionally happens to other men, would not be controlled by his reason, revolted from the part he must play if he made terms with devine, remained, and he sat very still, with forehead wrinkled and one hand clenched, until his companion, who had never taken his eyes off him, spoke again. "it doesn't sound good enough?" he said. brooke shook himself together. "as a matter of fact, i am very doubtful if i shall get quite as good an offer again. still, i am afraid i can't quite see my way to entertaining it." "no?" said devine. "i guess you have your reasons?" brooke felt that he could scarcely consider the motive which had induced him to answer as he did a reason. it was rather an impulse he could not hold in check, or the result of a prejudice, but he could not explain this, and what was under the circumstances a somewhat illogical bitterness against devine took possession of him. "when i first came into this province my confiding simplicity cost me a good deal, and i almost think i should rather feel myself impelled to warn any of my countrymen i came into contact with against making rash ventures in land and mines than induce them to do so," he said. devine smiled drily. "that is tolerably plain talk, anyway. still, it ought to be clear that a man can't keep on taking folks' dollars without giving them reasonable value anywhere. no, sir. as soon as they find out he has only worthless goods to sell, they stop dealing with him right away. there's another point. are they all fools who come out from england to buy mines and ranching land?" "i have certainly met a few who seemed to be. of course, i include myself," said brooke, grimly. "well, you can take it from me, and i ought to know, that there are folks back yonder quite as smart at getting one hundred and fifty cents for the dollar's worth as any man in canada. we needn't, however, worry about that. i made you an offer, and you have quite decided that it wouldn't suit you?" again brooke sat silent a space. he felt in some degree bound to saxton, though he had certainly earned every dollar the latter had handed him, and it had been agreed that a verbal intimation from either would suffice to terminate the compact between them. there was also no reason why he should do anything that would prejudice him if he entered devine's service, and a very faint hope commenced to dawn on him that there might be a way out of the difficulty. devine appeared to be a reasonable man, and he determined to at least give him an opportunity. "it is probably an unusual course under the circumstances, but before i decide i would like to ask a question," he said. "we will suppose that you or one of your agents had sold a man who did not know what he was buying a tract of worthless land, and he demanded compensation. what would you do?" "the man would naturally look at the land and use his discretion." "we'll assume that he didn't. men who come into this country at a time when everybody is eager to buy now and then most unwisely take a land-agent's statements for granted. even if they surveyed the property offered them they would not very often be able to form any opinion of its value." "then," said devine, drily, "they take their chances, and can't blame the other man." "still, if the buyer convinced you that your agent knew the land was worth nothing when he sold it him?" devine glanced at him sharply. "that would be a little difficult, but i'll answer you. i've been stuck with a good many bad bargains in my time, and i never went back and tried to cry off one of them. no, sir. i took hold and worried the most i could out of them. nobody quite knows what a piece of land in this country is or will be worth, except that it's quite certain every rod of it is going to be some use for something, and bring in dollars to the man who holds on to it, presently." "then you would not make the victim any compensation?" "no, sir. not a cent. i shouldn't consider him a victim. that's quite straight?" "i scarcely think anybody would consider it ambiguous," brooke said, drily, for he felt his face grow warm, and realized that it was not advisable to give the anger that was gaining on him the rein. "it demands an equal candor, and i have given you one of my reasons for deciding that it would not suit me to enter your service. i can't help wondering what induced you to make me the offer." devine laughed. "well," he said, reflectively, "so am i. i had, as i told you, a notion that i might have a use for a man of the kind you seem to be, but i'm not quite so sure of it now. though i don't know that i'm especially thin in the skin, some of the questions you seem fond of asking might make trouble between you and me. for another thing, on thinking it over afterwards, it struck me that the team might have tilted that wagon off the bridge this afternoon. i'm not sure that they would have done, but you came along handy." he rose with a little sardonic smile and went into the hotel, leaving brooke sitting on the verandah and staring at the dusky forest vacantly, for his thoughts were not exactly pleasant just then. he had been offered a chance saxton, at least, would have eagerly seized upon, and it was becoming evident that there was little of the stuff successful conspirators are made of in him. he could not ignore the fact that it was a conspiracy they were engaged in, for he meant to get his six thousand dollars back, and found it especially galling to remember that it was a kindness devine had purposed doing him. he had also misgivings as to what his confederate--for that was, he recognized, the most fitting term he could apply to saxton--would have to say about his decision, and after all it was evident that he owed him a little. once more he fumed at his folly in ever buying the ranch, for all his difficulties sprang from that mistake, and he felt he could not face the result of it and drag out his days cut off from all that made life bearable, a mere wielder of axe and shovel, without a struggle, even though it left a mark on him which could never be quite effaced. the freighter came in early next morning with the drills, and brooke, who hired pack-horses, set off with them, but as he drove the loaded beasts out of the clearing he saw devine watching him from the verandah, with a little smile. he made a salutation, and brooke, for no apparent reason, jerked the leading pack-horse's bridle somewhat viciously. it was a long journey to the mine, and there were several difficult ascents upon the way, but he reached it safely, and found saxton expecting him impatiently. they spent an hour or two getting the drills to work, and then sat down to a meal in the galvanized shanty. saxton was damp and stained with soil, his long boots were miry, and one of his hands was bleeding, but he laughed a little as he glanced at the heavy, doughy bread and untempting canned stuff on the table and round the comfortless room. "i guess i don't get my dollars easily," he said. "there are quite a few ways of making them, but the one the sensible man has the least use for is with the hammer and drill. still, i'm going back to the city, and we'll try another one presently. you'll stay here about a week, and then there'll be work for you. i've heard of something while you were away." "so have i!" said brooke. "i met devine, and he gave me an opportunity of entering his service." saxton became suddenly eager. "you took it?" "no," said brooke, drily, "i did not. i had one or two reasons for not doing so, though i feel it is very probable that you would not appreciate them." saxton stared at him in astonishment, and then made a little gesture of resignation. "well," he said, "i guess i wouldn't--after what i've seen of you. still, can't you understand what kind of chance you've thrown away? i might have made 'most anything out of the pointers you could have picked up and given me." brooke smiled drily. "i don't think you could," he said. "as a matter of fact, i wouldn't have given you any." saxton turned towards him resolutely, with his elbows planted on the table and his black eyes intent. "now," he said, "i want a straight answer. are you going back on your bargain?" "no. if i had meant to do that, i should naturally have taken devine's offer. as i have told you a good many times already, i am going to get my six thousand dollars out of him. that is, of course, if we can manage it, about which i am more than a little doubtful." saxton laughed contemptuously. "you would never get six dollars out of anybody who wasn't quite willing to let you have them," he said. "a struggling man has no use for the notions you seem proud of." "i really can't help having them," said brooke, with a little smile. saxton shook his head. "well," he said, "it's fortunate you're not going to be left to yourself, or somebody would take the clothes off you. now, i've heard from a friend of mine, who has a contract to build the canopus folks a flume. it seems they want more water, and it's devine's mine." "how is that going to help us?" "since leeson made that contract, he got the offer of another that would pay him better, and he's willing to pass it on at devine's figure to any one who will take it off his hands. now, i'll find you a man or two and tools, and when they're ready, you'll start right away for the canopus and build that flume." "the difficulty is that i haven't the least notion how to build a flume." saxton made a little impatient gesture. "then i guess you have got to learn, and there are plenty of men to be hired in the bush who do. you know how to rough down redwood logs and blow out rocks?" brooke admitted that he did, and saxton nodded. "then the thing's quite easy," he said. "you look at the one they've got already, and make another like it. haven't you found out yet that a man can do 'most anything that another one can?" "well," said brooke, "i'll try it, but that brings us to the question, what else do you expect from me? it is very probable that i shall make an unfortunate mistake for both of us, if you leave me in the dark. i want to understand the position." saxton explained it at length, and brooke leaned back in his chair, glancing abstractedly through the open door as he listened, for his mind took in the details mechanically, while his thoughts were otherwise busy. he saw the dusky forest he had toiled and lost hope in, and then, turning his head a trifle, the comfortless dingy room and saxton's intent face and eager eyes. he was speaking with little nervous gestures, vehemently, and all the sensibility that the struggle had left in brooke shrank from the sordidness of the compact he had made with him. the fact that his confederate apparently considered their purpose perfectly legitimate and even commendable, intensified the disgust he felt, but once more he told himself that he could not afford to be particular. there was, it seemed, a price to everything, and if he was ever to regain his status he must let no more opportunities slip past him. still the memory of the old house in the english valley, and a certain silver-haired lady who had long ago paced the velvet lawns that swept about it with her white hand upon his shoulder, returned to trouble him. she had endeavored to instil the fine sense of honor that guided her own life into him, and he remembered her wholesome pride and the stories she had told him of the men who had gone forth from that quiet home before him. most of them had served their nation well, even those who had hewn down the ancient oaks and mortgaged the wheat-land in the reckless georgian days, and now, when the white-haired lady slept in the still valley, he was about to sell the honor she had held priceless for six thousand dollars in western canada. nevertheless, he strove to persuade himself that the times had changed and the old codes vanished, and sat still listening while saxton, stained with soil and water from the mine, talked on, and gesticulated with a bleeding hand. he touched upon frontages, ore-leads, record and patents from the crown, and then stopped abruptly, and looked hard at brooke. "now i think you've got it all," he said. "yes," said brooke, whose face had grown a trifle grim, "i fancy i have. i am to find out, if i can, how far the third drift runs west, and when the driving of it began. then one of us will stake off a claim on devine's holding and endeavor, with the support of the other, to hold his own in as tough a struggle as was probably ever undertaken by two men in our position. you see i have met devine." saxton laughed. "i guess he's not going to give us very much trouble. he'll buy us off instead, once we make it plain that we have got the whip hand of him. your share's six thousand dollars, and if you lay them out as i tell you, you'll go back to england a prosperous man." brooke smiled a trifle drily. "i hope so," he said. "still, i shall have left more than i could buy with a great many dollars behind me in canada." "dollars will buy you anything," said saxton. "that is, when you have enough of them. they're going to buy me a seat in the provincial legislature by and by. then i'll let the business slide, and start in doing something for the other folks. we've got 'most everything but men here, and i'll bring out your starving deadbeats from england and make them happy--like strathcona." brooke looked hard at him, and then leaned back in his chair, and laughed when he saw that he was perfectly serious. x. the flume builder. it was a hot afternoon, and a long trail of ethereal mist lay motionless athwart the gleaming snow above, when brooke stood dripping with perspiration in the shadow of a towering pine. the red dust was thick upon him, and his coarse blue shirt, which was badly torn, fell open at the neck as he turned his head and looked down fixedly into the winding valley. a lake flashed like a mirror among the trees below, save where the slumbering shadows pointed downwards into its crystal depths, but the strip of hillside the forest had been hewn back from was scarred and torn with raw gashes, and the dull thumping of the stamp-heads that crushed the gold-bearing quartz jarred discordantly through the song of the river. mounds of débris, fire-blackened fir stumps, and piles of half-burnt branches cumbered the little clearing, round which the towering redwoods uplifted their stately spires, and the acrid fumes of smoke and giant powder drifted through their drowsy fragrance. the blotch of man's crude handiwork marred the pristine beauty of the wilderness; but it had its significance, and pointed to what was to come when the plough had followed the axe and drill, and cornfields and orchards should creep up the hillsides where now the solemn pines looked down upon the desecrated valley. brooke, however, was very naturally not concerned with this just then. he was engaged in building a flume, or wooden conduit to bring down water to the mine, and was intently watching two little trails of faint blue smoke with a thin red sparkle in the midst of them which crept up a dark rock's side. he had no interest whatever in the task when he undertook it, but a somewhat astonishing and unexpected thing had happened, for by degrees the work took hold of him. he was not by nature a lounger, and was endued with a certain pertinacity, which had, however, only led him into difficulties hitherto, or he would probably never have come out to canada. thus it came about that when he found the building of the flume taxed all his ingenuity, as well as his physical strength, he became sensible of a wholly unanticipated pleasure in the necessary effort, and had almost forgotten the purpose which brought him there. "how long did you cut those fuses to burn?" he said to jimmy, who, though by no means fond of physical exertion, had come up to assist him from the ranch. the latter glanced at the two trails of smoke, which a handful of men, snugly ensconced behind convenient trees, were also watching. "i guessed it at four minutes," he said. "they're 'bout half-way through now. still, i can't see nothing of the third one." "no," said brooke. "nor can i. that loosely-spun kind snuffs out occasionally. quite sure they're not more than half-way through?" "no," said jimmy, reflectively. "i'd give them 'most two minutes yet. hallo! what in the name of thunder are you going to do?" it was not an unnatural question, because when those creeping trains of sparks reached the detonators the rock would be reft asunder by giant powder and a shower of ponderous fragments and flying débris hurled across the valley, while brooke, who swung round abruptly, bounded down the slope. jimmy stared at him in wonder, and then set off without reflection in chase of him. he was not addicted to hurrying himself when it was not necessary, but he ran well that day, with the vague intention of dragging back his comrade, whose senses, he fancied, had suddenly deserted him. the men behind the trees were evidently under the same impression, for confused cries went up. "go back! stop right there! catch him, jimmy; trip him up!" jimmy did his best, but he was slouching and loose of limb, while brooke was light of foot and young. he was also running his hardest, with grim face and set lips, straight for the rock, and was scrambling across the débris beneath it, which rolled down at every step, when jimmy reached up and caught his leg. he said nothing, but when brooke slid backwards, grabbed his jacket, which tore up the back; and there was a shout from the men behind the trees, two of whom came running towards the pair. "pull him down! no, let go of him, and tear the fuses out!" nobody saw exactly what took place next, and neither brooke nor jimmy afterwards remembered; but in another moment the latter sat gasping among the débris, while his comrade clambered up the slope alone. it also happened, though everybody was too intent to notice this, that a girl, with brown eyes and a big white hat, who had been strolling through the shadow of the pines on the ridge above, stopped abruptly just then. she could see the trail of sparks creep across the stone, and understood the position, which the shouts of the miners would have made plain to her if she had not. she could not see the man's face, though she realized that he was in imminent peril, and felt her heart throb painfully. then, in common with the rest of those who watched him, she had a second astonishment, for he did not pull out the burning fuses, but crawled past them, and bent over something with a lighted match in his hand. brooke in the meanwhile set his lips as the match went out, and struck another, while a heavy silence followed the shouts. the men, who grasped his purpose, now realized that interference would come too late, and those who had started from them went back to the trees. there only remained brooke, clinging with one hand to a cranny of the rock while he held the match, whose diminutive flame showed pale in the blaze of sunlight, and jimmy, rising apparently half-dazed from among the débris. the girl in the white hat afterwards recalled that picture, and could see the two lonely men, blurred figures in the shadows, and clustering pines. when that happened, she also felt a curious little thrill which was half-horror and half-appreciation. then the third fuse sparkled, and brooke sprang down, grasped jimmy's shoulder, and drove him before him. there was a fresh shouting, and now every one could see two men running for their lives for the shelter of the pines. it seemed a very long while before they reached them, and all the time three blue trails of smoke and sparkling lines of fire were creeping with remorseless certainty up the slope of stone. the girl upon the ridge above closed her hands tightly to check a scream, and bronzed men, who had braved a good many perils in their time, set their lips or murmured incoherently. in the meanwhile the two men were running well, with drawn faces, staring eyes, and the perspiration dripping from them, and there was a hoarse murmur of relief when at last they flung themselves into the shadow of the pines. it was followed by a stunning detonation, and a blaze of yellow flame, while the hillside trembled when the smoke rolled down. flying fragments of rock came out of it, there was a roar of falling stones, a crashing in the forest where great boughs snapped, and the lake boiled as though torn up by cannon shot. then a curious silence followed, intensified by an occasional splash and rattle as a stone which had travelled farther than the rest came down, and the girl in the white hat retired hastily as the fumes of giant powder, which produce dizziness and nausea, drifted up the hillside. brooke sat down on a felled log, jimmy leaned against a tree, and while the men clustered round them they looked at one another, and gasped heavily. "i figured you'd be blown into very little pieces less than a minute ago," said one of those who stood by. "what did you do it for, anyway?" brooke blinked at the questioner. "third fuse snuffed out," he said. "it would have spoiled the shot. i cut it to match the others, and lighted it." this was comprehensible, for to rend a piece of rock effectively, it is occasionally necessary to apply the riving force at several places at the same time. "still, you could have pulled the other fuses out and put new ones back. it would have been considerably less risky," said another man. brooke laughed breathlessly. "it certainly would, but i never thought of that," he said. then jimmy broke in. "what made me sit down like i did?" he said. "it was probably the same thing that tore my jacket half-way up the back." "well," said jimmy, "there's a big lump there didn't use to be on the side of my head, too, and it was the concernedest hardest kind of rock i sat down upon. next time you try to blow yourself up, i'm not going after you." brooke glanced at him quietly, with a curious look in his eyes. "what made you come at all?" he said. jim appeared to reflect. "i've done quite a lot of foolish things before--and i don't quite know." brooke only smiled, but a little flush crept into jimmy's face, for men do not express their sentiments dramatically in that country, that is, unless they are connected with mineral speculations or the selling of land. "of course!" he said. "i fancy i shall remember it." they turned away together to inspect the result of the shot, and one of the miners who looked after them nodded approval. "when that man takes hold of anything he puts it through 'most every time," he said. "there's good hard sand in him." in the meanwhile jimmy glanced at his comrade, apparently with an entire absence of interest, out of half-closed eyes. "i guess you were too busy to see a friend of yours a little while ago?" he said. "i expect i was," said brooke. "anyway, nobody i'm acquainted with is likely to be met with in this part of the province, unless it was saxton." "no," said jimmy, "it wasn't him. saxton doesn't go trailing round in a big white hat and a four-decker skirt with a long tail to it." brooke turned a trifle sharply, and glanced at him. "you mean miss heathcote?" "yes," said jimmy, reflectively, "if it's the one that was barbara last time, i guess i do. you have been finding out the rest of it since you met her at the ranch? she was up yonder ten minutes ago." he pointed to a forest-covered ridge above the mine, but brooke, looking up with all his eyes, saw nothing but the serried ranks of climbing pines. as it happened, however, the girl, who stood amidst their shadows, saw him, and smiled. she had noticed jimmy's pointing hand, and fancied she knew what his companion was looking for. "then you are certainly mistaken," he said. "there is nowhere she could be staying at within several leagues of the canopus." "there's the englishman's old ranch house devine bought. it's quite a good one." brooke started a little, and jimmy, who was much quicker of wit than some folks believed, noticed it. "she certainly couldn't be staying there. it's quite out of the question," he said, with an assurance that was chiefly intended to convince himself. "well," said jimmy, who appeared to ruminate, "i guess you know best. still, i can't think of any other place, unless she's living in a cave." brooke said nothing further, but signed to the men who were waiting, and proceeded to roll the shattered rock out of the course of his flume. he felt it was certain that jimmy was mistaken, for the only other conclusion appeared preposterous, and he could not persuade himself to consider it. still, he thought of the girl with the brown eyes often while he swung axe and hammer during the rest of the afternoon, and when he strolled up the hillside after the six o'clock supper he was thinking of her still. he climbed until the raw gap of the workings was lost among the pines, and then lay down. the evening was still and cool, for the chill of the snow made itself felt once the sunlight faded from the valley. now and then a sound came up faintly from the mine, but that was not often, and a great quietness reigned among the pines, which towered above him, two hundred feet to their topmost sprays, in serried ranks. they were old long before the white man first entered that wild mountain land, while, as he lay there in the scented dimness among their wide-girthed trunks, all that concerned the canopus and its pounding stamp-heads slipped away from him. he was worn out in body, but his mind was clear and free, and, lying still, unlighted pipe in hand, he gave his fancy the rein, and, forgetting devine and the flume, dreamed of what had once been his, and might, if he could make his purpose good, be his again. the sordid details of the struggle he had embarked upon faded from his memory, for the cold silence of the mountains seemed to banish them. it gave him courage and tranquillity, and, for the time at least, nothing seemed unattainable, while through all his wandering fancies moved a vision of a girl in a long white dress, who looked down upon him fearlessly from a plunging pony's back. that was the recollection he cherished most, though he had also seen her with diamonds gleaming in her dusky hair in the vancouver opera-house. then he started, and a little thrill ran through him as he wondered whether it was a trick his eyes had played him or he saw her in the flesh. she stood close beside him, with a grey cedar trunk behind her, in a long trailing dress, but the white hat was in her hand now, and the little shapely head bared to the cooling touch of the dew. still, she had materialized so silently out of the shadows that he almost felt afraid to move lest she should melt into them again, and he lay very still, watching her until she glanced at him. then he sprang, awkwardly, to his feet, with a little smile. "i would scarcely venture to tell you what i thought you were, but it is in one respect consoling to find you real," he said. "why?" said the girl. "because you are not likely to vanish again. you must remember that i first saw you clothed in white samite, with the moon behind your shoulder, in the river." the girl laughed. "i wonder if you know what white samite is?" "i don't," said brooke, reflectively. "i never did, but it seems to go with water lapping on the rocks and mystery. still, you--are--material, fortunately." "very," said barbara. "besides, i certainly did not bring you a sword." brooke appeared to consider. "one can never be quite certain of anything--especially in british columbia. but how did you come here?" the girl favored him with a comprehensive glance, which brooke felt took in his well-worn jean, coarse blue shirt, badly-rent jacket, and shapeless hat. "i was about to ask you the same thing. it was in vancouver i saw you last," she said. "i came here on a very wicked pack-horse--one that kicked, and on two occasions came very near falling down a gorge with me. i am now building a flume for the canopus mine--if you know what that is." barbara laughed. "i fancy i know rather more about flumes than you did a little while ago. at least, i have reason to believe so, from what a mining foreman told me this afternoon. he, however, expressed unqualified approval, as well as a little astonishment, at the progress you had made. you see, i happened to observe what took place before the shot was fired a few hours ago." "then you witnessed an entirely unwarranted piece of folly." a curious little gleam crept into barbara's eyes, but she smiled. "you could have cut those fuses, and relighted them afterwards, but, since you did not remember it, i don't think that counts. what made you take the risk?" "well," said brooke, reflectively, "after worrying over the probable line of cleavage of that troublesome rock, it seemed to me that if i wished to split it, i must explode three charges of giant powder in certain places simultaneously. now, if you examine what you might call the texture of a rock, though, of course, a really crystalline body----" barbara made a little gesture of impatience. "that is not in the least what i mean--as i fancy you are quite aware." "then," said brooke, with a faint twinkle in his eyes, "i'm afraid i don't quite understand the moral causes of the proceeding myself, though i have heard my comrade describe one quality which may have had something to do with it as mulishness. it was, of course, reprehensible of me to be led away by it, especially as when i took the contract i really didn't care if the flume was never built." "and now you mean to finish it if it ruins you?" "no," said brooke, "i really don't think i do. in fact, i hope to make a good many dollars out of it, directly or indirectly." he had spoken without reflection, and was sensible of a most unpleasant embarrassment when the girl glanced at him sharply, which she did not fail to notice. "building flumes is evidently more profitable than i thought it was," she said. "still, you will no doubt make most of those dollars--indirectly?" brooke decided that it was advisable to change the subject. "i have," he said, "answered--your--question." "then i will do the same. i came here, because one can see the sunset on the snow from this ridge, most prosaically on my feet." "but from where?" and brooke's voice was almost sharp. "from the old ranch house in the valley, of course!" brooke made an effort to retain his serenity, but his face grew a trifle grim, and he looked at the girl curiously, with his lips tight set. then he made a little gesture. "but that is where devine lives when he comes here. it's preposterous!" he said. barbara felt astonished, though she was very reposeful. "i really don't see why it should be. mrs. devine is there. we have to entertain a good deal in the city, and are glad to get away to the mountains for quietness occasionally." "but what connection can you possibly have with mrs. devine?" "i am," said barbara, quietly, "merely her sister. i have always lived with her." brooke positively gasped. "and you never told me!" "why should i? you never asked me, and i fancied everybody knew." brooke stood silent a moment, with the fingers of one hand closed, and the blood in his face, then he turned, as the girl moved, and they went back along the little rough rail together. "of course, i can think of no reason," he said, quietly. "still, the news astonished me." barbara glanced away from him. there was only one way in which she could account for his evident concern at what she had told him, and the deduction she made was not altogether unpleasant to her, though, as it happened, it was not the correct one. the man was, as he had told her, without friends or dollars, but she knew that men with his capacities do not always remain poor in that country, and there were qualities which had gained her appreciation in him, while it had not dawned on her that there might also be others which could only meet with her disapprobation. "if you had called at the address i gave you in vancouver, you would have known exactly who i was, but there is now nothing to prevent you coming to the ranch," she said. brooke glanced down somewhat grimly at his hard, scarred hands and his clothes, and a faint flush crept into the girl's face. "have i to remind you again that you are not in the english valley?" she said. "mr. devine, at least, is rather proud of the fact that he once earned his living with the shovel and the drill." "i am not sure that the one you imagine is my only reason for feeling a trifle diffident about presenting myself at mr. devine's house," said brooke, very slowly. barbara looked at him with a little imperious smile. "i did not ask you for any at all. i merely suggested that if you wished to come we should be pleased to see you at the ranch." brooke made her a little inclination, and said nothing, until, when another white-clad figure appeared among the pines, the girl turned to him. "that is mrs. devine," she said. "shall i present you?" brooke stopped abruptly, with, as the girl noticed once more, a very curious expression in his face. he meant to use whatever means were available against devine, but he could not profit by a woman's kindness to creep into his adversary's house. "no," he said, almost harshly. "not to-night. it would be a pleasure--another time." barbara looked at him with big, grave eyes, and the faintest suggestion of color in her cheek. "very well," she said. "i need not detain you." brooke swung round, and as mrs. devine strolled towards them, retired almost precipitately into the shadow of the pines, while, when he stopped again, with a curious little laugh, he was distinctly flushed in face. xi. an embarrassing position. the wooden conduit which sprang across a gorge just there on a slender trestle was full to the brim, and brooke, who leaned on his long hammer shaft, watched the crystal water swirl by with a satisfaction which was distinctly new to him, while the roar it made as it plunged down into the valley from the end of the uncompleted flume came throbbing across the pines. though it was a very crude piece of engineering, that trestle had cost him hours of anxious thought and days of strenuous labor, and now, standing above it, very wet and somewhat ragged, with hands as hard as a navvy's, he surveyed it with a pride which was scarcely warranted by its appearance. it was, however, the creation of his hands and brain, and evidently capable of doing its work effectively. then he smiled somewhat curiously as he remembered with what purpose he had taken over the contract to build the flume from its original holder, and, turning abruptly away, walked along it until he stopped where the torrent that fed it swirled round a pool. the latter had rapidly lowered its level since the big sluice was opened, and he stood looking at it intently while a project, which involved a fresh struggle with hard rock and forest, dawned upon him. he had gained his first practically useful triumph over savage nature, and it had filled him with a desire he had never supposed himself capable of for a renewal of the conflict. a little sparkle came into his eyes, and he stood with head flung back a trifle and his corded arms uncovered to the elbow, busy with rough calculations, and once more oblivious of the fact that he was only there to play his part in a conspiracy, until a man with grey in his hair came out of the shadow of the pines. "i came up along the flume and she's wasting very little water," he said. "not a trickle from the trestle! it would 'most carry a wagon. you must have spent quite a pile of dollars over it." brooke smiled a trifle drily, for that was a point he had overlooked until the cost had been sharply impressed upon him. "i'm afraid i did, mr. devine," he said. "still, i couldn't see how to get the work done more cheaply without taking the risk of the flume settling a little by and by. that would, of course, have started it leaking. what do you think of it?" devine smiled as he noticed his eagerness. "it seems to me that risk would have been mine," he said. "i've seen neater work, but not very much that looked like lasting longer. who gave you the plan of it?" "nobody," said brooke, with a trace of the pride he could not quite repress. "i worried it out myself. you see, i once or twice gave the carpenters a hand at stiffening the railroad trestles." devine nodded, and flashed a keen glance at him as he said, "what are you looking at that pool for?" brooke stood silent a moment or two. "well," he said, diffidently, "it occurred to me that when there was frost on the high peaks you might have some difficulty in getting enough water to feed the flume. you can see how the pool has run down already. now, with a hundred tons or so of rock and débris and a log framing, one could contrive a very workable dam. it would ensure you a full supply and equalize the pressure." "you feel equal to putting the thing through?" "i would at least very much like to try." devine regarded him thoughtfully. "then you can let me have your notions." brooke unfolded his crude scheme, and the other man watched him keenly until he said, "if that meets with your approbation i could start two of my men getting out the logs almost immediately." devine smiled. "has it struck you that there is a point you have forgotten?" "it is quite possible there are a good many." "you can't think of one that's important in particular?" "no," said brooke, reflectively, "not just now." a little sardonic twinkle crept into devine's eyes. "well," he said, "before i took hold of any contract of that kind i would like to know just how much i was going to make on it, and what it would cost me." brooke looked at him and laughed. "of course!" he said. "still, i never thought of it until this moment." "it's quite clear you weren't raised in canada," said devine. "you can worry out the thing during the afternoon and bring along any rough plan you'd like to show me to the ranch this evening. that's fixed? then there's another thing. has anybody tried to stop you getting out lumber?" "no," said brooke. "i met two men who appeared to be timber-right prospectors more than once, but they made no difficulty." devine, who seemed a trifle astonished, looked at him curiously before he turned away. "then," he said drily, "you are more fortunate than i am." brooke went back to his work, and supper had been cleared away in his double tent when he completed his simple toilet, which had commenced with a plunge into a whirling pool of the snow-fed river, preparatory to his visit to the ranch. jimmy, who had assisted in it, stood surveying him complacently. "now," he said, with a nod of approbation, "i guess you'll do when i've run a few stitches up the back of you. stand quite still while i get the tent needle." brooke glanced at the implement he produced somewhat dubiously, for it was of considerable thickness and several inches long. "i suppose," he said, resignedly, "you haven't got a smaller one?" jimmy shook his head. "i guess i wouldn't trust it if i had," he said. "i want to fix that darn up good and strong so it will do you credit. there are two women at the ranch, and it's quite likely they'll come in and talk to you." brooke made no further protest, but he smiled somewhat curiously as jimmy stitched away. his work was not remarkable for neatness, and brooke remembered that the two women at the ranch were fresh from the cities, where men do not mend their clothes with pieces of tents or cotton flour bags. then he decided that, after all, it did not matter what they thought of him. one would probably set him down as a rude bush chopper, and the other, whose good opinion he would have valued under different circumstances, was a kinswoman of his adversary. sooner or later she would know him for what he was, and then it was clear she would only have contempt for him. that she of all women should be mrs. devine's sister was, he reflected with a sense of impotent anger, one of the grim jests that fate seemed to delight in playing. "now," said jimmy, breaking off his thread at last, "i guess you might go 'most anywhere if you stand with your face to the folks who talk to you, and don't sit down too suddenly. be cautious how you get up again if you hear those stitches tearing through." brooke went out, and discovered that jimmy had, no doubt as a precautionary measure, sewn several of his garments together as he walked through the shadowy bush towards the ranch. devine, to whom the scheme suggested had commended itself, was, as it happened, already waiting him in a big log walled room. he sat by the open window, which looked across blue lake and climbing pines towards the great white ramparts of unmelting snow that shut the valley in. the rest of the room was dim, and now the sun had gone, sweet resinous odors and an exhilarating coolness that stirred the blood like wine came in. two women sat back in the shadow, and devine moved a little in his chair as he answered one of them. "i know very little about the man, but i never saw more thorough work than he has put in on the flume," he said. "that's 'most enough guarantee for him, but there are one or two points about him i can't quite worry out the meaning of. for one thing, the timber-righters haven't stopped him chopping." mrs. devine looked thoughtful, for she was acquainted with the less pleasant aspect of mine-owning, but barbara broke in. "it is a little difficult to understand what use timber-rights would be to anybody here," she said. "they could hardly get their lumber out, and there are very few people to sell it to if they put up a mill." "i expect they mean to sell it me," said devine, a trifle grimly. "but you always cut what you wanted without asking anybody." "i did. still, it seems scarcely likely that i'm going to do it again. if anyone has located timber-rights--which he'd get for 'most nothing on a patent from the crown--he has never worried about them until the canopus began to pay. of course, one has to put in timber as he takes out the ore, and it seems to have struck somebody that the men who started it on the canopus had burnt off all the young firs they ought to have kept. that's why he bought those timber-rights up." "still there are thousands of them nobody can ever use, and you must have timber," said barbara. "precisely!" said devine. "that man figures that when i get it he's going to screw a big share of the profits in this mine out of me." a portentous sparkle crept into barbara's eyes, while mrs. devine, who knew her husband best, watched him with a little smile. "but that is infamous extortion!" said the girl. devine laughed. "well," he said, "it's not going to be good business for the man who puts up the game, but i don't quite see why he didn't strike brooke for a few dollars as well. men of his kind are like ostriches. they take in 'most anything." he might have said more, but brooke appeared in the doorway just then and stood still with, so barbara fancied, a faint trace of disconcertion when he saw the women, until devine turned to him. "come right in," he said. "barbara tells me she has met you, but you haven't seen mrs. devine. mr. brooke, who is building the new flume for me, katty." there was no avoiding the introduction, nor could brooke escape with an inclination as he wished to do, for the lady held out her hand to him. she was older and more matronly than barbara, but otherwise very like her, and she had the same gracious serenity. still, brooke felt his cheeks burn beneath the bronze on them as he shook hands with her. it was one thing to wrest his dollars back from devine, but, while he cherished that purpose, quite another to be graciously welcomed to his house. "we are very pleased to see any of barbara's friends," she said. "you apparently hadn't an opportunity of calling upon us in vancouver?" brooke glanced at barbara, who was not exactly pleased with her sister just then, and met his gaze a trifle coldly. still, he was sensible of a curious satisfaction, for it was evident that the girl who had been his comrade in the bush had not altogether forgotten him in the city. "i left the day after miss heathcote was kind enough to give me permission," he said. he felt that his response might have been amplified, but he was chiefly conscious of a desire to avoid any further civilities then, and because he was quite aware that barbara was watching him quietly, it was a relief when devine turned to him. "we'll get down to business," he said. "you brought a plan of the dam along?" he led the way to the little table at the window, and while mrs. devine went on with her sewing and barbara took up a book again, brooke unrolled the plan he had made with some difficulty. then the men discussed it until devine said, "you can start in when it pleases you, and my clerk will hand you the dollars as soon as you are through. how long do you figure it will take you?" "three or four months," said brooke, and looking up saw that the girl's eyes were fixed on him. she turned them away next moment, but he felt that she had heard him and they would be companions that long. "well," said devine, "it's quite likely we will be up here part, at least, of the time. now you'll have to put on more men, and i haven't forgotten what you admitted the day i drove you in to the settlement. you'll want a good many dollars to pay them." "if you will give me a written contract, i dare say i can borrow them from a bank agent or mortgage broker on the strength of it." "oh, yes," said devine, drily. "it's quite likely you can, but he would charge you a percentage that's going to make a big hole in the profit." "i'm afraid i haven't any other means of getting the money." "well," said devine, "i rather think you have. in fact, i'll lend it you as the work goes on." brooke felt distinctly uncomfortable and sat silent a moment, for this was the last thing he had desired or expected. "i have really no claim on you, sir," he said at length. "in this province payment is very seldom made until the work is done, and quite often not until a long while afterwards." devine smiled drily. "i guess that is my business. now is there any special reason you shouldn't borrow those dollars from me?" brooke felt that there was a very good one, but it was one he could not well make plain to devine. he was troubled by an unpleasant sense of meanness already, and felt that it would be almost insufferable to have a kindness thrust upon him by his companion. he was, though he would not look at her, also sensible that barbara heathcote was watching him covertly, and decided that what he and devine had said had been perfectly audible in the silent room. "i would, at least, prefer to grapple with the financial difficulty in my own way, sir," he said. devine made a little gesture of indifference. "then, if you should want a few dollars at any time you know where to come for them. now, i guess we're through with the business and you can talk to mrs. devine--who has been there--about the old country." brooke did so, and after the first few minutes, which were distinctly unpleasant to him, managed to forget the purpose which had brought him to the ranch. his hostess was quietly kind, and evidently a lady who had appreciated and was pleased to talk about what she had seen in england, which was, as it happened, a good deal. brooke also knew how to listen, and now and then a curious little smile crept into his eyes as she dilated on scenes and functions which were very familiar to him. it was evident that she never for a moment supposed that the man who sat listening to her somewhat stiffly, from reasons connected with jimmy's repairs to his clothes, could have taken a part in them, but he was once or twice almost embarrassed when barbara, who seemed to take his comprehension for granted, broke in. in the meanwhile a miner came for devine, who went out with him, and by and by mrs. devine, making her household duties an excuse, also left the room. then barbara smiled a little as she turned to brooke. "i wonder," she said, quietly, "why you were so unwilling to meet my sister? there is really no reason why anybody should be afraid of her." brooke was glad that the dimness which was creeping across the valley had deepened the shadow in the room, for he was not anxious that the girl should see his face just then. "you assume that i was unwilling?" he said. "it was evident, though i am not quite sure that mrs. devine noticed it." brooke saw that an answer was expected from him. "well," he said, "mrs. devine is a lady of station, and i am, you see, merely the builder of one of her husband's flumes. one naturally does not care to presume, and it takes some little time to get accustomed to the fact that these little distinctions are not remembered in this country." barbara laughed. "one could get accustomed to a good deal in three or four years. i scarcely think that was your reason." "why?" said brooke. "well," said the girl, reflectively, "the fact is that we do recognize the distinctions you allude to, though not to the same extent that you do; but it takes rather longer to acquire certain mannerisms and modes of expressing oneself than it does to learn the use of the axe and drill. to be more candid, any one can put on a flume-builder's clothes." "i fancy you are jumping at conclusions. there are hotel waiters in the old country who speak much better english than i do." "it is possible. i am, however, not quite sure that they would make good flume-builders. still, we will let that pass, as well as one or two vague admissions you have previously made me. why wouldn't you take the dollars you needed when mr. devine was perfectly willing to lend them to you?" "it really isn't usual to make a stranger an advance of that kind," said brooke, reflectively. "besides, i might spend the dollars recklessly, and then break away and leave the work unfinished some day. everybody is subject to occasional fits of restlessness here." barbara laughed. "pshaw!" she said. "you had a much better reason than that. now i think we were what might be called good comrades in the bush?" again brooke felt a little thrill of pleasure. the girl sat where the dim light that still came in through the open window fell upon her, and she was very alluring with the faint smile, which was, nevertheless, curiously expressive, in her eyes. "yes," he said, almost grimly, "i had a better reason. i cannot tell you what it was, but it may become apparent presently." barbara asked no more questions, and while she sat silent, mrs. devine came in with a little dainty silver set on a tray. maids of any kind, and even chinese house-boys, are scarce in that country, especially in the bush, and brooke realized that it must have been with her own hands she had prepared the quite unusual meal. supper is served at six or seven o'clock through most of canada. probably the stove was burning, and her task was but a light one, but once more brooke was sensible of a most unpleasant embarrassment when she smiled at him. "barbara and i got used to taking a cup of coffee in the evening when we were in england," she said. "talking of the old country reminded me of it. will you pour it out, barbara?" barbara did so, and brooke's fingers closed more tightly than was necessary on the cup she handed to him, while the cracker he forced himself to eat came near choking him. this was absurd sentimentality, he told himself, but, for all that, he dared scarcely meet the eyes of the lady who had, he realized, prepared that meal out of compliment to him. it was a relief when it was over and he was able to take his leave, but, as it happened, he forgot the plan he had laid down, and barbara, who noticed it, overtook him in the log-hall. devine had not come back yet. "we shall be here for some little time--in fact, until mr. devine has seen the new adit driven," she said. brooke understood that this was tantamount to a general invitation, and smiled, as she noticed, somewhat wryly. "i am afraid i shall scarcely venture to come back again," he said. "mrs. devine is very kind, but still, you see--it really wouldn't be fitting." then he turned and vanished into the darkness outside, and barbara went back to the lighted room with a curious look in her eyes. xii. brooke is carried away. the flume was finished, and the dam already progressing well, when one morning devine came out, somewhat grim in face, from the new adit he was driving at the canopus. the captain of the mine also came with him, and stood still, evidently in a state of perplexity, when devine looked at him. "well," said the latter, brusquely, "what are we going to do, wilkins?" the captain blinked at the forest with eyes not yet accustomed to the change of light, as though in search of inspiration, which apparently did not come. "there's plenty timber yonder," he said. "there is," said devine, drily. "still, as we can't touch a log of it, it isn't much use to us. there is no doubt about the validity of the patent that fellow holds it under either, and it covers everything right back to the cañon. he doesn't seem disposed to make any terms with me." wilkins appeared to reflect. "hanging off for a bigger figure, but there are points i'm not quite clear about. mackinder's not quite the man to play that game--i guess i know him well, and if it had been left to him, once he saw there were dollars in the thing, he'd have jumped right on to them and lit out for the cities to raise cain with them. now, i kind of wonder if there's a bigger man behind him." "that's my end of the business," said devine, with a little grim smile. "i'll take care of it. there are men in the cities who would find any dead-beat dollars if he wanted them for a fling at me. the question is--what about the mine? you feel reasonably sure we're going to strike ore that will pay for the crushing at the end of that adit?" wilkins glanced round at the forest, and then lowered his voice a trifle, though it was some distance off and there was nobody else about. "we have got to, sir--and it's there if it's anywhere," he said. "you have seen the yield on the lower workings going down until it's just about worth while to keep the stamps going, and though none of the boys seem to notice anything, there are signs that are tolerably clear to me that the pay dirt's running right out. still, i guess the chances of striking it again rich on the different level are good enough for me to put 'most every dollar i have by me in on a share of the crushings. i can't say any more than that." "no," said devine, drily. "anyway, i'm going on with the adit. but about the timber?" "well, we will want no end of props, and that's a fact. it's quite a big contract to hold up the side of a mountain when you're working through soft stuff and crumbly rock, and the split-logs we've been worrying along with aren't going to be much use to us. we want round props, grown the size we're going to use, with the strength the tree was meant to have in them." devine looked thoughtful. "then i'll have to get you them. say nothing to the boys, and see nobody who doesn't belong to the gang you have sent there puts his foot in any part of the mine. it is, of course, specially necessary to keep the result of the crushings quiet. i'm not telling you this without a reason." wilkins went back into the adit, and devine proceeded to flounder round the boundaries of the englishman's abandoned ranch, which he had bought up for a few hundred dollars, chiefly because of the house on it. it consisted, for the most part, of a miry swamp, which the few prospectors who had once or twice spent the night with him said had broken the heart of the englishman after a strenuous attempt to drain it, while the rest was rock outcrop, on which even the hardy conifers would not grow. devine, who wet himself to the knees during his peregrination, had a survey plan with him, but he could see no means of extending his rights beyond the crumbling split-rail fence, and inside the latter there were no trees that appeared adapted for mining purposes. willows straggled over the wetter places, and little, half-rotten pines stood tottering here and there in a tangled chaos a man could scarcely force his way through, but when he had wasted an hour or two, and was muddy all over, it became evident that he was scarcely likely to come upon a foot of timber that would be of any use to him. he had, of course, been told this, but he had on other occasions showed the men who pointed out insuperable difficulties to him that they were mistaken. devine, however, was, as that fact would indicate, not the man to be readily turned aside. he wanted mine props, and meant to obtain them, and, though his face grew a trifle grimmer, he climbed the hillside to where brooke was busy knee-deep in water at the dam. he signed to him, and then, taking out his cigar-case, sat down on a log and looked at the younger man. "take one!" he said. brooke lighted a cigar, and sat down, with the water draining from him. "we'll have another tier of logs bolted on to the framing by to-morrow night," he said. devine glanced at the dam indifferently. "you take kindly to this kind of thing?" he said. brooke smiled a little, for he had of late been almost astonished at his growing interest in his work. of scientific engineering he knew nothing, though he remembered that several relatives of his had made their mark at it, but every man who lives any time in the bush of the pacific slope of necessity acquires some skill with axe and cross-cut saw, besides a working acquaintance with the principles of construction. wooden houses, bridges, dams, must be built, and now and then a wagon road underpinned with redwood logs along the side of a precipice. he had done his share of such work, but he had, it seemed, of late become endued with a boldness of conception and clearness of insight into the best means of overcoming the difficulties to be faced, which had now and then astonished those who assisted him. "i really think i do, though i don't know why i should," he said. "i never undertook anything of the description in england." "then i guess it must be in the family. any of your folks doing well back there as mechanics?" brooke smiled somewhat drily. as a matter of fact, a near kinsman of his had gained distinction in the royal engineers, and another's name was famous in connection with irrigation works in egypt. he did not, however, feel it in any way incumbent on him to explain this to devine. "i could not exactly say they are," he said. "anyway, isn't it a little outside the question?" "well," said devine, drily, "i don't quite know. what's born in a man will come out somehow, whether it's good for him or not. now, i was thinking over another piece of work you might feel inclined to put through for me." brooke became suddenly intent, and devine noticed the little gleam in his eyes as he said, "if you can give me any particulars----" "come along," said devine, a trifle grimly, "and i'll show you them. then if you still feel willing to go into the thing we can worry out my notion." brooke rose and followed him along the hillside, which was seamed with rock outcrop and thinly covered with brushwood, while the roar of water grew louder in his ears. when they had made a mile or so devine stopped and looked about him. "it wouldn't cost too much to clear a ground-sled trail from here to the mine," he said. "a team of mules could haul a good many props in over it in a day." "but where are you going to get them from?" said brooke. devine smiled curiously. "come along a little further, and i'll show you." again brooke went with him, wondering a little, for he knew that a cañon would cut off all further progress presently, until devine stopped once more where the hillside fell sheer away beneath them. "now," he said, quietly, "i guess we're there. you can see plenty young firs that would make mining props yonder." brooke certainly could. the hillside in front of him rose, steep as a roof, to the ridge where the tufts of ragged pines were silhouetted in sombre outline against the gleaming snow behind. streaked with drifting mist, they rolled upwards in serried ranks, and there was apparently timber enough for half the mines in the province. the difficulty, however, was the reaching it, for, between him and it, a green-stained torrent thundered through a tremendous gap, whose walls were worn smooth and polished for four hundred feet or so. above that awful chasm rose bare and slippery slopes of rock, on which there was foothold for neither man nor beast, and only a stunted pine clung here and there in the crannies. what the total depth was he did not know, but he recoiled instinctively from the contemplation of it, and would have drawn back a yard or two only that devine stood still, looking down into the gap with his usual grim smile. still, it was a minute or two before he was sensible of more than a vague awe and a physical shrinking from that tremendous display of nature's forces, and then, by degrees, his brain commenced to record the details of the scene. he saw the snow-fed river diminished by distance to a narrow green riband swirling round the pools, and frothing with a curious livid whiteness over reef and boulder far down in the dimness. the roar it made came up in long pulsations of sound, which were flung back by the climbing pines that seemed to tremble in unison with it. the rocks were hollowed a trifle at their bases, and arched above the river. it was, as a picture, awe-inspiring and sublime, but from a practical point of view an apparently insurmountable barrier between the owner of the canopus mine and the timber he desired. devine, however, knew better, for he was a man who had grappled with a good many apparently insuperable difficulties, and brooke became sensible that he expected an expression of opinion from him. "the timber is certainly there, but i quite fail to see how it could be of the least use to anybody situated where we are," he said. "that cañon is, i should fancy, one of the deepest in the province." devine nodded, but the little smile was still in his eyes, and he pointed to the one where, by crawling down the gully a torrent had fretted out, an agile man might reach a jutting crag a couple of hundred feet below. "the point is that it isn't very wide," he said. "it wouldn't take a great many fathoms of steel rope to reach across it." brooke realized that, because the crag projected a little, this was correct; but as yet the suggestion conveyed no particular meaning to him. "no," he said. "still, it isn't very evident what use that would be." devine laughed. "now, if you had told me you knew anything about engineering, you would have given yourself away. have you never heard of an aerial tramway? it's quite simple--a steel rope set up tight, a winch for hauling, and a trolley. with that working, and a skid-slide up the gully, one could send over the props we want without much difficulty. it would be cheaper than buying off the timber-righters." brooke gasped as the daring simplicity of the scheme dawned on him. if one had nerve enough to undertake it the thing was perfectly feasible, and he turned to devine with a glow in his eyes. "it could be done," he said. "still, do you know anybody who would be willing to stretch that rope across?" devine looked at him steadily, noticing the slight dilation of his nostrils and the intentness of his face. "well," he said, drily, "i was going to ask you." the blood surged into brooke's forehead, and for the time he forgot his six thousand dollars and that the man who made the suggestion had plundered him of them. he had, during the course of his english education, shown signs of a certain originality and daring of thought which had slightly astonished those who taught him, and then had lounged three or four years away in the quiet valley, where originality of any kind was not looked upon with favor. the men and women he had been brought into contact with in london were also, for the most part, those who regarded everything from the accepted point of view, and his engagement to the girl his friends regarded with disapproval had, though he did not suspect this at the time, been in part, at least, a protest against the doctrine that no man of his station must do anything that was not outwardly befitting and convenient to it. the revolt had brought him disaster, as it usually does, but it had also thrust upon him the necessity of thinking for himself, though even during his two years' struggle on the worthless ranch he had not realized what qualities he was endued with, for it was not until he met barbara heathcote by the river that they were wholly stirred into activity. then ambition, self-confidence, and lust of conflict with men and nature asserted themselves, for it was, in point of fact, a sword she had brought him. still, he was as yet a trifle inconsequent and precipitate in his activities, for at times the purpose which had sent him to the canopus mine faded into insignificance, and he became oblivious to everything beyond the pleasure he found in the grapple with natural difficulties he was engaged in. those who had known brooke in england would have had little difficulty in recognizing him morally or physically as he stood, brawny and sinewy, in ragged jean, high above the thundering river. "then i'll undertake it," he said, with a little vibration in his voice. devine looked hard at him again. "feel sure you can do it? you'll want good nerves." "i think i can," said brooke, with a quietness the other man appreciated. "then you can go down to the mineral development's new shaft, where they have one of those tramways working, and see how they swing their ore across the valley. i'll give you a line to the manager. start when you're ready." devine said nothing further as they turned back towards the mine, but brooke felt that the bargain was already made. his companion was not the man to haggle over non-essentials, but one who knew what he wanted and usually went straight to the point. brooke left him presently, and, turning off where the flume climbed to the dam, came upon jimmy, tranquilly leaning upon his shovel while he watched the two or three men who toiled waist-deep in water. "i was kind of wondering whether she wouldn't be stiffer with another log or two in that framing?" he said, in explanation. "of course!" said brooke, drily. "it's more restful than shovelling. still, that's my affair, and you'll have to rustle more and wonder less. i'm going to leave you in charge here." jimmy grinned. "then i guess the way that dam will grow will astonish you when you come back again. where're you going to?" brooke told him, and jimmy contemplated the forest reflectively. "well," he said, "nobody who saw you at the ranch would ever have figured you had snap enough to put a contract of that kind through. still, you have me behind you." "a good way, as a rule," said brooke, drily. "especially when there is anything one can get very wet at to be done. still, i shouldn't wonder if you were quite correct. i scarcely think i ever suspected i had it in myself." jimmy still ruminated. "a man is like a mine. you see the indications on the top, but you can't be sure whether there's gold at the bottom or dirt that won't pay for washing, until you set the drills going or put in the giant powder and shake everything up. still, i can't quite figure how anything of that kind could have happened to you." brooke flashed a quick glance at him, but jimmy's eyes were vacant, and he was apparently watching a mink slip in and out among the roots of a cedar. "there is a good deal of gravel waiting down there, and only two men to heave it out," he said. "oh, yes," said jimmy, tranquilly. "still, it's a good while until it's dark, and i was thinking. now, if you had the dollars you threw away over that ranch, and me for a partner, you'd make quite a smart contractor. while they're wanting flumes and bridges everywhere, it's a game one can pile up dollars at." brooke's face flushed a trifle, and he slowly closed one hand. "confound the six thousand dollars, and you for reminding me of them!" he said. "get on with your shovelling." xiii. the old love. next morning brooke set out for the mineral development syndicate's new shaft, which lay a long day's ride nearer the railroad through the bush, and was well received by the manager. "stay just as long as it pleases you, and look at everything you want, though you'll have to excuse me going round with you to-day," he said. "there's a party of the directors' city friends coming up, and it's quite likely they'll keep me busy." brooke was perfectly content to go round himself, and he had acquired a good deal of information about the working of aerial tramways when he sat on the hillside watching a rattling trolley swing across the tree tops beneath him on a curving rope of steel. a foreman leaned on a sawn-off cedar close by, and glanced at brooke with a little ironical grin when a hum of voices broke out behind them. "you hear them? i guess the boss is enjoying himself," he said. brooke turned his head and listened, and a woman said, "but how do those little specks of gold get into the rock? it really looks so solid." "that's nothing," said the foreman. "she quite expects him to know how the earth was made. still, the other one's the worst. you'll hear her starting in again once she gets her breath. it's not information she's wanting, but to hear herself talk." the prediction was evidently warranted, for another voice broke in, "what makes those little trucks run down the rope? gravity! of course, i might have known that. how clever of you to think of it. you haven't anything like that at those works you're a director of, shafton?" brooke started a little, for though the speaker was invisible her voice was curiously familiar. it was also evidently an englishman who answered the last remark, and brooke, who decided that his ears must have deceived him, nevertheless became intent. he felt that the mere fancy should have awakened a host of memories, but he was only sensible of a wholly dispassionate curiosity when the voice was raised again, though it was, at least, very like one to which he had frequently listened in times past. then there was a patter of approaching steps, and he rose to his feet as the strangers and the mine manager came down the slope. there were several men, one of whom was palpably an englishman, and two women. one of the latter stopped abruptly, with a little exclamation. "harford--is it really you?" she said. brooke quietly swung off his wide hat, which he remembered, without embarrassment, was considerably battered, and while most of the others turned and gazed at him, stood still a moment looking at her. he did not appreciate being made the central figure in a dramatic incident, but it was evident that the woman rather relished the situation. several years had certainly elapsed since she had tearfully bidden him farewell with protestations of unwavering constancy, but he realized with faint astonishment that he felt no emotion whatever, not even a trace of anger. "yes," he said. "i really think it is." the woman made a little theatrical gesture, which might have meant anything, and in that moment the few illusions brooke still retained concerning her vanished. she seemed very little older than when he parted from her, and at least as comely, but her shallow artificiality was very evident to him now. her astonishment had, he felt, been exaggerated with a view to making the most of the situation, and even the little tremble in her voice appeared no more than an artistic affectation. the same impression was conveyed by her dress, which struck him as too ornate and in no way adapted to the country. then she turned swiftly to the man who stood beside her, looking on with a little faintly ironical smile. he was a personable man, but his lips were thin, and there was a suggestion of half-contemptuous weariness in his face. "this is harford brooke, shafton. of course, you have heard of him!" she said with a coquettish smile, which it occurred to brooke was not, under the circumstances, especially appropriate. "harford, i don't think you ever met my husband." brooke stood still and the other man nodded with an air of languid indifference. "glad to see you, i'm sure," he said. "met quite a number of englishmen in this country." then he turned towards the other woman as though he had done all that could be reasonably expected of him, and when the manager of the mine led the way down into the valley brooke found himself walking with the woman who had flung him over a few paces behind the rest of the party. he did not know exactly how this came about, but he was certain that he, at least, had neither desired nor in any way contrived it. they went down into the hollow between colonnades of towering trunks, crossed a crystal stream and climbed a steep ascent towards the clashing stamp-heads, but the woman appeared in difficulties and gasped a little until brooke held out his arm. he had already decided that her little high-heeled shoes were distinctly out of place in that country, and wondered at the same time what kind barbara heathcote wore, for she, at least, moved with lithe gracefulness through the bush. he was, however, sensible of nothing in particular when his companion looked up at him as she leaned upon his arm. "i was wondering how long it would be before you offered to help me. you used to be anxious to do it once," she said. brooke smiled a little. "that was quite a long time ago. i scarcely supposed you needed help, and one does not care to risk a repulse." "could you have expected one from me?" there was an archness in the glance she cast him which brooke was not especially gratified to see, and it struck him that the eyes which he had once considered softest blue were in reality tinged with a hazy grey, but he smiled again as he parried the question. "one," he said, "never quite knows what to expect from a lady." his companion made no immediate answer, but by and by she once more glanced up at him. "i am really not used to climbing if shafton is, and i am not going any further just now," she said. a newly-felled cedar lay conveniently near the trail, but its wide-girthed trunk stood high above the underbrush, and brooke dragged up a big hewn-off branch to make a footstool before his companion sat down on it. the branch was heavy, and she watched his efforts approvingly. "canada has made you another man. now, i do not think shafton could have done that in a day," she said. "of course, he would never have tried, even to please me." brooke, who was by no means certain what she wished him to understand from this, leaned against a cedar looking down at her gravely. this was the woman who had embittered several years of his life, and for whom he had flung a good deal away, and now he was most clearly sensible of his folly. had he met her in a drawing-room or even the vancouver opera-house, it might not have been quite so apparent to him, but she seemed an anachronism in that strip of primeval wilderness. nature was dominant there, and the dull pounding of the stamp-heads, which came faintly through the silence among the great trunks that had grown slowly during centuries, suggested man's recognition of the curse and privilege that was laid upon him in eden. graceful idleness was not esteemed in that country, where bread was won by strenuous toil, and the stillness and dimness of those great forest aisles emphasized the woman's artificial superficiality. voice and gesture, befrizzled, straw-colored hair which he had once called golden, constricted waist, and figure which was suggestively wooden in its curves, enforced the same impression, until the man, who realized that she had after all probably made at least as good a use of life as he had, turned his eyes away. "you really couldn't expect him to," he said, with a little laugh. "he has never had to do anything of that kind for a living as i have." he held up his hands and noticed her little shiver as she saw the scarred knuckles, hard, ingrained flesh, and broken nails. "oh," she said, "how cruel! whatever have you been doing?" brooke glanced at his fingers reflectively. "on the contrary, i suppose i ought to feel proud of them, though i scarcely think i am. building flumes and dams, though that will hardly convey any very clear impression to you. it implies swinging the axe and shovel most of every day, and working up to the waist in water occasionally." "but you were always so particular in england." "i could naturally afford to be. it cost me nothing when i was living on another man's bounty." the woman made a little gesture. "and you gave up everything for me!" brooke laughed softly, for it seemed to him that a little candor was advisable. "as a matter of fact, i am not quite sure that i did. my native wrong-headedness may have had its share in influencing me. anyway, that was all done with--several years ago." "you will not be bitter, harford," and she cast him a glance of appeal which might have awakened a trace of tenderness in the man had it sprung from any depth of feeling. "can anything of that kind ever be quite done with?" brooke commenced to feel a trifle uneasy. "well," he said, reflectively, "i certainly think it ought to be." to his relief his companion smiled and apparently decided to change the subject. "you never even sent me a message. it really wasn't kind." "it appeared considerably more becoming to let myself sink into oblivion. besides, i could scarcely be expected to feel certain that you would care to hear from me." the woman glanced at him reflectively. "i have often thought about you. of course, i was dreadfully sorry when i had to give you up, but i really couldn't do anything else, and it was all for the best." "of course!" said brooke, with a trace of dryness, and smiled when she glanced at him sharply. "i naturally mean in your case." "you are only involving yourself, harford. you never used to be so unfeeling." "i was endorsing your own statement, and it is, at least, considerably easier to believe that all is for the best when one is prosperous. you have a wealthy husband, and helen, who wrote me once, testified that he indulged you in--she said every caprice." "yes," said his companion, thoughtfully, "shafton is certainly not poor, and he is almost everything any one could expect him to be. as husbands go, i think he is eminently satisfactory." "one would fancy that an indulgent and wealthy husband of distinguished appearance would go a tolerably long way." again the woman appeared to reflect "prosperity is apt to kill romance," she said. "one is never quite content, you know, and i feel now and then that shafton scarcely understands me. that is a complaint people appear to find ludicrous, of course, though i really don't see why they should do so. shafton is conventional and precise. you know exactly what he is going to do, and that it will be right, but one has longings now and then for something original and intense." brooke regarded her with a little dry smile. one, as he had discovered, cannot have everything, and as she had sold herself for wealth and station it appeared a trifle unreasonable to repine because she could not enjoy a romantic passion at the same time. it was, in fact, very likely that had anything of the kind been thrust upon her she would not have known what to do with it. it also occurred to him that there were depths in her husband's nature which she had never sounded, and he remembered the look of cynical weariness in the man's face. lucy coulson was one who trifled with emotions as a pastime, but brooke had no wish to be made the subject of another experiment in simulated tenderness, even if that was meant, which, under the circumstances, scarcely seemed likely. "well," he said, "no doubt most people long for a good deal more than they ever get; but your friends must have reached the stamps by now, and they will be wondering what has become of you." "i scarcely think they will. the men seem to consider it a waste of time to talk to anybody who doesn't know all about ranches and mines, and shafton has miss goldie to attend to. she has attached herself to him like a limpet, but she is, of course, a canadian, and i really don't mind." almost involuntarily brooke contrasted her with a canadian who had spent a week in the woods with him. barbara heathcote had never appeared out of place in the wilderness, for she was wholly natural and had moved amidst those scenes of wild grandeur as though in harmony with them, with the stillness of that lonely land in her steady eyes. there was no superficial sentimentality in her, for her thoughts and emotions were deep as the still blue lakes, and he could not fancy her disturbing their serenity for the purpose of whiling an idle day away. then his face hardened, for it was becoming unpleasantly evident that she could not much longer even regard him with friendliness and there was nothing to be gained by letting his fancy run away with him. "you are not the man i used to talk nonsense with, harford," said his companion, who had in the meanwhile been watching him. "this country has made you quiet and a little grim. why don't you go back again?" "i am afraid they have too many men with no ostensible income in england." "still you could make it up with the old man." brooke's face was decidedly grim. "i scarcely think i could. rather more was said by both of us than could be very well rubbed off one's memory. besides, i think you know what kind of man he is?" lucy coulson leaned forward a trifle and there was a trace of genuine feeling in her voice. "harford," she said, "he frets about you--and he is getting very old. of course, he would never show anybody what he felt, but i could guess, because he was once not long ago almost rude to me. that could only have been on your account, you know. it hurts me a little, though one could scarcely take exception to anything he said--but you know the quiet precision of his manner. if it wasn't quite so perfect it would be pedantic now. one feels it's a relic of the days of the hoops and patches ever so long ago." "what did he say?" asked brooke, a trifle impatiently. "nothing that had any particular meaning by itself, but for all that he conveyed an impression, and i think if you were to go back----" "empty-handed!" said brooke. "there are circumstances under which the desire for reconciliation with a wealthy relative is liable to misconception. if i had prospered it would have been easier." lucy coulson looked at him thoughtfully. "perhaps i did use you rather badly, and it might be possible for me to do you a trifling kindness now. shall i talk to the old man when i go home again? i see him often." brooke shook his head. "i shall never go back a poor man," he said. "what are you doing here?" "everybody travels nowadays, and shafton is never happy unless he is going somewhere. we started for japan, and decided to see the rockies and look at the british columbian mines. that is, of course, shafton did. he has money in some of them, and is interested in the colonies. i have to sit on platforms and listen while he abuses the government for neglecting them. in fact, i don't know when i shall be able to get him out of the country now. of course, i never expected to meet you here--and almost wonder if there is any reason beyond the one you mentioned that has kept you here so long." she glanced at him in a curious fashion and made the most of her eyes, which he had once considered remarkably expressive ones. "i can't quite think of any other, beyond the fact that i have a few dollars at stake," he said. "there is nothing else?" "no," said brooke, a trifle too decisively. "what could there be?" his companion smiled. "well," she said, "i fancied there might have been a canadian. they are not all very good style, but some of them are almost pretty, and--when one has been a good while away----" the man flushed a trifle at the faint contempt in her tone. "i scarcely think there is one of them who would spare a thought for me. i should not be considered especially eligible even in this country." "and you have a good memory!" brooke felt slightly disconcerted, for it was not the first delicate suggestion she had made. "i don't know that it is of any benefit to me. you see, i really haven't anything very pleasant to remember." lucy coulson sighed. "harford," she said, dropping her voice a trifle, "you must try not to blame me. if one of us had been richer--i, at least, can't help remembering." brooke looked at her steadily. exactly where she wished to lead him he did not know, but she had flung away her power to lead him anywhere long ago. perhaps she was influenced by vanity, for there was no genuine passion or tenderness in her, but brooke was a well-favored man, and she had her caprices and drifted easily. "i really don't think you should," he said. "your husband mightn't like it, and it is quite a long while ago, you know." a little pink flush crept into the woman's cheek and she rose leisurely. "perhaps he will be wondering where i am, after all," she said. "you must come and make friends with him. we may be staying for some time yet at the c. p. r. hotel, vancouver." brooke went with her and spent some little time talking to her husband, who made a favorable impression upon him, while when he took his leave of them the woman let her hand remain in his a moment longer than there was any apparent necessity for. "you must come down and see us--it really isn't very far, and we have so much to talk about," she said. brooke said nothing, but he felt that he had had a warning as he swung off his big shapeless hat and turned away. xiv. brooke has visitors. the afternoon was hot, and the roar of the river in the depths below emphasized the drowsy stillness of the hillside and climbing bush, when brooke stood on the little jutting crag above the cañon. two hundred feet above him rose a wall of fissured rock, but a gully, down which the white thread of a torrent frothed, split through that grim battlement, and already a winding strip of somewhat perilous pathway had been cut out of and pinned against the side of the chasm. men with hammers and shovels were busy upon it, and the ringing of the drills broke sharply through the deep pulsations of the flood, while several more were clustered round the foot of an iron column, which rose from the verge of the crag, where the rock fell in one tremendous sweep to the dim green river. close beside it, and overhung by the rock wall, stood brooke's double tent, for, absorbed as he had become in the struggle with the natural difficulties that must be faced and surmounted at every step, he lived by his work, and when he had risen that morning the sun had not touched the dim white ramparts beyond the climbing pines. he was just then, however, not watching his workmen, but looking up the gorge, and a little thrill of pleasure ran through him when two figures in light draperies appeared at the head of it. then he went up at a pace which jimmy, who grinned as he watched him, wondered at, and stopped a trifle breathless beside the two women who awaited him above. "i was almost afraid you would not come," he said. "you are sure you would care to go down now you have done so?" mrs. devine gazed down into the tremendous depths with something that suggested a shiver, but barbara laughed. "of course," she said. "those men go up and down with big loads every day, don't they?" "they have to, and that naturally makes a difference," said brooke, with a little smile. "then we can go down because we wish to, which is, in the case of most people, even a better reason." mrs. devine appeared a trifle uncertain, and her face expressed rather resignation than any special desire to make the descent, but she permitted brooke to assist her down the zig-zag trail, while barbara followed with light, fearless tread. once they entered the gully, they could not, however, see the cañon, which, in the elder lady's case, at least, made the climb considerably easier, and they reached the tent without misadventure. the door was triced up to form an outer shelter, and barbara was a trifle astonished when brooke signed them to enter. she had seen how he lived at the ranch, and the squalid discomfort of the log room had not been without its significance to her, but there was a difference now. nothing stood out of place in that partition of the big double tent, and from the spruce twigs which lay a soft, springy carpet, on the floor, to the little nickelled clock above her head, all she saw betokened taste and order. even the neat folding chairs and table shone spotlessly, and there was no chip or flaw upon the crockery laid out upon the latter. there had, it seemed, been a change, of which all this was but the outward sign, in the man who stood smiling beside her. "tea at four o'clock is another english custom you may have become addicted to, and you have had a climb," he said. "still, i'm afraid i can't guarantee it. jimmy does the cooking." jimmy, as it happened, came in with a teapot in his hand just then. "well," he said, "i guess i'm considerably smarter at it than my boss. you needn't be bashful, either. i've a kettle that holds most of a gallon outside there on the fire, and here's two big tins of fixings we sent for to vancouver." mrs. devine smiled, but brooke's face was a trifle grim, as he glanced at his retainer, and barbara did not look at either of them just then. it was, of course, after all, only a little thing, but she was, nevertheless, gratified that he could think of these trifles in the midst of his activities. she, however, took the white metal teapot, which was burnished brilliantly, from jimmy, who, in spite of brooke's warning glances, still hung about the tent, contemplating her with evident approbation as she passed the cups. "i guess she does it considerably smarter than tom gordon's bella would have done," he said, with a wicked grin. "bella had no use for teapots either. she'd have given it you out of the kettle." the glance brooke rewarded him with was almost venomous, for he had seen the swift inquiry which had flashed into them fade as suddenly out of barbara's eyes. she could not well admit the least desire to know who tom gordon's bella was, though she would not have been unwilling to be enlightened. jimmy, however, beamed upon mrs. devine, who had taken up her cup. "i hope you like it. no smoke on that," he said. "when you use the green tea a smack of the resin goes well as flavoring, especially if it's brewed in a coal-oil tin. now, there's tea they make right where they sell it in vancouver, but what you've got is different i guess it's grown in china, or it ought to be, for the boss he sent me down, and says he----" "isn't it about time you made a start at getting that boulder out?" said brooke, drily. jimmy retired unwillingly, and brooke glanced deprecatingly at his guests. "we have been comrades for several years," he said. "of course!" said mrs. devine, with a little smile. "still, i really don't think you need be so anxious to hide the fact that you have taken some pains to provide these little dainties for us. it would have been apparent in any case. we know how men live in the bush." brooke made no disclaimer, though a faint trace of color deepened the bronze in his face, for he remembered the six thousand dollars, and winced under her graciousness. then they discussed other matters, until at last barbara laid aside her cup. "we came to see the cañon, and how you mean to put the rope across," she said. she glanced at her sister, but mrs. devine resolutely shook her head. "i have seen quite as much of the cañon as i have any wish to do," she said. "besides, it was not exactly an easy matter getting down here, and i expect it will be considerably worse getting up. you can go with mr. brooke, my dear." they left her in the tent, and five minutes later brooke led the girl to a seat on a dizzy ledge, from which the rock fell away in one awful smooth wall. "now," he said quietly, "you can look about you." barbara, who had been too occupied in picking her way to notice very much as yet, drew in her breath as she gazed down into the tremendous chasm. the sunshine lay warm upon the pine-clad slopes above, but no ray of brightness streamed down into that depth of shadow, and its eerie dimness was thickened by the mist which drifted filmily above the river's turmoil. out of it a deep vibratory roar came up, diminished by the distance, in long pulsations that died far up among the pines in sinking waves of sound. "oh," she said, with a little gasp, "it's tremendous!" "a trifle overwhelming!" said brooke, reflectively, "and yet it gets hold of one. there is a difference between it and the english valley you once mentioned." barbara turned to him, with a little gleam in her eyes. "of course!" she said. "one is glad there is, since it is typical of both countries. you couldn't tame this river and set it gliding smoothly between mossy stepping-stones." "no," said brooke, "i scarcely think one would wish to if he could. one feels it wouldn't be fitting." "and yet we shall put the power that's in it into harness by and by." "without taming it?" barbara nodded. "yes," she said. "if you had ever stood in a canadian power house, as i have done once or twice, you would understand. you can hear the big dynamos humming in one low, deep note while the little blue sparks flicker about the shafts. they stand for controlled energy; but the whole place rocks with the whirring of the turbines and the thunder of the water plunging down the shoots. the river that drives them does it exulting in its strength. you couldn't fancy it lapping among the lily leaves in sunlit pools. it hasn't time." "to have no time for artistic effect is typical of this country, then?" said brooke. barbara smiled. "yes," she said, "i really think it is. we shall come to that later, but this, you see, isn't art, but something greater. it's nature untrammelled, and primeval force." "then you, who personify reposefulness, admire force?" barbara held her hand up. "when it accomplishes anything i do; but listen," she said. "that sound isn't the discord of purposeless haste. there's a rhythm in it. it's ordered and stately harmony." brooke sat still, watching the little gleam in her brown eyes, until she turned again to him. "you are going to put that rope across?" she said. "i am, at least, going to try. there will, however, be difficulties." barbara smiled a little. "there generally are. still, i think you will get over them." she looked down again at the tremendous gap, and then met his eyes in a fashion that sent a thrill through him. "it would be worth while." "i almost think it would. still, it is largely a question of dollars, and i have spent a good many with no great result already." "my brother-in-law will not see you beaten. he would throw in as much as the mine was worth before he yielded a point to the timber-righters." brooke noticed the little hardness in her voice, and the sparkle in her eyes. "if he did, you would evidently sympathize with him?" "of course, though it wasn't exactly in that sense i meant it would be worth while. one would naturally sympathize with anybody who was made the subject of that kind of extortion. if there is anything detestable, it is a conspiracy." "still," said brooke, reflectively, "it is in one sense a perfectly legitimate transaction." "would you consider yourself warranted in scheming to extort money from any one?" brooke did not look at her. "it would, of course, depend--upon, for example, any right i might consider i had to the money. we will suppose that somebody had robbed me----" "then one who has been robbed may steal?" brooke made a little deprecatory gesture while the blood crept to his face. "i'm afraid i have never given any questions of this kind much consideration. we were discussing the country." barbara laughed. "of course. i ought to have remembered. you are so horribly afraid of betraying your sentiments in england that you would almost prefer folks to believe you hadn't any. i am, however, going to venture on dangerous ground again. i think the country is having an effect on you. you have changed considerably since i met you at the ranch." "it is possible," and brooke met her gaze with a little smile in his eyes. "still, i am not quite sure it was altogether the fault of the country." barbara looked down at the cañon. "isn't that a little ambiguous?" "well," said brooke, reflectively, "it is, at least, rather a stretching of the simile, but i saw you first clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, in the midst of a frothing river--and i am not quite sure that you were right when you said it was not a sword you brought me." barbara flashed a swift, keen glance at him, though she smiled. "then beware in what quarrel you draw it--if i did. one would expect such a gift to be used with honor. it could, however, be legitimately employed against timber-righters, claim-jumpers, and all schemers and extortioners of that kind." she stopped a moment, and looked at him, steadily now. "do you know that i am glad you left the ranch?" "why?" "what you are doing now is worth while. you would consider that priggishness in england, but it's the truth." "you mean helping your brother-in-law to get ahead of the timber-righters?" "no," said barbara. "that is not what i mean, though if it is any consolation to you, it meets with my approbation, too." "then what i was doing before was not worth while?" "that," said barbara, with a trace of dryness, "is a question you can answer best, though i saw no especial evidence of activity of any kind. the question is--can you do nothing better still? this province needs big bridges and daringly-built roads." "i'm afraid not," and brooke smiled a trifle wryly. "it costs a good many dollars to build a big bridge, and it is apparently very difficult for any man to acquire them so long as he works with his own hands." "still, isn't it worth the effort--not exactly for the dollars?" brooke looked at her gravely, with a slight hardening of his lips. "i think it would be in my case," he said. "the difficulty is that i should run a heavy risk if the effort was ever made. now, however, i had, perhaps, better show you how far we have got with the tramway." there was, as it happened, not very much to show, and before half an hour had passed barbara and mrs. devine climbed the steep ascent, while brooke returned to redeem the hour spent with them by strenuous toil. it was also late that night before he flung aside the sheet of crude drawings and calculations he was making, and leaned back wearily in his chair. his limbs were aching, and so were his eyes, and he sat still awhile with them half-closed in a state of dreamy languor. he had dropped a tin shade over the lamp, and the tent was shadowy outside the narrow strip of radiance. there was no sound from the workmen's bark and canvas shanty, and the pulsating roar of the cañon broke sharply through an impressive stillness, until at last there was a faint rattle of gravel outside that suggested the approach of a cautious foot, and brooke straightened himself suddenly as a man came into the tent. his face was invisible until he sat down within the range of light, and then brooke started a little. "saxton!" he said. saxton laughed, and flung down his big hat. "precisely!" he said. "there are camps in the province i wouldn't have cared to come into like this. it wouldn't be healthy for me, but in this case it seemed advisable to get here without anybody seeing me. left my horse two hours ago at tomlinson's ranch." "it was something special brought you so far on foot?" "yes," said saxton, "i guess it was. i came along to see what in the name of thunder you were doing here so long." "i was building devine a dam, and i am now stretching a rope across the cañon to bring his mine props over." saxton straightened himself, and stared at him, with blank astonishment in his face. "i want to understand," he said. "you are putting him a rope across to bring props over with?" "yes," said brooke. "is there anything very extraordinary in that?" saxton laughed harshly. "under the circumstances, i guess there is. do you know who's stopping him cutting all the props he wants right behind the mine?" "no," said brooke, drily. "devine doesn't either, which i fancy is probably as well for the man. the one who holds the rights is, i understand, only the dummy." "then i'll tell you right now. it's me." brooke started visibly, and then laid a firm restraint upon himself. "i warned you against leaving me in the dark." saxton slammed his hand down on the table. "well," he said, "who would have figured on your taking up that contract? what in the name of thunder do you want to build his slingway for?" brooke sat thoughtfully silent for a moment or two. "to tell the truth, i'm not quite sure i know. the thing, you see, got hold of me." "you don't know!" and saxton laughed again, unpleasantly. "it's no great wonder they were glad to send you out here from the old country. the last thing i counted on was that my partner would spoil my game. you'll have to stop it right away." brooke closed his eyes a trifle, and looked at him. "no," he said. "that is precisely what can't be done." there was no anger in his voice, and he made no particular display of resolution, but saxton seemed to realize that this decision was definite. he sat fuming for a space, and then made a little emphatic gesture, which expressed complete bewilderment as well as desperation. still, even then, he was quick enough of wit to make no futile protest, for there are occasions when the quiet inertia of the insular englishman, who has made up his mind, is more than a match for the nervous impatience of the westerner. "well," he said again, as though it was the only thing that occurred to him, "what did you do it for?" brooke smiled quietly. "as i told you not long ago, i really don't know." "then i guess there's nobody could size you up, and put you in the grade you belong to. you wouldn't take devine's dollars when he wanted to hire you, and now you're building flumes and dams for him. i can't see any difference. there's no sense in it." "i'm afraid there is really very little myself. it's rather like splitting hairs, isn't it? still, there is, at least, what one might call a distinction. you see, i took over another man's contract, and what i'm doing now doesn't make it necessary for devine to favor me with his confidence." saxton shook his head in a fashion that suggested he considered his comrade's case hopeless. "and it's just his confidence we want!" he said. "you don't seem able to get hold of the fact that you can't make very many dollars and keep your high-toned notions at the same time. the thing's out of the question. now, i once heard a lecture on the new england states long ago, and pieces of it stuck to me. there were two or three of the hard old puritans made their little pile cutting frenchmen's and spaniards' throats in the gulf of mexico, and built meeting-houses when they came home and settled down. still, they had sense enough to see that what was the correct thing among the quakers and baptists of new england was quite out of place on the caribbean sea." brooke felt that there was truth in this, but he meant, at least, to cling to the distinction, even though he disregarded the difference, and saxton seemed to realize it. "well," he said resignedly, "we may do something with that prop sling when we jump the claim. how are you getting on about the mine?" "in point of fact, i'm not getting on at all. each time i try to saunter into the workings, i am civilly turned out again. devine, it seems, will not even let the few men who work on top in." saxton appeared to reflect. "now, i wonder why," he said. "he's too smart to do anything without a reason, and he's not afraid of you, or he'd never have had you round the place. still, you'll have to get hold of the facts we want before we can do anything, and i'm not quite sure what use i'll make of those timber-rights in the meanwhile. they cost me quite a few dollars, and it may be a while yet before anybody takes them from me. building that slingway isn't quite what i expected from devine after buying up forests to oblige him." "well, i will do what i can, but i wish devine would give me those dollars back of his own accord. i'm almost commencing to like the man." saxton shook his head. "you can't afford to consider a point of that kind when it's against your business," he said. "anyway, if you can give me a blanket or two, i'll get some sleep now. i have to be on the trail again by sun-up." brooke gave him his own spruce-twig couch, and made him breakfast in the chilly dawn on a kerosene stove, and then was sensible of a curious relief as his confederate vanished into the filmy mists which drifted down the gorge. xv. saxton gains his point. brooke was very wet and physically weary, which in part accounted for his dejected state of mind, when he led his jaded horse up the last few rods of climbing trail that crossed the big divide. it had just ceased raining, and the slippery rock ran water, while a cold wind, which set him shivering, shook a doleful wailing out of the scattered pines. one of them had fallen, and, stopping beside it, he looped the bridle round a broken branch, and sat down to rest and think, for the difficulties of the way had occupied his attention during a long day's journey, and, since he expected to meet saxton in another hour, he had food for reflection. it was not a cheerful prospect he looked down upon, and that evening the desolation of the surroundings reacted upon him. the gleaming snow was smothered now in banks of dingy mist, and below him there rolled away a dreary waste of pines, whose ragged spires rose out of the drifting vapors rent and twisted by the ceaseless winds. it was, in words he had not infrequently heard applied to it, a hard country he must spend his years of exile in, and of late nothing had gone well with him. since he had last seen saxton, he had lived in a state of tension, waiting for the time when circumstances should render the carrying out of their purpose feasible, and yet clinging to a faint hope that he might, by some unknown means, still be relieved of the necessity of persisting in a course that was becoming more odious every day. the dam was almost completed, but it was with dismay he had counted the cost of it, and twice the steel rope had torn up stays and columns, and hurled them into the cañon, while he would, he knew, be fortunate if he secured a profit of a couple of hundred dollars as the result of several months of perilous labor. prosperity, it was very evident, was not to be achieved in that fashion. he had also seen very little of barbara heathcote for some time, and she had been to him as a mental stimulant, of which he felt the loss, while now his prospects seemed as dreary as the dripping waste he stared across with heavy eyes. all this, as it happened, bore directly upon his errand, for it once more brought home the fact that a man without dollars could expect very little in that country, while there was, it seemed, only one way of obtaining them open to him. it was true that he shrank from availing himself of it, but that did not, after all, greatly affect the case, and he endeavored to review the situation dispassionately. he had decided that he was warranted in recovering the six thousand dollars by any means available, and it was evidently folly to take into account the anger and contempt of a girl who could, of course, be nothing to him. her station placed that out of the question, since it would, so far as he could see, be a very long time indeed before he could secure even the most modest competence, and he felt that there was a still greater distinction between them morally; but, in spite of this, he realized that the girl's approbation was the one thing he clung to. he could scarcely nerve himself to fling it away, and yet it seemed, in the light of reason, a very indifferent requital for a life of struggle and poverty. she had, he told himself, merely taken a passing interest in him, and once she met a man of her own station fortunate enough to gain her regard, was scarcely likely even to remember him. then he rose with a little hardening of his lips, and, flinging himself wearily into the saddle, strove to shake off his thoughts as the jaded horse floundered down into the valley. they were both too weary to attempt to pick their way, and went down, sliding and slipping, with the gravel rattling away from under them, until they reached the thicker timber, and smashed recklessly through thickets of giant fern and salmon berry. now and then a drooping branch struck brooke as he passed, but he scarcely noticed it, and rode on, swaying in his saddle, while great drops of moisture splashed upon his grim, wet face. it was sunrise when he had ridden out from the canopus mine, with his horse's head turned towards the settlement, and dark was closing down when at last he dropped, aching all over, from the saddle at the door of saxton's shanty at the elktail mine. the latter, who opened it, smiled at him somewhat drily, and was by no means effusive in his greeting. "i wasn't quite sure the message i sent you from vancouver would fetch you, though i made it tolerably straight," he said. "you certainly did," said brooke. "in fact, i don't know that you could have made it more unlikely to bring me here. still, what put the fancy that i might disregard it into your head?" saxton looked at him curiously. "well," he said, with an air of reflection, "you seemed to be quite at home in several senses, and making the most of it there. there are folks who would consider that girl with the big eyes pretty." brooke, who was entering the shanty, swung round sharply. "i think we can leave miss heathcote out. it's a little difficult to understand how you came to know what i was doing at the canopus? you were in vancouver." saxton appeared almost disconcerted for a moment, but he laughed. "well," he said, "i figured on what was most likely when i heard miss heathcote was still there." he saw that he had made another mistake, and wondered whether brooke, who had, as it happened, done so, had noticed it, while the fact that the latter's face was now expressionless roused him to a little display of vindictiveness. "i heard something about her in vancouver, anyway, which it's quite likely she didn't mention to you. it was that she's mighty good friends with one of the pacific squadron officers. she has a good many dollars of her own, and they're mostly folks who make a splash in their own country." brooke afterwards decided that this must have been an inspiration, but just then he felt that saxton was watching him, and showed no sign of interest. "if she did, i don't remember it, though i should consider the thing quite probable," he said. "still, as miss heathcote's fancies don't concern us, wouldn't it be more to the purpose if you got me a little to eat?" saxton summoned his cook, and nothing more was said until brooke had finished his meal. then his host looked at him as they sat beside the crackling stove. "isn't it 'bout time you made a move at the canopus?" he said. "so far as you have gone, you have only spoiled my hand. you didn't go there to build devine flumes and dams." "in point of fact, i rather think i did. the difficulty, however, is that i am still unable to get into the mine. i have invented several excuses, which did not work, already. nobody except the men who get the ore is even allowed to look at the workings." a little gleam crept into saxton's eyes. "now, it seems to me that devine has struck it rich, or he wouldn't be so concerned particular. it's quite plain that he doesn't want everybody to know what he's getting out of the canopus. it's only a mine that's paying folks think of jumping." "has it struck you that he might wish to sell it, and be taking precautions for exactly the opposite reason?" saxton made a little gesture of approval, though he shook his head. "you show you have a little sense now and then, but there's nothing in that view," he said. "is a man going to lay out dollars on dams and wire-rope slings when he knows that none of them will be any use to him?" "i think he might. that is, if he wanted investors, who could be induced to take it off his hands, to hear of it." "the point is that he has only to put the canopus into the market, and they'd pile down the dollars now." "still, it is presumably our business, and not devine's, you purposed to talk about." saxton nodded. "then we'll start in," he said. "you can't get into the mine, and it has struck me that if you could your eyes wouldn't be as good as a compass and a measuring-chain. well, that brings us to the next move. when devine left vancouver a week ago, he took up a tin case he keeps the plans and patents of the canopus in with him. you needn't worry about how i'm sure of this, but i am. those papers will tell us all we want to know." "i have no doubt they would. still, i don't see that we are any nearer getting over the difficulty. devine is scarcely likely to show them me." "you'll have to lay your hands upon the case. it's in the ranch." brooke's face flushed, and for a moment his lips set tight, while he closed one hand as he looked at his confederate. then he spoke on impulse, "i'll be hanged if i do!" saxton, who had, perhaps, expected the outbreak, regarded him with a little sardonic smile. "now," he said, quietly, "you'll listen to me, and put aside those notions of yours for a while. i've had about enough of them already. devine robbed you--once--and he has taken dollars out of my pocket a good many times, while i can't see any great difference between glancing at another man's papers and crawling into his mine. we're not going to take the canopus from him anyway--it would be too big a deal--but we have got to find out enough to put the screw on him. you don't owe him anything, for you're building those flumes and dams cheaper than he would get it done by anybody else." brooke sat silent a space, with the blood still in his cheeks and one hand closed. he was sensible of a curious disgust, and yet it was evident that his confederate was right. there was, after all, no great difference between the scheme suggested and what he had already been willing to do, and yet he was sensible that it was not that fact which chiefly influenced him, for saxton had done wisely when he hinted at barbara heathcote's supposititious fondness for the naval officer. brooke had already endeavored to contemplate the likelihood of something of this kind happening, with equanimity, and there was nothing incredible about the story. the men of the pacific squadron were frequently in victoria, and steamers crossed to vancouver every day; but now probability had changed to what appeared to be certainty, he was sensible almost of dismay. at the same time, the restraint which had counted most with him was suddenly removed, and he turned to saxton with a little decisive gesture. he certainly owed devine nothing, and his confederate had, when he needed it badly, shown him what he fancied was, in part, at least, genuine kindness. "well," he said, "i will do what i can." "then," said saxton, drily, "you had better do it soon. devine goes across to the sumas valley, where he's selling land, every now and then, and i have reason for believing he's expected there not later than next week. i guess he's not likely to take that case with him. it's quite a big one. you'll get hold of it, and find out what we want to know, as soon as he's gone." "the question is--how am i to manage it? you wouldn't expect me to pick the lock of his safe, presumably?" saxton, who appeared reflective, quite failed to notice the irony of the inquiry. "well," he said, "if i figured i could do it, i guess i wouldn't let that stand in my way. still, i'm not sure that he has any, and it's even chances he keeps the case under some books or truck of that kind in the room he has fixed up as office at the ranch. you see, the dollars for the men come straight up from vancouver every pay-day." brooke straightened himself in his chair, with a little shake of his shoulders. "now," he said, "we'll talk of something else. this isn't particularly pleasant. i had, of course, realized before i came out that one might find it necessary to follow an occupation he had no particular taste for in the dominion of canada, which is, it seems, the home of the adaptable man who can accustom himself to anything, but i really never expected that i should consider it an admissible thing to steal my employer's papers. that, however, is not the question. give me a cigar, and tell me how you purpose stimulating the progress of this great province when you get into the legislature." saxton did so at length, and it was perfectly evident that he saw no incongruity between what he purposed to do when in the legislature and the means he adopted of getting there, for he sketched out reforms and improvements with optimistic ability. once or twice a sardonic smile crept into brooke's eyes, for there was no mistaking the fact that the man was serious, and then his attention wandered, and he ruminated on the position. saxton appeared curiously well informed as to devine's movements, but though brooke could find no answer to the question how he had obtained the information, it did not, after all, seem to be of any great importance, and he once more found himself listening to his comrade languidly. saxton was then declaiming against official corruption and incapacity. "we want to make a clean sweep, and put the best and squarest men into office. this country has no use for any other kind," he said. "that," said brooke, drily, "is no doubt why you are going in. anyway, i fancy it is getting late, and i have a long ride before me to-morrow." saxton smiled good-humoredly. "well," he said, "i can go just as straight as any man when i've made my little pile. most folks find it a good deal easier then." it seemed to brooke, who had not found adversity especially conducive to uprightness, that there was, perhaps, a certain truth in his comrade's notion, but he felt no great inclination to consider the question, and in another ten minutes was sinking into sleep. he also started before sunrise next morning, and was walking stiffly up the climbing trail to the canopus mine, with the bridle of the jaded horse in his hand, when he came upon barbara heathcote amidst the pines. she apparently noticed his weariness and the mire upon the horse. "the trail must have been very bad," she said. "it certainly was," said brooke, who, because it did not appear advisable that any one should suspect he was riding to the elktail mine, had taken the trail to the settlement when he set out. "when there has been heavy rain, it usually is. the trail-choppers should have laid down logs in the saverne swamp." "but what took you that way?" said the girl. "it must have been a tremendous round." brooke realized that he had been indiscreet, for nobody who wished to reach the settlement was likely to cross that swamp. "as a matter of fact, it is," he said. "as you see, the horse is almost played out." barbara glanced at him, as he fancied, rather curiously, but she changed the subject. "i have a friend from vancouver, who heard you play at the concert, here, and we had hoped you might be persuaded to bring your violin across to the ranch to-night. katty asked jimmy to tell you that we expected you. that is, if you were not too tired." brooke felt the blood creep into his face. he longed to go, but he had a sense of fitness, and he felt that, although such scruples were a trifle out of place in his case, he could not, after the arrangement he had made with saxton, betray the girl's confidence by visiting the ranch again as a respected guest. no excuse but the one she had suggested, however, presented itself, and it seemed to him advisable to make use of it with uncompromising candidness. her friendliness hurt him, and, since it presumably sprang from a mistaken good opinion, it would be a slight relief to show her that he was deficient even in courtesy. "i'm almost afraid i am," he said. barbara heathcote had a good deal of self-restraint, but there was a trace of astonishment in her face, and, for a moment, a suspicious sparkle in her eyes. "then we will, of course, excuse you," she said. "you will, i hope, not think it very inconsiderate of me to stop you now." brooke said nothing, but tugged at the bridle viciously, and trudged forward into the gloom of the pines, while barbara, who would not admit that she had come there in the hope of meeting him, turned homewards thoughtfully. as it happened, she also met the freight-packer, who brought their supplies up on the way. "where is saverne swamp? behind the range, isn't it?" she said. "yes, miss," said the freighter, pointing across the pines. "back yonder." "then if i wished to ride into the settlement i could scarcely go round that way?" the man laughed. "no," he said. "i guess you couldn't. not unless you started the night before, and then you'd have to climb right across the big divide. nobody heading for the settlement would take that trail." he went on with his loaded beasts, and barbara stood still, looking down upon the forest with a little pink tinge in her cheeks and a curious expression in her eyes. remembering the trace of disconcertion he had shown, she very much wished to know where brooke had really been. xvi. barbara's responsibility. darkness had closed down outside, and the lamp was lighted in devine's office, which occupied a projection of the wooden ranch. behind it stood the kitchen, and a short corridor, which gave access to both, led back from its inner door to the main building. another door opened directly on to the clearing, and a grove of willows, past which the trail led, crept close up to it, so that any one standing among them could see into the room. there was, however, little probability of that happening, for nobody lived in that stretch of forest, except the miners, whose shanty stood almost a mile away. devine sat opposite the captain of the mine across the little table, and he had let his cigar go out, while his face was a trifle grim. "the last clean-up was not particularly encouraging, tom," he said. wilkins nodded, and there was a trace of concern in his face, which was seamed and rugged, for he was one of the old-time prospectors, who, trusting solely to their practical acquaintance with the rocks, had played a leading part in the development of the mineral resources of that province. "the trouble is that the next one's going to be worse," he said. "the pay-dirt's getting scarcer as we cut further in, and i have a notion that the boys are beginning to notice it now and then, though there's not a man in the crowd who would make his grub prospecting. they're road-makers, most of them." devine glanced at the little leather-bound book he held, in which was entered the net yield of gold from the ore the stamps crushed down, and noted the steady decrease. "it's quite plain to me that the vein is working out," he said. "it remains to be seen whether we'll strike better rock with the adit on the different level. i don't notice very many signs of that yet." wilkins shook his head. "i guess i haven't seen any for a week, and we're spending quite a pile of dollars trying to hold the hillside up. the signs were all on top," he said. "there are ranges where you can strike it just as sure and easy as falling off a log, but i guess something long ago shook these mountains up, and mixed up all the rock. there's only one man figures he knows how it was done, and he won't talk about it when he's sensible." "allonby, of the dayspring!" said devine. "now, the last time we worried about the thing you told me you considered our chances good enough to put your savings in. would you feel like doing it to-day? i want the information, not the dollars. you know it's generally wisest to be straight with me." "no, sir," said wilkins, drily, "i wouldn't." devine sat thoughtfully silent for a minute or two, and the captain, who lighted his cigar again, wondered what was in his mind. he felt tolerably certain there was, as usual, a good deal, and that something would result from it presently. "you went through the dayspring?" devine said, at length. "i did. so far as i can figure, it's a mine that will make its living, and nothing worth while more. 'bout two or three cents on the dollar." "allonby thinks more of it." a little incredulous smile crept into the captain's eyes. "when he has got most of a bottle of rye whisky into him! allonby's a skin." "well," said devine, "i'm going over to talk to him, and i needn't keep you any longer in the meanwhile. you will remember that only you and i have got to know what the canopus is really doing." the captain's smile was very expressive as he went out, but when the door closed behind him devine sat still with wrinkled forehead and thoughtful eyes while half an hour slipped by. he was, however, not addicted to purposeless reflections, and the results of his cogitations as a rule became apparent in due time. he cheerfully took risks, or chances, as he called them, which the average english business man would have shrunk from, for the leaders of the pacific slope's activities have no time for caution. life is too short, they tell one, to make sure of everything, and it is, in point of fact, not particularly long in case of most of them, for there is a significant scarcity of old men. like the rest, he staked his dollars boldly, and when he lost them, which happened now and then, accepted it as what was to be expected, and usually recouped himself on another deal. that was why he had bought the canopus under somewhat peculiar circumstances, and extended the workings without concerning himself greatly as to whether every stipulation of the crown mining regulations had been complied with, until the mine proved profitable, when it had appeared advisable not to court inquiry, which might result in the claim being jumped by applying for corrected records. it also explained the fact that although he had no safe at the ranch, he had brought up all the plans and papers relating to it from his vancouver office, and kept them merely covered by certain dusty books. nobody who might feel an illegitimate interest in them would, he argued, expect to find them there. while he sat there the inner door opened softly, and barbara, who came in noiselessly, laid a hand upon his shoulder. devine had not, as it happened, heard her, but it was significant that he did not start at all, and only turned his head a trifle more quickly than usual. then he looked up at her quietly. "are you never astonished or put out?" she said. "you didn't expect me?" devine smiled a little. "well," he said, "i don't think i often am. the last time i remember, a cinnamon bear ran me up a tree. what brought you, anyway?" "it's getting late," and barbara sat down. "you have been here two hours already. now, of course, you show very little sign of it, but i can't help a fancy that you have been worrying over something the last day or two. i suppose one could scarcely expect you to take me into your confidence." "the thing's not big enough to worry over, but i have been thinking some. we have struck no gold in the adit, and now when we're waiting for the props the englishman has dropped the rope into the cañon. that little contract is going to cost him considerable." barbara wondered whether he had any particular reason for watching her, or if she only fancied that his gaze was a trifle more observant than usual. "still, i think he will get a rope across," she said. "oh, yes," said devine, indifferently. "there's grit in him. a curious kind of man. wouldn't take a good offer to work for me, and yet he jumped right at those contracts. he's going to find it hard to make them pay his grocery bill. i guess he hasn't told you anything?" "no," said barbara, a trifle hastily, for once more she felt the keen eyes scan her face. "of course not. why should he?" devine smiled. "if you don't know any reason you needn't ask me. you can't make a britisher talk, anyway, unless he wants to." he made a little gesture as though to indicate that the subject was not worth discussing, and then, taking up a bundle of documents, turned to her again. "you see those papers, bab? they're plans and crown patents for the mine. i'm going away to-morrow, and can't take them along, so i'll put them under that pile of old books yonder. now, if i was to tell katty to make sure the doors were fast she'd get worrying, but you have better nerves, and i'll ask you to see that nobody gets in here until i come back again. nobody's likely to want to, but i'll put a screw in the window, and give you the key." barbara laughed. "i shall not be afraid. are the papers valuable?" "no," said devine, with a trace of dryness. "not exactly! in fact, i'm not quite sure they would be worth anything to anybody in a month or two. still, the man who got hold of them in the meanwhile might fancy he could make trouble for me." "how?" said barbara. "you said they mightn't be much use to anybody." devine smiled a little, but it was evident that he had considerable confidence in the discretion of his wife's sister. "i can't explain part of it," he said. "when i took hold of the canopus, it didn't seem likely to pay me for my trouble, and i didn't worry about the patents or how far they covered what i was doing. now, if you drive beyond the frontage you've made your claim on, it constitutes another mine, which isn't covered by your record and belongs to the crown. it's open to any jumper who comes along. besides, unless you do a good many things exactly as the law lays down, your patent mayn't hold good, and any one who knows the regulations can re-record the claim." "that means you or the previous owner neglected one or two formalities, and an unscrupulous person who found it out from those papers could take the canopus, or part of it, away from you?" devine smiled grimly. "yes," he said. "that is, he might try." "i understand," said barbara. "still, there are no strangers here, and i don't think you have a man who would attempt anything of that kind about the mine." "or at the cañon?" barbara was sensible of a curious little thrill of anger, for brooke was at the cañon, but she looked at him steadily. "no," she said. "i am quite sure that is the last thing one would expect from anybody at the cañon, but if we stay here katty will be wondering what has become of me." devine rose and followed her out of the room, and in another half-hour the ranch was in darkness. he rode away early next morning, and the big, empty living-room seemed lonely to the two women who sat by the window when night drew in again. the evening was very still and clear, and the chill of the snow was in the motionless air. no sound but the distant roar of the river broke the silence, and when the white line of snow grew dimmer high up in the dusky blue, and the pines across the clearing faded to a blur of shadow, mrs. devine shivered a little. "i suppose quietness is good for one, if only because it isn't very nice, but it gets a trifle depressing now and then," she said. "why didn't you ask mr. brooke to come across?" "you may have noticed that he never comes when my brother-in-law is not here, and then he brings drawings or estimates of some kind with him." mrs. devine appeared reflective. "grant has not been away for almost two weeks now, and it is quite that time since we have seen mr. brooke," she said. "didn't we ask him to come when you had minnie here?" "you did," said barbara, with a faint flush, which the shadows hid. "he asked me to excuse him." "because grant was away?" "no," said barbara, drily. "that, at least, was not the reason he gave me. he said he was--too tired." mrs. devine laughed, for she had noticed the hardness in her sister's voice. "it really must have been exasperating. he should have thought of a better excuse," she said. "you have only to hold up a finger at vancouver, and they all flock round, eager to do a good deal more than you wish them to, while this flume-builder doesn't seem to understand what is implied by a royal invitation. no doubt you will find a way of making him realize his contumacy." "i am almost afraid i shall not have the opportunity." "and you can't very well attempt to make one, especially as i remember now that grant told me he was very hard at work at the cañon. it would be even worse to be told he was too busy, since that implies that one has something better to do." barbara had a spice of temper, as her sister naturally knew, but she smiled at this, for she was unwilling to admit, even to herself, and much less to anybody else, that she felt the slightest irritation at the fact that brooke had shown no eagerness to avail himself of the invitation she had given him. still, she was, on this score, very far from feeling pleased with him. "i dare say he has," she said. "then he is, at least, not doing it very successfully. the rope--i forgot how much grant said it cost--fell into the cañon." "i am not very sure there are many men who would have attempted to put a rope across at all," said barbara, and did not realize for a moment that she had, to some extent, betrayed herself. she might, though she did not admit it, feel displeased with the flume-builder herself, but that was no reason why she should permit another person to disparage his capabilities, all of which her sister was probably acquainted with. "well," she said, indifferently, "we hope he will be successful. the man pleases me, but i would very much like to know what grant thinks about him." "then why don't you ask him?" mrs. devine shook her head. "grant never tells anybody his opinions until he's tolerably sure he's right, and i fancy he is a little undecided about mr. brooke as yet," she said. "still, it's getting shivery, and this silence is a trifle eerie. i'm going to bed." she lighted a lamp, but when she went out barbara made her way to her room without one. there was nobody else beyond wilkins' wife in the ranch, and she had retired some time ago. the rambling wooden building was not dark, but dusky, with black depths of shadow in the corners of the rooms, for the dim crepuscular light would, at that season, linger almost until the dawn. to some natures it would also have been more suggestive of hidden dangers than impenetrable obscurity, but barbara passed up the rickety stairway and down an echoing passage fearlessly, and then sat down by the open window of her room, looking out into the night. a half-moon was now slowly lifting itself above the faintly-gleaming snow, and she could see the pines roll away in sombre battalions into the drifting mists below. their sleep-giving fragrance reached her through the dew-cooled air, but she scarcely noticed it as she lay with her low basket-chair drawn close up to the window-sill. it was the flume-builder her thoughts hovered round, and she endeavored fruitlessly to define the attraction he had for her, or, as she preferred to consider it, the reason for the interest she felt in him. she admitted that this existed, and wondered vaguely how much of it was due to vanity resulting from a recognition of the fact that it was she who had roused him from a state of too acquiescent lethargy. what she had seen at the quatomac ranch had had its significance for her, and she had realized the hopelessness of the life he was leading there. even if she had not done so, he had told her, more or less plainly, that it was she who had given him new aspirations, and re-awakened his sense of responsibility. that, perhaps, accounted for a good deal, since she was endued with the compassionate maternal instinct which, when it finds no natural outlet, prompts many women to encourage, and on opportunity, shelter the beaten down and fallen. it was, however, evident that the flume-builder did not exactly come under that category. indeed, of late, his daring and pertinacity had won her admiration as well as sympathy, and that led her to the question what his aspirations pointed to. she would not consider it, for the fashion in which she had once or twice felt his eyes dwell upon her face was, in that connection, almost unpleasantly suggestive. then she wondered why the fact that he had not long ago excused himself from spending an evening in her company at the ranch should have hurt her, as she now almost admitted that it did. it was, she decided, not exactly due to pique or wounded vanity, for, though very human in many respects, she, at least, considered herself too strong for either. that, however, brought her no nearer any answer which commended itself to her. the man was less brilliant than several she had met. she could not even be sure that there were not grave defects in his character, and he was, in the meanwhile, a mere flume-builder. yet he was different from those other men, though, since the difference was by no means altogether in his favor, it was almost irritating that her thoughts should dwell upon him, to the exclusion of the rest. there was presumably a reason for this, but she made a little impatient movement, and resolutely put aside the subject as one suggested itself. it was, she decided, altogether untenable, and, in fact, preposterous. still, she felt far from sleepy, and sat still, shivering a little now and then, while the moon rose higher above the snow, until its faint light drove back the shadows from the swamp. the clustering pines shook off their duskiness, and grew into definite tracery; an owl that hooted eerily flitted by on soundless wing, and she felt the silence become suddenly almost overwhelming. there was no wind that she could feel, but she could hear the little willow leaves stirring, it seemed, beneath the cooling dew, for the sound had scarcely strength enough to make a tangible impression upon her senses. it, however, appeared to grow a trifle louder, and she found herself listening with strained attention when it ceased awhile, until it rose again, a trifle more clearly. she glanced at the cedars above the clearing, but they stood sombre and motionless in silent ranks, and she leaned forward in her chair with heart beating more rapidly than usual as she wondered what made those leaves move. they were certainly rustling now, while the ranch was very silent, and the rest of the clearing altogether still. then a shadow detached itself from the rest, and its contour did not suggest that of a slender tree. it increased in length, and, remembering devine's papers, she rose with a little gasp. her sister, as he had pointed out, had delicate nerves, mrs. wilkins was dull of hearing, and, as the men's shanty stood almost a mile away, it was evident that she must depend upon her own resources. she stood still, quivering a little, for almost a minute, and then with difficulty repressed a cry when the dim figure of a man appeared in the clearing. two minutes later she slipped softly into the room where katty devine lay asleep, and opened a cupboard set apart for her husband's use, while, when she flitted across the stream of radiance that shone in through the window, she held an object, that gleamed with a metallic lustre, clenched in one hand. xvii. brooke attempts burglary. the half-moon barbara watched from her window floated slowly above the serrated tops of the dusky pines when brooke groped his way through their shadow across a strip of the englishman's swamp. the ranch which he was making for rose darkly before him with the willows clustering close up to that side of it, and he stopped and stood listening when he reached them. the night was very still, so still, indeed, that the deep silence vaguely troubled him. high above the climbing forests great ramparts of never-melting snow gleamed against the blue, and standing there, hot, breathless, and a trifle muddy, he felt their impressive white serenity, until he started at a faint rattle in the house. it ceased suddenly, but it had set his heart throbbing unpleasantly fast, though he was sensible of a little annoyance with himself because this was the case. there was nothing he need fear, and he was, indeed, not quite sure that the prospect of facing a physical peril would have been altogether unpleasant then. devine was away, the women were doubtless asleep, and it was the fact that he was about to creep like a thief into a house where he had been hospitably welcomed which occasioned his uneasiness. it was true that he only meant to acquire information which would enable him to recover the dollars he had been defrauded of, but the reflection brought him no more consolation than it had done on other occasions when he had been sensible of the same disgust and humiliation. he was, however, at the same time sensible of a faint relief, for the position had been growing almost intolerable of late, and, though he shrank from the revelation, it seemed preferable that barbara heathcote should see him in the true light at last. this, it was evident, must happen ultimately, and now it would, at least, dispense with the hateful necessity of continuing the deception. he had also, though that appeared of much less importance then, met with further difficulties at the cañon, and he realized almost with content that devine would in all probability pay him nothing for the uncompleted work. he did not wish to feel that he owed devine anything. in the meanwhile a little bent branch from which the bruised leaves drooped limply caught his eye, for he had trained his powers of observation following the deer at the ranch, and moving a trifle he noticed one that was broken. it was evident that somebody had recently forced his way through the thicket towards the house, and he wondered vacantly why anyone should have done so when a good trail led round the copse. the question would probably not have occupied his attention at any other time, but just then he was glad to seize upon anything that might serve to distract his thoughts from the purpose he had on hand. he could not, however, stay there considering it, and following the bend of the willows he came to the door of the ranch kitchen, behind which the office stood, and once more he stopped to listen. there was nothing audible but the distant roar of the cañon, and, though nobody could see him, he felt his face grow hot as he laid one hand upon the door and inserted the point of a little steel bar in the crevice. devine's office was isolated from the rest of the ranch, but brooke felt that if anybody heard the sound he expected to make he would not be especially sorry. he would not abandon his project, but he could have borne anything that made it impracticable with equanimity. the door, however, somewhat to his astonishment, swung open at a touch, and he crept in noiselessly with an even greater sense of degradation. the inmates of the ranch were, it seemed, wholly unsuspecting, and he whom they had treated with gracious kindliness was about to take a shameful advantage of their confidence. still, he crossed the kitchen carrying the little bar and did not stop until he reached the office door. this stood ajar, but he stood still a moment in place of going in, longing, most illogically, for any interruption. the ranch seemed horribly and unnaturally still, for he could not hear the sound of the river now, until there was a low rustle that set him quivering. somebody, it appeared, was moving about the room in front of him. then a board creaked sharply, and with every nerve strung up he drew the door a trifle open. a faint stream of radiance shone in through the window, but it fell upon the wall opposite, and the rest of the room was wrapped in shadow, in which he could just discern a dim figure that moved stealthily. it was evidently a man who could have come there with no commendable purpose, and as he recognized this a somewhat curious thing happened, for brooke's lips set tight, and he clenched the steel bar in a fit of venomous anger. it did not occur to him that his own object was, after all, very much the same as the stranger's, and creeping forward noiselessly with eyes fixed on the dusky figure he saw it stoop and apparently move a book that stood on what seemed to be a box. that movement enabled him to gain another yard, and then he stopped again, bracing himself for the grapple, while the dim object straightened itself and turned towards the light. brooke could hear nothing but the throbbing of his heart, and for a moment his eyes grew hazy; but that passed, and he saw the man hold up an object that was very like a tin case. he moved again nearer the light, and brooke sprang forward with the bar swung aloft. quick as he was, the stranger was equally alert, and stepped forward instead of back, while next moment brooke looked into the dully glinting muzzle of a pistol. "stop right where you are!" a voice said. brooke did as he was bidden, instinctively. had there been any unevenness in the voice he might have risked a rush, but the grim quietness of the order was curiously impressive, and for a second or two the men stood tense and motionless, looking at one another with hands clenched and lips hard set brooke recognized the intruder as a man who wheeled the ore between the mine and stamps, and remembered that he had not been there very long. "what do you want here?" he said, for the silence was getting intolerable. the man smiled grimly, though he did not move the pistol, and his eyes were unpleasantly steady. "i was going to ask you the same thing, but it don't count," he said. "there's a door yonder, and you have 'bout ten seconds to get out of it. if you're here any longer you're going to take tolerably steep chances of getting hurt." brooke realized that the warning was probably warranted, but he stood still, stiffening his grasp on the bar, for to vacate the position was the last thing he contemplated. barbara heathcote was in the ranch, and he did not remember that she had also two companions then. nor did he know exactly what he meant to do, that is, while the stranger eyed him with the same unpleasant steadiness, for it was evident that a very slight contraction of his forefinger would effectually prevent him doing anything. then while they stood watching each other breathlessly for a second or two a door handle rattled and brooke heard a rustle of draperies. "look behind you!" said the stranger, sharply. brooke, too strung up to recognize the risk of the proceeding, swung round almost before he heard him, and then gasped with consternation, for barbara stood in the entrance holding up a light. she was, however, not quite defenseless, as brooke realized when he saw the gleaming pistol in her hand. next moment his folly, and the fact that the stranger had also seen it, became evident, for there was a hasty patter of feet, and when brooke turned again he had almost gained the other door of the room. barbara, who had moved forward in the meanwhile, however, now stood between him and it, and turning half round he raised the pistol menacingly. then with hand clenched hard upon the bar brooke sprang. there was a flash and a detonation, the acrid smoke drove into his eyes, and he fell with a crash against the door, which was flung to in front of him. he had, as he afterwards discovered, struck it with his head and shoulder, but just then he was only sensible of an unpleasant dizziness and a stinging pain in his left arm. then he leaned somewhat heavily against the door, and he and the girl looked at each other through the filmy wisps of smoke that drifted athwart the light, while a rapid patter of footsteps grew less distinct. barbara was somewhat white in face, and her lips were quivering. "are you hurt?" she said, and her voice sounded curiously strained. "no," said brooke, with a little hollow laugh. "not seriously, anyway. the fellow flung the door to in my face, and the blow must have partly dazed me. that reminds me that i'm wasting time. where is he now?" barbara made a little forceful gesture. "halfway across the clearing, i expect. you cannot go after him. look at your arm." brooke turned his head slowly, for the dizziness he was sensible of did not seem to be abating, and saw a thin, red trickle drip from the sleeve of his jean jacket, which the moonlight fell upon. "i scarcely think it's worth troubling about. the arm will bend all right," he said. "still, perhaps, you wouldn't mind very much if i took this thing off." he seized the edge of the jacket, and then while his face went awry let his hand drop again. "it might, perhaps, be better to cut the sleeve," he said. "could you run this knife down the seam? the jean is very thin." the girl's hand shook a little as she opened the knife he passed her, and just then a cry came down faintly from one of the rooms above. barbara swung round swiftly, and moved into the corridor. "nothing very dreadful has happened, and i am coming back in a minute or two, but whatever you do don't come down," she said authoritatively, and brooke heard a door swing to above. then she came towards him quietly, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "keep still, and i will not be long. katty is apt to lose her head," she said. her fingers still quivered a little, but she was deft in spite of it, and when the slit sleeve fell away brooke sat down on the table with a little smile. "very sorry to trouble you," he said. "i don't know much about these things, but the artery evidently isn't cut, and i don't think the bone is touched. that means there can't be very much harm done. would you mind tying my handkerchief tightly round it where i've laid my finger?" barbara, who did so, afterwards sat down in the nearest chair, for she felt a trifle breathless as well as somewhat limp, and there was an embarrassing silence, while for no very apparent reason they now avoided looking at one another. a little filmy smoke still drifted about the room, and a short steel bar, a tin case, and a litter of papers lay between them on the floor. there were red splashes on one or two of the latter. "the man must have dropped them," said barbara, quietly, though her voice was still not quite her usual one. "he, of course, brought the bar to open the door with." brooke did not answer the last remark. "i fancy he dropped them when he flung the door in my face," he said. "of course!" said barbara. "he had his hands full." the point did not seem of the least importance to her, but she was shaken, and felt that the silence which was growing significant would be insupportable. then a thought struck her, and she looked up suddenly at the man. "but, now, i remember, you had the bar," she said. "yes," said brooke, very simply, though his face was grim. "i certainly had." the girl had turned a little so that the light shone upon her, and he saw the faint bewilderment in her eyes. it, however, vanished in a moment or two, but brooke decided that if he guessed her thoughts correctly he had done wisely in admitting the possession of the bar. "of course! you hadn't a pistol, and it was, no doubt, the only thing you could find," she said. "i'm afraid i did not even remember to thank you, but to tell the truth i was too badly frightened to think of anything." brooke nodded comprehendingly, but barbara noticed that the blood was in his cheeks and he smiled in a very curious fashion. "i scarcely think i deserve any thanks," he said. barbara made a little gesture. "pshaw!" she said. "you are not always so conventional, and both i and grant devine owe you a great deal. the man must have been a claim-jumper, and meant to steal those papers. they are--the plans and patents of the canopus." she stopped a moment, and then, seeing brooke had noticed the momentary pause, continued, with a little forced laugh and a flush in her cheeks, "that was native canadian caution asserting itself. i am ashamed of it, but you must remember i was rather badly startled a little while ago. there is no reason why i should not tell--you--this, or show you the documents." brooke made a little grimace as though she had hurt him physically. "i think there is," he said. the girl stared at him a moment, and then he saw only sympathy in her eyes. "i'm afraid my wits have left me, or i would not have kept you talking while you are in pain. your arm hurts?" she said. "no," said brooke, drily. "the arm is, i feel almost sure, very little the worse. hadn't you better pick the papers up? you will excuse me stooping to help you. i scarcely think it would be advisable just now." barbara knelt down and gathered the scattered documents up, while the man noticed the curious flush in her face when one of them left a red smear on her little white fingers. rising, she held them up to him half open as they had fallen, and looked at him steadily. "will you put them straight while i find the band they were slipped through?" she said. brooke fancied he understood her. she had a generous spirit, and having in a moment of confusion, when she was scarcely capable of thinking concisely, suggested a doubt of him, was making amends in the one fashion that suggested itself. then she turned away, and her back was towards him as she moved slowly towards the door, when a plan of the canopus mine fell open in his hand. the light was close beside him, but he closed his eyes for a moment and there was a rustle as the papers slipped from his fingers, while when the girl turned towards him his face was awry, and he looked at her with a little grim smile. "i am afraid they are scattered again," he said. "it was very clumsy of me, but i find it hurts me to use my left hand." barbara thrust the papers into the case. "i am sorry i didn't think of that," she said. "even if you don't appreciate my thanks you will have to put up with my brother-in-law's, and he is a man who remembers. it might have cost him a good deal if anybody who could not be trusted had seen those papers--and now no more of them. take that canvas chair, and don't move again until i tell you." brooke made no answer, and barbara went out into the corridor. "will you dress as quickly as you can, katty, and come down," she said. "i don't know where you keep the decanters, and i want to give mr. brooke, who is hurt a little, a glass of wine." brooke protested, but barbara laughed as she said, "it will really be a kindness to katty, who is now, i feel quite sure, lying in a state of terror, with everything she dare reach out to get hold of rolled about her head." it was three or four minutes later when mrs. devine appeared, and barbara turned towards her, speaking very quietly. "there is nothing to be gained by getting nervous now," she said. "a man came in to steal grant's papers about the mine, and mr. brooke, who saw him, crept in after him, though he had only a little bar, and the man had a pistol. i fancy grant is considerably indebted to him, and we must, at least, keep him here until one of the boys brings up the settlement doctor." brooke rose to his feet, but barbara moved swiftly to the door and turned the key in it. "no," she said, decisively. "you are not going away when you are scarcely fit to walk. katty, you haven't brought the wine yet." brooke sat down again, and making no answer, looked away from her, for though he would greatly have preferred it he scarcely felt capable of reaching his tent. then there was silence for several minutes until mrs. devine came back with the wine. "you are going to stay here until your arm is seen to. my husband would not be pleased if we did not do everything we could for you," she said. xviii. brooke makes a decision. it was the second morning after the attempt upon the papers, and brooke lay in a basket chair on the little verandah at the ranch. in spite of the settlement doctor's ministrations his arm was a good deal more painful than he had expected it to be, his head ached; and he felt unpleasantly lethargic and limp. it, however, seemed to him that this wound was not sufficiently serious to account for this, and he wondered vaguely whether it resulted from too strenuous physical exertion coupled with the increasing mental strain he had borne of late. that question was, however, of no great importance, for he had a more urgent one to grapple with, and in the meanwhile it was pleasant to lie there and listen languidly while barbara talked to him. the sunshine lay bright upon the climbing pines which filled the listless air with resinous odors, but there was restful shadow on the verandah, and wherever the eye wandered an entrancing vista of gleaming snow. brooke had, however, seen a good deal of snow, and floundered through it waist-deep, already, and it was the girl who sat close at hand, looking, it seemed to him, refreshingly cool and dainty in her loose white dress, his gaze most often rested on. her quiet graciousness had also a soothing effect upon the man who had risen unrefreshed after a night of mental conflict which had continued through the few brief snatches of fevered sleep. brooke felt the need of moral stimulant as well as physical rest, for the struggle he had desisted from for the time was not over yet. he was tenacious of purpose, but it had cost him an effort to adhere to the terms of his compact with saxton, and it was with a thrill of intense disgust he realized how far it had led him when he came upon the thief, for there was no ignoring the fact that it would be very difficult to make any great distinction between them. it had also become evident that he could not continue to play the part saxton had allotted him, and yet if he threw it over he stood to lose everything his companion, who was at once a reproach to him and an incentive to a continuance in the career of deception, impersonated. her society and his few visits to the ranch had shown him the due value of the refinement and congenial environment which no man without dollars could hope to enjoy, and re-awakened an appreciation of the little amenities and decencies of life which had become scarcely more than a memory to him. with the six thousand dollars in his hands he might once more attain them, but it was now evident that the memory of how he had accomplished it would tend to mar any satisfaction he could expect to derive from this. he could, in the meanwhile, neither nerve himself to bear the thought of the girl's scorn when she realized what his purpose had been, nor bid her farewell and go back to the aimless life of poverty. one thing alone was certain. devine's papers were safe from him. he lay silent almost too long, watching her with a vague longing in his gaze, for her head was partly turned from him. he could see her face in profile, which accentuated its clean chiselling, while her pose displayed the firm white neck and fine lines of the figure the thin white dress flowed away from. he had also guessed enough of her character to realize that it was not to any approach to physical perfection she owed most of her attractiveness, for it seemed to him that she brought with her an atmosphere of refinement and tranquillity which nothing that was sordid or ignoble could breathe in. perhaps she felt his eyes upon her, for she turned at last and glanced at him. "i have been thinking--about that night," she said. "you really shouldn't," said brooke, who felt suddenly uneasy. "it isn't worth while." barbara smiled. "that is a point upon which opinions may differ, but i understand your attitude. you see, i have been in england, and you apparently believe it the correct thing to hide your light under a bushel there." "no," said brooke, drily, "at least, not all of us. in fact, we are not averse from graciously permitting other folks, and now and then the press, to proclaim our good deeds for us. i don't know that the more primitive fashion of doing it one's self isn't quite as tasteful." barbara shook her head. "there are," she said, "several kinds of affectation, and i am not to be put off. now, you are quite aware that you did my brother-in-law a signal service, and contrived to get me out of a very unpleasant, and, i fancy, a slightly perilous situation." the color deepened a little in brooke's face, and once more he was sensible of the humiliation that had troubled him on previous occasions, as he remembered that it was by no means to do devine a service he had crept into the ranch. it was a most unpleasant feeling, and he had signally failed to accustom himself to it. "i really don't think there was very much risk," he said. "besides, you had a pistol." barbara laughed softly. "i never fired off a pistol in my life, and i almost fancy there was nothing in the one in question." "didn't you notice whether there were any cartridges in the chamber?" "no," said barbara. "i'm not sure i know which the chamber is, but i pressed something i supposed to be the trigger, and it only made a click." brooke glanced at her a trifle sharply. "you meant to fire at the man?" "i'm afraid i did. was it very dreadful? he was there with an unlawful purpose, and i saw his eyes grow wicked and his hand tighten just as you sprang at him. still, i was almost glad when the pistol did not go off." she seemed to have some difficulty in repressing a shiver at the recollection, and brooke sat silent for a moment or two with his heart throbbing a good deal faster than usual. he could guess what that effort had cost his companion, and that it was his peril which had nerved her to overcome her natural shrinking from taking life. perhaps barbara noticed the effect her explanation had on him, and desired to lessen it, for she said, "it really was unpleasant, but i remembered that you had come there to ensure the safety of my brother-in-law's property, and one is permitted to shoot at a thief in this country." brooke, who could not help it, made a little abrupt movement, and felt his face grow hot as he wondered what she would think of him if she knew the purpose that had brought him there. the fact that she seemed quite willing to believe that one was warranted in firing at a thief had also its sting. "of course!" he said. "i am, however, inclined to think you saved my life. the man probably saw your hand go up and that made him a trifle too precipitate. still, perhaps, he only wanted to look at your brother-in-law's papers and had no intention of stealing anything." barbara, who appeared glad to change the subject, smiled. "admitting that, i can't see any great difference," she said. "the man who runs a personal risk to secure a wallet with dollar bills in it that belongs to somebody else naturally does not expect commendation, or usually get it, but it seems to me a good deal meaner thing to steal a claim by cunning trickery. for instance, one has a certain admiration for the train robbers across the frontier. for two or three road-agents--and there are not often more--to hold up and rob a train demands, at least, a good deal of courage, but to plunder a man by prying into his secrets is only contemptible. don't you think so?" brooke winced beneath her gaze. "well," he said slowly, "i suppose it is. still, you see there may be excuses even for such a person." "excuses! surely--you--do not feel capable of inventing any for a claim-jumper?" brooke felt that in his case there were, at least, one or two, but he had sufficient reasons for not making them clear to the girl. "well," he said, "i wonder if you could make any for a train-robber?" barbara appeared reflective. "we will admit that the dishonesty is the same in both cases, though that is not quite the point. the men who hold a train up, however, take a serious personal risk, and stake their lives upon their quickness and nerve. they have nobody to fall back upon, and must face the results if the courage of any of the passengers is equal to theirs. daring of that kind commands a certain respect. the claim-jumper, on the contrary, must necessarily proceed by stealth, and, of course, rarely ventures on an attempt until he makes sure that the law will support him, because the man he means to rob has neglected some trivial requirement." "then it is admissible to steal, so long as you do it openly and take a personal risk? still, i believe i have heard of claim-jumpers being shot, though i am not quite sure that it happened in canada." barbara laughed. "they probably deserved it. it is not admissible to steal under any circumstances, but the safer and more subtle forms of theft are especially repellent. now, i think i have made out my case for the train-robber, but i cannot see why you should constitute yourself an advocate for the claim-jumper." brooke contrived to force a smile. "it is," he said, "often a little difficult to make sure of one's motives, but we can, at least, take it for granted that the man who robs a train is the nobler rascal." barbara, who appeared thoughtful, sat silent awhile. "it was fortunate you arrived when you did that night," she said, meditatively. "still, as you could not well have known the man meant to make the attempt, or have expected to find anybody still awake at the ranch, it seems an almost astonishing coincidence." though he surmised that no notion of what had brought him there had entered his companion's mind, brooke felt hot to the forehead now, for he was unpleasantly sensible that the girl was watching him. an explanation that might have served also suggested itself to him, but he felt that he could not add to his offences. "it certainly was," he said, languidly. "i have, however, heard of coincidences that were more astonishing still." barbara nodded. "no doubt," she said. "we will let it go at that. as you may have noticed, we are now and then almost indecently candid in this country, but i agree with my brother-in-law who says that nobody could make an englishman talk unless he wanted to." "silence is reputed to be golden," said brooke, reflectively, "and i really think there are cases when it is. at least, there was one i figured in when some two or three minutes' unchecked speech cost me more dollars than i have made ever since. it happened in england, and i merely favored another man with my frank opinion of him. after a thing of that kind one is apt to be guarded." "i think you should cultivate a sense of proportion. can one make up for a single mistake in one direction by erring continually in the opposite one? still, that is not a question we need go into now. you expect to get the rope across the cañon very shortly?" "yes," said brooke, whose expression changed suddenly, "i do." "and then?" brooke, who felt the girl's eyes upon him, and understood what she meant, made a little gesture. "i don't know. i shall probably take the trail again. it does not matter greatly where it may lead me." there was a curious little vibration he could not quite repress in his voice, and both he and his companion were, under the circumstances, silent a trifle too long, for there are times when silence is very expressive. then it was barbara who spoke, though she felt that what she said was not especially appropriate. "you will be sorry to go?" brooke looked at her steadily, with his lips set, and, though she did not see this, his fingers quivering a little, for he realized at last what it would cost him to leave her. for a moment a hot flood of passion and longing threatened to sweep him away, but he held it in check, and barbara only noticed the grimness of his face. "what answer could i make? the conventional one demanded scarcely fits the case," he said, and his laugh rang hollow. "but the dam will not be finished," said barbara, who realized that she had made an unfortunate start. again brooke sat silent. it seemed folly to abandon his purpose, and he wondered whether he would have sufficient strength of will to go away. it was also folly to stay and sink further under the girl's influence, when the revelation he shrank from would, if he persisted in his attempt to recover his dollars, become inevitable. still, once he left the canopus he must go back to a life of hardship and labor, and, in spite of the humiliation and fear of the future he often felt, the present was very pleasant. on the other hand there was only scarcity, exposure to rain and frost, and bitter, hopeless toil. he sat very still with one hand closed, not daring to look at his companion until she spoke again. "you say you do not know where the trail may lead you, and you do not seem to care. one would fancy that was wrong," she said. "why?" barbara turned a little, and looked at him with a faint sparkle in her eyes. "in this province the trail the resolute man takes usually leads to success. we want bridges and railroad trestles, forests cleared, and the valleys lined with roads. you can build them." brooke shook his head, though her confidence in him, as well as her optimism, had its due effect. "i wish i was a little more sure," he said. "the difficulty, as i think i once pointed out, is that one needs dollars to make a fair start with." "they are, at least, not indispensable, as the history of most of the men who have done anything worth while in the province shows. isn't there a certain satisfaction in starting with everything against one?" "afterwards, perhaps. that is, if one struggles through. there is, however, one learns by experience, really very little satisfaction at the time, especially if one scarcely gets beyond the start at all." barbara smiled a little, though she looked at him steadily. "you," she said, "will, i think, go a long way. in fact, if it was a sword i gave you, i should expect it of you." brooke came very near losing his head just then, though he realized that, after all, the words implied little more than a belief in his capabilities, and for a few insensate moments he almost decided to stay at the canopus and make the most of his opportunities. saxton, he reflected, might put sufficient pressure upon devine to extort the six thousand dollars from him without the necessity for his part becoming apparent at all. with that sum in his hands there was, he felt, very little he could not attain, and then he shook off the deluding fancy, for it once more became apparent that the deed, which gave saxton the hold he wished for upon devine would, even if she never heard of it, stand as barrier between barbara heathcote and him. "one feels inclined to wonder now and then whether success does not occasionally, at least, cost the man who achieves it more than it is worth," he said. "the actual record of the leaders one is expected to look up to might, in that connection, provide one with a fund of somewhat astonishing information." barbara made a little gesture of impatience. "is the poor man the only one who can be honest?" "one would, at least, feel inclined to fancy that the man who is unduly honest runs a serious risk of remaining poor." "i think that is an argument i have very little sympathy with," said barbara. "it is, you see, so easy for the incapable to impeach the successful man's honesty. i might even go a little further and admit that it is an attitude i scarcely expected from you." brooke smiled somewhat bitterly. "you will, however, remember that i have made no attempt to persuade you of my own integrity." just then, as it happened, mrs. devine came into the verandah with a packet in her hand. "these are the papers the man tried to steal," she said. "since you insist upon going back to the cañon to-day i wonder if you would take care of them?" brooke gasped, and felt the veins swell on his forehead as he looked at her. "you wish me to take them away?" "of course! my nerves are really horribly unsettled, and i was sent to the mountains for quietness. how could any one expect me to get it when i couldn't even sleep for fear of that man or some one else coming back for these documents?" "they are, i think, of considerable importance to your husband," said brooke. "that is precisely why i would like to feel that they were safe in your tent. nobody would expect you to have them there." brooke turned his head a little so that he could see barbara's face. "i appreciate your confidence," he said, and the girl noticed that his voice was a trifle hoarse. "still, i must point out that i am almost a stranger to mr. devine and you." barbara smiled a little, but there was something that set the man's heart beating in her eyes. "i am not sure that everybody would be so willing to make the most of the fact, but i feel quite sure my sister's confidence is warranted," she said. "that, of course, does not sound very nice, but you have made it necessary." brooke, who glanced curiously at the single seal, laid down the packet, and mrs. devine smiled. "_i_ feel ever so much easier now that is off my mind," she said. "still, i shall expect you to sleep with the papers under your pillow." she went out, and left him and barbara alone again, but brooke knew that the struggle was over and the question decided once for all. the girl's trust in him had not only made those papers inviolable so far as he was concerned, but had rendered a breach with saxton unavoidable. he knew now that he could never do what the latter had expected from him. "you appeared almost unwilling to take the responsibility," said the girl. brooke smiled curiously. "i really think that was the case," he said. "in fact, your confidence almost hurt me. one feels the obligation of proving it warranted--in every respect--you see. that is partly why i shall go away the day we swing the first load of props across the cañon." barbara felt a trace of disconcertion. "but my brother-in-law may ask you to do something else for him." "i scarcely think that is likely," said brooke, with a little dry smile. barbara said nothing further, and when she left him brooke was once more sensible of a curious relief. it would, he knew, cost him a strenuous effort to go away, but he would, at least, be freed from the horrible necessity of duping the girl, who, it seemed, believed in him. when jimmy arrived that evening to accompany him back to his tent at the cañon, and expressed his satisfaction at the fact that he did not appear very much the worse, he smiled a trifle drily. "that," he said, "is a little astonishing. i am, i think, warranted in believing myself six thousand dollars worse off than when i went away." jimmy stared at him incredulously. "well," he said, "i never figured you had that many, and i don't quite see how you could have let them get away from you here. something you didn't expect has happened?" brooke appeared reflective. "i'm not quite sure whether i expected it or not, but i almost hope i did," he said. xix. brooke's bargain. there was a portentous quietness in the little wooden town which did not exactly please mr. faraday slocum, the somewhat discredited local agent of grant devine, as he ascended the steep street from the grocery store. the pines closed in upon it, but their sombre spires were growing dim, and the white mists clung about them, for dusk was creeping up the valley. the latter fact brought slocum a sense of satisfaction, and at the same time a growing uneasiness. he had, as it happened, signally failed to collect a certain sum from the store-keeper, who had expressed his opinion of him and his doings with vitriolic candor, and it was partly as the result of this that very little escaped his notice as he proceeded with an ostentatious leisureliness towards his dwelling. a straggling row of stores and houses, log and frame and galvanized iron, jumbled all together in unsightly confusion, stretched away before him towards the gap in the forest where the railroad track came in, but it was the little groups of men who hung about them which occupied his quiet attention. he saluted them with somewhat forced good-humor as he went by, but there was no great cordiality in their responses, and some of them stared at him in uncompromising silence. there was, he felt, a certain tension in the atmosphere, and it was not without a purpose he stopped in front of the wooden hotel, where a little crowd had collected upon the verandah. "it's kind of sultry to-night, boys," he said. nobody responded for a moment or two, and then there was an unpleasant laugh as somebody said, "you've hit it; i guess it is." slocum remembered that most of those loungers had been glad to greet him, and even hand him their spare dollars, not long ago; but there was a decided difference now. he was a capable business man, who could make the most of an opportunity, and the inhabitants of the little wooden town had shown themselves disposed to regard certain trifling obliquities leniently, while they or their friends made satisfactory profits on the deals in ranching land and building lots he recommended. that, however, was while the boom lasted, but when the bottom had, as they expressed it, dropped out, and a good many of them found themselves saddled with unmarketable possessions, they commenced to be troubled with grave doubts concerning the rectitude of his conduct. slocum was naturally quite aware of this, but he was a man of nerve, and quietly walked up the verandah steps. "it's that hot i must have a drink, boys. who's coming in with me?" he said, genially. a few months ago a good many of them would have been willing to profit by the invitation, but that night nobody moved, and slocum laughed softly. "well," he said, "i'm not going to worry you. this is evidently a temperance meeting." he passed into the empty bar alone, and a man who leaned upon the counter in his shirt sleeves shook his head as he glanced towards the verandah. "they're not in a good humor to-night. it looks very much as if someone has been talking to them?" he said. slocum smiled a little, though he had already noticed this, and taken precautions the bar-keeper never suspected. "i guess they'll simmer down. who has been talking to them?" he said. "the two ranchers you sold the hemlock range to. there was another man who'd bought a piece of natural prairie, and it cost him most of five dollars before he got through telling them what he thought of you. now, i don't know what their notion is, but i'd light out for a little if i was you." slocum appeared to reflect. "well," he said, "i may go to-morrow." "i'd go to-night," said the bar-keeper, significantly. "i guess it would be wiser." slocum, who did not consider it necessary to tell him that he quite agreed with this, went out, and a few minutes later stopped outside his house, which was the last one in the town. a big, rudely-painted sign, nailed across the front of it, recommended any one who desired to buy or sell land and mineral properties or had mortgages to arrange, to come in and confer with the agent of grant devine. he glanced back up the street, and was relieved to notice that there was nobody loitering about that part of it. then he looked at the forest the trail led into, which was shadowy and still, and, slipping round the building, went in through the back of it. a woman stood waiting him in a dimly-lighted room, which was littered with feminine clothing besides two big valises and an array of bulky packages. she was expensively dressed, but her face was anxious, and he noticed that her fingers were quivering. "you're quite ready, sue?" he said. the woman pointed to the packages with a little dramatic gesture. "oh, yes," she said. "i'm ready, though i'll have to leave most two hundred dollars' worth of clothes behind me. i've no use for taking in plain sewing while you think over what you've brought me to in the penitentiary." slocum smiled drily. "if you hadn't wanted quite so many dry goods, i'm not sure it would have come to this, but we needn't worry about that just now. tom will have the horses round in 'bout five minutes. you don't figure on taking all that truck along with you?" "i do," said the woman. "i've got to have something to put on when we get to oregon!" "well," said slocum, grimly, "i'll be quite glad to get out with a whole hide, and i guess it couldn't be done if we started with a packhorse train or a wagon. i hadn't quite fixed to light out until i got the message that devine, who didn't seem quite pleased with the last accounts, was coming in." "could you have stood the boys off?" "i might have done," said slocum, reflectively. "still, i couldn't stand off devine. it's dollars he's coming for, and i've got 'bout half the accounts call for here." "you're going to leave him them?" slocum laughed. "no," he said. "i guess they'll come in handy in oregon. i'm going to leave him the boys to reckon with. they'll be here with clubs soon after the cars come in, and we'll be a league away down the trail by then." a patter of horse hoofs outside cut short the colloquy, though there was a brief altercation when the woman once more insisted on taking all the packages with her. slocum terminated it by bundling her out of the door, and, when she tearfully consented to mount a kicking pony, swung himself to the saddle. still, for several minutes his heart was in his mouth, as he picked his way through the blacker shadows on the skirt of the beaten trail, until a man rose suddenly out of them. "hallo!" he said. "where're you going?" slocum, leaning sideways, gave his wife's pony a cut with the switch he held, and then laughed as he turned to the man. "i guess that's my business, but i'm going out of town." "quite sure?" said the other, who made a sudden clutch at his bridle. he did not reach it, for slocum was ready with hand and heel, and the switch came down upon the outstretched arm. then there was a plunge and a rapid beat of hoofs, and slocum, swinging half round in his saddle, swept off his hat to the gasping man. "i guess i am," he said. "you'll tell the boys i'm sorry i couldn't wait for them." then he struck his wife's horse again. "let him go," he said. "we'll have three or four of them after us in about ten minutes." the woman said nothing, but braced herself to ride, and, while the beat of hoofs grew fainter among the silent pines, the man on foot ran gasping up the climbing trail. there was bustle and consternation when he reached the wooden town, and, while two or three men who had good horses hastily saddled them, the rest collected in clusters which coalesced, and presently a body of silent men proceeded towards the slocum dwelling. as they stopped in front of it, the hoot of a whistle came ringing across the pines, and there was an increasing roar as a train came up the valley. that, however, did not, so they fancied, concern them, and they commenced a parley with the local constable, who came hurrying after them. his duties consisted chiefly in the raising and peddling of fruit, and he had been recommended for the post by popular acclaim as the most tolerant man in the settlement, but he was, it seemed, not without a certain sense of responsibility. "what d'you figure on doing with those clubs, boys?" he said. "seasoning them," said somebody. "mine's quite soft and green. now, why're you not taking the trail after slocum? the province allows you for a horse, and hake guffy's has three good legs on him, anyway." the constable waved his hand, deprecatingly. "he fell down and hurt one of them hauling green stuff to the depôt. i guess i'd have to shove him most of the way." there was a little laughter, which had, however, a trace of grimness in it, and one of the men grasped the constable's shoulder. "hadn't you better go round and run jean frenchy's hogs out of your citron patch?" he said. for a moment the constable appeared about to go, and then his face expanded into a genial grin. "that's not good enough, boys," he said. "i'm not quite so fresh that the cows would eat me. what've you come round here for, anyway?" the man who had spoken made a little gesture of resignation. "well," he said, "if you have got to know, we are going in to see if slocum has left any of the dollars he beat us out of behind him." "no," said the constable, stoutly. "nobody's going in there without a warrant, unless it's me." there was a little murmur. the man was elderly, and a trifle infirm, which was partly why it had been decided that he was most likely to find a use for the provincial pay, but he turned upon the threshold and faced the crowd resolutely. had he been younger, it is very probable that he would have been hustled away, but a western mob is usually, to some extent, at least, chivalrous, and there was another murmur of protest. "go home!" said one man. "they're not your dollars, anyway." "boys," and the old man swung an arm aloft, "i'm here, and i'm going to make considerable trouble for the man who lays a hand on me. this is a law-abiding country, and slocum wasn't fool enough to leave anything he could carry off." "we don't want to hurt you," said one of the assembly, "but we're going in." there was a growl of approbation, and the men were closing in upon the door when a stranger pushed his way through the midst of them, and then swung round and stood facing them beside the constable. he held himself commandingly, and, though nobody appeared to recognize him, for darkness was closing down, the meaning of his attitude was plain, and the crowd gave back a little. "go home, boys!" he said. "i'll most certainly have the law of any man who puts his foot inside this door." there was a little ironical laughter, and the crowd once more closed in. half the men of the settlement were present there, and a good many of them had bought land from, or trusted their spare dollars to, slocum. "who are you, anyway?" said one. the stranger laughed. "the man who owns the building. my name's devine." it was a bold announcement, for those who heard him were not in the best of humors then, or disposed to concern themselves with the question how far the principal was acquainted with or responsible for the doings of his agent. "the boss thief!" said somebody. "get hold of him, and bring him along to the hotel. then, if thorkell can't lock him up, we'll consider what we'll do with him." "no," said another man. "he'll keep for a little without going bad, and we're here to see if slocum left anything behind him. break that door in!" it was a critical moment, for there was a hoarse murmur of approbation, and the crowd surged closer about the pair. at any sign of weakness it would, perhaps, have gone hardly with them, but the elderly constable stood very still and quiet, with empty hands, while devine fumbled inside his jacket. then he swung one foot forward, and his right arm rose, until his hand, which was clenched on a dusky object, was level with his shoulder. "boys," he said, drily, "somebody's going to get hurt in another minute. this is my office, and i can't do with any of you inside it to-night." "then, if you hand our dollars out, it would suit us most as well," said the spokesman. devine appeared to laugh softly. "i guess there are very few of them there. anybody who can prove a claim on me will get satisfaction, but he'll have to wait. neither the place nor i will run away, and you'll find me right here when you come along to-morrow." "are you going to give every man back the dollars slocum got from him?" it was evident that the question met with the approbation of the crowd, and a less resolute man might have temporized, but devine laughed openly now. "no," he said, drily. "that's just what i'm not going to do. a man takes his chances when he makes a deal in land, and can't expect to cry off his bargain when they go against him. still, if any one will bring me proof that slocum swindled him, i'll see what i can do, but i guess it will be very little if some of you destroy the books and papers he recorded the deals in. you'll have to wait until to-morrow, while i worry through them." his resolution had its due effect, and the fact that no man could reach the threshold until he and the constable had been pulled down counted for a good deal, too. the men also wanted no more than they considered themselves entitled to, and shrank from what, if it was to prove successful, must evidently be a murderous assault upon two elderly men. "i guess there's sense in that," said one of them. "it's going to be quite easy to make sure he don't get out of the settlement." "i'm for letting him have until to-morrow, anyway," said another. "still, the papers aren't there. where's john collier? he picked up some books and truck slocum slung away when he met him on the trail." "i've got them right here," and another man stepped forward. "i was coming in from the ranch when i heard two horses pounding down the trail, and jumped clear into the fern. the man who went past me tried to sling a package into the gully, but i guess he got kind of rattled when i shouted, and dropped the thing. he didn't seem to want to stop, and, when he went on at a gallop, i groped round and picked the package up." devine lowered the pistol, and turned quietly to the crowd. "there are just two courses open to you, boys, and you're going to make mighty little but trouble for yourselves by taking one of them. this is my office, and so long as i can hold you off nobody's coming in until he's asked. i feel quite equal to stopping two or three. now, if you'll let me have those books and go home quietly, i'll have straightened slocum's affairs out by to-morrow, and be ready to see what can be done for you." the men were evidently wavering, and there was a brief consultation, after which the leader turned to devine. "we've no use for making any trouble that can be helped, and we'll go home," he said. "you can have those books, and a committee will come round to see what you've fixed up after breakfast to-morrow." devine nodded tranquilly. "i guess you're wise," he said. "good night, boys!" they went away, and left him to go in with the constable, who came out in a few minutes with a contented grin, which suggested that devine had signified his appreciation of his efforts liberally. the latter, however, sat down, dusty and worn with an arduous journey, to undertake a night's hard work. he had left the canopus before sunrise, and spent most of the day in the saddle, but nobody would have suspected him of weariness as he sat, grim and intent of face, before a table littered with papers. he had just imposed his will upon an angry crowd, and the tension of the past few minutes would have shaken many a younger man, but he showed no sign of feeling it, and, as the hours slipped by, only rose at intervals to stretch his aching limbs and brush the cigar ash from his dust-smeared clothes. this was one of the hard men who, in building up their own fortunes, had also laid the foundations of the future prosperity of a great province, and a little fatigue did not count with him. the settlement was very still, and the lamp-light paling as the chilly dawn crept in, when at last he opened a book that recorded slocum's dealings several years back. there were several folded slips on which he had jotted down certain data inside it, and devine smiled somewhat drily as he came upon one entry:-- " th. , dollars from harford brooke, in purchase of acres bush land, quatomac valley. ref. , slip b." devine turned up b, and read: "mem. about acres -foot pines, with gravel sub-soil, and very little mould on top of it. rest of it rock. oregon man bid , dollars on the nd, but asked for re-survey and cried off. th. gave custer four days' option at . th. asked the british sucker , , and clinched the deal at , ." devine closed the book, and sat thoughtfully still for a minute or two. the epithet his agent had applied to brooke carried with it the stigma of puerile folly in that country, and devine had usually very little sympathy with the men it could be fittingly attached to. still, he felt that nobody could very appropriately term his contractor a sucker now, and he had just discovered that he had been systematically plundered himself. several points which had given him food for reflection also became suddenly plain, and he lighted another cigar before he fell to work again. he had, however, in the meanwhile decided what course to adopt with brooke when he went back to the canopus mine. xx. the bridging of the caÑon. it was a week or two after he undertook the investigation of slocum's affairs, and once more the light was failing, when devine stood at the head of the gully above the cañon. his wife and barbara were with him, and they were about to descend, when a cluster of moving figures appeared among the pines on the opposite hillside. so far as devine could make out, they were rolling down two or three small trunks of firs. the river was veiled in white mist now, but the sound of its turmoil came up hoarsely out of the growing obscurity, and there was sufficient light above to show the rope which spanned the awful chasm. it swept downwards in a flattened curve, slender and ethereal, at that distance, as a film of gossamer, and lost itself in the gloom of the rocks, across the cañon. barbara, however, fancied she realized what it had cost the flume-builder to place it there, and, as he glanced at it, a somewhat curious look crept into devine's eyes. he knew that slender thread of steel had only been flung across the hollow at the risk of life and limb, and under a heavy nervous strain. "if we are going down, hadn't we better start?" said mrs. devine. "if it gets quite dark before we come up, i shall certainly have to stay there until to-morrow. in fact, i'm quite willing to let you and barbara go without me now." devine smiled. "i'm not sure we'll go at all. it seems to me brooke means to give the thing a private trial before he asks me to come over and see it work, and that's why he waited until it was almost dark. can you make him out, barbara?" barbara had, as a matter of fact, already done so, but she realized that her sister's eyes were upon her, and for no very apparent reason preferred not to admit it. "it is getting a little shadowy among the pines, and katty used to tell me she had sharper eyes than mine," she said. mrs. devine laughed. "still," she said, reflectively, "i scarcely think i have seen mr. brooke quite so often as you have." devine glanced at them both a trifle sharply, but there was nothing in their faces that gave him a clue to their thoughts. "well," he said, "i'm a good deal older than either of you, but i can make him out myself now. as usual, he seems to be doing most of the work." nobody said anything further, and the moving figures stopped where the rope ran into the shadows of the rocks, while it was a few minutes later when a long, dusky object swung out on it. it slid somewhat slowly down the incline, and then stopped where the slight curve led upward, and remained dangling high above the hidden river. a shout came faintly through the roar of water in the gulf below, and the dark mass oscillated violently, but otherwise remained immovable. "what are they doing? shouldn't it have run all the way across?" asked mrs. devine. devine nodded. "i guess they're 'most pulling their arms off trying to haul the thing across," he said. "it should have come itself, but the sheave the trolley runs on must have jammed, or they haven't pulled all the kinks and snarls out of the rope. it's quite a big log they've loaded her with." the suspended trunk still oscillated, and a faint clinking came up with a hoarse murmur of voices from the hollow. then there was silence, and devine, who pointed to a fallen cedar, took out his cigar-case. "we'll stay right here, and see the thing out," he said. "i guess the boys have quite enough to worry them just now." barbara surmised that most of the anxiety would fall on brooke, and wondered why she should feel as eager as she did to see the fir trunk safely swung across. the economical handling of mining props was naturally not a subject she had any particular interest in, though she realized that the success of his venture was of some importance to the man who had stretched the rope across the cañon. there was no ostensible reason why it should affect her, and yet she was sensible of a curious nervous impatience. in the meanwhile, it was growing darker, and she could not quite see what the dim figures across the river were doing. they did not, in fact, appear to be doing anything in particular, beyond standing in a group, while the rope no longer oscillated. a thin, white mist commenced to drift out of the hollow in filmy wisps, and, in a curious fashion, suggested the vast depth of it. the silence the roar of the river broke through grew more intense as the chill of the distant snow descended, and the stately pines seemed to grow older and greater of girth. they dwarfed the tiny clustering figures into insignificance, and as iron columns and the raw gashes in the side of the gully faded into the gathering night, it seemed to barbara that here in her primeval fastnesses nature ignored man's puny handiwork. then it was with a little thrill of anticipation she saw there was a movement among the dusky figures at last, but it cost her an effort to sit still when one of them appeared to move out on the rope, for she felt she knew who it must be. devine rose sharply, and flung his cigar away, while his wife seemed to shiver apprehensively. "one of them is coming across. isn't it horribly dangerous?" she said. devine nodded. "it depends a good deal on what he means to do, but if he figures on clearing the jammed trolley there is a risk, especially to a man who has only one sound hand," he said. "they've slung him under the spare one. it's most probably brooke." mrs. devine glanced at barbara, and fancied that the rigidity of her attitude was a trifle significant. the girl, however, said nothing, for her lips were pressed together, and she felt a shiver run through her as she watched the dusky figure sliding down the curving rope. the rope itself was no longer visible, but the dangling shape that moved across the horrible gulf was forced up by the whiteness of the drifting mists below. she held her breath when it stopped, and swung perilously beside the pine trunk which oscillated too, and then clenched her fingers viciously as it rose and apparently clutched at something overhead. then she became sensible of the distressful beating of her heart, and that the tension was growing unendurable. dark pines and hillside seemed to have faded now, and the dim objects outlined against the sliding mists dominated her attention. still, though they were invisible to her, the space between the hoary pines, tremendous rock wall, and never-melting snow, formed a fitting arena for that conflict between daring humanity and unsubdued nature. barbara never knew how long she sat there with set lips and straining eyes, but the time seemed interminable, until at last she gasped when devine, who had been standing as motionless as the pines behind him, moved abruptly. "i guess he has done it," he said. "that man has hard sand in him." the dusky trunk slid onward; the dangling figure followed it; and a hoarse cry, that had a note of exultation in it as well as relief, came up when they vanished into the gloom beneath the dark rock's side. "they've got him, but i guess that's not all they mean," said devine. "whatever was wrong with it, he has fixed the thing. they've beaten the cañon. the sling's working." then barbara, rising, stood very straight, with a curious feeling that she had a personal part in those men's triumph. it did not even seem to matter when she felt that mrs. devine was looking at her. "why don't you shout?" said the latter, significantly. barbara laughed, but there was a little vibration in her voice her sister had not often noticed there. "if i thought any one could hear me, i certainly would," she said. they stayed where they were a few minutes, until once more a faint creaking and rattling came out of the mist, and an object, that was scarcely distinguishable, swung across the chasm. another followed, until barbara had counted three of them, and devine laughed drily as they turned away. "it's most of eight miles round by the cañon foot, where one can get across by the big redwood log, but i guess they'd have taken the trail if brooke hadn't given them a lead," he said. "it's not easy to understand any one, but that's a curious kind of man." "is mr. brooke more peculiar than the rest of you?" asked barbara. devine seemed to smile, though she could not see him very well. "well," he said, drily, "that's rather more than i know, but i have a notion that his difficulty is he isn't quite sure what he would be at. now, the man who does one thing at one time, and all with the same purpose, is the one who generally gets there first." "and brooke does not do that?" "it kind of seems to me he is being pulled hard two ways at once just now," said devine, with a curious little laugh. barbara asked no more questions, and said very little to her sister as they walked home through the pines. she could not blot out the picture which, for a few intense minutes, she had gazed upon, though it had been exasperatingly blurred, and, she felt, considering what it stood for, ineffective in itself--a dim, half-seen figure, dwarfed to insignificance, swinging across a background of filmy mist. there had been nothing at that distance to suggest the intensity of the effort which was the expression of an unyielding will, but she had, by some subtle sympathy, grasped it all--the daring that recognized the peril and disregarded it, and the thrill of the triumph, the wholesome satisfaction born of the struggle with the primitive forces of the universe which man was meant to wage. this, it seemed to her, was a nobler one than the strife of the cities, where wealth was less often created than torn or fleeced from one's fellows; for needy humanity flowed in to build her homes and prosper by sturdy toil at every fresh rolling back of the gates of the wilderness. the miner and the axeman led the way; but the big plough oxen and plodding packhorse train followed hard along the trails they made. behind, in long procession, jaded with many sorrows, came the outcasts from crowded eastern lands, but there was room, and to spare, for all of them in the new canaan. that the man who had bridged the cañon would admit any feelings of the kind was, she knew, not to be expected. men of his description, she had discovered, very seldom do, and she could rather fancy him coming fresh from such a struggle to discuss the climate or the flavor of a cigar. yet he had once told her that she had brought him a sword, and, as she had certainly shivered at his peril, she could, without asking herself troublesome questions, now participate in the victory he had won. still, she seemed to feel that one could not draw any very apt comparison between him and the stainless hero of the arthurian legend belted with excalibur, for brooke was, she fancied, in the phraseology of the country, not that kind of man. that, however, appeared of less importance, since she had discovered that perfection is apt to pall on one. she had, she decided, permitted this train of thought to carry her sufficiently far, when a man appeared suddenly in the shadowy trail. it was evident that he did not see them at first, and barbara fancied he was a trifle disconcerted and half-disposed to slip back into the undergrowth when he did. he, however, passed them hastily, and devine swung round and looked after him. "that wasn't one of brooke's men?" he said. "no," said barbara. "i don't think it was. you didn't recognize him, katty?" mrs. devine laughed. "if you didn't, i scarcely fancy there was anything to be gained by asking me." barbara was not quite pleased with her sister, but she noticed that devine was standing still. "was there anything remarkable about the man?" she said. devine laughed. "i didn't see his face; but if he's the man i took him for, nobody would have expected to meet him here." then he turned, and they proceeded towards the ranch, while barbara, who recollected devine's speech at the cañon, also remembered her sister had said she would like to know what her husband really thought of brooke. this had not been very comprehensible to barbara, who had experienced no great trouble in forming what she believed to be an accurate opinion concerning the flume-builder. it was her feelings towards him that presented the difficulty. in the meanwhile, brooke had flung himself down in a folding-chair in his tent. he was soaked with perspiration, his hard hands still quivered a little from the nervous strain, and his bronzed face was a trifle more colorless than usual, but he was, for the time being, sensible of a quiet exultation. he had done a difficult and dangerous thing, and the flush of success had swept away all his anxieties. he, however, found it a trifle difficult to sit still, and was carefully selecting a cigar in an attempt to compose himself, when a man came in, and took the chair opposite him. then his face grew a trifle hard, and all sense of satisfaction was suddenly reft away from him. "i scarcely expected you quite so soon, saxton," he said. "here are cigars; you'll find some drinkables in the box yonder." saxton opened the box he pointed to, and then looked at him with a grin as he took out a bottle. "i've no great use for california wine. bourbon whisky's good enough for me," he said. "who've you been entertaining? not devine, anyway." "isn't the question a little outside the mark? if you want it, there's water with ice in it here. it's from the tail of the glacier." saxton laughed. "then it would take a man 'most an hour and a half to bring a pail of it. it's quite easy to tell where you came from. well, i'm here; but on the other occasions it was i who sent for you." "there is, however, a difference on this one, though i wouldn't like you to think that was the reason. the fact is, i've been busy." "well," said saxton, "we'll get down to the business one. still, how'd you get your arm in a sling?" "are you sure you don't know?" "quite!" and saxton's sincerity was evident. "how should i?" "i had fancied you knew all about it by this time, and felt a little astonished that you didn't come over, but i see i was mistaken. i tried to get hold of devine's papers, as i promised you, and came upon another man attempting the same thing. during the difference of opinion that followed he shot me." saxton rose, and, kicking his chair aside, condemned himself several times as he moved up and down the tent. "to be quite straight, i put another man on to it, as you didn't seem to be making much of a show," he said. "still, what in the name of thunder did he want to shoot you for, when he knew you were standing in with me?" "i can't say. the difficulty was that i was not as well informed as he seems to have been. it would have paid you better to be frank with me. hasn't the man come back to you?" "no," and saxton's face grew a trifle vicious, "he hasn't--concern him! you see what that brings us to? i felt sure of that man; but it's plain he meant to find out what i wanted, and then, if he couldn't make use of it himself, sell it me. there are three of us after the same thing now." brooke shook his head. "no," he said, drily, "i don't think there are. you and the other man make two, while i scarcely fancy either of you will get hold of the papers, because i gave them back to devine, and he has sent them to vancouver." "you had them?" and saxton gasped. "i certainly had," said brooke. "they were put up in a very flimsy packet, which mrs. devine handed me. i did not, however, look at one of them." saxton, who seemed about to sit down, crossed the tent and stared at him. "well," he said, "may i be shot if i ever struck another man quite like you! what in the name of thunder made you let devine have them back for?" "i really don't think you would appreciate my motives, especially as i'm not quite sure i understand them myself. anyway, i did it, and that, of course, implies that there can be no further understanding between you and me. i don't mean to question the morality of what we purposed doing, but, to be quite frank, i've had enough of it." saxton, who appeared to restrain himself with an effort, sat down and lighted a cigar. "no doubt i could worry along 'most as well without you, but there's a question to be answered," he said, drily. "do you mean to give me away?" "it's not one i appreciate, and it seems to me a trifle unnecessary. you can reassure yourself on that point." saxton took a drink of whisky. "well," he said, meditatively, "i guess i can trust you, and i'm not going to worry about letting you off the deal. you have too many fancies to be of much use to anybody. there's just another thing, and it has to be said. it's business i have on hand, and life's too short for any man to waste time he could pile up dollars in, trying to get even with a partner who has gone back on him. in fact, i've a kind of liking for you--but you'll most certainly get hurt if you put yourself in my way. it's a friendly warning." brooke laughed. "i will endeavor to keep out of it, so far as i can." saxton nodded, and then looked at him reflectively. "miss heathcote's kind of pretty," he said. "i suggested once already that we should get on better if you left miss heathcote out." "you did. still, when i've anything to say, it is scarcely a hint of that kind that's going to stop me. i guess you know she has quite a pile of dollars?" brooke's face flushed. "i don't, and it does not concern me in the least." "she has, anyway. devine's wife brought him a pile, and i heard one sister had the same as the other. now, you ought to feel obliged to me." brooke straightened himself a trifle in his chair. "i don't wish to be unpleasant, but you have gone quite as far as is advisable. can't you see the thing you are suggesting is quite out of the question?" saxton surveyed him critically. "well," he said, reflectively, "i have seen better-looking men--quite a few of them, and you're blame hard to get on with, but there are women who don't expect too much." brooke's face was growing flushed, but he realized that nothing short of physical violence was likely to restrain his visitor, and he laughed. "you will, of course, believe what pleases you," he said. "are you going to stay here to-night?" "no," said saxton. "when i'm through with this whisky, i'm going right back to tomlinson's ranch. i wouldn't like devine to run up against me, and he nearly did it on the trail a little while ago." brooke looked up sharply. "he recognized you?" "no," said saxton, drily. "he didn't. it wouldn't have suited me. when i come to clinch with devine, i want to be sure i have the whip-hand of him. still, it wouldn't have been a case of pistols out and getting behind a tree. it's quite a long while since i had any, and, though you don't seem to think so in england, nobody has any use for a circus of that kind now. i don't know that the way they had in ' wasn't better than trying to get ahead of the other man quietly." brooke made a little gesture of resignation. saxton, he realized, had sufficient discretion not to persist in a useless attempt to hold him to his compact, but he was addicted to moralizing, and brooke, who lighted another cigar, listened, as patiently as he could, while he discoursed upon the anxieties of the enterprising business man. xxi. devine's offer. evening had come round again when brooke called at the ranch, in response to a brief note from devine, and found the latter sitting, cigar in hand, at his office table. "take a cigar, if you feel like it, mr. brooke. we have got to have a talk," he said. brooke did as he suggested, and when he sat down, devine passed a strip of paper across to him. "there's your cheque for the tramway. i'll ask you for a receipt," he said. "make up an account of what the dam has cost you to-morrow, and we'll try to arrange the thing so's to suit both of us." brooke appeared a trifle astonished. "it is by no means finished, sir." "well," said devine, drily, "i'm not quite sure it ever will be. the mine no longer belongs to me. it's part of the dayspring consolidated mineral properties. i've been working the thing up quietly for quite a while now, and i've a cable from london that the deal's put through." brooke, remembering what he had heard from saxton, looked hard at him. "you have sold it out to english company promoters?" "not exactly! i'm taking so many thousand dollars down, and a controlling share of the stock. i'm also the boss director, with full power to run operations as appears advisable at the mines. how does the deal strike you?" "since you ask for my opinion, i fancy i should have preferred a good many dollars, and very little stock." devine glanced at him with a curious smile. "you believe allonby's a crank?" "other people do. on my part, i'm not quite sure of it. still, it seems to me that the men who spend their money to prove him right will run a tolerably heavy risk, especially as, so far, at least, there appears to be no ore that's worth reduction in the mine, so far as it has been opened up." "how do you know what is in the dayspring?" and devine looked at him steadily. brooke made a little gesture. "i don't think that point's important," he said. "you, no doubt, had a purpose in telling me as much as you have done?" devine did not answer for a moment or two, and brooke was sensible of a slight bewilderment as he watched him. this was, he knew, a hard, shrewd man, and yet he had apparently permitted saxton to beguile him into buying a mine in which nobody but a man whose faculties had been destroyed by alcohol believed. he was also, it seemed, willing to risk a moderate competence in another one which was liable to be jumped at any moment. the thing was almost incomprehensible. then devine made a sign that he desired attention. "when i told you this, i had a purpose," he said. "we are going to spend a pile of dollars on the dayspring, and my part of the business lies in the city. wilkins stays right at the canopus, and while allonby goes along with the mine it's too big a contract to reform him. that brings me to the point. i want a man to take charge at the dayspring under him, and though you were not exactly civil when i made you an offer once before, we might make it worth your while." brooke gasped, and felt his face becoming warm. "i have very little practical experience of mining, sir," he said. devine nodded tranquilly. "allonby has enough for two, but he lets up and loses his grip when the whisky comes along," he said. "still, i guess you have got something that's worth rather more to me. you couldn't help having it. it was born in you." brooke sat silent for a space, with an unpleasant realization of the fact that devine's keen eyes were watching him. he had come there with the intention of severing his connection with the man, and now that astonishing offer had been made him in the very room he had not long ago crept into with the purpose of plundering him. every detail of what had happened on that eventful night came back to him, and he remembered, with a sickening sense of degradation, how he had leaned upon the table where devine was sitting then and permitted the startled girl to force her thanks on him. then he raised his head, as devine, turning a little, looked at him with disconcerting steadiness. "you have more reasons than the one you gave me for not taking hold?" he said. suddenly, brooke made up his mind. he was sick of the career of deception, and had already meant to put an end to it, while he now seized upon the opportunity of placing a continuance in it out of the question. "i have, and can't help fancying that one of them is a tolerably good one," he said. "you see, you really know very little about me." "go on," said devine, drily. "i'm generally quite willing to back my opinion of a mine or man. besides, i have picked up one or two pointers about you." "still," said brooke, very slowly, while his face grew set, "you don't know why i came here to build that flume for you." then he gasped with astonishment, for devine laughed. "well," he said, drily, "i guess i do." brooke, who lost command of himself, rose abruptly, and stood looking down on him, with one quivering hand clenched on the edge of the table. "you know i meant to jump the claim?" he said. "i had a notion that you meant to try." then there was a curious silence, and the two men remained motionless, looking at one another for a space, the younger one leaning somewhat heavily upon the table, with the crimson showing through the bronze in his face, the elder one watching him with a little grim smile. there was also a suggestion of sardonic amusement in it at which the other winced, as he would scarcely have done had devine struck him. "and you let me stay on?" he said at length. "i did. it was plain you couldn't hurt me, and there was a kind of humor in the thing. i had just to put my hand down and squelch you when i felt like it." brooke recognized that he had deserved this, but he had never felt the same utter sense of insignificance that he did just then. his companion evidently did not even consider it worth while to be angry with him, and he wondered vacantly at his folly in even fancying that he or saxton could prove a match for such a man. then devine made a little gesture. "hadn't you better sit down? we're not quite through yet." brooke did as he suggested. "still----" he said. devine smiled again. "you don't quite understand? well, i'll try to make it plain. you make about the poorest kind of claim-jumper i ever ran up against, and i've handled quite a few in my time. it's not your fault. you haven't it in you. if you had, you'd have stayed right with it, and not let the dam-building get hold of you so that you scarcely remembered what you came here for. you couldn't help that either." to be turned inside out in this fashion was almost too disconcerting to be exasperating, and brooke sat stupidly silent for a moment or two. "after all, we need not go into that," he said. "i suppose what i meant to do requires no defence in this country, but while i am by no means proud of it, i should never have undertaken it had you not sold me a worthless ranch. i purposed doing nothing more than getting my six thousand dollars back." "you figure that would have contented the man behind you?" brooke was once more startled, for devine's penetration appeared almost uncanny, but he remembered that he, at least, owed a little to his confederate. "you think there was another man?" he said. devine laughed. "i guess i'm sure. you don't know enough to fix up a thing of this kind. who is he?" "that," said brooke, drily, "is rather more than i feel at liberty to tell you. i have, however, broken with him once for all." devine made a little gesture which implied that the point was of no great importance. "well," he said, "i guess i've no great cause to be afraid of him, if he was content to have you for a partner. the question is--are you going to take my offer?" "you are asking me seriously?" "i am. it seems to me i sized you up correctly quite a while ago, and you have had about enough claim-jumping. now, i don't know that i blame you, and, anyway, if you had very little sense, it showed you had some grit. as the mining laws stand, it's a legitimate occupation, and you tell me you only figured on getting your dollars back. well, if you want them, you can work for them at a reasonable salary." brooke was once more astonished. sentiment, it appeared, counted for as little with devine as it had done with saxton, and with both of them business was simply and solely a question of dollars. "then you disclaim all responsibility for your agent's doings?" he said. "no," said devine, drily. "if slocum had swindled you, it would have been different, but you made a foolish deal, and you have got to stand up to it. nobody was going to stop you surveying that land before you bought it, or getting a man who knew its value to do it for you. i'm offering you the option of working for those six thousand dollars. do you take it?" brooke scarcely considered. the money was no longer the chief inducement, for, as devine had expressed it, the work had got hold of him, and he was sensible of a growing belief in his capabilities, while he now fancied he saw his opportunity. "yes," he said, simply. devine nodded. "then we'll go into the thing right now," he said. "you'll start for the dayspring soon as you can to-morrow." an hour had passed before they had arranged everything, and it seemed to one of them that it was, under the circumstances, a somewhat astonishing compact they made. what the other thought about it did not appear, but he was one who was seldom very much mistaken in his estimate of the character of his fellow-men. then, as it happened, brooke came upon barbara in the log-walled hall as he was leaving the ranch, and stood still a moment irresolute. whether devine would tell her or his wife what had passed between them he did not know, but it appeared very probable, and just then he almost shrank from meeting her. it did not, however, occur to him to ask himself how she happened to be there. "so you are not going out on the trail that leads to nowhere in particular, after all?" she said. brooke showed his astonishment. "you knew what devine meant to offer me?" "of course!" and barbara smiled. "i don't even mind admitting that i think he did wisely." "now, i wonder why?" barbara laughed softly. "don't you think the question is a little difficult, or do you expect me to present you with a catalogue of your virtues?" "i'm afraid the latter is out of the question. you would want, at least, several items." "and you imply that i should have a difficulty in finding them?" brooke had spoken lightly, partly because the interview with devine had put a strain on him, and he dare scarcely trust himself just then, but a tide of feeling swept him away, and his face grew suddenly grim. the girl was very alluring, and her little smile showed plainly that she had reposed her confidence in him. "yes," he said, a trifle hoarsely, "you would have the greatest difficulty in finding one, and i am almost glad that i am going away to-morrow. such a man as i am is scarcely fit to speak to you." barbara was, though she did not show it, distinctly startled. she had never heard the man speak in that fashion, and his set face and vibrant voice were new to her. indeed, she had now and then wondered whether he ever really let himself go. still, she looked at him quietly, and, noticing the swollen veins on his forehead, and the glow in his eyes, decided it would not be advisable to admit that she attached much importance to what he had said. he was, she fancied, fit for any rashness just then. "i suppose we, all of us, have moods of self-depreciation occasionally," she said. "still, one would not have fancied that you were unduly morbid, and one part of that little speech was a trifle inexplicable." brooke laughed curiously, but the girl noticed that one of his lean, hard hands was closed as he looked down on her. "there are times when one has to be one's self, and civilities don't seem to count," he said. "i am glad that i am going away, because if i stayed here i should lose the last shred of my self-respect. as a matter of fact, i have very little left, but that little is valuable, if only because it was you who gave it me." "still, one would signally fail to see how you could lose it here." brooke stood still, looking at her with signs of struggle, and, she could almost fancy, passion, in his set face; and then made a little gesture, which seemed to imply that he had borne enough. "you will probably understand it all by and by," he said. "i can only ask you not to think too hardly of me when that happens." then, as one making a strenuous effort, he turned abruptly away, and barbara, who let him go, went back to the room where her sister sat, very thoughtfully. brooke in the meanwhile swung savagely along the trail, beneath the shadowy pines, for he recognized, with a painful distinctness, that barbara heathcote's view of his conduct was by no means likely to coincide with devine's, and he could picture her disgust and anger when the revelation came, while it was only now, when he would in all probability never meet her on the same terms again, he realized the intensity of his longing for the girl. he had also, he felt, succeeded in making himself ridiculous by a display of sentimentality that must have been incomprehensible to her, and though that appeared of no great importance relatively, it naturally did not tend to console him. when he reached his tent jimmy stared at him. "i guess you look kind of raised," he said. "where's your hat?" brooke laughed hoarsely. "i believe i must have left it at the ranch. still, that's not so very astonishing, because, even if i didn't do it altogether, i came very near losing my head." jimmy again surveyed him, with a grin. "devine," he said, suggestively, "has been giving you whisky, and it mixed you up a little? that's what comes of drinking tea." brooke made no answer, though a swift flush rose to his face, as he remembered his half-coherent speeches at the ranch, and the astonishment in the girl's eyes, for it seemed probable that the explanation that had occurred to jimmy had also suggested itself to her. then he smiled grimly, as he decided that it did not greatly matter, after all, since she could not think more hardly of him than she would do when the truth came out presently. xxii. the unexpected happens. it was already late at night, but the mounted mail carrier had not reached the dayspring mine, and allonby, who was impatiently waiting news of certain supplies and plant, had insisted on brooke sitting up with him. it was also raining hard, and, in spite of the glowing stove, the shanty reeked with damp, while there was a steady splashing upon the iron roof above. now and then a trickle descended from a defective joint in it, and formed a rivulet upon the earthen floor, or fizzled into a puff of steam upon the corroded iron pipe which stretched across the room. the latter was strewn with soil-stained clothing, and wet knee-boots with the red mire of the mine still clinging about them. brooke lay drowsily in a canvas chair, while allonby sat at the uncleanly table, with a litter of burnt matches and tobacco ash as well as a steaming glass in front of him. his eyes were bleared and watery, and there were curious little patches of color in his haggard face, while the gorged, blue veins showed upon his forehead. he had been discoursing in a maudlin fashion which brooke, who had endeavored to make the best of his company during the last three months, found singularly exasperating, but he moved abruptly when a stream from the roof suddenly descended upon his grizzled head. "that," he said, "is one of the trifles a man with a sense of proportion and a contemplative temperament makes light of. the curse of this effete age is its ceaseless striving after luxury." brooke laughed softly, as he watched the water run down the moralizer's nose. "it is," he said, "at least, not often attainable in this country." "which is precisely why men grow rich in the colonies. now, here are you and i, who at one time in our lives required four or five courses for dinner, not only subsisting, but thriving upon grindstone bread, flapjacks, molasses, and the contents of certain cans from chicago, which one cannot even be certain are what they are averred to be, though the colonist consumes them with the faith that asks no questions." "i fancy you are, in one respect, taking a good deal for granted," brooke said, drily. allonby made a deprecatory gesture. "being, although you might occasionally find a difficulty in crediting it, one myself, i am seldom mistaken about the points of a man who has moved in good society, though i may admit that it was the ruin of me. had i been brought up in this country, one-third of my income would have sufficed me, and i should have made provision for my grey hairs with the rest, while i fed, like a canadian, out of vessels of enamel and the useful wood pulp. as it was, i wasted my substance, and, unfortunately, that of other men who had undue confidence in me, in london clubs, with the result that i am now what is sometimes termed a waster in the land of promise." "it is not very difficult to get through a good deal of one's substance in a certain fashion, even in canada," and brooke glanced reflectively at the array of empty bottles. "that point of view, although a popular one, is illusory, which can be demonstrated by mathematics. a man, it is evident, cannot drink more than a certain quantity of whisky. his physical capacity precludes it, while even in my bad weeks the cost of it could not well exceed some eight dollars. excluding that item, one could live contentedly here at an outlay of one dollar daily, if he did not, unfortunately, possess a memory." it seemed to brooke that this latter observation might be true, if one had, at least, any hope for the future. allonby's day was nearly done, and he had only the past to return and trouble him, but brooke felt just then that, in spite of his pride in the profession which had been rather forced upon him than adopted, he had very little to look forward to, since he had, by his own folly, made the one thing he longed for above all others unattainable. he had been three months at the dayspring, and had heard nothing from barbara. she must, he fancied, have discovered the part he had played by this time, and would blot him out of her memory, while now, when it seemed conceivable that he might make his mark in canada, all that this implied had become valueless to him. wealth and celebrity might perhaps be attainable, but there would be nobody to share them with, for he realized that barbara heathcote did not possess the easy toleration on certain points which appeared to characterize saxton and devine. in the meanwhile, allonby did not seem pleased with his silence. "you are," he said, a trifle quickly, "by no means an entertaining companion for a man who is at times too sensible of the irony of his position, and appear to be without either comprehension or sympathy. here am i, who was accustomed to fare sumptuously in london clubs, living on the husks and other metaphorical et ceteras, and endeavoring--for that is all it amounts to--to console myself with profitless reflections. i am, of course, in the elegant simile of the country, a tank, or whisky-skin, but i am still a man who found a fortune and stripped himself of everything but whisky to develop it." brooke laughed to conceal his impatience. "then you are as sure as ever about the silver? we have got a good way down without finding very much sign of it." allonby rose, with a little flush in his watery eyes, and leaned, somewhat unsteadily, upon the table. "it is the one thing i believe in. the rest, and i once had my fancies and theories like other men, are shadows and chimeras now. only the silver is real--and there. all i made in canada is sunk in this mine, which no longer belongs to me, and when i make the great discovery not a dollar will fall to my share." "then it is a little difficult to understand what you are so anxious to find the silver for." allonby swayed a trifle on his feet, but the gleam in his eyes grew brighter. "you," he said, "are, as i pointed out, curiously deficient in comprehension, but you never won a case of medals that were coveted by the keenest brains among all those who hoped to enter your profession. of what use are dollars to a whisky-tank who will, in all probability, be found mangled at the bottom of the shaft one day? still, when i made the calculations we are now working on, there was no man in the province with a knowledge equal to mine, and i ask no more than to prove them right." brooke sat silent, because he could think of nothing appropriate to say. he had asked the question lightly, and had got his answer. it made the attitude of this broken-down wreck of humanity plain to him, and he vaguely realized the pathos underlying it. possessed by the one fancy, the man had lost or flung away all that life might have offered him, while he clung to the apparently worthless mine, not, it seemed, for the dollars that success might bring him, but from pride in his professional skill and the faculties which had long deserted him. that, as he said, was his one point of faith, and he lived only to vindicate it. then allonby lurched unsteadily to the door, and held his hand up as he opened it. "listen!" he said. "is that the mail carrier? i must know when we'll get those drills and the giant powder before i sleep. the sinking goes on slowly, and life is very uncertain when one drinks whisky as i do." brooke listened, and, for a time, heard only the splash from the pine boughs and the patter of the rain, while allonby's frail figure cut against the white mists that slid past the doorway. then a faint, measured thudding came up the valley, and he remembered afterwards that he felt a curious sense of anticipation. the sound swelled into the beat of horse hoofs floundering and slipping on the wet gravel, and brooke smiled at his eagerness, for though he had, he fancied, cut himself off from all that concerned his past in england, he had never been quite able to await the approach of a mail carrier with complete indifference, and he felt the suggestiveness of the drumming of the weary horse's feet. there had been a time when he had listened with beating heart while it drew nearer down the shadowy trail, and once more a little thrill ran through him. then there was a clatter of hoofs on wet rock, and a shout, as a man pulled his jaded beast up in the darkness outside, while a dripping packet was flung into the room. brooke could see nobody, but a voice said, "that's your lot; i guess i can't stop. got to make truscott's before i sleep, and the beast's gone lame." the rattle of hoofs commenced again, and brooke sat idly watching allonby, who was tearing open the packet with shaky fingers. "the tools and powder are coming up," he said. "hallo! excuse my inadvertence, brooke. this one's apparently for you." brooke caught the big blue envelope tossed across to him, and when he had taken out several precisely folded papers and glanced at the sheet of stiff legal writing, sat still, staring vacantly straight in front of him. the uncleanly shanty faded from before his eyes, and he was not even conscious that allonby, who had laid down his own correspondence, was watching him until the latter broke the silence. "i know that style of envelope, but it is, presumably, too long since you left england for it to contain any unpleasant reference to a debt," he said. "has somebody been leaving you a fortune?" brooke smiled in a curious, listless fashion. "no," he said, "not a fortune. still, i suppose one could almost consider it a competence." "then you appear singularly free from the satisfaction one would naturally expect from a man who had just received any news of that description," said allonby, drily. brooke's face grew suddenly grim. "if it had come a little earlier, it might have been of much more use to me." allonby had, apparently, sufficient sense left in him to recognize that any further observations he might feel inclined to make were scarcely likely to be appreciated just then, and once more brooke sat motionless, with the letter in his hand, and the inclosures that had slipped from his fingers strewn about the floor. he had been left with what any one with simple tastes would have considered a moderate competence, at least, in canada, by the man he had quarrelled with, and he gathered from the lawyer's letter that, if he wished it, there would be no difficulty in at once realizing the property. it naturally amounted to considerably more than the six thousand dollars he had sold his self-respect for, and at the moment he was only sensible of a bitter regret that the news had not come to hand a little earlier. if that had happened, he would never have made the attempt upon the papers, and might have broken with saxton without the necessity for any explanation with devine. he had no doubt that the latter had acquainted his wife and barbara, which meant that he would be branded for ever as rather worse than a thief in her eyes. the money which would have saved him, and might have bought him happiness, was he felt, almost useless to him now. in the meanwhile, allonby had turned to his own correspondence, and the shanty was very still, save for the patter of the rain outside and the doleful wailing of the pines. brooke gazed at the letter he held with vacant eyes, but though he scarcely seemed to notice his surroundings, he could long afterwards recall them clearly--the litter of soil-stained garments and mining boots, the crackling stove, the rain that flashed through the stream of light outside the open door, and allonby's haggard face and wasted figure. then it occurred to him that there was a discrepancy between the time when the will was made and that on which the news of it had been sent to him, and as he stooped to pick up the papers from the floor, he came upon a black-edged envelope. he recognized the writing, and, hastily opening it, found it was from an english kinsman. "you will be sorry to hear that austin dangerfield has succumbed at last," he read. "he was, perhaps, a little hard upon you at one time, but clara and i felt that he was right in his objections to lucy all along, and no doubt you realized it when she married shafton coulson. however that may be, the old man mentioned you frequently a little before the end, and seemed to feel the fact that he had driven you away, which was, no doubt, what induced him to leave you most of his personal property. baron and rodway will have sent you a schedule, and, as one of the executors, i would say that we had some difficulty in finding where to address you until we heard from coulson that lucy had met you. there is one point i feel i should refer to. as you will notice, part of the estate is represented by stock in a canadian mine. austin, whose mental grip was getting a trifle slack latterly, appears to have been led rather too much by shafton coulson in the stock operations he was fond of dabbling in, and i fancy it was by the latter's advice he made the purchase. there is very little demand for the shares on the market here, but you will perhaps be able to form an accurate opinion concerning their value." brooke laid down the letter, and took up the lawyers' schedule. then he laughed curiously as he realized that a considerable proportion of his legacy was represented by shares in the dayspring consols. one of the mines, he knew, was liable to be jumped at any moment, and the other was worthless, unless the opinion of his half-crazy companion could be taken seriously. there were one or two more small gashes in the hillside, concerning which the miners he had questioned appeared distinctly dubious. allonby turned at the sound. "one would scarcely have fancied from that laugh that you were feeling very much more pleased than you were when you hadn't gone into the affair," he said. "then it was a tolerably accurate reflection of my state of mind," said brooke. "this legacy, which came along two or three months after the time when it would have been of vital importance to me, consists in part of shares in this very mine. that is naturally about the last thing i would have desired or expected, and results from one of the curious conjunctions of circumstances which, i suppose, come about now and then. when the thing one has longed for does come along, it is generally at a time when the wish for it has gone." "commiseration would be a little unnecessary," said allonby, with unusual quietness. "the competence you mention will certainly prove a fortune before you are very much older." "i don't feel by any means as sure of it as you seem to be. still, under the circumstances, it doesn't greatly matter." allonby, with some difficulty, straightened himself. "i am," he said, not without a certain dignity which almost astonished brooke, "a worn-out wastrel and a whisky-tank, but i'll live to show the men who look down on me with contemptuous pity what i was once capable of. that is all i am holding on to life for. it is naturally not a very pleasant one to a man with a memory." for a moment he stood almost erect, and then collapsed suddenly into his chair. "devine has a brain of another and very much lower order, though it is of a kind that is apt to prove more useful to its possessor, and in his own sphere there are very few men to equal him. if i do not fall down the shaft in the meanwhile, we will certainly show this province what we can do together. and now i believe it is advisable for me to go to bed, while i feel to some extent capable of reaching it. my head is at least as clear as usual, but my legs are unruly." xxiii. brooke's confession. the pacific express had just come in, and the c. p. r. wharf at vancouver was thronged with a hurrying crowd when barbara heathcote and her sister stood leaning upon the rails of the s. s. _islander_. beneath them the big locomotive which had hauled the dusty cars over the wild selkirk passes was crawling slowly down the wharf with bell tolling dolefully, and while a feathery steam roared aloft above the tiers of white deckhouses a stream of passengers flowed up the gangway. barbara, who was crossing to victoria, watched them languidly until an elaborately-dressed woman ascended, leaning upon the arm of a man whose fastidious neatness of attire and air of indifference to the confusion about him proclaimed him an englishman. she made a very slight inclination when the woman smiled at her. "it is fortunate she can't very well get at us here," she said, glancing at the pile of baggage which cut them off from the rest of the deck. "three or four hours of mrs. coulson's conversation would be a good deal more than i could appreciate." "you need scarcely be afraid of it in the meanwhile," said mrs. devine. "it is a trifle difficult to hear one's self speak." "for which her husband is no doubt thankful. until i met them once or twice i wondered why that man wore an habitually tired expression. of course there are englishmen who consider it becoming, but one feels that in his case his looks are quite in keeping with his sensations." mrs. devine laughed. "you don't like the woman?" "no," said barbara, reflectively. "i really don't know why i shouldn't, but i don't. she certainly poses too much, and the last time i had the pleasure of listening to her at the wheelers' house she patronized me and the country too graciously. the country can get along without her commendation." "i wonder if she asked you anything about brooke?" "no," said barbara, a trifle sharply. "where could she have met him?" "in england. she seemed to know he was at the dayspring, and managed, i fancy, intentionally, to leave me with the impression that they were especial friends in the old country. i wonder if she knows he will be on board to-day?" "mr. brooke is crossing with us?" said barbara, with an indifference her sister had some doubts about. "grant seemed to expect him. he is going to buy american mining machinery or something of the kind in victoria. i believe it was he grant left us to meet." barbara said nothing, though she was sensible of a curious little thrill. she had not seen brooke since the evening he had behaved in what was an apparently inexplicable fashion at the ranch, and had heard very little about him. she, however, watched the wharf intently, until she saw devine accost a man with a bronzed face who was quietly threading his way through the hurrying groups, and her heart beat a trifle faster than usual as they moved together towards the steamer. then almost unconsciously she turned to see if the woman they had been discussing was also watching for him, but she had by this time disappeared. barbara, for no very apparent reason, felt a trifle pleased at this. in the meanwhile devine was talking rapidly to brooke. "here is a letter for you that came in with yesterday's mail," he said. "struck anything more encouraging at the mine since you wrote me?" "no," said brooke. "i'm afraid we haven't. still, allonby seems as sure as ever and is most anxious to get the new plant in." devine appeared thoughtful. "you'll have to knock off the big boring machine anyway. the mine's just swallowing dollars, and we'll have to go a trifle slower until some more come in. english directors didn't seem quite pleased last mail. somebody in their papers has been slating the dayspring properties, and there's a good deal of stock they couldn't work off. in fact, they seemed inclined to kick at my last draft, and we'll want two or three more thousand dollars before the month is up." brooke would have liked to ask several questions, but between the clanging of the locomotive bell and the roar of steam conversation was difficult, and when they stopped a moment at the foot of the gangway devine's voice only reached him in broken snatches. "got to keep your hand down--spin every dollar out. i'm writing straight about another draft. use the wires the moment you strike anything that would give the stock a lift." "if you're going i guess it's 'bout time you got aboard," said a seaman, who stood ready to launch the gangway in; and brooke, making a sign of comprehension to devine, went up with a run. then the ropes were cast off, and he sat down to open his letter under the deckhouse, as with a sonorous blast of her whistle the big white steamer swung out from the wharf. it was from the english kinsman who had previously written him, and confirmed what devine had said. "i'm sorry you are holding so much of the canadian mining stock," he read. "you are, perhaps, better posted about the mine than i am, but though the shares were largely underwritten, i understand the promoters found it difficult to place a proportion of the rest, and my broker told me that several holders would be quite willing to get out at well under par already." it was not exactly good news from any point of view, and brooke was pondering over it somewhat moodily when he heard a voice he recognized, and looking up saw a woman with pale blue eyes smiling at him. "lucy!" he said, with evident astonishment, but no great show of pleasure. "you looked so occupied that i was really afraid to disturb you," said the woman. "shafton is talking canadian politics with somebody, and i wonder if you are too busy to find a chair for me." brooke got one, and his companion, who was the woman barbara had alluded to as mrs. coulson, sat down, and said nothing for a while as she gazed back across the blue inlet with evident appreciation. this was, in one respect, not astonishing, though so far as brooke could remember she had never been remarkably fond of scenery, for the new stone city that rose with its towering telegraph poles roof beyond roof up the hillside, gleaming land-locked waterway, and engirdling pines with the white blink of ethereal snow high above them all, made a very fair picture that afternoon. "this," she said at last, "would really be a beautiful country if everything wasn't quite so crude." "it is certainly not exactly adapted to landscape-gardening," said brooke. "a two-thousand foot precipice and a hundred-league forest is a trifle big. still, i'm not sure its inhabitants would appreciate such praise." lucy coulson laughed. "they are like it in one respect--i don't mean in size--and delightfully touchy on the subject. now, there was a girl i met not long ago who appeared quite displeased with me when i said that with a little improving one might compare it to switzerland. i told her i scarcely felt warranted in dragging paradise in, if only because of some of its characteristic customs. i think her name was devane, or something equally unusual, though it might have been her married sister's. perhaps it's canadian." she fancied a trace of indignation crept into the man's bronzed face, but it vanished swiftly. "one could scarcely call miss heathcote crude," he said. lucy coulson did not inquire whether he was acquainted with the lady in question, but made a mental note of the fact. "it, of course, depends upon one's standard of comparison," she said. "no doubt she comes up to the one adopted in this country. still, though the latter is certainly pretty, what is keeping--you--in it now?" "then you have heard of my good fortune?" "of course! shafton and i were delighted. your executors wrote for your address to me." brooke started visibly as he recognized that she must in that case have learned the news a month before he did, for a good deal had happened in the meanwhile. "then it is a little curious that you did not mention it in the note you sent inviting me to meet you at the glacier lake," he said. lucy coulson lifted her eyes to his a moment, and then glanced aside, while there was a significant softness in her voice as she said, "the news seemed so good that i wanted to be the one who told it you." again brooke felt a disconcerting sense of embarrassment, and because he had no wish that she should recognize this looked at her steadily. "it apparently became of less importance when i did not come," he said with a trace of dryness. "there is a reliable postal service in this country. do you remember exactly what day you went to the lake on?" mrs. coulson laughed, and made a little half-petulant gesture. "i fancied you did not deserve to hear it when you could not contrive to come forty miles to see me. still, i think i can remember the day. shafton had to be in vancouver on the wednesday----" she told him in another moment, and brooke was sensible of a sudden thrill of anger that was for the most part a futile protest against the fact that his destiny should lie at the mercy of a vain woman's idle fancy, for had he known on the day she mentioned he would never have made the attempt upon devine's papers. barbara heathcote, he decided, doubtless knew by this time what had brought him to the ranch on the eventful night, and even if she did not the imposition he had been guilty of then remained as a barrier between him and her. after permitting her to give him credit for courage and a desire to watch over her safety he dare not tell her he had come as a thief. still, he recognized that it was, after all, illogical to blame his companion for his own folly. "harford," she said, gently, "are you very vexed with me?" brooke smiled in a somewhat strained fashion. "no," he said, "i scarcely think i am, and i have, at least, no right to be. i don't know whether you will consider it a sufficient excuse, but i was very busy on the day in question. i was, you see, under the unfortunate necessity of earning my living." "i think there was a time when you would not have let that stand in the way, but men are seldom very constant, are they?" brooke made no attempt to controvert the assertion. it seemed distinctly wiser to ignore it, since his companion apparently did not remember that she had now a husband who could hardly be expected to appreciate any unwavering devotion offered her, which was a fact that had its importance in brooke's eyes, at least. then she turned towards him with disconcerting suddenness. "why don't you go home now you have enough to live, with a little economy, as you were meant to do?" she said. "this country is no place for you." brooke, who did not remember that she previously endeavored to lead up to the question, started, for it was one which he had not infrequently asked himself of late, and the answer that the opportunity of proving his capabilities as a dam-builder and mining engineer had its attractions was, he knew, not quite sufficient in itself. then, as it happened, barbara heathcote and mrs. devine, who appeared in the companion, came towards them along the deck, and lucy coulson noticed the glow in his eyes that was followed by a sudden hardening of his face. perhaps she guessed a little, or it was done out of wantonness, for she laid her white-gloved hand upon his arm and leaned forward a trifle. "harford," she said, looking up at him, "once upon a time you gave me your whole confidence." brooke hoped his face was expressionless, for he was most unpleasantly sensible of that almost caressing touch upon his arm, as well as of the fact that his attitude, or, at least, that of his companion, was distinctly liable to misconception by any one aware that she was another man's wife. he had no longer any tenderness for her, and she had in any case married shafton coulson, who, so far as he had heard, made her a very patient as well as considerate husband. "that was several years ago," he said. lucy coulson laughed, and, though it is probable that she had seen them approach, turned with a little start that seemed unnecessarily apparent as barbara and mrs. devine came up, while brooke hoped his face did not suggest what he was thinking. as a matter of fact, it was distinctly flushed, which barbara naturally noticed. she would have passed, but that mrs. coulson stopped her with a gesture. "so glad to see you!" she said. "can't you stay a little and talk to us? one is out of the breeze under the deck-house here. harford, there are two unoccupied chairs yonder." brooke wished she would not persist in addressing him as harford, but he brought the chairs, and mrs. devine, who had her own reasons for falling in with the suggestion, sat down. barbara had no resource but to take the place beside her, and lucy coulson smiled at both of them. "i believe mrs. devine mentioned that you had met mr. brooke," she said to the girl. "he is, of course, a very old friend of mine." she contrived to give the words a significance which brooke winced at, but he sat watching barbara covertly while the others talked, or rather listened while lucy coulson did. barbara scarcely glanced at him, but he fancied that devine had not told her yet, or she would not have joined a group which included him at all. the position was not exactly a pleasant one, but he could think of no excuse for going away, and listened vacantly. lucy coulson, as it happened, was discoursing upon canada, which when she did not desire to please a canadian was a favorite topic of hers. barbara, however, on this occasion only watched her with a little reposeful smile, and so half an hour slipped by while, with mastheads swinging lazily athwart the blue, the white-painted steamer rolled along, past rocky islets shrouded in dusky pines, across a shining sea above which white lines of snow gleamed ethereally. mrs. coulson, however, had no eyes to spare for any of it, for when they were not fixed upon the girl she was watching brooke. "some of the men we met in the mountains were delightfully inconsequent," she said at length. "there was one called saxton at a mine, who spent a good deal of one afternoon telling us about the reforms that ought to be made in the administration of this province, and which i fancy he intended to effect. it was, of course, not a subject i was greatly interested in, but the man was so much in earnest that one had to listen to him, and shafton told me afterwards that he was, where business was concerned, evidently a great rascal. shafton, you know, enjoys listening quietly and afterwards turning people inside out for inspection. still, perhaps, it was a little unwise to single the man out individually. there is always a risk of somebody who hears you being a friend of the person when you do that kind of thing--and now i remember he mentioned mr. brooke." brooke noticed that barbara cast a swift glance at him, and wondered with sudden anger if lucy coulson had not already done him harm enough. then barbara turned towards the latter. "saxton," she said quietly, "is an utterly unprincipled man. i really do not think we have many like him in this country. you probably mistook his reference to mr. brooke." mrs. coulson laughed. "of course, i may have done, though i almost think he said harford was a partner of his. perhaps, however, he had a purpose in telling us that, for he had been trying to sell shafton some land company's shares, though if it hadn't been true he would scarcely have ventured to mention it." there was a sudden silence, and brooke, who felt barbara's eyes upon him, heard the splash of water along the steamer's plates and the throbbing of the screw. he also saw that mrs. devine was rather more intent than usual, and that lucy coulson was wondering at the effect of what she had said. he could, he fancied, acquit her of any ill intent, but that was no great consolation, for he could not controvert her assertion, and he felt that now she had mentioned the condemning fact his one faint chance was to let barbara have the explanation from his own lips instead of asking it from devine. still, he could scarcely do so when the rest were there, and lucy coulson, at least, showed no intention of leaving him and the girl alone. it was, in fact, almost an hour later when her husband crossed the deck and she rose. "shafton has nobody to talk to, and one has to remember their duty now and then," she said. then as the steamer swung round a nest of reefs that rose out of a white swirl of tide the sea breeze swept that side of the deckhouse and mrs. devine departed for another wrap or shawl. lifting her head barbara looked at the man steadily. "was that woman's story true?" she said. brooke made a little gesture which implied that he attempted no defence. "it was," he said. a faint spark crept into barbara's eyes, and a tinge of color into her cheek. "you know what you are admitting?" "i am afraid i do." barbara heathcote had a temper, and though she usually held it in check it swept her away just then. "then, though we only discovered it afterwards, you knew that saxton was scheming against my brother-in-law, and bought up the timber-rights to extort money from him?" again brooke made a little gesture, and the girl, who seemed stirred as he had scarcely believed her capable of being, straightened herself rigidly. "and yet you crept into his house, and permitted us--it is very hard to say it--to make friends with you! had you no sense of fitness? can't you even speak?" brooke was too confused, and the girl too furious, for either of them to realize the significance of her anger, since the fact that she had merely permitted him to meet her as an acquaintance at the ranch scarcely seemed to warrant that almost passionate outbreak. "i'm afraid there is nothing i can plead in extenuation except that grant devine's agent swindled me," he said. barbara laughed scornfully. "and you felt that would warrant you playing the part you did. was it a spy's part only, or were you to be a traitor, too?" then brooke, who lost his head, did what was at the moment, at least, a most unwise thing. "i expect i deserve all you can say or think of me," he said. "still, i can't help a fancy that you are not quite free from responsibility." "i?" said barbara, incredulously. brooke nodded. "yes," he said, desperately, "you heard me correctly. under the circumstances it isn't exactly complimentary or particularly easy to explain. still, you see, you showed me that the content with my surroundings i was sinking into was dangerous when you came to the quatomac ranch; and afterwards the more i saw of you the more i realized what the six thousand dollars i hoped to secure from devine would give me a chance of attaining." he broke off abruptly, as though afraid to venture further, and barbara watched him a moment, breathless with anger, with lips set. there was nobody on that part of the deck just then, and the steady pounding of the engines broke through what the man felt to be an especially disconcerting silence. then she laughed in a fashion that stung him like a whip. "and you fancied there were girls in this country with anything worth offering who would be content with such a man as you are?" she said. "one has, however, to bear with a good deal that is said about canada, and perhaps you would have been able to keep the deception that gained the appreciation of one of them up. you are proficient at that kind of thing." "i am quite aware that the excuse is a very poor one." the girl felt that whether it was dignified or not the relief speech afforded was imperative. "haven't you even the wit to urge the one creditable thing you did?" brooke contrived to meet her eyes. "you mean when i came into the ranch one night. you don't know that was merely a part of the rest?" the blood rushed to barbara's face. "the man was your confederate, and you fell out over the booty--or perhaps you heard me coming and arranged the little scene for my benefit?" "no," said brooke, with a harsh laugh. "in that case the climax of it would have been unnecessarily realistic. you may remember that he shot me. still, since you may as well know the worst of me, it happened that we both came there with the same purpose, which is somewhat naturally accounted for by the fact that your brother-in-law was away that night." "and you allowed me to sympathize with you for your injury and to fancy----" barbara broke off abruptly, for it appeared inadvisable under the circumstances to let him know what motive she had accredited him with. "my brother-in-law is naturally not aware of this?" she said. "i, at least, considered it necessary to acquaint him with most of it before i went to the dayspring. no doubt you will find it difficult to credit that, but if it appears worth while you can of course confirm it. you would evidently have been less tolerant than he has shown himself!" barbara stood up, and brooke became sensible of intense relief as he saw mrs. devine was approaching with a bundle of wraps. "i would sooner have sacrificed the mine than continue to have any dealings with you," she said. then she turned away, and left him sitting somewhat limply in his chair and staring vacantly at the sea. he saw no more of her during the rest of the voyage, but when two hours later the steamer reached victoria he went straight to the cable company's office and sent his kinsman in england a message which somewhat astonished him. "buy dayspring on my account as far as funds will go," it read. xxiv. allonby strikes silver. winter had closed in early, with arctic severity, and the pines were swathed in white and gleaming with the frost when brooke stood one morning beside the crackling stove in the shanty he and allonby occupied at the dayspring mine. a very small piece of rancid pork was frizzling in the frying-pan, and he was busy whipping up two handfuls of flour with water, to make flapjacks of. he could readily have consumed twice as much alone, for it was twelve hours since his insufficient six o'clock supper, but he realized that it was advisable to curb his appetite. supplies had run very low, and the lonely passes over which the trail to civilization led were blocked with snow, while it was a matter of uncertainty when the freighter and his packhorse train could force his way in. when the flour was ready he stirred the stove to a brisker glow, and, crossing the room, flung open the outer door. it was still an hour or two before sunrise, and the big stars scintillated with an intensity of frosty radiance, though the deep indigo of the cloudless vault was paling in color, and the pines were growing into definite form. here and there a sombre spire or ragged branch rose harshly from the rest, but, for the most part, they were smeared with white, and his eyes were dazzled by the endless vista of dimly-gleaming snow. towering peak and serrated rampart rose hard and sharp against a background of coldest blue. there was no sound, for the glaciers' slushy feet that fed the streams had hardened into adamant, and a deathlike silence pervaded the frozen wilderness. brooke felt the cold strike through him with the keenness of steel, and was about to cross the space between the shanty and the men's log shelter, when a dusky figure, beating its arms across its chest, came out of the latter. "are the rest of the boys stirring yet?" he said. the man laughed, and his voice rang with a curious distinctness through the nipping air. "i guess we've had the stove lit 'most an hour ago," he said. "they've no use for being frozen, and that's what's going to happen to some of us unless we can make truscott's before it's dark. say, hadn't you better change your mind, and come along with us?" brooke made a little sign of negation, though it would have pleased him to fall in with the suggestion. work is seldom continued through the winter at the remoter mines, and he had most unwillingly decided to pay off the men, owing to the difficulty of transporting provisions and supplies. there was, however, a faint probability of somebody attempting to jump the unoccupied claim, and he had of late become infected by allonby's impatience, while he felt that he could not sit idle in the cities until the thaw came round again. still, he was quite aware that he ran no slight risk by remaining. "i'm not sure that it wouldn't be wiser, but i've got to stay," he said. "anyway, allonby wouldn't come." the other man dropped his voice a little. "that don't count. if you'll stand in, we'll take him along on the jumper sled. the old tank's 'most played out, and it's only the whisky that's keeping the life in him. he'll go out on the long trail sudden when there's no more of it, and it's going to be quite a long while before the freighter gets a load over the big divide." brooke knew that this was very likely, but he shook his head. "i'm half afraid it would kill him to leave the mine," he said. "it's the hope of striking silver that's holding him together as much as the whisky." "well," said the man, who laughed softly, "i've been mining and prospecting most of twenty years, and it's my opinion that, except the little you're getting on the upper level, there's not a dollar's worth of silver here. now i guess harry will have breakfast ready." he moved away, and when brooke went back into the shanty, allonby came out of an inner room shivering. his face showed grey in the lamplight, and he looked unusually haggard and frail. "it's bitter cold, and i seem to feel it more than i did last year," he said. "we will, however, be beyond the necessity of putting up with any more unpleasantness of the kind long before another one is over. i shall probably feel adrift then--it will be difficult, in my case, to pick up the thread of the old life again." "if you stay here, i'm not sure you'll have an opportunity of doing it at all," said brooke. "it's a risk a stronger man than you are might shrink from." "still, i intend to take it. we have gone into this before. if i leave dayspring before i find the silver, i leave it dead." brooke made a little gesture of resignation. "well," he said, "i have done all i could, and now, if you will pour that flour into the pan, we'll have breakfast." both men were silent during the frugal meal, for they knew what they had to look forward to, and the cold silence of the lonely land already weighed upon their spirits. long weeks of solitude must be dragged through before the men who were going south that morning came back again, while there might very well be interludes of scarcity, and hunger is singularly hard to bear with the temperature at forty degrees below. allonby only trifled with his food, and smiled drily when at last he thrust his plate aside. "dollars are not to be picked up easily anywhere, and you and i are going to find out the full value of them before the thaw begins again," he said. "we shall, no doubt, also discover how thoroughly nauseated one can become with his companion's company. i have heard of men wintering in the mountains who tried to kill one another." brooke laughed. "it's scarcely likely we will go quite as far as that, though i certainly remember two men in the quatomac valley who flung everything in the range at each other periodically. one was inordinately fond of green stuff, and his partner usually started the circus by telling him to take his clothes off, and go out like nebuchadnezzar. they refitted with wood-pulp ware when the proceedings became expensive." just then there was a knock upon the door, which swung open, and a cluster of shadowy figures, with their breath floating like steam about them, appeared outside it. one of them flung a deerhide bag into the room. "we figured we needn't trail quite so much grub along, and i guess you'll want it," a voice said. "neither of you changed your minds 'bout lighting out of this?" "i don't like to take it from you, boys," said brooke, who recognized the rough kindliness which had prompted the men to strip themselves of the greater portion of their provisions. "you can't have more than enough for one day's march left." "i guess a man never hits the trail so hard as when he knows he has to," somebody said. "it will keep us on the rustle till we fetch truscott's. well, you're not coming?" for just a moment brooke felt his resolution wavering, and, under different circumstances, he might have taken allonby by force, and gone with them, but by a somewhat involved train of reasoning he felt that it was incumbent upon him to stay on at the mine because barbara heathcote had once trusted him. it had been tolerably evident from her attitude when he had last seen her, that she had very little confidence in him now, but that did not seem to affect the question, and most men are a trifle illogical at times. "no," he said, with somewhat forced indifference. "still, i don't mind admitting that i wish we were." the man laughed. "then i guess we'll pull out. we'll think of you two now and then when we're lying round beside the stove in vancouver." brooke said nothing further. there was a tramp of feet, and the shadowy figures melted into the dimness beneath the pines. then the last footfall died away, and the silence of the mountains suddenly seemed to grow overwhelming. brooke turned to allonby, who smiled. "you will," he said, "feel it considerably worse before the next three months are over, and probably be willing to admit that there is some excuse for my shortcomings in one direction. i have, i may mention, put in a good many winters here." brooke swung round abruptly. "i'm going to work in the mine. it's fortunate that one man can just manage that new boring machine." he left allonby in the shanty, and toiled throughout that day, and several dreary weeks, during most of which the pines roared beneath the icy gales and blinding snow swirled down the valley. what he did was of very slight effect, but it kept him from thinking, which, he felt, was a necessity, and he only desisted at length from physical incapacity for further labor. the snow, it was evident, had choked the passes, so that no laden beast could make the hazardous journey over them, for the anxiously-expected freighter did not arrive, and there was an increasing scarcity of provisions as the days dragged by; while brooke discovered that a handful of mouldy floor and a few inches of rancid pork daily is not sufficient to keep a man's full strength in him. then, when an arctic frost followed the snow, allonby fell sick, and one bitter evening, when an icy wind came wailing down the valley, it dawned upon his comrade that his condition was becoming precarious. saying nothing, he busied himself about the stove, and smiled reassuringly when allonby turned to him. "are we to hold a festival to-night, since you seem to be cooking what should keep us for a week?" said the latter. "i almost fancy it would keep one of us for several days, which, since you do not seem especially capable of getting anything ready for yourself, is what it is intended to do," said brooke. "i shall probably be that time in making the settlement and getting back again." "what are you going there for?" "to bring out the doctor." allonby raised his head and looked at him curiously. "are you sure that, with six or eight feet of snow on the divide, you could ever get there?" "well," said brooke, cheerfully, "i believe i could, and, if i don't, you will be very little worse off than you were before. you see, the provisions will not last two of us more than a few days longer, and you can take it that i will do all i can to get through the snow. since you are not the only man who is anxious to find the silver, your health is a matter of importance to everybody just now." allonby smiled curiously. "we will consider that the reason, and it is a tolerably good one, or i would not let you go. still, i fancy you have another, and it is appreciated. there is, however, something more to be said. you will find my working plans in the case yonder should anything unexpected happen before you come back. life, you know, is always a trifle uncertain." "that," said brooke, decisively, "is morbid nonsense. you will be down the mine again in a week after the doctor comes." "well," said allonby, with a curious quietness, "i should, at least, very much like to find the silver." brooke changed the subject somewhat abruptly, and it was an hour later when he shook hands with his comrade and went out into the bitter night with two blankets strapped upon his shoulders. their parting was not demonstrative, though they realized that the grim spectre with the scythe would stalk close behind each of them until they met again, and brooke, turning on the threshold, saw allonby following him with comprehending eyes. then he suddenly pulled the door to, shutting out the lamplight and the alluring red glow of the stove, and swung forward, knee-deep in dusty snow, into the gloom of the pines. the silence of the great white land was overwhelming, and the frost struck through him. it was late on the third night when he floundered into a little sleeping settlement, and leaned gasping against the door of the doctor's house before he endeavored to rouse its occupant. the latter stared at him almost aghast when he opened it, lamp in hand, and brooke reeled, grey in the face with weariness and sheeted white with frozen snow, into the light. "steady!" he said, slipping his arm through brooke's. "come in here. now, keep back from the stove. i'll get you something that will fix you up in a minute. you came in from the dayspring--over the divide? i heard the freighter telling the boys it couldn't be done." brooke laughed harshly. "well," he said, "you see me here, and, if that's not sufficient, you're going to prove the range can be crossed yourself to-morrow." the doctor was new to that country, and he was very young, or he would, in all probability, not been there at all, but when he heard brooke's story he nodded tranquilly. "i'm afraid i haven't done any mountaineering, but i had the long-distance snowshoe craze rather bad back in montreal," he said. "you're not going to give me very much of a lead over the passes, anyway, unless you sleep the next twelve hours." brooke, as it happened, slept for six and then set out with the young doctor in blinding snow. he had forty to fifty pounds upon his back now, and once they left the sheltering timber it cost them four strenuous hours to make a thousand feet. part of that night they lay awake, shivering in the pungent fir smoke in a hollow of the rocks, and started again, aching in every limb, long before the lingering dawn, while the next day passed like a very unpleasant dream with the young doctor. the snow had ceased, and lay without cohesion, dusty and dry as flour, waist-deep where the bitter winds had whirled it in wreaths, while the glare of the white peaks became intolerable under the cloudless sun. for hours they crawled through juniper scrub or stunted wisps of pines, where the trunks the winds had reaped lay piled upon each other in tangled confusion, with the sifting snow blown in to conceal the pitfalls between. by afternoon the doctor was flagging visibly, and white peaks and climbing timber reeled formlessly before his dazzled eyes as he struggled onward the rest of that day. then, when the pitiless blue above them grew deeper in tint until the stars shone in depths of indigo, and the ranges fading from silver put on dim shades of blueness that enhanced their spotless purity, they stopped again, and made shift to boil the battered kettle in a gully, down which there moaned a little breeze that seared every patch of unprotected skin. the doctor collapsed behind a boulder, and lay there limply while brooke fed the fire. "i'm 'most afraid you'll have to fix supper yourself to-night," he said. "just now i don't quite know how i'm going to start to-morrow, though it will naturally have to be done." brooke glanced round at the grim ramparts of ice and snow that cut sharp against the indigo. night as it was, there was no softness in that scheme of color lighted by the frosty scintillations of the stars, and a shiver ran through his stiffened limbs. "yes," he said. "nobody not hardened to it could expect to stand more than another day in the open up here." he got the meal ready, but very little was said during it, and for a few hours afterwards the doctor lay coughing in the smoke of the fire, while his gum-boots softened and grew hard again as he drew his feet, which pained him intolerably between whiles, a trifle further from the crackling brands. he staggered when at last brooke, finding that shaking was unavailing, dragged him upright. "breakfast's almost ready, and we have got to make the mine by to-night," he said. the doctor could never remember how they accomplished it, but his lips were split and crusted with coagulated blood, while there seemed to be no heat left in him, when brooke stopped on a ridge of the hillside as dusk was closing in. "the mine is close below us. in fact, we should have seen it from where we are," he said. worn out as he was, the doctor noticed the grimness of his tone. "the nearer the better," he said. "i don't quite know how i got here, but you scarcely seem at ease." "i was wondering why allonby, who does not like the dark, has not lighted up yet," brooke said, drily. "we will probably find out in a few more minutes." then he went reeling down the descending trail, and did not stop again until he stood amidst the piles of débris and pine stumps, with the shanty looming dimly in front of him across the little clearing. it seemed very dark and still, and the doctor, who came up gasping, stopped abruptly when his comrade's shout died away. the silence that closed in again seemed curiously eerie. "he must have heard you at that distance," he said. "yes," said brooke, a trifle hoarsely. "if he didn't, there's only one thing that could have accounted for it." then they went on again slowly, until brooke flung the door of the shanty open. there was no fire in the stove, and the place was very cold, while the darkness seemed oppressive. "strike a match--as soon as you can get it done," said the doctor. brooke broke several as he tore them off the block with half-frozen fingers, for the canadian sulphur matches are not usually put up in boxes, and then a pale blue luminescence crept across the room when he held one aloft. it sputtered out, leaving a pungent odor, and thick darkness closed in again; but for a moment brooke felt a curious relief. "he's not here," he said. the doctor understood the satisfaction in his voice, for his eyes had also turned straight towards the rough wooden bunk, and he had not expected to find it empty. "the man must have been fit to walk. where has he gone?" he said. brooke fancied he knew, and, groping round the room, found and lighted a lantern. its radiance showed that his face was grim again. "if you can manage to drag yourself as far as the mine, i think it would be advisable," he said. "it seems to me significant that the stove is quite cold. one would fancy there had been no fire in it for several hours now." the doctor went with him, and somehow contrived to descend the shaft. brooke leaned out from the ladder, swinging his lantern when they neared the bottom, and his shout rang hollowly among the rocks. there was no answer, and even the doctor, who had never seen allonby, felt the silence that followed it. "if the man was as ill as you fancied how could he have got down?" he said. "i don't know," said brooke. "still, i think we shall come upon him not very far away." they went down a little further into the darkness, and then the prediction was warranted, for brooke swung off his hat, and the doctor dropped on one knee when allonby's white face appeared in the moving light. he lay very still, with one arm under him, and, when a few seconds had slipped by, the doctor looked up and, meeting brooke's eyes, nodded. "yes," he said. "it must have happened at least twelve hours ago. how, i can't tell exactly. cardiac affection, i fancy. anyway, not a fall. there is something in his hand, and a bundle of papers beside him." brooke glanced away from the dead man, and noticed the stain of giant powder on the rock, and shattered fragments that had not been where they lay when he had last descended. then he turned again, and took the piece of stone the doctor had, with some difficulty, dislodged from the cold fingers. "it's heavy," said the latter. "yes," said brooke, quietly. "a considerable percentage of it is either lead or silver. you are no doubt right in your diagnosis; so far as it goes, i'm inclined to fancy i know what brought on the cardiac affection." the doctor, who said nothing, handed him the papers, and brooke, who opened them vacantly, started a little when he saw the jagged line, which, in drawings of the kind, usually indicates a break, was now traced across the ore vein in the plan. there was also a scrap of paper, with his name scrawled across it, and he read, "when you have got your dollars back four or five times over, sell out your stock." he scarcely realized its significance just then, and, moving the lantern a little, looked down on allonby's face again. it was very white and quiet, and the signs of indulgence had faded from it, while brooke was sensible of a curious thrill of compassion. "i wonder if the thing we long for most invariably comes when it is no use to us?" he said. "well, we will go back to the shanty." there was nothing more that any man could do for allonby until the morrow, and the darkness once more closed in on him, while the flickering light grew fainter up the shaft. xxv. barbara is merciless. it was about eight o'clock in the evening when brooke stopped a moment as he entered the verandah of devine's house, which stood girt about by sombre pines on a low rise divided by a waste of blackened stumps and branches from the outskirts of vancouver city. beneath him rose the clustering roofs and big electric lights, and a little lower still a broad track of silver radiance, athwart which a great ship rode with every spar silhouetted black as ebony, streaked the inlet. though the frost was arctic in the ranges he had left a few days ago, it was almost warm down there, and he felt that he would have preferred to linger on the verandah, or even go back to his hotel, for the front of the wooden house was brilliantly lighted, and he could hear the chords of a piano. it was evident that mrs. devine was entertaining, and standing there, draped from neck to ankles in an old fur coat, he felt that he with his frost-nipped face and hard, scarred hands would be distinctly out of place amidst an assembly of prosperous citizens, while he was by no means certain how mrs. devine or barbara would receive him. often as he had thought of the latter, since he made his confession, he felt scarcely equal to meeting her just then. still, it was necessary that he should see devine, who was away at the neighboring city of new westminster, when brooke called at his office soon after the pacific express arrived that afternoon, but had left word that he would be at home in the evening and would expect him; and flinging his cigar away he moved towards the door. a chinese house boy took his coat from him in the hall, and as he stood under the big lamp it happened that barbara came out of an adjacent door with two companions. brooke felt his heart throb, though he did not move, and the girl, who turned her head a moment in his direction, crossed the hall, and vanished through another door. then he smiled very grimly, for, though she made no sign of being aware of his presence, he felt that she had seen him. this was no more than he had expected, but it hurt nevertheless. in the meanwhile the house boy had also vanished, and it was a minute or two later when mrs. devine appeared, but brooke could not then or afterwards decide whether she had heard the truth concerning him, for, though this seemed very probable, he knew that barbara could be reticent, and surmised that devine did not tell his wife everything. in any case, she did not shake hands with him. "my husband, who has just come home, is waiting for you in his smoking-room," she said. "it is the second door down the corridor." brooke fancied that she could have been a trifle more cordial, but the fact that she sent nobody to show him the way, at least, was readily accounted for in a country where servants of any kind are remarkably scarce. it also happened that while he proceeded along the corridor one of barbara's companions turned to her. "did you see the man in the hall as we passed through?" she said. "i didn't seem to recognize him." barbara was not aware that her face hardened a trifle, but her companion noticed that it did. she had certainly seen the man, and had felt his eyes upon her, while it also occurred to her that he looked worn and haggard, and she had almost been stirred to compassion. he had made no claim to recognition, but his face had not been quite expressionless, and she had seen the wistfulness in it. there was, in fact, a certain forlornness about his attitude which had its effect on her, and it was, perhaps, because of this she had suddenly hardened herself against him. "he is a mr. brooke--from the mine," she said. "brooke!" said her companion. "the man from the dayspring? i should like to talk to him." barbara made a little gesture, the meaning of which was not especially plain. she had read the sensational account of the journey brooke and the doctor had made through the ranges, which had by some means been supplied the press. it made it plain to her that the man was doing and enduring a good deal, and she was not disposed to be unduly severe upon a repentant offender, even though she fancied that nothing he could do would ever reinstate him in the place he once held in her estimation. the difficulty, however, was that she could not be sure he was contrite at all, or had not sent that story to the press himself with a purpose, though she realized that the last course was a trifle unlikely in his case. "since grant devine will probably bring him in you may get your wish," she said, indifferently. devine in the meanwhile was gravely turning over several pieces of broken rock which brooke had handed him. "yes," he said, "that's most certainly galena, and carrying good metal by the weight of it. how much of it's lead and how much silver i naturally don't know yet, but, anyway, it ought to leave a good margin on the smelting. you haven't proved the vein?" "no," said brooke, "i fancy we are only on the edge of it, but it would have cost me two or three weeks' work to break out enough of rock to form any very clear opinion alone, and i was scarcely up to it. it occurred to me that i had better come down and get the necessary men, though i'm not sure we can contrive to feed them or induce them to come." devine nodded. "you must have had the toughest kind of time!" he said. "well, we'll bid double wages, and you can offer that freight contractor his own figure to bring provisions in." he stopped abruptly with a glance at brooke's haggard face. "i guess you can hold out another month or two." "of course," said brooke, quietly. "it's worth while. allonby was quite dead when you got back to him?" "yes, i and the doctor buried him. we used giant powder." devine laid down his cigar. "it was a little rough on allonby, for it was his notion that the ore was there, and now, when it seems we've struck it, it's not going to be any use to him. i guess that man put a good deal more than dollars into the mine." brooke, who had lived with allonby, knew that this was true, but devine made a little abrupt gesture which seemed to imply that after all that aspect of the question did not greatly concern them. "i'll send you every man we can raise," he said. "i've got quite a big credit through from london, and we can cut expenses by letting up a little on the canopus." "but you expected a good deal from that mine." "no," said devine, drily, "i can't say i did. it's quite a while since we got a good clean up out of it." brooke sat silent, apparently regarding his cigar, for a moment or two. "are you sure it's wise to tell me so much?" he said. "there are men in this city who would make good use of any information i might furnish them with." devine smiled in a curious fashion. "well," he said, reflectively, "i guess it is. you've had about enough of playing saxton's game, and, though i don't know that everybody would do it, i'm going to trust you." "thank you," said brooke, quietly. devine, who took up his cigar again, made a little movement with his hand. "we'll let that slide. now when i got the specimen and your note which the doctor sent on i figured i'd increase my holding, and cabled a buying order to london, but i had to pay more for the stock than i expected. it appears that a man, called cruttenden, had been quietly taking any that was put on the market up." brooke knew that his trustee had, as directed, been buying the dayspring shares, but he desired to ascertain how far devine's confidence in him went. "that didn't suggest anything to you?" he said. "no," said devine, drily, "it didn't--and i've answered your question once. besides, the man who snapped up every thing that was offered hadn't waited until you struck the ore. still, i'd very much like to know what he was buying that stock for." brooke did not tell him. indeed, he was not exactly sure what had induced him to cable cruttenden to buy. he had acted on impulse with barbara's scornful words ringing in his ears, and a vague feeling that to share the risks of the man he had plotted against would be some small solace to him, for he had not at the time the slightest notion that the hasty act of self-imposed penance was to prove remarkably profitable. "i scarcely think it is worth while worrying over that point," he said. "there are folks in our country with more money than sense, or a good many foreign mines would never be floated, and it is just as likely that the man did not exactly know why he was doing it himself." devine laughed. "well," he said, "we'll go along now and see what the rest are doing." brooke would considerably sooner have gone back to his hotel, but devine persisted, and he was one who usually carried out his purpose. brooke was accordingly presented to a good many people whom he had never seen before, and did not find remarkably entertaining, though he fancied that most of them appeared a trifle interested when they heard his name. the reason for this did not, however, become apparent until he stopped close by a girl who looked up at him. she was young, but evidently by no means diffident. "you are brooke of the dayspring, are you not?" she said, making room for him beside her. "i certainly come from that mine," said brooke, and the girl turned to one of her companions. "you wouldn't believe he was the man," she said. brooke was not altogether unaccustomed to the directness of the west, but he felt a trifle embarrassed when two pairs of eyes were fixed upon him in what seemed to be an appreciative scrutiny. "one would almost fancy that you had heard of me," he said. the girl laughed. "well," she said, "most of the folks in this province who read newspapers have. there was a column about you and your sick partner and the doctor. you carried him across the range when he was too played out to walk, didn't you?" "no," said brooke, a trifle astonished. "i certainly did not. he was a good deal too heavy, as a matter of fact, and i was not very fit to drag myself. but when did this quite unwarranted narrative come out, and what shape did it take?" they told him as nearly as they could remember, and added running comments and questions both at once. "you had almost nothing to eat for a week when you started across the range to bring the doctor out. that must have been horrid--and what did it feel like?" said one. brooke shook his head. "i really don't know," he said. "i should recommend you to try it." "and then the poor man was dead when you got there--i 'most cried over him. there was a good deal about it. it must have been creepy coming upon him lying in the dark." brooke, who understood a little about western journalism, waited until they stopped, for the thing was becoming comprehensible to him. "now," he said, "i know how the story got out. i didn't think the doctor would be guilty of anything of that kind, but no doubt he told the little schoolmaster at the settlement, who is a friend of his, and, i believe, addicted to misusing ink. still, you see, the thing is evidently inaccurate. do i look as if i could do without anything to eat for a week?" one of the girls again favored him with a scrutinizing glance. "well," she said, with a little twinkle in her eyes, "you certainly look as though square meals were scarce at the dayspring." brooke laughed, and then glancing round saw barbara approaching. he fancied that she could not well have avoided seeing him unless she wished to, but she passed so close that her skirt almost touched him, and then stopped, apparently smiling down on a matronly lady a few yards away. brooke felt his face grow warm, and was glad that his companions' questions covered his confusion. "who'd you get to do the funeral? there wouldn't be any kind of clergyman up there." "no," said brooke, grimly. "we had to manage it ourselves--that is, the doctor did. i'm afraid it wasn't very ceremonious--and it was snowing hard at the time." he sat silent a moment while a little shiver ran through him as he remembered the bitter blast that had whirled the white flakes about the two lonely men, and shaken a mournful wailing from the thrashing pines. "how dreadful!" said one of his companions. "the story only mentioned the big glacier, and the forest lying black all round." brooke fancied he understood the narrator's reticence, for there were details the doctor was not likely to be communicative about. "the big glacier was, at least, three miles away, and nobody could have seen it from where we stood," he said, evasively. just then, and somewhat to his relief, mrs. devine came up to him. "there are two or three people here who heard you play at the concert, and i have been asked to try to persuade you to do so again," she said. "clarice marvin would be delighted to lend you her violin." seeing that it was expected of him, brooke agreed, and there was a brief discussion during the choosing of the music, in which two or three young women took part. then it was discovered that the piano part of the piece fixed upon was unusually difficult, and the girl who had offered brooke the violin said, "you must ask barbara, mrs. devine." barbara, being summoned, made excuses when she heard what was required of her, until the lady violinist looked at her in wonder. "now," she said, "you know you can play it if you want to. you went right through it with me only a week ago." a faint tinge of color crept into barbara's cheek, but saying nothing further, she took her place at the piano, and brooke bent down towards her when he asked for the note. "it really doesn't commit you to anything," he said. "still, i can obviate the difficulty by breaking a string." barbara met his questioning gaze with a little cold smile. "it is scarcely worth while," she said. then she commenced the prelude, and there was silence in the big room when the violin joined in. nor were those who listened satisfied with one sonata, and barbara had finished the second before she once more remembered whom she was playing for. then there was a faint sparkle in her eyes as she looked up at him. "it is unfortunate that you did not choose music as a career," she said. brooke laughed, though his face was a trifle grim. "the inference is tolerably plain," he said. "i really think i should have been more successful than i was at claim-jumping." barbara turned away from the piano, and brooke, who laid down the violin, took the vacant place beside her. "still, i'm almost afraid it's out of the question now," he said, looking down at his scarred hands. "the kind of thing i have been doing the past few years spoils one's wrist. you no doubt noticed how slow i was in part of the shifting." the girl noticed the leanness of his hands and the broken nails, and then glanced covertly at his face. it was gaunt and hollow, and she was sensible that there was a suggestion of weariness in his pose, which had, so far as she could remember, not been there before. again a little thrill of compassion ran through her, and she felt, perhaps illogically, as she had done during the sonata, that no man could be wholly bad who played the violin as he did. still, the last thing she intended doing was admitting it. "why did you stay at the dayspring through the winter?" she asked, abruptly. "well," said brooke, reflectively, "i really don't know. no doubt it was an unwarranted fancy, but i think i felt that after what i had purposed at the canopus i was doing a little _per contra_, that is, something that might count in balancing the score against me, though, of course, i'm far from certain that it could be balanced at all. you see, it was a little lonely up there, especially after allonby died, as well as a trifle cold." barbara would have smiled at any other time, for she knew what the ranges were in winter, but, as it was, her face was expressionless and her voice unusually even. "i think i understand," she said. "it was probably the same idea that once led your knights and barons to set out on pilgrimages with peas in their shoes, though it is not recorded that they did the more sensible thing by restoring their plundered neighbors' possessions." brooke laughed. "still, my stay at the dayspring served a purpose, for, although somebody else would no doubt have done so eventually, i found the galena, and i didn't go quite so far as the gentlemen you mention after all. no doubt it is very reprehensible to steal a mine, or, in fact, anything, but i don't know that charitable people would consider that feeling tempted to do so was quite the same thing." barbara started a little, and there was a distinct trace of color in her face. "i never quite grasped that point before," she said. "you certainly stopped short of----? "the actual theft," said brooke. "i don't, however, mind admitting that the thing never occurred to me until this moment, but i can give you my word, whatever it may be worth, that i never glanced at the papers after you handed them to me." there was a trace of wonder in barbara's face, though she was quite aware that it could not be flattering to any man to show unnecessary astonishment when informed that he had, after all, some slight sense of honor. "then i really think i did you a wrong, but we are, i fancy, neither of us very good at ethics," she said, languidly, though she was now sensible of a curious relief. the man had, it seemed, at least, not abused her confidence altogether, for, while there was no evident reason why she should do so, she believed his assertion that he had not glanced at the papers. "hair-splitting," said brooke, reflectively, "is an art very few people really excel in, and i find the splitting of rocks and pines a good deal easier and more profitable. you were, of course, in spite of your last admission, quite warranted in not seeing me twice to-night." "i think i was," and barbara looked at him steadily. "you see, i believed in you. in fact, you made me, and it was that i found so difficult to forgive you." it was a very comprehensive admission, and brooke, whose heart throbbed as he heard it, sat silent awhile. "then," he said, very slowly, "it would be useless to expect that anything i could do would ever induce you to once more have any confidence in me?" barbara's eyes were still upon him, though they were not quite so steady as usual. "yes," she said, quietly, "i am afraid it is." brooke made her a little inclination. "well," he said, "i scarcely think anybody acquainted with the circumstances would blame you for that decision. and now i fancy mrs. devine is waiting for you." xxvi. the jumping of the canopus. the snow was soft at last, and honeycombed by the splashes from the pines, which once more scattered their resinous odors on a little warm breeze, when shyanne tom came plodding down the trail to the canopus. he was a rock-driller of no great proficiency, which was why captain wilkins had sent him on an errand to a ranch; and was then retracing his steps leisurely. it was still a long way to the mine, but he was in no great haste to reach it, because he found it pleasanter to slouch through the bush than swing the hammer, and the time he spent on the journey would be credited to him. he had turned out of the trail to relight his pipe in the shelter of a big cedar, which kept off the wind, when he became sensible of a beat of horse hoofs close behind him. he would have heard it earlier, but that the roar of a river, which had lately burst its icy chains, came throbbing across the trees. shyanne was shredding his tobacco plug with a great knife, but he turned sharply round because he could not think of any one likely to be riding down that trail, which only led to the canopus, just then. as it happened, he stood in the shadow, and it is difficult to make out a man who does not move amidst the great grey-tinted trunks, especially if he is dressed in stained and faded jean; but the sunlight was on the trail, and shyanne was struck by the attitude of one of the horsemen who appeared among the trees. there were five or six of them, and the beasts were heavily loaded with provisions and blankets, as well as axes and mining tools. the last man, however, led a horse, which carried nothing at all, and the leader, who had just pulled his beast up, was holding up his hand. it was evident to shyanne that they had seen his tracks in the snow, but, as that was a peaceful country, he failed to understand why it should have brought the party to a standstill. he, however, stayed where he was, watching the leader, who stooped in his saddle. "it can't be more than a few minutes since that fellow went along, and his tracks break off right here," he said. "i guess there's a side trail somewhere, though the bush seems kind of thick." "a blame rancher looking for a deer," said another man. "anyway, if he'd heard us, he'd have stopped to talk." the leader, shyanne fancied, appeared reflective. "well," he said, "i can't quite figure where he could have come from. tomlinson's ranch is quite a way back, and there's not another house of any kind until you strike the mine. still, i guess we needn't worry, so long as he hasn't seen us." he shook his bridle, and while one or two of the men turning in their saddles looked about them the horses plodded on, but shyanne stood still for at least five minutes. he was not especially remarkable for intelligence, but it was evident to him that the men had a sufficient reason for desiring that nobody should see them. then he put his pipe away, and proceeded circumspectly up the trail, with the print of the horse hoofs leading on before him, until they turned off abruptly into the bush. the meaning of this was incomprehensible, since it was not the season when timber-right or mineral prospectors started on their journeys, and shyanne decided that it might be advisable to go on and inform wilkins of what he had seen. still, he made no great progress, for the snow was soft, and, after all, the canopus did not belong to him. about the time he reached it, brooke, who had come up there on some business with wilkins, was lounging, cigar in hand, on the verandah at the ranch. the night was, for the season, still and almost warm, and a half-moon hung low above the dripping pines, while he found the silence and the sweet resinous odors soothing, for he had been toiling feverishly at the dayspring of late. why he stayed there when there was no longer any reason he should not go back to england, and barbara had told him that his offences were too grievous to be forgiven, he did not exactly know. still, the work had taken hold of him, and he felt that while she was in the country he could not go away. he was wondering, disconsolately, whether time would soften her indignation, or if she would always be merciless, when wilkins came into the verandah. he was an elderly and somewhat deliberate man, but brooke fancied he was anxious just then. "it's kind of fortunate you're here to-night. we've got to have a talk," he said. brooke gave him a cigar, and leaned against the balustrade, when he slowly lighted it. "you can't let me have the men i asked for?" he said. wilkins made a little gesture. "all you want. that's not the point. now, you just let me have a minute or two." ten had passed before he had related what shyanne had told him, and then brooke, who saw the hand of saxton in this, quietly lighted another cigar. "well," he said, "what do you make of it? they're scarcely likely to be timber-righters?" "they might be claim-jumpers." "still, nobody could jump a claim whose title was good." wilkins appeared a trifle uneasy, though it was too dark for brooke to see him well, but he apparently made up his mind to speak. "the fact is, our title isn't quite as good as it might be. that is, there's a point or two anybody who knew all about it could make trouble on," he said, and then turned, a trifle impatiently, to brooke. "you take it blame quietly. i had kind of figured that would astonish you." brooke laughed. "i had surmised as much already. we'll suppose the men shyanne saw intend to jump the claim. how will they set about it?" "they'll wait until they figure every one's asleep--twelve o'clock, most likely, since that would make it easy to get their record in the same day, though it's most of an eight hours' ride to the office of the crown recorder. then they'll drive their stakes in quietly, and while the rest sit down tight on the pegged-off claim, one of them will ride out all he's worth to get the record made. after that, they'll start in to bluff the dollars out of devine." he stopped somewhat abruptly, and brooke fancied that he had something still upon his mind, but he had discovered already that it was generally useless to attempt the extraction of any information wilkins had not quite decided to impart. "then what are we going to do?" he said. "turn out the boys, and hold the jumpers off as long as we can, while somebody from our crowd rides out to put a new record in. when a claim's bad in law anybody can stake it, and the crown will register him as owner until they can straighten out the thing." "then what do you expect from me?" wilkins' answer was prompt and decisive. "we'll have a horse ready. you'll ride for the company." brooke turned from him abruptly, and looked down the valley. he would have preferred to avoid an actual conflict with saxton for several reasons, but he could not remain neutral, and must choose between devine and him. he had also broken off his compact, and while he wished the jumpers had been acting for another man, there was apparently only the one course open to him. it was also conceivable that if he could make a valid new record it would count for a little in his favor with barbara. "i certainly seem the most suitable person, and you can get the horse ready," he said. "still, is there any reason i shouldn't make sure of the thing by starting right away?" wilkins thought there was. "well," he said, "i've only shyanne's tale to go upon, and supposing those men aren't claim-jumpers after all, what do we gain by sending you to make a new record on the claim?" "nothing beyond letting everybody know that your patent's bad, and raising trouble with the crown people over it, while i scarcely fancy devine would thank me for doing that unnecessarily. it would be wiser to wait and make certain of what they mean to do." "you've hit it," said wilkins. "i'll go along and talk to the boys." he disappeared into the darkness, and brooke, who was feeling chilly now, went back to the stove, while it was two hours later when he took his place behind one of the sawn-off firs which dotted the hillside above what had been one of the most profitable headings of the mine. the half-moon was higher now, and the pale radiance showed the six-foot stumps that straggled up the steep slope in rows until the bush closed in on them again. there was no longer any snow upon the firs, and they towered against the blueness of the night in black and solemn spires. the bush was also very quiet, as was the strip of clearing, and there was nothing to show that a handful of men were waiting there with a sense of grim anticipation. half an hour slipped by, and there was no sound from the forest but the soft rustling of the fir twigs under a little breeze, while brooke, who found the waiting particularly unpleasant, and was annoyed to feel his fingers were quivering a little with the tension, grew chilly. it would, he felt, be a relief when the jumpers came, but another ten minutes dragged by and there was still no sign of them. the breeze had grown a trifle colder, and the firs were whispering eerily, while he could now hear the men moving uneasily. then he started when the howl of a wolf came out of the bush, and, leaning forward, grasped wilkins' arm. "i suppose they will come?" he said. the mine captain made a sign to a man who crouched behind a neighboring tree. "quite sure you were awake when you saw those men, shyanne?" he said. "harrup hadn't been giving you any of the hard cider?" shyanne chuckled audibly. "not more'n a jugful, anyway, and i don't see things on the hardest cider they make in ontario. no, sir, those men were there, and i've a notion there's one of them yonder now." the shadows of the firs were black upon the clearing, but a dark patch was projected suddenly beyond the rest, and a voice came faintly through the whispering of the trees. "stand by," it said. "they're coming along." then brooke set his lips as a human figure, carrying what seemed to be an axe, materialized out of the gloom. another appeared behind it, and then a third, while, when a fourth became visible, wilkins rose suddenly. "now, what in the name of thunder are you wanting here?" he said. the foremost man jumped, as shyanne asserted afterwards, like a shot deer, but the rest, who had apparently steadier nerves, came on at a run, and a man behind them shouted, "don't worry 'bout anything, but get your stakes in. i'll do the talking." then, while brooke slipped away, wilkins stepped out into the moonlight with a marlin rifle gleaming dully in his hand. "stop right where you are," he said. "where's the man who wants to talk?" the men stopped, and stood glancing about them, irresolutely. there were six in all, but rather more than that number of shadowy objects had appeared unexpectedly among the sawn-off stumps. while they waited saxton stepped forward. "well," he said, "you see me." "oh, yes," said wilkins, drily, "and i guess i've seen many a squarer man. what do you want crawling round our claim, anyway?" "it's not yours. your patent's bad, and we're going to re-locate it for you. haven't you got those stakes ready, boys?" "bring them along," said wilkins. "i'm waiting." he stood stiff and resolute, with the rifle at his hip, and the moonlight on his face, which was very grim, and once more the claim-jumpers glanced at their leader, dubiously. they were aware that although the regulations respecting mineral claims might not have been complied with, there are conditions under which a man is warranted in holding on to his property. wilkins also appeared quite decided on doing it. then saxton's voice rose sharply. "hallo!" he said. "what the----" wilkins swung round, and saw three or four more shadowy figures enter the clearing from the opposite side, and they also apparently carried stakes and axes. "figured you'd get in ahead of us, saxton," said one of them. saxton evidently lost his temper. "well," he said, "i guess i'm going to do it, you slinking skunk. if it can't be fixed any other way, i'll strike you for shooting brooke." wilkins laughed. "any more of you coming along? it's a kind of pity you didn't get here a little earlier." they knew what he meant in another moment, when the sound of a horse ridden hard through slushy snow rose from the shadows of the pines. wilkins made a little ironical gesture. "i guess you'll never get rich claim-jumping, boys," he said. then saxton's voice rose again. "the game's not finished. we'll play you for it yet," he said. "where's that horse? get your stakes in." he vanished in another minute, but his followers remained, and there was for a time a very lively scuffle about the stakes brooke had already hammered in. they were torn up, and replaced several times before the affray was over, and then two men, who furnished a very vague account of the fashion in which they had received their injuries, were with difficulty conveyed to the vancouver hospital. in spite of a popular illusion, pistols are not in general use in that country, but it is not insuperably difficult to disable an opponent effectively with an axe or shovel. in the meanwhile, three men, who realized that, under the circumstances, a good deal would depend upon who was first to reach it, were riding hard by different ways towards the recorder's office, and brooke, having no great confidence in the horse wilkins had supplied him with, had taken what was at once the worst and shortest route. that is not a nice country to ride through in daylight, even when there is no snow upon the ground, and there were times when he held his breath as the horse plunged down the side of a gulley with the half-melted snow and gravel sliding away beneath its hoofs. they also smashed and floundered through withered fern and crackling thickets of sal-sal and salmon berry, and during one perilous hour brooke dragged the beast by the bridle up slopes of wet and slippery rock, from which the winds had swept the snow away. still, it was long since he had felt in the same high spirits, and when they reached more even ground the rush through the cold night air brought him a curious elation. he felt he was, at least doing what might count in his favor against the past, and, apart from that, there was satisfaction to be derived from the reckless ride itself. he had, however, only a blurred recollection of most of it, flitting forest, peaks that glittered coldly, the glint of moonlight on still frozen lakes, and the frequent splashings through icy fords, until, when the stars had faded, and the firs rose black and hard against the dawn, they reeled down to the bank of a larger river, from which the white mists were streaming. it swirled by thick with floating ice, and the horse strenuously objected to enter the water at all. twice it reared at the stabbing of the spurs, and then bounded with arching back, but brooke was used to that trick, and contrived to keep his saddle until he and the beast slid down the bank together, and there was a splash and flounder as they reached the water. it was most of it freshly-melted ice, and when he slipped from the saddle, which he promptly found it necessary to do, the cold took his breath away, and he clung by the stirrup leather, gasping and half-dazed, while the beast proceeded unguided for a minute or two. then, as they swung round in a white eddy, his perceptions came back to him, and he realized that there was no longer any need for swimming, when he drove against a boulder, whose head just showed above the swirling foam. he got on his feet somehow, and was never quite sure whether he led the beast through the rest of the passage or held on by the bridle, but at last they staggered up the opposite bank, where a man he could not see very well in the dim light sat looking down on him from the saddle. brooke moved a pace nearer, and then recognized him as the one who had shot him at devine's ranch. "saxton has taken the high trail and he'll cross by the bridge, but i guess we're quite a while ahead of him," he said. "now, do you know any reason why we shouldn't pool the thing?" brooke stared at him, divided between indignation and appreciation of his assurance. "yes," he said, drily, "several, and one of them is quite sufficient by itself." "figure it out," said the other. "i tell you saxton can't make our time over the high trail, though it's a better road. now that one of us will get there first is a sure thing, but it's quite as certain it can't be both, and i'd be content with half of what you bluff out of devine. that's reasonable." brooke felt his face grow a trifle hot, though he recognized that it was not astonishing the man should credit him with the purpose he had certainly been impelled by at their last meeting. "i can't make a deal with you on any terms," he said. "ride on, or pull your horse out of the trail." "i guess that wouldn't suit me," said the other man, and when brooke had his foot in the stirrup, suddenly swung up his hand. then there was a flash and a detonation, and the horse plunged. the flash was repeated, and while brooke strove to clear his foot of the stirrup, the beast staggered and fell back on him. it, however, rolled and struggled, and, for his foot was free now, he contrived to drag himself away. when he was next sensible of anything, he could hear a very faint thud of hoofs far up the climbing trail, and, after lying still for several minutes, ventured to move circumspectly. he felt very sore, but all his limbs appeared to be in their usual places, and, rising shakily, he found, somewhat to his astonishment, that he could walk. the horse was evidently dead, but there was, he remembered, a ranch not very far away, and a certain probability of the other man still breaking one of his own limbs or his horse's legs, for the trail was rather worse than trails usually are in that country. brooke accordingly decided to hobble on to the ranch, and somehow accomplished it, though the man who opened the door to him looked very dubious when he asked him for a horse. "the only beast i've got isn't worth much, but you don't look up to taking him in over the lake trail," he said. he, however, parted with the horse, and hove brooke into the saddle, while the latter groaned as he rode away. one arm and one leg were stiff and aching, and at every jolt his back hurt him excruciatingly, but a few hours later he rode, spattered with mire and slushy snow, into a little wooden town, and had afterwards a fancy that somebody offered to lift him down. he was not sure how he got out of the saddle, but a man he recognized took the horse, and he proceeded, limping stiffly, with his wet clothes sticking to his skin, to the crown mining office. the recorder, who appeared to be a young englishman, looked hard at him when he came in, and then pointed to a chair. "you may as well sit down. if my surmises are correct, there is no great need for haste," he said. brooke's face, which was a trifle grey, grew suddenly set. "some one else has already recorded a new claim on the canopus?" he said. "yes," said the recorder. "in fact, two of them, and the last man was good enough to inform me that there was another of you coming along." "then you can't give a record?" "no," said the other man, with a little smile. "i'm not sure that any of you will get one in the meanwhile; that is, not until we have obtained a few particulars from mr. devine." "i have come on behalf of him." "that," said the recorder, "is, under the circumstances, no great recommendation. in fact, there are several points your employer will be asked to clear up before we go any further with the matter." brooke, who asked no more questions, contrived to make his way to the hotel, and flung himself down to rest, when he had ascertained when the pacific express came in. important as it was that he should see devine, he was, however, very uncertain whether he would be able to get up again. xxvii. the last round. the whistle screamed hoarsely as the long train swung out from the shadow of the pines, and brooke raised himself stiffly in his seat in a big, dusty car. a sawmill veiled in smoke and steam swept by, and, while the roar of wheels sank to a lower pitch, he caught the gleam of the blue inlet vancouver city is built above ahead. then, as the clustering roofs, which seamed the hillside ridge on ridge with a maze of poles and wires cutting against the background of stately pines grew plainer, he straightened his back with an effort. it was aching distressfully, and he felt dizzy as well as stiff, while he commenced to wonder whether his strength would hold out until he had seen devine and finished his business in the city. then the cars lurched a little, there was a doleful tolling of a bell, and when the long, dusty train rolled slowly into the depôt he dropped shakily from a vestibule platform. the rough planking did not seem quite steady, and he struck his feet against the metals when he crossed the track, but he managed to reach devine's office, and found that he was out. he would, however, be back in another hour, his clerk said, and it occurred to brooke that he could, in the meanwhile, consult a doctor. the latter asked him a few questions, and then sat looking at him thoughtfully for a moment or two. "it's not quite clear to me how the horse came to fall on you. you were dismounted at the time?" he said. "still, after all, that's not quite the question." brooke smiled a little. "no," he said. "i scarcely think it is." "well," said the doctor, drily, "whichever way you managed it, the snow was either very soft or something else took the weight of the beast off you, but i don't think you need worry greatly about that fall. lie down for a day or two, and rub some of the stuff i give you on the bruises. now, suppose you tell me what you've been doing for the last few months." brooke did so concisely, and the doctor nodded. "pretty much as i figured," he said. "you want to stop it right away. go down the sound on a steamboat, or across to victoria for two or three weeks, and do nothing." "i'm afraid that's out of the question." the doctor made a little gesture. "then, if you go on taking it out of yourself, there'll be trouble, especially if you worry. go slow, and eat and sleep all you can for a month, anyway." brooke thanked him, and went back to devine's office thoughtfully. he felt that the advice was good, though there were difficulties in the way of his acting upon it. he had already realized that the strain of the last few months, the insufficient food, and feverish work, were telling upon him, but he had made up his mind to hold out until the work at the dayspring was in full swing and the value of the ore lead had been made clear beyond all doubt. then there would be time to rest and consider the position. devine was in when he reached the office, and looked hard at him, but he said very little while brooke told his story. nor did he appear by any means astonished or concerned. "well," he said, reflectively, "it's quite likely that we'll have the pleasure of seeing mr. saxton to-morrow. he'll hang off until then, and when he comes i'll be ready to talk to him. in the meanwhile, you're coming home with me." brooke hoped that he did not show the embarrassment he certainly felt, for, much as he longed to see her, it was, after their last meeting, difficult to believe that barbara would appreciate his company, and he scarcely felt in a mood for another taste of her displeasure. "i had decided on going out on the atlantic express this evening," he said. "there is a good deal to do at the dayspring, and i could scarcely expect mrs. devine to be troubled with me. besides, you see, i came right away----" he glanced significantly at his clothes, but devine, who rose, laid a hand on his shoulder. "you're coming along," he said. "i may want you to-morrow." brooke, who felt too languid to make another protest, went with him, and when they reached the house on the hillside, devine led him into a room which looked down on the inlet. "sit down," he said, pointing to a big lounge chair. "i'll send somebody to look after you, and, unless you look a good deal better than you do now, you'll stay right here to-morrow. in the meanwhile, you'll excuse me. there are one or two folks i have to see in the city." he went out, and brooke, who let his head, which ached a good deal, sink back upon the soft upholstery, wondered vacantly what mrs. devine would think when she saw him there. he still wore the garments he was accustomed to at the mine, and, though they were dry now, and, at least, comparatively clean, he felt that long boots and soil-stained jean were a trifle out of place in that dainty room. that, however, did not seem to matter. he was drowsy and a trifle dizzy, while the room was warm, and it was with a little start he heard the door-handle rattle a few minutes later. then, while he endeavored to straighten himself, barbara came in. "i feel that i ought to offer you my excuses for being here, though i am not sure that i could help it," he said. "grant devine is of a somewhat determined disposition, and he insisted on bringing me." barbara did not notice him wince as with pain when he turned to her, for she was not at that moment looking at him. "then why should you make any? it is his house," she said. this was not very promising, for brooke felt it suggested that, although the girl was willing to defer to devine's wishes, they did not necessarily coincide with hers. "it is!" he said. "still, i seem to have acquired the sense of fitness you once mentioned, and i feel i should not have come. one is, however, not always quite so wise as he ought to be, and i was feeling a trifle worn out when your brother-in-law invited me. that probably accounted for my want of firmness." barbara glanced at him sharply, and noticed the gauntness of his face and the spareness of his frame, which had become accentuated since she had last seen him. it also stirred her to compassion, which was probably why she endeavored, as she had done before, to harden her heart against him. "no doubt you spent last night in the saddle, and the trails would be bad," she said. "i believe they are getting some tea ready, and, in the meanwhile, how are you progressing at the mine?" brooke realized that she had heard nothing about his ride or the jumping of the canopus, and determined that she should receive no enlightenment from him. this may have been due to wounded pride, but it afterwards stood him in good stead. nor would he show that her chilly graciousness, which went just as far as the occasion demanded and no further, hurt him, and he accordingly roused himself, with an effort, to talk about the mine. the girl had usually appeared interested in the subject, and it was, at least, a comparatively safe one. she, on her part, noticed the weariness in his eyes, and found it necessary to remind herself of his offences, for the story he told was not without its effect on her. it was, though he omitted most of his own doings, a somewhat graphic one, and she realized a little of the struggle he and the handful of men devine had been able to send him had made, half-fed, amidst the snow. still, for no very apparent reason, his composure and the way he kept himself in the background irritated her. "one would wonder why you put up with so much hardship. wasn't it a little inconsequent?" she said. brooke's gaunt face flushed. "well," he said, "one is under the painful necessity of earning a living." "still, could it not be done a little more easily?" "i don't know that it is, under any circumstances, a remarkably simple thing, but that is not quite the question, and, since you seem to insist, i'll answer you candidly. in my case, it was almost astonishingly inconsequent--that is, as i expect you mean, about the last thing any one would naturally have expected from me. still, i felt that, after what i had done, i had a good deal to pull up, you see; though that is a motive with which, as i noticed when i mentioned it once before, you apparently can scarcely credit me." barbara smiled. "it was your own actions that made it difficult." "i admitted on another occasion that i am not exactly proud of them, but there was some slight excuse. there usually is, you see." "of course!" said barbara. "you need not be diffident. in your case there were the dollars of which my brother-in-law plundered you." brooke looked at her with a little glint in his eyes. "you," he said, slowly, "can be very merciless." "well," said barbara, who met his gaze with quiet composure, "i might have been less so had i not expected quite so much from you. after all, it does not greatly matter--and here is the tea." "i think it matters a good deal, but perhaps we needn't go into that," said brooke, who took the cup she handed him. "you have poured out tea for me on several occasions now, but still, each one recalls the first time you did it at the quatomac ranch." the same thing had happened to barbara, but she laughed. "it, presumably, made no difference to the tea, and yours runs some risk of getting cold." brooke appeared to be holding his cup with quite unnecessary firmness, and she fancied his color was a trifle paler than it had been, but he smiled. "i really do not remember that it tasted any the worse," he said. "perhaps you can remember how the sound of the river came in through the open door that night, and the light flickered in the draughts. it showed up your face in profile, and i can still picture jimmy sitting by the stove, with his mouth wide open, watching you. he had evidently never seen anything of the kind before." barbara noticed the manner in which he pulled himself up, and realized that the sentence had deviated from its natural conclusion. it was, though he had certainly been guilty of obtaining what she was pleased to consider her esteem by a course of disgraceful imposition, gratifying that he should be able to recall that evening. that, however, was not to be admitted. "i remember that the two candles were stuck in whisky bottles," she said. "you removed them somewhat suddenly when you came in." brooke smiled, but his face was a trifle grey in patches now, and the cup was shaking visibly. "i really shouldn't have done," he said. "still, you see, i was a trifle flurried that night, and like jimmy in one respect, in that i had never----" "you, at least, had been handed tea by a lady before," said barbara, severely. "i had, but the incomplete explanation still holds good. well, it was, no doubt, unwise of me to take those candlesticks away, since to disguise one's habits for a stranger's benefit naturally implies a deficiency of becoming pride, and it could, in any case, only have made the thing more palpable to you." "one's habits?" said barbara, who would not admit comprehension. brooke nodded. "men," he said, "do not, as a rule, buy whisky bottles to make candlesticks of, and there were, as i believe you noticed, a good many more of them already on the floor. still, you see, your good opinion--was--important to me, and i was willing to cheat you into bestowing it on me even then. it matters--it really does matter--a good deal." then there was a crash, and brooke's cup struck the leg of the chair, while his plate rolled across the floor, and barbara's dress was splashed with tea. the man sat gripping the chair arm hard, and blinking at her, while his face grew grey; but when she rose he apparently recovered himself with an effort. "very sorry!" he said, slowly. "quite absurd of me! still, i have had a good deal to do--and very little sleep--lately." barbara was wholly compassionate now. "sit still," she said, quietly. "i will bring you a glass of wine." "no," said brooke, a trifle unevenly. "i must have kept you here half an hour already, and i am afraid i have spoiled your dress into the bargain. that ought to be enough. if you don't mind, i think i will go and lie down." he straightened himself resolutely, and barbara, who called the house-boy, stood still, with a warm tinge in her face, when he went out of the room. the man was evidently worn out and ill, and yet he had endeavored to hide the fact to save her concern, while she had found a most unbecoming pleasure in flagellating him. he had met her very slightly-veiled reproaches with a composure which, she surmised, had not cost him a little, even when his strength was melting away from him. then she flushed a still ruddier color as she remembered that, in any case, dissimulation was a strong point of his, for she felt distinctly angry with herself for recollecting it. she had engagements that evening, and did not see him, while he had apparently recovered during the night, for, when she came down to breakfast, mrs. devine told her that he had already gone out with her husband. in point of fact, an eight-hours' sleep had done a good deal for brooke, who lunched, or rather dined, with devine in the city, and then went with him to his office to wait until the pacific express came in. "the train's up to schedule time. i sent to ask them at the depôt," said devine. "i guess we'll have mr. saxton here in another ten minutes." the prediction was warranted, for he had about half smoked the cigar he lighted when saxton was shown in. the latter was dressed tastefully in city clothes, and wore a flower in his buttonhole. he also smiled as he glanced at brooke. "it was quite a good game you put up, and you got away five minutes before i did," he said. "still, three men are a little too many to jump a claim when i'm one of them." brooke's face grew a trifle grim, for he saw saxton's meaning, but devine regarded the latter with a faint, sardonic smile. "sit down and take a cigar," he said. "i guess you came here to talk to me, and mr. brooke never meant to jump the claim." "no?" and saxton assumed an appearance of incredulity very well. "now i quite figured that he did." "you can fix it with him afterwards," said devine. "it seems to me that we're both here on business." "then we'll get down to it. i have put in a record on the canopus mine. i guess you know your patent's not quite straight on a point or two." "you're quite sure of that?" "the crown people seem to be. now, i can't draw back my claim without throwing the mine open to anybody, but i'm willing to hold on and trade my rights to you when i've got my improvements in. of course, you'd have to make it worth while, but i'm not going to be unreasonable." devine laughed a little. "there was once a jumper who figured he'd found the points you mentioned out. he wanted eight thousand dollars. would you be content with that?" "no," said saxton, drily. "i'm going to strike you for more." there was silence for a moment or two, and brooke leaned forward a little as he watched his companions. saxton was a trifle flushed in face, and his dark eyes had an exultant gleam in them, while the thin, nervous fingers of one hand were closed upon the edge of the table. his expression suggested that he was completely satisfied with himself and the strength of his position, for it apparently only remained for him to exact whatever terms he pleased. devine's attitude was, however, not quite what one would have expected, for he did not look in the least like a man who felt himself at his adversary's mercy. he sat smiling a little, and trifling with his cigar. "well," he said, reflectively, "i guess the man i mentioned was sorry he asked quite as much as he did. what is your figure?" "i'll wait your bid." devine sat still for several moments, with the little sardonic smile growing plainer in his eyes, and brooke, who felt the tension, fancied that saxton was becoming uneasy. there was a curious silence in the room, through which the whirr of an elevator jarred harshly. "one dollar," he said. saxton gasped. "bluff!" he said. "that's not going to count with me. you want a full hand to carry it through, and the one you're holding isn't strong enough. now, i'll put down my cards." "one dollar," said devine, drily. saxton stood up abruptly, and gazed at him in astonishment, with quivering fingers and tightening lips. "i tell you your patent's no good." "i know it is." again there was silence, and brooke saw that saxton was holding himself in with difficulty. "still, you want to keep your mine," he said. "you can have it for what i asked you, and if you can clear the cost of working, it's more than i can do. the canopus was played out quite a while ago." even brooke was startled, and saxton sat down with all his customary assurance gone out of him. his mouth opened loosely, he seemed to grow suddenly limp, and his cigar shook visibly in his nerveless fingers. "now," he said, and stopped while a quiver of futile anger seemed to run through him, "that's the last thing i expected. what'd you put up that wire sling for? i can't figure out your game." devine laughed. "it's quite easy. you have just about sense enough to worry anybody, or you wouldn't have dumped that ore into the dayspring, and worked off one of the richest mines in the province on to me. well, when i saw you meant to strike me on the canopus, i just let you get to work because it suited me. i figured it would keep you busy while i took out timber-rights and bought up land round the dayspring. nobody believed in allonby, and i got what i wanted at quite a reasonable figure. i'm holding the mine and everything worth while now. there's nothing left for you, and i guess it would be wiser to get hold of a man of your own weight next time." saxton's face was colorless, but he put a restraint upon himself as he turned to brooke. "you knew just what this man meant to do?" "oh, yes," said devine, drily. "he told me quite a while ago. you're going? haven't you any use for that dollar?" saxton said nothing whatever, but the door slammed behind him, and brooke, who, in spite of devine's protests, went back to the dayspring that evening, never saw him again. xxviii. brooke does not come back. devine went home a little earlier than usual after saxton left him, and dusk was not far away when he sat recounting the affair in his wife's drawing-room. she listened with keen appreciation, and then looked up at him. "but where is brooke?" she said. devine smiled. "i guess he's buying mining tools. you can't keep that man out of a hardware store," he said. "i wanted to bring him back, but he was feeling better, and made up his mind to go out on the atlantic express. he asked me to make his excuses, as he had fixed to meet an american machinery agent, and wasn't quite sure he could get round." "perhaps it is just as well," said mrs. devine, who appeared reflective. "do you think you are wise in encouraging that man to come here, grant?" "i wouldn't exactly call it that. i brought him. he didn't want to come." "you are, of course, quite sure?" and mrs. devine's smile implied that she, at least, was a trifle incredulous. "hasn't it struck you that barbara----" "so far as i've noticed lately, barbara didn't seem in any way pleased with him." mrs. devine made a little impatient gesture. "that," she said, "is exactly what i don't like. it's a significant sign. barbara wouldn't have been angry with him--if it was not worth while." "you said nothing when he came to the ranch, while we were at the mine." "the man was pleasant company, and there was, it seemed to me, very little risk of a superior workman attracting barbara's fancy." devine laughed. "i guess i was of no great account when you married me." "pshaw!" said mrs. devine. "anyway, you hadn't plotted to steal a mine from the people i belonged to." devine's eyes twinkled. "it showed his grit, and 'most anything is considered square in a mining deal. besides, there were the six thousand dollars slocum took out of him." "i am quite aware that such transactions are evidently not subject to the ordinary code, but, seriously, if you would be content with harford brooke as my brother-in-law, it is considerably more than i would be. we don't even know why he left the old country." "well," said devine, drily, "i guess i have a notion. i've been finding out a good deal about him. but get on with your objections." "barbara has a good many dollars." "so has brooke. you needn't worry about that point." mrs. devine's astonishment was very apparent. "then whatever is he working at the mine for--and why didn't you tell me before?" "i guess it's because that kind of thing pleases him, and, anyway, it's only since last mail came in i knew." "you're quite sure, now?" "i'll tell you what i heard. there was a man who bought up our stock in england when nobody else seemed to have any use for it. the directors wanted to know a little about him, and they found it was a trust account. he was taking up the stock for another man, who had been left quite a few dollars, and that man was called harford brooke. the executor, it seems, told somebody that the man he was buying for was here. now, it's not likely there are two of them in this part of canada." the door, as it happened, was not closed, and mrs. devine was too intent to hear it swing open a little further. "the dollars," she said, "are by no means the most important consideration, but still----" she stopped abruptly at a sound, and then turned round with a little gasp, for barbara stood just inside the room. then there was a disconcerting silence for a moment or two, until the girl glanced at devine. "yes," she said, quietly. "i heard. when did mr. brooke buy that stock?" devine understood the question, and once more the twinkle crept into his eyes. "well," he said, "it was quite a while before they found the silver. i don't know what he did it for. now, i guess i've been here longer than i meant to stay. you'll excuse me, katty." he seemed in haste to get away, and when the door closed behind him the two who were left looked at one another curiously. mrs. devine was evidently embarrassed. "i suppose," she said, drily, "you don't know why brooke bought those shares, either?" "i think i do," said barbara, with unusual quietness, though the color was very visible in her cheeks. "he had a reason----" she stopped abruptly, and there was once more an awkward silence, until she made a little impulsive gesture. "oh!" she said, sharply now, "i feel horribly mean. he stayed there through the winter when they had scarcely anything to eat, and bought that stock when nobody else would have it or believed in the dayspring. then he risked his life to save the canopus, and when he came down, worn out and ill, i had only hard words for him." "well," said mrs. devine, drily, "the sensation is probably good for you. you don't seem to remember that he also tried to jump the mine." barbara turned towards her with a little sparkle in her eyes. "have you--never--done anything that was wrong?" mrs. devine naturally saw the point of this, but while she considered her answer, barbara, who had a good deal to think of, and scarcely felt equal to any further conversation just then, abruptly turned away. glancing at her watch, she went straight to a room, from the window of which she could see the road to the depôt, for she knew the atlantic express would shortly start, and she had not been told that brooke was not coming back. exactly what she meant to say to him she did not know, but she felt she could not let him go without, at least, a slight expression of her appreciation of what he had done. she knew that he would value it, and that it would go far to blot out the memory of past unkindness. he had certainly meant to jump the canopus, and deceived her shamefully, which was far harder to forgive, for the realization of the fact that she had bestowed rather more than friendliness upon a man who was unworthy of it had its sting, but she scarcely remembered that now. he had, it appeared, since then, sacrificed his fortune and broken down his strength, and that, considering the purpose which she fancied had impelled him, went a long way to condone his offences. he, however, did not appear on the road, as she had expected; and she grew a trifle anxious when the tolling of a bell came up from the depôt by the wharf as the big locomotive backed the long cars in. it was also significant that she did not notice that the room, which had no stove in it, was very cold. then looking down she saw men with valises pass across an opening between the roofs and express wagons lurching along the uneven road. the train would start very soon, and there was at least one admission she must make, but the minutes were slipping by and still brooke did not come. the man, it almost appeared, was content to go away without seeing her, though she felt compelled to admit that in view of what had passed at their last meeting this was not altogether astonishing. still, the fact that he could do so hurt her, and she waited in a state of painful tension. a very few minutes would suffice for him to climb the hill, and even if there was no opportunity for an explanation, which now appeared very probable, a smile or even a glance might go a long way to set matters right. the few minutes, however, slipped by as the rest had done, until at last the locomotive bell slowly clanged again, and the hoot of a whistle came up the hillside and was flung back by the pines. then a puff of white smoke rolled up from the wharf, and barbara turned away from the window with the crimson in her face as the cars swept through an opening between the clustering roofs. the train had gone, and the man would not know how far she had relented towards him. she could settle to nothing during the rest of the evening, and scarcely slept that night, though she naturally did not mention the fact when she and mrs. devine met at breakfast next morning. instead, she took out a letter she had received a week earlier. "it's from hetty hume, and the english mail goes out to-day," she said. "she suggests that i should come over and spend a few months with her. i really think we did what we could for her when she was here with the major." mrs. devine took the letter. "i fancy she wants you to go," she said. "she mentions that she has asked you several times already." barbara appeared reflective. "so she has," she said. "in fact, i think i'll go. the change will do me good." "well," said mrs. devine, "i suppose you can afford it, but if you indulge in many changes of that kind you're not going to have very much of a dowry." "do you think i need one?" mrs. devine laughed as she glanced at her, but her face grew thoughtful again. "perhaps in your case it wouldn't be necessary, and though it is a very long way, i fancy that you might do worse than go to england and stay there while hetty is willing to keep you." a little flush crept into barbara's cheek, but she said quietly, "i think i'll start on saturday." she did so, and it came about one night while the big train she travelled by swept across the rolling levels of the assiniboian prairie that brooke sat in his shanty at the dayspring with jimmy, who had just come down from the range, standing in front of him. the freighter had still now and then a difficulty in bringing them provisions in, and whenever jimmy found the persistent plying of drill and hammer pall upon him he would go out and look out for a deer, though it was not always that he came back with one. on this occasion he brought a somewhat alarming tale instead. "a big snow-slide must have come along since i was up on that slope before, and gouged out quite a cañon for itself," he said. "anyway, if it wasn't a snow-slide it was a cloudburst or a waterspout. they happen around when folks don't want them now and then." "come to the point," said brooke. "i'm sufficiently acquainted with the meteorological perversities of the country." "slinging names at them isn't much use. i've tried it, and any one raised here could give you points at the thing. now before i came to quatomac i was staying up at the tillicum ranch, and i'd just taken a new twelve-dollar pair of gum-boots off one night when there was a waterspout up the valley that washed me and jardine out of the house. we sailed along until we struck a convenient pine, and sat in it most of the night while the flood went down. then i hadn't any gum-boots, and jardine couldn't find his house." "i believe you told me you went down the river on a door on the last occasion," brooke said, wearily. "still, it doesn't greatly matter. what has all this to do with the hollow the snow-slide made in the range?" "well," said jimmy, "i guess you know the way the big rock outcrop runs across the foot of the valley. now, before the snow-slide or the waterspout came along the melting snow went down into the next hollow, and the one where the outcrop is got just enough to keep the outlet of the creek that comes through it open." "i do. will it be an hour or more before you make it clear how that concerns anybody?" "no, sir. i'm getting right there. the snow's melting tolerably fast, and the drainage from the big peak isn't going the way it used to now. the foot of the valley's quite a nice-sized lake, and the stream has washed most of the broke-up pines the snow brought down into the outlet gully. i guess you have seen a bad lumber jam?" brooke had, and he started as he recognized the significance of what was happening, for once a drifting log strikes fast in a narrow passage the stream is very apt to pile up and wedge fast those that come behind into a tolerably efficient substitute for a dam, while when log still follows log the result is usually an inextricable confusion of interlocked timber. "when the jam up broke we'd have the water and the wreckage down on the mine," he said. "all there is of it," said jimmy. "it would cost quite a pile of dollars to dry the workings out." brooke strode to the door and flung it open, but there was black darkness outside and a persistent patter of thick warm rain. then he swung round with an objurgation and jimmy grinned. "i guess it's no use. you couldn't see a pine ten foot off, and there isn't a man in the country who would go down that gully with a lantern in his hand," he said. "go off to sleep. you'll see quite as much as you want to, anyway, to-morrow." brooke stood still and listened a moment or two while the hoarse roar of a river which he knew was swirling in fierce flood among the boulders far down in the hollow came up in deep reverberations across the pines. it was a significant hint of what was likely to happen when the pent-up water poured down upon the mine. still, there was nothing he could do in that thick darkness. "sleep!" he said. "when almost every dollar i have--and a good deal more than that--is sunk in the mine." "well," said jimmy, reflectively, "in your place, if i could make sure of the dollars, i'd take my chances on the rest. now and then i'm quite thankful i haven't any. it saves a mighty lot of worry." he swung out of the shanty, and brooke, who flung himself down on his couch of spruce twigs, endeavored to sleep, though he had no great expectation of succeeding. as it happened, he lay tossing or holding himself still by an effort the long night through, for he had set his whole mind on the prosperity of the dayspring. a good deal of his small fortune was also sunk in it, though that was not of the greatest moment to him. he had a vague hope that when the mine was, through his efforts, pouring out high-grade ore, he might reinstate himself in barbara's estimation. in that case, at least, she might believe in his contrition, for he felt that where protests were evidently useless deeds might avail. then the dollars in question would be valuable to him. it was two hours before the dawn, and still apparently raining hard, when he rose and lighted the stove. he felt a trifle dizzy and very shivery as he did it, but the frugal breakfast put a little warmth into him, and he went out into the thick haze of falling water and up the hillside, walking somewhat wearily and with considerably more effort than he had found it necessary to make a few months ago. xxix. a final effort. a dim, grey light was creeping through the rain when brooke stopped on a ridge of hillside that broke off from the parent range above the mine. the pines were slowly growing into shape, though as yet they showed as mere spires of blackness in the sliding haze, and there was a faint glimmer in the hollow beneath him, while the sound of running water drowned the splashing of the rain. the snow upon the lower slopes had mostly melted now, though that on the great hill shoulders would swell the frothing rivers for months to come, and, sinking ankle-deep in quaggy mould, he went down through the dripping undergrowth until he stopped again on the verge of what had become in the last few days a muddy lake. the wreckage of the higher forests was strewn upon it, but brooke noticed that it drifted steadily in one direction, and floundering along the water's edge, he reached a narrow gully, which had served as outlet for the stream through the ridge that hemmed in the valley. the passage was, however, now choked by a mass of groaning timber, which was apparently growing every hour, and it already seemed scarcely possible to cut through that pile of wreckage by any means at his command. once the pent-up water, which seemed rising rapidly, burst the jam, it would come down in an overwhelming torrent upon the mine, and he sat down on a fallen redwood to consider how the difficulty could be grappled with. he, however, found it no easy matter to keep his mind upon the question at all. his head was aching, he felt unpleasantly limp, as well as wet and cold, and the distressful stiffness of his back suggested that he had by no means recovered from the effects of his fall. the long months of strenuous physical toil, the scanty, and, when the freighter could not get in, often wholly insufficient food, and exposure to bitter frost and snow, had left their mark on him, while now, worn out in mind and body as he was, he realized that a last grim effort was demanded from him. how it was to be made he did not know, and he was sitting still, shivering, with the rain running from him, when jimmy and another man from the mine appeared. it was almost light now, and the miner glanced at the gathering water with evident concern. "i guess something has got to be done," he said. brooke lifted himself shakily to his feet, and blinked in a curious, heavy fashion at the man. "it has, and if you'll bring the boys up we'll make a start," he said. "now i don't know that we could cut that jam, and if we did it would only turn the lake loose on the mine. what i purpose is to break a new cut through the rise where it's thinnest, and run enough water off to ease the pressure. then we might, if it appeared advisable, get at the jam. in the meanwhile every man i can spare from here will start in cutting out a ten-foot trench at the mine. that would take away a good deal of any water that did come down." "i've been at this kind of work 'most all my life, and that's 'bout how i would fix it," said the other man. "well," said brooke, "there's just another point. once you get started, you'll go right on, and there'll be very little sleep for any one until it's done, but we'll credit you with half extra on every hour's time in the pay-bill." the man laughed and waved his hand. "you needn't worry 'bout that. i guess the boys will see you through," he said. he disappeared into the rain, and the struggle commenced when he came back with the men. there were but a handful of them in all, and their task appeared almost beyond accomplishment, even to those born in a country where man and nature unsubdued come to the closest grapple, and human daring and endurance must make head against the tremendous forces that unloose the rivers and slowly grind the ranges down. it is a continuous struggle, primitive and elemental, in which brute strength and the animal courage that plies axe and drill with worn-out muscle and bleeding hands plays at least an equal part with ingenuity, for man has arrayed against him sun and frost, roaring water, crushing ice, and sliding snow; and those who fall in it lie thick by towering trestle bridge and along each railroad track. worn out, aching in every limb, and with heavy eyes, brooke braced himself to bear his part in it. for three days they toiled with pick and shovel and clinking drill, and the roar of the blasting charges shook the wet hillside, but while the trenches deepened slowly the water rose. by night the big fires snapped and sputtered, and the feeble lanterns blinked through the rain, while wild figures, stained with mire and dripping water, moved amidst the smoke, and those who dragged themselves out of the workings lay down on the wet ground for a brief hour's sleep. brooke, however, so far as he could afterwards remember, did not close his eyes at all, and where his dripping figure appeared the shovels swung more rapidly, and the ringing of the drills grew a trifle louder. the pace was, however, too fierce to last, and, though even the men who work for another toil strenuously in that land, it was evident to him that while their task was less than half-done, they could not sustain it long. baffled in one direction, he had also changed his plans, for the ridge was singularly hard to cut through, even with giant powder, and he had withdrawn most of the men from it and sent them to the trench, which would, he hoped, afford a passage to, at least, part of the water that must eventually come down upon the mine. it was late on the third night when it became evident that this would very shortly happen, and he sat, wet through and very weary, in his tent on the hillside, when jimmy and another man came in. "water's riz another foot since sundown, and i guess there's lakes of it ready to come down yonder," said the miner, who stretched out a wet hand, and pointed towards the dripping canvas above him, though brooke surmised that he intended to indicate the range. "so far as i could make out, there's quite a forest of smashed-up logs sailing along to pile up in the jam." brooke lifted a wet, grey face, and blinked at him with half-closed eyes. "then i'm afraid there are only two courses open to us," he said. "we can wait until the jam breaks up, when there'll be water enough to fill the dayspring up and wash the plant above ground right down into the cañon, or we must try to cut it now." "and turn the lake loose on us with the trench 'bout half big enough to take it away?" said jimmy. "yes," said brooke, grimly. "you have a six-foot dam thrown up. i'm not sure it will stand, but it's a good deal less likely to do it when the lake is twice as big." jimmy looked at the other man, who nodded. "the boss is right," he said. "you can't stop to look for the nicest way out when you're in a blame tight place. no, sir, you've got to take the quickest one. when do you figure on starting on the jam, mr. brooke?" "now." the man appeared astonished, and shook his head. "it can't be done in the dark," he said. "i guess nobody could find the king log that's keying up the jam, and though the boys aren't nervous, i'm not sure you'd get one of them to crawl down that gulley and over the live logs until it's light. they couldn't see to do anything with the axe anyway." brooke smiled drily. "since they will not be asked to do it, that does not count. i purposed trying giant-powder, and going myself; that is, unless jimmy feels anxious to come along with me." "i don't," said jimmy, with decision in his tone. "if it was anybody else, watching him would be quite good enough for me. still, as it isn't, i guess i'll have to see you through." "thanks!" said brooke. "you can let them know what to expect at the mine, cropper. i'll want you to put the detonators on the fuses with me, jimmy." the other man went out, and the two who were left proceeded to nip down the fulminating caps on the strips of snaky fuse, after which they carefully embedded them in sundry plastic rolls, which looked very like big candles made of yellow wax. these they packed in an iron case, and then, carrying an axe and a big auger, went out of the tent. the rest of the men left at the ridge were waiting them, for every one understood the perilous nature of the attempt, though, as two men were sufficient for the work, there was nothing that they could do, and they proceeded in a body through the dripping undergrowth towards the gully. here a big fire of resinous wood was lighted, and when at last the smoky glare flickered upon the wet rocks in the hollow, brooke, who stripped to shirt and trousers, flung himself over the edge. he dropped upon a little ledge, and made another yard or two down a cranny, then a bold leap landed him on a second ledge, and the groaning trunks were close beneath him when he dropped again. the glare of the fire scarcely reached him now, and jimmy, who alighted close by him, looked up longingly at the flickering light above. "it wasn't easy getting down, and i'd feel better if i knew just how we were going back," he said. "i guess it's not quite wise either to bang that can about on the rocks." this was incontrovertible, for while giant powder, which is dynamite, is, with due precaution, comparatively safe to handle, and cannot be exploded without a detonator, so those who make it claim, it is still addicted to going off with disastrous results on very small provocation. brooke, who had the case containing it slung round his back, was, however, looking down on the logs that stirred and heaved beneath him with the water spouting up through the interstices between. he could see them when the fire grew brighter. "the king should not be far away, from the look of the jam," he said. "if we can't cut it, we may jar it loose. giant powder strikes down. let me have the axe." jimmy glanced at him, and shook his head, for brooke's face showed drawn and grey in the flickering light. "i'll do any chopping that's wanted, and be glad when i get you out of this," he said. he dropped upon the timber, and the gap he splashed into closed up suddenly as he whipped out his leg. then, with brooke behind him, he crawled over the grinding logs, and by and by drove the point of the auger into one that seemed to run downwards through the midst of them. it was a good many feet in girth, and brooke gasped heavily when he also laid hold of the auger crutch. the hole they made was charged with one of the yellow rolls, and, moving to a second log, they bored another, while the mass shook and trembled under them, and twice a great spout of water fell splashing upon them. the logs were apparently endued with vitality, for they moved under and over their fellows, and ground upon them with the pulsations of the stream that brought down fresh accessions and found a fresh channel that promptly closed again. the jam might resist the pressure for another week, or break up at any moment, and whirl down the gully in chaotic ruin. still, with the rain beating down upon them, the pair toiled on until several sticks of explosive had been embedded, when brooke rose very stiffly and straightened himself as he took a little case out of his pocket. "i don't know that we've got the king, but the general shake-up ought to loosen it," he said. "light your fuse, jimmy, and then get up. i'll come in a moment or two, when i'm ready." jimmy looked up, and saw a cluster of dark figures outlined against the glow of the fire, for the men had crowded to the edge of the gully. "stand by to give us a lift up, boys," he said. then he turned away, and was rather longer than he liked persuading a damp match to ignite. the fuse, however, sparkled readily, and, groping his way across the logs, he clutched a ledge of rock. it was wet and slippery, and he slid back from it, hurting one arm, while, when he regained the narrow shelf, a voice was raised warningly above. "let her go," it said. "jimmy's fuse will be on to the powder before you're through." jimmy turned, and dimly saw his comrade still apparently stooping over one of the logs. "have i got to come back and bring you?" he shouted. brooke stood up, and a faint sparkling broke out at his feet. "go on," he said. "it's burning now." jimmy said nothing further. those fuses were short, and he was anxious to be clear of the gully. still, even though he decided to sacrifice the axe, it was not an easy matter to ascend the almost precipitous slope of slippery rock, and as he climbed higher the glare of the fire in his eyes confused him. he had, however, almost reached the top when there was a crash and a rattle of stones below him, and he twisted himself partly round, while a hoarse shout rang out. "get hold of him!" cried one of the men. "oh, jump for it. he'll be over the ledge!" for a moment jimmy had a glimpse of a wet, white face, and a hand, apparently clinging to a cranny, and then the flicker of firelight sank and left him in black darkness. he did not understand exactly what had taken place, but it was unpleasantly evident that the fuses would soon reach the powder, while his comrade, whom he could no longer see, was apparently unable to ascend the gully. "can't you get him?" shouted somebody. "jump down. put the fuses out!" said another man. jimmy was, fortunately, one of the slow men who usually keep their heads, and while he glanced down at the twinkling fuses in the dark pit beneath him, he swung up a warning hand. "light right out of that, boys. it can't be done," he said. "hold on, partner. let me know where you are--i'm coming along." a faint shout answered him, and jimmy made his way downwards until he could discern a dusky blur, which he surmised was brooke, close beneath him. taking a firm hold with one hand, he leaned down and clutched at it, and then, with every muscle strained, strove to drag his comrade up. jimmy was a strong man, but brooke, it seemed, was able to do very little to help him, and jimmy's fingers commenced to slacken under the tension. then brooke, who made a convulsive flounder, lost the grip he had, and the arm jimmy clung to was torn away from him. a dull sound that was unpleasantly suggestive rose from a ledge below, and there was silence that was more so after it. then while jimmy leaned down, blinking into the darkness and ignoring the risk he ran, a yellow flash leapt out below, and there was a stunning detonation. it was followed almost in the same moment by another, and the solid rock seemed to heave a shiver, while the hollow was filled with overwhelming sound and a nauseating vapor. giant-powder strikes chiefly downwards, which was especially fortunate for two men just then, but the rock was swept by flying fragments of shattered trunks, and jimmy cowered against it half-dazed. then another sound rose out of the acrid haze as the rent trunks crushed beneath the pressure, and there was an appalling grinding and smashing of timber. it was succeeded by a furious roar of water. a minute had probably slipped by when once more a man who showed faintly black against the firelight leaned over the edge of the gully, and his voice reached jimmy brokenly. "hallo! are either of you alive?" he cried. jimmy roused himself with an effort. "well," he said, hoarsely, "i guess i am. i don't quite know whether brooke is." "then i'm coming down," said the other man. "we have got to get him out of the stink if there's anything left of him." jimmy grasped the necessity for this, since the fumes of giant-powder are in confined spaces usually sufficient to prostrate a strong man, and several of his comrades apparently came down instead of one, bringing lanterns and blazing brands with them. there was a slippery ledge a little lower down the gully, and while the nauseating vapor eddied about them and the shattered wreckage went thundering past below, they made their way along it until they came on brooke. he was lying partly up on the ledge with his feet in the swirling torrent and his shirt rent open. there was a big red smear on it, his lips were bloodless, and one arm was doubled limply under him. jimmy stooped and shook him gently, but brooke made no sign, and his head sank forward until his face was hidden. then jimmy, who slipped his hand inside the torn shirt, withdrew it, smeared and warm, with a little shiver. "he's bleeding quite hard, and that shows there's life in him. we have got to get him out of this right now," he said. none of them quite remembered how they did it, for few men unaccustomed to the ranges would have cared to ascend that gully unencumbered by daylight, but it was accomplished, and when a litter of fir branches had been hastily lashed together they plodded behind it in silence down the hillside. if anything could be done, and they were very uncertain on that point, it could only be done in the shanty. as they floundered down the trail a man met them with the news that very little of the water had got into the mine, but that did not appear of much importance to any one just then. after all, the dayspring belonged to an english company, and it was brooke, who lay in the litter oblivious of everything, they had worked for. xxx. the other chance. the blink of sunlight was pleasantly warm where barbara sat with hetty hume on a seat set back among the laurels which just there cut off the shrewd wind from the english lawn. a black cloud sailed slowly over the green hilltop behind the old grey house, and the close-cropped grass was sparkling still with the sprinkle of bitter rain, but the scent of the pale narcissus drifted up from the borders and the sticky buds of a big chestnut were opening overhead. barbara glanced across the sweep of lawn towards the line of willows that swung their tasseled boughs above the palely flashing river. they were apparently dusted with silver and ochre, and here and there a flush of green chequered the ridge of thorn along the winding road that led the eye upwards to the clean-cut edge of the moor. it was, however, a regular, even line, cropped to one unvarying level save for the breaks where the neat gates were hung; the road was smooth and wide, with a red board beside the wisp of firs above to warn all it might concern of the gradient; while the square fields with the polled trees in the trim hedgerows all conveyed the same impression. this was decorous, well-ordered england, where nature was broken to man's dominion centuries ago. as she glanced at it her companion laughed. "the prospect from here is, i believe, generally admitted to be attractive, though i have not noticed any of my other friends spend much time in admiring it," she said. "still, perhaps it is different in your case. you haven't anything quite like it in canada." "no," said barbara. "anyway, not between quatomac and the big glacier. you remember that ride?" "of course!" said hetty hume. "i found it a little overwhelming. that is, the peaks and glaciers. i also remember the rancher. the one who played the violin. i suppose you never came across him again?" "i met him once or twice. at a big concert--and on other occasions." barbara's smile was indifferent, but she was silent for the next minute or two. she had now spent several weeks in england, and had found the smooth, well-regulated life there pleasant after the restless activity of the one she had led in western canada, where everybody toiled feverishly. she felt the contrast every day, and now the sight of that softly-sliding river, whose low murmur came up soothingly across the lawn, recalled the one that frothed and foamed amidst the quatomac pines, and the roar that rose from the misty cañon. that, very naturally, also brought back the face of the flume-builder, and she wondered vaguely whether he was still at the dayspring, and what he was doing then, until her companion turned to her again. "we will really have to decide about the cruttendens' dance to-night," she said. "it will be the last frivolity of the season in this vicinity." "i haven't met mrs. cruttenden, have i?" said barbara, indifferently. "you did, when you were here before. don't you remember the old house you were so pleased with lower down the valley? in any case, she remembers you, and made a point of my bringing you. cruttenden has a relative in your country, though i never heard much about the man." barbara remembered the old building very well, and it suddenly flashed upon her that brooke had on one occasion displayed a curious acquaintance with it. everything that afternoon seemed to force him upon her recollection. "you would like to go?" she said. "i, at least, feel i ought to. we are, of course, quite newcomers here. in fact, we had only bought larchwood just before you last came over, and it was mrs. cruttenden who first took us up. one may live a very long while in places of this kind without being admitted within the pale, you see, and even the rank of major isn't a very great warranty, especially if it has been gained in foreign service instead of aldershot." miss hume stopped as her father came slowly down the pathway with a grey-haired lady, whose dress proclaimed her a widow, and the latter's voice reached the girl's clearly. her face was, so barbara noticed, very expressive as she turned to her companion. "i think you know what i really came for," she said. "i feel i owe you a very great deal." major hume made a little deprecatory gesture. "i have," he said, "at least, seen the papers, and was very glad to notice that reggie has got his step. he certainly deserved it. very plucky thing, especially with only a handful of a raw native levy to back him. frontal attack in daylight--and the niggers behind the stockade seem to have served their old guns astonishingly well!" "still, if it had not been for your forbearance he would never have had the opportunity of doing it," said the lady. "i shall always remember that. you were the only one who made any excuse for him, and he told me his colonel was very bitter against him." the pair passed the girls, apparently without noticing them, and barbara did not hear major hume's answer, but when he came back alone a few minutes later he stopped in front of them. "you were here when we went by?" he said. "yes," said hetty. "we heard you quite distinctly, too, and that suggests a question. what was it reggie ferris did?" major hume smiled drily. "stormed a big rebel stockade with only a few half-drilled natives to help him. if you haven't read it already i can give you a paper with an account of the affair." "that," said hetty, "is, as you are aware, not what i wished to ask. what was it he did before he left the line regiment? it was, presumably, something not especially creditable--and i always had an idea that he owed it to you that the result was not a good deal more unpleasant." the major appeared a trifle embarrassed. "i scarcely think it would do you very much good to know," he said. "the thing wasn't a nice one, but there was good stuff in the lad, who, it was evident to me, at least, had been considerably more of a fool than a rogue, and all i did was to persuade the colonel, who meant to break him, to give him another chance. it seems i was wise. reggie ferris has had his lesson, and has from all accounts retrieved his credit in the colonial service." "if i remember correctly you once made a bad mistake in being equally considerate to another man," said hetty, reflectively. "i certainly did, but you will find by the time you are as old as i am that taking it all round it is better to be merciful." "the major," said hetty, with a glance at barbara, "is a confirmed optimist--and he has been in india." major hume smiled. "well," he said, "the mistakes one makes from that cause hurt one less afterwards than the ones that result from believing in nobody. now, there was that young woman who was engaged to reggie----" "he has applied the suggestive epithet to her ever since she gave him up," said hetty. "still, i really don't think anybody could have expected very much more from her." "no," said the major, grimly. "in my opinion she went further than there was any particular necessity for her to do. she knew the man's shortcomings when she was engaged to him--and she should have stuck to him. you don't condemn any one for a single slip in your country, miss heathcote?" barbara made no answer, for this, it seemed, was just what she had done, but hetty, who had been watching her, laughed. "you couldn't expect her to admit that their standard in canada is lower than ours," she said. the major appeared disconcerted. "that is not exactly what i mean. they have a little more charity yonder, and, in some respects, a good deal more sense. from one or two cases i am acquainted with they are, in fact, usually willing to give the man who trips another chance instead of falling upon him mercilessly before he can get up." "still you haven't told us yet what reggie ferris did." major hume laughed as he turned away. "i am," he said, "quite aware of it." he left them, and hetty smiled as she said, "the major has not infrequently been imposed upon, but nothing will disabuse him of his cheerful belief in human nature, and i must admit that he is quite as often right as more censorious people. there was lily harland who gave reggie ferris up, which, of course, was probably only what he could have expected under the circumstances, but reggie, it appears, is wiping out the past, and i have reasons for surmising that she has been sorry ever since. nobody but my father and his mother ever hear from him now, and if that hurts lily she has only herself to blame. she had her opportunity of showing what faith she had in the man, and can't expect to get another just because she would like it." she wondered why the warm color had crept into her companion's face, but barbara said nothing, and vacantly watched the road that wound up through the meadows out of the valley, until a moving object appeared where it crossed the crest of the hill. in the meanwhile her thoughts were busy, for the major's suggestive little story had not been without its effect on her, and the case of reggie ferris was, it seemed, remarkably similar to that of a certain canadian flume-builder. the english soldier and grant devine had both been charitable, but she and the girl who was sorry ever since had shown themselves merciless, and there was in that connection a curious significance in the fact that reggie ferris, who was now brilliantly blotting out the past, wrote nobody but his mother and the man who had given him what the latter termed another chance. barbara remembered the afternoon when she waited at the window and brooke, who, she fancied, could have done so had he wished, had not come up from the depôt. she could not ignore the fact that this had since occasioned her a vague uneasiness. in the meanwhile the moving object had been growing larger, and when it reappeared lower down the road resolved itself into a gardener who had been despatched to the nearest village on a bicycle. "we will wait until tom brings in the letters," said hetty. it was a few minutes later when the man came up the path and handed her a packet. among the letters she spread out there was one for barbara, whose face grew suddenly intent as she opened it. it was from mrs. devine, and the thin paper crackled under her tightening fingers as she read:-- "i have been alone since i last wrote you, as grant had to go up to the dayspring suddenly and has not come back. there was, i understand, a big flood in the valley above the mine, and brooke, it seems, was very seriously hurt when endeavoring to protect the workings. i don't understand exactly how it happened, though i surmise from grant's letters that he did a very daring thing. he is now in the vancouver hospital, for although grant wished him brought here, the surgeon considered him far too ill to move. his injuries, i understand, are not very serious in themselves, but it appears that the man was badly worn out and run down when he sustained them, and his condition, i am sorry to say, is just now very precarious." the rest of the letter concerned the doings of barbara's friends in vancouver, but the girl read no more of it, and sat still, a trifle white in the face, with her hands trembling, until hetty turned to her. "you don't look well," she said. "i hope nothing has happened to your sister or mr. devine?" "no," said barbara, quietly, though there was a faint tremor in her voice. "they are apparently in as good health as usual." "i'm glad to hear it," said hetty, with an air of relief. "there is, of course, nobody else, or i should have known it, though you really seem a trifle paler than you generally do. shall we go in and look through these patterns? i have been writing up about some dress material, and they've sent cuttings. still, i don't suppose you will want anything new for mrs. cruttenden's?" "no," said barbara, in a voice that was almost too even now, and not in keeping with the tension in her face. "in fact, i'm not going at all." hetty glanced at her sharply, and then made a little gesture of comprehension. "very well!" she said. "whenever you feel it would be any consolation you can tell me, but in the meanwhile i have no doubt that you can get on without my company." she moved away, and barbara, who was glad to be alone, sat still, for she wished to set her thoughts in order. this was apparently the climax all that had passed that afternoon had led up to, but she was just then chiefly conscious of an overwhelming distress that precluded any systematic consideration of its causes. the man whom she had roused from his lethargy at the quatomac ranch was now, she gathered, dying in the vancouver hospital, but not before he had blotted out his offences by slow endurance and unwearying effort in the face of flood and frost. she would have admitted this to him willingly now, but the opportunity was, it seemed, not to be afforded her, and the bitter words with which she had lashed him could never be withdrawn. she who had shown no mercy, and would not afford him what major hume had termed another chance, must, it seemed, long for it in vain herself. by degrees, however, her innate resolution rose against that decision, and she remembered that it was not, in point of time, at least a very long journey to british columbia. there was nothing to prevent her setting out when it pleased her; and then it occurred to her that the difficulties would be plentiful at the other end. what explanation would she make to her sister, or the man, if--and the doubt was horrible--he was, indeed, still capable of receiving it? he had never in direct speech offered her his love, and she had not even the excuse of the girl who had given reggie ferris up for throwing herself at his feet. she was not even sure that she could have done it in that case, for her pride was strong, and once more she felt the hopelessness of the irrevocable. she had shown herself hard and unforgiving, and now she realized that the man she loved--and it was borne in upon her, that in spite of his offences she loved him well--was as far beyond her reach as though he had already slipped away from her into the other world at whose shadowy portals he lay in the vancouver hospital. there had been a time, indeed the occasion had twice presented itself, when she could have relented gracefully, but she could no longer hope that it would ever happen again, and it only remained for her to face the result of her folly, and bear herself befittingly. it would, she realized, cost her a bitter effort, but the effort must be made, and she rose with a tense white face and turned towards the house. hetty, as it happened, met her in the hall, and looked at her curiously. "there are, as you may remember, two or three people coming in to dinner," she said. "i have no doubt i could think out some excuse if you would sooner not come down." "why do you think that would please me?" said barbara, quietly. "well," said hetty, a trifle drily, "i fancied you would sooner have stayed away. your appearance rather suggested it." barbara smiled in a listless fashion. "i'm afraid i can't help that," she said. "your friends, however, will presumably not be here for an hour or two yet." hetty made no further suggestions, and barbara moved on slowly towards the stairway. she came of a stock that had grappled with frost and flood in the wild ranges of the mountain province, and courage and steadfastness were born in her, but she knew there was peril in the slightest concession to her gentler nature she might make just then. what she bore in the meanwhile she told nobody, but when the sonorous notes of a gong rolled through the building she came down the great stairway only a trifle colder in face than usual, and immaculately dressed. xxxi. brooke is forgiven. it was a pleasant morning, and brooke lay luxuriating in the sunlight by an open window of the vancouver hospital. his face was blanched and haggard, and his clothes hung loosely about his limbs, but there was a brightness in his eyes, and he was sensible that at last his strength was coming back to him. opposite him sat devine, who had just come in, and was watching him with evident approbation. "you will be fit to be moved out in a day or two, and i want to see you in mrs. devine's hands," he said. "we have a room fixed ready, and i came round to ask when the doctor would let you go." brooke slowly shook his head. "you are both very kind, but i'm going back to the old country," he said. "still, i don't know whether i shall stay there yet." devine appeared a trifle disconcerted. "we had counted on you taking hold again at the dayspring," he said. "wilkins is getting an old man, and i don't know of any one who could handle that mine as you have done. quite sure there's nothing i could do that would keep you?" brooke lay silent a moment or two. he was loth to leave the mine, but during his slow recovery at the hospital a curious longing to see the old country once more had come upon him. he could go back now, and, if it pleased him, pick up the threads of the old life he had left behind, though he was by no means sure this would afford him the satisfaction he had once anticipated. the ambition to prove his capabilities in canada had, in the meanwhile, at least, deserted him since his last meeting with barbara, and he had heard from mrs. devine that it would probably be several months before she returned to vancouver. he realized that it was she who had kept him there, and now she had gone, and the mine was, as devine had informed him, exceeding all expectations, there was no longer any great inducement to stay in canada. he had seen enough of the country, and, of late, a restless desire to get away from it had been growing stronger with every day of his recovery. it might, he felt, be easier to shake off the memory of his folly in another land. "no," he said, slowly, "i don't think there is. i feel i must go back, for a while, at least." "well," said devine, who seemed to recognize that protests would be useless, "it's quite a long journey. i guess you can afford it?" brooke felt the keen eyes fixed on him with an almost disconcerting steadiness, but he contrived to smile. "yes," he said, "if i don't do it too extravagantly, i fancy i can." "then there's another point," said devine, with a faint twinkle in his eyes. "you might want to do something yonder that would bring the dollars in. now, i could give you a few lines that would be useful in case you wanted an engagement with one of your waterworks contractors or any one of that kind." "i scarcely think it will be necessary," said brooke, with a little smile. "well," said devine, "i have a notion that it's not going to be very long before we see you back again. you have got used to us, and you're going to find the folks yonder slow. i can think of quite a few men who saved up, one or two of them for a very long while, to go home to the old country, and in about a month they'd had enough of it. the country was very much as they left it--but they had altered." he stopped a moment, with a little chuckle, before he continued. "now, there was sandy campbell, who ran the stamps at the canopus for me. he never spent a dollar when he could help it, and, when he'd quite a pile of them, he told me he was just sickening for a sight of glasgow. well, i let him go, and that day six weeks sandy came round to the mine again. the old country was badly played out, he said, but, for another month, that was all he would tell me, and then the facts came out. sandy's friends had met him at the donaldson wharf, and started a circus over the whisky. somebody broke the furniture, and sandy doubled up a policeman who, he figured, had insulted him, so they had him up for doing it before whatever they call a magistrate in that country. sandy's remarks were printed in a glasgow paper, and he showed it me. "'forty shillings. it's an iniquity,' he said. 'is this how ye treat a man who has come six thousand miles to see his native land? i will not find ye a surety. i'm away back by the first allan boat to a country where they appreciate me.'" brooke laughed. "still, i don't quite see how sandy's case applies to me." "i guess it does. one piece of it, anyway. sandy knew where he was appreciated, and we have room for a good many men of your kind in this country. that's about all i need say. when you feel like it, come right back to me." he went out a few minutes later, and brooke lay still thoughtfully, with his old ambitions re-awakening. there was, he surmised, a good deal of truth in devine's observations, and work in the mountain province that he could do. still, he felt that even to make his mark there would be no great gain to him now. barbara could not forgive him, but she was in england, and he might, at least, see her. whether that would be wise he did not know, and scarcely fancied so, but the faint probability had its attractions, and he would go and stay there--until he had recovered his usual vigor, at least. it was, however, a little while before the doctors would permit him to risk the journey, and several months had passed when he stood with a kinsman and his wife on the lawn outside an old house in an english valley. the air was still and warm, and a full moon was rising above the beeches on the hillside. its pale light touched the river, that slid smoothly between the mossy stepping-stones, and the shadows of clipped yew and drooping willow lay black upon the grass. there was a faint smell of flowers that linger in the fall, and here and there a withered leaf was softly sailing down, but that night it reminded brooke of the resinous odors of the western pines, and the drowsy song of the river, of the thunder of the torrent that swirled by quatomac. his heart was also beating a trifle more rapidly than usual, and for that reason he was more than usually quiet. "i suppose your friends will come?" he said, indifferently. mrs. cruttenden, who stood close by him, laughed. "to the minute! major hume is punctuality itself. i fancy he will be a little astonished to-night." "i shall be pleased to meet him again. he was to bring miss hume?" "of course," said mrs. cruttenden, with a keen glance at him. "and miss heathcote, whom you asked about. no doubt she will be a trifle astonished, too. you do not seem quite so sure that the meeting with her will afford you any pleasure?" brooke smiled a trifle grimly. "the most important question is whether she will be pleased to see me. i don't mind admitting it is one that is causing me considerable anxiety." "wouldn't her attitude on the last occasion serve as guide?" brooke felt his face grow warm under her watchful eyes, but he laughed. "i would like to believe that it did not," he said. "miss heathcote did not appear by any means pleased with me. still, you see, you sometimes change your minds." "yes," said mrs. cruttenden, reflectively. "especially when the person who has offended us has been very ill. it is, in fact, the people one likes the most one is most inclined to feel angry with now and then, but there are circumstances under which one feels sorry for past severities." brooke started, for this appeared astonishingly apposite in view of the fact that he had, as she had once or twice reminded him, told her unnecessarily little about his canadian affairs. the difficulty, however, was that he could not be sure she was correct. "you naturally know what you would do, but, after all, that scarcely goes quite as far as one would like," he said. mrs. cruttenden laughed softly. "still, i fancy the rest are very like me in one respect. in fact, it might be wise of you to take that for granted." just then three figures appeared upon the path that came down to the stepping-stones across the river, and brooke's eyes were eager as he watched them. they were as yet in the shadow, but he felt that he would have recognized one of them anywhere and under any circumstances. then he strode forward precipitately, and a minute later sprang aside on to an outlying stone as a grey-haired man, who glanced at him sharply, turned, with hand held out, to one of his companions. brooke moved a little nearer the one who came last, and then stood bareheaded, while the girl stopped suddenly and looked at him. he could catch the gleam of the brown eyes under the big hat, and, for the moon was above the beeches now, part of her face and neck gleamed like ivory in the silvery light. she stood quite still, with the flashing water sliding past her feet, etherealized, it seemed to him, by her surroundings and a complement of the harmonies of the night. "you?" she said. brooke laughed softly, and swept his hand vaguely round, as though to indicate the shining river and dusky trees. "yes," he said. "you remember how i met you at quatomac. who else could it be?" "nobody," said barbara, with a tinge of color in her face. "at least, any one else would have been distinctly out of place." brooke tightened his grasp on the hand she had laid in his, for which there was some excuse, since the stone she stood upon was round and smooth, and it was a long step to the next one. "you knew i was here?" he said. "yes," said barbara, quietly. brooke felt his heart throbbing painfully. "and you could have framed an excuse for staying away?" the girl glanced at him covertly as he stood very straight looking down on her, with lips that had set suddenly, and tension in his face. the moonlight shone into it, and it was, she noticed, quieter and a little grimmer than it had been, while his sinewy frame still showed spare to gauntness in the thin conventional dress. this had its significance to her. "of course!" she said. "still, it did not seem necessary. i had no reason for wishing to stay away." brooke fancied that there was a good deal in this admission, and his voice had a little exultant thrill in it. "that implies--ever so much," he said. "hold fast. that stone is treacherous, and one can get wet in this river, though it is not the quatomac. absurd to suggest that, isn't it? are not abana and pharpar better than all the waters of israel?" barbara also laughed. "do you wish the major to come back for me?" she said. "it is really a little difficult to stand still upon a narrow piece of mossy stone." they went across, and major hume stared at brooke in astonishment when cruttenden presented him. "by all that's wonderful! our canadian guide!" he said. "presumably so!" said cruttenden. "still, though, my wife appears to understand the allusion, it's more than i do. anyway, he is my kinsman, harford brooke, and the owner of high wycombe." brooke smiled as he shook hands with the major, but he was sensible that barbara flashed a swift glance at him, and, as they moved towards the house, hetty broke in. "you must know, mr. cruttenden, that your kinsman met barbara beside a river once before, and on that occasion, too, they did not come out of it until some little time after we did," she said. "that," said cruttenden, "appears to imply that they were--in--the water." "i really think that one of them was," said hetty. "barbara had a pony, but mr. brooke had not, and his appearance certainly suggested that he had been bathing. in fact, he was so bedraggled that barbara gave him a dollar. she had, i must explain, already spent a few months in this country." brooke was a trifle astonished, and noticed a sudden warmth in barbara's face. "if i remember correctly, you had gone into the ranch, miss hume," he said, severely. "no," said hetty. "you may have fancied so, but i hadn't. i was the only chaperon barbara had, you see. i hope she didn't tell you not to lavish the dollar on whisky. no doubt you spent it wisely on tobacco." brooke made no answer, and his smile was somewhat forced; but he went with the others into the house, and it was an hour or two later when he and barbara again stood by the riverside alone. neither of them quite knew how it came about, but they were there with the black shadows of the beeches behind them and the flashing water at their feet. brooke glanced slowly round him, and then turned to the girl. "it reminds one of that other river--but there is a difference," he said. "the beeches make poor substitutes for your towering pines, and you no longer wear the white samite." "and," said barbara, "where is the sword?" brooke looked down on her gravely, and shook his head. "i am not fit to wear it, and yet i dare not give it back to you, stained as it is," he said. "what am i to do?" "keep it," said barbara, softly. "you have wiped the stain out, and it is bright again." brooke laid a hand that quivered a little on her shoulder. "barbara," he said, "i am not vainer than most men, and i know what i have done, but unless what once seemed beyond all hoping for was about to come to me, you and i would not have met again beside the river. it simply couldn't happen. you can forget all that has gone before, and once more try to believe in me?" "i think," said barbara, quietly, "there is a good deal that you must never remember, too. i realized that"--and she stopped with a little shiver--"when you were lying in the vancouver hospital." "and you knew i loved you, though in those days i dare not tell you so? i have done so, i think, from the night i first saw you, and yet there is so much to make you shrink from me." "no," said barbara, very softly, "there is nothing whatever now--and if perfection had been indispensable you would never have thought of me." brooke laid his other hand on her shoulder, and, standing so, while every nerve in him thrilled, still held her a little apart, so that the silvery light shone into her flushed face. for a moment she met his gaze, and her eyes were shining. "do you know that, absurd as it may sound, i seemed to know that night at quatomac that i should hold you in my arms again one day?" he said. "of course, the thing seemed out of the question, an insensate dream, and still i could never quite let go my hold of the alluring fancy." "and if the dream had never been fulfilled?" brooke laughed curiously. "you would still have ridden beside me through many a long night march, with the moon shining round and full behind your shoulder, and i should have felt the white dress brush me softly where the trail was dark." "then i should have been always young to you. you would never have seen me grow faded and the grey creep into my hair." brooke drew her towards him, and held her close. "my dear, you will be always beautiful to me. we will grow old together, and the one who must cross the last dark river first will, at least, start out on the shadowy trail holding the other's hand." it was an hour later when barbara, with the man's arm still about her, glanced across the velvet lawn to the old grey house beneath the dusky slope of wooded hill. the moonlight silvered its weathered front, and the deep tranquillity of the sheltered valley made itself felt. "yes," said brooke, "it is yours and mine." barbara made a little gesture that was eloquent of appreciation. "it is very beautiful. a place one could dream one's life away in. we have nothing like it in canada. you would care to stay here always?" "any place would be delightful with you." the girl laughed softly, but her voice had a tender thrill in it, and then she turned towards the west. "it is very beautiful--and full of rest," she said. "still, i scarcely think it would suit you to sit down in idleness, and all that can be done for this rich country has been done years ago." "i wonder," said brooke, who guessed her thoughts, "if you would be quite so sure when you had seen our towns." "still, one would need to be very wise to take hold there--and i do not think you care for politics." "no," said brooke, with a faint, dry smile. "besides, remembering saxton, i should feel a becoming diffidence about wishing to serve my nation in that fashion. there are men enough who are anxious to do it already, and i would be happier grappling with the rocks and pines in western canada." "then," said barbara, "if it pleases you, we will go back to the great unfinished land where the dreams of such men as you are come true." the end. [illustration] the spotter [illustration] _a story of the early days in the pennsylvania oil fields.._ by w. w. canfield duncan cameron is a pennsylvania farmer, the owner of a large tract of land which the prototype of the standard oil company desires to secure. cameron for a long time successfully resists the efforts to compel him to sell, and the spotter describes what happened to him, as well as what befell members of several families who are made wealthy by the sale of their oil lands. those who oppose the advance of the monopoly feel its hand in no uncertain weight, for there is little hesitancy in the methods adopted to break the fortunes and prospects of those who do not quietly submit. the story describes the romantic side of the influx of a large number of speculators, operators and boomers, who find a country that heretofore has been almost isolated. size ½× ¾. cloth, gilt top. price $ . transcriber's note: the following typographical errors present in the original edition have been corrected. in the table of contents, =the jumping of the caonpus= was changed to =the jumping of the canopus=. in chapter vii, =the result was from one point of view comtemptible= was changed to =the result was from one point of view contemptible=. in chapter viii, an extra quotation mark was deleted after =it was the other man who fell in.= in chapter xi, a comma was changed to a period after =a kindness thrust upon him by his companion=, ="of course!" be said.= was changed to ="of course!" be said.=, and =the distinctions you allude too= was changed to =the distinctions you allude to=. in chapter xiii, a missing quotation mark was added after =we may be staying for some time yet at the c. p. r. hotel, vancouver.= in chapter xiv, a question mark was changed to a period after =nature untrammelled, and primeval force=. in chapter xviii, a missing period was added after ="i'm not quite sure whether i expected it or not, but i almost hope i did," he said=. in chapter xx, =what, in the name of thunder= was changed to =what in the name of thunder=. in chapter xxi, =lou, no doubt, had a purpose= was changed to =you, no doubt, had a purpose=. in chapter xxii, =much more pleased that you were= was changed to =much more pleased than you were=. in chapter xxv, =they told me as nearly as they could remember= was changed to =they told him as nearly as they could remember=. in chapter xxvi, a quotation mark was removed after =he had certainly been impelled by at their last meeting.= in chapter xxix, =b ooke braced himself to bear his part in it= was changed to =brooke braced himself to bear his part in it=. in chapter xxxi, an extra quotation mark was removed before =i guess you can afford it?= in the advertisement for _the spotter_, an extra period was deleted after "a story of the early days in the pennsylvania oil fields.", and a period was changed to a comma after =duncan cameron is a pennsylvania farmer=. three young ranchmen or, daring adventures in the great west by captain ralph bonehill author of "a sailor boy with dewey," "for the liberty of texas," "the young bandmaster," etc. illustrated new york and boston h. m. caldwell company publishers _copyright, _ by the saalfield publishing company [illustration: horse and youth went plunging headlong.] preface "three young ranchmen" relates the adventures of three brothers, allen, chetwood and paul winthrop, who are left to shift for themselves upon a lonely ranch home situated in the mountainous region of the beautiful state of idaho, near one of the numerous branches of the salmon river. the lads, although sturdy and brave, have no easy time making a living, and among other troubles, they are visited by horse thieves, and also by a crafty prospector who wishes to take their claim away from them. in the meantime an uncle of the lads has gone off to visit the city, and he disappears entirely, adding to the complexity of the situation. what the boys did to straighten out the trouble is told in the chapters which follow. in writing this story i have tried to give my boy readers a fair idea of life on a ranch of to-day, as well as of life in the wild mountains of idaho, with some idea of the ranch hands and miners to be met with in these localities. the tale has been drawn as true to nature as possible, and i trust its reading will prove both entertaining and useful. captain ralph bonehill. contents chapter i. an unpleasant discovery chapter ii. allen on the trail chapter iii. a dangerous situation chapter iv. the man in the sink hole chapter v. good cause for alarm chapter vi. from one peril to another chapter vii. the cave in the mountain chapter viii. into a snake's nest chapter ix. a visitor at the ranch chapter x. the captain's setback chapter xi. ike watson's arrival chapter xii. the boys talk it over chapter xiii. caught in a cyclone chapter xiv. another surprise chapter xv. at dottery's ranch chapter xvi. an encounter in the dark chapter xvii. something about a letter chapter xviii. allen changes his plans chapter xix. along the water course chapter xx. moving against captain grady chapter xxi. shooting a grizzly bear chapter xxii. an important capture chapter xxiii. news of importance chapter xxiv. something about barnaby winthrop chapter xxv. fighting a wolverine chapter xxvi. disappearance of slavin chapter xxvii. allen shows his bravery chapter xxviii. a buffalo stampede chapter xxix. the long lost found chapter xxx. together at last--conclusion illustrations horse and youth went plunging headlong the man caught the end of the gun vainly he put out his hands to stay his progress holding the snake, he leaped out of the circle of reptiles the three young ranchmen talked it over three young ranchmen chapter i. an unpleasant discovery "when do you think allen will be back, paul?" "he ought to be back by two or three o'clock, chet. his horse was fresh, and the roads are very good just now." "i hope he brings good news, don't you? i am tired of waiting here." "we will have to content ourselves on the ranch another year, i am afraid. father left matters in a very unsettled condition, and what has become of uncle barnaby the world only knows." "i don't care so much about the dullness--i like to hunt and fish and round up the cattle just as well as any one--but what i'm complaining of is the uncertainty of the way things are going to turn. for all we know, we may be cast adrift, as the saying goes, any day." "that is true, although i imagine our title to the ranch is o. k. if those title papers hadn't been burned up when one end of the house took fire i wouldn't worry a bit." "neither would i. but we all know what captain grady is--the meanest man that ever drew the breath of life--and if he once learns that we haven't the papers he'll be down on us quicker than a grizzly bear in the spring." "well, we won't let him know that the papers have been burned up. we will continue to bluff him off." "we can't bluff him forever. to my mind----" the boy broke off short, and coming to a halt, pointed with his disengaged hand toward the barn. "did you leave that door unlocked?" he went on. "certainly i didn't. who opened it? perhaps allen is back." "and perhaps there are horse thieves around!" was the quick reply. "come on." without a word more the two boys dropped their burdens and started for the structure in which the horse belonging to each had been stabled. the boys were chetwood and paul winthrop, two brothers, tall, well-built, and handsome. the face of each was browned by exposure, and showed the perfect health that only a life in the open can give. chet and paul lived with their elder brother allen at a typical ranch home in idaho, on one of the numerous branches of the winding salmon river. the home was a rude but comfortable affair, with several outbuildings close at hand, the whole surrounded by a rude but substantial stockade, a relic of the time when troubles with the indians were numerous. it was a warm, sunshiny day in august, and the two boys had been down to the river fishing at a favorite deep hole near the roots of a clump of cottonwood trees. each had a nice mess of fish strung on a brush branch, showing that their quest of game had not been a vain one. for three years the three winthrop boys had lived alone at the ranch home. their former history was a peculiar one, the particulars of which will be given later. just now we will follow chet and paul to the barn, the door to which stood half open. "gone!" the single word burst from the lips of both simultaneously. it was enough, for it told the whole story. their two animals, jasper and rush, had vanished. "thieves, as sure as fate!" ejaculated paul, gazing rapidly on all sides. "see how the lock has been broken open." "and they have taken all the extra harness as well," added chet, his black eyes snapping angrily. "i wonder how long ago this happened." "there's no telling, chet. let's see--we went off about eight o'clock, didn't we?" "yes." "then the rascals have had nearly four hours in which to do their dirty work. by this time they are probably miles away. this is the worst luck of all." "you are not going to sit down and suck your thumb, are you, paul?" questioned the younger brother, quickly. "not if we can do anything. but we are tied fast here,--we can't follow on foot,--they knew that when they came to rob us." "have you any idea who the thieves can be?" "most likely a remnant of that old gang from jordan creek. i knew they would spring up again, even after sol davids was lynched. let us take a look around, and see if we can't find some clew to their identity." "if only allen would come----" "fire off your gun. if he is in hearing that will hasten his movements." thus directed, chet hastened outside, and running to the house, quickly brought forth his double-barreled shotgun. two reports rent the air a second later, and then the youth returned with the still smoking firearm to the barn. "have you found anything?" he asked. "here is a strap that doesn't belong to our outfit," replied paul. "but it's only a common affair that might belong to any one." "and here is a silver cross!" cried chet, as he sprang forward to pick up the object. the article which chet had found embedded in the dirt flooring of the barn was really of silver, but so unpolished that it did not shine. it was not over an inch in length and height, with a round hole directly in the center. at the four corners of the cross were the letters d a f g. "what do you make of it?" asked paul, impatiently, as he bent over to examine the object as it lay in his younger brother's palm. "nothing. it's a silver cross with letters on it; that's all. i never saw one like it before." "is there no name on the back?" quickly the cross was turned over. there, dug into the metal, as if with a jackknife, were the letters s. m. "s. m.," said chet, slowly. "who can they stand for?" "sam somebody, i suppose," replied paul. "i reckon there are a good many folks in idaho with the initials s. m." "that is true, too, but it's not likely many of them are mean enough to turn horse thieves." chet surveyed the cross for a few seconds longer. then he rammed it into his pocket and went on with the search, and paul followed suit. but their further efforts remained unrewarded. not another thing of value was brought to light. they were on the point of giving up when a clatter of hoofs was heard outside on the rocks leading from the trail back to the willows and cottonwoods. "there is allen now!" cried paul, joyfully. "hi, allen! this way, quick!" he added, elevating his voice. "all right, paul, my boy!" came in a cheery voice from the elder of the winthrops, as he dashed up on his faithful mare. "what's wanted?" "the horses have been stolen!" "phew!" it was a low and significant whistle that allen winthrop emitted, and the pleasant look on his fine features gave way to one of deep concern. "stolen!" he said at last. "when? by whom?" "we don't know," replied paul. "we just got back from the river a few minutes ago and found the barn door broken open and both horses gone." "and no clew?" "we found this." allen winthrop caught up the silver cross quickly and gazed at it for the fraction of a minute. then he muttered something under his breath. "did you ever see this cross before?" asked paul. "no, but i have heard father tell of it," was the answer. "it is the cross the old sol davids gang used to wear. do you see those letters--d a f g? they stand for 'dare all for gold.' that was the gang's motto, and they never hesitated to carry it out." "then we were right in thinking that the horse thieves might be some left-overs from the old gang," observed paul. "yes they are most likely of the same old crowd," said allen. "the hanging of old sol did not drive them out of this district." "but what of the initials s. m.?" asked chet. "i never heard of any horse thief that those would fit." "we'll find out about that when we run the thieves down," said allen. "you say you discovered the robbery but a short while since?" "less than a quarter of an hour ago." "have you been up to the house?" "i went for my gun," began chet. "i wonder if it were possible----" he commenced, and then meeting his older brother's eyes stopped short. not one of the trio said more just then. all made a wild dash from the barn to the house. they burst into the living room of the latter like a cyclone. "it looks all right," began paul. "but it isn't all right," burst out chet. "see the side window has been forced open!" allen said nothing, having passed into one of the sleeping rooms. he began to rummage around the apartment, into the closet and the trunks. "by gracious!" he burst out presently. "what's up?" questioned his two brothers in a breath. "it's gone!" "gone?" "yes, every dollar is gone!" groaned allen. he referred to three bags which had contained silver and gold to the amount of seven hundred dollars--the winthrop savings for several years. paul and chet gave a groan. something like a lump arose in the throat of the younger youth, but he cleared it away with a cough. "the mean, contemptible scoundrels!" burst out paul. "we must get after them somehow!" "i'll go after them," replied allen, with swift determination. "give me my rifle. i already have my pistol." "you are not going alone, are you?" demanded paul. "i'll have to. there is only my mare to be had." "it's foolhardy, allen," urged chet. "what could one fellow do against two or more? they would knock you over at the first chance." "i won't give them the first chance," grimly replied allen, as he ran for his rifle. "as they used to say when father was young, i'll shoot first and talk afterward." "can't two of us ride on the mare?" asked paul. "i am not so very heavy." the older brother shook his head. "it can't be done, paul; not with her all tired out after her morning's jaunt. no, i'll go alone. perhaps the trail will lead past some other ranch and then i'll call on the neighbors for help." "can you follow the trail?" "i reckon i can; leastwise i can try. i won't lose it unless they take to the rocks and leave the river entirely, and it ain't likely they'll do that." chet and paul shook their heads. to them it seemed dangerous, and so it was. but it was no use arguing with allen when he had once made up his mind, so they let him have his own way. three minutes later allen was off on the trail of the horse thieves. chapter ii. allen on the trail although allen winthrop was but a young man in years, yet the fact that he had had the care of the family on his shoulders since the death of his parents had tended to make him older in experience and give him the courage to face whatever arose before him in the path of duty. he was four years older than chet and two years the senior of paul, and the others had always looked upon him as a guiding spirit in all undertakings. consequently but little was said by way of opposition when allen determined to go after the thieves alone, but nevertheless the hearts of both the younger brothers were filled with anxiety when they saw allen disappear on the back of his mare up the trail that led to the southwest. "it's too bad that we can't accompany him," was the way chet expressed himself. "i'd give all i possess for a good horse just now." "all you possess isn't much, seeing we've all been cleaned out," replied paul, with a trace of grim humor he did not really feel. "but i, too, wish i had a horse and could go along." "still, somebody ought to stay on the ranch," went on chet, "we might have more unprofitable visitors." "it's not likely that the gang will dare to show themselves in this vicinity again in a hurry. like as not they'll steer for deadwood, sell the horses, and then spend their ill-gotten gains around the gambling saloons. that is their usual style. they can't content themselves in the mountains or on the plains as long as they have the dust in their pockets." after allen had disappeared the two boys locked up the barn as well as was possible, using a wooden pin in lieu of the padlock that had been forced asunder, and then went back to the house. chet brought in the string of fish and threw them in a big tin basin. "i suppose i might as well fry a couple of these," he observed; "though, to tell the truth, i am not a bit hungry." "i, too, have lost my appetite," replied paul. "but we must eat, and dinner will help pass away the time. i reckon there is no telling when allen will be back." "no. i don't care much, if he only keeps from getting into serious trouble." in the meantime allen had passed down the trail until the buildings of the ranch were left far behind. he knew the way well, and had no difficulty in finding the tracks--new ones--made by the hoofs of four horses. "as long as they remain as fresh as they are now it will be easy enough to follow them," was the mental conclusion which he reached, as he urged forward his tired mare in a way that showed his fondness for the animal and his disinclination to make her do more than could fairly be expected. the belt of cottonwood was soon passed, and allen emerged upon the bank of a small brook which flowed into the river at a point nearly half a mile further on. he examined the wet bank of the brook minutely and came to the conclusion that here the horse thieves had stopped the animals for a drink. "i imagine they came a long distance to get here," he thought, "and that means they will go a long way before they settle down for the night. heigh-ho! i have a long and difficult search before me." the brook had been forded, and allen crossed over likewise, and five minutes later reached a bit of rolling land dotted here and there with sage and other brush. allen wondered if the trail would lead to gold fork, as the little mining town at the foot of the mountains was called. "if they went that way i will have no trouble in getting help to run them down," he said to himself. "i can get ike watson and mat prigley, who will go willingly, and there is no better man to take hold of this sort of thing than ike watson." mile after mile was passed, and the trail remained as plain as before. "it looks as if they didn't anticipate being followed," was the way allen figured it, but he soon found out his mistake, when, on coming around a rocky spur of ground, the trail suddenly vanished. the young ranchman came to a halt in some dismay, and a look of perplexity quickly stole over his face. he looked to the right and the left, and ahead, but all to no purpose. the trail was gone. "here's a state of things," he murmured as he continued to gaze around. "where in the land of goodness has it gone to? they couldn't have taken wings and flown away." allen spent all of a quarter of an hour on the rocky spur. then on a venture he moved forward over the bare rocks, feeling pretty certain that it was the only way they could have gone without leaving tracks behind them. he calculated that he had traveled nearly ten miles. his mare showed signs of being tired, and he spoke to her more kindly than ever. "it won't do, lilly," he said, patting her soft neck affectionately. "we have got to get through somehow or other. you must brace up and when it is all over you can take the best kind of a long resting spell." and the faithful animal laid back her ears and appeared to understand every word he said to her. she was a most knowing creature, and allen would have gone wild had she been one of those stolen. the barren, rocky way lasted for upward of half a mile, and came to an end in a slight decline covered with rich grass and more brush. allen looked about him eagerly. "hurrah! there is the trail, true enough!" he cried, as the well understood marks in the growth beneath his feet met his gaze. "that was a lucky chance i took. on, lilly, and we'll have jasper and rush back before nightfall, or know the reason why." away flew the mare once more over the plain that stretched before her for several miles. beyond were the mountains, covered with a purplish haze. the vicinity of the mountains was gained at last, and now, more than tired, the mare dropped into a walk as the first upward slope was struck. hardly had she done so than allen saw something that made his heart jump. it was a man, and he was riding chet's horse! chapter iii. a dangerous situation it was not possible for allen winthrop to make any mistake regarding the animal the man on the mountain trail was riding. too often had he ridden on rush's back, and too well did he know the sturdy little horse's characteristics. but the man was a stranger to the young ranchman, and he could not even remember having seen the rascal's face before. "stop!" called out allen, as he struck lilly to urge her on. "stop! do you hear me?" the man caught the words and wheeled about quickly. he was evidently much disturbed by the encounter. he had been looking ahead, and had known nothing of allen's approach. "stop, do you hear?" repeated allen. "wot do yer want?" was the surly response, but the speaker did not draw rein in the least. "i want you to stop!" exclaimed allen, growing excited. "that horse belongs to my brother!" "reckon you air mistaken, stranger," was the cool reply. "this air hoss is mine." this unexpected reply staggered allen. he had expected the man to either show fight or take to his heels. it was plainly evident that the fellow intended, if possible, to bluff him off. "your horse? not much! whoa, rush, old boy!" commanded by that familiar tongue, the horse came to a halt that was so sudden it nearly pitched the rider out of his saddle. he muttered something under his breath, straightened up and gave the reins a vicious yank that made rush rear up in resentment. "see here, youngster, keep your parley to yourself!" howled the man, scowling at allen. "i will--after you get down and turn that nag over to me," rejoined allen, as coolly as he could, although he was in an exceedingly high state of suppressed excitement. "and whyfore should i turn him over to you, seein' as how he belongs to me?" growled the man, as brazenly as he could. "you stole that horse from our barn not four hours ago," retorted allen. "i will waste no more words with you. get down or take the consequences." as he concluded the youth unslung his rifle in a suggestive manner. he had lived out in those wilds long enough to know that to trifle in such a case as this would be sheer foolishness. "you're a hot-headed youngster, tew say the least," was the reply, and as he spoke the man scowled more viciously than ever. the sight of the ready rifle in allen's hands was not at all to his liking. he made a movement toward his pistols, but a second glance at the youth made him change his mind. "i said i would waste no more words with you," repeated allen. "get down!" "but see here, youngster----" "get down!" and up came the rifle in a motion that caused the man to start back in terror. "there must be a mistake somewhar," he said, slowly, as soon as he could recover. "my pard turned this critter over to me, and i reckoned it war all right." "there is where you reckoned wrong. are you going to get down now or not?" "supposin' we talk it over with my pard first? thar he is now." the man pointed to the trail behind allen. his manner was so natural that for the instant the young ranchman was deceived. he looked about. with a dash and a clatter the horse thief urged rush on, digging his spurs deep into the little horse's flesh. as he did so he dropped partly under the horse's neck, thus to shield himself from a chance shot, should it be taken. but, although astonished and angered at being so easily duped, allen did not fire. rush was moving along over the rocks too rapidly for him to take the risk of killing his brother's favorite beast. besides, only a small portion of the rider could be seen at one time. "i'll follow him until i get a better chance," he thought, and he cried to lilly to follow in pursuit. once again the gallant mare responded, although she was now thoroughly jaded. up the rocks they went, and around numerous bends, the clatter ahead telling plainly that the race was about even for pursued and pursuer. "i must be on my guard or that fellow may play me foul," thought allen. "he looks like a most desperate character, and he knows well enough what capture by the law-abiding folks of this state means. they would lynch him in a minute." allen wondered what had become of the other thieves and the horse jasper. surely they could not be far away. "perhaps that fellow is trying to reach the others, who may have gone on ahead," he speculated mentally. "if he reaches them it will be so much the worse for me, for i can never fight two or more among these rocks and bushes. on lilly. we must run him down at once!" but the little mare could be urged no longer. she had reached her limit, and went forward with a doggedness that was pitiful to behold. in five minutes allen heard the clatter ahead drawing away from him. soon it ceased entirely. but he did not give up. it was not in his nature to surrender a cause so long as one spark of hope of success remained. the mountain trail now led downward for a few hundred yards, and then wound through a rocky pass, dark and forbidding. allen kept watch on either side for a possible ambush, but none presented itself. "he has gone on, that is certain," he thought. "i rather guess he thinks to tire me out, knowing the condition my mare is in; but if he thinks that he is mistaken. i'll follow, if i have to do it on foot." at last the trail left the rocky pass and came out upon some shelving rocks overlooking a deep canyon, at the bottom of which sparkled the swift-running stream. here a rude bridge led to the other side, a bridge composed of slender trees and rough-hewn planks. without hesitation, allen rode upon the bridge. as he did so a derisive laugh resounded from the other side of the canyon, and he saw the man he was after and two others ride into view. then, before he could turn back, allen felt the bridge sagging beneath him. suddenly it parted in the center, and horse and youth went plunging headlong toward the waters far beneath. chapter iv. the man in the sink hole we will now return to the ranch and see how chet and paul were faring during their elder brother's absence. chet took the string of fish, and selecting two, began to clean them. he was used to the work, and did it with a dexterity and quickness that could not have been excelled. ever since his mother had died it had fallen upon chet's young shoulders to do the culinary work about the ranch home. while chet was thus engaged paul busied himself in looking over the shotguns, cleaning and oiling them and then loading up. the fish cooked, chet set the table, putting on three plates, although he himself was almost certain allen would not come back in time for the meal. "it's queer, i've been thinking," remarked paul, during the progress of the meal, "allen said nothing about the result of his morning trip." "he was too excited over the theft of the horses to think of anything else, i reckon," was the reply chet made. "it was enough to upset any one's mind." "at least he might have said if he had heard from uncle barnaby," grumbled paul. "more particularly, as we were just dying to know." "i imagine if he had heard he would have said so and left us the letter, paul. allen knows as well as you or i how anxious we really were." "it's queer the way uncle barnaby disappeared," mused paul, as he mashed the potatoes on his plate with a fork. "one would not think a man could go to san francisco and disappear forever." "he might if he went to chinatown and got sandbagged or something like that." "oh, you don't really think such a thing would happen?" "it might. uncle was a great hand to see the sights, and also to make a show of his money, and the chinese in san francisco are, many of them, a bloodthirsty set." "do you really believe he discovered the rich mine he talked about?" "he discovered something, that is certain. and he had faith enough in it to go to san francisco in the hope of starting a company to develop the claim." it was in this strain that the two boys talked on until long after the meal was finished, and while they are conversing let us take a brief glance at their former history. as i have said, the three brothers were orphans, their parents having died several years before. the ranch had belonged to their father, who had willed it to his three sons equally, and as none of them were yet of age, he had appointed his brother, barnaby, his executor. barnaby winthrop was an old prospector, who had spent a life among the hills, prospecting for gold and silver. as has been said, he was a peculiar man, but warm and generous hearted to the last degree. as there was really little to do at the ranch but look after the cattle, the uncle had left the place in charge of the three boys and continued month in and month out ranging over the hills and among the mountains in search of the precious metal which lay hidden beneath the surface. one day uncle barnaby had staggered into the house, weak and hungry. he had made a perilous trip up to a point theretofore considered unattainable. he announced that he had at last struck a mining spot that if properly worked would prove a bonanza. he refused to state the exact location and announced his intention of going at once to san francisco to organize a company to open up a mine. he started apparently in the best of health, and although he had been gone now a number of months, and they had been anxiously awaiting his reappearance, they had seen or heard nothing of him. during this period the boys had had considerable trouble at home, which had occupied their attention. at the start some of the cattle had gone astray, and it had taken a ten days' hunt over the long range to find them. then had come captain hank grady, who had sought in various ways to get possession of the ranch, stating that their father had borrowed money from him and that it had not been paid back. the captain was known to be both mean and unscrupulous, and all of the boys doubted very much if he spoke the truth. but they had expected much more trouble from him before the end was reached, and they were destined not to be disappointed. captain grady knew the value of the ranch, even if the boys did not, and he meant to gain possession of it, if not by fair means, then by foul. "we'll have to take a look for the cattle this afternoon," said paul, some time after the conversation concerning uncle barnaby came to a close. "we don't want any of them to get in the sink hole again." "that's so; we'll start at once, and we'll see to it that we lock up good," laughed chet. "no more thieves wanted." the house was soon tidied up, and then, after closing up everything well and setting an alarm to scare away any newcomer, chet and paul set out on foot over the rolling land which led from the river. half a mile beyond the rolling land was a nasty bit of spongy soil known as the sink hole. not unfrequently the cattle would stray in this direction and more than one had sunk to death in the mire. "some cattle around there now!" cried paul, as they drew close to the spot. "it's lucky we came this way." "go to the westward of them," said chet. "we can drive them----" chet broke off short, for just then a piercing cry rang in their ears: "help! help! for the sake of heaven, help!" chet and paul were thrilled to the heart to hear that wild, agonizing cry for assistance which rang out so clearly on the afternoon air. plainly a human being was in distress, and needed immediate assistance. they looked around, but for several seconds saw nothing. then the cry rang out again, more sharply, more pitiably than ever. "help! help! save me from death!" "do you see him?" demanded paul, breathlessly. "no, i do not," rejoined chet. "but he must be near. did not the cry come from over there?" pointing with his finger to the right. "i believe it did. come on!" paul set off on a run around the edge of the sink hole, which was all of several hundred feet in diameter. close behind him came chet, wondering who the man could be and how they might assist him should he be beyond their reach. two dozen steps brought them in sight of the sufferer. he was a young man and his general dress and appearance betokened that he was a stranger in those parts, and, in fact, a stranger to the wilds; a city fellow, born and bred. "save me! help!" cried the man for a third time. he was up to his middle in the spongy soil and sinking rapidly. "keep up your courage; we will assist you!" shouted paul in return. "thank god, somebody has heard my cry!" murmured the man, gratefully. "you must be quick; i am sinking rapidly," he continued aloud. "have you anything in the shape of a rope with you?" asked paul of chet. "i have not." this was a sad predicament, as the man was all of three yards from solid ground. how to get to him was a question. but it was solved by chet, as he brought a bit of stout cord from his pocket. "tie the two stocks of the guns together," he said. "this way; let me show you." he held the two stocks side by side, so that they overlapped each other about eight or ten inches. the cord was hastily wound about them and tied, and it was chet who thrust one of the gun barrels toward the sinking man, while he firmly grasped the other. "catch hold," he said. "paul, help me land him." [illustration: the man caught the end of the gun.] the man caught the end of the gun and paul took hold of chet's hand. two efforts were made, the first time the man letting the gun slip and sinking deeper than ever. but the second effort was successful, and, panting from his unusual exertion, the man reached the solid ground and fell exhausted. chapter v. good cause for alarm it was several minutes before the man who had been rescued from the sink hole could sit up and talk. his hat was gone, and with a dirty face and tangled, muddy hair, he presented a sorry spectacle. "i'm very thankful to you for what you have done," were his first words, accompanied by a look that told plainly he felt what he said. "i thought i was at the end of my string sure, as they say in these parts." "i allow that's a bad hole to get into," returned chet. "i wouldn't want to get into it myself." "and may i ask to whom am i indebted for my life?" continued the man. "my name is chetwood winthrop, and this is my brother paul." "i am exceedingly glad to know you, boys. my name is noel urner, and i am from new york. i am a stranger in idaho, and i know nothing of such treacherous places as this--at least i did not know of them until a short while ago." and the man shuddered as the memory of his fearful experience flashed over him. "it's one of the unpleasant things of the country," responded paul, with a little laugh. "but how came you in it?" with a glance down at the spurs on the man's boots. "i see you are looking at my spurs. yes, i had a horse, but he is gone now." "gone! in the sink hole?" ejaculated chet. "no; he was stolen from me." "stolen!" both boys uttered the word simultaneously. "yes. i was riding along when i came to a spot where i saw some flora which particularly interested me, for i am a botanist, although for pleasure only. i dismounted and tied my horse to a tree and climbed up to secure the specimens which were on a shelf of rock some thirty feet over my head. soon i heard a clatter of horses' hoofs as they passed along the road. i came down with my specimens to see who the riders were, but they had already passed on, taking my horse with them." "the horse thieves!" cried chet. and he told the man of the raid made on the ranch and how allen had gone off in pursuit of the thieves. the reader can well imagine with what interest noel urner listened to the tale. "one would not believe it possible!" he exclaimed, when chet had wound up by saying he wished allen would lay every one of the rascals low. "i fancied horse thievery was a thing only permitted in the wildest portions of the territories." "there are horse thieves everywhere," said paul. "every one living for a hundred miles around has suffered during the past ten years. sometimes we think them wiped out, and then, all of a sudden they start up again." "well, i trust your brother gets your horses back," said noel urner. "it's a pity he won't know enough to take mine away from the thieves, too!" "he'll collar the thieves and all they have, if he gets half a chance, you can depend on that," said chet. "but won't you come to our ranch with us? you can clean up there and have something to eat if you are hungry." "thank you, i will go gladly. possibly you can sell me a headgear of some sort too." "we can fit you out all right enough, sir." it did not take the boys long to chase the cattle away from the sink hole, and this accomplished, they set off for the ranch with noel urner between them. they found the young man an exceedingly bright and pleasant chap. he said he had come west two months before and had been spending over a month in san francisco. "i came out at the invitation of an old prospector," he said. "we were to meet in san francisco, but when i arrived there i could not find my man. he belongs somewhere in this neighborhood. his name is barnaby winthrop. perhaps you have heard of him?" "heard of him!" cried chet. "he is our uncle!" added paul. "your uncle!" and now it was noel urner's turn to be surprised. "yes, our uncle, and he has been missing for several months," continued paul. "oh, tell us what you know of him at once, for we are dying to know!" "the barnaby winthrop i mean had an undeveloped gold and silver mine he wished to open up." "it was our uncle, beyond the shadow of a doubt," said chet. "our name is winthrop, and uncle barnaby is our guardian. we can prove it to you by the papers, if you wish." "i am willing to take your word, boys. but, you understand, one must be careful about speaking of mines in this section; at least i have been told so." "yes, we know about that," returned paul. "many a man has lost the chance of his life by advertising his knowledge too broadly. others would gain a clew of a mine, hunt it up, and put in a claim before the original discoverer knew what was up." "exactly, and that is why i was slow in saying anything. but when you ask me to tell you about your uncle, i am sorry to say i know but very little, although i suspect much, now you say he has been missing so long." by this time the little party had reached the ranch house. they went inside, and despite the fact that the boys were impatient to hear what noel urner might have to say, they gave the young man time to wash up and make himself otherwise presentable, chet in the meanwhile frying another fish and preparing a pot of coffee. "this is just what i wished, and no mistake," said noel urner, as he set to with a hearty good will. "but i am sure you are impatient to learn something of your uncle, so i will not keep you waiting. to make my story plain, i will have to tell you something of myself also. "in the first place i am a broker and speculator from new york city. i make a specialty of mining stocks, and own shares myself in half a dozen mines. "about ten weeks or so ago i heard through a friend in san francisco that barnaby winthrop was trying to form a company to develop a new strike in this vicinity. i wrote to him and he sent word back that if i would come on he would prove to me that he had a big thing, well worth looking into. "i had other business west, and so at once started for san francisco. your uncle had given his address as the golden nugget house, a place i afterward learned was frequented by old-time miners and prospectors. "i made inquiries at the nugget house for your uncle, and to my astonishment learned that he had disappeared very mysteriously one night, leaving no trace behind him." "what!" cried paul, springing to his feet, and chet was too astonished to speak. "i do not wonder that you are astonished. yes, he had disappeared, leaving his valise and overcoat behind him. "i thought the matter so queer that i was on the point of notifying the police. but on calling at the post office for letters i received one from him stating that he was sorry, but he had come back to the place in question and found it not what he had anticipated, so he wouldn't bother me any more." "i don't believe he came back!" ejaculated chet. "if he had he would have stopped at the ranch." "i agree with you." "have you that letter?" asked paul, his voice trembling with excitement. "i have." "i would like to see it, please." "certainly." and noel urner brought forth a large flat pocketbook from which he extracted the communication in question. paul took it to the light and examined it closely. "this is a forgery! uncle barnaby never wrote it." "let me see, paul," ejaculated chet. he also examined the letter with as much care as his brother had displayed. there was not the slightest doubt of it. the letter was not genuine. "it's certainly a bad state of affairs," said noel urner. "it makes the disappearance of your uncle look decidedly bad." "it looks like foul play!" cried paul. "why should uncle barnaby leave the hotel in that fashion if all was perfectly straight?" "it's like as not some mining town rascals got hold of his secret and then put him out of the way, so that they might profit by it," said chet. "there are plenty of fellows mean enough for that." "at first i was satisfied by the receipt of the letter," continued noel urner. "but the more i thought over the matter the more i became convinced that something was wrong; but in a different way from what you think. i imagined your uncle had found other speculators to go in with him and they had persuaded him to cut me off. that is why i started off, after settling my other business in california, to find your uncle and learn the truth. i was willing to lose a few weeks' time out here looking around, even if it didn't pay." "we are very glad you came and that we found you," answered paul. "i am sorry for only one thing, that allen is not here to meet you." "i am in no hurry to continue my journey; indeed, i do not see how i can without a horse. if you wish i will remain here until your brother returns." "you are right welcome to do that," cried chet. "as for not having a horse, you are no worse off than ourselves, for we are without an animal of any kind, outside of the cattle." "then, being equally bad off, we ought to make good friends," smiled noel urner. "i shall like staying on a ranch for a few days first rate, and you can rely on my giving you all the assistance in my power when it comes to finding out the fate of your uncle." "we can't do anything until allen returns," sighed paul. "then we will hope that your brother returns speedily, and with good news." "the best news will be his return with all our horses," returned chet. "we can do nothing without our animals." alas! how little did both chet and paul dream of the terrible ordeal through which allen was at that moment passing! chapter vi. from one peril to another "i am lost! nothing can save me!" such was the agonizing thought which rushed into allen winthrop's mind as he felt himself plunging madly downward to the glittering waters far beneath him. it must be confessed that the otherwise brave young ranchman was fearfully frightened at the dreadful peril which confronted him. he and his faithful mare were going down, and certain death seemed inevitable. "heaven help me!" he murmured to himself, and shutting his teeth hard, clung grimly to the saddle. out of the sunlight into the gloom and mist below descended horse and rider. scarcely two seconds passed and then, with a resounding splash, the animal and its living burden disappeared beneath the surface of the river and out of the sight of the rascals on the opposite side of the canyon. "that settles him," cried one of the horse thieves, grimly. "he was a fool to follow us." "maybe he'll escape," ventured a second. "wot! arfter sech a plunge?" returned the first speaker, sarcastically. "wall, hardly, ter my reckonin'." they shifted their positions on the brink of the opening, but try their best, could see nothing more of the young man or the mare. it was now growing darker rapidly, and fifteen minutes later, satisfied that allen had really taken a fall to his death, they continued on their way. and poor allen? down, down, down sank the mare and her hapless rider, until the very bottom of the river was struck. the swiftly flowing tide caught both in its grasp, tumbled them over and over and sent them spinning onward. allen's grasp on the saddle relaxed, and as it did so the young man lost consciousness. how long he remained in this state allen never knew. when he came to he was lying among brush, partly in the water and partly out. he attempted to sit up and in doing so, slipped back beyond his depth. but the instinct of self-preservation still remained with him, and he made a frantic clutch at the brush and succeeded in pulling himself high and dry upon a grassy bank. here he lay for several minutes exhausted. he could not think, for his head felt as if it was swimming around in a balloon. at last he began to come to himself and after a bit sat up to gaze about him. but all was dark and he could see little or nothing. he remembered the great plunge he had taken and wondered what had become of lilly. he called her with all the strength of his enfeebled lungs, but received no response. "she must have been killed," he thought. "poor lilly! but had it not been for the protection her body gave me it is more than likely that my life would have been ended, too!" and he shuddered to think of his narrow escape. it was nearly half an hour before allen felt strong enough to rise up. his head felt light, and for a while he staggered like an intoxicated man. he knew he was down in the canyon, and some distance below where the bridge had been. he wondered how he could ascend to the top of the rocks which presented themselves on the two sides. "i can't climb up in this darkness," he said half aloud. "i might slip and break my neck. i had better walk along and hunt for some natural upward slope." he started off along the river side, the top of the canyon towering nearly a hundred feet above his head as he proceeded. the opening gradually grew narrower, and with this the distance between the rocks and the water decreased, until there was hardly room left for allen to walk. "i must have made a mistake," was the mental conclusion which he arrived at. "i should have gone up the river instead of down. the chances are that i can't go over a hundred feet further, if as far." soon allen came to a halt. the ground between the wall of the canyon and the water ceased just before him. beyond the steep and bare rocks ran directly downward into the stream. "that settles it," he muttered, in great disappointment. "all this traveling for nothing. and it's getting night over head, too! it's a shame!" allen paused to rest, for in his weak condition the walk had tired him greatly. then he started to retrace his steps. hardly had he taken a yard's advance, when his left foot slipped upon a round stone. he was thrown over on his side, and before he could save himself went plunging headlong into the stream! he essayed by every means in his power to regain the bank, but in vain. the current of the river was extra strong at this point--the width of the course having narrowed down--and before he could clutch the first thing he was carried to where nothing but the steep and slippery rocks presented themselves. vainly he put out his hands to stay his progress, vainly he tried by every means in his power to obtain some sort of hold on the rocks. [illustration: vainly he put out his hands to stay his progress] and now the surface of the river grew blacker as the rocks on both sides began, seemingly, to close in over his head. he was almost tempted to cry out for help, and took a breath for that purpose, but the sound was not uttered. what would be the use? not a soul would hear him. on and on went the young ranchman, the waters growing more cold each instant and the prospects more gloomy. he was half tempted to give himself up for lost. it was an easy matter to keep himself on the surface, for he was really a good swimmer, but now the current was so strong that he could scarcely touch either side of its rocky confines as he was swept along, he knew not where. allen had never explored this stream, and this to him made the immediate future look blacker than ever. "if it ends in some sort of a sink hole, i'm a goner sure," he thought. "but i never heard of such a hole up here among the mountains, so i won't give up just yet." hardly had the thought occupied his mind when, on looking up, he saw the last trace of evening fade from sight. the river had entered a cavern! he was now underground! it may well be imagined with what dismay allen, stout-hearted as he was, viewed the turn of the situation. here he was being borne swiftly along on an underground river, he knew not where. it was a situation calculated to chill the bravest of hearts. all was pitch black around and overhead; beneath was the silent and cold water, and the only sound that fell upon his ears was the rushing along of the stream. as well as he was able, allen put out his hands before him, to ward off the shock of a sudden contact of any sort, for he did not know but that he might be dashed upon a jagged rock at any instant. then he prayed earnestly for deliverance. on and on he swept, the stream several times making turns, first to one side and then to the other. once his hand came brushing up to a series of rocks, but before he could grasp them he was hurled onward in an awful blackness. a quarter of an hour went by--a time that to the young man seemed like an age--and during that period he surmised that he must have traveled a mile or more. then the current appeared to slacken up, and he had a feeling come over him as if the space overhead had become larger. "this must be an underground lake," he thought. "now if i----ah, bottom!" his thought came to a sudden termination, for his feet had touched upon a sloping rock but a few feet below the surface of the stream. the rock sloped to his right, and, moving in that direction, allen, to his great joy, soon emerged upon a stony shore. he took several cautious steps in as many different directions and felt nothing. he was truly high and dry at last. this fact was a cheering one, but there was still a dismal enough outlook. where was he and how would he ever be able to gain the outer world once more? chapter vii. the cave in the mountain allen was too exhausted to do more than move about cautiously. he felt for the edge of the stream, and then moved away from it for several yards. his hand came in contact with a dried bush and several sticks of wood, all of which had probably floated in at one time on the stream, and these at once made him think of a fire. what a relief a bit of light would be! in his life on the long range, allen had found a watertight matchbox very useful. he felt in his pocket and found the article still safe. he opened it with fingers that trembled a little; but the matches were still dry, and in a trice one was struck and lit. he held the match under some of the driest of the brush, and had the satisfaction of seeing it blaze up. he piled the stuff up, and on top placed several heavy sticks. soon he had a fire which blazed merrily. the light illumined the cavern, casting a ruddy glare on the rocks and the rippling water. it was a weird and uncanny scene, and he shivered involuntarily. he would have given a good deal to have been in the outer world once more. allen saw that the river had simply widened at the spot, and that a hundred yards further on it flowed into a narrow channel, as before. only on the side which he occupied was there anything in the shape of a shore. opposite the rocks stood straight up, and were covered with moss and slime. "if i am to get out, it must be from this shore upward," allen thought as he surveyed the situation. "i can never get back on the river. one could never row even a boat against that current." the shore was not more than thirty or forty feet wide. it was backed up by rocks, but allen was glad to see that they did not present an unbroken surface. there were numerous fissures, and in one place the opening was a dozen feet in width. selecting the brightest of the firebrands allen, left the vicinity of the stream and started to explore this opening. he was in great hopes that it would lead upward and that he would thus be enabled to climb out of his prison--for to him that damp, dark place was nothing less. the opening was filled with loose stones, and allen had to be careful for fear of spraining an ankle, or worse. he moved along slowly, halting every few steps to survey the scene ahead. twenty yards distant from the entrance to the fissure allen came to a turn to the left. here was a narrow opening just large enough for him to pass through. beyond was another cavern-like spot not over ten yards in width and height and of interminable length. fearful of losing his way, allen hesitated about advancing. but presently he plucked up courage, and, holding down his firebrand, he allowed it to burn up again and then proceeded along the chamber. the flooring was uneven and covered with loose rocks and stones. huge stalactites hung down from overhead, and in several spots the moisture dripped down with weird hollow sounds. "i would like to know how far underground i really am," was allen's earnest mental speculation as he came to a halt beside a tiny stream which flowed from one side of the cavern to the other. "if there was only some slope which led upward it would be more encouraging. but it's about as flat as a bit of prairie land." allen hopped over the stream, and, assured that he could easily retrace his steps if necessary, continued on his search, his firebrand held over his head. it was a discouraging journey when the end was reached. before him arose a solid wall not less than twenty feet in height, at which elevation the cavern appeared to continue. allen gazed up at the wall with a hopeless look on his face. "humph! how in the name of creation am i to climb up there?" he muttered. "it's as steep as the side of a house and twice as slippery. if i can't find some sort of stepping places i reckon i'm beaten and booked to go back to where i started from." waving the firebrand to make it burn the brighter, allen began to scrutinize the face of the wall before him. he started at one end, resolved that not a foot of the surface should escape him. he had traveled along some fifteen feet when he came to something that made him start back in astonishment. "great caesar!" before him were a number of letters, cut in smooth rock, which was apparently quite soft. the letters read: barnaby winthrop's mine. allen stared at the letters on the rock as if he had not spelled out the words aright. but there was no mistake. they really read "barnaby winthrop's mine." "well, if this isn't the most wonderful discovery ever made!" ejaculated the young man, finally. "so this is the place that uncle barnaby talked of as being the richest claim in idaho. i wonder how he ever found it?" while allen stood close to the rocky wall he reached the conclusion that his uncle must have come there by the river, but whether a voluntary or involuntary passenger he could not decide. he knew uncle barnaby was exceedingly fearless, but was there any human being who would take the awful risk of a journey on that underground river, not knowing to where it led? "he must have been caught, just as i was," said allen to himself, at last. "and that being so, the question is, how did he manage, after he was once here, to get _out_?" while allen was debating this question he cast his eyes about for some means of scaling the wall. he walked along its face until the very end was reached, and there, to his joy, discovered a dozen rudely cut niches, some of them were close together and others nearly a yard apart, but, with the end of the firebrand between his teeth, he had no great difficulty in pulling himself up to the level of the flooring of the cavern above. allen now found himself in an opening not over fifty yards square. the roofing was hardly out of reach, and the young man saw at a glance that the quartz rock was full of virgin gold and silver. it was a veritable bonanza. "a million dollars or more!" he cried, enthusiastically. "uncle barnaby struck it rich for once. i wonder why he don't come back and begin operations. it's queer i didn't get word from him." allen could not help but spend some time in looking around, so fascinating was the sight of the precious metal as it shimmered here and there in the ruddy glare of the torch. his uncle would be rich indeed, and he knew that he and his brothers would not be forgotten by their generous guardian. but soon the thought of escape came back to him. was there an opening to the outer world, or was he entombed alive? at the far end of the chamber, after a long search, allen came to a narrow passageway, which he was compelled to enter on hands and knees. it led upward and he had great hopes that ere long he would emerge into the outer air once more. but he was doomed to disappointment. the passageway led around numerous curves, and long before the end was reached his torch went out, and he was left in total darkness. he crawled on and on, until finally he brought up against a solid wall. much frightened, he lit a match to survey the situation. saving in his rear, the rocks arose on all sides. but overhead was open, and up he went, very much as a sweep might climb a half-choked up chimney, up through weeds and brush and dirt. he was half smothered by the dust which filled his nose and mouth, and he was forced to keep his eyes closed for fear of being blinded. at last, after he was nearly ready to give up in despair, he felt a breath of cooling air blow over him. this was encouraging, and he commenced to climb harder than ever. up and up he went, until suddenly opening his eyes, he found himself at the top of the hole, and looking almost directly into the face of the rising sun! chapter viii. into a snake's nest "all night underground!" murmured allen to himself as he surveyed the scene before him in intense surprise. "heaven be thanked for my escape!" his climb had so exhausted him that for a long while he sat on the ground, unable to move. he felt both cold and hungry, but paid no heed. it was blessing enough for the time being to be safe. when he felt stronger, he began to speculate upon where he was and how far he would have to travel to reach the ranch. the face of the country looked new and strange to him. "i must mark this spot, so i can find the mine again," he thought. "uncle barnaby may not know of this opening." close at hand was a tall tree, and upon this allen cut his initials in large letters. then he walked to all the trees in the vicinity and cut hands on them pointing to the first tree. "now, i reckon it's all right," he said to himself. "and the next best thing is to strike out for home." climbing the tree, allen took his bearings as well as he was able, and then struck off as rapidly as his tired legs and sore feet would permit. he had covered perhaps half a mile when he came to a steep decline. he tried to proceed down this with care, but slipped and rolled with a crash through the brush to the bottom. it was a bad fall and hurt him not a little, but that was not the worst of it. the passage through the brush aroused half a score of snakes, some small and others a yard and over in length, and now they came after him, hissing angrily and several preparing to dart at him. it was small wonder that allen gave a yell. he knew the reptiles were, many of them, poisonous, and he had not the first thing with which to defend himself. he leaped back to retreat, but only to find himself surrounded. no one who has never been surrounded by snakes can realize the terrible feeling which awakens in one's breast at such an experience. it is a feeling that, once realized, is never forgotten. allen said afterward he felt as if his hair had lifted from his head and his heart had had a bath in ice water. "great scott!" were the words which escaped from his lips. "this is the worst yet!" he had no time to say more, for at that moment one of the snakes leaped through the air directly for his hand. he threw his hand up, caught the reptile by the tail and flung it, hissing, among its fellows. then he essayed to leap over those in front of him. but before he could do so one wound itself around the instep of his boot. it was a poisonous snake. allen saw that at a glance. he tried to kick it off, but missed it. then out darted the terrible fang and up came that ugly head, with diamond-like eyes, toward the young man's knee! for one brief second allen fancied his last hour on earth had come. a single bite from that snake and all would be over, for it would be all out of the question to get rid of the poison. but with a strength and courage born of despair he bent down, and, reaching out, caught the reptile around the neck. the bright eyes almost paralyzed his nerve, and he was compelled to turn from them in order to accomplish his purpose. holding the snake with a grasp of iron, he leaped out of the circle of reptiles. then he bent down and forcing the snake's head against a rock, ground it to pieces under his heel. [illustration: holding the snake he leaped out of the circle of reptiles.] it was a highly dangerous bit of work, and when it was over the great beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. to him it was as if the last few seconds had been an age. the other snakes had not followed him, but, nevertheless, he lost no time in leaving the spot on a run. five minutes later he was nearly a quarter of a mile from the vicinity. he had gone at right angles to the course he imagined would take him back to the ranch, and now he found he must make a detour around a hill covered with cactus and other prickly plants. by this time allen was thoroughly worn out and hungry to the last degree. bitterly he regretted the loss of his favorite mare, lilly. "if i had her i imagine i could strike home inside of a couple of hours," he said to himself. "but on foot it will take me until noon or longer." but there was no use to grumble, and after resting a spell the young man again started on his weary tramp through thicket and brush, over hills and through hollows. more than once he stumbled and fell, and it was all he could do at times to regain his feet. "it's no fun to be afoot on the long range," he soliloquized. "a mile seems three times as long as when on horseback." but there was no help for it; he must go on, and on he went, his feet now so sore in his wet boots that he could hardly take a regular step. as he proceeded, he looked about for something to eat, but outside of a few half-green berries, found nothing. birds were numerous, but without firearms they were out of his reach. a less experienced person than allen would have been much frightened by the solitude and loneliness. but the young ranchman was accustomed to being out alone for days at a time, and he did not mind it. he wished to get home more for bodily comforts than aught else. at last, when allen was beginning to congratulate himself that the roughest portion of the journey would soon be over he came face to face with a most unexpected difficulty. emerging from a thicket, he found himself at the very brink of a gully all of ten feet wide and of great depth. "humph!" he muttered, as he came to a halt. "i can't jump that. how am i to get over?" this question was not easy to answer. looking up and down the opening, no bridge, either natural or artificial, was presented to view. "i'll have to cut a pole and use that," he thought. "there is no use to tramp up and down looking for a spot to cross." his pocketknife was still safe, and he drew it out and went to work with a will on a sapling growing some distance from the gully's edge. the sapling had just been laid low and allen was on the point of dragging it away when sounds broke upon his ear that filled him with surprise. he heard human voices, and one of them was that of a man he had encountered on the road, the fellow who had been riding chet's horse! "i reckon you have missed the road, saul," said the man in a disgusted tone. "no, i ain't missed nuthin'," was the reply. "so don't you go for to croak so much, darry." "well, we don't appear to be makin' much headway," growled the fellow addressed as darry. "we'll come out all right, never fear. it's this yere blamed gully bothers me. we might git over afoot, but we can't cross it on the hosses." allen crouched back behind a bush, and a moment later the two men appeared in the opening near the gully. the fellow called darry still rode chet's horse, while he addressed as saul was astride of paul's animal. behind the pair came a tall negro, riding a mustang and leading two others, little animals looking much the worse for constant and hard usage. "dis yere ditch doan' seem ter git no narrower, nohow," said the colored man, with a good-natured grin. "i dun racken we might as well build a bridge an done with it." "by the boots, but i reckon jeff is about half right," cried darry. "this split may last clear across the hill." "it's not so easy to build a bridge," grumbled he called saul, who appeared to be the leader of the trio. "we ain't got no axes." "well, i move we take a rest, anyway," said darry. "i'm tired of riding a strange hoss over these yere hills." "all right, we'll lay off and have a bite of the stuff in jeff's haversack," replied the leader of the crowd. they dismounted not over two rods from where allen lay hidden in the brush, hardly daring to breathe. being unarmed and knowing the temper of the rascals only too well, the young man kept himself covered and made not the slightest sound. the negro brought forth an old army haversack and from it produced some crackers, jerked meat, and several other articles. soon the trio were eating voraciously. the horses had been tied to several trees in the vicinity, and while the men were eating and talking in low tones, allen conceived the idea of gaining possession of one of the animals and riding off with it. he knew it would do no good to confront the thieves unarmed. "i'll get on paul's horse," he thought, "and if i can, i'll take chet's animal with me. then i'll have their horses back, even if i won't have my own." watching for a chance, when the backs of the men were turned, allen crept from his cover and wormed his way toward paul's horse. his knife was in his hand, and noiselessly he cut the halter. another cut and chet's animal was also free. the horses stamped as they recognized allen, who always made pets of all in the stable. then jasper let out a loud neigh of welcome. the sound reached the ears of the leader of the horse thieves. he sprang to his feet, and a second later, allen was discovered! chapter ix. a visitor at the ranch let us once more go back to the ranch, where chet and paul, as well as the newcomer, noel urner, anxiously awaited allen's return. the night had been a long one to the two boys, neither of whom had slept a whole hour at a time. as chet expressed it, "they felt it in their bones" that something was wrong. at daybreak both rushed up to the roof of the ranch house, and with a field glass which mr. winthrop had left them, scanned eagerly in all directions. "not a man or horse in sight," said chet in deep disappointment. "the chase must have been a long one indeed." "like as not allen has gone on to some town," rejoined paul. "but he ought to be back by noon; he knows we will be anxious to hear how he made out." the two went below to meet noel, who had just finished dressing. they set to work and a smoking hot breakfast was soon on the table. "well, i see nothing for me to do but to calmly wait for your brother's return," said the young man from new york. "i don't want to start out anywhere on foot, especially as i know nothing of the roads." "yes, don't go anywhere till allen gets back," said paul. "i want you to tell him yourself all you know concerning uncle barnaby." the morning dragged by slowly, and at the passage of each hour the boys grew more anxious. "it's a dangerous proceeding, this chasing horse thieves," explained chet to noel urner. "a fellow is apt to get shot, unless he is careful. that is what worries us so." "unless something turns up right after dinner, i'm going off on foot with my rifle," put in paul. "i may not discover anything, but it will ease my mind trying to do something." it lacked half an hour of noon when the boys heard a cheery voice from the road hail them. they looked out and beheld ike watson, the hunter, from gold fork, resting in the saddle just outside of the semi-stockade. "whoop! hullo thar!" cried the old fellow, who was hearty in both mind and body and full of fun. "wot's the meanin' o' two healthy boys a-bummin' around the ranch sech an all-fired fine day as this yere?" "o, ike; i'm so glad you happened along!" cried paul, as he ran out to meet him. "we were hoping some friend would come." "thet so?" ike watson's face grew sober on the instant. "wot's the trouble?" "our horses have been stolen----" "gee, shoo! hoss thieves ag'in! wall, i'll be eternally blowed!" exclaimed ike watson, in a rage. "who be they, paul?" "we don't know. allen has gone after them." "how many animiles did they git?" "only two--that is here--chet's and mine. but they also stole the horse belonging to this gentleman, mr. noel urner. mr. urner, this is our friend, ike watson." "hoss thieves is worse 'n pizen," growled watson, as he sprang down and gave noel urner a hearty shake of the hand. "thar ought ter be a law to hang every one o' 'em, say i!" "allen went off yesterday afternoon, and as we have not heard from him since, we are getting anxious," put in chet. "we would have followed, but we haven't a single beast left in the barn." "i see. which way did the thieves go?" "allen took the trail over the brook," replied paul. "humph!" ike watson scratched his head for a moment. "wot's ter prevent me goin' after him, boys?" "will you?" asked paul eagerly. "sartin. i ain't got nuthin' ter do, an' if i had, i reckon i could drop it putty quick ter do a favor fer granville winthrop's orphans. give me a bite ter eat an' i'll be off ter onct." "are you sufficiently armed?" questioned noel urner. "armed? well, i reckon," and from his belt ike watson produced an old ' horse pistol nearly two feet long. "thet air's my best friend, barrin' the rifle." chet soon had dinner for the hunter, which was as quickly devoured, and then, after receiving some of the particulars of the case on hand, ike watson started off. "you'll hear from me before another sun smiles on ye!" he called back. "an' don't ye worry too much in the between time!" and he then disappeared. the boys felt much more comfortable after watson had started off to hunt up allen. they knew the old man would do all in his power to help their elder brother, no matter in what difficulty he might find him. "a rather odd character, truly," observed noel, as they again passed into the house. "yes, but with a heart of steel and gold," returned chet. "idaho does not contain a braver or better hunter than old ike watson." shortly after this chet and paul went out to care for the cattle about the place, for quite a few head had already been penned up ready for the early fall drive. the ranch did not boast of many cattle, and such as there was they desired to keep in the best possible condition. noel urner accompanied them and was much interested in all to be seen and what was done. "such a difference between life out here and in the city," he remarked. "actually, it is like another world!" "you're right there," replied paul. "and when you size it up all around, it's hard to tell which is the best--providing, of course, you can get a comfortable living at either place." just as the three were walking back to the ranch the sounds of a horse's hoofs broke upon their ears. "can it be allen?" burst out chet, but then his face fell. "no, it's not his style of riding." "oh, pshaw!" whispered paul a second later. "if it isn't captain grady!" "and who is he?" queried noel. "an old prospector who wants to get possession of this ranch. he claims that our title to it is defective, or not good at all. i wonder what he wants now?" "perhaps he's got more evidence to prove his claim to the place," groaned chet. "oh, dear! troubles never come singly, true enough!" with anxious hearts the two brothers walked forward to meet the new arrival, whose face bore a look of insolence and self-satisfaction. captain hank grady was a tall, evil-looking man of forty years of age. his title was merely one of favor, for he had neither served in the army nor the navy. but little was known of his past by the people of the section, and he never took the pains to enlighten those who were curious enough to know. for years he had wanted the big bear ranch, as the winthrop homestead was called, for neither by fair means nor foul had he heretofore been able to obtain possession of the property. but now he had been working in secret for a long while, and he came prepared to make an announcement that was designed to trouble the boys not a little. "hullo, there, young fellers," he called out roughly, as he dismounted. "i reckon you didn't expect to see me quite so soon again, did you?" "we did not," rejoined paul, coldly. "well, i confess i fixed matters up quicker than i first calculated to do," went on the captain. "i thought i was going to have a good bit more trouble to establish my claim." "as far as i know you have no claim here to establish," put in chet, sharply. "you may pretend----" "see here, i ain't talking to you," retorted captain grady, cutting him short. "your big brother is the feller i want to see--him or barnaby winthrop." "both of them are away," replied paul, "and chet and i are running the ranch just now." "and if you do not like my manner of speech you need not stay here," cried chet, warmly, his temper rising at the newcomer's aggressive manner. "ho! you young savage, don't you speak that way to me," roared captain grady. "i didn't come here to deal with a kid." "i may be young, but i have my rights here, just the same," retorted chet. "my brother is right," added paul. "if you wish to talk business you must do so with both of us." the captain growled out something under his breath. he was about to speak when he caught sight of noel urner. he started back as though a ghost had confronted him, and the words died on his lips. the young man from new york saw the action, but could not in the least account for it. chapter x. the captain's setback captain grady recovered in a few seconds. he glanced suspiciously about to see if there were others with noel. seeing the young man was alone, he plucked up fresh courage. "all right, i'll talk business with both," he said. "who is this?" and he jerked his thumb toward noel. "a friend of ours from new york," replied paul. "humph! didn't know you had friends so far off." "we don't know everything in this world," retorted chet, pointedly. "you're right, we don't," replied the captain with equal emphasis. he tied his horse fast to the doorpost and strode into the house. paul motioned chet to follow, and then buttonholed noel urner. "this is captain grady," he whispered. "we have told you a little about him. he is trying to get this ranch away from us." "and he has no real claim to it?" "i do not believe he has. but he is so slippery a customer he will swindle us if he can. will you give us some advice how best to proceed? you know more about claims and legal papers than we do." "certainly i'll do what i can for you," and then both entered the ranch home. "i'm sorry i ain't got your older brother to deal with," began the captain. "i reckon he is the one who will understand my talk best." "then, perhaps you had best wait till he gets back," said chet quickly. "and when will that be?" "i cannot say exactly." "i'm not in the humor to wait. i've waited too long already." the captain paused and cleared his throat. "i believe you said you had the original title papers to the ranch, didn't you?" he went on. "yes, we did say that." "i would like to see 'em." chet and paul looked at each other. they had expected and dreaded this request. "supposing we don't care to show them to you?" said paul cautiously. "what's the reason you don't care?" retorted the captain, angrily. "we are not called on to explain all our actions to you," said chet. "see here, i don't want to quarrel, but i'm a-goin' to see them ere papers," blustered captain grady, with a decided shake of his head. "i came all the way from deadwood to see 'em." "well, you won't see them," returned paul, boldly. it would never do in the wide world to acknowledge that they had been burned up. "well, then, i reckon i'm free to speak what's on my mind," roared the captain, "an' that is, that you never had no papers at all." "you can say what you please," said chet, as calmly as he could. "an' that ain't all i've got to say," went on the captain. "i've got more to say to you. this ere claim o' land originally belonged to sam slater, o' deadwood----" "we know that." "slater died, an' left no will----" "that may all be true, too." "an' he left this land----" "no, he didn't. it was sold to my father before that!" cried paul. "no such thing. old slater left it as part o' his estate----" "he did not." "he did, an' i can take my affidavy to it, if it's necessary," exclaimed captain grady. "but that ain't all yet wot i hev got to tell. slater left it to his heirs, an' i bought it from them only last week." "it can't be true!" gasped chet, faintly. "it is true, an' i hev the papers to prove it. this here ranch belongs to me, an' the sooner you boys pack up your duds an' git out the better it will please me," and captain grady smiled maliciously at the blow his news had brought to the boys. both paul and chet were much dismayed by the unexpected announcement captain grady had made. for the moment they stared at the speaker as if they had not heard aright. it was paul who spoke first. "you bought the ranch, and have the papers to prove it?" he gasped. "that's just wot i said, boy." "your claim will not hold water," put in chet, faintly. "well, i reckon it will," retorted captain grady. "i allow as how i know wot i'm a-doin'." "my father bought this ranch, and that settles it," said paul. "we will not give up our rights here just on what you say." "perhaps you had better look at his papers," suggested noel urner, who had thus far remained silent. "it won't be necessary for them to look at 'em," returned the captain, doggedly. "i have 'em and that's enough. i ain't got to show my papers no more than they hev got to show theirs." "what shall we do?" whispered paul to the young man from new york, as he led him a little to one side. "stick to your resolve to stand up for your rights," was noel's reply. "remember, possession is nine points of the law. he cannot dispossess you unless he starts a lawsuit to recover the property he claims." "i ain't a-goin' to wait for your uncle barnaby or allen to return," went on captain grady, sullenly. "i want you to leave at once, bag and baggage." "indeed," returned paul, coldly. "yes, indeed. i've been kept out of this place long enough--seeing as how the original owner gave me a half hold on it long before he died." "what makes you so anxious for the place?" asked noel urner with sudden interest. "that's my business," growled the captain. "is there any concealed wealth upon it?" "no, there ain't," exclaimed captain grady, almost so quick that it did not sound natural. "you seem to be awfully anxious----" "i own the next ranch, that's why. i want to turn my cattle an' sech in the two. besides that, it ain't natural for a man to stand by an' see others a-usin' of his things." "you talk very positively, captain grady," said paul. "but it will do you no good. we shall not budge for the present." "you won't?" "not a step. we claim this property and you will have to get the law to put us out if we are to be put out." "you young highflyers!" growled the captain. he had a dread of the law and would do anything to keep out of court. "do you think i'll stand sech talk?" "you will have to stand it," put in chet. "i agree with paul. we won't budge until the sheriff or a constable puts us out." for the moment captain grady was speechless. his face grew dark with gathering wrath, and he looked as if he wanted to eat some one up. "you won't budge, hey?" he roared at last. "no." "i'll put ye out!" "i don't think you will," retorted paul. "not without a big fight," added chet. "the boys have a right to stay here until put out," said noel urner. "the property is in dispute, and the only way to settle the matter is by going to law." "i didn't ask for your advice," growled the captain, fiercely. "i own this ranch, an' i'm a-goin' to have it, an' putty quick, too!" and without another word he turned on his heel, strode out of the house, sprang on his horse, and rode away at top speed. "phew! but isn't he mad!" exclaimed chet, as the rider disappeared up the river trail. "you bet!" returned paul, dropping into a bit of slang. "but he can stay mad as long as he pleases; he can't bulldoze us." "he is not so sure of his rights as he pretends to be," remarked noel urner, who, in the course of his city life, had met many men similar to captain grady. "if he knew all was right he wouldn't bluster so much." "that's my idea of it, too," rejoined chet. "i am half inclined to think he never bought the land--that is, paid for what he supposed was a title to it--for he couldn't really buy it except it was sold by uncle barnaby." "well, by the time he pays another visit your brother will be back most likely. it is a pity that your uncle should just now be missing." the afternoon wore away, and anxiously the two boys awaited the coming of allen. several times they went up to the roof of the house and swept all points of the compass with their field glass. at last the shades of night began to fall, and with heavy hearts the two began the round of evening work, feeding the chickens and pigs and seeing that everything was secure for the night. there were also a couple of cows to milk and a dozen or more of eggs to gather. noel urner went around with them as before, and he was greatly interested. when they returned to the house he began to question them as to the extent of the ranch. "oh, it's pretty big," replied paul. "it runs up and down the river nearly half a mile, and as far back as what we call the second foothills. if we had horses i could ride you around and show you." "are there any mines in the foothills?" was the young man's next question. "there used to be a few, but they have all been abandoned because they did not pay." "perhaps this captain grady has struck something that will pay." "hardly. my father and uncle barnaby went over every foot of the ground half a dozen times, and they were both better prospectors than the captain." noel urner was about to ask more questions, but a sound outside of the stockade caused him to pause. they all listened, and then chet gave a shout. "somebody is coming! it must be allen or ike watson! come on out and see!" chapter xi. ike watson's arrival let us go back to allen. we left him just as the sound made by paul's horse aroused the leader of the horse thieves, whose full name was saul mangle. "the feller that went over into the river, as sure as fate!" burst from the lips of mangle, and he started back in astonishment. "impossible!" cried darry, the second man. "that feller must have been killed!" "see for yourself." with these words saul mangle sprang forward to stop allen, who was about to mount jasper. he reached the young man's side as allen gained the saddle. "come down out of that!" he cried, roughly. "not much!" returned the young man. "clear the track, unless you want to be run down!" he urged the horse forward. jasper started, but ere he had taken three steps, mangle caught him by the bridle. "whoa!" he cried. "whoa, i say!" "let the horse go, do you hear?" ejaculated allen, sharply. "i won't do it! darry! jeff! come here, why don't you?" the others leaped into the brush. allen saw that affairs were turning against him. he leaned forward to jasper's neck. smack! mangle caught a sharp blow full across his mouth. it came so quickly that he staggered back and his hold was loosened. "on, jasper, on, my boy!" cried allen, slapping the animal with his palm. "come, rush! come, rush!" he added to chet's horse, which stood close beside. off went jasper with a bound, and rush followed at his heels. "stop him! hang the measly luck!" roared saul mangle. "darry! jeff! what are you at?" as he cried out, the leader of the horse thieves felt for his pistol. but before the weapon could be drawn both horses and allen had disappeared behind a clump of cottonwoods. "we had bettah follow him on de mustangs," suggested the negro. "he can't ride----" "of course, we'll follow him!" growled mangle. "don't stand and talk about it. come on! he'll be out of hearing in another minute! this is the worst luck yet!" he leaped for one of the mustangs. in another second all three of the men were mounted and riding after allen as rapidly as the nature of the land and growth would allow. "how do you think he escaped?" asked darry, as they pushed on. "can't make it out," replied mangle. "we'll make him tell the story when we catch him. ha! what was that?" a sudden crash ahead had arrested their attention. he listened. a dead silence followed. "the hosses and young feller have gone into some sort of a hole," cried darry. "we'll have him now, all right enough." on they went through the brush, mangle leading the way. suddenly the leader came to a halt. before him was a sheer descent of eight or ten feet. "here's where he and the hosses went down," he said to his followers. "but where is he?" questioned darry. "not far off, i'll warrant ye. come on." "dis yere mustang won't take dat leap," put in jeff, drawing back. "and i won't venture it," added darry, "i don't want to land on my head." "cowards!" howled saul mangle. "well, then, there is a trail to the right; take that. here goes!" he spoke to his animal, and an instant later rider and mustang went down in a graceful curve. they landed in a bunch of brush, none the worse for the leap. darry and jeff followed by way of the trail. they could hear allen pushing through the brush not over a hundred yards ahead. the young man was having a hard time of it. he was going it blindly, and was so faint from want of sleep and something to eat that he could hardly sit up in the saddle. yet he realized his peril and clung on desperately, meanwhile urging the horse and his mate to do their best to place distance between them and their pursuers. but now the slight trail he was pursuing became rougher, and it was with difficulty that any progress could be made. the horses labored along bravely, but were no match on such ground for the nimble-footed mustangs. "halt! do you hear?" were the first unpleasant words which greeted allen's ears, and looking back he saw that saul mangle was in plain sight. allen attempted to dodge out of sight. to frighten him mangle fired off his pistol, the bullet cutting through the brush under jasper's feet. "will you stop now?" yelled mangle. allen was in a quandary. he did not wish to be shot, and yet---- but the young man was not called on to solve the dreadful question. while he hesitated there was a loud shout from some distance to his right, and looking up the rocks he saw to his great joy ike watson, the hunter, sitting astride of his horse, rifle in hand. "wall, wall!" shouted the old man. "and what's the row, allen, i want to know?" "horse thieves, ike! save me!" was the quick reply. "there are three of them after me!" "saul mangle, as i'm a nateral born sinner, and darry nodley and jeff jones! wall! wall! wall! turn about, before it is too late, ye sarpints!" the loud cry from ike watson caused the gang of horse thieves to come to a sudden halt. every one of them knew old ike watson only too well--knew him for a man of quaint humor, but with a sense of justice that no one dared to question. "hang the measly luck!" muttered saul mangle. "there's ike watson!" "then the jig's up for the present, and we had better vamoose!" returned nodley. "clar out, do ye hear me?" yelled ike watson to the crowd of three. "don't wait for me to git riled up." "come on!" whispered saul mangle, with a scowl, and like magic the trio of villains turned about and disappeared down a side trail, leaving poor exhausted allen safe in friendly hands at last. "by the grasshoppers of kansas, but ye look fagged out, allen!" exclaimed old ike watson as he sprang down and caught allen in his arms. "what's the matter with ye, boy?" "i've had an awful experience, ike," replied the young ranchman as soon as he could recover sufficiently to speak. "i've been underground several miles, and i haven't had a mouthful to eat since yesterday morning!" "gee shoo, allen! wall! wall! wall! if i didn't know ye so well i'd be apt ter think ye war tellin' me a fairy tale. but i allow as how granville winthrop's son couldn't lie if he tried." "i speak the truth, ike. but where are those villains?" "gone, boy, gone. they knowed better nor to stay whar ike watson was, ho! ho!" "they are horse thieves, and ought to be locked up." "thet saul mangle ought to be strung up, ye mean. and darry nodley and that coon, jeff jones, ain't much better. but they are gone now." "well, i have paul's horse and chet's, too, anyway," returned allen, with a slight smile of satisfaction. "whar's your own horse?" "dead, i reckon. we went off the upas pass bridge together into the river, and i suppose she was drowned. poor lilly!" "off the bridge! gee shoo! then ye war carried down the black rock river?" "yes!" allen gave a shudder. "it was fearful, ike. but come, let us get to the ranch, and i can tell my story to all at once!" "that's the best way, sure. but down that air stream! great snakes and turkey buzzards!" "i know it hardly can be believed, but that is not the worst or most wonderful part of it. but come; i am nearly famished." "here's a bite i have in my pouch; eat that," returned ike watson, and he passed over some crackers and meat which allen devoured with keen relish. chapter xii. the boys talk it over allen and ike watson were soon on the way back to the ranch. fortunately ike watson knew every foot of the ground, and led by the most direct route. as the reader knows, paul and chet heard them approaching and received their elder brother with open arms. "you look like a ghost!" declared chet, starting back on catching sight of allen's pale face. "and i feel like a shadow," responded allen with a weary laugh. "but a good dinner and a nap will make me as bright as a dollar again." "he has our horses!" cried paul. "yes, but not my own," returned allen. he walked into the house and was here introduced to noel urner. the table was at once spread, and soon both allen and ike watson were regaling themselves to their heart's content. during the progress of the meal allen related all of his wonderful story of the fall from the bridge, the journey on the underground river, and of his struggle to reach the open air once more. he said nothing about the wealth which lay exposed in the cavern or of the fact that it was uncle barnaby's mine, for he felt he had no right to mention those matters before ike watson and noel urner, friends though they might be. uncle barnaby had guarded his secret well and he would do the same. all listened with deep interest to what he had to say. "it was a wonder the fall into the water didn't kill you," said paul. "such a distance as it was!" "lilly saved my life--but it cost her her own," returned allen, and he sighed, for lilly had been his favorite for several years. chet and paul were eager that allen should hear noel urner's story and the young man from new york related it without delay. allen was as much surprised as his brothers had been, and so was ike watson. [illustration: the three young ranchmen talked it over] "i am afraid somebody has played uncle barnaby foul," cried allen, his face full of anxiety. "if he had left of his own accord we would have heard from him." "that's just my idea of it," said paul. "but the thing of it is, who met him in san francisco, and what did they do?" to that question allen could only shake his head. "i am too tired to say much about it to-night," he said at last. "i must sleep on it." allen wished to retire early, but before he did so chet told him of captain grady's visit. "we won't stir," said allen, briefly. "let him sue uncle barnaby. we have nothing to do with it. our first duty is to find uncle." and both paul and chet agreed with him on this point. ike watson was on his way up the salmon river to visit a new gold diggings. he refused to stay all night, and set off in the dark, with allen's thanks ringing in his ears for what he had done. despite the excitement through which he had passed, allen slept "like a log" that night, and did not awaken until long after the others were up and chet and paul had the morning chores done. "now i feel like myself once more," he said when he came down. "and i am ready for business." "so am i," laughed noel urner. "but the trouble is, i do not know how to turn without horse or conveyance. i am not used to tramping about on foot." "if we had horses we might lend you one," said allen. "but two nags for four people are two short," and he laughed. during the morning paul went out on horseback, accompanied by noel, to see if the cattle were safe. while they were gone allen told chet of the hidden mine. "it is worth a million," he said. "but it is uncle barnaby's secret, remember." "i will remember," said chet, "but we must tell paul." "certainly; tell him after i am gone." "gone? why, allen, what do you mean?" "i am going to leave home this afternoon, chet." "you are fooling," remarked the younger brother. "never more serious in my life, chet." "and you are going----" chet hesitated. "direct to san francisco to hunt up tidings of uncle barnaby." of course, chet was taken completely back by allen's announcement. "to san francisco!" he ejaculated. "yes, chet. i feel that it is my duty to discover what has become of uncle, if possible, at once." "i know, but it's such a journey----" "i am not afraid to take it. i will ride to the nearest station on the railroad, which is not over a hundred and forty miles, and then take the train. the journey on the cars will not take over a couple of days, all told." "and the cost----" "i will have to take what we have saved from the thieves. but surely, chet, you do not regret taking that for such a purpose?" "no! no! take it all! i was thinking if it would be enough." "i will make it do. i will buy a cut-rate ticket from ogden, if i can." "and what shall paul and i do in the meantime?" questioned chet in some dismay. "do nothing but guard the cattle and the place generally. i will be back, or let you hear from me just as soon as i can." paul was equally astonished at allen's sudden determination. it was, however, what noel urner had expected. "yes, i would go if i were you," said the latter. "and if you want me to, i will go with you," he added. "i must confess i am deeply interested in this strange case." "i would like you to go with me first rate," returned allen. "and whether uncle is found or not, i will promise that you shall be well paid for all the trouble you will be put to." "i want no pay for helping you. i will enjoy the bit of detective work, as one might call it. but how am i to get to the railroad station without a horse?" "you can take both horses, if necessary," suggested chet. "that's so; although we ought to have at least one animal on the ranch," added paul. "we can both ride one animal as far as dottery's ranch," said allen, "and there we can either borrow or hire another animal." "how far is dottery's?" "only about twenty-five miles. we ought to reach it by dark, if we start shortly." "we can start at once, as far as i am concerned," laughed noel. so it was decided to lose no time, and chet at once set to work to prepare dinner and also some food to be carried along. chapter xiii. caught in a cyclone less than an hour later jasper was brought out and noel urner sprang into the saddle, with allen behind him on the blanket. "keep a close watch for more thieves while i am gone!" cried allen. "we will!" shouted paul. "and you take care for more doctored bridges!" a parting wave of the hand and the ranch was left behind, and allen was off on a journey that was to be filled with adventures and excitement from start to finish. chet and paul watched the horse and his two riders out of sight, and then with rather heavy hearts returned to the house. the place seemed more lonely than ever with both allen and noel urner gone. "it's going to be a long time waiting for allen's return," sighed paul. "perhaps not," returned chet. "he left me with a secret to tell you, paul." and chet lost no time in relating allen's story of the hidden mine of great wealth. "and perhaps we can explore the place during his absence," paul said, after he had expressed his astonishment and asked half a dozen questions. "i don't know about that, paul. we may not be able to find the opening allen mentioned, and then, again, he may not wish us to do so." "why should he object?" "i don't know." "we'll have ten days or two weeks on our hands, at the very least. we might as well take a look at that wealth as not." "supposing somebody followed us and found out the secret? they would locate a claim before we could turn a hand." "we will make sure that we are not followed," said paul, who was anxious to see if all allen had told could really be true. chet continued to demur, but after allen and noel had been gone the whole of the next day he gave in, and seemed as anxious as paul to do something which would make it less lonely. apparently the horse thieves had left the vicinity, so there was nothing to be feared in that direction during an absence that they meant should not last more than one whole day. sunday came between, and on monday morning they arose early and had breakfast ere it was yet daylight. they decided to take rush, both to ride when on a level and each to take a turn at walking when on the uphill trails. allen had left chet minute directions as to how the opening to the hidden mine could be located, he having fixed the locality well in his mind before leaving it. it was rather a gloomy day, but this the two boys did not mind. "it's better than being so raging hot," said paul. "it makes my head ache to ride when it's so fearfully hot." "if it only don't rain," returned chet. "we need it bad enough, goodness knows, but it has held off so long it might as well hold off twenty-four hours longer." "i doubt if we get rain just yet. it hasn't threatened long enough," replied his brother. before the two left the ranch they saw to it that every building was locked up tight, and an alarm, in the shape of a loaded gun, set to the doors and windows. "that ought to scare would-be thieves away," said chet. "they'll imagine somebody is firing at them." the rest for a couple of days had done rush much good, and he made no work of carrying the two boys along the trail that led to the second foothills. long before noon they reached the hills, and here stopped for lunch. "and now for the wonderful mine!" cried chet. then, happening to glance across the plains below, he added: "gracious, paul! what is that?" the attention of both young ranchmen was at once drawn to a round, black cloud on the horizon to the east. it was hardly a yard in diameter, apparently, when first seen, but it increased in size with great rapidity. it was moving directly toward them, and in less than two minutes from the time chet uttered his cry it had covered fully a third of the distance. "from what i have heard i should say that was a cyclone cloud," exclaimed paul. "and still----" "who ever heard of a cyclone up here among the foothills," returned chet. "i don't believe they ever strike this territory." "i certainly never heard of their doing so," returned paul. "but still, you must remember, that cyclones are erratic things at the best." "it looks as if it were coming directly this way." "so it does, and i reckon the best thing we can do is to make tracks for some place of safety." "that is true. come on!" both boys sprang into the saddle and started up the trail. hardly had a hundred feet of the way been covered than a strange rush and roar of wind filled the air. "it's coming," shouted paul. "quick, chet, down into that hollow before it strikes us!" he plunged into the basin he had designated, which was six or eight feet below the level of the trail and not over ten yards in diameter. chet followed, ducking low as he did so, for already was the air filled with flying branches. "none too soon!" ejaculated paul. "down, rush!" between them they managed to get the horse to lie down close to a wall of dirt and rocks. they lay near, waiting almost breathlessly for that awful time of peril to pass. no one who has not experienced the dreadful effects of a cyclone can imagine it, be the description of it ever so fine. that strange rush and roar, that density of the air, accompanied by a feeling as if the very breath was about to be drawn from one's lungs, the flying débris, all unite to chill the stoutest heart and make one wonder if the next moment will not be the last. the cyclone was short and sharp. from the time it first struck the foothills until the time it spent itself in the distance was barely four minutes, yet, what an effect did it leave behind! on all sides of them many trees were literally torn up by the roots, brush was leveled as if cut by a mowing machine, and dirt and pebbles which had been perhaps carried for miles were deposited here, there, and everywhere. ranch boys though they were, and accustomed to many things strange and wonderful, chet and paul could only gaze at the work of destruction in awe, and silently thank heaven that their lives had been spared. they had escaped with slight injury. several sharp sticks and stones had scratched chet's neck as he lay prostrate, and paul's arm was greatly lamed by a blow from the branch of a tree which fell directly across the opening, pinning the horse down in such a fashion that he could not rise. "we must liberate rush first of all," cried chet. "poor fellow! whoa, rush, we'll soon help you," he added, and patted the animal on the neck to soothe him. evidently rush understood, for he lay quiet. then chet and paul, using all of their strength, raised up one end of the tree, which, fortunately, was not large. as soon as he felt himself free, rush scrambled up out of harm's way, and they let the tree fall back again. "that is the kind of an adventure i never want to experience again," said paul when he had somewhat recovered his breath. "my, how the wind did tear things!" "it was a full-fledged cyclone and no mistake," returned his brother. "had that struck a town it would have razed every building in it." "that's true, and oh!" went on paul suddenly, "i wonder if it has destroyed the marks allen left whereby the mine is to be found?" chet stared at him speechless. "perhaps!" he gasped at last. "come, let us go on and see!" there was considerable difficulty in getting out of the hollow into which they had so unceremoniously thrust themselves. rush was somewhat frightened still, and instead of riding him, they led him out by a circuitous way which took them nearly a hundred yards out of their path. they found the trail almost impassable in spots, and more than once were compelled to make a wide detour in order to avoid fallen trees and gathered brush. "a cyclone like that can do more damage than can be repaired in ten years," observed chet as they labored along on foot. "i wonder where it started from?" "somewhere out on the flat lands near the river, i reckon," returned paul. on they went around trees and rocks and brush, until the way grew so bad that both came to an involuntary halt. "it looks as if the very trail had been swept away," said paul. "i can't see anything of it ahead." "nor i. whoever would have thought of such a thing when we left home?" "we can't go on in this direction, that's sure. what's best to be done?" both looked around for several minutes and then decided to cross a rocky stretch to the right. they had to do this with great care, as the road was full of sink holes and crevices, and they did not want to break a leg or have the horse injured. the stretch crossed, they found themselves on a little hill. all about them could be seen the effects of the cyclone, not a tree or bush had escaped its ravages. "it looks as if the landmarks allen had mentioned had been swept away," said paul, as he gazed around hopelessly. "i can't see the first of them." "it would certainly seem so," rejoined chet. "if they are, they won't be able to locate the mine again, excepting to sail down the underground river." "that is so--excepting uncle barnaby turns up with another and better way of locating it," replied paul very seriously. chapter xiv. another surprise the desolation on all sides of them and the failure to locate the marks allen had mentioned caused paul and chet to become much downcast. they had had their long and tedious journey from the ranch home for nothing. "i suppose there isn't anything to do but to go back," remarked chet dismally, as he thrashed around in the brush with a stick he had picked up. "we are as far away from the mine as we were when we started." "let us be in no hurry to return," rejoined paul. "we'll give rush a chance to get back his wind." leaving the trusty animal to roam about as pleased him, the two boys threw themselves on the grass and gave themselves up to their reflections. "i'll tell you what i would like to do," remarked chet. "i would like to find the chap who cleaned us out of that seven hundred dollars." "i wonder that allen didn't get watson to stop the horse thieves and search them," mused paul. "he must have known they had the money." "he was too played out to think of much just then, i reckon. it was a good deal to escape with the horses without getting shot." "the cross we found in the barn belonged to that saul mangle beyond a doubt. the initials prove that." "i believe you." "we must watch out for that mangle, and if we can ever get our hands on him, make him give up our money and then have him locked up." "it is not so easy to lock up a man when you are miles and miles away from a jail." an hour went by, and the boys thought it time to start on the return. rush was called back from a thicket into which he had wandered and both mounted, for the trail now lead almost entirely down hill. after the cyclone the sun had come out strong and hot, and halfway back to the ranch the brothers were glad enough to stop beside the bank of a tiny mountain stream and obtain a drink and water the horse. they were about to depart when rush pricked up his ears and gave a peculiar whinny. "hush! what does that mean?" paul asked in quick alarm. "draw behind the brush and see," replied chet, cautiously. "those horse thieves may be still in the vicinity." "oh, they would not remain here," said paul. yet he followed his brother behind the brush. they tried to make rush come, too, but for once the animal would not obey. "come, rush, come," whispered chet. "why he never acted this way before." "the cyclone upset his mind, i reckon," said paul, with a faint show of humor. "make him come." but the more chet tried the more obstinate did the animal become. finally he broke away altogether and ran off, kicking up his heels behind him. "well, i never!" gasped chet. "quick, after him! i believe he means to run away!" cried paul. "rush run away!" said chet reproachfully. it hurt him a good deal to have paul speak in that fashion of the horse he so loved. both boys leaped from the thicket and after rush, who was now running up the bank of the stream at top speed. a turn was made and the brothers burst out into a loud and joyous shout. there, not fifty feet away, was lilly, the faithful mare allen had fancied was drowned in the black rock river. rush stood beside her, licking her neck affectionately. "allen's horse!" cried chet. "and as well as ever almost," added paul, as he rushed up and began an examination. the mare was evidently glad to see both the boys and her mate. she stood trembling as chet and paul examined her. "a few slight bruises, that is all," said paul. "won't allen be glad when he hears of it?" "indeed he will be. he loves lilly as if she was his best girl. it's a good thing for us, too, paul," he went on. "now each can have a mount home." "right you are--if lilly can carry me." paul was speedily on the mare's back. she seemed willing enough to carry him; in fact, glad to be in the keeping of a human being she knew. "if she could only talk what a tale she would have to tell," observed paul as they rode homeward. "i wonder how she got out of the river?" "i reckon we'll never know, unless allen makes her talk. he can make her do most everything," laughed chet. on they went over the rocks and the level prairie beyond. the sun was now sinking in the west, and ere long the evening shadows would be upon them. "well, we found a horse even if we didn't find a mine, and that's something," said paul, as they reached the trail beside the river. "but i hope that the mine isn't lost for good," replied chet, quickly. "the mine is worth a good deal more than even lilly." "maybe you can't tell that to allen." "oh, yes i can; for he saw the wealth there, you know." "if only he finds uncle barnaby," sighed paul. "do you know, the more i think of it, the more i become convinced that something dreadful has happened to him." "and that is the way i look at it, too, paul. if we could----" chet stopped short and stared ahead. they had come in sight of the semi-stockade around their ranch house. "our furniture and trunks!" gasped paul, following the direction of chet's stare. "what on earth does it mean?" there on the grass lay their furniture in a confused mass--tables, chairs, trunks, clothing, one on top of another. and in another heap were the farming implements from the barn. "captain grady's dirty work!" cried paul. "he has come here and taken possession during our absence." paul was right, for at that moment captain grady appeared at the stockade gate, gun in hand. the sarcastic smile on the captain's face told plainly that he rather enjoyed the situation. he gazed at the boys without saying a word. his left hand was tied up in a bandage, showing that he had not entirely escaped the gun traps which had been set. as a matter of fact, half a dozen bird shot still remained in the fleshy part of his thumb. "what does this mean?" demanded paul at length. he spoke as calmly as he could, although tremendously excited. "reckon you have eyes an' can see," growled captain grady. "i told you that you hadn't seen the end of this, an' that i would have this place in my possession putty quick." "you had no right to break into our house and fire our things out!" cried chet. "i deny as how it's your house, youngster. it belongs to me, as does the whole ranch property. there be your traps, an' the quicker you git them off this ground the better it will suit me." "we won't move a thing until we put them back into that house," retorted chet hot-headedly. "this is no way to gain possession, and you know it." "halt where you are!" captain grady raised his gun and pointed it at chet, who was in advance. "you'll not come near this gate, mind that!" "i'm going in, and you won't stop me," retorted chet. "don't be rash, chet," whispered paul, riding up and plucking his younger brother by the sleeve. "you try and cross this gateway and i'll fire on you, sure as fate," went on the captain. urged by paul, chet brought rush to a stand. the boys were about thirty feet from where captain grady stood on guard. "now, the best thing you fellers can do," said the captain, sharply, "is to ride over to dottery's ranch, an' git a wagon an' tote these traps away. if they are left more 'n a week i'll pitch them into the river, mind you. if you ain't satisfied at the way matters have turned, you can go to law, just as you advised me to do," and again the man smiled sarcastically. "we certainly will go to law," replied paul. "are you alone here?" "that's not for you to ask." "i presume you hung around here and saw my brother go off first and then waited for us to go away." "i ain't standing here as a target for questions," growled captain grady. "you are a sneak and worse, captain grady!" burst out chet. "if there is any law in idaho you shall have your full dose of it, mark my word!" "hi! you young bantam, don't talk to me in that fashion," roared the man in a rage. "come, i've told you what is best to do. now clear out. i shall keep watch, an' if you attempt to play any trick in the dark on me you'll find yourself running up against a charge of buckshot." that captain grady was in dead earnest was very evident. he scowled viciously and walked a step forward. yet the boys were not daunted. they held their ground, and paul even took a slight move forward on lilly's back. "supposing we go to dottery's ranch," said the youth. "if we tell our story, don't you imagine dottery will turn in and help us bounce you out of here?" "no, you'll get no help at dottery's." "he is our friend, and he will not stand up for your doings, even if you do own the ranch over the river." "well, why don't you go an' see dottery," snapped captain grady. "we will--and some other people, too," cried chet. "and in the meantime, if any of our stuff is lost, you'll pay for it," added paul. "i won't be responsible for anything. now clear out an' leave me alone." the two brothers looked at each other. neither knew exactly what to do. paul finally made a sign to withdraw, and they turned and rode down the river trail to the belt of cottonwoods. captain grady remained at the gateway, his baneful eyes on them until the trees hid them from view. then he shut the heavy gate and walked slowly toward the house, rubbing his grizzled chin reflectively. "they won't come back to-night, i'm pretty certain of that," he said to himself. "an' by to-morrow i'll be better fixed to hold my own." chapter xv. at dottery's ranch "it's a shame, paul!" ejaculated chet, almost crying with rage. "we ought to have shot him where he stood." "i suppose many a man would have done it," returned paul, somewhat moodily. "but we must get him out." "he won't go out without a fight." "i think he will--when we get enough of a crowd against him. i more than half believe he is totally alone, although the furniture and other stuff look as if he had had somebody to help him." "he's been hanging around watching his chance," went on chet. "who knows but what he has been spying on us ever since his last visit." "oh, i trust not, chet!" paul looked much disturbed. "he may have overheard some of our talk about uncle barnaby's mine, you know." "that's so! what if he did! he is rascal enough to try to locate it and set up a claim, eh?" "undoubtedly. come on; the best we can do is to ride to dottery's and try to obtain help. it's a long journey by night, but there's nothing else to do." "i won't mind it--if only dottery will turn in and help us. he ought to, but he always was a peculiar fellow. he may not want to make an enemy of captain grady, seeing as the ranches adjoin. but come on, while daylight lasts." and off the two brothers struck, along the river trail, and then down the road allen and noel urner had pursued on their way to the far-away railroad station. they realized that in another hour darkness would be upon them. the boys knew the way well, having traveled it a dozen times in search of stray cattle. they rode on, side by side, urging on the tired horses and discussing the situation in all its various phases. slowly the sun faded from view behind the distant mountains, casting long shadows over the foothills and the level stretches beyond. the night birds sang their parting song, and then came the almost utter silence of the night. "when do you suppose we'll reach dottery's?" questioned chet, after several miles had been covered. "if all goes well, we'll get there by one or two o'clock," returned his brother. "you must remember we have demon hollow to cross, and that's no fool of a job in the dark." "especially if the demon is abroad," laughed chet. he was only joking, and did not believe in the old trappers' stories about the ghost in hiding at the bottom of the rocky pass. when darkness fell the hoofstrokes of the horses sounded out doubly loud on the semi-stony road. yet, to the boys, even this was better than that intense stillness, which made one feel, as chet expressed it, "a hundred miles from nowhere at all." so tired were the horses that the boys had their hands full making them keep their gait. they would trot a few steps and then drop into a stolid walk. "i don't blame them much," said chet, sympathetically. "it's doing two days' work in one. but never mind, they shall have a good rest when it's all over." by ten o'clock it was pitch dark. to be sure the stars were shining, but they gave forth but a feeble light. the boys had to hold their animals at a tight rein to keep them from stumbling into unexpected holes. "it will be nearer three o'clock than two before we get there at this rate," grumbled paul. "just look ahead and see how dark and forbidding the hollow looks." "not the most cheerful spot in the world truly," rejoined chet, as he strained his eyes to pierce the heavy shadows. "let us get past it as soon as we can." "afraid, chet?" "oh, no, only i--i would rather be on the level trail beyond the pass." paul said no more, having no desire to hurt his younger brother's feelings. to tell the exact truth, he himself felt a bit "off." it was growing toward midnight. down and down led the road, between two rocky crags. soon the last trace of light was left behind, and they had to let the horses pick their own way as best they might. suddenly chet gave a start and a cry. "o, paul, what is that?" "where?" "over to the left." paul turned in his saddle. as he did so an object not over two feet in length and of a gray and white color, with some black, swept to one side of them. "can it be a pig?" gasped chet. "a pig? no, it's a badger, out on the forage. don't you smell him?" chet recovered and unslung his gun. he tried to take aim in the gloom. "don't fire!" said paul. "what is the use? it's only a waste of ammunition. the badger isn't hurting anything, and he's a good distance from the ranch. let him go." by the time chet had listened to all this the badger had disappeared. the animal was not used to being aroused and was more frightened than any one. they passed on. the very bottom of the hollow was at hand. the horses proceeded slowly, realizing the peril of the place. once rush went down into a hole nearly throwing chet over his head. but the youth held on, and rush arose all right, with nothing but a slight scrape on his left foreleg. they peered with watchful eyes up and down the silent pass. not a sign of any life was there. the water flowed on with a muffled murmur and the wind sighed through the deep opening, and that was all. in another five minutes the pass was left behind. for some reason both boys drew a long breath of relief when the high ground beyond was reached. the strain was gone, and now, by contrast, the road looked as bright to them as if the sun was about to rise. "come to think of it, we may as well take it easy," remarked paul. "it isn't likely that dottery will care to make a move before daylight." "yes; but if we get there sooner, we'll have a chance to rest up a bit, and we need that, and so do the horses." "i didn't think of that. well, forward we go." an hour passed and then another. soon after chet gave a joyous cry. "there are dottery's outbuildings! we'll soon be there now!" "right you are, chet. i wonder----" paul stopped short. "oh, look over there!" he cried. he pointed to a barn not a great distance back from the road. the door of the structure was open and within flashed the light of a lantern. "dottery must be up, or else----" began chet. "horse thieves!" both boys uttered the word simultaneously. could it be possible that the thieves were raiding their nearest neighbor? "wait. let us dismount and investigate," whispered paul. "don't do anything rash," this as chet started to run toward the barn. thus cautioned, the younger boy paused. the horses were tied up behind some brush, and, guns in hand, the pair crept across the road and over a wire fence into the field. hardly had they advanced a dozen steps when three men came out of the barn, leading four horses. they made for an opening in the fence not a rod from where the boys flung themselves flat on the grass. from the description they had received, the lads made up their minds that the men were saul mangle, darry nodley, and jeff jones. chapter xvi. an encounter in the dark chet and paul could hardly suppress their excitement as they saw the horse thieves move toward the opening in the fence. chet drew up his gun and pointed it at the leader. "don't fire! wait!" cautioned paul. "there are three of them, remember." "i wonder where dottery is?" questioned the younger boy, with his hand still on the trigger. "asleep, most likely." "we ought to arouse him. run, paul, while i keep watch." "i will, but don't do anything rash during my absence," replied paul winthrop. he sneaked along in the tall grass until the outbuildings were left a hundred feet and sped like a deer toward the ranch home, showing dimly in the grim shadows ahead. less than sixty seconds passed, and he was pounding vigorously on the front door of the heavy log building. not content with using his fist he banged away with the toe of his cowhide boot. "who's thar?" came from within presently. "mr. dottery!" "that's me, stranger." "come out. it's paul winthrop. there are horse thieves at your barn." "what!" roared dottery. he was a heavy-built man, with a voice like a giant. "the same chaps ez robbed you?" he unbarred the door and came out on a run, gun in hand and a long pistol in his belt. he was an old settler, and rarely took the trouble to undress when he went to rest for the night. "yes, the same, unless i am very much mistaken. my brother chet is down there now on the watch." "i'll fix 'em. go back and call jack, my man." paul hesitated and then did as directed. it took some time to arouse the cowboy, jack blowfen, but once aroused, the man quickly took in the situation, and arming himself, joined the boy in a rush after dottery. "the pesky rascals!" he muttered. "yer brother told us about 'em when he stopped here on his way to the railroad station. it's a pity ike watson didn't plug every one of 'em when he had the chance. next thing yer know they'll be runnin' off with a bunch o' cattle." "be careful when you shoot; my brother chet is there," continued paul, not wishing chet to be mistaken for a horse thief in the dark. "i know the lad, and i also know this saul mangle and his crowd," returned jack blowfen. "i owe mangle one for the way he treated me in deadwood one day." he ran so swiftly that paul had hard work to keep up with him. dottery had already disappeared in the darkness of the night. bang! bang! the shots came from behind the barn, while paul was some distance away. it was dottery firing at the thieves. jack blowfen was chasing them down by the wire fence. "paul! paul! hold on!" it was chet's voice. as he cried out the lad arose from the grass and caught his brother by the sleeve. paul had passed so close that he had almost trodden on chet. "come on, chet." "i'm coming. but hadn't we better look to our horses?" "in a minute. let us find out what that firing means." paul led the way in the direction of the barn. there, in the gloom, they saw two men struggling violently. they were dottery and the negro, jeff jones. the other horse thieves and jack blowfen were nowhere in sight. two horses were running about wildly, alarmed by the shots in the dark. both were bridled but had no saddles. "catch the hosses!" yelled dottery, as he made out the forms of the boys. "don't let 'em get out of that break in the fence!" "have you that man?" cried paul. "i will have in a second." the brothers ran for the animals as directed. it was no light work to secure them. when it was accomplished they ran the horses into the barn and closed the doors. as they came out panting from their exertions, they heard a gunshot from the brush on the opposite side of the road, and then the voice of jack blowfen calling out: "let them hosses go, you rascals! take that, saul mangle, fer the trick yer played me in deadwood!" "rush and lilly!" gasped chet. he said no more, but started in the direction of the encounter. he was determined his horse should not be taken again. paul came on his heels. both boys were now sufficiently aroused to fight even with their firearms. the wire fence was cleared at a single bound and into the brush they dove pell-mell. that jack blowfen was having a fierce hand-to-hand contest with his antagonist was plain. the boys could hear both men thrashing around at a lively rate. "you've hit me in the leg, and i'll never forgive you for it!" they heard saul mangle exclaim. "how do you like that, you milk-and-water cow puncher?" "i don't like it, and ain't going ter stand it, yer low down hoss thief and gambler," returned jack blowfen, and then came the fall of one body over another, just as paul and chet leaped into the little opening where the battle was taking place. they saw jack blowfen on his back with saul mangle on top of him. the horse thief had the butt of a heavy pistol raised threateningly. he looked alarmed at the unexpected appearance of the boys. "let up there!" sang out paul. "let up at once!" the cry and the glint of the boys' weapons decided mangle. with a low muttering he gave jack blowfen's body a kick and sprang for the bushes. chet and paul went after him, leaving the cowboy to stagger to his feet and regain his pistols. the boys followed mangle not over a dozen feet. then they came upon darry nodley, who had several horses in a bunch, among them rush and lilly. the man had been waiting for the leader of the gang to finish his row with blowfen. saul mangle was ahead of the two boys, but ere he could leap upon the back of the nearest animal paul ran up to him and seized him by the arm. "stop!" he ordered. "you cannot take those horses. we will shoot you both if you attempt it!" "the winthrop youngsters," muttered darry nodley. "how did they find their way here?" he attempted to move on, thinking mangle would follow. but now chet barred the way. the ranch boy had his gun up to his shoulder and there was a determined look on his sunburnt face. he was fighting for rush as much as for anything else. "get down!" was all he said, but the tone in which the words were uttered left no room for argument. darry nodley hesitated and thought at first to feel for his own gun. but then he changed his mind. he saw that chet was thoroughly aroused, and saw, too, that jack blowfen was coming up. "we'll have to make tracks," he cried to saul mangle, and leaped to the ground, putting the horse between himself and chet, and ran for the bushes. in the meantime paul and saul mangle were having a hand-to-hand fight. the boy fought well, and the wounded man had all he could do to defend himself. finally he went limping after nodley, but not before paul had relieved him of his gun. the brave lad could have shot the thief with ease, but could not bring himself to take the risk of killing his antagonist. "where are they?" roared jack blowfen, coming up. "which way did they go?" paul pointed in the direction. at once blowfen ran off. in another second chet and paul were left alone with the horses. the sounds from the distance told them that saul mangle and darry nodley were doing their best to escape from the neighborhood. "our money!" cried chet. "we ought to have made an effort to get that seven hundred dollars!" "that's so--but it's too late now, unless we go after the pair on horseback." "let us return dottery's horses to the barn first and see how he has made out with the negro." they took the horses in charge and passed with them across the road and through the break in the wire fence. at the barn they found the ranch owner in the act of making jeff jones a close prisoner by tying his hands and legs with odd bits of harness straps. "got this one, anyway," growled dottery. "whar are the others?" "jack blowfen has gone after them," replied paul. "here are your horses." "good enough. say, will you watch this man if i follow jack?" went on the ranch owner, anxiously. "of course," exclaimed chet. "if you can capture saul mangle, do so. we believe he has seven hundred dollars belonging to us." "so allen told me." the boys took charge of the negro, and mounting one of the horses caleb dottery rode out of the inclosure. he took the lantern with him, thus leaving those behind in darkness. "strike a light, chet, and see if you can't find another lantern in the barn," said paul. "i'll watch jones so he don't get away." "dis am werry hard on a poah man," moaned the negro. he was fearfully frightened, for he knew full well how stern was the justice usually meted out to horse thieves in that section of the country. "you ought to have thought of that before you started in this business," replied paul. "it was mangle coaxed me into de work, sah. he said as how he had a right to de hosses." "indeed! i suppose he said he had a right to our horses, too," went on the youth, with a sarcasm that was entirely lost on the prisoner. "yes, sah." "in that case you will have to suffer for your simpleness," was paul's short response. he did not believe the colored man. "no lantern in the barn, so far as i can see," called out chet. "better march the fellow up to the house." "he can't march with his legs tied." "i reckon he can hobble a bit." jeff jones was unwilling to move, thinking he had a better chance of escape while out in the open. but chet and paul each caught him by the arm, and groaning and trembling the colored man was forced to move slowly toward the ranch home. before moving to the house chet had driven the horses into the barn and locked the door, so now the animals were safe, at least for the time being. it was found that jeff jones had received an ugly wound in the shoulder. this paul set to work to dress, taking good care, however, that the prisoner should be allowed no chance of escape. "wot is yo' gwine to do wid me?" asked jeff jones as the work progressed. "ain't gwine ter tote me ter town, is yo'?" "that depends upon what mr. dottery says," replied chet. "he's the boss of this ranch." "better let me go," urged the colored man. "if yo' don't dar will be big trouble ahead." "don't imagine we are to be scared so easily," returned chet, smartly. "we have a bigger rascal to deal with even than you," he added. "yo' mean saul mangle?" "no, i mean captain hank grady," replied the boy, without stopping to think. "captain hank grady! wot yo' know ob him?" ejaculated jeff jones. "did yo' know about him and yo' uncle barnaby----" the colored man broke off short. "my uncle barnaby!" exclaimed chet. "what made you think of him in connection with captain grady?" "oh, i know a lot about him an' de captain," said jeff jones suggestively. "a heap dat maybe yo' boys would gib a lot ter know about." chapter xvii. something about a letter allen winthrop knew full well that he had a long journey before him and one that would, perhaps, be full of peril, yet his heart did not fail him as he and noel urner rode away, bound first for dottery's ranch, and then for the railroad station, over a hundred miles away. "you must keep up a stout heart, allen," said the young man from the east. "perhaps all is well with your uncle in spite of appearances." "i am not daunted by what lies ahead," said the young ranchman. "but i am convinced that uncle barnaby has been led into some great trouble. were it otherwise we would surely have heard from him ere this." at dottery's they put up over night, and set off at sunrise in the morning; allen riding the animal from the ranch and noel using a large and powerful beast hired to him by dottery. "thirty-five miles to-day," observed allen, as they pushed on along a somewhat hilly trail, lined on either side by cactus and other low plants. "is that the distance to daddy wampole's hotel, as you call it?" "yes--by the roads. the direct route would not make it over thirty miles, but we can't fly as the birds do." "we ought to make thirty-five miles easily enough." "we could on a level. but you must remember we have several hills to climb and half a dozen water courses to ford. i imagine, too, you will get tired of the saddle before nightfall." "oh, i can stand it," laughed noel urner, "thanks to my experience in the riding schools in new york and my frequent exercises in central park." "a big difference between central park and this, eh? i would like to see the park some time," returned allen. on they went, taking advantage of the early morning while the sun was still low. the level stretch was passed and then they came to a good-sized brook. beyond was a belt of timber and the first of the hills. they watered the horses and took a drink themselves, and pushed on without stopping further. allen knew they must keep on the move if they expected to reach daddy wampole's crossroads ranch before the evening shadows fell. on through the forest of spruce and hemlock, with here and there a tall cottonwood, they spurred their horses. the foot of the hill was soon reached, and up they toiled. "a grand country," murmured noel urner. "and big room for improvements," returned allen, grimly. "it will take a deal of labor to put this land in shape for use." "we never realize what the pioneers had to contend with when they first settled this country until we see things as they are here. to cut down forests, level the land, build houses and barns, and fix roads--it's an immense amount of labor, truly." at noon they halted near the top of a second hill, and here started up just enough of a fire to boil themselves a pot of coffee. they had brought jerked meat and crackers from home and made a comfortable, if not luxurious meal. in twenty minutes they were again on the way, the horses in the meantime having also been fed. "daddy wampole's ranch is our post office," explained allen, as they rode along side by side. "the mail comes down from deadwood once a week. it's not very extensive and wampole usually puts everything in a soap box and lets every comer pick out whatever belongs to him." noel laughed. "i've heard of such doings before," he said. "i suppose he has another box of letters to be mailed." "exactly." "it's not a very safe way to do. letters might easily be stolen or taken by mistake. who knows but what some communication from your uncle was carried off by another?" allen's face grew serious. "i never thought of that. but who would be mean enough to do it?" "the man who sent that forged letter to me would be mean enough." "so he would! i must ask wampole if he remembers any letter addressed to us." it was now the hottest part of the day. the road was dry and dusty and the horses hung out their tongues as they toiled onward. all were glad when they reached a portion of the road overhung by huge rocks a hundred feet or more in height. "a day in the saddle seems a long while," said noel urner. "and we have four more days to follow," smiled allen. "i was afraid it would tire you." "oh, i am all right yet, allen. but look, what is that ahead, a building?" "that's the crossroads hotel. come, we have less than a mile more to go." the sight of the rude building ahead raised noel urner's spirits. off he went on a gallop, with allen close at his heels. in ten minutes they drew up at the rude horse block and dismounted. old daddy wampole, then a well-known character throughout idaho, came out on the porch of his ranch to greet them. "back ag'in, hey?" he called out to allen. "wall, thar ain't no new mail in sense ye war here afore." "i know that, daddy," replied the young man. "i didn't come for the mail, exactly. my friend and i are bound for the railroad station." "goin' ter san francisco?" "yes; we want to stop here to-night." "ye air welcome ter do thet," and daddy wampole gave noel a friendly nod. the young man was introduced and all three entered the ranch, one room of which did duty as a general store, barroom, and post office. before anything else could be spoken of, allen questioned wampole concerning the letters which had been in the box for several weeks back, and the people who had called for them. "i don't remember much about the letters, but i recerlect thet cap'n grady took most all ez came in," was the suggestive reply from the so-styled postmaster. "so he took most of the letters, did he?" said allen, slowly. "how many of them, on a rough guess?" "seven or eight." "and you can't remember if any of them were addressed to me?" "no, i don't recerlect thet, allen, but hold on--do ye suspect the cap'n o' tamperin' with yer mail?" "i don't believe he is above such an action," replied the young man, bluntly. "wall, neither do i, privately speakin'. i was goin' ter say," went on the ranch owner slowly, "when the cap'n got the letters he walked over there to the old place and tore 'em open. maybe----" there was no need for the man to go on. allen had already left the apartment and was hurrying across the road to what had in former days been the only house in the section. it was a rude affair, now half fallen into decay. outside, under the overhanging logs of the roof, was situated a bench sometimes used by travelers as a resting place. here many a yarn had been told, and many a "hoss deal" talked over and closed. straight to the bench went allen, and in the fading light looked eagerly on all sides for bits of paper of any kind. he found a great number and gathered them all into his empty dinner pouch. when he was sure there were no more scraps in the vicinity he returned to the house. "well, what have you?" asked noel urner, with interest. "i have nearly fifty scraps of letters," said allen. "i must look them over at once." a lamp was lit, and, spreading out the scraps on a large, flat board, allen set to work to sort out the various pieces. it was tedious work and noel urner assisted him. suddenly the young ranchman uttered a low cry. "look! here is part of a letter that was addressed to me," he said. and he held up a scrap which bore the words: "--you and chet can meet me and paul----" "is it in your uncle's handwriting?" questioned the young man from the east. "yes." "then it would seem as if some one had stolen your letter, certainly." "that's just what was done!" ejaculated allen. "i wonder----" he stopped short. "what do you wonder?" "i wonder if captain grady had anything to do with uncle barnaby's disappearance." "the cap'n air a slick one," put in daddy wampole. "i never liked him from the day i fust sot eyes onto him. an' seem' as how he's achin' ter git thet ranch from ye boys, why, it ain't surprisin' he took thet letter and would do more, if 'twas fer his own benefit." "it won't be for his benefit if i find he is playing such an underhand game," rejoined allen, grimly. the thought that captain grady had stolen his letter angered him thoroughly. "he fancies that we are only three boys, but he'll find out that even boys can do something when they are put to it." "it's a pity you didn't find the rest of the letter," observed noel urner. "no doubt that letter was of great importance. it might be best to hunt up this captain grady and learn the truth from him before we push further for the railroad station." "the trouble is the cap'n air hard to find," said daddy wampole. "he ain't on his ranch more 'n a quarter o' his time. ye know he's as much interested in mines ez he is in cattle." the mention of mines gave a new turn to allen's thoughts. had that communication from uncle barnaby contained any reference to the valuable claim over by the black rock river? "if it did, then captain grady will rob uncle barnaby as sure as fate," thought the young ranchman, with an inward groan. chapter xviii. allen changes his plans a moment later a clatter of horse's hoofs on the road outside betokened another arrival. catching up his gun, daddy wampole strode out to see who it was. "ike watson! wot brings ye here?" allen heard him cry, and then ran out to greet the old hunter. "allen, by all the good fortunes o' the rockies!" ejaculated ike watson. "jes' the boy i'm pinin' ter see." "and i'm mighty glad to see you, too, ike," returned the young ranchman. "i want a bit of advice, and you are just the man to give it to me." "advice? i'm ready to give ye bushels o' it, if it will do ye the least bit o' good, lad. but wot are ye doin' here? why ain't ye hum?" "i came here on my way to the railroad station, i am bound for san francisco to hunt up uncle barnaby." "gee whiz! now thet's what i call fortunate! if i hadn't a cotched ye, ye would be goin' off on a wild goose chase, with no end to the trail." "a wild goose chase? o, ike, have you word from my uncle?" "no, i ain't got no word from him, but i got word in a way thet two rascals didn't dream on." "but what do you know?" questioned allen impatiently. "not much, ter tell the truth, an' yet a good deal. it happened this mornin', when i wuz down to casey's fork. i wuz ridin' along the old b'ar trail when along comes a couple o' the worst lookin' bad men ye ever seed. sez one to tudder, 'if we can make him tell us whar the mine is, we will all become millionaires.' then sez tudder, 'we'll make him speak. we didn't trap barnaby winthrop inter leavin' san francisco fer nuthin'.' the fellers wuz on the bottom trail, while i wuz up on the rocks. i tried to git to 'em to make 'em tell me wot wuz the meanin' of it all, when they spied me comin' down, an' by the grasshoppers o' kansas! ye ought ter hev seed 'em put an' scoot. they got out o' sight in a jiffy, an' i couldn't locate 'em, try my best. i hung around an hour, an' then i made up my mind ter ride over an' tell ye wot i hed heard." not only allen, but also noel urner and daddy wampole were astonished by the revelation ike watson made. "uncle barnaby trapped into leaving san francisco!" gasped allen. "did they say where they had taken him?" "didn't say nuthin' more'n i told ye," responded the hunter from gold fork. "leas'wise, didn't say nuthin' ez i could hear." "who were the men?" "i don't know, 'ceptin' i seed 'em hangin' around jordan creek about six months ago. like ez not they belong to the old sol davids gang. nearly every one up thet water course belonged to thet gang." "would you know them if you saw them again?" "sartinly--i'm powerful good at recerlectin' faces onct i see 'em." "where do you suppose the men went to?" "rode off in the direction o' black rock river canyon." allen started. could it be possible they suspected the claim was up in that neighborhood? it was more than possible. the young ranchman turned to noel urner. "noel, i'm going to change my plans. i am going after those two men instead of going to san francisco." "it would certainly seem a useless trip now," replied the young man from new york, slowly. "there is not the slightest doubt but what your uncle was decoyed away from san francisco. where he is now is a mystery which those two men must solve for you--they or----" "captain grady," finished allen, impulsively. "i feel it in my bones that he is in this plot against uncle barnaby." "it would seem so." "how do ye make that out?" asked ike watson. in a few words allen told the old hunter about the missing letter. "gee, shoo! he are one o' the gang, sartin!" cried ike watson. "the best ye can do is to start in an' round 'em all up." "thet's the talk," put in daddy wampole. "the state would be a hundred per cent better off with 'em fellers out o' it." allen gazed at ike watson earnestly. "will you help me in this work?" he asked. "you know more about these bad men than i do." "will i help ye? allen ye ought ter know better than ter axt sech a question. o' course i'll help ye. i ain't got much ter do. them new claims up the salmon kin wait well enough." "i would help ye, too, if i could git away," said daddy wampole. "thet gang worried me enough for six years, goodness knows!" "and what of you?" allen turned to noel. "you see how matters stand. i don't want to ask you to go, for we may have some rough times, and----" "i came out to see rough times," interrupted the young man from the east. "so unless you think i'll be too much of a hindrance, i would like greatly to accompany you wherever you go. you must remember that i, too, am anxious to find your uncle." "then, thet's settled," said ike watson. he did not much fancy having the company of a "tenderfoot," but noel's manner pleased him. a long discussion followed. while it was in progress mrs. wampole prepared a hot supper, to which later on allen and the others did full justice. it was decided to remain at the crossroads hotel all night, and the three retired early, that they might make a start before sunrise. it must be confessed that the young ranchman slept but little. his mind was in a whirl over all he had discovered, and he shuddered whenever he thought that his uncle might possibly be in peril of his life. "those men would indeed dare all for gold, as those initials on the cross imply," he said to himself. "what a pity they were not exterminated the time old sol davids was lynched." toward morning allen dropped off into a troubled slumber, to be awakened with a start by a touch from ike watson's hand an hour later. "time ter climb below an' feed up, allen," cried the old hunter. "we hev a long ride afore us, ez ye know." "that's true!" cried the young ranchman, springing to his feet; and ike went off to arouse noel urner. the young man from new york felt rather stiff from his ride of the day previous. yet he did not complain, and did all he could to make the others believe he felt in perfect trim for another day in the saddle. after a substantial but hasty breakfast the horses were saddled and they were off, daddy wampole waving his hand after them and wishing them the best of luck. "we'll make for casey's fork fust o' all," said ike watson. "perhaps i can pick up the trail thar. if i can't we kin push on toward the salmon an' trust ter luck." allen was doubtful if the old hunter could pick up the trail after having once lost it, but in lieu of something better, he agreed to watson's plan. noel, of course, was willing to go wherever the others led. it was high noon when casey's fork, a rough lot of rocks in a bend of the umihalo creek, was reached. allen and noel were glad enough to dismount in the shadow of the rocks while ike watson went off on a tour of inspection. the old hunter was gone so long that allen at last grew alarmed. "something is wrong, or he would be back ere this," he said. "let us go after him." but hardly had they mounted when they heard a shout ahead. looking beyond a belt of bushes they saw ike watson waving his hand to them. "found it!" he cried as they came up. "they took the creek road over ter the forest trail. the marks are fresh, showin' they didn't move on until dark last night." "then they can't be many miles ahead!" cried allen. "oh, if we can only keep the trail till we catch up to them!" "no time ter lose," said ike watson, and once more they continued the pursuit, this time faster than before. yet at the end of two miles they came to a sudden halt. the trail led down to the bank of a shallow stream and there disappeared from view. chapter xix. along the water course "gone!" burst from allen's lips. "what's to do now?" asked noel urner. ike watson halted in perplexity for fully a minute. then he dismounted and waded into the stream, which was scarcely a foot to a foot and a half in depth. "ho! ho! ho!" he laughed, suddenly. "i thought so! no, ye can't play thet game hyer.". "what now, ike?" questioned the young ranchman. "they went up in the middle o' this yere stream, thinkin' they could throw me off the trail. see, hyer are the marks ez plain ez the nose on cap'n grady's face." and the old hunter pointed into the clear water. leaving allen to bring his horse, watson walked slowly along the bed of the stream, taking good care not to step into any deep holes. in this manner half a mile was covered, when, at a point where the brush along the bank was thin, the trail led out once more on the dirt and rocks. "an old trick, but it didn't work this trip," chuckled ike watson to himself, as he once more resumed his seat in the saddle. "what i am thinking of is, what made them suspicious, after they were so far from casey's forks," said allen. "perhaps their guilty consciences," laughed noel. "thet, an' because they thought i might be follerin' 'em," added ike watson. "hullo! what does this mean?" he had followed the trail around a belt of timber. beyond was a wall of rocks, and here were traces of a recent camp--a smoldering fire and some odds and ends of crackers and meat. "we ain't far behind 'em, boys!" he went on. "this fire wuz tended ter less than a couple o' hours ago." "then let us push on, by all means," returned allen. "if we can catch those two men before they have a chance to join any of their evil companions, so much the better." "the trail leads along the rocks," observed noel. "have you any idea where we are going?" "idee! i know this yere country like a book," said ike watson. "don't ye git 'feered o' bein' lost so long ez ye stay nigh me." "i don't mean that. i mean, do you know where the men went from here?" "up to grizzly pass, most likely, an' then along over ter the black rock canyon. eh, allen?" "it would seem so," responded allen seriously. "grizzly pass; rather a suggestive name," said noel. "ye-as; especially when a big grizzly shows hisself," drawled watson, and there the conversation dropped. despite the fierce sunshine, it was deliciously cool along the base of the rocky wall, and the horses made good progress over the hard but level trail. here and there immense brier bushes overhung the way, but these were easily avoided by the animals, who were more afraid of them than were their riders. presently the trail took an upward course, leading between a split in the rocks. "ye want ter be careful hyer," cautioned ike watson. "it's a mighty slippery spot fer the best o' hoss flesh." scarcely had he spoken when noel urner gave a cry of alarm. he was in the rear, and both the old hunter and allen turned quickly to see what was the matter. they found noel's horse on his knees, having slipped to one side of the trail. the young man was on the ground, one foot caught in the stirrup. "stop the hoss!" cried watson. "if ye don't he'll bang the young man's head off!" before he had ceased speaking allen was on the ground. he ran back and caught noel's horse by the bridle. the young man from the east was partly stunned, and it was several seconds before he could recover sufficiently to disengage his foot and arise from his dangerous position. "good for you, allen!" he cried, as he stood by, while the young ranchman assisted the horse to a safe spot in the trail. "i was afraid i was in for it." "ye did jes' the right thing, allen," put in ike watson. "dunno but wot ye hed better walk a brief spell," he went on to noel, who was only too glad to do so. half an hour later the top of the rocks was reached, and they moved back to where the way was smooth and safe. a lunch was had from the pouches, and on they went as fast as the fatigued horses would carry them. "i can see no trail," said noel, as he rode abreast of his companions. "there ain't no need ter see a trail hyer," replied ike watson. "this yere way is a blind pocket fer all o' these three miles. ye couldn't go no different if ye tried. byme-by, when we come out on sampson's flats, we'll look for the trail ag'in." "we ought to catch up to those men before we reach the flats," remarked allen. "they must be tired out by that climb." "we ain't fur off," rejoined watson. "jes' keep silent half an hour longer, an' we'll----" he broke off short, reigned in his steed, and pointed ahead. allen looked eagerly in the direction. under the spreading branches of a giant pine rested two men. not far from them two horses were hoppled. the men looked thoroughly tired. both were smoking pipes and leaning against the tree with their eyes closed. "let us dismount and tiptoe our way to them," whispered allen. "if we secure their horses first they will have no chance to get away from us." "a good plan, lad," returned watson, in an equally low tone. "supposin' ye an' i leave our nags with mr. urner?" this was agreed upon, and after dismounting the horses were led behind some heavy brush by the young man from the east. then, with their weapons ready for use, allen and old ike watson stole cautiously forward to where were grazing the animals belonging to the two bad men from jordan creek. allen and the old hunter from gold fork went about their work as silently as possible. the horses were somewhat in the rear, and so they made a detour, coming up behind the dozing men as softly as twin shadows. the animals reached, the next thing was to release them. this was speedly accomplished, and it was allen who led them off, while ike watson still remained on guard with his trusty gun ready should the occasion arise to make use of the firearm. in less than three minutes the young ranchman was back, having left the captured animals in noel's care. "now, what's to do?" he questioned. "maybe we hed better git a few ropes ready, in case we want ter bind 'em," began ike watson, but ere this idea could be put into execution one of the men dropped his pipe, and the hot tobacco, falling on his hand, brought him upright with a start. he opened his eyes, and with a loud exclamation, which awoke his companion, leaped to his feet. "what does this mea----" he began. "hands up, ye rascal!" ordered ike watson, so sternly that instantly both arms were raised high overhead. the horse thief, for the man was nothing less, if not much worse, fully understood that his opponent had the "drop" on him and would not stop to parley unless the order to elevate his hands was obeyed. the second rascal, in his sitting position, attempted to draw a pistol, but allen, producing his own weapon, forced the man to remain stationary. "we hev ye, stranger," remarked watson after a second of silence. "do ye acknowledge the corn?" "what's the meaning of this outrage?" growled the fellow who was standing, and he scowled fiercely, first at the old hunter and then at the young ranchman. "it means firstly that ye are in our power," chuckled watson. it was evident that he thoroughly enjoyed the situation. "well?" "then ye acknowledge thet, do ye?" "i suppose we'll have to." "it's ike watson from gold fork," put in the man who was sitting. "ike watson!" the face of the speaker grew quite disturbed. it was plain he had heard of watson before and did not relish being held up by the well-known old man. "ye-as, i'm ike watson," drawled the old hunter. "now, strangers, give me yer handles, and let me have 'em straight." "my name is roe bluckburn," came from the standing man. "mine is lou slavin, and i'm not ashamed of it," came from the other. "jes' so," mused watson. "i've heard o' both o' yeez belongin' to the old sol davids gang o' hoss thieves." "you are mistaken. we are not thieves of any sort," said bluckburn, who appeared the leader of the pair. "well, we won't quarrel about that, seein' ez how we are on another trail ter day. we want ye ter up an' tell us ter onct whar barnaby winthrop is." "yes, and tell us the truth," put in allen, sternly. the men were both taken aback by the request. they exchanged glances and each waited for the other to speak. "come, out with it, bluckburn!" cried watson. "dunno the man you are talking about." "ye can't come it thet way. didn't i hear ye talkin' it over down ter casey's forks only yesterday? come, out with the truth, or take the consequences!" and to scare the horse thief ike watson tapped his gun barrel suggestively. "must be some mistake. we wasn't near casey's fork in a month. eh, lou?" "nixy." "ye tell it so smooth i would most believe ye, if i hadn't follered ye up," growled watson. "but we know ye air in the deal ag'in barnaby winthrop, an' i am hyer ter help his nevvy thar, allen winthrop. so ye hed better ease yer mind ter onct. understand?" the two men turned their attention to allen curiously. they wished to hold a consultation, but watson would not permit it. at that moment noel urner came forward, having succeeded in tying all of the horses in a little grove not far distant. he eyed both of the prisoners keenly, and then gave a start. "i saw that man in san francisco!" he ejaculated, pointing to roe bluckburn. "he was hanging around the very hotel at which mr. barnaby winthrop stopped." "it ain't so," growled bluckburn, but his face proclaimed that noel urner had spoken the truth. "if that is the case, then he is the one who decoyed my uncle away," put in allen. "for there is no longer any doubt in my mind that he was spirited away in some fashion." "air ye fellers goin' ter speak?" roared ike watson, impatiently. "ye can't expect me ter stand hyer with a gun the rest o' the day!" "unless you do speak, we shall bind you and hand you over to the sheriff," said allen. "we believe we have a good case against you--and will have a better after captain grady is placed under arrest," he added, struck with a sudden thought. "captain grady!" groaned the man named lou slavin. "i reckon the jig is up, roe." "shut up!" growled bluckburn. "but if the captain is known wot show have we got?" grumbled slavin. "say?" he continued eagerly. "i went into this thing ag'in my will, an' i wish i was out of it. supposin' i tell yer the truth about the hull gang, does that save me?" "don't you say a word, lou!" shouted bluckburn, warningly, but ere he could speak further the muzzle of ike watson's gun caused him to retreat up to the tree, where he stood, not daring to say another word. "go on and have yer say!" cried the old hunter to lou slavin. "and, ez i said before, give it ter us straight. whar is barnaby winthrop?" "he is a prisoner, about ten miles from here," was slavin's flat and sudden confession. chapter xx. moving against captain grady both paul and chet winthrop were deeply interested in the words uttered by jeff jones, the colored member of the horse thieves' gang. "so you know something of captain grady and our uncle, barnaby winthrop?" cried chet, excitedly. "what do you know?" "dat's fer you two fellers ter find out--onless yer let's me go," replied jeff jones, suggestively. "you mean you won't speak unless we grant you your liberty?" put in paul. "dat's de way to figure it." paul looked at chet inquiringly. "we can't promise anything until mr. dottery gets back," said chet. "but if you know anything about our uncle you had better speak out, if you wish us to do anything at all for you." "i won't say a word," growled the colored man. chet bit his lip in vexation. "don't you know what it is to have us able to speak a word for you?" said paul. "supposing we let jack blowfen take you over to the next camp and tell the men that you are a downright horse thief? would you fancy that?" jeff jones began to tremble. he knew what paul meant--that he would be lynched inside the hour. in that section of the country, at that time, horse stealing was considered almost as bad as murder. "no! no! doan let him take me down ter de fork!" howled jeff jones. "anyt'ing but dat, boys!" "well, you, had better talk, then," returned paul, severely. "i doan know much, but i'll tell yo' all i do know," said the prisoner, after a short pause, "and yo' is ter do de best yo' can fo' me, promise me dat?" "we will," said chet. he was very impatient for jeff jones to proceed. "well, den, captain grady has been a-spottin' yo' uncle fer seberal weeks--eber sence he got massah winthrop ter leave san francisco." "got him to leave san francisco?" queried paul. "yes. i doan know how de t'ing was done, but he got yo' uncle ter leave de city an' now he's tryin' ter make him gib up de secret ob a mine, or sumfin like dat." "gracious!" burst from chet's lips. "that explains it all. uncle barnaby must be in captain grady's power." "and by getting us out of the ranch he thought to make us leave the neighborhood," added paul. "do you know," he went on, "i believe he is at the head of a band who wish to obtain entire control of this section." "i don't doubt it, paul," chet turned to the prisoner. "where is our uncle now?" "dat i can't say." "captain grady must know." "suah he does." "then we'll make him tell, never fear," chet began to walk up and down. "i wish mr. dottery would come back." "i hear somebody down the road," said paul as he walked to the door. "it must be the two coming back now." paul was right. there was a clatter beyond in the dark, and a moment later caleb dottery appeared, followed by jack blowfen. "couldn't catch 'em in the dark," said dottery, as he strode into the house and dropped into a rude but comfortable chair. "but thank fortune, the stock is safe!" "slick rascals, mangle and nodley," continued jack blowfen. "but we'll round 'em up some day, i'll bet my _sombrero_ on it." "we have just heard important news," said paul, and he instantly proceeded to repeat what jeff jones had said. caleb dottery and his cowboy helper listened with interest. the former gave a long, low whistle of astonishment. "must say i didn't quite think it of captain grady, though i allow as how he's a slick one," he remarked. "wot's ter do about it?" "we came here to obtain your aid," said chet. "captain grady has taken possession of our ranch. you know he sets up some sort of a claim to it." "got yer papers, ain't ye?" "no; they were burned up when we had our little fire." "humph! thet's bad!" "but the place is ours--father bought and paid for it," added paul, warmly. "and we intend to get captain grady out, even if we have to fight him." "good fer ye!" shouted jack blowfen. "thet's the way ter talk. i'm right hyer ter help ye. i love grit, i do!" and he held out his big brown hand to paul as if to bind a bargain. "i'll certainly help ye, too," said dottery. "ye have done a good turn this night which i'm not likely to forgit in a hurry." "this colored man told us about our uncle and captain grady of his own free will," said paul. "so, if you can be a little easy on him on that account i wish you would be." "stealin' hosses ain't no light crime," growled dottery. "an' it don't improve a man's reputation to become a sneak," added jack blowfen. yet, after some talk, it was agreed to hold jeff jones merely as a prisoner for the present, instead of carrying him to the nearest camp to be turned over to the vigilance committee. it was now so near morning that to think of retiring was out of the question. the men began to smoke, and blowfen stirred about getting breakfast. at six o'clock they dined. "i'll chain jones up as a prisoner in the house till we git back," observed dottery, when the meal was finished. "he'll keep quiet if he knows when he is well off." this was done, and then both house and outbuildings were made as secure as possible. ten minutes later paul, chet, and the two men were on their way on horseback to the winthrop ranch. all were armed and ready for anything that might turn up. but not one of the number dreamed of the several surprises in store for them. chapter xxi. shooting a grizzly bear "i wonder if captain grady is alone or if he has a number of the gang with him?" observed paul, as he rode alongside of his younger brother, and just in front of the two men. "most likely he is expecting trouble and has help at hand," returned chet. "he knows well enough we won't give up our claim without a fight." "it's possible he thought to frighten us off until allen got back from san francisco." "don't make any difference how much help he has," broke in jack blowfen. "he ain't no right to put ye out like a couple o' dogs, an' he knows it." in this manner the talk went on until a little after noon, when the locality known as demon hollow was reached. "do you remember the badger, paul?" laughed chet. "the hollow looks different in the daylight, doesn't it?" "yes, indeed, but still--what was that?" "jumpin' june bugs!" cried jack blowfen. "dottery, did ye hear that?" "i did," replied the old ranch owner, and he clutched his gun apprehensively. "i heard something," said chet. "what was it?" "a bar, boy, sure ez ye are born--a grizzly!" "oh!" at once the little party came to a halt. to the right of them was a tall overhanging rock, to the left a number of prickly bushes. ahead and behind was the winding and uneven road along which their animals had come on a walk. "do ye see old ephraim?" asked jack blowfen, as he, too, got his gun in readiness. "i don't see anything," declared paul. bang! it was chet's gun which spoke. he fired up toward the top of the overhanging rock. scarcely had the shot rung out than a fearful roar of mingled pain and rage rent the air. "shot him, by jupiter!" cried caleb dottery. "stand from under, quick!" hardly had the word been given than there was another roar. then a heavy weight filled the air and down into the road leaped a big brown and gray grizzly weighing all of eight hundred pounds. he came down between the boys and the two men, and no sooner had he landed than dottery and blowfen opened fire on him, both striking the beast in the shoulder, and, consequently, doing but little damage, for a grizzly bear is tough and can stand many shots which do not touch his vital parts. the horses, much scared, backed in all directions, some going into the bushes and others up against the rocks. more angry than before the grizzly half turned, and then, without warning, raised up on his hind legs and made for chet, whose horse was now flat upon the rocks, having stumbled in his hasty retreat, chet himself was partly in and partly out of the saddle when the charge was made. "run, chet, run!" yelled paul. "he is coming for you!" in alarm he came up on foot, his horse refusing to budge in the direction of the bear. the bear heard paul's voice and for the second paused and turned, as if to make sure he was in no immediate danger from that quarter. then he continued to advance upon chet. almost overcome with fear, paul raised his gun and fired at the bear's head. it was a chance shot, but luckily it hit the huge beast in the ear. the bear howled with pain, staggered forward a few feet and rolled over on his side. by this time dottery and blowfen had their pistols out. leaping to the roadway, they ran forward, and in less than a minute the bear had received six pistol balls and was kicking in his death agony. it was paul who helped chet to his feet. the boy was as white as a sheet and trembled so he could scarcely stand. "i--i thought i was a goner!" he stammered. "what a big fellow he is!" "the bar we war arfter last spring," said jack blowfen to dottery as they examined the brute. "see those marks on his side where we tipped him? a good job that he is out of the way." it was the second grizzly bear the boys had seen since they had lived in that section and they gazed at him curiously. what white teeth he had, and how powerful he looked! even now that he was still and all was over, chet hardly cared to touch him. "i want to see no more of him," he said. "well, i reckon he's the last in this neighborhood," said caleb dottery. "he's the only one i've seen around in nigh on six years." it was decided to leave the bear where he was until they returned. of course, it was possible some wild animal might come up and make a feast in the meanwhile, but this could not be helped. to skin the animal and hang up the meat would take too long. leaving demon hollow, they pushed along as rapidly as the horses would carry them. at the creek they stopped to water the animals, and here also partook of the lunch which blowfen had packed up before starting. it was nightfall when they at last came in sight of the ranch home. all seemed deserted. every building was tightly closed and so was the gate to the stockade. "maybe he has thought better of it and skipped out," said chet. "there is our stuff still in the road," returned paul, pointing ahead. in a moment more they had reached the stockade. all four rode straight up to the heavy wooden gate. "i'll have to jump over and unbar it," said paul. "be careful," was caleb dottery's caution. "this may be a trap and----" he had no need to say more. "halt!" came from the yard behind the stockade. "stop where you are or i'll fire on you!" it was captain grady himself who spoke. chapter xxii. an important capture of course paul made a prompt retreat. it would have been worse than useless, just then, to have remained where he was, with his hands on the stockade gate. the party outside could not see captain grady, but from the direction of his voice they knew he was on the other side of the stockade at a point where several peep and gun holes covered the entrance. "that's right, you better git back!" went on the captain, as paul retreated. "see here, grady, what does this mean?" demanded caleb dottery, as he advanced in the direction of the guard openings. "it means that i have got possession of this ranch, which rightfully belongs to me, and i mean to keep it," was the grim reply, delivered with great force and distinctness. "the winthrop boys deny yer rights." "that makes no difference. i know what's what." "open the gate and let us talk it over quietly," went on dottery, who was naturally a peaceably inclined individual. "i'm not opening the gate just now. those boys can go away. i don't mind you coming around, but i don't want those boys here." "well, you'll have to put up with us," cried chet, angrily. "now, open the gate, or we'll smash it down!" "don't be rash, chet!" whispered paul. "you monkey!" roared captain grady. "fall back, before i let you have a dose of buckshot!" "there will be no shooting here, captain, unless ye want ter get wiped out," broke in jack blowfen. "open the gate fer yer neighbors and let us hev a powwow." "i've told you wot i'll do--open up when the boys go away." "come on, chet," whispered paul to his younger brother. "yes, but paul----" "come on, i say," and paul whispered something into chet's ear. at once, with a wink at jack blowfen, the two boys started off on a gallop toward the river. "do you think we can do it?" asked chet, anxiously. "i think so. we can try, anyway." dismounting, the brothers made their way to where a deep ditch drained from the ranch home under the stockade into the river. the ditch was almost dry and was all but choked up with weeds and brush. "now, chet, it is a serious undertaking, but you know we must take some chances," went on paul, as they let themselves down into the ditch. "the captain may really shoot at us, although i think he will hardly dare do it with blowfen and mr. dottery at hand to see that justice is done." "if he shoots, we'll shoot back," replied chet. "he has no right on our land, and, besides, we must do something for uncle barnaby's sake." full of determination, and realizing that a crisis was at hand, the two boys wormed their way along the ditch until the stockade was reached. here a few wooden bars blocked the way. but one of the bars was loose and was wrenched aside, and they went on. "we must be careful, in case any one is in the house," said paul in a whisper. the ditch led around to the rear of the ranch home. but here it went underground and they were compelled to leave it and take to the grass. they gave a brief look and saw captain grady down by the opening in the stockade, still arguing with dottery and blowfen. he looked anxious. "he don't see us," whispered diet. "come, the front door is open!" and he made a quick dash for the house, followed closely by paul. the door was closing on the pair when captain grady started around and beheld paul's form from the rear. he gave a quick cry of alarm. "stop! come out!" "too late, captain grady!" called back paul, facing about and aiming at the man with his gun. "now, just you go and open the stockade gate!" "thar ain't no need o' thet!" cried the voice of jack blowfen. "well done, boys; i give ye credit." and over the stockade vaulted the cowboy, leaping from his saddle to the grass on the other side. captain grady knew not which way to turn, and before he could decide the gate was unbarred and caleb dottery rode in. in the meantime chet had taken a hasty glance through the house and satisfied himself that captain grady was really alone. there was evidence that several visitors had been there but recently--a number of unwashed dishes and drinking glasses. chet returned to the doorway and beheld captain grady in jack blowfen's strong grasp. the firearm had been wrenched from the captain and hurled a dozen feet away. "this--this is an outrage!" puffed the captain in a great rage. "so is the way ye set up to treat neighbors," replied the cow puncher, coolly. "why didn't ye leave us in like gentlemen an' thus avoid all trouble?" the captain glared at him. "what does this mean?" he demanded sullenly after a pause. "can you hold him, blowfen?" asked paul, anxiously. "i reckon, paul; but maybe ye might better keep him covered with yer gun." "this means that we have come to take possession of our own," put in chet. "we told you that we would be back." "it's ag'inst the law, and i'll have the sheriff on you!" shouted captain grady wrathfully. "we'll chance that," said paul. "march into the house, please. we want to question you a bit on another matter," he continued. captain grady started. "what matter?" he asked in a lower tone of voice. "about our uncle, barnaby winthrop." "don't know nothing of him," was the reply, and as he spoke captain grady's hand moved up to his inside breast pocket. instantly jack blowfen leaped upon the rascal and bore him to the earth. chapter xxiii. news of importance "don't be alarmed; he is not going to shoot," cried paul. "don't ye make too shure o' thet," ejaculated the cowboy. "wot's he puttin' his hand into his pocket fer?" "he has something there i fancy he wishes to conceal," went on paul. "empty the pocket, please." "let me go! this is highway robbery!" stormed captain grady. he struggled fiercely to regain his feet. but blowfen was the stronger of the pair and he easily held the rascal down with one hand, while with the other he brought several letters from his inside pocket. paul eagerly snatched the letters, in spite of the captain's protest. he glanced at them, with chet looking over his shoulder. "well, what do you make out?" asked caleb dottery. he didn't quite like the way matters were turning. "i think we will be safe in making captain grady a prisoner," replied paul slowly. "yes, make him a prisoner by all means," put in chet. "he is a villain if ever there was one. if we can't prove it i think my uncle barnaby can." at the reference to barnaby winthrop captain grady grew pale. it was evident that his sins were at last finding him out. it did not take jack blowfen long to act upon paul's suggestion. he disarmed the captain and made him march into the house, where he bound the fellow in very much the same manner as dottery had bound jeff jones. while he was doing so paul showed the letters taken from the prisoner to caleb dottery. chet, while a second reading was going on, commenced to ransack the house. the captain had moved but a few things into the ranch home--a couple of chairs, a table, a bed, and an old hair trunk. the trunk chet opened without ceremony. more letters were found there--documents which told only too plainly what manner of man the captain was. chet smiled to himself to think how foolish the rascal had been not to have destroyed the epistles. "but the greatest of villains occasionally over-reach themselves," he said to paul. "i fancy this is proof enough to show what an awfully bad man captain grady is." "you are right, chet," said dottery, after a careful examination. "he is a hoss thief as great as was old sol davids, and he is trying to rob yer uncle out of a mine claim as well." "not only that, but as jeff jones said, he is with the crowd who holds my uncle a prisoner, sir. that, to me is the worst part of it." "i don't know but what ye are right." the captain was raising such a row that to quiet him jack blowfen threw him bodily into a dark closet and turned the key on him. "now if ye don't quit yer noise, i'll gag ye in the bargain," said the cowboy, and thereupon the captain became quiet at once. it was now quite in line to hold a council of war, as paul termed it. but before this was done all hands went to work to move the winthrop household effects back to where they belonged. this was accomplished in a short space of time, and was productive of an accident which, while not excessively serious, was still of sufficient importance to cause a decided change in their plans. in moving in an old, heavy bedstead caleb dottery allowed the end he held to slip from his grasp. a sharp corner came down on his ankle, twisting it severely. he cried with pain and work was at once suspended. the ankle was bandaged, but it was found the old ranch owner could not walk, nor could he move about with any degree of comfort. he was placed on a couch and there he remained. the four talked matters over for a long while. in one of captain grady's letters was mentioned a certain cave in the vicinity of what was then known as the albany claim. the boys fancied that their uncle might be a prisoner in that cave. "well, i dunno but what ye are right," mused jack blowfen. "it's sartinly wuth going to see." "then you advise us to go?" asked paul, eagerly. "yes, and i'll go with ye." "but mr. dottery," began chet. "i'll stay whar i am an' watch the captain," groaned the old ranch owner. "it's about all i'm good for jes' now." "the old albany claim is a good stiff forty miles an' more from hyer," said jack blowfen. "but i know the road over the second foothills perfectly. so if ye say the word any time we'll start." "it looks like rain just now," said paul. "an' ye'll catch it heavy, too," put in dottery. "we'll have to look after the cattle, too," added chet. "like as not half of them are in the sink hole." "i'll help ye with the stock," said blowfen. that evening it rained in torrents, but only for a short while. by midnight it was as clear as it could be. long before sunrise the boys and blowfen were out on the range looking up the heads belonging to the winthrops. they were gratified to find that all the stock was safe with a single exception. that was an old cow who had been caught in the cyclone and killed. not one of the four-footed beasts had gone anywhere near the sink hole. when let out of the closet captain grady begged hard for his liberty. but the boys were obdurate and caleb dottery backed them up, as did jack blowfen. "ye have done wrong an' must suffer," said the latter, and there the matter rested. by nine o'clock the two boys and blowfen were off. they took with them enough provisions to last several days, as the journey upon which they were about to enter would be for the greater part through a dry and unproductive section. this same section has now been made, by a system of irrigation, very productive. "and now to find uncle barnaby and bring our enemies to terms!" cried paul, as they rode out of the stockade. "so say i, and may uncle be found well," added chet. "amen," murmured jack blowfen. chapter xxiv. something about barnaby winthrop "my uncle a prisoner about ten miles from here?" repeated allen winthrop, after lou slavin had made his confession. "will you shut up?" howled bluckburn, savagely. "you'll spoil everything." "an' he'll save hisself from bein' lynched," added old ike watson, suggestively. "we haven't done anything--you can't hold us," spluttered bluckburn. he found himself in a bad corner. "holding a man a prisoner is nothing, i presume," said allen, in deep anger. "go on," he continued to slavin. "where is my uncle?" thus urged, lou slavin blurted out a full confession, telling how barnaby winthrop had been followed to san francisco by bluckburn, who wanted to learn the secret of the new claim, which bluckburn realized must be valuable. slavin said it was bluckburn who had sent to barnaby winthrop a forged letter calling the old prospector back to the ranch. the rascal had also forged the note received by noel urner. word had been sent by telegraph to the other members of the thieving band, and when barnaby winthrop got off at the nearest railroad station to the ranch he was followed and waylaid. "the crowd had a mighty hard time o' it with him, he fit so," went on slavin. "onct he nearly got away, but captain grady tripped him up an' then he war bound tight." "captain grady!" ejaculated allen. "thet's his size," cried old watson. "i allers allowed as how he war one o' the shady class." "he--he led the whole business," put in bluckburn. he began to think it time to clear himself. "i only acted under his orders." "it's too late fer ye ter open yer mouth," was the way ike watson cut him short. "go on, slavin. whar's barnaby winthrop? straight, now, remember." thus admonished, slavin told the location of the cave in which the old prospector was held, as well as he was able. "i don't know the lay o' the land exactly, but i'm comin' purty nigh it." "would you know the spot if you were in the vicinity?" asked allen, eagerly. "i think i would." "then we must take him along," said the young ranchman to ike watson. "but what shall we do with bluckburn?" "he ought ter be lynched right now," was the old hunter's stern reply. during his days among the rough characters of the mountains he and his companions had had small use for jails and lockups. the law of the land, so called, was administered on the spot. a long discussion followed, which ended in a determination to take bluckburn back to daddy wampole's place. they would leave him there a prisoner, and then take slavin along with them, that he might locate barnaby winthrop's place of confinement. bluckburn was secured on his horse's back, and slavin was disarmed, and in less than half an hour the return to the crossroads hotel was begun. it was a long and tedious ride to allen who was impatient to be off to find his uncle. but it could not be helped, and allen bore it as patiently as he was able. daddy wampole was as much surprised as he well could be to see them ride up with their prisoner. he listened with deep interest to the tale allen, watson, and noel urner had to tell. "yes, i'll keep him a prisoner," he said at the conclusion. "an' take my word on it, he shan't escape." "and it won't be long before we have captain grady, too," said allen, never dreaming of what was taking place at home in the meanwhile. bluckburn was exceedingly downcast over his turn of fortune. he insisted that captain grady was totally to blame, but this statement no one felt inclined to believe. slavin showed himself more than willing now to do all in his power to redeem himself and his reputation. yet neither ike watson nor allen could trust him with so much as a pistol. "you jes' ride on ahead, an' if thar's any trouble we'll look out fer ye," was the way watson put it, and with this slavin had to be content. a long and exceedingly rough journey now lay before the three, a journey destined to try their patience to the utmost. "but we will have to make the best of it," said allen. "and i don't care what we have to put up with so long as we find my uncle safe and sound." "thet's the talk," answered watson. "can't expect ter have every comfort out in these yere parts nohow." the sun had been shining brightly, but presently the sky became overcast. "unless i am mistaken we are close to a storm," observed noel, as he surveyed the heavens anxiously. "thet's wot," came from watson. "an' i allow as how it will be a putty heavy one when it comes." "we've had storms enough lately," said allen. "i want no more of them." they continued on their way as rapidly as the nature of the ground to be covered permitted. occasionally slavin grumbled at being pushed on so fast but watson soon put a stop to his mutterings. "no ust ter grumble, slavin," he said. "ye kin be thankful thet ye wasn't shot down like a dog." "but i'm not feelin' well," pleaded the evil doer. "ain't ye? wall, what ye want is exercise," was watson's sarcastic rejoinder. "so trot along, an' no more parley about it," and slavin went along, but with a face that looked far from pleasant. half an hour later the raindrops began to fall, at first scatteringly and then in a steady downpour. it was a cold rain and made one and another of the little party shiver. "i must say i don't like this," said allen, when he was more than half soaked through. "i wonder if we can't find shelter until the worst of this is over?" "perhaps we can," said noel. "although i don't see many large trees handy." "might be as how's thar's a cave around," said watson. "anyway, we'll keep our eyes peeled fer one." this they did and a quarter of a mile further on came to something of a cliff overlooking a rocky valley. at the base of the cliff were a number of rough openings and one of these openings led to a cave of no mean size. "jes' the ticket!" cried watson, as he dismounted and entered the opening. "we can stay here all night an' by thet time the storm will be a thing o' the past. we ain't none too soon either," he added. watson was right, for scarcely had all of the party entered the cavern than the storm let down in all of its fury. the landscape was blotted out and all became darker than ever. "ye set down on thet rock," commanded watson to slavin. "an' don't ye dare ter stir if ye know when yer well off." "i ain't stirrin'," growled the prisoner. nevertheless, although he spoke thus, slavin had his eyes wide open. he intended to escape if it were possible to do so, fearing that all would not go well with him even though he had confessed to his captors. chapter xxv. fighting a wolverine "i think we had better make a fire," suggested allen, after the horses had been tied up in a place that was comparatively dry. "right ye air, allen," returned watson. "pervidin' we can find some firewood." "here is a tree branch," said noel, pointing it out in a dark corner of the cavern. "but we may have some trouble in breaking it up." "ho! ho!" laughed watson. "it's easy ter see ye ain't very strong. we'll break thet up in a jiffy; eh, slavin?" "what do ye want?" growled the prisoner. "want ye ter help break up some firewood." "me?" "persackly, slavin. reckon as how ye want ter git as warm as anybody. wall, ye kin start in by doin' some work." slavin demurred but his protest was unavailing and soon he and watson were breaking up the large part of the tree branch, noel looking on in wonder and allen assisting on the smaller portions. "my, but you are strong," said noel, in open admiration. "i'd give a good deal for your muscles." "ye'll get the same, if ye stay out hyer long enough," answered watson, "it's the mountain air as does it." "oh, come, watson, you know you are extra strong," put in allen. "why, he can do some wonderful things when he wants to." to this watson made no reply, but the grin on his face showed that he appreciated the compliment. soon they had a roaring fire, which threw grotesque shadows on the cavern walls. all drew closer to enjoy the warmth, and they prepared a meal to which even slavin did full justice. they questioned the prisoner closely and he said he felt certain he was on the right trail. but he was shy about saying more. he was wondering if the coming night would offer any opportunity of escaping. "i'll get away if i can," he thought. "and if so i must lose no time in warning mangle and nodley. if i don't they'll be running into a trap, and my share of that stolen money will be lost." after the meal allen and watson remained near the entrance to the cave, to talk over the situation and speculate upon what the day following would bring forth. slavin wanted to join them, but allen ordered him back. "you go back to the fire," he said. "if you want to go to sleep you may do so." "don't trust me even yet, do ye?" muttered the prisoner. "i do not." "ye're rather hard on a chap wot is trying ter do ye a good turn." "it remains to be seen if it is a good turn or not, slavin. you may be putting up a job on us." "no, i swear it's all right, winthrop. ye'll find everything jest as i told ye." "perhaps. but you go back to the fire," and slavin went back, but with a look on his face that rivaled the black clouds in the heavens outside. soon the prisoner was curled up close to the fire and he closed his eyes as if in slumber, but he kept as wide awake as before. while allen and watson were talking at the entrance to the cavern, noel, out of idle curiosity, procured a torch from the camp fire and went on a tour of observation. the cavern proved to be a narrow and rambling affair, being nothing more or less than a split in the mountain side. the floor was uneven and back from the entrance arose in a series of rough steps. up these steps climbed the young man until he had gained a position fully fifty feet above the mouth of the cavern. at a great distance he heard the falling of water, as the rain swept over some rocks at a rear entrance to the cavern. curious to see where the cavern led to be continued his climbing until the light of the camp fire was left far behind. his torch was burning low but he whirled it into a blaze and went on once more. occasionally he slipped, for the rocks were now wet, but this did not daunt him. at last he reached a spot where the water was flowing in a miniature waterfall. there was an opening over his head but it was out of reach. "this must be a pretty place in the daylight," he mused. "what grand scenery on every hand throughout this state!" of a sudden more than the usual amount of water came down and some of it hit the torch, extinguishing it instantly. "confound the luck," he murmured, and felt in his pocket for a match. while he was searching for the article, he heard a strange noise overhead, close to the waterfall. he listened and the noise was followed by the unmistakable growl of a wild beast. a wolverine had strayed close to the waterfall and had slipped on the rocks to a shelf below. for a few seconds the ferocious beast clung to the ledge, then slipped again and landed at noel's feet! the wolverine is one of the most ferocious beasts to be met with anywhere. it is not unlike the bear in general make-up, but has a more pointed head and a bushy tail. it is said that, generally speaking, a wolverine will not eat anything else if it can get meat. as soon as the wolverine smelled the presence of a human being he let out a growl that seemed to strike to noel's very backbone. letting the match he had pulled from his pocket drop, the young man felt for his pistol and brought forth the weapon with all possible speed. bang! the weapon was discharged and the bullet clipped the wolverine on the left side of the head. then with a snarl that was almost a scream, the ferocious animal hurled itself upon noel. "help! help!" cried the young man. he felt that he was in an exceedingly perilous position and that assistance was absolutely necessary. in the darkness he thought he had been attacked by a mountain bear. the wolverine managed to reach his shoulder, but noel made a quick twist and freed himself. then the young man fired a second shot. the wolverine was now hit in the side, but the wound was far from fatal or even serious, and it only made the creature scream louder. with blazing eyes and gleaming teeth, it crouched low and prepared to spring for noel's throat. the young man knew that almost all wild beasts are fearful of fire but he did not know how the beast before him regarded water. yet as he fired a third shot he stepped close up to the rocks, so that the water from the fall might pour over his person. the third report echoed throughout the cavern as loudly as had the others, while the bullet flew a foot over the wolverine's head. then the savage beast made a second leap at noel and caught the young man by the arm. the weight of the animal made noel lose his balance, and man and wolverine rolled over on the cavern floor together. chapter xxvi. disappearance of slavin "what's that?" the exclamation came from allen as he broke off short in his conversation with watson. the cry from noel had reached his ears and the cry was quickly followed by the first of the pistol shots. "he's in trouble, thet's wot!" cried the old hunter. "hark, thar's another shot!" he bounded back to the camp fire, but quick as was his movement, allen was ahead of him. both felt that noel's peril must be extreme. "get a torch!" cried watson, and caught up a burning brand. "what of slavin?" questioned allen, but then, as the second shot rang out, he waited no longer, but with a torch in one hand and his gun in the other, he darted up the rocky steps as fast as he could. watson was beside him, with pistol drawn, his gun resting on the side of the cave below. it took but a few seconds to gain the vicinity of the little waterfall but before they came up they heard the third shot and another yell from noel. "my gracious!" burst from allen's throat, as he beheld the awful scene. noel was lying partly on his back, with one foot pressed against the wolverine's stomach. the wild beast still held the young man by the arm. allen realized that whatever good was to be done must be done instantly, and without stopping to think twice he blazed away at the wolverine, twice in quick succession. watson likewise fired, and the creature was struck each time. with a yelp that was almost human the wolverine turned, let go his hold on noel, and leaped for allen. "take care!" yelled watson, and then fired another shot, just as the wolverine, unable to reach allen's throat, made a clutch at his left leg. the shot from the old hunter took the beast directly in the right eye, piercing his brain, and he fell over like a lump of lead, to move no more. "a close shave fer ye," remarked watson, when he saw that allen was uninjured. "a big one, too," he went on, shoving the wolverine with his foot. "how are ye, urner?" "i--i guess i am not much hurt!" gasped noel, when he felt able to speak. "the beast bit me in the arm though." "it's lucky he wasn't after gittin' at yer throat. i knowed a man onct as got a nip in the throat from a wolverine that made him pass in his checks then an' thar." "it was a terrible encounter! i thought i was a goner sure." "didn't you have a torch?" questioned allen. "i did, but the water struck it and put it out." "the darkness was what made the critter so bold," remarked watson. "they're afeered o' fire, jes' like most o' wild beasts." "oh, my, we forgot slavin!" burst suddenly from allen's lips. "i'll wager a horse he has dusted out!" "ye're right," returned watson, and began to make his way back to the camp fire with all speed, and with allen close beside him. noel was too weak to run and had to walk. he was still very white and his limbs trembled under him because of the unusual excitement. the camp fire gained, it needed but a single glance around to convince them that slavin had indeed gone. "took my shootin' iron, too, consarn him!" ejaculated ike watson. "what fools we wuz ter leave him yere alone!" "we saved noel's life by the operation," answered allen. "thet's so, too, but----" "you hate to see him get away. so do i, and--look!" "what now?" "he has taken one of the horses, too!" allen was right, the best of the horses was gone. "he ain't got much o' a start," said watson. "so let us git arfter him hot-footed." "i am with you on that, watson; he must not get away under any circumstances. if he does----" "we won't be able to git on the trail o' yer uncle." "that's it." both were soon in the saddle, and shouted back to noel to keep the fire burning and wait for their return. then away they dashed into the midnight darkness. the storm still continued and the rain poured down with a steadiness that was dismal enough to contemplate. but to the discomfort allen gave scant heed. "he must not get away," he said, to himself, over and over again. "we must capture him and make him take us to where the gang have uncle barnaby a prisoner." "right ye air, allen." to follow a trail under such circumstances was not easy, yet they found some tracks in the soft dirt directly in front of the cliff and these led on the back trail and then to where there was a deep ravine between the rocky slopes of the mountains. half a mile was covered and watson called a halt. "ye want ter go slow yere," he cautioned, "i don't like the looks o' this territory nohow." "what is wrong with it?" "full o' holes, fer one thing, and water under the surface. we'll go slow," and they did. occasionally it lightened and by the flashes of light they made out a fringe of woods skirting the hollow. the wind was coming up and this swept through the trees with a mournful sound. they were moving with care when they heard a sudden yell ahead. it was slavin calling to his horse. "back up!" they heard him cry. "back, hang ye! de ye want ter pitch me in a hole?" and then followed a savage muttering they could not make out. "we've got him!" cried watson. "come--but be careful, be careful." "i'm going to dismount," said allen, and did so and led his steed forward along the trail which the rain had made slippery and treacherous. watson likewise got down and they now had to wait for another flash of lightning to show them just where they were. as the flash came allen gave a look ahead. "well, i never!" he ejaculated. "wot did ye see?" came quickly from the old hunter. "slavin has tumbled down and the horse with him." "then we've got the rascal sure!" they plunged forward again. the trail was narrower than ever and the gully, or hollow, was on one side, and a fringe of mountain brush on the other. presently they heard something which served to increase their surprise. slavin was groaning as if in extreme pain. "the fall hurt him," said allen, "look after my horse, will you? i am going ahead." he hurried on around a slight turn of the trail and through a clump of bushes and trees growing close to the edge of the hollow. as he emerged from the bushes a sight met his gaze that thrilled him to the backbone. slavin had fallen over the edge of the trail at a point where lay a huge half-rotted trunk of a tree. the trunk of the tree had slipped in the wet, rolled partly over the man, and was slowly but surely crushing the life out of him! chapter xxvii. allen shows his bravery "slavin!" "hel-help!" gasped the poor wretch. "help! for the love of heaven, help me!" "how did you get under the tree trunk?" "my horse kicked me and i fell. i tried to save myself from going into the hollow. please help me!" "thet's wot ye git fer runnin' away," put in watson, who had appeared on the scene. "don't--don't talk! save me!" was slavin's only answer. "we'll do what we can for you," returned allen. yet even as he spoke he realized how difficult, not to say dangerous, was the task which lay before him. should he attempt to roll the log over it might catch him just as it had caught the suffering wretch now under it. "take care, allen!" warned watson. "the bank here is mighty slippery." "i know it," was the answer. "watson, can you hold yonder branch?" "wait till i tether the hosses." this was done as quickly as possible and then the old hunter caught hold of the branch allen had mentioned. allen got down under the lower end of the fallen tree and caught slavin by the arm. "can't you turn over?" he asked. "i--i--can't budge!" was the low answer. and then with a groan the prisoner became insensible. "he has fainted!" cried allen, to watson. "pull on that branch for all you are worth." "i'm a-pullin'." still the tree trunk did not budge, for one end was embedded in the mud lying on the edge of the bank. allen was determined to save the poor wretch who was slowly but surely having his chest crushed in by the sinking tree. finding he could not move the tree he called on watson to hold fast as before. "ye can't do nothin', allen," protested the old hunter. "come away afore the tree rolls over an' crushes ye too!" "it won't roll if you hold fast," allen answered. "yes, it will, when it starts. i can't git nothin' ter brace ag'in here." "well, i'm going to do my best and you must hold back as long as you can," was the answer. getting down on his knees, allen began to scoop away the loose dirt with his hands, working directly under slavin's body. it was hard work and broke his finger nails, but he kept on and at last had quite a hole made. "now hold hard, i'm going to pull!" he shouted to watson, and the old hunter held as hard as he could. then allen pulled with might and main and at last had the satisfaction of getting the senseless body of slavin free from its awful pressure. "quick, the tree is a-goin'!" came from watson. "give me yer hand!" he reached forth and at the same time the tree began to slide down the hollow, directly in allen's pathway. allen had slavin in his arms by this time. he made a leap and got on top of the tree, and just as the trunk went down watson caught him and held tight. "a close call an' no error!" cried watson, when allen was safe on the trail once more. "ye came within an ace o' goin' into the hollow with the tree on top o' ye!" "i guess slavin's pretty badly hurt," said allen, when he could get back his breath. "that trunk had him pinned down for fair. he would have been crushed in another minute or two. what shall we do with him?" "wait till i catch his hoss an' we'll take him back to the cave," answered watson. to catch the animal was not difficult and close at hand they found the gun slavin had stolen. then while allen carried the firearms and led one horse and rode another, watson took up the unconscious man in his arms and followed on his own steed to the cave. they found noel sitting by the fire nursing his lacerated arm. the wound was an ugly affair but by no means dangerous, and after it was washed and bandaged it felt a great deal better, although the arm was bound to be stiff for several weeks to come and sore in the bargain. "got him, i see," remarked the young man, as he glanced at slavin. "what's the trouble, did you have to shoot him?" "no, he got under a fallen tree," answered allen. the unconscious man was placed in a comfortable position near the fire, which was heaped up with fresh wood, that all might dry themselves, and watson went to work to restore slavin. this was no mean task and it was a good half hour before the man opened his eyes to stare about him. "i--i--where am i?" he stammered. "yer safe," answered watson, laconically. "that tree--did i go over into the hollow?" "no." "how did i escape?" "allen winthrop saved ye." "he did!" "yes, slavin; he's yer best friend, if ye only know it," went on the old hunter warmly. "but i--don't--don't understand." in a few words watson explained the situation to which slavin listened with much interest. then his eyes rested on allen. "i'm much erbliged ter ye," he said slowly, and his manner showed he meant it. "you were a fool ter try ter git away," went on watson. "i know thet--now," muttered the hurt one. "don't ye know i would have plugged ye on sight?" "would ye?" "sartain shur, slavin." "wall, i won't give ye another chance," responded slavin, with a heavy sigh. "ye won't git the chance, ye mean," said the old hunter, significantly. "all right, jes' as ye please, watson. but if thet young feller saved my life why i'm----" "what?" "i'm going to make it up ter him, thet's all." "do you mean that you will lead us without any further trouble?" questioned allen eagerly. "thet's wot i do mean, an' i'll swear ter it if ye want me ter," added slavin, solemnly. "you needn't swear, slavin." "but i mean it, winthrop. i may be a bad man, but i ain't so all-fired bad as ter forgit a man when he does me a good turn," went on the sufferer, with increased earnestness. "well, i will take you at your word." "but i can't go on just yet. i've got a terrible pain in my breast, here." "i suppose you have. we shan't move to-night and maybe not to-morrow. it will depend upon how noel urner feels." "oh, i'll go on," said noel. "but i think a little rest here will do us all good," he added, thoughtfully. "yes, ye all need it," put in watson. "an' now i want all o' ye to turn in an' git some sleep. i'll stay on guard." "but not all night," insisted allen. "wake me at two or three o'clock." and so it was arranged. chapter xxviii. a buffalo stampede allen went on duty at three o'clock and remained on guard until six, when the others awoke. the sun was showing itself in the east and all that remained of the storm were a few scattering drops. "how do you feel?" asked allen of noel. "fairly well, although the arm is stiff, allen." and the young man continued: "what shall we do with the wolverine?" "nothing, unless you want the pelt." "i never want to see the beast again," said noel, with a shudder for which allen could not blame him. "then let him lie for the other wild beasts to feed upon." when watson arose allen had breakfast ready and all ate without delay. even slavin got around, but it was plain to see that he was suffering. "i want ter show ye i mean ter do what i said," he told allen. "i'll go on if i drop in my tracks." "we won't start just yet, slavin," answered allen, "and when we do we'll take it rather easy, both for your benefit and for mr. urner's." it was past ten o'clock when they left the cave. their horses were much refreshed by the rest taken, and despite slavin's hurts fair progress was made along the foothills. it was a lonely section of the state through which they were traveling and allen could not help mentioning this fact to ike watson. but at his words the old hunter merely laughed. "lonely," he snorted. "gosh all hemlock, allen, it ain't half as lonely as it used ter be, not by a jugful. why, i remember the time ye could ride fer days an' days an' see nuthin' but buffalo or some other wild critters." "the buffalo are almost all gone now, aren't they?" "putty much, an' it's a great shame, too, fer they were fine game. but them sports used ter come out west an' kill 'em off by the score, worse luck! didn't want 'em fer nuthin' either!" and watson shook his head sorrowfully. "were you ever caught in a buffalo stampede, ike?" "onct, allen, onct, an' it's an experience i'll never fergit as long as i live." "i should like to hear the particulars." "thet ain't really much ter tell, allen. i wuz out on crazy tom mountain at the time. reckon ye know the place." "fairly well." "well, it wuz while the buffalo had been over to the fork. grazin' wuzn't very good thet season an' the critters wuz rather ugly in consequence." "yes, i've heard they get bad when their feed is cut short." "as i wuz sayin', i wuz up alongside o' crazy tom mountain, looking fer b'ar, an' i had jes' struck a fine trail when i heered a curious sound on the tudder side o' the hill. i couldn't make it out nohow at fust, but byme-by i thought it must be buffalo, an' i wuz right." "did they come right down on you?" "no, worse luck, they didn't. if they hed i might have scooted to one side or tudder. but instead o' comin' straight over the mountain--'tain's high, ye remember--they came around on both sides, an' afore i knowed it, i wuz right in the middle o' 'em." "what did you do?" asked allen, as watson paused reflectively. "at fust i didn't know what ter do persackly. i shot one of 'em, but bless ye, thet wuzn't nuthin', and i calkerlated as how i'd have ter ride fer it. then of a sudden my hoss got scared and shot me over his head into a big thorn bush and made off like a streak o' greased lightnin', leaving me alone." "with the buffalo all around you?" "jes' so, more'n twenty o' 'em, an' more'n a hundred others comin' up fast as they could leg it. i kin tell ye i wuz in a fix an' no error." "it must have hurt you to land in the thorn bush?" "hurt? wall say, it wuz like bein' dumped into a pit full o' daggers, that wuz! hain't fergot the awful stickin' pain yit an' never will! but bein' chucked into thet thorn bush saved my life." "didn't the buffalo touch the bush?" "nary a one. they would come up close, on a dead run, an' then shy like a skittish hoss afore a bit o' white paper. time an' ag'in i thought one would heave hisself atop o' me an' squash me, but the time didn't come. say, but it wuz a sight, that wuz!" went on watson earnestly. "them buffalo was mad, clean stark mad, and trampled all over each other. the stampede at thet p'int didn't last more 'n three minutes an' arfter it wuz over thar wuz five buffalo dead less than four yards away from me!" "tramped to death by the others?" "yes, smashed up too. ye never saw sech a sight. arfter thet ye can calkerlate i keep clear o' all other stampedes," concluded the old hunter. talking over one thing and another the party moved along until about one o'clock, when a halt was made for dinner. allen found that noel was suffering but little but his arm was well bandaged. slavin, however, was pale. "you need a rest, slavin," he said, kindly. "i reckon ye air right," was the faint response. "didn't calkerlate ter git sech an all-gone feelin'." "we'll rest until the worst of the heat is over; eh, ike?" "jes' as ye say," answered the old hunter. they found an inviting spot in a small grove of trees close to a spring and a brook, and proceeded to make themselves comfortable. slavin was glad enough to drop into a light doze. "he's a changed man, unless i miss my guess," said allen to noel. "i think you are right, allen. that adventure took him so close to death i fancy it rather awakened his conscience." "i hope he does turn over a new leaf. he doesn't appear such a bad fellow at heart." "you are right. i suppose some men get bad out here simply because they haven't any good example to follow. they cut loose from their old associates and fall in with the wrong sort." "that's just it, and it's so much easier to find the wrong sort than the right sort. some men think life altogether too slow unless they are doing something against the law." allen, as he rested, could not help but think of his two brothers. what were chet and paul doing? he sincerely trusted all was going well with them. "they ought to be old enough to take care of themselves," said noel. "you mustn't worry too much on their account." "well, we have to be on guard out here night and day, noel. you really don't know who to trust." "oh, i know that." "just think of what my uncle has suffered, and of what he may be suffering this minute. it is enough to make one's blood boil!" "it may not be as bad as you imagine, allen. your uncle must know a thing or two." "of course, but one man can't do much against three or four, or half a dozen. those rascals will do all in their power to bring him to terms, rest assured of that." "well, i am willing to push on at any time you say." "i'll push on as fast as slavin can travel. i can't do more than that. if he caves in on our hands we'll have no means of finding out anything more about my uncle's whereabouts." "he can't be shamming, can he?" "not a bit of it. he was caught under the tree and i wouldn't have been in his position for a thousand dollars." "then don't push him any harder than you dare. to me he looks like a fellow who might be getting a fever." "i noticed that. but i hope he doesn't," concluded allen. but the fever was coming and by nightfall all of the others saw that slavin was in a bad way. he sat up and began to talk wildly. "let me go! take the tree from me!" he cried. "i haven't got the money! oh, how do ye do mr. winthrop. glad to see me, eh? and how is that new mine, an' what kind of a trade are ye goin' to make with captain grady, eh? ha! ha! the cave by the seven pines! a good hiding place, the seven pines! let me go, the tree is crushing me!" and then he fell back almost exhausted. "he won't travel any more, not jes' yet," said watson, soberly. "he's up ag'in a long spell o' sickness." "did you hear what he said about captain grady?" asked allen. "i did. he must be in this game, too. an' the seven pines." "the cave must be at a place called the seven pines," said noel. "if it is i think i know the spot," answered ike watson. "i ran across 'em seven pines two years ago. they air about two miles from here, on the other side o' the mountain. we'll have ter go around ter git ter 'em." an hour later allen and watson left slavin in noel urner's care and struck out for the place on the other side of the mountain which the old hunter had mentioned. chapter xxix. the long lost found before leaving camp both allen and ike watson saw to it that their weapons were in good condition and ready for immediate use. "no tellin' what we may run up ag'inst," said the old hunter. "well, i am ready to fight, if it comes to that," returned allen, grimly. "but i would rather take the enemy by surprise." "thet would be the best way, allen. but fust we must locate thet cave." the ride around the mountain was a rather trying one and from a gallop they had to slow down to a walk. in some spots the trail was much cut up and the mud was deep, while in others they had to pick their way over rocks which were as smooth as they were dangerous. "look thar," said watson, as he paused on a spur of the rocks. "thar's a tumble fer ye!" he pointed to a canyon all of five hundred feet deep and allen had to draw back after looking into the awful depth. "if a fellow should tumble here he would never live to tell it," said the young ranchman. "this would be a bad trail to follow in the dark." moving away from the spur of rocks overlooking the canyon, they turned to the northwest and plunged through a forest of cedar and hemlock. here the wild birds were numerous and allen was tempted to bring some of them down with his gun, but watson demurred. "no use o' makin' too much noise," he explained. "remember, somebody may be on guard up at thet cave." "slavin said he thought only an old woman had been left in charge--a woman who claimed to be darry nodley's wife." "didn't know as how thet rascal hed a wife." "that is what slavin said." "it might be the truth, and then ag'in, it might not. we don't want ter believe too much, allen." "i agree with you, ike. but i think slavin was really anxious to help us after we did him that good turn." the old hunter shrugged his shoulders. "perhaps; but i've seen too much foul play in my time ter trust everybody. thar may be a woman up thar, an' thar may be some men-folks too." so the talk ran on and they gradually drew closer to where the old hunter had once seen the seven pine trees. to one not used to a life in the open, to remember such a locality after two years' absence would have been difficult, but it was not so with ike watson. "can't fool me on a thing like this," he said, flatly. "onct i see a place it hangs in my mind forever. same way with a trail. why onct i struck a trail in the south o' the state, kind o' a mixed trail too. i didn't see thet trail fer nigh onto six years, but when i did see it ag'in i knew it jes' as quick as i clapped eyes on it." "i believe you," replied the young ranchman. "you have an eye like a hawk," and in that allen was right. the sun was sinking low in the west when they came out of a defile in the rocks and the old hunter pointed to a valley on the opposite side of the foothills below them. "do ye see them, over thar?" he questioned. allen gave a long look. "i do--seven pines, sure enough!" "told ye i'd remember the spot!" cried watson, triumphantly. "but where is the cave?" went on the young ranchman. "like as not it's close by. come, before the sun goes down an' it gits too dark." soon they were making their way along the foothills at the lower side of the mountain. they had to pass through considerable brush and while they were doing this watson suddenly halted and pointed to his side. "what is it?" asked allen, as he also halted. "if thet ain't a putty fresh trail then i miss my guess." "it does look fresh, ike." "ain't over twenty-four hours old, nohow," went on the old hunter. "allen, i reckon we have struck it about right." "but i see nothing of a cave." "let us follow the trail. the cave may not be persackly by the pines but in sight o' them, do ye see?" "i do." "thet trail is almost in the direction i wuz goin'," continued watson. "so we won't miss much if we go wrong. forward it is!" and again they struck out, this time with increased confidence. as they progressed the old hunter examined the hoof marks from time to time and said he was certain two horsemen had passed that way. but just as they were coming to the end of the foothills they reached a mountain water course and here the trail came to an abrupt end. "we are stumped now," said allen, after both had crossed to the other side of the stream. "i ain't a-givin' up jes' yet," answered watson. "oh, neither am i. but where has the trail gone to?" "let us move down the stream a bit," suggested the old hunter. "i don't think the hossmen who made thet trail would stick ter the water very long." on they went once more, and now in silence, for both felt that the cave might be close at hand. the seven pines were still in view, standing upon a hillock by themselves. at last they came to a spot where the water course broadened out into a tiny lake. at this point there was another brook, coming down from a spring upon the hillside. "the trail!" cried allen, presently, and pointed it out. "right ye air, allen," returned watson. "an' i reckon we air gittin' close ter the end on it too," he added suggestively. but little more was said and they quickly followed the trail up to where a wall of rocks arose, standing boldly out from the foothills and facing the seven pines. "if i ain't mistaken thar's a cave over yonder," whispered watson, pointing with his hand. "forward we go!" cried allen, and dashed ahead, with his weapon ready for use. two minutes later a turn of the trail brought them into plain view of a large cave in the cliff side. "eureka!" began watson, when allen checked his speech. "somebody is coming!" he whispered. "a woman! get behind the brush!" he led the way and watson followed, and both waited with bated breath. presently a woman passed them, carrying an empty water bucket. she was bound for the spring just mentioned. "that must be the woman slavin mentioned," went on allen, in a low voice. "like as not," whispered the old hunter in return. "shall we capture her?" "no--wait." they waited and presently the woman came back with the bucket full of water. she entered the cavern without looking around her. "let us follow her on foot," suggested allen, and they tied up their horses. soon the entrance to the cave was gained and they peered inside. for the moment they could see but little, for there was only a low fire burning in the cavern. then of a sudden allen let out a wild cry: "look! look! there is my uncle barnaby, tied fast to the rear wall!" chapter xxx. together at last--conclusion allen spoke the truth. there, tied by strong ropes to a projecting rock, was the uncle of the winthrop boys. his face was pale and haggard, showing he had suffered much since his confinement. forgetting the woman, allen dashed forward. "uncle barnaby! how glad i am that we have found you!" he cried loudly. "who is that?" the prisoner sprang up from where he was resting. "allen!" "yes, uncle! are you not glad to see me?" "glad is not a strong enough word, my boy!" was the reply from barnaby winthrop, and as soon as allen had released him he caught his nephew in his arms. "i was praying to be rescued." "they have not treated you well, i can see that, uncle." "they have used me worse than a dog. they wanted to get my secret from me, and used every means in their power to accomplish their purpose." "but they did not succeed, did they?" "no. i told them i would die rather than allow the scoundrels to get rich through my instrumentality." a scuffle behind them stopped the conversation. ike watson was trying to secure the woman, who was struggling desperately to get away. by biting and scratching the desperate female at last freed herself from the old hunter's grasp. then she bounded for the cave entrance. watson aimed his gun at her and then lowered the weapon. "reckon i won't," he drawled. "never did shoot at a woman, an' i'm too old ter begin now. she don't count, anyhow!" and thus the woman was allowed to escape. she lost no time in quitting the vicinity. the old hunter shook hands warmly with barnaby winthrop, who was profuse in his thanks to watson for what he had accomplished. "you shall lose nothing by what you have done, ike," he said. "just wait till i open up that new claim." "speaking of the claim, there is somebody else to see you," began allen, when the talk was interrupted by the clattering of horses' hoofs on the rocks outside. "saul mangle and darry nodley!" exclaimed allen, as he glanced down the stony trail. "they are coming here, too!" "they belong to the gang," said barnaby winthrop. "reckon ez how we can receive 'em all right," put in ike watson, dryly. as quickly as possible barnaby winthrop was provided with firearms. "my gracious!" it was allen who let out the cry, loud enough for those who were approaching to hear. "what's up?" asked his uncle. "look back of them." all did so, and then a shout went up. there only a few hundred yards to the rear, were chet and paul, trying their best to run down the horse thieves, whom they had discovered but a short five minutes before. "we've got 'em corralled!" said watson, grimly. "look, there is jack blowfen, too!" ejaculated allen, as the cowboy also came into view. "halt!" ike watson uttered the command. he ran into the open, followed by the others. a shout went up from saul mangle and darry nodley, and then another from those in the rear. "there is allen!" "there is uncle barnaby!" "capture the horse thieves!" the two rascals were bewildered and paused, not knowing which way to turn. they were quickly surrounded, and it was old ike watson who commanded them to throw down their weapons. at first they felt inclined to refuse, but a glance at the stern faces about them caused them to comply. "the jig is up!" muttered saul mangle, and nodley groaned inwardly. there was another joyous greeting between uncle and nephews when paul and chet rode up. in the meanwhile jack blowfen assisted ike watson in making prisoners of mangle and nodley. the latter asked for his wife and seemed disappointed to learn she could not share his captivity. allen and barnaby winthrop were glad to learn that captain grady was a prisoner. "when i am done with him i warrant he'll not give any of us further trouble," said the uncle of the boys. before the party left the vicinity, saul mangle and nodley were searched, and from them were taken the seven hundred dollars which had been stolen from the ranch home, as related at the beginning of this story. the prisoners were removed to daddy wampole's hotel, and later on were placed in the hands of the sheriff. the sheriff also took into custody captain hank grady and lou bluckburn. the colored man, jeff jones, was, by the advice of chet and paul, allowed to go his own way on promise to turn over a new leaf. slavin was taken to a hospital and later on let go. several years have passed since the events above recorded took place. in that period of time many important changes have occurred. the horse thieves and would-be claim stealers were all duly tried according to law, and are now serving various terms of imprisonment. the ranch belonging to captain grady was confiscated by creditors from deadwood and sold to barnaby winthrop, who turned it over to the three boys to add to the ranch already belonging to them. the winthrop mine is now in operation and is paying very well. it is managed by barnaby winthrop himself, and noel urner owns a large block of stock, which he considers the best investment he ever made. caleb dottery and jack blowfen manage the ranch jointly in connection with their former work, doing this on shares for the winthrop boys. as for old ike watson, he still roams the hills and mountains. he can have a good home with barnaby winthrop any time he wishes, but says he is not yet ready to settle down. and allen, paul, and chet? the three boys are all in san francisco. allen is in college, and his two brothers are preparing to follow at a well-known private school. allen is to be a lawyer, and privately has a notion he may enter politics as the state of idaho grows in importance. paul is inclined to be a doctor. chet has not yet settled the question of a future occupation. "i think i'll go in with uncle barnaby," he said a few days ago. "i love the mountains too well to stick in any city. i'll become a mine owner and speculator in claims and cattle." they are all happy together, and, come what may, will never forget their adventures when they were left alone on the ranch to combat their many unknown enemies. [illustration: the rocky mountain series] _the rocky mountain series._ frank among the rancheros. by harry castlemon, author of "the gun-boat series," "the go-ahead series," etc. the john c. winston co., philadelphia, chicago, toronto. famous castlemon books. gunboat series. by harry castlemon. vols. mo. frank the young naturalist. frank in the woods. frank on the lower mississippi. frank on a gunboat. frank before vicksburg. frank on the prairie. rocky mountain series. by harry castlemon. vols. mo. cloth. frank among the rancheros. frank at don carlos' ranch. frank in the mountains. sportsman's club series. by harry castlemon. vols. mo. cloth. the sportsman's club in the saddle. the sportsman's club afloat. the sportsman's club among the trappers. frank nelson series. by harry castlemon. vols. mo. cloth. snowed up. frank in the forecastle. the boy traders. boy trapper series. by harry castlemon. vols. mo. cloth. the buried treasure. the boy trapper. the mail-carrier. roughing it series. by harry castlemon. vols. mo. cloth. george in camp. george at the wheel. george at the fort. rod and gun series. by harry castlemon. vols. mo. cloth. don gordon's shooting box. rod and gun club. the young wild fowlers. go-ahead series. by harry castlemon. vols. mo. cloth. tom newcombe. go-ahead. no moss. forest and stream series. by harry castlemon. vols. mo. cloth. joe wayring. snagged and sunk. steel horse. war series. by harry castlemon. vols. mo. cloth. true to his colors. rodney the partisan. rodney the overseer. marcy the blockade-runner. marcy the refugee. other volumes in preparation. * * * * * entered according to act of congress, in the year , by r.w. carroll & co., in the clerk's office of the district court of the united states, for the southern district of ohio. copyright, , by charles a. fosdick. contents. page chapter i. a novel battle, chapter ii. frank's new home, chapter iii. twelve thousand dollars, chapter iv. frank proves himself a hero, chapter v. the fight in the court, chapter vi. the mysteries solved, chapter vii. frank meets a highwayman, chapter viii. colonel arthur vane, chapter ix. an old boy, chapter x. arthur shows his courage, chapter xi. arthur plans revenge, chapter xii. off for the mountains, chapter xiii. pierre and his band, chapter xiv. a dinner in the mountains, chapter xv. more treachery, chapter xvi. the escape, chapter xvii. the struggle on the cliff, chapter xviii. conclusion, frank among the rancheros. chapter i. a novel battle. "pull him along, carlos! pull him along!" shouted a young gentleman about sixteen years of age, as he danced about on the back porch of his uncle's house, in a state of great excitement; "why don't you pull him along?" "he'll come, after awhile," replied the person addressed; "but he is very wild and obstinate." the boy on the porch was almost beside himself--so much so, in fact, that he found it utterly impossible to stand still. he was jumping wildly about, swinging his arms around his head, and laughing and shouting at the top of his lungs. we have met this young gentleman before. we have been with him through the woods, accompanied him across the prairie, and seen him in some exciting situations; but, for all that, it is by no means certain that his most intimate friend, could he have beheld him while he was dancing about on the porch, would have recognized him. the last time we saw him he was dressed in a suit of blue jeans, rather the worse for wear, a slouch hat, and a pair of heavy horseman's boots. now, he sports a suit of clothes cut in the height of fashion--that is, mexican fashion. they are not exactly of the description that we see on the streets every day, but they are common among the farmers of southern california, for that is where this young gentleman lives. he is dressed in a short jacket of dark blue cloth, trimmed around the edges, and on the sleeves, with gold lace, and wide trousers of the same material, also gaudily ornamented. the hat, with which he fans his flushed face, is a sombrero, bound with gold cord, the ends of which are adorned with tassels, that fall jauntily over the edge of the brim. an embroidered shirt of gray cloth, and shoes and stockings, complete his attire; or, we may add, a long crimson sash, which is wound several times around his waist, and tied at the side, and a pair of small mexican spurs, whose rowels are ornamented with little silver bells, which tinkle musically as he moves his feet about. if you fail to recognize an old acquaintance in this excited, sunburnt boy, you surely can call the name of the tall, broad-shouldered, sober-looking youth, who stands at his side. three months in the saddle have not changed frank nelson a great deal, only he is a little more robust, and, perhaps, more sedate. he has lost none of his love of excitement, and he is quite as interested in what is going on before him as archie; but he stands with his hands in his pockets, looking as dignified as a judge. it would be a wonder if they were not somewhat excited, as they are witnessing a desperate battle that is going on between two of their uncle's rancheros and a wild steer, which one of them has lassoed, and is trying to pull through the gate into the cow-pen. the animal is struggling furiously for his freedom, and the issue of the contest is doubtful. at the time our story begins, frank and his cousin had lived two months in southern california, where mr. winters owned a farm--or, in the language of that country, a _rancho_--of sixteen thousand acres. besides attending to his business in the mines, and superintending his affairs in sacramento, uncle james had devoted a portion of his time to stock-raising; and, when frank and archie first saw his immense droves of horses and cattle, they thought them sufficient in numbers to supply all the markets in america. mr. winters's rancho was not managed like the farms in our part of the country. to begin with, there were but three fences on it--one inclosed two small barns and corn-cribs; another, a pasture of two or three acres, and the third formed the cow-pen. in the barns, uncle james kept his riding and farm horses; the pasture was for the use of the half dozen cows which supplied the rancho with butter and milk; and the cow-pen was nothing more nor less than a prison, into which, in the spring of the year, all the young cattle and horses were driven and branded with the initials of the owner's name. this was done so that mr. winters and his hired men might be able to recognize the stock anywhere. the cattle sometimes strayed, and became mixed up with those of the neighbors, and the marks on their flanks showed to whom they belonged. [illustration] a fence around that farm would have been useless. none of the cattle and horses had ever been handled, except when they were branded, and, consequently, they were very wild. sometimes they became frightened and stampeded; and then they behaved like a herd of buffaloes, which turn aside for nothing, and stop only when they are completely tired out. on these occasions, the strongest fences that could have been made would have been trampled down like the grass beneath their feet. of course, these cattle and horses had never seen the inside of a stable. indeed, a barn large enough to accommodate them would have been an immense building, and would have cost more money than all the stock-raisers in the country were worth. however, there was no need of shelter for them. the grass on the prairie was abundant at all seasons of the year, the winters were very mild, and the cattle were always fat and in condition to be driven to market. all this stock was managed by half a dozen men, called rancheros. four of them were mexicans; the others were our old friends, dick lewis and bob kelly. so skillful were these men in their business, that a herd of cattle, which, in the hands of any one else, would have proved utterly unmanageable, was driven about by them with perfect ease. sometimes it became necessary to secure a single member of these droves. perhaps the housekeeper wanted some fresh meat for dinner, or uncle james desired a new riding horse; in either case, the services of these men were invaluable. mr. winters would issue the necessary orders to carlos--who was the chief of the rancheros, and the man who managed the farm during the absence of his employer--and an hour or two afterward four quarters of fine beef would be carried into the cellar, or mr. winters would be requested to step to the door and see if they had captured the horse he wanted. the rancheros accomplished this with their lassos, which they carried suspended from the horns of their saddles wherever they went. a lasso is a long rope, about as large as a clothes-line, and is generally made of rawhide. one end of it is fastened to the saddle, and the other, by the aid of a strong iron ring, formed into a running noose. this contrivance these herdsmen could use with a skill that was astonishing. mounted on their fleet horses, they would ride up behind a wild steer, and catch him by the horns, around his neck, or by one of his feet, as suited their fancy. on the morning we find frank and archie on the porch, their nearest neighbor, also a stock-raiser, had ridden over to inform them that one of his fine steers, which he had intended to drive to market, had escaped from his rancheros, and joined one of mr. winters's droves; whereupon frank, who, in the absence of his uncle, acted as the head man of the ranch, sent for carlos, and commanded him to capture the runaway, and confine him in the cow-pen until his owner should send for him. carlos had obeyed the first part of the order, but just then it seemed that that was all he could do. the steer had suddenly taken it into his head that he had been driven far enough, and that he would not go through the gate that led into the cow-pen; and, although carlos pulled him by his lasso, which he had thrown over his horns, and another ranchero, named felix, vigorously applied a whip from behind, the obstinate animal refused to budge an inch. sometimes he would kick, and plunge, and try to run off; and then the horse on which carlos was mounted, which seemed to understand the business quite as well as his master, would plant his fore-feet firmly on the ground to stop him. finding that he could not effect his escape in that way, the steer would run around in a circle; and the horse would turn around also, keeping his face toward the animal all the while, and thus avoid being wrapped up in the lasso. this novel battle had been going on for nearly ten minutes, and even frank had become highly excited over it. "pull him along, carlos!" shouted archie, jumping about on the porch as if he had lost all control over his legs, and they would dance in spite of every thing he could do to prevent it. "pull him along! whip up behind, felix; hit him hard!" archie continued to shout his orders at the top of his voice; but they did not seem to help the matter any, for the steer still refused to move. he had fallen to his knees, and laid his head close to the ground, as if he had deliberately resolved that he would remain there; and for a long time, all the pulling and whipping the two rancheros could do, brought nothing from him but angry snorts and shakes of the head. "now, archie," said carlos, as he stopped to wipe the big drops of perspiration from his face, "what would you do with this fellow?" the boys, who never neglected an opportunity to pick up items of information concerning every thing that came in their way, had been taking lessons of the rancheros in horsemanship, throwing the lasso, and managing wild cattle; and carlos thought this a proper occasion to ascertain how much they remembered of what they had learned. "well," replied archie, pulling off his sombrero, and digging his fingers into his head, to stir up his ideas, "i'd keep pulling and hauling at him until i got him tired out, and then i think i could manage him." "that would take up too much time," said carlos; "i've got other work to do, and i am in a hurry." "make your lasso fast to the horn of your saddle, and start up your horse, and drag him in," suggested frank. "that's the idea, and that's just what i'm going to do," said carlos. but that was just what the ranchero did _not_ do. while he was preparing to put this plan into operation, the steer suddenly jumped to his feet, and made another desperate attempt to effect his escape, and this time he was successful. there was a loud snap, carlos's heels made a flourish in the air like the shafts of a windmill, and, in an instant, he was stretched at full length on the ground. his saddle-girth had parted, and the steer was at liberty to take himself off, which he did in short order. the boys gazed in astonishment at the fallen horseman, who righted himself with alacrity, stretched his arms and legs to satisfy himself that there were no bones broken, and then commenced shouting some orders to his companion, who put spurs to his horse and started in pursuit of the steer, which was galloping over the prairie, dragging carlos's saddle after him. he was very soon overtaken, and felix, raising himself in his stirrups, swung his lasso around his head once or twice, to make sure of an accurate aim, and launched it at the steer. the lariat whistled through the air, as true to its course as a ball from a rifle, the noose settled down over his horns, the horse stopped suddenly, and the runaway lay struggling on the ground. his last attempt at escape seemed to have exhausted his energies, for when he had regained his feet, he allowed felix to lead him back to the gate and into the cow-pen, where he was turned loose, to remain until his owner should send for him. chapter ii. frank's new home. frank and archie, as we have before remarked, had been in california about two months; and, between riding, hunting, visiting, and assisting uncle james, who was engaged in selling off his stock and closing up his business, preparatory to his return to lawrence, they had passed the time most agreeably. they were as fond as ever of excitement, were almost constantly in the saddle, and mr. winters often said that if they and their horses and dog did not travel a thousand miles every day, it was not because they did not try. when the boys first arrived in california, they thought themselves expert in all manner of frontier accomplishments. but one morning, they rode over to visit johnny harris and dick thomas--two boys, about their own age, with whom they had become acquainted--and, during the day, they witnessed some feats of skill that made them wonder. johnny and dick, to show what they could do, captured and rode a couple of wild horses, that had never been handled before; and frank and archie were compelled to admit that they had some things yet to learn. every boy in that country could throw the lasso, and the cousins found that, if they desired to keep up their reputation, they must put themselves under instructions. dick and bob readily took them in hand, and, although the boys were awkward at first, they improved rapidly. they soon learned to throw the lasso with considerable skill, and frank speedily took the lead in rifle-shooting, while archie began to brag of his horsemanship. the former could bring a squirrel out of the top of the highest oak on the farm, at every shot; and his cousin could bend down from his saddle and pick up his sombrero from the ground, while his horse was going at the top of his speed. the horses the boys rode were the same that had carried them across the prairie, and they were now hitched at the end of the porch, saddled and bridled, and awaiting the pleasure of their masters. one of them, sleepy sam, looked as sleepy as ever. he stood with his head down, and his eyes half closed, as if it made no difference to him whether archie took his morning ride or not. the other, a magnificent iron-gray, pulled impatiently at his halter, and pranced about, apparently as much excited as archie had been a few moments before. this was the "king of the drove"--the one the trappers had captured during their sojourn at the old bear's hole. he answered to the name of roderick; for frank had read sir walter scott's "lady of the lake," and, admiring the character of the rebel chieftain, had named his favorite after him. perhaps the name was appropriate, for the animal sometimes showed a disposition to rebel against lawful authority, especially when any one besides frank attempted to put a saddle or bridle on him. he was a wild-looking fellow, and he had a way of laying back his ears, and opening his mouth, when any one came near him, that would have made a stranger think twice before trying to mount him. with frank, however, he was as gentle as a dog. he would come at his call, stand on his hind legs, and carry his master's whip or sombrero. he would kick and bite at frank when the latter tickled him in the ribs, all in sport, of course; but if mr. winters, or one of the herdsmen, came about him, he would use his teeth and heels in good earnest. he was as swift as ever, and frank had yet to see the horse that could beat him. the saddles these horses wore were like every thing else about themselves and masters, of the mexican pattern. they were made of beautifully-stamped leather, with high pommels in front, the tops of which were flat, and as large around as the crown of frank's sombrero. a pair of saddle-bags was fastened across the seat of each, in which the boys carried several handy articles, such as flint, steel, and tinder for lighting a fire; ammunition for their revolvers, which were safely stowed away in bearskin holsters strapped in front of the saddles, and large clasp-knives, that were useful in skinning squirrels when the boys went hunting. behind the saddles, neatly rolled up, and held in their places by straps, were a couple of pouches, which they used in rainy weather. they were pieces of india-rubber cloth, with holes in the center for the wearers' heads. they were large enough to afford complete protection from the rain, and could also be used as tents in case the boys found it necessary to camp all night on the prairie. we have spoken of frank's dog; but were we to let the matter drop here, it would be slighting an animal which had played a somewhat important part in the history of frank's life in california. his name was marmion, and he had been presented to frank by captain porter--an old fur-trader, who lived a few miles distant from the rancho, and with whom the cousins were great favorites. archie did not like the dog, and, if the truth must be told, the dog had not the smallest particle of affection for archie. in fact, he cared for no one except his master, and that was the reason the fur-trader had given him to frank. he was as large as two ordinary dogs--very courageous, and so savage that no one cared to trouble him. he had seen some stirring times during his life, and his body was covered with wounds, some of which were not entirely healed. frank was quite as fond of him as he was of brave, and with good reason, too. marmion had received those wounds while fighting for his master, and it was through his interference that frank had been saved from a long captivity. it happened before the commencement of our story, and how it came to pass shall be told in the following chapters. the house in which frank and archie lived stood in a grove of stately oak-trees, and, externally, was in perfect keeping with its surroundings. it was built of massive logs, in the form of a hollow square, with an open court in the center, which was paved with stone. the windows, which extended down to the floor, and which were used for ingress and egress quite as often as the doors, were protected by shutters made of heavy planks, and there were four loop-holes on each side of the house, showing that it had been intended to serve as a defense as well as a shelter. indeed, it looked more like a fortification than a dwelling. the house was old, and had a history--an exciting one, too, as any one could have told after examining it closely. the walls bore numerous scars, which had been made by bullets, and the trees surrounding the dwelling were marked in the same manner. the grove had not always been as peaceful and quiet as we found it. its echoes had been awakened by the yells of infuriated men and the reports of hostile rifles, and the very sod upon which frank sometimes stretched himself after dinner, to while away an hour with some favorite author, had been wet with blood. when the house was built, there was not another human habitation within a circle of twenty miles. the country was an unbroken wilderness. mr. winters's nearest neighbors were bands of roving freebooters, who robbed all who came in their way. they did not, however, content themselves with waylaying solitary travelers. they frequently made organized attacks upon remote farm-houses, and one night they made a sudden descent upon mr. winters's rancho. but the old frontiersman had lived too long in that country, and was too well acquainted with the character of his neighbors, to be caught napping. he and his rancheros were armed to the teeth, and prepared for a fight; and, after a siege of two days, during which time the robbers poured an almost constant shower of bullets against the walls of the house, they withdrew, after shooting and dispersing the cattle, and destroying the crops. not one of mr. winters's party was injured; but the outlaws suffered so severely, that they never repeated the attempt to rob that rancho. frank and archie never grew tired of hearing uncle james tell the story of that fight, and nearly every day they examined the marks of the bullets on the logs, sometimes being foolish enough to wish that they had been there to take part in those exciting scenes, or that the robbers would return and make another attack on the house, so that they might be able to say that they had been in a real battle. then they should have a story to tell that would be worth listening to. they never imagined that, before they were many years older, they could recount adventures quite as exciting as their uncle's. the interior of the house presented a strange contrast to the outside. when one crossed the threshold, he found himself surrounded with all the comforts of civilization. there were fine carpets on the floors, oil paintings on the walls, and easy chairs, sofas, and musical instruments in abundance. the room the boys occupied was the only one in which could be found any traces of the backwoods. it was a pleasant, cheerful apartment, quite as nicely furnished as the other rooms in the house, and every thing about it bespoke the taste and character of its young masters. a stranger, having taken a single glance at the numerous articles hung upon the walls, and scattered about over the floor--some of them useful and ornamental, others apparently of no value or service to any one--could have told that its presiding geniuses were live, wide-awake, restless boys. the room contained a fine library, an extensive collection of relics of all descriptions, and its walls were adorned with pictures, only they were of a different character from those in the other parts of the house. frank and archie cared nothing for such scenes as the "soldier's dream" and "sunrise in the mountains;" their tastes ran in another channel. their favorite picture hung over their writing desk, and was entitled, "one rubbed out." in the foreground was a man mounted on a mustang that was going at full speed. the man was dressed in the garb of a hunter, with leggins, moccasins, and coonskin cap, and in one hand he carried a rifle, while the other held the reins which guided his horse. the hunter was turned half around in the saddle, looking back toward half a dozen indians, who had been pursuing him, but were now gathered about their chief, who had been struck from his horse by a ball from the hunter's rifle. the latter's face wore a broad grin, which testified to the satisfaction he felt at the result of this shot. this picture had been shown to old bob kelly, who, after regarding it attentively for a few moments, declared that it must have been painted by some one who was acquainted with the story of his last trip to the saskatchewan, the particulars of which he had related to dick on the night he made his first appearance in their camp. "i don't know how the chap that made that ar' pictur' could have found it out," said old bob, who, simple-hearted fellow that he was, really believed that the hunter in the painting was intended to represent him, "'cause i never told the story to nobody 'cept you an' my chum dick. but thar's one thing wrong about it, youngsters. when i shot a injun, i didn't hold my rifle on the horn of my saddle, an' waste time laughin' over it. i loaded up again to onct, an' got ready for another shot." at the opposite end of the room hung a picture of a hunters' camp. two or three men were stretched out on the ground before a cheerful fire, resting after the labors of the day, while others were coming in from the woods--some loaded with water-fowl, some with fish, and the two who brought up the rear were staggering under the weight of a fine deer they had shot. archie often wondered where that camp could have been located. he did not believe there was a place in the united states where game of all kinds was as abundant as the hunters in the picture found it. paintings of this character occupied prominent places on the walls of the room, and between them hung numerous relics the boys had collected during their journey across the prairie, and a few trophies of their skill as hunters. over the door were the antlers of the first and only elk they had killed, and upon them hung a string of grizzly bear's claws, which had once been worn as a necklace by an indian chief, and also a bow, a quiver full of arrows, a stone tomahawk, and a scalping-knife--all of which had been presented to them by captain porter. at the head of the bed were two pairs of deer's horns fastened to the wall, and supporting their rifles, bullet-pouches, powder-horns, and hunting-knives. these articles were all highly prized by the boys; but, upon a nail driven into the wall beside the book-case, hung something that, next to his horse and dog, held the most exalted place in frank's estimation. it was the remnant of the first lasso he had ever owned. he thought more of it than of any other article he possessed, and he would have surrendered every thing, except roderick and marmion, before he would have parted with that piece of a rawhide rope. it had once saved his uncle's life; and, more than that, frank himself had been hanged with it. yes, as improbable as it may seem, one end of that lasso had been placed around his neck, the other thrown over the hook which supported one of his large pictures, and frank had been drawn up until his toes only rested on the floor; and all because he refused to tell where he had hidden a key. where the rest of the lasso was he did not know. the last time he saw it, it was around the neck of a man who was running through the grove at the top of his speed, with marmion close at his heels. the dog came back, but the man and the piece of lasso did not; and this brings us to our story. chapter iii. twelve thousand dollars. one day, about six weeks before the commencement of our story, frank and archie were sent to san diego on business for uncle james. when they returned, they found a new face among the rancheros--that of pierre costello, a man for whom frank at once conceived a violent dislike. pierre was a full-blooded mexican, dark-browed, morose, and sinister-looking, and he had a pair of small, black eyes that were never still, but constantly roving about, as if on the lookout for something. his appearance was certainly forbidding; but that was not the reason why frank disliked him. it was because marmion regarded him with suspicion, and seemed to think he had no business on the rancho. when the ranchero came about the house, marmion would follow him wherever he went, as if he feared that the man was about to attempt some mischief; and, when pierre returned to his quarters, the dog always seemed to be immensely relieved. frank invariably made common cause with his favorites, whether they belonged to the human or brute creation, and without taking the trouble to inquire into the merits of the case; and, when he found how matters stood between pierre and marmion, he at once espoused the cause of his dog, and hated the ranchero as cordially as though the latter had done him some terrible injury, although the man had never spoken to him, except to salute him very respectfully every time they met. that pierre hated and feared the dog, quite as much as the animal disliked him, was evident. he would scowl, and say "_carrajo_," every time marmion came near him, and lay his hand on his knife, as if it would have afforded him infinite pleasure could he have found an opportunity, to draw it across the dog's throat. frank had often noticed this, and consequently, when he one day came suddenly upon the dog, which was looking wistfully at a piece of meat pierre was holding out to him, he was astonished, and not a little alarmed. the mexican scowled, as he always did when frank came near him, and walked away, hiding the meat under his coat. "give it to me, pierre," said frank; "marmion don't like to be fed by strangers." the ranchero kept on as if he were not aware that he had been spoken to; and his conduct went a long way in confirming the new suspicions that had suddenly sprung up in frank's mind. "uncle," said he, that evening, after supper, as he joined mr. winters and archie, who had seated themselves on the porch to enjoy the cool breeze of evening, "how long do you intend to keep that new ranchero?" "as long as he will stay," replied mr. winters. "he is one of the most faithful men i ever had, and he is quite as skillful in his business as either carlos or dick." "he is a mean man for all that," said frank; "he tried to poison marmion, to-day." "i don't blame him," said archie; "a meaner, uglier dog i never saw"-- "now, archie," interrupted frank, "i like the dog; and even if i didn't, i would keep him because he is a present." "how do you know that pierre tried to poison him?" asked mr. winters. "why, he was holding a piece of meat out to the dog, and when i came up he walked off in a great hurry," replied frank, who, when he came to state the case, found that it was not quite so strong against the ranchero as he had at first supposed. "he may have done all that, and still be innocent of any desire to injure your favorite. marmion doesn't like him, and, no doubt, pierre is trying his best to make friends with him. i'll insure your dog's life for a quarter." frank was far from being satisfied. somehow, he did not like the scowl he had often seen on pierre's face. he was certain that the ranchero had intended to harm marmion; but why? not simply because he hated the dog, but for the reason that the animal was in his way. this was the view frank took of the case; and, believing that pierre was there for no good, he resolved to keep a close watch on all his movements. a day or two after that, mr. winters and archie set out on horseback for san diego, the former to collect the money for a drove of horses he had sold there, before his departure for the east, and archie to explore the city. frank, hourly expecting his two friends, johnny harris and dick thomas, who had promised to spend a week with him, remained at home, with the housekeeper and two of the rancheros, one of whom was pierre, for company. dick and bob, and the rest of the herdsmen, were off somewhere, attending to the stock. frank, being left to himself, tried various plans for his amusement. he read a few pages in half a dozen different books, took a short gallop over the prairie, shot a brace of quails for his dinner; all the while keeping a bright lookout for his expected visitors, who, however, did not make their appearance. about noon, he was gratified by hearing the sound of a horse's hoofs in the court. he ran out, expecting to welcome johnny and dick, but, to his disappointment, encountered a stranger, who reined up his horse at the door, and inquired: "is this mr. winters's rancho, young man?" frank replied that it was. "he is at home, i suppose?" continued the visitor. "no, sir; he started for the city early this morning." the gentleman said that was very unfortunate, and began to make inquiries concerning the road mr. winters generally traveled when he went to san diego--whether he took the upper or lower trail--and then he wondered what he should do. "my name is brown," said he; and frank knew he was the very man his uncle expected to meet in san diego. "i owe mr. winters some money for a drove of horses i bought of him before he went to the states, and i have come up to pay it. i have here twelve thousand dollars in gold," he added, laying his hand on his saddle-bags, which seemed to be heavy and well filled. "couldn't you remain until day after to-morrow?" asked frank. "uncle james will be at home then." "i can't spare the time. i am on my way to fort yuma, where i have some business to transact that may detain me three or four days. i don't like to carry this money there and back, for it is heavy, and there is no knowing what sort of travelers one may meet on the road. wouldn't it be all right if i should leave it here with you?" "yes, sir," replied frank, eager to accept the responsibility; "i can take care of it. but i thought you might want a receipt." "i am not particular about that. mr. winters has trusted me for about six months, and i think i can afford to trust him for as many days. i'll call and get the receipt when i come back." as mr. brown said this, he dismounted, and pierre, who, ever since his employer's departure, had seemed to have nothing to do but to loiter about the house, and who had stood at the opposite side of the court, listening to every word of the conversation, came up to hold his horse. the visitor shouldered his saddle-bags, and followed frank into a room which went by the name of "the office," where mr. winters transacted all his business. the room was furnished with a high desk, a three-legged stool, and a small safe, which, like those in banks, was set into the wall, so that nothing but the door could be seen. "that is just the place for it," said mr. brown; "it will be secure there." "but i haven't got the key," replied frank; "uncle always carries it in his pocket." "well, i don't suppose there would be any danger if you were to leave the money on the porch. of course, your hired people can be depended on, or your uncle wouldn't keep them." frank thought there was at least one person on the rancho who could not be trusted to any great extent; but, of course, he said nothing about it. he glanced around the room, wondering what he should do with the money, when he discovered that his uncle had left the key of the desk in the lock. for want of a better place, frank decided to put the gold in there. mr. brown took it out of his saddle-bags, and packed it away in the drawer--six bags in all, each containing two thousand dollars, in bright, new "yellow-boys." then, declining frank's invitation to stay to dinner, the gentleman bade him good-by, mounted his horse, and resumed his journey. "twelve thousand dollars!" said frank, to himself, as he locked the desk and put the key into his pocket. "why, that's a fortune! now that i think of it, i almost wish mr. brown hadn't left it here. what would uncle james say if somebody should break into the house and steal it?" as frank asked himself this question, he turned suddenly, and saw pierre standing on the porch, in front of one of the windows, watching him with eager eyes. he must have moved very quietly to have approached so near without attracting the boy's attention, and that, to frank, whose suspicions had already been thoroughly aroused, was good evidence that the ranchero was not just what he ought to be. if he was an honest man, he would not try to slip around without making any noise. finding that he was discovered, pierre removed his sombrero and said, without the least embarrassment: "is it your pleasure to ride? if so, i will saddle your horse." "you need not trouble yourself," replied frank, rather gruffly. "i shall remain at home." pierre bowed and walked away. "now, that rascal thinks he is sharp," said frank, gazing after the ranchero. "he never offered to saddle my horse before, and he wouldn't have done it then if i hadn't caught him looking in at the window. i wonder if he thinks i am foolish enough to ride for pleasure at this time of day, with the thermometer standing a hundred degrees in the shade? that fellow is a scoundrel, and he is up to something. perhaps he is after this gold. if he is, he may have the satisfaction of knowing that he won't get it." so saying, frank began to close and fasten the shutters which protected the windows, and while thus engaged, he caught a glimpse of the ranchero's dark face peering at him around the corner of the house. "if i owned this ranch," said frank, to himself, "that fellow shouldn't stay here five minutes longer. i'd pay him off, and tell him to leave as fast as his horse could carry him." having satisfied himself that the windows were so well secured that no one could effect an entrance through them, frank opened the drawer and took another good look at the money, as if he were afraid that it might have been spirited away even while he was in the room; after which he locked the desk, and hid the key under the edge of the carpet. then glancing about the office, to make sure that every thing was safe, he closed the door, and hurrying into his own room, he threw the key under his writing-desk, next to the wall. then he breathed easier. the money was as safe as it would have been in the bank at san diego. chapter iv. frank proves himself a hero. "there!" said frank, with something like a sigh of relief. "if pierre gets into that office to-night, he'll have to use an ax; and if he tries that"-- frank finished the sentence by shaking his head in a threatening manner, and taking down his rifle, which he proceeded to load very carefully. he had made up his mind to fight, if it should become necessary. he was now more anxious than ever for the arrival of his two friends, for he did not like the idea of remaining alone in the house all night, with so much money under his charge, and a villainous-looking mexican hovering about. frank, as we know, was very far from being a coward; but having by some means got it into his head that pierre was a rascal, and that something unpleasant would happen before morning, he could not help feeling rather anxious. the afternoon wore slowly away, but johnny and dick did not make their appearance. darkness came on apace, and frank, being at last satisfied that he was to be left alone in his glory for that night at least, ate his supper, and visited roderick in his stable to see that he was well provided for, and then whistled for his dog, which he had not seen since the departure of mr. brown. marmion, however, did not respond to the call. frank whistled and shouted several times in vain, and then set out to hunt up his favorite. he visited the rancheros' quarters, and found felix and pierre sitting in the door of one of the cabins, smoking their cigarettes. the former had not seen the dog; but, willing to serve frank to any extent in his power, offered to go in search of the animal. pierre, however, said that would be useless, for he had seen marmion in hot pursuit of a rabbit. no doubt he had driven the game into its burrow, and was engaged in digging it out. when he caught the rabbit, he would come home of his own free will. although frank was suspicious of every thing pierre said or did, he could see no reason for disbelieving this story. marmion was quite as fond of the chase as his young master, and frequently indulged in hunting expeditions on his own responsibility; sometimes being absent all day and nearly all night. but he was not off hunting then, and pierre had told a deliberate falsehood, when he said that he had seen him in pursuit of a rabbit. the ranchero had determined upon a course of action which he knew he could not follow out so long as the dog was at liberty, and marmion was, at that very moment, lying bound and muzzled under one of the corn-cribs, almost within hearing of his master's voice. frank slowly retraced his steps toward the house, feeling more nervous and uneasy than ever. in marmion he had an ally that could be depended on in any emergency; and, if the dog had been at his side, he would have felt perfectly safe. but he was not the one to indulge long in gloomy thoughts without a cause, and in order to drive them away, he lighted his lamp, and, drawing his easy-chair upon the porch, amused himself until nine o'clock with his guitar. the music not only served to soothe his troubled feelings, but also had the effect of banishing his suspicions to a great extent, and left him in a much more cheerful frame of mind. "how foolish i have been," said he, to himself. "because pierre is ugly, like all the rest of his race, and because he always carries a knife in his belt, and hates marmion, i have been willing to believe him capable of any villainy. i don't suppose he has thought of that gold since he saw me lock it up." as frank said this, he pulled his chair into the room, and selecting cooper's "last of the mohicans" from the numerous volumes in the library, he dismissed all thoughts of the ranchero, and sat down to read until he should become sleepy. he soon grew so deeply interested in his book, that he did not hear the light step that sounded on the porch, nor did he see the dark, glittering eyes which looked steadily at him through the open window. he saw them a moment afterward, however, for, while he was absorbed in that particular part of the fight at glen's falls, where hawk-eye snapped his unloaded rifle at the indian who was making off with the canoe in which the scout had left his ammunition, a figure glided quickly but noiselessly into the room, and stopped behind the boy's chair. "now, my opinion is that hawk-eye was not much of a backwoodsman, after all," said frank, who was in the habit of commenting upon and criticising every thing he read. "why did he leave his extra powder-horn in his canoe, when he knew that the hurons were all around him? you wouldn't catch dick or old bob kelly in any such scrape, nor me either, for that matter, for i would"-- frank's soliloquy was brought to a close very suddenly, and what he was about to say must forever remain a secret. his throat was seized with an iron grasp, and he was lifted bodily out of his chair, and thrown upon the floor. so quickly was it done that he had no time to resist or to cry out. before he could realize what had happened, he found himself lying flat on his back, and felt a heavy weight upon his breast holding him down. filled with surprise and indignation, he looked up into the face that was bending over him, and recognized pierre costello, whose features wore a fiendish expression, the effect of which was heightened by a murderous-looking knife which he carried between his teeth. scowling fiercely, as if he were trying to strike terror to the boy's heart by his very appearance, he loosened his grasp on frank's throat, and the latter, after coughing and swallowing to overcome the effects of the choking he had received, demanded: "what do you mean, you villain?" pierre, without making any reply, coolly proceeded to overhaul the contents of frank's pockets. like all boys of his age, our hero was supplied with a variety of articles, which, however serviceable they may be to a youngster of sixteen, no one else could possibly find use for, and the ranchero's investigations brought to light a fish-line, bait-box, a rooster's spur, of which frank intended to make a charger for his rifle, a piece of buckskin, half a dozen bullets, a brass cannon, a pocket comb, a quill pop-gun, a small compass, a silver ring, a match-box, a jack-knife, and a piece of lead. these articles he tossed upon the floor, rather contemptuously, and then turned all frank's pockets inside out, but failed to discover any thing more. "where are they?" demanded pierre, removing the knife from his mouth, and looking savagely at his prisoner, who all this time had lain perfectly still upon the floor, apparently not the least alarmed. "where are what?" inquired frank. "the keys, you young vagabond!" returned the ranchero, astonished at the result of his search, and in a great hurry to get through with his business. "the keys that open the office and the safe. speak quick!" "the safe key is where you'll never get your hands upon it," replied frank. "if you want it, you'll have to go to san diego, catch uncle james, and throw him down, as you did me, and search his pockets for it. but that is something a dozen such fellows as you couldn't do." "but the office key! where's that?" "it's in a safe place, also," said frank, who had already resolved that the would-be robber should never learn from him where he had hidden the key. "if i were a man, i should like to see you hold me down so easily. let me up, or i'll call for help!" "if you speak above your breath, i'll choke you!" said pierre, with savage emphasis. "i am not done with you yet! is the money in the safe?" "that's none of your business! let me up, i say! here, marmion! marmion!" "_carrajo!_" muttered the ranchero, again seizing his prisoner's throat in his powerful fingers. "do you want me to kill you?" frank, nothing daunted by this rough treatment, struggled manfully, and tried hard to make a defiant reply, but could not utter a sound. pierre tightened his grasp, until it seemed as if he had deliberately resolved to send him out of the world altogether, and then released his hold, and waited until frank was able to speak before he said: "you see that i am in earnest! now, answer me! is the gold in the safe?" "i am in earnest, too!" replied frank, as bravely as ever. "i shall not tell you where it is. are you going to let me up?" "i am going to make you tell where you have put that key!" said pierre, as he removed the sash his prisoner wore around his waist, and began to confine his arms behind his back. "if i once get inside the office, i'll soon find out where you have put that gold." "but you are not inside the office yet, and i don't think you will get there very soon. if you were well acquainted with me, you would know that you can not drive me one inch. you're a coward, pierre," he added, as he released one of his hands by a sudden jerk, and made a desperate but unsuccessful attempt to seize the ruffian by the hair. "you don't give a fellow a fair chance. i wish my dog was here." "you need not look for him," said the ranchero; "he'll never come." frank made no reply. he was wondering what his captor intended to do with him, and turning over in his mind numerous wild plans for escape. pierre, in his haste, was tying the sash in a very clumsy manner, and frank was certain that, with one vigorous twist, he could set himself at liberty. in spite of his unpleasant and even painful situation--for, after his attempt to catch the ranchero by the hair, the latter had turned him upon his face, and was kneeling upon him to hold him down--he could not help chuckling to himself when he thought how he would astonish pierre if he did not mind what he was about. "perhaps he will leave me, and try to force an entrance into the office," soliloquized frank. "if he does, i am all right! i'll jerk my arms out of this sash, pick up that rifle, and the first thing mr. pierre costello knows, he'll be the prisoner. i'll march him to the quarters, and tell felix to tie him, hand and foot." unfortunately for the success of these plans, the ranchero did not leave the room after he had tied frank's arms. he was too well acquainted with the old house to think of trying to force an entrance into the office. he knew that the doors and window-shutters were as strong as wood and iron could make them, and that it would be a dangerous piece of business to attempt to break them open. felix, all unconscious of what was going on in the house, snored lustily in his quarters, and the housekeeper slept in a room adjoining the kitchen; and if pierre awakened either of them, he might bid good-by to all hopes of ever securing possession of the gold. his only hope was in compelling frank to tell where he had put the office key. "now, then," said he, "i will give you one more chance. where is it?" "where's what?" asked frank. "the office key!" exclaimed the ranchero, enraged at the coolness of his prisoner. "tell me where it is, or i'll drive you through the floor!" as he said this, he raised his fist over frank's head, as if he were on the point of putting his threat into execution. "drive away!" replied frank. "then you won't tell me where it is?" yelled the ranchero. "no, i won't! and when i say no, i mean it; and all the threats you can make won't scare me into saying any thing else!" pierre hesitated a moment, and then jumped to his feet, his actions indicating that he was determined to waste no more words. he placed his knife upon the table, closed the windows, and dropped the curtains, so that any one who might happen to pass by could not see what was going on in the room. his next action was to seize frank by the collar of his jacket, and pull him roughly to his feet, preparatory to putting into operation his new plan for compelling him to tell where he had hidden the office key. "if you conclude to answer my question, let me know it," said the ranchero. "i will," was frank's reply. pierre stepped upon a chair, and removing one of the pictures from its hook, tossed it upon the bed. after that, he took frank's lasso down from the nail, beside the book-case, and holding the noose in his hand, threw the other end over the hook. frank had thus far shown himself to be possessed of a good share of courage. he had bravely endured the choking, and had made defiant replies to all pierre's threats; but when he saw this movement, he became thoroughly alarmed. he knew what was coming. "aha!" exclaimed the ranchero, who had not failed to notice the sudden pallor that overspread the boy's countenance; "aha!" "what are you going to do?" asked frank, in a trembling voice. "can't you see?" returned the ranchero, with a savage smile. "i told you that i was going to make you tell me where you had put that office key, didn't i? well, i intend to do it. i have tamed many a wild colt, and i know how to tame you!" as he spoke, he adroitly threw the noose over frank's head, and drew it tight around his neck. then, seizing him by the shoulders, he pushed him against the wall, under the hook, and pulled down on the lasso, until frank began to rise on his toes. this was intended merely to give him a foretaste of what was in store for him. "now you know how it feels," said pierre, slackening up on the rope, "and you ought to know, by this time, that i am not playing with you. i am in sober earnest, and if you don't answer my question, i'll hang you, right here in your own room, and with your own lasso. this is your last chance! where's that key?" frank hesitated. chapter v. the fight in the court. frank was certainly in a predicament. he had his choice between revealing the hiding-place of the office key, and being hanged with his own lasso--a most disagreeable alternative. on one side was a lingering death, and on the other, something of which frank stood almost as much in awe--disgrace. never before had so heavy a responsibility rested upon him; and if he lost that money, what other evidence would be needed to prove that he was not worthy of being trusted? "come, come!" exclaimed the ranchero, impatiently. "are you going to answer my question?" "i don't know whether i am or not," replied frank. "don't be in such a hurry. can't you give me time to think about it?" "you have had time enough already," growled pierre. "but i'll give you two minutes more, and while you are thinking the matter over, you can bear one thing in mind: and that is, if you don't tell me where that office key is, you'll never see daylight again." the expression on pierre's countenance told frank that the villain meant all he said. frank leaned his head against the wall, closed his eyes, and made use of those two minutes in trying to conjure up some plan to defeat the robber. he had not the slightest intention of allowing him to put his hands on that money if it were possible for him to prevent it, and he was wondering if he could not make use of a little strategy. if he could invent some excuse to get pierre out of the room for a few moments, he was sure that he could release his hands. would it not be a good plan to tell him where he had hidden the key, and while pierre was in the office searching for the gold, free himself from his bonds, and seize his rifle, and make the villain a prisoner? wouldn't it be a glorious exploit, one of which he could be justly proud, if he could save the twelve thousand dollars, and capture the ranchero besides? frank thought it would, and determined to try it. "pierre," said he, "if i tell you where that key is, what will you do?" "_if!_" exclaimed the ranchero; "there are no ifs or ands about it. you must tell me where it is." "but what i want to know is, what will you do with me?" "i promise you, upon the honor of a gentleman, that no harm shall be done you." "gentleman!" sneered frank. "the state's prison is full of such gentlemen as you are. if i were trying to rob a man of a few cents, i'd never think of calling myself a gentleman." "now, just look here," said pierre, "if you think you can fool me, you were never more mistaken in your life. a few cents, indeed! i heard all that passed between you and mr. brown, and i know that there are twelve thousand dollars somewhere in that office. i call it a fortune. it is much more than i could ever earn herding cattle, and i am bound to have it. where's that key?" "you must answer my question first," said frank. "if you had the key in your hand now, what would you do with me?" "well, as i am not fool enough to give you the least chance for escape, the first thing i should do would be to tie you hard and fast to that bed-post. then i'd take the gold, mount my horse, and be off to the mountains." "and leave me tied up here?" exclaimed the prisoner. "exactly. felix, or the housekeeper, would release you in the morning." this answer came upon frank like a bucket of cold water. his fine plan for releasing himself and capturing the robber would not work. the latter saw his look of disappointment, and laughed derisively. "i am too old," said he, "to allow a boy like you to play any tricks upon me. you won't tell me where the key is, then?" "no, i won't. if that money was mine, you might take it, and i would run the risk of catching you before you could get very far away with it. but it belongs to my uncle; you have no claim upon it, and, what's more, you sha'n't touch it." "is that your final answer?" asked the ranchero, bracing himself for a strong pull. "you had better ponder the matter well before you decide. what do you suppose your uncle will think, when he comes home and finds you hanging to this hook? he had rather lose the money a thousand times over than to part with you." frank shuddered as the ranchero said this, and, for the first time, he felt his firmness giving away. but he was possessed of no ordinary degree of fortitude, and, after a momentary thrill of terror, his courage returned, and he looked at pierre as bravely as ever. the ranchero paused for a moment or two, to give his last words time to have their full effect, and then said: "once more--yes or no." "no, i tell you," was the firm reply. scarcely were the words out of his mouth, when the ranchero began to pull down upon the lasso, and frank, in spite of his desperate struggles, was drawn up until he almost swung clear of the floor. pierre held him in this position for a few seconds--it seemed an age to frank, who retained his consciousness all the while--and then gradually slackened up on the lasso, until his prisoner's feet once more rested firmly on the floor. frank reeled a moment like a drunken man, gazed about him with a bewildered air, and attempted to raise his hands to his throat, while the ranchero stood watching him with a smile of triumph. "i have given you one more chance," said he. "have you come to your senses yet." frank tried in vain to reply. the choking he had endured had deprived him of his power of utterance, but it had not affected his courage or his determination. there was not the least sign of yielding about him. pierre had thus far conducted his operations with the most business-like coolness, and in much the same spirit that he would have exhibited had he been breaking one of mr. winters's wild horses to the saddle. he had smiled at times, as he would have smiled at the efforts of the horse to escape, and the thought that he should fail in his object had never entered his head. he had been certain that he could frighten or torture frank into revealing the hiding-place of the office key; but now he began to believe that he had reckoned without his host. he was astonished and enraged at the wonderful firmness displayed by his prisoner. he had never imagined that this sixteen-year-old boy would prove an obstacle too great to be overcome. "you are the most obstinate colt i ever tried to manage," said pierre, in a voice choked with passion; "but i'll break one of two things--your spirit or your neck; it makes no difference to me which." without waiting to give his prisoner time to recover his power of speech, the ranchero wound the lariat around his hands, and was about to pull him up again, when he was startled by the clatter of a horse's hoofs in the court. the sound worked a great change in pierre. as if by magic, the savage scowl faded from his face, and he stood for an instant the very picture of terror. all thoughts of the twelve thousand dollars, and the vengeance he had determined to wreak upon his prisoner, were banished from his mind, and gave place to the desire to escape from the house as secretly and speedily as possible. "who can that be?" he muttered, dropping the lasso, and throwing a frightened glance ever his shoulder toward the door. "i'm sure i don't know," said frank, speaking with the greatest difficulty; "and i don't care who it is, if he will only make a prisoner of you." the ranchero scowled fiercely upon his plucky captive, hesitated a moment, as if he had half a mind to be revenged upon him before he left the house, and then, catching up his knife, and extinguishing the lamp, he jerked open one of the windows, and disappeared in the darkness. frank was no less astonished than delighted at his unexpected deliverance. he tried to shout, to attract the attention of the unknown horseman, but all his efforts were unavailing. his attempts to release his hands, however, which he commenced the instant the ranchero left the room, were more successful. pierre's carelessness in tying the knots was a point in his favor then; for, in less time than it takes to record the fact, frank was free. he threw the noose off his neck, pulled the lasso down from the hook, and hastily coiling it up in one hand, he ran to the place where he had left his rifle, fully determined that the robber should not escape from the ranch without an attempt on his part to capture him. his rifle was gone. the ranchero had caught it up as he bounded through the window, thinking he might find use for it, in case he should happen to run against the visitor in the dark. frank looked upon the loss of his rifle as a great misfortune; for, not only did he believe the weapon lost to him forever, but he was powerless to effect the capture of the ranchero, even if he succeeded in finding him. however, he did not waste time in vain regrets. he sprang through the window, and, running around the house, entered the court, to look for the horseman whose timely arrival had saved his life. he went as far as the archway that led into the court, and there he suddenly paused, and the blood rushed back upon his heart, leaving his face as pale as death itself. he had told the ranchero that a dozen such men as he could not overcome his uncle; but the scene before him belied his words. flat upon his back, in the middle of the court, lay mr. winters, with pierre costello kneeling on his breast, one hand grasping his victim's throat, and the other holding aloft his murderous-looking bowie, whose bright blade glistened in the moonlight like burnished silver. frank started back, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. there could be no mistake about it, for the moon shone brightly, rendering all the objects in the court as plainly visible as if it had been broad daylight. he was not only terribly frightened, but he was utterly confounded. he had believed mr. winters to be fast asleep in his bed at the hotel in san diego; but there he was, when frank least expected him, and, more than that, he was being worsted in his struggle with pierre. the boy could not understand it. "unhand me, you scoundrel!" he heard uncle james say, in a feeble voice. "not until you have given me the key of the safe," was the robber's answer. "i have worked hard for that gold to-night, and i am not going to leave the ranch without it." then commenced a furious struggle, and frank turned away his head, lest he should see that gleaming knife buried in his uncle's body. never before had frank been so thoroughly overcome with fear. he had just passed through in ordeal that would have tried the nerves of the bravest man, and he had scarcely flinched; but to stand there a witness of his uncle's deadly peril, believing himself powerless to aid him, was indeed enough to strike terror to his heart. "o, if i only had my rifle, or one of my pistols!" cried frank, "wouldn't i tumble that villain in a hurry? or if i could find a club, or could loosen one of these stones"-- frank suddenly remembered that he held in his hand a weapon quite as effective at short range, when skilfully used, as either a rifle or pistol. it was his lasso; and, until that instant, he had forgotten all about it. then the blood flew to his cheeks; his power of action returned, and his arms seemed nerved with the strength of giants. how thankful was he, then, that his desire to become as expert as his two friends, johnny harris and dick thomas, had led him to practice with that novel weapon. with a bound like an antelope he started toward the struggling men, swinging his lasso around his head as he ran. pierre, believing that he had left frank securely bound, and being too intent upon taking care of his new prisoner to look for enemies in his rear, heard not the sound of his approaching footsteps, nor did he dream of danger until the noose, which, but a few moments before, had been around frank's neck, settled down over his own. then he knew that his game was up. with a piercing cry of terror he sprang to his feet, and, with frantic haste, endeavored to throw off the lariat; but frank was too quick for him. "aha!" he exclaimed, trying to imitate the tone in which the ranchero had spoken that same word but a few moments before. "aha! now i am going to break one of two things--your spirit or your neck; i don't care which. one good turn deserves another, you know." as frank said this, he threw all his strength into his arms, and gave the lasso a vigorous jerk, which caused pierre's heels to fly up, and his head to come in violent contact with the pavement of the court. "now, then, uncle james," exclaimed frank, "we've got him. no you don't!" he added, as the ranchero made a desperate attempt to regain his feet; "come back here!" and he gave him a second jerk, which brought him to the ground again. frank was blessed with more than an ordinary share of muscle for a boy of his age; but he could not hope to compete successfully with a man of pierre's size and experience, even though he held him at great disadvantage. the ranchero, as active as a cat, thrashed about at an astonishing rate, and, before frank knew what was going on, he had cut the lasso with his knife--an action which caused our hero, who was pulling back on the lariat with all his strength, to toss up his heels, and sit down upon the rough stones of the court, very suddenly, while pierre, finding himself at liberty, jumped up, and ran for his life. mr. winters had by this time regained his feet, and, catching up frank's rifle, which lay beside him on the pavement, he took a flying shot at the robber just as he was running through the archway. pierre's escape was a very narrow one; for the bullet went through the brim of his sombrero, and cut off a lock of his hair. chapter vi. the mysteries solved. pierre, finding himself uninjured by mr. winters's shot, suddenly became very courageous, and stopped to say a parting word to that gentleman. "try it again," said he, with a taunting laugh. "you are a poor shot for an old frontiersman! i will bid you good-by, now," he added, shaking his knife at uncle james, "but you have not seen the last of me. you will have reason to remember"-- the ranchero did not say what mr. winters would have reason to remember, for he happened to look toward the opposite side of the court, and saw something that brought from him an ejaculation of alarm, and caused him to turn and take to his heels. an instant afterward, a dark object bounded through the court, and, before the robber had taken half a dozen steps, marmion sprang upon his back, and threw him to the ground. "hurrah!" shouted frank. "you are not gone yet, it seems. you're caught now, easy enough; for that dog never lets go, if he once gets a good hold. hang on to him, old fellow!" but marmion seemed to be utterly unable to manage the ranchero. he had placed his fore-feet upon pierre's breast, and appeared to be holding him by the throat; but the latter, with one blow of his arm, knocked him off, and, regaining his feet, fled through the grove with the speed of the wind--the piece of the lasso, which was still around his neck, streaming straight out behind him. "take him, marmion!" yelled frank, astonished to see his dog so easily defeated. "take him! hi! hi!" the animal evidently did his best to obey; but there seemed to be something the matter with him. he ran as if he were dragging a heavy weight behind him, or as if his feet were tied together, and it was all he could do to keep up with the robber; and, when he tried to seize him, pierre would shake him off without even slackening his pace. mr. winters, in the meantime, had run to his horse--which, during the struggle, had stood perfectly still in the middle of the court--after his pistols; but, before he could get an opportunity to use them, both pierre and the dog had disappeared among the trees. a moment afterward, a horse was heard going at full speed through the grove, indicating that the robber was leaving the ranch as fast as possible. all this while, frank has been almost overwhelmed with astonishment. the ease with which the desperado had vanquished his uncle and the strange behavior of the hitherto infallible marmion, were things beyond his comprehension. he stood gazing, in stupid wonder, toward the trees among which pierre had disappeared, while the sound of the horse's hoofs grew fainter and fainter, and finally died away altogether. then he seemed to wake up, and to realize the fact that the ranchero had made good his escape, in spite of all their efforts to capture him. "let's follow him, uncle!" he exclaimed, in an excited voice. "i can soon overtake him on roderick." "i could not ride a hundred yards to save my life!" replied mr. winters, seating himself on the porch, and resting his head on his hands. "bring me some water, frank." these words alarmed the boy, who now, for the first time, saw that his uncle's face was deadly pale, and that his hair was matted with blood, which was trickling down over his collar. "o, uncle!" cried frank, in dismay. "don't be uneasy," said mr. winters, quietly. "bring me some water." without stopping to make any inquiries, frank ran into the kitchen and aroused the housekeeper, giving her a very hasty and disconnected account of what had happened, and then he hurried to the quarters to awaken felix. "go to fort yuma for the doctor, at once!" shouted frank, pounding loudly upon the door. "what's up?" inquired felix, from the inside. "no matter what's up--go for the doctor! take roderick; he's the swiftest horse on the ranch. uncle's badly wounded." "wounded!" repeated felix, jerking open the door, and appearing upon the threshold, with a revolver in each hand. "who did it? where is he?" "i can't stop to tell you who did it, or where he is. hurry up, felix, and don't stand there looking at me! we've just had the hardest kind of a fight with pierre. marmion was there, but he didn't do any good. he threw the villain down, and then wouldn't hold him. i've a good notion to shoot that dog if he ever comes back. make haste, felix! i can't stop to tell you any more." but, after all, frank did stop to tell a great deal more; and, by the time the ranchero was dressed, he had given him a complete history of all that had happened in the house since sunset. felix, astonished and enraged at the treachery of his companion, examined his pistols very carefully before he put them into his holsters, and frank knew, by the expression in his eye, that if he should happen to meet pierre, during his ride to the fort, the latter would fall into dangerous hands. as soon as frank had seen roderick saddled, he ran back to the house, and found uncle james lying on a sofa, and the housekeeper engaged in dressing a long, ragged cut on the back of his head. being weak from the loss of blood, he sank into a deep slumber before the operation was completed, and frank, finding nothing to do, and being too nervous, after the exciting events of the evening, to keep still, went out to watch for the doctor, who, seeing that the fort was sixteen miles from the ranch, could not reasonably be expected before daylight. for a long time he paced restlessly up and down the porch, his mind busy with the three questions that had so astonished and perplexed him: what had happened to bring his uncle home that night? how had he been so easily overpowered by pierre? and, what was the matter with marmion? the longer he pondered upon them, the more bewildered he became; and, finally dismissing them from his mind altogether, he went out to attend to his uncle's horse, which, all this while, had been running back and forth between the house and barn, now and then neighing shrilly, as if impatient at being so long neglected. as frank passed through the court, he picked up his rifle, which mr. winters had thrown down after taking that flying shot at pierre. the stock felt damp in his grasp, and when he looked at his hand, he saw that it was red with blood. "i understand one thing now, just as well as if i had stood here and witnessed it," said he, to himself. "when pierre went out of my room, he ran in here to see who it was visiting the ranch at this late hour, and when he found that it was uncle james, he thought he would get the safe key. he was too much of a coward to attack him openly, and so he slipped up and knocked him down with the butt of my rifle. that's what made the wound on uncle's head, and that's how it came that pierre could hold him down with one hand. didn't i know all the time that there was something up? now, if pierre had succeeded in getting the safe key, no doubt he would have renewed his attempts to make me tell where i had put the key of the office. would i have been coward enough to do it? no, sir! i would have--hallo!" this exclamation was called forth by the sudden appearance of the dog, which crept slowly toward his master, looking altogether as if he had been guilty of something very mean. "so you have got back, have you?" said frank, sternly. "what do you mean by going off to hunt rabbits when you ought to stay at home? and what excuse have you to offer for allowing that robber to get up after you had pulled him down?" marmion stopped, and, laying his head close to the pavement, wagged his tail and whined piteously. "i don't wonder that you feel ashamed of yourself," said his master. "come here, you old coward." the dog reluctantly obeyed, and, when he came nearer, another mystery was cleared up, and frank knew why his favorite had behaved so strangely. one end of a rope was twisted about his jaws so tightly that he could scarcely move them, and the other, after being wound around his head and neck to keep the muzzle from slipping off, was fastened to both his fore feet, holding them so close together that it was a wonder that he could walk at all. frank's anger vanished in an instant. he ran into his room after his knife, to release the dog from his bonds, and then he discovered that the animal had not come out of the fight unharmed. two gaping wounds in his side bore evidence to the skill with which pierre had handled his bowie. at that moment, frank felt a good deal as llewellyn must have felt when he killed the hound which he imagined had devoured his child, but which had, in reality, defended him from the attacks of a wolf. he had scolded marmion for his failure to hold the robber after he had thrown him down, and had been more than half inclined to give him a good beating; while the animal had, all the while, been doing his best, and, in spite of his wounds and bonds, had kept up the fight until pierre mounted his horse and fled from the ranch. the boy's first care, after he had removed the rope, was to bandage the wounds as well as he could, and to lead the dog to a comfortable bed on the porch, where he left him to await the arrival of the doctor; for frank resolved that, as marmion had received his injuries during the performance of his duty, he should have the very best of care. frank never closed his eyes that night. he passed the hours in pacing up and down the porch watching for the ranchero, who made his appearance shortly after daylight, accompanied by the doctor. mr. winters's wound, although very painful, was not a dangerous one, and after it had been dressed by the skillful hands of the surgeon, he felt well enough to enter into conversation with those around him. "now," said frank, who had been impatiently awaiting an opportunity to talk to his uncle, "i'd like to know what brought you back here last night?" "i came after the twelve thousand dollars," replied mr. winters. "when i arrived in the city, i learned that mr. brown had left there early in the morning to pay us a visit, taking with him the money he owed me. i wanted to use it immediately, and as i did not know what might happen if it should become known that there was so much money in the house, and no one here to take care of it, i came home; but i should have lost the money after all, if it hadn't been for you, frank, and i might have lost my life with it; for i believe the villain was in earnest." "i am quite sure he was," said frank, feeling of his neck, which still bore the marks of the lasso in the shape of a bright red streak. "if you had stayed away five minutes longer, i should have been hanged. o, it's a fact!" he added, earnestly, noticing that the doctor looked at him incredulously. "i came very near dancing on nothing, now i tell you; and if you only knew all that has happened in this house since dark, you wouldn't say that there was no one here to take care of that money. but, uncle, how came you by that wound?" "pierre gave it to me," was the reply. "he slipped up behind me when i was dismounting, and struck me with something. but what did he do to you?" "he pulled me up by the neck with my own lasso," replied frank; "that's what he did to me." "the scoundrel!" exclaimed the doctor. "tell us all about it." thus encouraged, frank began and related his story, to which his auditors listened with breathless attention. he told what he had done with the twelve thousand dollars, where he had hidden the keys, how he had detected pierre watching him through the window, and how the ranchero had told him that marmion was off hunting rabbits, when he was lying bound and muzzled in some out-of-the-way place. then he explained how the robber had overpowered him while he was reading, how he had searched his pockets for the keys, and pulled him up by the neck because he refused to tell where he had hidden them, and how he was on the very point of hanging him in earnest when the arrival of uncle james alarmed him. mr. winters was astonished, and so was the doctor, who patted frank on the head, and said: "you're a chip of the old block. and did you not tell him where you had put the key?" "no, sir;" was the answer. "he choked me pretty hard, though, and my throat feels funny yet." the boy having finished his story, mr. winters took it up where he left off, and told the doctor how frank had rescued him from the robber, and how hard he had worked to effect his capture, and all who heard it declared that he was a hero. chapter vii. frank meets a highwayman. frank passed the next day in making up for the sleep he had lost the night before. about three o'clock in the afternoon he arose refreshed, and visited his uncle, whom he found fast asleep. now that archie was gone, the old house was quiet and lonesome--too much so, indeed, to suit frank, who, after trying in vain to find some way to amuse himself until supper time, saddled roderick, and set out for a short gallop over the prairie. as he was about to mount his horse, marmion came out of the court, and frisked about his master as lively as ever, apparently none the worse for the ugly-looking wounds he had received during his encounter with the robber. "go home, sir," said frank. "don't you know that you are under the doctor's care?" if marmion did know it, he didn't bother his head about it. he had a will of his own; and having always been permitted to accompany his master wherever he went, he did not feel disposed to remain behind. instead of obeying the command to go home, he ran on before, and frank made no further attempts to drive him back. frank, having by this time become well acquainted with the country for twenty miles around his uncle's rancho, knew where he wanted to go, and about an hour after he left home, he was stretched at full length beside a spring among the mountains, where he and his friends often camped to eat their dinner during their hunting expeditions. roderick stood close by, lazily cropping the grass, but marmion was not in sight. the last time his master saw him, he was trying to gnaw his way into a hollow log where a rabbit had taken refuge. frank lay beside the spring until his increasing hunger reminded him that it was nearly supper time, and then he mounted his horse, and started for home. roderick being permitted to choose his own gait, walked slowly along a narrow bridle-path that led out of the mountains, and frank sat in his saddle with both hands in his pockets, his sombrero pulled down over his eyes, and his thoughts wandering away to the ends of the earth. he had ridden in this way about half a mile, when he was suddenly aroused from his meditations by a commotion in the bushes at his side, and the next moment a man sprang in front of the horse, and seized him by the bridle. "pierre costello!" exclaimed frank, as soon as he had somewhat recovered from his astonishment. "ay, it's pierre, and no mistake," returned the ranchero, with a triumphant smile. "you thought i had left the country, didn't you?" "i was in hopes you had; but i see you are still on hand, like a bad dollar-bill." "we are well met," continued pierre. "i have been waiting for an opportunity to thank you for the very friendly manner in which you treated me last night." "you need not have put yourself to any trouble about it. you are under no obligations to me. as i am in something of a hurry, i will now bid you good-by." "not if i know myself, and i think i do," said pierre, with a laugh. "you are just as impudent as ever. climb down off that horse." frank's actions indicated that he did not think it best to obey this order. he sat perfectly still in his saddle, looking at pierre, and wondering what he should do. he could show no weapon to intimidate the robber, for he was entirely unarmed, not having brought even his lasso or clasp-knife with him; while pierre held in his hand, ready for instant use, the bowie that had rendered him such good service during the fight in the court. at first frank entertained the bold idea of riding over the ranchero. roderick was as quick as a flash in his movements, and one touch of the spurs, if his rider could take pierre off his guard, would cause the horse to jerk the bridle from his grasp, and before the robber could recover himself, frank would be out of danger. but pierre had anticipated this movement, and he was too well acquainted with his prisoner to relax his vigilance for an instant. more than that, he held both the reins under roderick's jaw with a firm grasp, and stood in such a position that he could control the movements of both the horse and his rider. a moment's reflection having satisfied frank that his idea of running over pierre could not be carried out, he began to look around for his dog. but marmion had not yet come up, and frank was compelled to acknowledge to himself that he was as completely in the villain's power as he had been when pierre had the lasso around his neck. "get down off that horse, i say," commanded the ranchero. "so you have turned highwayman, have you?" said frank, without moving. "do you find it a more pleasant and profitable business than herding cattle?" "are you going to get off that horse?" asked the robber, impatiently. "what's the use? you will not find a red cent in my pockets." "i suppose not; but if i take you with me, i'll soon find out how many yellow boys your uncle carries in his pockets." "if you take me with you!" repeated frank. "what do you mean?" "i mean just this: i shall find it exceedingly lonesome living here in the mountains by myself, and i don't know of any one in the world i had rather have for a companion than yourself." "humph!" exclaimed frank; "that's a nice idea. i won't go." "of course," continued the ranchero, not heeding the interruption, "when you fail to make your appearance at home for three or four days, your uncle will think he has seen the last of you. he will believe that you have been clawed up by grizzlies, or that you have tumbled into some of these gullies. he will raise a hue and cry, search high and low for you, offer rewards, and all that; and, while the fuss is going on, and people are wondering what in the world could have become of you, you will be safe and sound, and living like a gentleman, with me, on the fat of the land." "but, pierre," said frank, now beginning to be really frightened, "i don't want to live with you on the fat of the land, and i won't do it. let go that bridle." the ranchero, as before, paid no attention to the interruption. he seemed to delight in tormenting his prisoner. "after you have been with me about six months," he went on, "and your friends have given up all hope of ever seeing you again, i'll send a note to mr. winters, stating that you are alive and well, and that, if he will give me twenty thousand dollars in gold, i will return you to him in good order, right side up with care. if i find that we can get along pretty well together, i may conclude to keep you a year; for the longer you remain away from your uncle, the more he will want to see you, and the bigger will be the pile he will give to have you brought back. what is your opinion of that plan? don't you think it a capital way to raise the wind?" frank listened to this speech in utter bewilderment. cruel and reckless as he knew pierre to be, he had never for a moment imagined that he could be guilty of such an enormous crime as this. he did not know what reply to make--there was nothing he could say or do. entreaties and resistance were alike useless. "well, what are you thinking about?" inquired the ranchero. "i was wondering if a greater villain than yourself ever lived," replied frank. "we will talk about that as we go along," said pierre. "get off that horse, now; i am going to send him home." frank, seeing no way of escape, was about to obey this order, when the truant, marmion, came in sight, trotting leisurely up the path, carrying in his mouth the rabbit, which he had succeeded in gnawing out of the log. he stopped short on discovering pierre, dropped his game, and gathered himself for a spring. "take him, marmion!" yelled frank, as he straightened himself up in his saddle. "if it is all the same to you, mr. pierre, i'll not go to the mountains this evening." the ranchero did not wait to receive the dog. he was an arrant coward, and, more than that, he stood as much in fear of marmion as if he had been a bear or panther. uttering a cry of terror, he dropped the bridle, and, with one bound, disappeared in the bushes. marmion followed close at his heels, encouraged by terrific yells from his master, who, now that his dog was neither bound nor muzzled, looked upon the capture of the robber as a thing beyond a doubt. there was a loud crashing and snapping in the bushes, as the pursuer and pursued sped on their way, and presently another loud yell of terror, mingled with an angry growl, told frank that the dog had come up with pierre. "he is caught at last," thought our hero; "how shall i get him home? that's the question. how desperately he fights," he added, as the commotion in the bushes increased, and the yells and growls grew louder. "but he'll find it's no use, for he can't whip that dog, if he has got a knife. now, i ought to have a rope. i'll ride up the path, and see if i can find pierre's horse; and, if i can, i'll take his lasso and tie the rascal hand and foot." frank galloped up the path a short distance, but could see nothing of the horse. the ranchero had, doubtless, left him in the bushes, and frank was about to dismount and go in search of him, when, to his utter astonishment, he saw pierre coming toward him. his face was badly scratched; his jacket and shirt had disappeared altogether; his breast and arms were covered with blood, and so was his knife, which he still held in his hand. but, where was marmion, that he was not following up his enemy? the answer was plain. the dog had been worsted in his encounter with the robber, and frank was left to fight his battles alone. he thought no more of taking pierre a prisoner to the rancho. all he cared for now was to escape. "well, now, it was good of you not to run away when you had the chance," said the ranchero, who appeared to be quite as much surprised at seeing frank as the latter had been at seeing him. "if i had thought that you could get away from that dog, i should have been a mile from here by this time," replied frank. "i was looking for your horse, and, if i had found him, i should have gone to marmion's assistance." "well, he needed you bad enough," said pierre, with a laugh. "i have fixed him this time." "you have!" cried frank, his worst suspicions confirmed. "is marmion dead?" "dead as a door-nail. now we must be off; we have wasted too much time already." if the ranchero supposed that frank would allow himself to be captured a second time, he was sadly mistaken. the boy was free, and he determined to remain so. "pierre," said he, filled with rage at the words of the robber, "i may have a chance to square accounts with you some day, and if i do i'll remember that you killed my dog." "come, now, no nonsense," said the ranchero, gruffly. "you are my prisoner, you know." "i think not. stand where you are; don't come a step nearer." while this conversation was going on, pierre had been walking slowly up the path, and, as frank ceased speaking, he made a sudden rush, intending to seize roderick by the bridle. but his rider was on the alert. gathering his reins firmly in his hands, he dashed his spurs into the flanks of his horse, which sprang forward like an arrow from a bow, and thundered down the path toward pierre, who turned pale with terror. "out of the way, you villain, or i'll ride you down," shouted frank. this was very evident to the ranchero, who, seizing upon the only chance for escape offered him, plunged head-foremost into the bushes. he barely missed being run down, for roderick flew by before he was fairly out of the path, and, by the time he had recovered his feet, frank was out of sight. when frank reached home, he shed a great many tears over marmion's untimely death; but, as it happened, it was grief wasted. one morning, about a week after his adventure with the highwayman, while frank and archie were out for their morning's ride, a sorry-looking object crawled into the court, and thence into the office, where mr. winters was busy at his desk. "mad dog!" shouted the gentleman, when he discovered the intruder; and, springing to his feet, he lifted his chair over his head, and was in the very act of extinguishing the last spark of life left in the poor brute, when the sight of a collar he wore around his neck arrested his hand. it was no wonder that uncle james had not recognized the animal, for he looked very unlike the lively, well-conditioned dog which frank was wont to regard as the apple of his eye. but, nevertheless, it was marmion, or, rather, all that was left of him. he had been severely wounded, and was nearly starved; but he received the best of care, and it was not long before he was as savage and full of fight as ever. although he had failed to capture the robber, he had rendered his master a most important service, and no one ever heard him find fault with marmion after that. frank's reputation was by this time firmly established, and he was the lion of the settlement. dick lewis was prouder than ever of him. of course, he called him a "keerless feller," and read him several long lectures, illustrating them by incidents drawn from his own experience. he related the story of frank's adventures with the robber every time he could induce any one to listen to it, and ever afterward called him "the boy that fit that ar' greaser." old bob kelly beamed benevolently upon him every time they met, and more than once told his companion that the "youngster would make an amazin' trapper;" and that, in dick's estimation, was a compliment worth all the rest. meanwhile, the country had been made exceedingly unsafe for pierre costello. the neighbors had turned out in force, every nook and corner of the mountains for miles around had been searched, and a large reward offered for the robber's apprehension; but it was all in vain. nothing more had been heard of pierre, and frank hoped that he had seen him for the last time. fate, however, had decreed that he was to have other adventures with the highwayman. chapter viii. colonel arthur vane. we left frank and archie standing on the porch, watching the wild steer which was being led toward the cow-pen. as soon as they had got over their excitement, they remembered that they had saddled their horses for the purpose of riding over to visit their nearest neighbor, johnny harris, one of the boys whose daring horsemanship, and skill with the lasso, had so excited their admiration. johnny lived four miles distant; but he and the cousins were together almost all the time. if johnny was not at their house, frank and archie were at his; and when you saw one of the three, it was a sure sign that the others were not a great way off. dick thomas, of whom mention has been made, had been one of the party; but he was now on a visit to san francisco and would not return until winter. had frank and his cousin, while at home, been compelled to ride or walk four miles in search of a playmate, they might have been disposed to grumble over what they would have considered a very hard lot in life; but they had learned to think nothing of it. there were their horses always ready and willing, and half an hour's gallop over the prairie in the cool of the morning, or evening, was not looked upon as any thing very disagreeable. on this particular morning, roderick and marmion were impatient to exhibit their mettle; and even sleepy sam lifted his head and pawed the ground when archie placed his foot in the stirrup. scarcely waiting for their riders to become firmly seated in their saddles, the horses started down the road at a rattling pace, and the dog dashed through the bushes and grass on each side, driving the rabbits from their covers, and creating great consternation among flocks of quails and prairie-chickens, which flew up at his approach. the farther the boys went, the faster they went; for roderick and sleepy sam, warming at their work, and encouraged, perhaps, by some slight touches from their riders' spurs, increased their speed until they fairly flew over the ground; and marmion, unwilling to remain behind, left the quails and rabbits to rest in security for that morning at least, and ran along beside his master, now and then looking up into his face, and uttering a little yelp, as if he were trying to tell how well he enjoyed the sport. "now, isn't this glorious?" exclaimed archie, pulling off his sombrero, and holding open his jacket, to catch every breath of the fresh morning air. "let's go faster. yip! yip!" the horses understood that yell. they had heard it before; and, knowing that it meant a race, they set off at the top of their speed. but the race was not a long one; for the old buffalo hunter, fast as he was, soon fell behind. the gray flew over the ground, as swiftly as a bird on the wing, and, after allowing him a free rein for a short distance, to show archie how badly he could beat him, frank stopped, and waited for him to come up. the four miles were quickly accomplished, and, presently, the boys drew up at the door of mr. harris's farm-house, where they found johnny waiting to receive them. "how are you, strangers?" cried johnny. "get down and make those posts fast to your horses, and come in." this was the way travelers were welcomed in that country, where every house was a hotel, and every farmer ready, at all times, to feed and shelter a stranger. "how is the rifle-shot, this morning?" continued johnny, as he shook hands with the boys; "and what news has the champion horseman to communicate?" "i didn't claim to be the champion horseman," said archie, quickly. "i am not conceited enough to believe that i can beat you riding wild horses, but i'll tell you what i can do, johnny. in a fair race from here to the mountains, i can leave you a quarter of a mile behind." "well, come in, and wait till i saddle my horse, and we'll see about that," said johnny. "until you came here, i could beat any boy in the settlement. i give in to frank, but i can show that ugly old buffalo hunter of yours a pretty pair of heels. boys!" he added, suddenly, "my day's fun is all knocked in the head. see there!" the cousins looked in the direction indicated, and saw a horseman approaching at a rapid gallop. he was mounted on a large iron-gray, which looked enough like roderick to have been his brother, sat as straight as an arrow in his saddle, and managed his fiery charger with an ease and dexterity that showed him to be an accomplished rider. "that's _colonel_ arthur vane--a neighbor with whom you are not yet acquainted," said johnny, with strong emphasis on the word colonel. "he is from kentucky. his father came to this country about six months since, and bought the rancho adjoining your uncle's. arthur remained here long enough for dick and me to become as well acquainted with him as we cared to be, and then went back to kentucky to visit his friends. he returned a few days ago, and now we may make up our minds to have him for a companion." "what sort of a fellow is he, johnny?" asked frank. "i don't admire him," replied johnny, who, like archie, never hesitated to speak his mind very freely. "from what i have seen of him, i should say that he is not a boy who is calculated to make friends. he talks and brags too much. he tries to use big words in conversation, and criticises every one around him most unmercifully. he is one of those knowing fellows; but, after you have exchanged a few words with him, you will find that he doesn't know so very much after all. he has been all over the world, if we are to believe what he says, and has been the hero of adventures that throw your encounter with pierre costello into the shade. he carries no less than seven bullets in his body." "seven bullets!" echoed archie. "why, i should think they would kill him." "so they would, most likely, if he only had them in him," replied johnny. "he is a famous hunter and trapper, owns two splendid horses, a pack of hounds, three or four fine guns, and makes himself hot and happy in a suit of buckskin. if it were not for his smooth face and dandy airs, one would take him for some old mountain man. he gave dick and me a short history of his life--which he will be sure to repeat for your benefit--and was foolish enough to believe that we were as green as two pumpkins because we had never been in the states, and that we would swallow any thing. but, if we have always lived in a wilderness, we have not neglected our books, and we are well enough posted to know that arthur makes great mistakes sometimes." "but why is your day's fun all knocked in the head?" asked archie. "because i can't enjoy myself when arthur is around. i am always afraid that i shall do or say something that he won't like. every time i look at him, i am reminded of byron's corsair, who, you know, was '--the mildest mannered man that ever scuttled ship or cut a throat.' i don't mean to say that arthur would cut any body's throat, but i do say that if he should happen to get angry at any of us, we shall wish him safe in kentucky, where he belongs. i can't very well avoid introducing him, but, after what i have said, you will understand that i do not indorse him." the conversation was brought to a close by the near approach of arthur vane, who presently dashed up to the porch, and dismounted. frank and archie made a rapid examination of the new-comer. he was dressed in a full suit of buckskin--hunting-shirt, leggins, and moccasins, the latter ornamented with bright-colored beads--which set off his tall, slender, well-knit frame to good advantage. he evidently possessed a fair share of muscle and agility, and that, according to archie's way of thinking, was a great recommendation. he little dreamed that his own pluck, strength, and endurance would one day be severely tested by that boy in buckskin. arthur's weapons were objects of no less curiosity to the cousins than his dress. instead of the short, light rifle in which the boys of that country took so much delight, and which was so handy to be used on horseback, he carried a double-barrel shot-gun as long as himself, elaborately ornamented, and the boys judged, from the way he handled it, that it must be very heavy. from his belt protruded the buckhorn handle of a sheath-knife, and the bright, polished head of an indian tomahawk. the lasso was nowhere to be seen. when the boys had noted these points, they glanced at the face of the new-comer. it was a handsome face, and might have made a favorable impression on them, had it not been for the haughty glances which its owner directed toward them as he rode up. "he looks at us as though he thought we had no business here," whispered archie, as johnny went down the steps to receive the visitor. "a second charley morgan," replied his cousin. "if he is blessed with morgan's amiable disposition," returned archie, "we'll see fun before we are done with him." "frank nelson," said johnny, leading his visitor upon the porch, "this is our new neighbor, arthur vane." "colonel of the second kentucky cavalry during the florida war, and, for a short time captain of the scouts attached to the head-quarters of the general commanding the department of the plains," said arthur, in dignified tones, drawing himself up to his full height, and looking at frank as if to ask, what do you think of me, anyhow? "how do you do?" said frank, accepting vane's proffered hand. he did not say that he was glad to see him, or happy to make his acquaintance, for he wasn't. "archie winters, colonel vane," continued johnny, "formerly commander of the second kentucky--ahem!" johnny was going on to repeat arthur's pompous speech, when he saw archie biting his lip, and knew that it was time for him to stop. "how are you, colonel?" said archie, as sober as a judge. "i can not complain of my health," replied arthur, still holding frank's hand with his right, while he extended his left to archie, in much the same manner that a monarch might have given his hand to a kneeling subject. "the musket-ball that osceola sent through my shoulder sometimes troubles me a little; but i am so accustomed to wounds that i scarcely mind it." "how do you like california," inquired frank, thinking that he ought to say something. "o, i like the country well enough; but belonging, as i do, to one of the oldest and wealthiest families of the state of kentucky, i can find no congenial society among these backwoodsmen." frank had no reply to make to this declaration. that one remark had revealed as much of the character of arthur vane as he cared to become acquainted with. the latter evidently looked upon himself as something better than the common herd of mankind, and frank wondered why he did not stay at home, if he could find no pleasure in the society of the boys of that country. "i have heard of you," continued arthur, loftily; "and i understand that you are looked upon as a hero in this settlement." "i do not claim the honor," modestly replied frank. "i have always observed," the visitor went on to say, "that the ideas which ignorant people entertain concerning heroes are ludicrous in the extreme. now, i have met with more adventures than generally fall to the lot of mortals; but, being a modest young man, i have never allowed any one to apply that name to me. i have been in battles--desperate battles. i have seen the cheek of the bravest blanched with terror; but i never flinched. twice have i been a prisoner in the hands of the indians, and once i was bound to the stake. i have whipped a grizzly bear in a fair fight, with no weapon but my knife, and i can show seven honorable scars, made by as many bullets, which i carry in my body to-day." here arthur stopped to take breath, and looked at his auditors as if waiting for applause. frank and archie had nothing to say, but johnny observed: "you have seen some rough times for one of your age." "rough!" repeated arthur, with evident disgust. "don't use such words--they are so vulgar. thrilling, or exciting, would sound much better." "i stand corrected," remarked johnny, very gravely, while archie coughed, and frank turned away his head to conceal his laughter. "i can not begin to convey to you even a slight idea of what i have endured," said arthur, as if nothing had happened. "it is true that i am young in years, but i am old in experience. i have known every variety of danger incident to a reckless and roving life. i have skirmished with arabs on the burning sands of patagonia; have hunted the ferocious polar bear amid the icebergs of india; have followed lions and tigers through the jungles and forests of europe; have risked my life in four different battles with the algerines, and, on one occasion, was captured by those murderous villains. if adventures make the hero, i can certainly lay claim to that honor as well as anybody." as the visitor ceased speaking, he looked suspiciously at the three boys before him, two of whom seemed to be strangely affected by the recital of his thrilling adventures. frank had grown very red in the face, while johnny was holding his handkerchief over his mouth, trying to restrain a violent fit of coughing with which he had suddenly been seized. archie was the only one who could keep a straight face. he stood with his hands behind his back, his feet spread out, his sombrero pushed as far back on his head as he could get it, looking intently at arthur, as if he were very much interested in what he was saying. he came to the relief of the others, however, by observing: "if i had seen all those countries you speak of, vane, i should be proud of it. no one delights more in truthful stories of adventure than i do, and, if you have no objection, we will sit down here and talk, while johnny saddles his horse. we are going over to visit old captain porter. you will go with us, of course?" "certainly. i have often heard of captain porter, and i shall be pleased to make his acquaintance. he and i can talk over our adventures, and you can listen, and you will, no doubt, learn something." johnny, knowing that frank wanted some excuse to get away where he could enjoy a hearty laugh, asked him to assist in catching his horse; and, together, they went toward the barn, leaving archie behind to listen to arthur's stories. chapter ix. an old boy. by the exercise of wonderful self-control, frank and johnny succeeded in restraining their risibilities until they reached the barn, and then one leaned against the door-post, while the other seated himself upon the floor, both holding their sides, and giving vent to peals of uproarious laughter. "o dear!" exclaimed frank, "i shall never dare look that fellow in the face again. 'icebergs of india!' 'burning sands of patagonia!' how my jaws ache!" "i wonder what part of europe he visited to find his lions and tigers?" said johnny. "and how do you suppose he escaped from the indians when they had him bound to the stake? we must ask him about that." "how old is he?" inquired frank. "he says he is sixteen." "well, he is older than that, if he risked his life in battles with the algerians; for, if my memory serves me, decatur settled our accounts with those gentlemen in the year . that would make our new friend old enough to be a grandfather. he holds his age well, doesn't he?" then the two boys looked up at the rafters, and laughed louder than ever. "i remember of hearing old captain porter say," observed johnny, as soon as he could speak, "that the strongest and most active man that ever lived could not whip a grizzly in a fair fight; and that the bravest hunter would take to his heels if he found himself in close quarters with one of those animals, and would not think he was guilty of cowardice, either." "and what i have seen with my own eyes confirms it," said frank. "while we were camped at the old bear's hole, dick lewis got into a fight with a grizzly, and, although it didn't last more than half a minute, he was so badly cut up that his own mother wouldn't have recognized him. dick is a giant in strength, and as quick as a cat in his movements, and if he can't whip a grizzly, i am sure that arthur vane can't." "humph!" said johnny, "he never saw a grizzly. i never did either, and there are plenty of them in this country. arthur had better be careful how he talks in captain porter's hearing. the rough old fellow will see through him in an instant, and he may not be as careful of his feelings as we have been." johnny, having by this time saddled his horse, he and frank returned to the house, where they found archie deeply interested in one of arthur's stories. "that is high up, i should think," they heard the former say. "yes, higher than the tops of these trees," replied arthur. "i was relating some of the incidents of one of my voyages at sea," he continued, addressing himself to frank. "i was telling archie how i used to stand on the very top of the mast and look out for whales." "which mast?" asked frank. "why, the middle mast, of course. what's the matter with you?" he added, turning suddenly upon archie, who seemed to be on the point of strangling. "nothing," was the reply, "only something got stuck in my throat." arthur had taken up a dangerous subject when he began to talk about nautical matters; for they were something in which frank and his cousin had always been interested, and were well posted. archie lived in a sea-port town, and, although he had never been a sailor, he knew the names of all the ropes, and could talk as "salt" as any old tar. he knew, and so did frank, that what arthur had called the "middle mast," was known on shipboard as the mainmast. they knew that the "very top" of the mainmast was called the main truck; and that the look-outs were not generally stationed so high up in the world. "we can talk as we ride along," said johnny. "we have ten miles to go, and we ought to reach the captain's by twelve o'clock. the old fellow tells a capital story over his after-dinner pipe." the boys mounted their horses, and, led by johnny, galloped off in the direction of the old fur-trader's ranch. they rode in silence for a few minutes, and then archie said: "if you wouldn't think me too inquisitive, arthur, i'd like to know at what age you began your travels?" "at the age of eleven," was the prompt reply, "i was a midshipman in the navy, and made my first voyage under the gallant decatur. i spent four years at sea with him, and during that time i had those terrible fights with the algerines, of which i have before spoken. in the last battle, i was captured, and compelled to walk the plank." "what do you mean by that?" asked johnny, who had never devoted any of his time to yellow-covered literature. "why, you must know that the inhabitants of algiers, and the adjacent countries, were, at one time, nothing but pirates. when they captured a vessel, their first hard work, after taking care of the valuable part of the cargo, was to dispose of their prisoners. it was too much trouble to set them ashore, so they balanced a plank out of one of the gangways--one end being out over the water, and the other on board the ship. the pirates placed their feet on the end inboard, to hold it in its place, and then ordered their prisoners, one at a time, to walk out on the plank. of course, they were compelled to obey; and, when they got out to the end of the plank over the water, the pirates lifted up their feet, and down went the prisoners; and they generally found their way to the bottom in a hurry. i escaped by swimming. i was in the water twenty-four hours, and was picked up by a vessel bound to new york." "i suppose you had a life-preserver," said johnny. "no, sir. i had nothing to depend upon but my own exertions." "you must be some relation to a duck," said archie, speaking before he thought. "i suppose you mean to convey the idea that i am an excellent swimmer," said arthur, turning around in his saddle, and looking sharply at archie. "yes; that's what i intended to say," replied archie, demurely. "the vessel landed me in new york," continued arthur, "and i went home; and, having become tired of wandering about, and our troubles with algiers being settled, i led the quiet life of a student until the florida war broke out, and then i enlisted in the army." "now, then," thought archie, who had been paying strict attention to all arthur said, "i have got a basis for a calculation, and i am going to find out how old this new friend of ours is. war was declared against algeria (not algiers) in march, ; and on the th day of june, in the same year, the dey cried for quarter, and signed a treaty of peace. if arthur began his wanderings at eleven, and spent four years with decatur, he must have been fifteen years old when the war closed. after that, he led the quiet life of a student until the florida war broke out. that commenced in ; so arthur must have spent just twenty years at school. by the way, it's a great pity that he didn't devote a portion of his time to geography and natural history, for then he would have known that there are no icebergs and polar bears in india, or arabs and burning sands in patagonia, or wild lions and tigers in europe. if he spent twenty years at school, and was fifteen years old when he had those terrible battles with the algerians, he must have been thirty-five years old when the florida war broke out." "did you go through the war?" johnny asked. "i did." "how long did it last?" inquired frank, "and what was the cause of it?" "it continued nearly two years, and was brought about by the hatred the choctaws cherished toward the white people." "three mistakes there," thought archie. "the war lasted seven years, and cost our government forty millions of dollars. the choctaws had nothing to do with it. it was the seminoles and creeks--principally the former. the immediate cause of the trouble was the attempt on the part of the government to remove those tribes to the country west of the mississippi. they didn't want to go, and they were determined they wouldn't; and, consequently, they got themselves decently whipped. if arthur was thirty-five years of age when he went into the war, and spent two years in it, he was thirty-seven when he came out." "after the war closed," continued arthur, "i went to patagonia, and there i spent five years." "thirty-seven and five are forty-two," said archie, to himself. "i had a great many thrilling adventures in patagonia. the country is one immense desert, and being directly under the equator, it is--if you will for once allow me to use a slang expression--as hot as a frying-pan. the arabs are hostile, and are more troublesome than ever the indians were on the plains. from patagonia i went to europe, and there i spent six years in hunting lions and tigers." "forty-eight," thought archie; "and patagonia isn't under the equator, either." "that must have been exciting," said frank, while johnny looked over his shoulder, and grinned at archie. "it was indeed exciting, and dangerous, too. it takes a man with nerves of iron to stand perfectly still, and let a roaring lion walk up within ten paces of him, before he puts a bullet through his head." "could you do it?" "could i? i have done it more than once. if one of those ferocious animals were here now, i would give you a specimen of my shooting, which is an accomplishment in which i can not be beaten. i expect that you would be so badly frightened that you would desert me, and leave me to fight him alone." "wouldn't you run?" "not an inch." "would you fire that blunderbuss at him?" asked johnny. "blunderbuss?" repeated arthur. "that shot-gun, i mean." "certainly i would. you see i have the nerve to do it. from europe i went to india, and there i risked my life for six years more among the polar bears." "forty-eight and six are fifty-four," soliloquized archie. "after that i went to the plains, where i remained three years; and when the governor wrote to me that he was about to remove from kentucky, i resigned my commission as captain of scouts, and here i am. i must confess that i am sorry enough for it; for i never saw a duller country than california. there's no society here, no excitement--nothing to stir up a fellow's blood." "fifty-four and three are fifty-seven," said archie. arthur had evidently finished the history of his exploits, for he had nothing more to say just then. archie, after waiting a few minutes for him to resume his narrative, pulled his sombrero down over his eyes, and thrust his hands into his pockets--two movements he always executed when he wished to concentrate his mind upon any thing--and began to ponder upon what he had just heard. "vane," said he, suddenly, an idea striking him, "who commanded your vessel when you were captured?" arthur knitted his brows, and looked down at the horn of his saddle, as if thinking intently, and finally said: "why, it was mr.--, mr.--; i declare, i have forgotten his name." archie again relapsed into silence. "we had two wars with those pirates," thought he. "the first was with tripoli; but as that happened in , arthur, of course, could not have taken part in it, for he made his first voyage at sea in . we lost but one vessel, and that was captured in --two years before war with tripoli was declared. it was the frigate philadelphia, and she wasn't whipped, either, but was run aground while pursuing a piratical vessel. she was commanded by captain bainbridge, who surrendered himself and crew. they were not compelled to 'walk the plank,' however, but were reduced to a horrible captivity, and treated worse than dogs. the tripolitans never got a chance to use the philadelphia against us, for decatur--who was at that time a lieutenant serving under commodore preble, who commanded our navy in those waters--boarded her one night with twenty men while she was lying in the harbor, swept the deck of more than double that number of pirates, burned the vessel under their very noses, and returned to his ship with only one man wounded. i never did care much for history, but a fellow finds a great deal of satisfaction sometimes in knowing a little about it." archie had at first been highly amused by what arthur had to say; but now, that the novelty had somewhat worn off, he began to wonder how it was possible for a boy to look another in the face and tell such improbable stories. if arthur was not ashamed of himself archie was heartily ashamed for him, and he was more than half inclined to put spurs to sleepy sam and start for home. he was not fond of such company. arthur vane is not an imaginary character. there are a great many like him in the world, boys, and men, too, who endeavor to make amends for the absence of real merit by recounting just such impossible exploits. the result, however, is always the exact reverse of what they wish it to be. instead of impressing their auditors with a sense of their great importance, they only succeed in awakening in their minds feelings of pity and contempt. after arthur had finished the history of his life, he rode along whistling snatches of the "hunter's chorus," happy in the belief that his reputation was established. well, it was established, but how? archie thought: "brag is a splendid dog, but holdfast is better. perhaps we may have a chance to test the courage of this mighty man of valor." johnny soliloquized: "does this fellow imagine that we are green enough to believe that he would stand and let a lion walk up within ten paces of him? hump! a good-sized rabbit would scare him to death." frank, who had taken but little part in the conversation, told himself that he had never become acquainted with a boy as deserving of pity as was arthur vane. he was not a desirable companion, and frank hoped that he would not often be thrown into his society. for a long time the boys rode in silence, keeping their horses in an easy gallop, and presently they entered the woods that fringed the base of the mountains, through which ran a bridle-path that led toward the old fur-trader's ranch. two young hounds belonging to johnny led the way, johnny came next, and frank and archie brought up the rear. they had ridden in this order for a short distance, when the singular movements of the hounds attracted their attention, and caused them to draw rein. the dogs stood in the path, snuffing the air, and gazing intently at the bushes in advance of them, and then, suddenly uttering a dismal howl, they ran back to the boys, and took refuge behind them. at the same instant, the horse on which johnny was mounted arose on his hind feet, turned square around, and, in spite of all the efforts of his rider to stop him, dashed by the others, and went down the path at the top of his speed. "good-by, fellows," shouted johnny; "and look out for yourselves, for there is"-- what else johnny said the boys could not understand, for the clatter of his horse's hoofs drowned his voice, and in a moment he was out of sight among the trees. "there's something in those bushes," said frank, with difficulty restraining his own horse, which seemed determined to follow johnny, "and who knows but it might be a grizzly?" "i am quite sure it is," said archie. "don't you remember how badly frightened pete used to be when there was one of those varmints around?" as archie said this, the bushes were violently agitated, and the twigs cracked and snapped as if some heavy body was forcing its way through them. the hounds, waiting to hear no more, turned and fled down the path, leaving the boys to themselves. frank turned and looked at arthur. could it be possible that the pale, terror-stricken youth he saw before him was the one who but a few moments ago had boasted so loudly of his courage? that noise in the bushes had produced a great change in him. chapter x. arthur shows his courage it must not be supposed that frank and archie were entirely unmoved by what had just happened. the strange conduct of the hounds, and the desperate flight of johnny's horse, were enough to satisfy them that there was some dangerous animal in the bushes in front of them, and the uncertainty of what that animal might be, caused them no little uneasiness. grizzly bears were frequently met with among the mountains, and they sometimes extended their excursions into the plains, occasioning a general stampede among the stock of the nearest ranch. the grizzly is as much the king of beasts in his own country as the lion in africa and asia; and frank and archie, during their sojourn at the old bear's hole, had become well enough acquainted with his habits and disposition to know that, if their enemy in the bushes belonged to that species, they were in a dangerous neighborhood. the grizzly might, at any moment, assume the offensive, and in that event, if their horses became entangled in the bushes, or were rendered unmanageable by fright, their destruction was certain. this knowledge caused their hearts to beat a trifle faster than usual, and frank's hand trembled a little as he unbuckled the holsters in front of his saddle, and grasped one of his revolvers. but neither he nor archie had any intention of discontinuing their journey, or of leaving the field without having at least one shot at the animal, whatever it might be. "now, boys," said frank, in an excited whisper, "we have a splendid chance to immortalize ourselves. if that is a grizzly, and we should be fortunate enough to kill him, it would be something worth bragging about, wouldn't it? if i only had my rifle!" "we must rely upon our friend, here," said archie. "it's lucky that he is with us, for he is an old hunter, and he won't mind riding into the bushes, and driving him out--will you, arthur?" "eh!" exclaimed that young gentleman, who trembled so violently that he could scarcely hold his reins. "i say, that, as you are the most experienced in such matters, we shall be obliged to depend upon you to drive the bear out of the bushes into open ground," repeated archie, who did not appear to notice his friend's trepidation. "we can't all go in there to attack him, for he would be sure to catch some of us. what have you in that gun?" "b-u-c-k-s-h-o-t," replied arthur, in an almost inaudible voice. "let's go home." "go home!" exclaimed frank; "and without even one shot at that fellow! no, sir. you've got the only gun in the party, and, of course, you are the one to attack him. go right up the path, and when you see him, bang away." "how big is he?" asked arthur. "why, if he is a full-grown grizzly, he is as big as a cow." "will he fight much?" "i should say he would," answered archie, who was somewhat surprised at these questions. "have you forgotten the one you killed with your knife? he will be certain to follow you, if you don't disable him at the first shot, but he can't catch your horse. besides, as soon as he comes in sight, frank and i will give him a volley from our revolvers. you are not afraid?" "afraid!" repeated arthur, compressing his lips, and scowling fiercely. "o, no." "well, then, make haste," said frank, who was beginning to get impatient. "ride up within ten paces of him, and let him have it. that's the way you used to serve the lions in europe." "yes, go on," urged archie; and he gave arthur's horse a cut with his whip, to hurry him up. "o, stop that!" whined arthur, as the horse sprang forward so suddenly that his rider was nearly unseated. "i am going home." what might have happened next, it is impossible to tell, had not the boys' attention been turned from arthur by the yelping of a dog in the bushes a short distance up the mountain. "that's carlo," exclaimed archie. "now we will soon know what sort of an enemy we have to deal with." the dog was evidently following the trail of the bear, for he broke out into a continuous baying, which grew louder and fiercer as he approached. the bear heard it, and was either making efforts to escape, or preparing to defend himself; for he thrashed about among the bushes in a way that quite bewildered frank and archie, who drew their revolvers, and turned their horses' heads down the path, ready to fight or run, as they might find it necessary. an instant afterward, a large, tan-colored hound bounded across the path, and dashed into the bushes where the game was concealed. it was not one of those which had so disgracefully left the field a few moments before--it was carlo, johnny's favorite hound--an animal whose strength had been tested in many a desperate encounter, and which had never been found wanting in courage. scarcely had he disappeared when marmion came in sight, also following the trail. he ran with his nose close to the ground, the hair on his back standing straight up like the quills on a porcupine, and his whole appearance indicating great rage and excitement. "hi! hi!" yelled frank. "take hold of him, you rascal! now's your time, arthur. ride up and give him the contents of your double-barrel; only, be careful, and don't shoot the dogs." for an instant, it seemed as if arthur's courage had returned, and that he was about to yield to the entreaties of his companions. he straightened up in his saddle, and, assuming what he, no doubt, imagined to be a very determined look, was on the point of urging his horse forward, when suddenly there arose from the woods a chorus of yells, and snarls, and growls, that made the cold chills creep all over him, and caused him to forget every thing in the desire to put a safe distance between himself and the terrible animal in the bushes. acting on the impulse of the moment, he wheeled his horse, and, before frank or archie could utter a word, he shot by them, and disappeared down the path. for a moment, the two boys, forgetting that a furious battle was going on a little way from them, gazed at each other in blank amazement. the mighty hunter, who had boasted of whipping a grizzly-bear in a fair fight, with no weapon but his knife, had fled ingloriously, without having seen any thing to be frightened at. "that's one lie nailed," said frank. "more than one, i should think," returned archie, contemptuously. "i shall have nothing more to do with that fellow. this is the end of my acquaintance with him." no doubt archie was in earnest when he said this; but, had he been able to look into the future, he would have discovered that he was destined to have a great deal more to do with arthur vane. instead of being the end of his acquaintance with that young gentleman, it was only the beginning of it. meanwhile, the fight in the bushes, desperate as it was, judging by the noise it occasioned, was ended, and arthur had scarcely disappeared when marmion and carlo walked out into the path, and, after looking up at the boys, and giving their tails a few jerks, as if to say "we've done it!" seated themselves on their haunches, and awaited further orders. archie threw his reins to his cousin, and, springing out of his saddle, went forward to survey the scene of the conflict. he was gone but a moment, and when he came out of the bushes, he was dragging after him--not a grizzly bear, but a large gray wolf, which had been overpowered and killed by the dogs. one of the wolf's hind-legs was caught in a trap, to which was fastened a short piece of chain and a clog. the animal had doubtless been paying his respects to some sheep-fold during the night, and had put his foot into the trap while searching for his supper. he had retreated toward the mountains, and had dragged the trap until the clog caught, and held him fast. that was the reason he did not run off when the boys came up, and the commotion in the bushes had been caused by his efforts to free himself. while the boys were examining their prize, johnny, having succeeded in stopping his frantic horse, was returning to the place from which he had started on his involuntary ride. as he was about to enter the woods at the base of the mountains, he saw a horse emerge from the trees, and come toward him at a rapid gallop. his bridle was flying loose in the wind, and johnny at first thought he was running away; but a second glance showed him that there was somebody on his back. "stampeded," thought johnny. "if i am laughed at, it will be some consolation to know that i am not alone in my misery." the rider of the stampeded horse was bent almost double; his feet were out of the stirrups, which were being thrown wildly about; both hands were holding fast to the horn of the saddle; his face was deadly pale, and, altogether, he presented the appearance of one who had been thoroughly alarmed. although he looked very unlike the dignified arthur vane, who had ridden so gayly over that road but a few moments before, johnny recognized him at once; and the first thought that flashed through his mind was that something terrible had happened to frank and archie. "what's the matter?" asked johnny, pulling up his horse with a jerk. "grizzly bears!" shouted arthur, in reply, without attempting to check his headlong flight. "grizzly bears!" echoed johnny, in dismay. "and are you going off without trying to help those boys? stop, and go back with me." but arthur was past stopping, either by ability or inclination. digging his spurs into the sides of his horse, which was already going at the top of his speed, he went by johnny like the wind, and in a moment was so far away that it was useless to make any further attempts to stop him. for an instant, johnny was irresolute; then he turned in his saddle, and shouted one word, which the wind caught up and carried to the ears of the flying horseman, and which did much to bring about the events we have yet to describe. "_coward!_" yelled johnny, with all the strength of his lungs. having thus given utterance to his opinion of arthur vane, he put spurs to his horse and galloped into the woods, hoping to reach the scene of the conflict in time to be of service to his friends. but, as we know, the grizzly bear had proved to be a wolf, and had already been killed by the dogs. chapter xi. arthur plans revenge. meanwhile, arthur vane continued his mad flight toward the settlement. his hat was gone, his fine shot-gun had been thrown aside as a useless incumbrance, and his tomahawk and knife had dropped out of his belt; but he was too frightened to stop to pick them up. no pause he knew until he reached mr. harris's rancho, where he reined up his panting horse, and electrified the family by shouting through the open window: "grizzly bears! grizzly bears!" "where?" breathlessly inquired mr. harris, running out on the porch. before arthur could reply, johnny's mother appeared; and a single glance at the frightened hunter and his dripping steed, was enough to awaken in her mind the most terrible apprehensions. she knew, instinctively, that something dreadful had happened. "o, my son!" she screamed, sinking down on the porch, and covering her face with her hands. mr. harris did not stop to ask any questions then. he knew the route the boys had taken in the morning, and his first thought was to start for the scene of the conflict, although he had little hopes of arriving in time to be of any assistance to the young hunters. "josé!" he shouted to one of his rancheros, who happened to pass by the house at that moment, "call all the men to saddle up at once. the boys have been attacked by a grizzly in the mountains." the gentleman carried his fainting wife into the house, and presently re-appeared with a brace of revolvers strapped to his waist, and a rifle in his hand. "did you see any of the boys hurt?" he asked this question in a firm voice; but his pale face and quivering lips showed that the news he had just received had not been without its effect upon him. "no, sir," replied arthur. "my horse ran away with me; but i heard the fight, and i know that the dogs were all cut to pieces. the bear was an awful monster--as large as an ox; and such teeth and claws as he had! i never saw the like in all my hunting." in a few moments, half a dozen herdsmen, all well armed, galloped up, one of them leading his employer's horse. "vane," said mr. harris, as he sprang into his saddle, "you will stop on your way home, and tell mr. winters, will you not?" arthur replied by putting spurs to his horse, and in a few moments he was standing in mr. winters's court, spreading consternation among the people of the rancho. dick and bob were there; but, unlike the rest of the herdsmen, they seemed to be but little affected by arthur's story. "you'll never see those boys again," said the latter, winding up his narrative with a description of the bear by which they had been attacked. "now, don't you be anyways oneasy," replied dick, hurrying off to saddle his horse. "if it war a grizzly, he's dead enough by this time, for i knowed them youngsters long afore you sot eyes on to 'em, an' i know what they can do. didn't i tell you, 'squire," he added, turning to mr. winters, who was pacing anxiously up and down the porch, "that frank would come out all right when he war stampeded with them buffaler? wal, i tell you the same now." arthur remained at the rancho until uncle james and his herdsmen set out for the mountains, and then turned his face homeward. it is a rule that seldom fails, that when one meets a braggadocio, he can put him down as a coward. we have seen that it held good in arthur's case; for, although he had not caught the smallest glimpse of the animal in the bushes, he was so terrified that he had run his horse eight miles; and, while he was plunging his spurs into the gray's sides at almost every jump, he imagined that the animal was running away with him. he was so badly frightened that he did not pause to consider that he might have occasioned a great deal of unnecessary anxiety and alarm by the stories he had circulated. he really believed that every word he had uttered was the truth; and he reached this conclusion by a process of reasoning perfectly satisfactory to himself. he had heard the growls and snarls uttered by the animal in the bushes, when attacked by the dogs, and they were so appalling, that he felt safe in believing that they came from some terrible monster. the conduct of the hounds, and of johnny's horse, confirmed this opinion. besides, frank and archie had pronounced the animal a grizzly, and arthur was quite sure it was; for nothing else, except a lion or tiger, could have uttered such growls. he had heard that grizzlies were very tenacious of life, and hard to whip, and, consequently, it followed, as a thing of course, that frank and archie, and the dogs, were utterly annihilated. "i'm safe, thank goodness!" said arthur, to himself. "if those fellows were foolish enough to stay there and be clawed to pieces, that's their lookout and not mine. johnny harris insulted me by calling me a coward. he may escape from the bear, and if he does, i shall think up a plan to punish him." when arthur reached home, he repeated his story as he had told it to mr. harris and uncle james, and he straightway found himself a hero. he had seen a grizzly bear with terrible claws, and a frightful array of teeth; his horse had run away with him, and carried him eight miles before he could stop him, and he had come home with a whole skin. it was wonderful. arthur threw on airs accordingly. he strutted about among the herdsmen, and entertained his servant, a mexican boy about his own age, named pedro, with a description of the fight, in which he had seen four fierce dogs completely demolished. pedro complimented him highly, and the rancheros called him a brave lad--although arthur himself failed to see what he had done that was deserving of praise. he went to bed in excellent spirits, and was awakened in the morning, about daylight, by pedro, who came into his room, carrying in his hand a double-barreled shot-gun, a tomahawk, and sheath-knife, and, under his arm, he held a hat, and a bundle wrapped up in a newspaper. pedro held his sombrero over his face, so that nothing could be seen but his eyes, which were brimful of laughter. "now, then," exclaimed arthur, raising himself on his elbow, and looking fiercely at the boy, "what do you want in here at this barbarous hour, and what are you grinning at?" "why, sir--the bear, you know; it wasn't a bear after all," stammered pedro, in reply. "it wasn't! i say it was. didn't i see him with my own eyes, and hear him growl with my own ears? take that hat down from your face, and stop your laughing." pedro obeyed. he placed the bundle on a chair beside the bed, leaned the gun up in one corner, deposited the other articles upon the table, and then pulled out of his pocket a note which he handed to arthur. "now take yourself off," commanded that young gentleman. pedro vanished, and arthur heard him laughing to himself as he passed through the hall. "what does the rascal mean, i wonder; and who can be writing to me so early in the morning?" arthur looked at the bundle, which lay on the chair beside him, felt of it with his fingers, and then turned his attention to the note, which ran as follows: "frank, archie, and johnny present their compliments to colonel vane, and beg leave to inform him that, after a struggle unequaled in the annals of hunting, they succeeded in dispatching the monster by which they were attacked yesterday. they are, also, happy to announce that the dogs, which were so badly cut up during the fight, have so far recovered as to be out, and to take their regular rations. they request the colonel to accept the accompanying articles, including the skin of the grizzly bear, and to preserve them as mementoes of the most exciting event of his life. they sincerely hope that the colonel sustained no injury during his ride on his runaway horse." arthur read this letter over twice, and, although he made no comments upon it, it was easy enough to see that he was highly enraged. he sat up in the bed, and, with trembling hands, tore off the covering of the bundle, and discovered the skin of the gray wolf. "by gracious!" exclaimed arthur, jumping out on the floor. "was a gentleman ever before so insulted? that little yankee, archie winters, is at the bottom of all this, and if he don't suffer for it, i'll know the reason why." he tore the note into fragments, pitched the bundle out of the window, and walked angrily about the room, shaking his fists in the air, and threatening all sorts of vengeance against archie and his two friends. if he had been in his sober senses, he would have felt heartily ashamed of himself; but the note had opened his eyes to the fact that he had sadly injured his reputation, and he was angry at his companions because he had done so--although how they could be blamed for that, it would have puzzled a sensible boy to determine. but, after all, his case was not an isolated one. it is by no means uncommon for boys, when they get angry, to revenge themselves upon some innocent thing. we remember that, on a certain rainy day, several boys were congregated in a barn, amusing themselves by turning hand-springs. one clumsy fellow, whose feet were so heavy that he could not get them over his head, became greatly enraged at his failures, and finally tried to soothe his wounded pride by whipping one of his companions. arthur was actuated by the same spirit. he walked up and down his room for a long time, trying to make up his mind what he should do, and, when he was called to breakfast, he had decided upon a plan of operations, which promised to make archie and his friends a great deal of trouble. "i'll be revenged upon the whole lot of them at once," said arthur, to himself. "upon johnny harris, for calling me a coward; upon archie winters, for writing me that note--for i know he did it, although johnny's name does come last--and upon frank nelson, for being a friend to those fellows, and for being so stuck up. he scarcely spoke to me yesterday, and i won't stand such treatment from any boy. i'll teach these backwoodsmen to insult a gentleman!" "well, arthur," said mr. vane, as the boy seated himself at the table, "you must have looked through a very badly-frightened pair of eyes, to make a grizzly bear out of a wolf." "who told you it was a wolf?" asked arthur, gruffly. "one of mr. winters's herdsmen--dick lewis, i believe, they call him. he came over this morning to bring your weapons and hat." dick despised a coward quite as much as he admired a boy of spirit and courage, and it is certain that the story, as he had heard it from frank and archie, lost nothing in passing through his hands. he first told it to mr. vane, as he handed him the articles he had brought, and then repeated it to one of the rancheros; and, by the time arthur had finished his breakfast, the occurrences of the previous day were known to every one on the rancho. pedro laughed when he brought out arthur's horse, and the herdsmen, as he rode through their quarters, exchanged winks with one another, and made a great many remarks about grizzly bears, especially concerning the one arthur had seen the day before. there was one man, however, who took no part in the joking and laughing, and that was joaquin, who was just mounting his horse to drive up some stock. "don't mind them," said he, as arthur rode beside him. "they are a set of blackguards, and don't know how to treat a gentleman." "now, that's like a true friend," replied arthur. "you're the only one i have on the ranch." joaquin was a villainous-looking mexican, and since he had been in mr. vane's employ, he had had little to do with the other herdsmen. he seemed to prefer to be alone, unless he could have arthur for company. he always took a great deal of interest in the boy's affairs, and it was from his lips that arthur had heard the story of frank's adventures with pierre costello. joaquin had gained arthur's good will by confiding to him a great many secrets, and one day he went so far as to confess that pierre was his particular friend, and that, if he felt so disposed, he could point out the cave in the mountains where the robber was concealed, and tell who it was that supplied him with food, and kept him posted in all that happened in the settlement. joaquin might have added, further, that he himself had held several long interviews with pierre of late, and had talked over with him certain plans, in which arthur vane and his three companions of the previous day bore prominent parts. but this was one secret that the ranchero kept to himself. "if you know where the robber is hidden, why don't you tell mr. winters, and claim the reward?" arthur had one day asked joaquin. "what! betray my best friend!" exclaimed that worthy, in great astonishment. "i am not base enough to abuse any man's confidence. do you suppose that if you were in pierre's place, and i knew where you were concealed, that i could be hired to play false to you? no, sir!" arthur remembered this remark, and on this particular morning, as he rode out with the ranchero, he called the latter's attention to it, and asked if he could trust him. the reply was a strong affirmative, which satisfied arthur that he might speak freely, and the result was, the revelation of his plan for taking revenge on frank, johnny, and archie. joaquin listened attentively, and arthur was delighted at the readiness, and even eagerness, with which the herdsman fell in with his ideas, and promised his assistance. he had one amendment to propose, that did not exactly suit arthur; but, after a little argument, he agreed to it. they talked the matter over for half an hour, and then arthur started for home, and the ranchero galloped off to attend to his stock. that night, after all his companions were asleep, joaquin crept quietly out of his quarters, and, after saddling his horse, rode toward the mountains. he was gone nearly all night, but returned in time to get to bed before the herdsmen awoke; and, when he arose with the others, none of them knew that he had been away from the rancho. arthur vane must have known something about it, however, for the next morning, as soon as he had eaten his breakfast, he mounted his horse, and overtook joaquin, just as he was leaving his quarters. "well!" said arthur. the ranchero looked suspiciously about him, and, finding that there was no one within sight or hearing, he detached his knife and sheath from his belt, produced a folded paper from the crown of his sombrero, and handed them both to arthur, saying, in a suppressed whisper: "it's all right." "did you see him?" asked arthur, eagerly. "i did, and he says your plan is an excellent one, and he will help you to carry it out. the black line on that paper points out the road you are to follow; the light lines, that branch off from it, are old bridle-paths. look at the paper often, and you can't get lost. he has never seen you, you know, and, when you find him, you must show him my knife to prove that you are a friend. bear one thing in mind, now, and that is, you are playing a dangerous game, and if you are found out, the country around here will be too hot to hold you. remember that i am your only friend in this matter, and say nothing to nobody except me." with this piece of advice, the ranchero galloped off, and arthur, after placing the knife in his belt, and putting the paper carefully away in his pocket, rode toward the mountains. during the next few hours, arthur consulted his paper frequently, and, about noon, he was standing at the base of a precipitous cliff, twenty miles from home, examining the natural features of the place, and comparing them with his diagram. he saw no one; but half way up the cliff was a huge bowlder, over which peered a pair of eyes that were closely watching every move he made; and, when arthur whistled twice, the eyes disappeared, and a man stepped from behind the rock, and said, in a gruff voice: "who are you, and what do you want here?" "are you pierre costello?" asked arthur. "well, now, that's no concern of yours," replied the man. "who are you?" as he spoke, he drew a revolver from his sash, and rested it on the rock beside him, the muzzle pointing straight at the boy's head. "don't!" cried arthur, turning pale, and stepping back. "i am arthur vane, and i have come here to have a talk with you. here is joaquin's knife, which will prove that i am all right." the man returned his revolver to his belt, and came down the cliff; and, presently, arthur found himself standing face to face with a live robber. "i am pierre costello," said the latter; "and i was waiting for you." chapter xii. off for the mountains. arthur looked at the robber with curiosity. yellow-covered novels had always been his favorite reading, and highwaymen, brigands, and pirates were, in his estimation, the only heroes worthy of emulation. pierre, but for one thing, would have come up to his beau ideal of a robber. he was loaded with weapons, and he was tall and broad-shouldered, sported a ferocious mustache, and his hair fell down upon his shoulders. he was dressed in the gayest mexican style, but his clothing had seen long service, and was not quite as neat as arthur would have liked to have seen it. it was plain that pierre did not waste much time upon his toilet; but, after all, he was a very good-looking villain. the robber was quite as much interested in his visitor as the latter was in him. he had often heard of arthur through joaquin; and, if the boy had known all pierre's intentions concerning him, he might not have felt quite so much at his ease. "i can't spare much time," said the robber, breaking the silence at last. "nor i either," returned arthur; "so i will begin my business at once, and get through as soon as i can. i have heard the particulars of your fights with frank nelson, and i propose to put you in the way of making five times the amount of money you would have made if you had captured him when you met him in the mountains. i want to be revenged upon frank and his crowd, for they have grossly insulted me." "of course they have," said pierre. "i know all about it." "i can't punish them by myself," continued arthur, "for they are three to my one. i am not afraid of johnny harris, or archie winters; but there's that other yankee, frank nelson. he is as strong as a lion, and if he once gets his blood up, he don't care for any thing. i am afraid of him." "i don't wonder at it. i have had some experience with him, and, if he had a few more years on his shoulders, i should be afraid of him myself." "i can't punish them unless i have help," repeated arthur; "and, if you will lend me your assistance, you can make sixty thousand dollars by it. i heard those fellows say, yesterday, that they are going on a hunting expedition, next week. i will make friends with them again, and find out when they intend to start, and i propose that you capture them, and take them to some safe place in the mountains, and demand twenty thousand dollars apiece for them. you can demand more, if you choose, and get it, too; for mr. harris is rich, and so is mr. winters. you must have some men to assist you, however." "i understand that," said pierre. "i'll find the men." "will you do it?" "certainly, i will." "give me your hand, pierre; i knew you would help me. but let me tell you one thing, and that is, when you capture them you must look out for yourself. they will have plenty of weapons, and, from what i have seen of them, i don't think they would hesitate to use them if they got a chance. there's one thing about this business i don't exactly admire. of course, i shall start with their expedition--i want to have the satisfaction of seeing them captured--and my idea was, that, when you made the attack on them, you should give me a chance to escape; but joaquin says, that won't do at all." "certainly not;" said pierre, quickly. "i shall have five men with me, and if we should let you get away, the boys would be suspicious of you at once." "that's just what joaquin said; and since i have thought the matter over, i have come to the conclusion that he was right. i don't want them to know that i had a hand in this matter, for they might make me some trouble." "very likely they would. you must allow yourself to be captured with the others." "well, i sha'n't mind that, for, i believe, i can enjoy myself among the mountains for a month or two. but, pierre, when you get them you must hold fast to them." "i am not the man to let sixty thousand dollars slip through my fingers," said the ranchero, with a laugh. "and there are three other things i want you to remember," continued arthur, earnestly. "the first is, you must not demand any ransom for me." "oh no; of course not." "the second is, i shall expect to be treated at all times like a visitor. i am a gentleman, and a gentleman's son." "i am well aware of that fact. i knew it the moment i put my eyes on you." "the third thing i want you to bear in mind, is, that i shall not be captured without a struggle; and that every chance i get i shall try to escape. i am going to show those fellows that i have some spunk. i want you to act natural, and to prevent me from getting away from you; but you must not abuse me. you can treat the others as roughly as you please. do you agree to all this?" "i do, and there's my hand on it," said pierre. "i fully understand your plans now, and know just what you want me to do; and, what's more, i'll do it. if you have got through with what you have to say, you had better be off. i have a good many enemies, and i am in danger as long as you are here. watch those boys closely, and keep joaquin posted. i can find out every thing i want to know from him." "my plans are working nicely," chuckled arthur, as he rode homeward. "i'll teach these backwoodsmen manners, before i am done with them." "eighty thousand dollars!" said pierre, gazing after the retreating horseman. "that's a nice little sum to be divided among six of us." this remark will show whether or not the robber intended to abide by the promises he had just made to arthur vane; and, while we are on this subject, it may not be amiss to say, that the scheme arthur had proposed, was one on which the robber had been meditating for many days. during the time he had lived in the mountains, he had kept his brain busy, and had been allowed ample opportunity to decide upon his future operations. he had been astonished and enraged at his failure to secure the twelve thousand dollars, and to make frank nelson a prisoner, and he had resolved to make amends for his defeat by capturing frank and all his companions, including arthur vane. pierre had plenty of friends to assist him, but there was one question that troubled him, and presented an obstacle that he could see no way to overcome; and that was, how to capture all the boys at once. that must be done, or his plan would fail. he could get his hands upon arthur vane at any time; but the others were like birds on the wing--here to-day, and miles away to-morrow--and pierre did not know where to find them. now, however, the difficulty was removed. frank and his friends were going on a hunting expedition, arthur would ascertain when they were going to start, and what road they intended to take, and when the day arrived, the robber could call in his men, who were employed on the neighboring ranchos, and capture the boys without the least trouble. pierre was very glad that arthur had got angry at frank. meanwhile frank, archie, and johnny, all unconscious of the plans that were being formed against them, enjoyed themselves to the utmost, and wasted a good deal of time every day in laughing over the incidents that had transpired during their ride to captain porter's ranch. archie, especially, had a great deal to say about it. he had an accomplishment, of which we have never before had occasion to speak: he was a first-class mimic; and he took no little pride in showing off his powers. he could imitate the brogue of an irishman the broken english of a dutchman, or the nasal twang of a yankee, to perfection; and one day, while he was in the barn saddling his horse, he carried on a lengthy conversation with bob kelly (who was on the outside of the building), about some runaway cattle, and the old trapper thought all the while that he was talking to his chum, dick lewis. now archie had a new subject to practice upon. he laid himself out to personate arthur vane; and he not only successfully imitated that young gentleman's pompous style of talking, and his dignified manner of riding and walking, but even the tone of his voice. he criticised frank and johnny continually, and made them laugh, till their jaws ached, by recounting imaginary adventures on the burning sands of patagonia, and among the icebergs and polar bears of india. the day following the one on which arthur vane visited the robber in the mountains, found the three boys on the back porch of mr. winters's rancho, making preparations for their hunting expedition. frank was cleaning his rifle, and archie and johnny were repairing an old pack-saddle, in which they intended to carry their provisions and extra ammunition. archie was seated on the floor, with an awl in one hand, and a piece of stout twine in the other; and, while he was working at the pack-saddle, his tongue was moving rapidly. "i am young in years, fellows," he was saying, "but i am aged in experience. if i had my rights, i should long ago have been gray-headed. i have seen thrilling times in my life, and have been the hero of adventures, that, were i to relate them to you, would make each particular hair of your heads stand on end, like the quills of a punched hedge-hog. i am--if you will kindly permit me to use a slang expression--an old hand at the business of hunting and trapping, and have accomplishments in which i can not be beaten. among them, stands my ability to whip a grizzly bear in a fair fight, with no weapon but my knife. i have hunted wild gorillas in the streets of new york city; have"-- "good morning, fellows!" archie brought the story of his adventures to a sudden close, and, looking over his shoulder, saw arthur vane standing at the end of the porch. the boys had never expected him to call upon them again, and archie and johnny were too surprised to speak; but frank, who always kept his wits about him, returned arthur's greeting, and invited him to occupy the chair he pushed toward him. he was not at all pleased to see the visitor, but he was too much of a gentleman to show it. one would suppose, that the remembrance of what had happened, three days before, would have caused arthur some embarrassment; but such was not the case. on the contrary, he was as dignified as ever, and seemed to be perfectly at his ease. frank and his friends were considerate enough to refrain from making any allusions to the fright he had sustained, but arthur brought the subject up himself. "i received your note," said he, "and also the articles you were kind enough to send me; and i am here now to say, that i feel heartily ashamed of myself. from some cause or another, that i could not explain if i should try, i was extremely nervous that day; but i may, some time, have an opportunity to show you that i am not as much of a coward as i know you now believe me to be." arthur remained at the rancho all that day, sitting down at the same, table, and eating his dinner with the boys he was about to betray into the hands of the robbers; and, when he went home that night, he had asked, and received, permission to accompany them to the mountains. their consent had been given reluctantly, and with very bad grace; but they could see no way to get around it. arthur was a boy with whom they did not care to associate; but he had done them no injury, and they could not bring themselves to refuse his request. "they will start early monday morning," soliloquized arthur, as he rode homeward, "and will take the road that leads to captain porter's. this is friday. i shall send word by joaquin to pierre to-night, and he will have plenty of time to make all his arrangements." arthur spent the next day with the boys at mr. winters's rancho, and, when he rode over on monday morning, he brought with him a supply of provisions, which were stowed away in the pack-saddle with the rest. frank and his friends had been waiting for him, and now that they were all ready, they mounted their horses and rode off--archie leading an extra horse, which carried the pack-saddle. as they galloped through the rancheros' quarters, dick appeared at the door of his cabin, and shouted after them words, which, taken in connection with the events that were about to transpire, seemed like prophecy. "you'll be wishin' fur me an' bob, to get you out of the hands of that ar' greaser, afore you're two days older," yelled dick. "you don't suppose that we four fellows will let one man capture us, do you?" shouted archie, in reply. "if we do get into trouble, and you find it out, you'll come to our rescue, won't you?" "sartin. now, don't be keerless, like you allers are." the boys kept their horses in a rapid gallop until they reached the bridle-path in the mountains, and then archie went ahead with the pack-horse, and the others followed in single file. they rode along singing and shouting, and little dreaming of the danger that was so near, until they arrived in sight of the spring, near which frank had his last encounter with the robber. he soon found that he was to have another adventure there; for, as he and his companions rode toward the spring, they were startled by a shrill whistle, which echoed among the mountains, and was answered on all sides of them; and, before they had recovered from their surprise, pierre costello appeared in the path, as suddenly as though he had dropped from the clouds, and came toward them, holding a pistol in each hand. "halt!" shouted the robber. the boys looked about them, as if seeking some avenue of escape, and then they saw that pierre was not alone. every thicket, toward which they turned their eyes, bristled with weapons, and a dozen revolvers were leveled straight at their heads. it was useless to think of flight. chapter xiii. pierre and his band. "halt, i say!" repeated pierre, riding up beside frank, and seizing his horse by the bridle. "disarm them, men, and shoot down the first one that resists," he added, as the band closed up around the boys. frank, seeing, at a glance, that it was useless to think of escape, sat quietly in his saddle, and allowed pierre to take possession of his rifle, pistols, and lasso. johnny and archie also surrendered at discretion; but arthur, believing that the time had come to retrieve the reputation he had lost so ingloriously a few days before, determined that he would not surrender without a fight. it was a part of his contract with the robber chief, that he should be allowed to resist as desperately as he pleased, and he took advantage of it. he gazed at the rancheros for a moment with well-assumed astonishment, and then, appearing to comprehend the situation, he shouted: "stick together, fellows, and fight for your liberties! don't give up, like a pack of cowards! knock 'em down! shoot 'em! take your hand off that bridle, you villain!" as arthur spoke, he dashed his spurs into the flanks of his horse, which bounded forward so suddenly, that he jerked the bridle from the grasp of the ranchero who was holding him. "hurrah! i'm free, boys!" he shouted, clubbing his gun, and swinging it around his head. "follow me, and i'll show you how we used to clean out the indians." arthur's triumph was of short duration. the ranchero, from whom he had escaped, was at his side in an instant, and, again seizing his bridle with one hand, he leveled a pistol full at his prisoner's head with the other, while pierre caught his gun from behind, and wrested it from his grasp. at the same moment, a lasso, thrown by the ranchero who had taken charge of archie, settled down over his shoulders, and was drawn tight. pierre and his band were obeying their instructions to the very letter, indeed, they were altogether too zealous in their efforts to appear "natural," and arthur began to be suspicious that they were in sober earnest with him, as well as with the others. he looked up into pierre's face, in the hope of receiving from him some friendly token--a sly wink or a nod, which would satisfy him that he was "all right," and in no danger of receiving bodily injury; but he saw nothing of the kind. the chieftain's face wore a terrible scowl, and he even lifted arthur's gun above his head, as if he had half a mind to knock him out of his saddle. "quarter! quarter!" gasped arthur, striving, with nervous fingers, to pull the lasso from his neck, and beginning to be thoroughly alarmed. "i surrender." "well, let that be your last attempt at escape," said pierre, in a very savage tone of voice, "or you will find, to your cost, that we are not to be trifled with." in the meantime, the other rancheros, while holding fast to their prisoners, had relieved them of their weapons; and, as soon as pierre had seen arthur conquered, he seized the bridle of the pack-horse, while each of the other members of the band took charge of one of the boys, and the cavalcade started down the ravine at a rapid gallop. all this happened in much less time than we have taken to describe it. before the young hunters had fairly recovered from the astonishment caused by the sudden appearance of pierre and his band, they had been disarmed, and were being led captive into the mountains. frank and his two friends were more bewildered than alarmed. the whole thing was so unexpected, and had been accomplished so quickly and quietly! remembering the particulars of frank's previous encounter with pierre costello, they did not stand in fear of bodily harm. although they had not the slightest suspicion that their capture was the result of treachery on the part of arthur vane, they well understood the motives of the robbers, and knew, as well as if pierre had explained the matter to them, that they were to be used as a means to extort money from their relatives, and that they had nothing to fear, so long as they submitted quietly to their enemies. but this was something that one of the three boys, at least, had no intention of doing. frank's brain was already busy with plans for escape. he had twice beaten pierre at his own game, and, if the robber did not keep his wits about him, he would do it again. as for arthur, although his plans were, thus far, as successful as he could have desired, he was very much disappointed. the three boys, who had dared to hold him up to the people of the settlement in his true character, were prisoners, and he had pierre's assurance that they would remain such until the demands he intended to make upon their relatives should be complied with. but, after all, arthur did not experience the satisfaction he had hoped he would, for the robbers had treated him very roughly. the chief had raised his own gun over his head; another had choked him with his lasso, and a third had pointed a loaded pistol at him. that was a nice way to treat a visitor! arthur began to wish that he had never had any thing to do with pierre and his band. the chief, who rode in advance with the pack-horse, led the way at a break-neck pace, and the boys, being one behind the other, each in company with the ranchero who had him in charge, were allowed no opportunity to converse with one another, even had they desired it. frank, for want of something better to do, began to make an examination of the members of the band. like their leader, they were full-blooded mexicans, with enormous mustaches, and long, tangled hair, which looked as though it had never seen a comb. they were dressed in gay-colored clothes--blue jackets, buckskin pants, very wide at the knee, and covered with buttons, ribbons, and gold lace. they wore long sashes around their waists, which were thrust full of bowie-knives and revolvers. they carried short, heavy rifles, slung over their shoulders by leather bands, and behind their saddles were their ponchos, which did duty both as overcoats and beds. taken altogether, they were a hard-looking set, and seemed capable of any atrocity. the man who had charge of frank was particularly noticeable in this respect, and our hero thought that all he needed were the leggins, and high-pointed hat, to make him a first-class brigand. this man kept a sharp eye upon his prisoner, and scowled at him, as if he regarded him as his most implacable foe. "you needn't look so mad," said frank, at length. "i don't remember that i ever did you any harm, and i certainly am not foolish enough to try to escape, as long as you keep hold of my bridle." "you had better not," said the ranchero, smiling grimly, and shaking his head in a very threatening manner. "i don't know that you can frighten me," returned frank, coolly. "i wish i was a man for about five minutes." "what would you do?" asked the ranchero, who seemed to be pleased, as well as astonished, at the boy's courage and independence. "i'd make your head and your heels change places in a great hurry. in other words, i'd knock you out of your saddle. then i'd say: 'good-by, mr.--mr.'--what's your name?" "mercedes--antoine mercedes." "well, mr. mercedes, i'll never forget that benevolent-looking face of yours. as i was saying, i would bid you good-by, and leave. i'd pass those fellows," he added, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the robbers in the rear, "before they could say 'general jackson' with their mouth's open. you haven't got a horse, in this party, that can catch roderick." the ranchero smiled again, and tapped the butt of one of his revolvers with his finger. "oh, you wouldn't have a chance to fire a pistol at me," said frank, quickly. "by the time you could get on your feet again, after i had knocked you down, i would be a mile from here. did pierre ever tell you how nicely i fooled him?" he continued, noticing that the chief was turned half around in his saddle, listening to what he had to say. "well i am not surprised that he never mentioned it, for he ought to feel ashamed of himself." "ay; but i have got you fast this time," said pierre, with a laugh. "let us see how nicely you will fool me now. one at a time here, men," he added, in a louder tone, "and keep close watch of those prisoners." as pierre spoke, the cavalcade emerged from the woods, and frank found himself on the brink of a rocky chasm, which stretched away to the right as far as his eye could reach, and seemed to extend down into the very bowels of the earth. it was so deep that his head grew dizzy, as he looked into it. on his left, and directly in front of him, was a precipitous mountain, the top of which hung threateningly over the gorge below. it seemed to frank that they could go no farther in this direction, until pierre urged his horse upon a narrow ledge that ran around the base of the cliff. antoine followed after the pack-horse, and frank came next. roderick pricked up his ears, looked over into the gorge, and snorted loudly. he moved very slowly and carefully, and well he might: for a single misstep on his part would have sent both him and his rider to destruction. the path was so narrow that, although roderick walked on the extreme outer edge, frank's feet now and then brushed against the rock on the opposite side. our hero felt his sombrero rise on his head, whenever he looked into the chasm, or allowed himself to reflect how slight an accident might launch him into eternity. but there was no backing out. once on that ledge, a person must go forward; for there was no room to turn around. after frank came another of the band, and johnny followed at his heels. archie and his keeper came next, and arthur and _his_ keeper brought up the rear. they all rode fearlessly upon the ledge, until it came arthur's turn, and then was heard a cry of remonstrance. the young gentleman, who had been brave enough to fill the perilous office of scout among the indians of the plains, did not possess the courage necessary to carry him through this ordeal. he turned as pale as death, and stopped his horse. "go on," sternly commanded his keeper. "oh, it's dangerous," returned arthur, in pitiful tones. "what if my horse should slip off? that gully must be a thousand feet deep!" "more than that," said archie, who, although very far from being pleased at his own situation, could not resist the inclination to torment arthur. "it reaches clear through to india, where you used to hunt polar bears." "that's so," said johnny; "for just now, as i looked over into the gorge, i saw a lot of half naked hindoos tumbling about among the icebergs." "and i heard them yelling," chimed in frank; "and saw one of those big white bears after them." "go on!" repeated the ranchero, impatiently. "o, now, see here!" exclaimed arthur, in a trembling voice, trying to turn his horse's head away from the pass, "i believe, i'll"-- he was about to say, that he believed he would not go any further, but that he would return home and leave pierre and his band to take care of his three enemies; but his keeper did not give him time to finish the sentence. seeing that arthur had no intention of following the rest of the party, the robber took his lasso from the pommel of his saddle, and with it struck his prisoner's horse a blow that caused the fiery animal to give one tremendous spring, which brought him to the very brink of the precipice. in his efforts to stop himself, a portion of the earth was detached by his hoofs and fell with a loud noise into the abyss, bounding down its rocky sides, and crashing through bushes and branches of trees in its rapid descent to the bottom. the horse, frightened by the sound, and smarting under the blow of the lasso, reared so straight upon his hind legs that he seemed in imminent danger of toppling over into the chasm; and then, for the first time in his life, arthur found himself in real peril. he screamed loudly, clung to the horn of his saddle with a death grip, and closed his eyes, expecting every instant to find himself whirling through the air toward the bottom of the gorge. but help was near: the strong hand of his keeper grasped the bridle, and brought the horse back upon firm ground. "now, then, go on!" commanded the ranchero, without giving his prisoner time to recover from his fright. arthur was powerless to obey, for so great was his terror that he could not move a muscle; but his horse, being left to himself, stepped boldly upon the ledge, and followed after the rest of the party, who had, by this time, disappeared around the base of the mountain. chapter xiv. a dinner in the mountains. pass christian--for that was the name of the gorge--was two miles long. about half that distance from the entrance, was a natural recess in the mountains, comprising perhaps half an acre, which was covered with grass and stunted oaks, and watered by a spring that gushed out from under a huge bowlder, which had fallen into the glade from the mountains above. here the robber chief had decided to remain long enough to send a message to mr. winters. the horses had been unsaddled, and were cropping the grass, and the rancheros were stretched out under the shade of the trees--all except two of their number, one of whom, having lighted a fire, was engaged in cooking the dinner, and the other was standing near the entrance to the glade, leaning on his rifle, and keeping a close watch over the prisoners. frank and his two friends were reposing on their blankets near the spring, and when arthur rode up, they greeted him with a broad grin. "well, colonel," said frank, "you come near going back to india by a short route, didn't you?" "did you ever travel on horseback in such frightful places as this, during your wanderings in europe?" asked johnny. arthur had, by this time, somewhat recovered from his fright, though his face was still very pale, and he drew a long breath every now and then, when he thought of the dangers he had passed through. "no," he replied, to johnny's question. "i never traveled much among the mountains. it always makes my head dizzy, to look down from a height." "how, then, did you stand it," said archie, with a sly wink at his companions, "when you were perched upon the 'very top of the middle mast' of your ship, looking out for whales?" "eh?" exclaimed arthur. "why--i--you know"-- arthur was cornered. he did not know how to answer this question, so he kneeled down by the spring, and took a drink, in order to gain time to reflect. "i was obliged to stand it," said he, at length, looking up at his companions. "i couldn't help myself. i say, boys," he added, desiring to turn the conversation into another channel, "you've got us into a nice scrape by your cowardice. if you had followed me, those fellows would have been the prisoners now." at this moment the robber chief approached the group, holding in his hand a sheet of soiled paper and a lead pencil. "take these," said he, handing the articles to frank, "and write to your uncle, telling him how matters stand. say to him that you and your friends are prisoners, that i am going to take you where no one will ever think of looking for you, and that when i am paid eighty thousand dollars in gold, i will set you at liberty, and not before. tell him, further, that i shall send this note to him by one of my men; and that if he does not return in safety by sunrise to-morrow morning, i will make scare-crows of you." frank picked up his saddle-bags, which he used as a desk, and, after borrowing the robber's bowie-knife to sharpen his pencil, he began the letter, and wrote down what pierre had dictated, using as nearly as possible the chief's own words. "that's all right," said the latter, when his prisoner had read the letter aloud. "now," said frank, "may i not add a postscript, telling uncle james that we are well and hearty, and that we have been kindly treated, and so on." "certainly; only be careful that you do not advise him to capture my messenger." frank again picked up his pencil, and wrote as follows: "the above was written by pierre's command, and i have his permission to say a word for ourselves. you need not pay out any money for archie and me; and i know that if i was allowed an opportunity to talk to johnny, he would send the same message to his father. we are now in pass christian--a difficult place to escape from, but we intend to make the attempt this very night. detain pierre's messenger, by all means; then send dick and bob with a party of men up here by daylight, and they can capture every one of these villains." that was what frank added to the letter, but, when pierre ordered him to read it, he made up a postscript as he went along; for he knew that if the chief were made acquainted with the real contents of the note, he would not send it. the ranchero did not know one letter from another, and he was obliged to rely entirely upon frank, who read: "we're all hunky-dory thus far. pierre don't seem to be so bad a fellow, after all; in fact, he's a brick. he treats us like gentlemen; but, of course, we'd rather be at home, so please send on the money for archie and me, and see that mr. harris and mr. vane do the same for johnny and arthur." "you're sure, now," said pierre, as frank handed him the letter, after addressing it to mr. winters, "that you haven't told your uncle where we are, or advised him to try to rescue you?" "there's the note," replied the prisoner, "and if you think i have been trying to deceive you, read it yourself." "i guess it's all right," said the chief. "at any rate, i'll run the risk. i have treated you like gentlemen, and if you want me to continue to do so, you must behave yourselves, and not try to play any tricks upon me. now, mind what i say. if any of you hear the others talking of escape, and don't tell me of it, i'll pitch every one of you into that gully." having given utterance to this threat, and emphasized it by scowling savagely at his prisoners, pierre turned on his heel and walked away. by this time, dinner was ready, and the boys were invited to sit down and help themselves. the principal dish was dried meat, but there were luxuries in the shape of sandwiches, cakes, crackers, and tea and coffee, which the cook had found in the pack-saddle, and which he did not hesitate to appropriate. the table was the ground under one of the trees, and the grass did duty both as table-cloth and dishes. "now, boys," said the chief, "here's a dinner fit for a king. pitch in, and don't stand upon ceremony." "i don't think you will find us at all bashful," said archie, dryly, "seeing that the most of this grub belongs to us." as the robbers and their prisoners were hungry after their long ride, they fell to work in earnest. archie sat on his knees in the midst of the group, and, while his teeth were busy upon a sandwich, his eyes wandered from one to another of the rancheros, and finally rested upon mr. mercedes, whose actions instantly riveted his attention. it had evidently been a long time since the robbers had sat down to a respectable dinner, and they all seemed determined to make the most of it--especially antoine, who devoted his attention entirely to the eatables that had been found in the pack-saddle. he lay stretched out at full length on the ground, one hand being occupied in supporting his head, and the other in transferring the sandwiches from the table to his capacious mouth. two of the sandwiches would have made a good meal for an ordinary man, unless he was very hungry; but they did not go far toward satisfying the appetite of mr. mercedes, for, during the short time that archie sat looking at him, he put no less than half a dozen out of sight, and seemed to have room for plenty more. archie began to be alarmed. by the time he could finish one sandwich, antoine would have swallowed every one on the table, and there would be nothing left but the dried meat. "will the small gentleman from maine be kind enough to pass the plum-pudding--i mean the one that's got the most raisins in it?" said johnny, who was inclined to be facetious. "see here, fellows!" exclaimed archie, and the earnest expression of his countenance arrested the laughing at once. "this is no time for joking. the rule of this boarding-house seems to be, look out for number one. i intend to do it; and, if you want to get any thing to eat, you had better follow my example." so saying, he caught up three or four sandwiches, and half a dozen cakes, and started toward the spring, where he sat down to finish his dinner. the other boys comprehended this piece of strategy, and, in less time than it takes to tell it, the table was cleared of every thing except the dried meat. mr. mercedes uttered an angry growl, and gazed after johnny, who had snatched the last sandwich almost out of his hand, and then whipped out his knife, and turned his attention to the meat. when the robbers had finished their dinner, pierre held a whispered consultation with one of his men, who, after placing frank's letter carefully away in the crown of his sombrero, mounted his horse, and rode down the pass. the others, with the exception of a solitary sentinel, sought their blankets, and the boys were left to themselves. "now," said johnny, in a whisper, addressing himself to frank, "tell us what you wrote in that postscript. you surely did not ask your uncle to send any money for you and archie?" "of course not!" replied frank. "i, for one, am not worth twenty thousand dollars; and i would rather stay here until i am gray-headed, and live on nothing but dried meat all the while, than ask uncle james to give twenty cents for me." "that's the talk," said johnny, approvingly, while archie raised himself on his elbow, and patted his cousin on the back. frank then repeated what he had written in the postscript, as nearly as he could recollect it, and it was heartily indorsed by all the boys, even including arthur vane, who said: "i am glad to see that you are recovering your courage, frank. if you had all showed a little pluck, when pierre attacked us this morning, we should not have been in this predicament." "we'll not argue that point now," said archie. "let's talk about our plans for escape. by the way, what sort of fellows do you suppose pierre takes us for, if he imagines that he can frighten us into carrying tales about one another?" "i'd like to know, too," said arthur, sitting up on his blanket, and looking very indignant. "i wonder if he is foolish enough to believe that one of us would tell him, if he heard the others talking of escape! if i thought there was one in this party mean enough to do that, i would never speak to him again." "now, don't you be alarmed," said johnny. "we've been through too much to go back on each other. but how shall we get away? that's the question." "let us rush up and knock them down, and pitch them over into the gully," said arthur. "follow me; i'll get you out of this scrape." "we couldn't gain any thing by a fight," said frank. "four boys are no match for five grown men." "i'd give sleepy sam if i could only see dick and bob poke their noses over some of these rocks around here," said archie. "they will be after us, as soon as they find out that we are captured; and when they get their eyes on these 'greasers,' as they call them, there'll be fun." "but we don't want to wait for them," said frank. "we must escape to-night, if possible. we can find our way home from here; but, if we stay with these villains two or three days longer, they will have taken us so far into the mountains, that we never can get out. i propose that we wait until dark, and see what arrangements they intend to make for the night, before we determine upon our plans. if they allow us to remain unbound, and leave only one sentinel to guard us, we'll see what can be done. in the meantime, i move that we all take a nap." the prisoners settled themselves comfortably on their blankets, and, in a few moments, three of them were sleeping soundly, all unconscious of the fact that their wide-awake companion was impatiently awaiting an opportunity to repeat to the robber chief every word of their recent conversation. "pierre said, that if any of us heard the others talking of escape, and didn't tell him of it, he would pitch us over that precipice," muttered arthur. "he looked straight at me when he said it; so i shall take him at his word, and put him on his guard against these fellows. i'll not go back on them--o, no! johnny harris didn't call me a coward, did he? and that little spindle-shanked yankee, and his cousin, didn't insult me, by sending me my hat and gun, and the skin of that wolf, and by telling every body in the settlement that i was frightened out of my senses, without seeing any thing to be frightened at, did they? i'd like to catch that archie winters by himself. he's little, and i am sure that i could whip him. i'll pay them all for what they have done to me, and before i get through with them, they will learn, that it is always best to treat a gentleman with respect." as arthur said this, he looked contemptuously at his slumbering companions, and then turned his back to them, and went to sleep. chapter xv. more treachery. when frank awoke, it was nearly dark. the glade was lighted up by a fire, that one of the rancheros had kindled, and beside which he stood, superintending the cooking of the supper. archie and johnny were still sleeping soundly, but arthur vane's blanket was empty, and that young gentleman was nowhere to be seen. frank raised himself to a sitting posture, rubbed his eyes, and yawned; and then, seeing that the cook was rummaging in the pack-saddle after more luxuries, and judging by that that supper was nearly ready, he shook his companions, and arose to his feet. he went to the spring, and was preparing to wash his hands and face in the little brook that ran across the glade, when his attention was attracted by the sound of voices close by. he found that they came from behind the bowlder; and, after listening a moment, he recognized the voices as those of pierre costello, and arthur vane. at first, frank thought nothing of this circumstance. he bent over the brook, and plunged his hands into the water, when the thought occurred to him that this was a strange proceeding on the part of arthur vane. if the latter had any thing to say to the chief, why did he not talk to him in the camp? frank's suspicions were aroused. he stood, for a moment, undecided how to act, and then, dropping on his hands and knees, he crept cautiously around the end of the bowlder, and presently came in sight of pierre and his companion. they were sitting on the ground, facing each other--the chief calmly smoking a cigarette, while arthur was amusing himself by cutting the grass around him with the ranchero's bowie-knife. "this is very odd," thought frank. "arthur acts more like a confidential friend than a prisoner." our hero drew back, and listened to the conversation that followed, during which he gained some insight into the character of his new acquaintance. "i do not admire your way of doing business," he heard arthur say, at length. "you treat me no better than you treat them. you told me that you knew by my looks that i was a gentleman, and you promised to respect me as such. you assured me that i should be allowed to show fight whenever i pleased, and that you would not hurt me for it. how have you kept those promises? what did you do to me this morning? you jerked my gun out of my hands, and raised it over my head, as if you were going to knock me down. one of your men threw his lasso around my neck, and choked me until i could scarcely breathe, and another aimed a pistol at me. is that treating me like a gentleman or a visitor?" "what else could we do?" demanded pierre. "didn't you tell me that you wanted us to act natural, so that your three enemies would not suspect that you had a previous understanding with me in regard to their capture?" "certainly; but i didn't tell you to abuse me, did i? see how i was treated when we were coming through this pass! my keeper struck my horse with his lasso, and came near sending me over the precipice; and you laughed at it. when i look toward you, why don't you give me a wink, or a nod, to show that you have not forgotten your promises, and that you will protect me?" "because i never have had a chance to do it without being seen by the others. if you know when you are well off, you will take every precaution to keep those boys from finding out how treacherous you have been. you must not expect any signs of friendship from me. i shall stick to my promise, and see that no serious injury is done you; but, if you will insist in showing your courage by fighting us, you must make up your mind to be roughly handled. you say that frank didn't read to me what he wrote in that letter?" "no, he did not. he never said a word to his uncle about sending the money. he told him not to do it. he advised him to capture your messenger, by all means, and to send those trappers up here, with a party of men, by daylight to-morrow morning." "well, they'll not find us," said the chief, who seemed to take the matter very coolly. "by daylight we shall be miles from here. we'll start as soon as the moon rises, so that we can see to travel through the pass. after supper, i shall have those fellows bound hand and foot--that will prevent their escape, i think--and, of course, i must tie you, also." "i don't like the idea of lying all night with my hands fastened behind my back," objected arthur. "i can't help that. those boys must be confined; for i am not going to lose sixty thousand dollars, if i can help it; and, if you wish to avoid suspicion, you must be tied with the rest." "i shall resist. i want to make those fellows believe that they are a pack of cowards. don't let your men handle me too roughly." "i'll look out for that," said pierre. "now, let us go back to the camp. you have been away too long already." "o, you outrageous villain!" thought frank, who was so astonished and bewildered by what he had heard, that he scarcely knew what he was about. "won't you suffer for this day's work if we ever get back to the settlement?" the movements of the traitor, who just then arose to his feet, brought frank to himself again. he retreated precipitately, and, when arthur came out from behind the bowlder, he was sitting on his blanket, talking to archie and johnny. "fellows," said he, in an excited voice, "we're ruined! that rascal has blabbed the whole thing!" "who? what rascal? what thing?" asked both the prisoners in a breath. "what's the matter with you?" added archie, in some alarm, seeing that his cousin wore an exceedingly long face. "arthur vane has just told pierre that we had made up our minds to escape to-night," replied frank. "no!" exclaimed the boys, almost paralyzed by the information. "it's a fact. after supper, we are to be bound hand and foot; and arthur, to show how brave he is, and how cowardly we are, is going to resist, and pierre has promised that his men shall not handle him roughly. o, you'll find out!" he continued, seeing that his friends looked incredulous. "i crept up behind that bowlder, and heard all about it. i did not understand all the conversation; but i know that arthur is a traitor, and that we are indebted to him for our capture." archie and johnny were utterly confounded. they could not find words strong enough to express their feelings. they sat on their blankets, and looked at each other in blank amazement. presently, arthur came in sight, and his appearance served to restore their power of action; and then, for the first time, they seemed to realize the full enormity of the offense of which he had been guilty. archie jumped to his feet, and commenced pulling off his jacket. "fellows," said he, throwing down his sombrero, and rolling up his shirt-sleeves, "i'm going to pound some of the meanness out of him." "and i'll help you!" exclaimed johnny, excitedly. "who ever heard of such a thing?" and johnny brought his fist down into the palm of his hand, with a noise like the report of a pistol. "don't do it, boys!" interposed frank. "come here, archie! sit down, johnny. he will be punished enough, when he gets back to the settlement. let's cut him at once, and have nothing more to do with him. johnny, put on your jacket! behave yourself, archie!" frank found it hard work to turn the two boys from their purpose. their indignation had been thoroughly aroused, and, if arthur had only known it, he was in a dangerous neighborhood. although frank was quite as angry as his friends, he had more prudence. he did not believe that they were the proper ones to execute vengeance upon their enemy. his punishment would come soon enough, and it would be quite as terrible as arthur was able to bear. by dint of a good deal of coaxing, and pushing, and scolding, he finally got archie and johnny on their blankets again, and just then the traitor came up. his face wore a triumphant smile, that was exceedingly irritating to the three boys just then, and he approached them with as much assurance as though he had never in his life been guilty of a mean action. "i have been out enjoying the cool breeze," said he, not noticing the angry glances that were directed toward him. "put it all in, while you are about it," exclaimed johnny. "say that you have been holding a consultation with pierre, in regard to our escape to-night." arthur turned very red in the face, and took a step or two backward, as if johnny had aimed a blow at him; and then, somewhat recovering himself, he opened his eyes, puckered up his lips, and looked from one to the other of his companions, with an expression of intense astonishment. "how, now, innocence!" exclaimed archie. "you're a nice looking fellow. go away from here." "why, boys," stammered arthur, "i do not understand you. i have not seen pierre"-- "go away!" said johnny, again rising to his feet--a movement that was instantly imitated by the pugnacious archie. "can't you tell me what's the matter?" demanded arthur, making a desperate effort to look unconcerned, and to call up some of that courage of which he had so often boasted. "have you got the impudence--the brass, to come to us, and ask what's the matter, after what you have done?" asked archie, angrily. "we'll soon let you know what's"-- "hold on, boys!" interrupted frank, who saw that archie's rage was in a fair way to get the better of him. "johnny, stand back! keep still, archie! go about your business, arthur vane! we know just what passed between you and pierre, not five minutes ago, and we don't want to listen to any excuses or explanations." "explanations!" shouted archie. "excuses! for being a traitor!" "go over there among those yellow gentlemen," continued frank. "you are their friend, and there's where you belong. don't dare come near any of us again. start!" "yes, start--mizzle--clear out!" roared archie, getting angrier every moment. "begone! make yourself scarce about here!" "well, i think this is a nice way to treat a gentleman," growled arthur, as he turned on his heel, and walked slowly away. "pick up that blanket and saddle," said johnny. "take all your plunder away from here, and remember that this side of the glade belongs to us." "yes, remember it--bear it in mind!" exclaimed archie, who seemed to think it his duty to give emphasis to what the others said. "think of it continually." arthur glared savagely upon archie; but, fearing to irritate him and his friends further, by refusing to obey their commands, he shouldered his baggage, and walked sullenly toward the fire, around which the rancheros were congregated, awaiting the summons to supper. "benedict arnold!" said johnny, as soon as the traitor was out of hearing. frank and archie thought the name appropriate. it clung to arthur as long as he remained in that part of california. chapter xvi. the escape. had the huge bowlder in the middle of the glade suddenly burst into a thousand fragments, it could scarcely have created greater consternation than that which filled our three heroes, when they stretched themselves on their blankets, to discuss the treachery of their companion. of course, the first question that arose was, what object could he have in view? a dozen different opinions were advanced, but none of them were correct. the boys were all satisfied now, that no ransom was to be demanded for arthur, and they were quite willing to believe that he expected to share in the sixty thousand dollars which pierre hoped to receive for them. they never imagined that the traitor had been instigated by a desire to be revenged upon them, and that all that had happened to them during the day was the result of the incidents that had transpired during their ride to the old fur-trader's ranch. "i really believe that benedict arnold belongs to this band of outlaws," said frank. "if he does, that's all the good it will do him, as far as handling any of my uncle's money is concerned. it's lucky that we have found him out." "it's unfortunate that we didn't find him out long ago," said archie, who had by this time recovered his usual good nature. "our plans for escape are all knocked in the head for this night," continued frank; "but we will hold ourselves in readiness to seize the first opportunity that is offered. dick and bob will be on our trail in a few hours." at this moment, pierre entered the glade from the side opposite the spring, and stopped to say a few words to the sentinel, who immediately approached the prisoners, and took his stand within a few paces of them. "these villains must be afraid of us," said frank, with a laugh. "they'd better be," returned johnny. "i wouldn't like to have sixty thousand dollars wrapped up in such slippery customers as we are." "i wonder if pierre thinks we can fly?" said archie. "that's the only way i can see for getting out of here, while these robbers are all around us. i say, old fellow," he added, turning to the sentinel, "are you a good shot on the wing?" the ranchero shrugged his shoulders, and tapped his revolvers significantly. "i judge from that you are a good shot on the wing," continued archie. "let me advise you to keep both eyes open; for the first thing you know, you'll see us disappearing over the tops of these mountains. each of us has a patent, duplex, double-back-action flying-machine in his pocket." archie was going on to explain to the ranchero the principles on which his imaginary flying-machine operated, when the call to supper interrupted him. during the meal, the robbers were quite as polite as they had been at dinner. they gobbled up every thing within their reach, devouring it greedily, as though they feared that somebody might get more than his share, and the boys, having learned by experience, that, when one sojourns among romans, it is a good plan to do as romans do, snatched what they liked best, and ran back to their blankets. "look at benedict," said johnny, speaking as plainly as a mouthful of cracker would permit. "he's hot about something." arthur was sitting on the ground beside the robber chief, to whom he was talking earnestly, and even angrily, judging by the frantic manner in which he flourished his arms about his head, and struck with his fists at the empty air. pierre was listening attentively, and so were all the other members of the band, who appeared to be deeply interested in what he was saying. arthur had told the chief that his secret was discovered, and pierre had urged him to use every exertion to allay the suspicions of the boys. "you don't know them as well as i do," said the ranchero; "and, if you will take my advice, you will try to make friends with them again." "that's something i'll never do," said arthur, decidedly. "shall a gentleman's son stoop to beg the good-will of a lot of young arabs? not if he knows himself; and he thinks he does. they have found me out, somehow, and i don't care if they have. i may as well throw off the mask entirely. i'll let them see that, while they are prisoners, and bound hand and foot, i am at liberty to go and come when i please." when arthur said this, he was gazing into the fire, and consequently did not see the significant glances which the robber chief exchanged with his men. it might have astonished him to know that he was not free to go and come when he pleased; and that pierre, in spite of all his promises to the contrary, intended to demand twenty thousand dollars for him, as well as for the others. when frank and his friends had eaten their supper, they began to make preparations for the night, by collecting a pile of dried leaves and grass, over which they spread their blankets, placing the saddles at the head of the bed, to serve as pillows. when the couch was completed, it was very inviting, and, had it not been for the knowledge of the fact that they were to be bound hand and foot, they would have been sure of a good night's rest. frank could not go to bed without visiting roderick. he found the horse standing quietly by the spring, and when he saw his master approaching, he raised his head and welcomed him with a shrill neigh. "o, if we could only get half a minute's start of these robbers!" said frank, patting the animal's glossy neck, "wouldn't we show them a clean pair of heels? they'd never have us prisoners again, i _bet_." frank emphasized the last word by punching roderick in the ribs with his thumb--an action which caused the animal to lay back his ears, and kick viciously, with both feet, at some imaginary object behind him. when our hero returned to the place where he had left archie and johnny, he saw them lying on their beds securely bound. pierre stood close by, with a lasso in his hand, and, when frank came up, he greeted him with a fierce scowl, and, in a savage tone of voice, commanded him to cross his arms behind his back. frank obeyed, and the ranchero, while he was busy confining him, inquired: "do you remember what i said to you at noon?" "about what?" asked frank. "about making scare-crows of you and your friends, if my messenger does not return at daylight." "i believe i do remember something about it." "then why did you advise your uncle to detain him? you must be tired of life. you told mr. winters to send those rascally trappers up here, with a party of men, to capture us." "now, see here, pierre," exclaimed frank, angrily, "dick and bob are not rascals. they are honest men, and what they own, they have worked hard for. they will be up here--you may depend upon that--and, if dick once gets his hands on you"-- "o, won't he shake him up, though!" cried archie, from his blanket. "i wouldn't be in pierre's shoes then for all the money he will ever get for us." "you may make up your minds to one thing," said the chief; "and that is, if so much as a hair of that messenger's head is harmed, you will be swinging from some of these trees at sunrise." "that is a soothing story to tell to a person who is trying to go to sleep," observed johnny. "you can't make us believe that you would throw away sixty thousand dollars," said frank. "be careful," he added, as pierre, after confining his arms with one end of the lasso, began to wind the other around his ankles; "make those knots secure, or i may get away from you again." "i'll risk that. now, good-night, and pleasant dreams to you." the robber lifted frank in his arms, and laid him upon his blanket, as if he had been a sack of flour, and then walked off, leaving his prisoners to their meditations. scarcely had he disappeared, when arthur, who had stood at a little distance, watching the operations of the chief, came up, and, after regarding the three boys a moment with a smile of triumph, inquired: "how do you feel now? i hope you will enjoy a good night's rest. you see i am at liberty." and he stretched out his arms, to show that they were not confined. "of course," said frank. "you ought to be; you are one of pierre's band. we are under obligations to you for what you have done for us." "how did you find it out?" asked arthur. "why, one of those arabs you used to know in patagonia, came up here, and told us how you acted while you were in that country, and we thought it best to keep an eye on you," answered archie. "see here, benedict," said johnny. "have you forgotten that we told you to keep your distance?" "no; but i generally go where i please," replied arthur. "you have done something worth boasting of, haven't you?" "well--yes; but i am not done with you yet. if i have any influence with pierre--and i think i have--you'll not see home for a year--perhaps longer." "pierre! pierre!" shouted archie, suddenly. "i say, pierre!" "well, what's the row?" asked that worthy, from his bed by the fire. "i'll make you a present of my horse, if you will give me my liberty for just two minutes. will you do it?" "i guess not," replied the robber. "i promise you that i will not attempt any tricks," pleaded archie. "i only want to show benedict something. come, pierre, that's a good fellow." the ranchero laughed, and turned over on his blanket, without making any answer, and archie, being satisfied that it was useless to urge the matter, laid his head upon his hard pillow, and looked indignantly at the traitor. "never mind," said he. "i'll be unbound to-morrow morning, and i'll know how to get up an appetite for breakfast." arthur understood what the prisoner meant by getting up an appetite for breakfast, and it made him angry. he was very brave, now. his three enemies were lying before him unable to defend themselves, and it was a fine opportunity to execute vengeance upon them. he suddenly took it into his head that it would be a nice thing to punish them all, beginning with the one who had first excited his animosity. "hold on, you little yankee," said he. "i'll attend to you in a minute. johnny harris, what was that name you applied to me?" "it was a new one we have given you," answered johnny. "we have called you after the meanest man that ever lived--benedict arnold. do you know him? did you ever meet him while you were hunting lions and tigers in europe?" frank and his cousin laughed loudly, which so enraged arthur that he caught up a stick, that happened to be lying near him, and struck johnny a severe blow with it. "o, you coward!" shouted archie, struggling frantically to free his arms. "what do you mean by hitting a man when he is down, and can't move hand or foot?" the traitor turned fiercely upon archie, and was about to use the stick upon him, when the gruff voice of the sentinel arrested his hand. the ranchero pointed toward the fire, and arthur, understanding the motion, threw down the stick, and walked away, shaking his head, and muttering to himself. "he had better keep close to his friends to-morrow," said johnny, his face all wrinkled up with pain. the other boys thought so too. each one of them had rather that arthur had struck him instead of johnny; for the latter, although high-spirited, and inclined to be belligerent under provocation, was a good-natured, accommodating fellow, who gained hosts of friends wherever he went, and who never hesitated to make any sacrifice for the benefit of others. frank had never before witnessed such an exhibition of cowardly vindictiveness, and he was almost sorry that he had protected arthur. the traitor, well satisfied with what he had done, and only regretting that he had been interrupted before his revenge was complete, spread his blanket beside the chief; and, after that, nothing happened for a long time to disturb the silence of the camp. the rancheros were soon in a sound sleep, even including antoine mercedes, the sentinel, who sat with his back against a tree, his head hung down upon his breast and his right hand, which rested on the ground beside him, grasping a revolver. he had been placed there by his chief to watch the prisoners; but, believing that there was little danger of their escape, and being unwilling to be deprived of his usual rest, he had gone to sleep as soon as the others. the boys, however, were wide awake. the exciting events of the day, and the pain occasioned by their bonds, effectually banished sleep from their eyes, and they passed the long hours in pondering upon what arthur had done, and trying in vain to find a comfortable position on their blankets. johnny, especially, was very restless. he lay for a long time watching the sentinel, and thinking how easily he and his companions could effect their escape, if their hands and feet were free; then he wondered if pierre was in earnest, when he said that he would make "scare-crows" of them if his messenger did not return by daylight; and, finally, he turned over, and tried, for the hundredth time, to go to sleep. the fire, which was still burning brightly, lighted up every corner of the glade, and, from the new position in which he lay, johnny could see how archie's arms were bound. they were crossed behind his back, and the lasso was wrapped twice around them, and tied in a square knot--a single glance at which drove all thoughts of sleep out of johnny's mind, and suggested to him the idea of an attempt to liberate his friend. the knot, on account of the stiffness of the lasso, had not been drawn very tight, and johnny thought he had hit upon a plan to untie it. "archie," he whispered, excitedly. "hallo!" was the response. "are you asleep?" "no; nor am i likely to be to-night," growled archie. "this lasso hurts me dreadfully. pierre drew it as tight as he could." "don't talk so loud," whispered johnny. "keep your eyes on that sentinel, and, if he moves, shake your arms." "what for?" demanded archie. "what are you going to do?" "i don't know that i can do any thing; but i am going to try." "all right; go ahead." johnny took a long look at the ranchero, to make sure that he was sound asleep, and then, rolling up close to archie, he went to work with his teeth to untie the lasso, with which the latter's arms were bound. this was not so easy a task as he had imagined it would be; but the knot yielded a little with every pull he made upon it, and, after ten minutes hard work, johnny rolled back upon his blanket with an expression of great satisfaction upon his countenance, and watched his friend as he unwound the lariat with which his feet were confined. "hurrah for you, johnny!" whispered archie, a moment afterward. "we'll out-wit these greasers yet. hold easy, now, and i'll soon give you the free use of your hands and feet." archie's fingers made quick work with johnny's bonds, and, when he had untied his arms, he left him to do the rest, and turned to release his cousin. this he soon accomplished, and then the three boys, astonished at their success, crept up closer together, to hold a consultation. "lead on frank, and we'll follow," said johnny. "i will do the best i can," replied frank. "let's stick together as long as possible; but, if we are discovered, we must separate, and let each man take of himself. remember, now, the one that reaches home must not sleep soundly until the others are rescued." as frank said this, he threw himself flat upon the ground, and crawled slowly and noiselessly through the grass, toward the ledge by which they had entered the glade in the morning. they passed the sentinel without arousing him, and approached the fire around which lay the stalwart forms of the rancheros, who snored lustily, in blissful ignorance of what was going on close by them. the boys' hearts beat high with hope as they neared the ledge, and johnny was in the very act of reaching over to give frank an approving slap on the back, when the movement was arrested by a loud yawn behind him. this was followed by an ejaculation of astonishment, and, an instant afterward, the report of a pistol rang through the glade. the sentinel had just awakened from his sleep, and discovered that the prisoners' blankets were empty. "help! help!" he shouted, in stentorian tones, discharging another barrel of his revolver, to arouse his companions. "pierre, your birds have flown!" "run now, fellows!" whispered frank, and, suiting the action to the word, he jumped up, and took to his heels. chapter xvii. the struggle on the cliff. as we have before remarked, the place in which the rancheros had made their camp was a natural recess in the mountains. it was surrounded on three sides by rocky cliffs, the tops of which seemed to pierce the clouds, and whose sides were so steep that a goat could scarcely have found footing thereon. in front of the glade was the gorge, the sight of which had so terrified arthur vane, and which was so deep that the roar of the mountain torrent, that ran through it, could be but faintly heard by one standing on the cliffs above. there were three ways to get out of the glade: one was by the narrow ledge of rocks by which the rancheros and their captives had entered it in the morning; another was by a path on the opposite side of the glade, which also ran along the very brink of the precipice; the third was by climbing up the cliffs to the dizzy heights above. these avenues of escape were all more or less dangerous, and one unaccustomed to traveling in the mountains would have been at a loss to decide which to take. indeed, a very timid boy would have preferred to remain a prisoner among the rancheros, as long as he was sure of kind treatment and plenty to eat, rather than risk any of them. if he took either of the paths that ran along the chasm, he would require the skill of a rope-dancer to cross it in safety; for they were both narrow and slippery, and a single misstep in the darkness would launch him into eternity. if he tried to scale the mountains, which, in some places, overhung the glade, he would be in equal danger; for he might, at any moment, lose his balance, and come tumbling back again. frank and his two friends had thought of all these things during the day, and they knew just what perils they were likely to encounter; but they were not formidable enough to turn them from their purpose. while they were crawling cautiously through the grass, they had been allowed ample time to make up their minds what they would do, if their flight should be discovered before they got out of the glade; and, consequently, when the yells of the sentinel, and the reports of his pistol, told them that the pursuit was about to begin, they did not hesitate, but proceeded at once to carry out the plans they had formed. archie, the moment he jumped to his feet, darted toward the cliffs, while frank and johnny ran for the ledge by which they had entered the pass in the morning; and, by the time the rancheros were fairly awake, their prisoners had disappeared as completely as though they had never been in the glade at all. archie had chosen the most difficult way of escape, and he had done so with an object. he believed that, as soon as pierre and his band became aroused, they would rush in a body for the path that led toward the settlement; and archie did not like the idea of running a race through the darkness along the brink of that precipice. he might make a misstep, and fall into the gorge, and that would be infinitely worse than remaining a prisoner. his enemies, he thought, would not be likely to follow him up the cliffs; but if they did, and he found that he could not distance them, there were plenty of excellent hiding-places among the bushes and rocks, where he could remain in perfect security, with an army searching for him. johnny and frank did not look at the matter in that way. they thought not of concealment; they took the nearest and easiest way home, and trusted entirely to their heels. "help! help!" shouted the sentinel, discharging the barrels of his revolver in quick succession. "the boys have gone!" for a moment, great confusion reigned in the camp. the rancheros sprang to their feet, and hurried hither and thither, each one asking questions, and giving orders, to which nobody paid the least attention, and the babel of english and spanish that arose awoke the echoes far and near. the chief was the only one who seemed to know what ought to be done. he examined the beds to satisfy himself that the prisoners had really gone, and then his voice was heard above the tumult, commanding silence. the first thing he did, when quiet had been restored, was to swear lustily at the sentinel, for allowing the prisoners to escape, and then he set about making preparations for pursuit. he sent two of the band on foot down the path that led toward the settlement, another he ordered to saddle the horses, and the rest he commanded to search every nook and corner of the glade. as long as the noise continued, archie worked industriously; and, being a very active fellow, he got up the mountain at an astonishing rate. but as soon as the chief had succeeded in restoring order, he sat down to recover his breath, and to wait until the rancheros left the glade: for he was fearful that the noise he necessarily made, in working his way through the thick bushes, might direct his enemies in their search. although it was pitch dark on the mountainside, archie could tell exactly what was going on below him. he knew when the two men left the glade, chuckled to himself when he heard the ranchero, who had been ordered to saddle the horses, growl at the restive animals, and noted the movements of the party who were searching the bushes. he distinctly heard their voices, and he knew that arthur vane was with them. "do you think they will get away, joaquin?" he heard the traitor ask. "that's hard to tell," was the reply. "it depends a good deal upon how long they have been gone. if they get back to the settlement, you had better keep away from there." "that's so," said archie, to himself. "they'll never reach the settlement if i can help it," declared arthur. "if i get my eyes on one of them, i bet he don't escape. i'll take him prisoner." perhaps we shall find that arthur did "get his eyes on one of them," and we shall see how he kept his promise. the party went entirely around the glade, passing directly beneath archie, who held himself in readiness to continue his flight, should they begin to ascend the cliff, and finally one of them called out: "they're not here, pierre." "mount, then, every one of you," exclaimed the chief. "when you reach the end of the pass, scatter out and search the mountains, thoroughly. antoine, we have to thank you for the loss of a fortune, you idiot." archie heard the ranchero mutter an angry reply, and then came the tramping of horses as the band rode from the glade. in a few seconds the sound died away in the pass, and the fugitive was left alone. his first impulse was to descend into the glade, mount sleepy sam, and follow the robbers. archie could ride the animal without saddle or bridle as well as he could with them; and he was sure that if he could get but a few feet the start of the rancheros, his favorite could easily distance them. but he remembered the chief's order for the band to "scatter out," and knowing that every path that led toward the settlement would be closely guarded, and fearing that he might run against some of his enemies in the dark, he decided that the safest plan was to remain upon the cliffs, where he could not be followed by mounted men. it cost him a struggle to abandon his horse, which was galloping about the glade, and neighing disconsolately, but he wisely concluded that twenty thousand dollars were worth more to his uncle than sleepy sam was to him; and drawing in a long breath, he tightened his sash about his waist, and again began the ascent. his progress was necessarily slow and laborious, for, in some places, the cliff was quite perpendicular, and the only way he could advance at all, was by drawing himself up by the grass and bushes that grew out of the crevices of the rocks. sometimes these gave way beneath his weight, and then archie would descend the mountain for a short distance much more rapidly than he had gone up. he was often badly bruised by these falls. the bushes and the sharp points of the rocks tore his clothing, and it was not long before he was as ragged as any beggar he had ever seen in the streets of his native city. "by gracious!" exclaimed archie, stopping for the hundredth time to rest, and feeling of a severe bruise on his cheek which he had received in his last fall, "i am completely tired out. and this is all the work of that benedict arnold! didn't i say that we should see trouble with that fellow? if i were out on clear ground, and had my horse and gun, i'd be willing to forgive him for what he has done to me, but i'll always remember that he struck johnny over the head, when he was tied, and could not defend himself." wiping the big drops of perspiration from his forehead, and panting loudly after his violent exertions, archie again toiled up the mountain, so weary that he could scarcely drag one foot after the other. he stumbled over logs, fell upon the rocks, and dragged himself through bushes that cut into his tattered garments like a knife. hour after hour passed in this way, and, finally, just as the sun was rising, archie, faint with thirst, aching in every joint, and bleeding from numerous wounds, stepped upon a broad, flat bowlder, which formed the summit of the cliff. on his right, between him and a huge rock that rose for fifty feet without a single break or crevice, was a narrow but deep chasm which ran down the cliff he had just ascended, and into which he had more than once been in imminent danger of falling as he stumbled about in the darkness. far below him was the glade, a thin wreath of smoke rising from the smouldering camp-fire, and on his left was the gorge, a hundred times more frightful in his eyes now than it had ever seemed before. in front of him the mountain sloped gently down to the valley below, its base clothed with a thick wood, which at that height looked like an unbroken mass of green sward, and beyond that, so far away that it could be but dimly seen, was a broad expanse of prairie, from which arose the whitewashed walls of his uncle's rancho. it was a view that would have put an artist into ecstasies, but the fugitive was in no mood to appreciate it. he had no eye for the beauties of nature then--he had other things to think of; and he regarded the picturesque mountains and rocks, and the luxuriant woods, as so many grim monsters that stood between him and his home. but archie could not remain long inactive. after all the dangers he had incurred, and the bruises and scratches he had received, he had accomplished but little. he was still thirty miles from home, hungry and thirsty, and pursued by crafty enemies, who might even then be watching him from some secret covert. "oh, if i were only there!" said he, casting a longing glance toward the rancho, whose inmates, just then sitting down to a dainty breakfast, little dreamed how much good a small portion of their bounty would have done the fugitive on the mountain-top. "but, as the rancho can't come to me, i must go to it." archie found the descent of the mountain comparatively easy. there were not so many bushes and logs to impede his progress, the slope was more gradual, and he had not gone more than half a mile when he found a cool spring bubbling out from under the rocks. he bathed his hands and face, drank a little of the water, and when he set out again he felt much refreshed. he followed the course of the stream, which ran from the spring down the mountain, keeping a bright lookout for enemies all the while, and stopping now and then to listen for sounds of pursuit, when suddenly, as he came around the base of a rock, he found himself on the brink of the gorge, and confronted by a figure in buckskin, who stood leaning on a long, double-barrel shot-gun. archie started back in dismay, and so did the boy in buckskin, who turned pale, and gazed at the fugitive as if he were hardly prepared to believe that he was a human being. he speedily recovered himself, however, and after he had let down the hammer of his gun, which he had cocked when the ragged apparition first came in sight, he dropped the butt of the weapon to the ground, exclaiming: "archie winters!" "benedict arnold!" for a moment the two boys stood looking at each other without moving or speaking. archie was wondering if it were possible for him to effect the capture of the traitor, and arthur, while he gazed in astonishment at the fugitive's tattered garments and bloody face, was chuckling to himself, and enjoying beforehand the punishment he had resolved to inflict upon archie. the opportunity he had wished for so long had arrived at last. "i have found you, have i?" said arthur, resting his elbows on the muzzle of his gun, and looking at archie with a triumphant smile. "well, suppose you have; what do you propose to do about it?" "it is my intention to teach you to respect a gentleman the next time you meet one." [illustration] "how are you going to do it?" "in the first place, by giving you a good beating." "humph!" said archie, contemptuously, looking at arthur from head to foot, as if he were taking his exact measure. "it requires a boy with considerable 'get up' about him to do that." "none of your impudence, you little yankee," exclaimed arthur, angrily. "i'm going to take some of it out of you before you are two minutes older." when the traitor selected archie as the one upon whom he could wreak his vengeance without danger to himself, he had made a great mistake. archie was smaller than most boys of his age, but, after all, he was an antagonist not to be despised. he was courageous, active, and as wiry as an eel; and his body, hardened by all sorts of violent exercise, was as tough as hickory. he trembled a little when he looked over into the gorge, and thought of the possible consequences of an encounter on that cliff, but he was not the one to save himself by taking to his heels, nor did it come natural to him to stand still and take a whipping as long as he possessed the strength to defend himself. a single glance was enough to convince him that the traitor was in earnest, and archie watched the opportunity to begin the struggle himself. "yes, sir," continued arthur, "i've got you now just where i want you. i am going to settle this little difference between us, and then i shall take you back to pierre. if you have any apologies to make, i am willing to listen to them." the effect of these words not a little astonished the traitor. he had been sure that archie would be terribly frightened, and that he would either seek safety in flight, or beg hard for mercy; consequently, he was not prepared for what really happened. scarcely had arthur ceased speaking, when the place where archie was standing became suddenly vacant, and, before the traitor could move a finger, his gun was torn from his grasp and pitched over the cliff into the gorge. as the weapon fell whirling through the air, both barrels were discharged, and the reports awoke a thousand echoes, which reverberated among the mountains like peals of thunder. "now we are on equal terms," exclaimed archie, as he clasped the traitor around the body and attempted to throw him to the ground. "you remember that you struck johnny last night, when he was bound, hand and foot, and couldn't defend himself, don't you?" "yes; and now i am going to serve you worse than that," replied arthur, who, although surprised and taken at great disadvantage by the suddenness of the attack, struggled furiously, and to such good purpose that he very soon broke archie's hold; "i am going to fling you over the cliff after that gun." the contest that followed was carried on on the very edge of the precipice, and was long and desperate. archie, bruised and battered in a hundred places, and weary with a night's travel, was scarcely a match for the fresh and vigorous arthur, who, in his blind rage, seemed determined to fulfill his threat of throwing him over the cliff after the gun. fortune favored first one and then the other; but archie's indomitable courage and long wind carried the day, and he finally succeeded in bearing his antagonist to the ground and holding him there. "you are not going to throw me over, are you?" gasped arthur, who was humble enough, now that he had been worsted. "do you take me for a savage?" panted archie, in reply. "i simply wanted to save myself from a whipping that i did not deserve, and i've done it. now you must go to the settlement with me, to"-- "here you are!" exclaimed a familiar voice. "let us see if you will escape me again." archie looked up, and saw antoine mercedes advancing upon him. chapter xviii. conclusion. archie had been so fully occupied with the traitor that he had not thought of his other enemies, and for a moment he lay upon the ground beside his antagonist, gazing at antoine in speechless amazement. resistance, of course, was not to be thought of, and it also seemed useless to make any attempts at escape; for he had been so nearly exhausted by his struggle with arthur, that he scarcely possessed the power to rise from the ground. "i am caught easy enough," thought he, "and i might as well give up first as last." "i see before me twenty thousand dollars," said antoine, hastily coiling up his lasso as he approached. these words acted like a spur upon archie's flagging spirits. he no longer thought of surrender: on the contrary, almost before he knew it, he found himself on his feet and going down the mountain like the wind. "_carrajo!_" yelled the ranchero, swinging his lasso around his head. archie was afraid of that lasso, for he knew that he was in danger as long as he was within reach of it; but fortunately he had been too quick for antoine. he heard the lariat whistle through the air behind him, and snap like a whip close to his ear, and then he knew that his enemy had missed his mark. "santa maria!" shouted the robber. "stop, you young vagabond, or i'll shoot you." the fugitive was not frightened by this threat. he was not afraid of being shot, nor did he believe that he could be overtaken in a fair race; for, now that he got started, he found that he had wind enough left for a long run. he had lived among the rancheros long enough to know that they were very poor marksmen, and that they could not boast of their swiftness of foot; and, having escaped the lasso, his spirits rose again, and hope lent him wings. he heard antoine crushing through the bushes in pursuit, but the sound grew fainter and fainter as he sped on his way. he jumped over rocks and logs, and cleared ravines that at almost any other time would have effectually checked his progress, and when he reached the thick woods at the base of the mountains, the ranchero was out of sight and hearing. archie was well aware of the fact that he had now reached the most dangerous part of his route homeward. the chief had ordered the band to "scatter out" when they reached the end of the pass, and he knew that every road that led toward the settlement was closely watched. he knew, also, that his only chance for escape was to avoid these roads and keep in the thickest part of the woods. he sat down behind some bushes to rest for a few moments, and then started on again, sometimes creeping on his hands and knees, making use of every log and rock to cover his retreat, and stopping frequently to examine the woods in front of him, and to listen for sounds of pursuit. he had accomplished about a mile in this way, when he found himself in one of the numerous bridle-paths that ran through the mountains in every direction, and, what was worse, he saw the scowling visage of pierre costello arise from behind a log not ten paces from him. with the same glance he saw something else; and that was a crouching figure in buckskin, which was creeping stealthily toward the robber. "here's one caught," said pierre, stepping into the path and walking toward archie. "none of your tricks, now; you can't escape." "i don't intend to try," replied archie, with a boldness that astonished the robber. "your game is up, mr. pierre, and i advice you to surrender quietly, if you don't want to get hurt!" "what!" exclaimed the ranchero. "surrender! if you know what you are about, you will not offer any resistance. i am a desperate man." the robber spoke these words boldly enough, but he evidently did not like the looks of things. he gazed earnestly at archie, as if trying to determine what it was that had encouraged him to show so bold a front, and seeing that he held one hand behind him, pierre came to the conclusion that he must, by some means, have secured possession of a revolver. "drop that weapon, and hold your arms above your head," said the robber. archie did not move. while he appeared to be looking steadily at the chief, he was really watching the movements of the figure in buckskin, which had all this while been working its way quickly, but noiselessly, through the bushes, and had now approached within a few feet of the ranchero. "did you hear what i said?" demanded the latter, placing his hand on one of his revolvers. "you are my prisoner." "well, then, why don't you come and take me?" asked archie. at this moment a slight rustling in the leaves caught the quick ear of the robber, who turned suddenly, uttered a cry of alarm, and fled down the path, closely followed by something that to archie looked like a gray streak, so swiftly did it move. but it was not a gray streak--it was dick lewis, who, after a few of his long strides, collared the ranchero with one hand and threw him to the ground, and with the other seized the revolver he was trying to draw, and wrested it from his grasp. pierre struggled desperately, but to no purpose, for the trapper handled him as easily as though he had been a child. "now, then, you tarnal greaser," exclaimed dick, "your jig's danced, an' you must settle with the fiddler. if i only had you out on the prairie, i'd larn you a few things i reckon you never heern tell on. come here, you keerless feller, an' tell me if you 'member what i said to you yesterday! whar's frank?" before archie had time to reply, an incident happened, which, had the trapper been a less experienced man than he was, would have turned his triumph into defeat very suddenly. he had more than one enemy to contend with, and the first intimation he had of the fact, was a sound that archie had heard so often since his residence in california that it had become familiar to him--the whistling noise made by a lariat in its passage through the air. before archie could look around to discover whence this new danger came, he saw the trapper stretched at full length on the ground. for an instant his heart stood still; but it was only for an instant, for dick was on his feet again immediately, and archie drew a long breath of relief when he saw the lasso, which he feared had settled around his friend's neck, glide harmlessly over his shoulder. the trapper, from force of long habit, was always on the watch for danger, and when he heard that whistling sound in the air, he did not stop to look for his enemy, but dropped like a flash to avoid the lasso; and when he arose to his feet his long rifle was leveled at a thicket of bushes in front of him. "show yourself, greaser!" cried dick. the concealed enemy obeyed without an instant's hesitation, and when he stepped into the path, archie saw that it was antoine mercedes. "thar's nothin' like knowin' the tricks of the varmints," said dick, coolly, as he handed his rifle to archie, and proceeded to disarm antoine. "if i had been a greenhorn, i should have been well-nigh choked to death by this time; but a man who has seed prairy life, soon larns that his ears was made for use as well as his eyes. now, little un, whar's the rest of them fellers?" while the trapper was engaged in confining his prisoners' arms with their own lassos, archie gave him a rapid account of all that had happened during his captivity, dwelling with a good deal of emphasis on the treachery of arthur vane. dick opened his eyes in astonishment, and, when archie had finished his story, declared that they would be serving arthur right if they were to leave him among the robbers. "why, he doesn't want to get away from them," said archie. "he is with them now, hunting for us. he and i had a fight not half an hour ago, and, if antoine had only stayed away a few minutes longer, arthur would have been a prisoner too." at this moment, a party of rancheros galloped up, led by uncle james and mr. harris, and accompanied by the dogs, which the boys--who had intended to devote the most of their time to stalking the elks, which were abundant in the mountains--had left at home. marmion and carlo made every demonstration of joy at seeing archie once more, and mr. winters greeted him as though he had not met him for years. without any unnecessary delay, a trusty herdsman was dismounted, and sent back to the ranch with the prisoners, and archie mounted his horse. "you had better go home," said mr. winters, looking at his nephew's rags and bruises. "oh no, uncle," said archie, quickly. "i promised frank and johnny that, if i succeeded in getting away, i wouldn't sleep until they were safe among friends. i want to go with you." uncle james did not urge the matter, and dick, although he shook his head at archie, and called him a "keerless feller," was proud of his pluck. the trapper, who was the acknowledged leader of the party, set out at a rapid trot toward the pass, but had not gone far, when he stopped, and turned his head on one side to listen. "spread out, fellers," said he, waving his hand toward the bushes on each side of him. "thar's something comin'." the horsemen separated, and took up their positions on each side of the path. they could hear nothing but the chirping of the birds, and the sighing of the wind through the branches above their heads; but they had not been long in their concealments before they found that dick had not been deceived. the clatter of a horse's hoofs on the hard path, faint and far off at first, but growing louder as the animal approached, came to their ears, and presently roderick appeared in sight. the first thing archie noticed was, that he wore neither saddle nor bridle; the second, that he carried frank and johnny on his back. one of frank's hands was twisted in the horse's mane, and his body was tightly clasped in the arms of johnny, who sat behind him. archie had never seen the mustang run so swiftly before, and he made up his mind that, if any of the rancheros were pursuing him, they might as well give up the chase. he also thought that frank and johnny would enjoy a long ride before they got a chance to put their feet on the ground again; for roderick was plainly stampeded. it was fortunate that dick had sent them into the bushes; for, had the party been in the path then, some of them would have been run down, and, perhaps, trampled to death. "out of the way there, greaser!" shouted frank, when he discovered the trapper standing in the path. dick was not a greaser; but he thought it best to get out of the way; and frank would have gone by him, had not carlo and marmion recognized their masters, and set up a howl of welcome. "whoa!" shouted johnny and frank, in concert, and roderick stopped so suddenly that both his riders were thrown forward on his neck. "come here, you boy that fit that ar' greaser, an' tell me all about it, to onct," exclaimed dick. "be they follerin' you?" "not that we know of. we haven't seen any of them since daylight. lend me your lasso, carlos, and we'll go back and hunt up archie." but archie was already found, and when he rode out of the bushes, frank was relieved of a great deal of anxiety. he had not seen his cousin since he left the glade, and he feared that he had been re-captured; or, what was worse, had slipped off the ledge into the gorge. a consultation was now held, and, after uncle james and mr. harris had listened to the boys' story, they decided that it would be a waste of time to search for arthur vane. the latter's conduct had induced the belief that he was a friend of the robbers, and could go and come when he pleased. no doubt, when he got tired of life in the mountains, he would return home of his own free will. the party would keep on to the glade, however, and recover sleepy sam, and the boys' weapons. when this had been decided upon, dick's horse, which he had hidden in the bushes, was brought out for johnny, a lasso was twisted around roderick's lower jaw, to serve as a bridle, and then the trapper shouldered his long rifle, and gave another exhibition of his "travelin' qualities." he kept the horses in a steady gallop, sometimes "letting out" a little on getting far in advance of them, and, when he stopped at the entrance to the pass, he seemed as fresh as ever. the boys had expressed the hope that they would surprise some of the robbers in the glade, but were disappointed. they found their saddles, bridles, blankets, and weapons, however, and archie recovered his horse, which was standing contentedly beside the spring, half asleep, as usual. every thing was gathered up, including a few articles the robbers had left behind, and, as they rode toward the settlement, the boys told each other that the next time they went hunting, after pierre's band had all been captured, they would camp in the glade. archie was confined to the house for a day or two after that; but, if his body was stiff and bruised, his tongue was all right, and it was a long time before he got through relating the incidents of his fight with the traitor. frank and johnny had met with no adventures, not having seen any of the band after they left the glade. they crossed the ledge without accident--although they confessed that they would think twice before trying it again--and, when they reached the end of the pass, they concealed themselves in a hollow log until morning. when they were about to continue their flight, they discovered the mustang, which, unwilling to be left alone in the glade, had crossed the ledge, and was on his way home. frank easily caught him; but, knowing his favorite's disposition as well as he did, hesitated about requiring him to carry double; however, he finally decided that roderick was large enough and strong enough to carry them both, and that he must do it, or take the consequences. frank thereupon mounted the animal, johnny climbed up behind him, and roderick, after a few angry kicks, consented to the arrangement. believing the boldest course to be the safest, they put the horse to the top of his speed, trusting to his momentum to overcome any thing that might endeavor to obstruct the path. while archie was confined to the house, dick and old bob were busy, and their efforts were rewarded by the capture of three more of the band, who were sent to san diego with the others. only one was left now, and that was joaquin, who had thus far successfully eluded pursuit. the traitor was also missing; and, although mr. vane kept his herdsmen in the mountains continually, nothing had been seen of him. arthur was paying the penalty of his treachery, and was being punished in a way he had not thought of. after his unsuccessful attempt to capture archie winters, he went down the mountain to the place where he had left his horse, and there he found joaquin, who had narrowly escaped a ball from the rifle of old bob kelly. he was in ill-humor about something, but his face brightened when he discovered arthur. "we must be off at once," said he. "the mountains are full of men." "i believe i'll go home," replied arthur. "i am going to ask my father to give me money enough to take me back to kentucky; for, of course, i can't live here after what i have done. before i go, however, i want to tell you, that you and your friends are a set of blockheads. if i had known that you would be so stupid as to allow those fellows to escape, i shouldn't have had any thing to do with you. good-by, joaquin." "not quite so fast, my lad," said the ranchero, seizing arthur's horse by the bridle. "you are worth as much to us as the others." "what do you mean?" exclaimed arthur. "i mean that you are a prisoner, and that you must stay here with us. i hope you understand that?" arthur was thunderstruck. "why, joaquin," said he, "pierre promised me faithfully that i should be treated as a visitor, and that no ransom should be demanded for me." "and did you put any faith in that promise? when your father gives us twenty thousand dollars, you can go, and not before." arthur cried, begged, and threatened in vain. joaquin was firm, and the traitor was obliged to accompany him to the mountains. that night he wrote to his father, informing him of his situation, and joaquin, after tying his prisoner to a tree, and gagging him, to prevent him from shouting for assistance, rode to the settlement, and left the note on mr. vane's door-step. during the three weeks following, arthur led a most miserable life. he had nothing to eat but dried meat, and but little of that. his captor treated him very harshly, tying him to a tree every night, to prevent his escape, and moving him about in the day-time, from place to place, to avoid capture. it soon became known in the settlement, that arthur was held as a prisoner, and the search was conducted with redoubled energy. joaquin was constantly on the alert, but he was caught at last; for, one day, just as he and arthur were about to sit down to their dinner of dried meat, frank, archie, and johnny suddenly appeared in sight, accompanied by the two trappers. archie had repeatedly declared that he owed the traitor a debt, which he intended to settle the very first time he met him; but when he saw what a wretched condition arthur was in, he relented, and pitied him from the bottom of his heart. joaquin was sent to san diego to be dealt with according to law, and arthur went home. he did not remain there long; but, as soon as he was able to travel, started for kentucky, and every one was glad that he had gone. frank and archie could tell stories now that were worth listening to. they had seen exciting times since their arrival in california, had been the heroes of some thrilling adventures, and they never got weary of talking over the incidents that transpired during their captivity among the rancheros. the end. the john c. winston co.'s popular juveniles. j.t. trowbridge. neither as a writer does he stand apart from the great currents of life and select some exceptional phase or odd combination of circumstances. he stands on the common level and appeals to the universal heart, and all that he suggests or achieves is on the plane and in the line of march of the great body of humanity. the jack hazard series of stories, published in the late _our young folks_, and continued in the first volume of _st. nicholas_, under the title of "fast friends," is no doubt destined to hold a high place in this class of literature. the delight of the boys in them (and of their seniors, too) is well founded. they go to the right spot every time. trowbridge knows the heart of a boy like a book, and the heart of a man, too, and he has laid them both open in these books in a most successful manner. apart from the qualities that render the series so attractive to all young readers, they have great value on account of their portraitures of american country life and character. the drawing is wonderfully accurate, and as spirited as it is true. the constable, sellick, is an original character, and as minor figures where will we find anything better than miss wansey, and mr. p. pipkin, esq. the picture of mr. dink's school, too, is capital, and where else in fiction is there a better nick-name than that the boys gave to poor little stephen treadwell, "step hen," as he himself pronounced his name in an unfortunate moment when he saw it in print for the first time in his lesson in school. on the whole, these books are very satisfactory, and afford the critical reader the rare pleasure of the works that are just adequate, that easily fulfill themselves and accomplish all they set out to do.--_scribner's monthly_. jack hazard series. vols. by j.t. trowbridge $ . jack hazard and his fortunes. doing his best. the young surveyor. a chance for himself. past friends. lawrence's adventures. * * * * * charles asbury stephens. this author wrote his "camping out series" at the very height of his mental and physical powers. "we do not wonder at the popularity of these books; there is a freshness and variety about them, and an enthusiasm in the description of sport and adventure, which even the older folk can hardly fail to share."--_worcester spy_. "the author of the camping out series is entitled to rank as decidedly at the head of what may be called boys' literature."--_buffalo courier_. camping out series. by c.a. stephens. all books in this series are mo. with eight full page illustrations. cloth, extra, cents. camping out. as recorded by "kit." "this book is bright, breezy, wholesome, instructive, and stands above the ordinary boys' books of the day by a whole head and shoulders."--_the christian register_, boston. left on labrador; or, the cruise of the schooner yacht "curlew." as recorded by "wash." "the perils of the voyagers, the narrow escapes, their strange expedients, and the fun and jollity when danger had passed, will make boys even unconscious of hunger."--_new bedford mercury_. off to the geysers; or the young yachters in iceland. as recorded by "wade." "it is difficult to believe that wade and read and kit and wash were not live boys, sailing up hudson straits, and reigning temporarily over an esquimaux tribe."--_the independent_, new york. lynx hunting: from notes by the author of "camping out." "of first quality as a boys' book, and fit to take its place beside the best."--_richmond enquirer_. fox hunting. as recorded by "raed." "the most spirited and entertaining book that has as yet appeared. it overflows with incident, and is characterized by dash and brilliancy throughout."--_boston gazette_. on the amazon; or, the cruise of the "rambler." as recorded by "wash." "gives vivid pictures of brazilian adventure and scenery."--_buffalo courier_. six little bunkers at cowboy jack's by laura lee hope author of "six little bunkers at grandma bell's," "six little bunkers at uncle fred's" "the bobbsey twins series," "the bunny brown series," "the outdoor girls series," etc. _illustrated_ new york grosset & dunlap publishers made in the united states of america books by laura lee hope mo. cloth. illustrated. * * * * * =the six little bunkers series= six little bunkers at grandma bell's six little bunkers at aunt jo's six little bunkers at cousin tom's six little bunkers at grandpa ford's six little bunkers at uncle fred's six little bunkers at captain ben's six little bunkers at cowboy jack's * * * * * =the bobbsey twins series= the bobbsey twins the bobbsey twins in the country the bobbsey twins at the seashore the bobbsey twins at school the bobbsey twins at snow lodge the bobbsey twins on a houseboat the bobbsey twins at meadow brook the bobbsey twins at home the bobbsey twins in a great city the bobbsey twins on blueberry island the bobbsey twins on the deep blue sea the bobbsey twins in washington the bobbsey twins in the great west the bobbsey twins at cedar camp * * * * * =the bunny brown series= bunny brown and his sister sue bunny brown and his sister sue on grandpa's farm bunny brown and his sister sue playing circus bunny brown and his sister sue at aunt lu's city home bunny brown and his sister sue at camp rest-a-while bunny brown and his sister sue in the big woods bunny brown and his sister sue on an auto tour bunny brown and his sister sue and their shetland pony bunny brown and his sister sue giving a show bunny brown and his sister sue at christmas tree cove bunny brown and his sister sue in the sunny south * * * * * =the outdoor girls series= (eleven titles) =grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york= copyright, , by grosset & dunlap * * * * * six little bunkers at cowboy jack's [illustration: black bear came toward the children. _six little bunkers at cowboy jack's._ _frontispiece_--(_page _)] contents chapter page i. "a thunder stroke" ii. very exciting news iii. the silver lining iv. what was stuck in the mud? v. good-bye to grand view vi. the coal strike vii. the soup juggler viii. an alarm and a hold-up ix. the big rock that fell down x. where are the twins? xi. the man with the earrings xii. cavallo at last xiii. a surprise coming xiv. an indian raid xv. a profound mystery xvi. mun bun takes a nap xvii. in chief black bear's wigwam xviii. the new ponies xix. russ bunker guesses right xx. pinky goes home xxi. the lame coyote xxii. a picnic xxiii. moving picture magic xxiv. mun bun in trouble xxv. something that was not expected six little bunkers at cowboy jack's chapter i "a thunder stroke" "whew!" said russ bunker, looking out into the driving rain. "whew!" repeated rose, standing beside him. "whew!" said vi, and "whew!" echoed laddie, while margy added "whew!" "w'ew!" lisped mun bun last of all, standing on tiptoe to see over the high windowsill. mun bun could not quite say the letter "h"; that is why he said "w'ew!" such a september rain the six little bunkers had never seen before, for the very good reason that they had never before been at the seashore during what daddy bunker and captain ben called "the september equinox." "that is an awful funny word, anyway," rose bunker said. "what's funny?" violet asked. "can i make a riddle out of it?" added laddie. "it is a riddle," replied rose, quite confidently. "for 'equinox' is just a rain and wind storm." "that isn't a riddle," said laddie promptly. "that's the answer to a riddle." and perhaps it was, even if rose had the equinox and the equinoctial storms a little mixed in her mind. at any rate, this was a most surprising storm to all the little bunkers--the wind blew so hard, the rain came in such big gusts, flattening the white-capped waves which they could see, both from captain ben's bungalow and from this old house to which they had come to play. and now, as all six peered out of the attic window of the old house, there was an unexpected flash of lightning, followed by a grumble of thunder. "oh! just like a bad, bad dog," gasped vi, not a little frightened by the noise. "i--i am afraid of thunder." "i'm not," declared laddie, her twin. but perhaps, because he was a boy, he thought he must claim more courage than he really felt. at any rate, he winced a little, too, and drew back from the window. "maybe we'd better go back to captain ben's house--and mother," suggested margy in a wee small voice. "w'ew!" lisped mun bun, the littlest bunker, once more, but quite as bravely as before. like laddie (whose name really was fillmore), mun bun wished to claim all the courage a boy should show. "i guess we can't go back while it rains like this," said russ, the oldest of the six. "and captain ben thought it would maybe clear up and not rain any more, so we came," announced rose. "oh! there goes another thunder stroke." the rumble of thunder seemed nearer. "i guess," russ said soberly, "that norah or jerry simms would call this the clearing-up shower." "but norah and jerry simms aren't here," vi reminded him. "are they?" "that doesn't make any difference. it can be the clearing-up shower of this equinox, just the same." "can it?" asked vi. she was always asking questions, and she asked so many that it was quite impossible to answer them all, so, for the most part, nobody tried to answer her. and this was one of the times when nobody answered vi. "we'd better keep on playing," rose said, very sensibly. "then we won't bother 'bout the thunder strokes." "it is lightning," objected russ. "i don't mind the thunder. thunder is only a noise." "i don't care," said rose, "it's the thunder that scares you---- oh! hear it?" "does the thunder hit you?" asked vi. "why, nothing is going to hit us," russ replied bravely, realizing that he must soothe any fears felt by his younger brothers and sisters. russ was nine, and daddy bunker and mother expected him to set a good example to rose and laddie and violet and margy and munroe ford bunker, who, when he was very little, had named himself "mun bun." "just the same," whispered rose in a very small voice, and in russ's ear, "i wish we hadn't come over from captain ben's bungalow this morning when it looked like the rain had all stopped." "pooh!" said russ, still bravely, "it thunders over there just as it does here, rose bunker." of course that was so, and rose knew it. but nothing seemed quite so bad when daddy and mother were close at hand. "let's play again," she said, with a little sigh. "what'll we play?" asked violet. "haven't we played everything there is?" "i s'pose we have--some time or other," rose admitted. "no, we haven't," interposed russ, who was of an inventive mind. "there are always new plays to make up." "just like making up riddles," agreed laddie. "i guess i could make up a riddle about this old storm--if only the thunder wouldn't make so much noise. i can't think riddles when it thunders." the thunder seemed to shake the house. the rain dashed against the windows harder than ever. and there were places in the roof of this attic where the water began to trickle through and drop upon the floor. "oh!" cried mun bun, on whose head a drop fell. "it's leaking! i don't like a leaky house. let's go home, rose." "do you want to go home to pineville, mun bun?" shouted russ, for he could not make his voice heard by the others just then without shouting. "well, no. but i'd rather be at that other house where mother is--and daddy," proclaimed the smallest boy when the noise of the thunder had again passed. "i tell you," said russ soberly, "we'd better go downstairs and play something till the thunder stops." "what shall we play?" asked vi again. "i'll build an automobile and take you all to ride," said the oldest boy confidently. "oh, russ! you can't!" gasped rose. "a real automobile like the one that we rode down here in from pineville?" asked laddie, opening his eyes very wide. "well, no--not just like that," admitted russ. "but we'll have some fun with it and we won't bother about the thunder." rose looked a bit doubtful over that statement. but she knew it was her duty to help the younger children forget their fears. she started down the steep stairs behind russ. laddie and margy came next, while vi was helping short-legged little mun bun to reach the stairway. and it was just then that the very awful "thunder stroke" came. it seemed to burst right over the roof, and the flash of lightning that came with it almost blinded the children. there was even a smell of sulphur--just like matches. only it was a bigger smell than any sulphur match could make. the children's cries were drowned by the crash outside. the lightning had struck a big old tree that overhung the house. the tree trunk was splintered right down from the top, and before the sound of the thunder died away the broken-off part of that tree fell right across the roof. how the old house shook! such a ripping and tearing of shingles as there was! rose could not stifle her shriek. she and margy and laddie came tumbling down the rest of the stairs behind russ. "where's vi and mun bun?" demanded the oldest of the six little bunkers, staring up the dust-filled stairway. "oh! oh! help me up!" shrieked vi from the attic. "help me!" cried mun bun, very much frightened too. "somebody is holding me down." "oh, dear! oh, dear!" cried rose, wringing her hands and looking at russ. "that old roof has fallen in and vi and mun bun are caught under it!" chapter ii very exciting news the old house was still groaning and shaking under the impact of the lightning-smitten tree. it seemed, indeed, as though the whole roof was broken in and that gradually the house must be flattened down into the cellar. dust and bits of broken wood and plaster were showering down the open stairway. although the house might be falling, russ felt he had to go up those stairs to the aid of the shrieking vi and mun bun. they were both caught under some of the fallen rubbish, and it was russ bunker's duty, if nothing more, to aid the younger children. russ did not often shirk his duty. being the oldest of the six bunker children, he felt his responsibility more than other boys of his age might have done. anyway, when the others needed help, russ's first thought was to aid. he was that kind of boy, as all the readers of this series of stories know very well. almost always russ bunker was not far from a set of carpenter's tools, of which he was very proud, or from other means of "making things." his brothers and sisters thought him quite wonderful when it came to planning new means of amusement and building such things as play automobiles and boats and steam-car trains. it was quite impossible for russ now, however, to think up any invention that would help his small sister and brother out of their trouble in the attic of the old house. he was quite helpless. nine-year-old russ bunker was an inventive, cheerful lad, almost always with a merry whistle on his lips, and quite faithful to the trust his parents imposed in him regarding the well-being of his younger brothers and sisters. with rose, who was a year younger than russ, the boy really took much of the care in the daytime of the other little bunkers. the older ones really had to do this--or else there would have been no fun for any of them. you see, if the older children in a family will not care for the younger, and cheerfully look after them, there can never be so much freedom and fun to enjoy as these six little bunkers had. rose was a particularly helpful little girl, and, being eight years old now, she could assist mother bunker a good deal; and she took pride in so doing. that she was afraid of "thunder strokes" must not be counted against her. ordinarily she made the best of everything and was of a sunny nature. the twins, violet and fillmore, came next in the group of little bunkers. these two had their own individual natures and could never be overlooked for long in any party. violet was much given to asking questions, and she asked so many and steadily that scarcely anybody troubled to answer her. her twin, called laddie by all, had early made up his mind that the greatest fun in the world was asking and answering riddles. margy's real name was margaret, and, as we have seen, mun bun had named himself (just for ordinary purposes) when he was very small. not that he was very large now, but he could make a tremendous amount of noise when he was--or thought he was--hurt, as he was doing on this very occasion when he and vi were caught by the crushing-in of the house roof. after we got acquainted with the bunker family at home in pineville, pennsylvania, they all started on a most wonderful vacation which took them first to the children's mother's mother's house. so, you see, _that_ story is called "six little bunkers at grandma bell's." from that lovely place in maine the six little bunkers went to their aunt jo's, then to cousin tom's, afterward to grandpa ford's, then to uncle fred's. they had no more than arrived home at pineville after their fifth series of adventures, than captain ben, a distant relative of mother bunker's, and recently in the war, came along and took the whole bunker family down with him to his bungalow at the seashore, the name of that sixth story of the series being "six little bunkers at captain ben's." and the six certainly had had a fine time at grand view, as the seashore place was called, until this very september day when an equinoctial storm had been blowing for twenty-four hours or more and the lightning-struck tree had fallen upon the roof of the old house in which the six little bunkers were playing. but now none of the little bunkers thought it so much fun--no, indeed! at the rate vi and mun bun were screaming, the accident which held them prisoners in the attic of the old house seemed to threaten dire destruction. russ bunker, when he had recovered his own breath, charged up the dust-filled stairway and reached the attic in a few bounds. but the floor boards were broken at the head of the stairs, and almost the first thing that happened to him when he got up there into the dust and the darkness--yes, and into the rain that drove through the holes in the roof!--was that his head, with an awful "tunk!" came in contact with a broken roof beam. russ staggered back, clutching wildly at anything he could lay his hands on, and all but tumbled backwards down the stairs again. but in clutching for something to break his fall russ grabbed vi's curls with one hand. he could not see her in the dark, but he knew those curls very well. and he was bound to recognize vi when the little girl stammered: "what's happened? did the house fall on my legs, russ? _must_ you pull my hair off to get me out?" mun bun was bawling all by himself, but near by. he seemed to be quite as immovable as vi. and perhaps russ would have been unable to get out either of the unfortunates by himself. just then there came a shout of encouragement from outside, and the rapid pounding of feet. the door below burst open and daddy bunker's welcome voice cried out: "here i am, children! here i am--and captain ben, too! where are you all?" in the dusky kitchen it was easy enough to count the three little bunkers who remained there. but daddy bunker was heartily concerned over the absent ones. "where are russ and vi and mun bun?" cried daddy bunker. "they're upstairs--under that old thunder stroke," gasped margy. "but i guess they're not all dead-ed yet." "i guess not!" exclaimed captain ben, who was a very vigorous young man, being both a soldier and a sailor. "they are all very much alive." that was proved by the concerted yells of the three in the attic. both men hurried to mount the stairs. the dust had settled to some degree by this time, and they could see the struggling forms. russ had almost got vi loose, and he had not pulled out her hair in doing so. daddy bunker saw that mun bun was only caught by his clothing. captain ben took vi from russ and daddy bunker released mun bun. then they all came hurriedly down the stairs. mun bun was still weeping wildly. laddie looked at him in amazement. "why--why," he said, "you're a riddle, mun bun." "i'm not!" sobbed the littlest bunker. "yes, you are," said laddie. "this is the riddle: why is mun bun like a sprinkling cart?" "that is too easy!" laughed captain ben, setting vi down on the floor. "it's because mun bun scatters water so easily out of his eyes." they all laughed at that--even mun bun himself, only he hiccoughed too. it did not take much to make the children laugh when the danger was over. "why did the old thunder stroke have to do that?" asked vi. "why did it pin me down across my legs?" daddy bunker hurried them all out of the old house. he was afraid it might fall altogether. "and then where should we be?" he asked. "i couldn't go away out west to cowboy jack's and leave my little bunkers under that old house, could i?" at this russ and rose immediately began to be excited--only for a reason very different from the effects of the storm. they looked at each other quite knowingly. _that_ was what daddy bunker and mother bunker were talking about so earnestly the night before! "oh, daddy!" burst out rose, clinging to his hand, "are you going so far away from us all? aren't you going to take us to cowboy jack's?" "why do they call him that?" asked vi. "is he part cow and part boy?" but daddy bunker replied to rose's question quite seriously: "that is a hard matter to decide. it is a long journey, and you know school will soon begin at pineville. and you must not miss school." "but, daddy," said russ, very gravely, "you know you take us 'most everywhere you go. it--it wouldn't be fair to cowboy jack not to take us to see him, would it?" mr. bunker laughed very much at this suggestion, and hurried them all through the rain toward captain ben's bungalow. chapter iii the silver lining one might think that the accident at the old house would have been excitement enough for the six little bunkers for one forenoon. but russ and rose, at least, and soon all the other children, were bubbling with the thought of daddy bunker's going west again to look into a big ranch property to which one of his customers had recently fallen heir. to travel, to see new things, to meet wonderfully nice and kind people, seemed to be the fate of the six little bunkers. russ and rose were sure that no family of brothers and sisters ever had so much fun traveling and so many adventures at the places they traveled to as they did. russ and rose were old enough to read about the adventures of other children--i mean children outside of nursery books--and so far the older young bunkers quite preferred their own good times to any they had ever read about. "why!" russ had once cried confidently, "we have even more fun than robinson crusoe and his man friday. of course we do." "yes. and _they_ had goats," admitted rose thoughtfully. the thought of daddy's going away from them, in any case, would have excited the children. but the opening of their school had been postponed for several weeks already, and russ and rose, at least, thought they saw the possibility of their father's taking mother bunker and all the children with him to the southwest. "only," russ said gravely, "i don't much care for the name of that man. he sounds like some kind of a foreign man--and you know how those foreign men were that built the railroad down behind our house in pineville." "what makes 'em foreign? their whiskers?" asked vi, her curiosity at once aroused. "do all foreigners have whiskers? what makes whiskers grow, anyway? daddy doesn't have whiskers. why do other folks?" "mother doesn't have whiskers, either," said margy gravely. "say! why?" repeated violet insistently. "daddy shaves every morning. that is why he doesn't have whiskers," said rose, trying to pacify the inquisitive violet. "well, does mother shave, too?" immediately demanded vi. "i never saw her brush. but i've played with daddy's. i painted the front steps with it." "and you got punished for it, you know," said russ, grinning at her. "but we were not talking about whiskers--nor shaving brushes." "yes we were," said the determined vi. "i was asking about them." "is that man father is going to see an _awful_ foreigner, russ?" rose wanted to know. "i guess not. father says he's a nice man. he has met him, he says. but his name--oh, it's awful!" "what _is_ his name?" asked vi instantly. if there was a possible chance of crowding in a question, vi had it on the tip of her tongue to crowd in. this was an hour after the "thunder stroke" had caused such damage to the old house, and vi was quite her inquisitive little self again. "his name----" said russ. then he stopped and began to search his pockets. the others waited, but violet was not content to wait in silence. "what's the matter, russ? do you itch?" "no, i don't itch," said the boy, with some irritation. "well, you act so," said vi. "what are you doing then, if you're not itching?" "she means scratching!" exclaimed rose, but she stared at russ, too, in some curiosity. "oh! i know!" cried laddie. "it's a riddle." "what's a riddle?" asked his twin sister eagerly. "what russ is doing," said the little boy. "i know that riddle, but i can't just think how it goes. let's see: 'i went out to the woodpile and got it; when i got into the house i couldn't find it. what was it?'" and laddie clapped his hands delightedly to think that he had asked a real riddle. "oh, i know! i know!" shouted margy eagerly. "you do?" asked laddie. "what is it, then?" "my black dinah dolly that i lost somewhere and we never could find." "that isn't the whole of that riddle, laddie," said russ. "you ought to say: 'and i had it in my hand all the time.' then you ask 'what was it?'" "well, then," said laddie, rather disappointed to think he had made a mistake in the riddle after all. "what _was_ it, russ?" "it was a splinter," said russ, now drawing a scrap of paper from one pocket. "and here it is----" "not the splinter?" gasped rose. "no. it was this piece of paper i was hunting for. i wasn't scratching, either. here it is. this is that foreign man's name." "what man's name?" asked vi, who by this time had forgotten what the main subject of the discussion was. "cowboy jack's name!" cried rose. "has he got more names than that?" asked vi. "isn't cowboy jack enough name for him?" "his name," said russ, reading what he had scribbled down on the paper, "is 'mr. john scarbontiskil.' that's foreign." "oh!" gasped rose. "i shouldn't think daddy bunker would want to go to see a man with a name like that." "i don't suppose," said russ, "that he can help his name being that." "couldn't he make his own name--and make it a better one?" demanded vi. "you know, mun bun made his name for himself." "i could not pronounce that name at all," said rose to russ. "i guess, after all, maybe we'd better not go to that place." "what place?" "where daddy is going. to that--that cowboy jack's place." "why not?" asked russ, almost as promptly as vi might have asked it had she heard rose's speech. "because," said rose, who was a thoughtful girl, "of course they don't call him cowboy jack to his face, and i should never be able to say scar--scar--scar--whatever it is to him. never!" "nonsense! you can learn to say anything if you try," declared russ loftily. "no," sighed rose, who knew her limitations, "_i_ can't. i can't even learn to say con-stan-stan-stan-ple--you know!" "con-stan-ti-no-ple!" exclaimed russ with emphasis. "yes. that's it," rose said. "but, anyway, i can't say it." "i'd like to know why not?" demanded her brother scornfully. "'cause i get lost in the middle of it," declared rose, shaking her head. "it's too long, russ." "well, 'mr. john scarbontiskil' _is_ long," admitted russ. "but if you practise from now, right on----" "but what is the use of practising if we are not going there with daddy?" "but maybe we'll go," said russ hopefully. "we have got to go to school. i don't mind," sighed rose. "only i do so love to travel about with daddy and mother." "you can practise saying it on the chance of our going," her brother advised. but rose did not really think there was much use in doing that. she said so. she was not of so hopeful a disposition as russ. he believed that "something would turn up" so that the six little bunkers would be taken with daddy and mother to the far southwest. grandma bell often spoke of a "silver lining" to every cloud, and russ was hoping to see the silver lining to this cloud of daddy bunker's going away. at any rate, the fact that mr. bunker had to go to cowboy jack's (we'll not call him mr. scarbontiskil, either, for it _is_ too hard a name) was quite established that very afternoon. daddy received another letter from his pineville client, and he at once said to mother bunker: "that settles it, amy." mrs. bunker's name was amy. "golden is determined that nobody but me shall do the job for him. he offers such a good commission--plus transportation expenses--that i do not feel that i can refuse." "oh, charles," said mrs. bunker, "i don't like to have you go so far away from us. it really is a great way to that town of cavallo that you say is the nearest to cowboy jack's ranch." "i'll take you all home to pineville first. then you will not be quite so far away from me," daddy bunker said reflectively. so daddy and mother were no more happy at the prospect of his being separated from the family than were the children themselves. the six talked about the prospect of daddy's going a good deal. but, of course, they did not spend all their time bewailing this unexpected separation. not at all! there was something happening to the six little bunkers almost all the time, and this time was no exception. the equinoctial storm seemed to have blown itself out by the next morning. as soon as the roads were dried up daddy bunker said they would have to leave captain ben and start back for pineville. meanwhile the children determined to have all the fun possible in the short time remaining to them at grand view. bright and early on this morning appeared tad munson. tad was the "runaway boy" in a previous story, and all those who have read "six little bunkers at captain ben's" will remember him. he was a very likable boy, too, and russ liked tad particularly. "they told me you bunkers were going home soon, so i asked my father to let me come over once more to see you," tad said, by way of greeting. "there's a lot of things you bunkers haven't seen about here, i guess. i know you haven't seen dripping rock." "what is dripping rock?" vi promptly wanted to know. "what does it drip?" "not milk, anyway, or molasses," laughed tad. "it drips water, of course," russ explained. "i have heard of it. you go up the road past the swamp. i know." "that's right," said tad. "it's not far." "i want to go, too, to d'ipping wock," mun bun declared. "of course you do," rose told him. "and if mother lets us go----" mother did. as long as tad was along and knew the way, she was sure nothing would happen to her little bunkers. at least, nothing worse than usual. something was always happening to them, she told daddy, whether they stayed at home or not. "don't go into the swamp, that is all," said mother bunker. "why not?" asked vi. "i know a riddle about a swamp," said laddie eagerly. "why is a swamp like what we eat for breakfast?" "goodness!" cried rose. "that can't be. i had an egg and two slices of bacon for breakfast, and that couldn't be anything like a swamp." "but you ate something else," cried laddie delightedly. "you ate mush. and isn't a swamp just like mush?" "huh! you wouldn't think so if you ever tasted swamp mud," said tad. "but i guess that is a pretty good riddle after all," russ told the little boy kindly. "for the mush and the swamp are both soft." "and--and mushy," said margy. "i think that's a very nice riddle, laddie. why do we eat swamps for breakfast?" "goodness! we don't!" exclaimed rose. "now, come along. if we are going to the dripping rock, we'd better start." it was not far--not even in the opinion of mun bun. they took a road that led right back from the shore, and you really would not have known the sea was near at all when once you got into that path. for there were trees on both sides, and for half the way at least there were no open fields. "i hear somebody calling," said russ suddenly, as he led the way with tad. "somebody shouting," said tad. "i wonder what he wants!" "i hear it," cried rose suddenly. "is he calling for help?" "hurry up," advised tad. "i guess somebody wants something, and he wants it pretty bad." "well," said russ, increasing his pace, but not so much so as to leave mun bun and margy very far behind, "if he wants help, of course he wants it bad. oh! there's the swamp." they came to the opening. there were a few trees here on either side of the road, which was now made of logs laid down on the soft ground. grass grew between the logs. there were pools of water, and other pools of very black mud with only tufts of tall grass growing between them. "oh!" cried rose, who had very bright eyes, "i see him!" "who do you see?" demanded tad, who was turning around and trying to look all ways at once. "there! can't you see him?" demanded rose, with growing excitement. "oh, the poor thing!" just then an unmistakable "bla-a-at!" startled the other children--even tad munson. he brought his gaze down from the trees into the branches of which he had been staring. "bla-a-at!" was the repeated cry, which at first the children had thought had been "help!" "and sure enough," russ said confidently, "he is saying 'help!' just as near as he can say it." "the poor thing!" sighed rose again. chapter iv what was stuck in the mud russ began to whistle a tune, as he often did when he was puzzled. it was not that he was puzzled about the thing he saw--and which rose had seen first--but at once russ felt that he must discover a way to get the blatting object out of the mud. "what do you know about that!" cried tad munson. "that's john winsome's red calf. see! he's sunk clear to his backbone in the mud." "oh, dear me!" cried rose. "the poor thing!" she had said that twice before, but everybody was so excited that none of them noticed that rose was repeating herself. in fact, both vi and margy said the very same thing, and in chorus: "oh, the poor thing!" "is that a red calf, tad munson?" asked laddie. "for if it is, it's a riddle. its head and its neck and its tail are all splattered with mud." "it was a red calf when it went into the swamp, all right," said tad with confidence. "i know that calf, all right. and john winsome told me only this morning that he had lost it." "who put it in that horrid swamp?" vi demanded. "i guess it just wandered in," said tad. "and it is sinking down right now," russ tried. "see it?" indeed the poor calf--a well grown animal--was in a very serious plight. it was eight or ten feet from the edge of the road where the logs were. and the calf had evidently struggled a good deal and was now quite exhausted. it turned its head to look at the children and blatted again. "oh, dear!" said margy, almost in tears, "it is asking us to help it just as plain as it can." "i'm going to run and tell john winsome--right now i am!" shouted tad, and he turned around and ran back along the road they had come just as fast as he could run. but russ stayed where he was. his lips were still puckered in a whistle and he was thinking hard. "what can we do for the poor calf, russ?" asked rose. she seemed to think that her brother would think up some way of helping the mired creature. no knowing how long tad would be in finding the owner, and it looked as though the calf was sinking all the time. russ bunker had quite an inventive mind. the other children were helpless in this emergency, but he began to see how he could help the calf stuck in the muddy swamp. he ran to the roadside fence, which was a good deal broken down just at the edge of the open swamp lands. the fence rails were so old and dry that russ could pull them, one at a time, away from the posts. he dragged the first one to the spot where the calf was blatting so pitifully. although these cedar rails had been split out of logs many years before, they were still very strong. "come on, rose! you can help drag these rails too," cried russ, quite excited by the thought that he might be able to save the calf before tad munson brought help. "oh! what are you going to do? are you going to burn that poor calf like the indians used to burn folks?" asked vi, who remembered something she had heard at uncle fred's ranch. "you going to burn the calf at the stake?" this was a horrifying thought, but even laddie, who was very tender-hearted, was too much excited to think of this. he said to his twin sister: "how silly, vi! you couldn't burn those old rails on that wet place. the fire would go right out." "russ won't burn it, or let it drown either," margy said, with much confidence in their older brother. meanwhile russ and rose were pulling off fence-rails and dragging them to the edge of the swamp. then, while rose brought more, russ began to lay the rails on the quivering mire, side by side but about a foot apart, the ends of the first row of rails being only a few inches from the side of the calf. having made a foundation of four rails upon the soft muck, russ began to lay the next tier across them, thus building a platform. it was a shaky platform, but he crept out upon it slowly and carefully and the lower rails did not sink much. "won't you sink down in the mud, too, if you do that, russ?" asked vi curiously. "won't those old rails get splinters in your hands?" "oh!" cried laddie, jumping up and down in his excitement, "then you'll be the riddle, russ. 'i went out to the woodpile and got it'--you know." "maybe it's a riddle--what i'm going to do for the poor calf when i can reach him," their brother said. "i know i can get to him; but how can i pull him up out of the mud?" this was a harder question to answer than one of vi's. the rails did not sink much under russ's weight, and he believed he could get within reach of the calf. but, having reached the animal, what could the boy do? "bla-a-at!" bawled the calf, his smutched head lifted out of the mire. "oh, dear! the poor bossy!" gasped rose, staggering along with another rail. "how you going to help him, russ?" "give me that rail," commanded her brother, standing up gingerly upon the crisscrossed rails. "i bet i can keep him from sinking any farther, anyway. and maybe tad will find his owner before long." russ had just thought of something to do. he balanced himself carefully and took the last rail from rose. "oh, russ!" cried vi, "your shoes are getting all muddy." "well, i can clean them, can't i?" panted the boy. "how can you when you haven't any blacking and brush here?" asked vi. russ paid her and her question no attention. he had too much to think of just then. he pointed the rail he held downward and pushed it into the mire just beyond the far end of the platform he had built. the calf bawled again, and struggled some more; but russ knew he was not hurting the creature, although he could feel the end of the rail scraping down along the calf's side. he pushed down with all his might until at least half the length of the rail was out of sight. it was poked down right behind the calf's forelegs. russ thought that if he could pry up the fore-end of the calf, the animal could not drown in the mud. this is what he tried to do, anyway. and although the calf began to struggle again, being evidently very much frightened, russ was able to force the end of the rail up, and lifted the calf's head and shoulders. "oh, russ, you're doing it!" cried rose. the other children jumped up and down in their delight, and praised him too. all but mun bun. he didn't say anything, for the very good reason that he was no longer there to say it! nobody had noticed the little boy for the last few minutes. mun bun always liked to help, and he had first followed rose to try to pull a rail off the fence. this was too heavy for mun bun, so he had wandered along the road to find a rail or a stick or something that he could drag back to help make russ bunker's platform. none of the others had noticed his absence, and mun bun was out of sight when russ, with the help of rose, bore down on the end of the fence rail far enough to hoist the calf half way out of the mire. "where's mun bun?" demanded rose, looking around. "can you save the calf, russ?" asked vi. russ, however, like rose, was instantly alarmed by the absence of mun bun. a dozen things might happen to the littlest bunker here in the swamp. "where is he?" rejoined russ. he jumped up and the rail began to tip again, dousing the poor calf into the mire. "don't, russ!" screamed rose. "he's going down again!" russ sat down on the fence rail, and the calf came up, bawling pitifully. it was a very serious problem to decide. if they ran to find mun bun, the calf would be lost. what could russ bunker do? chapter v good-bye to grand view "didn't you--any of you--see which way he went?" rose demanded of the other children. "oh! if mun bun gets into the swamp----" "of course he won't," said margy. "he isn't a bossy-calf." "of course he won't," added laddie. "mother told us not to, and mun bun will mind mother." "shout for him!" commanded russ, and raised his own voice to the very top note in calling mun bun's name. the chorus of calls brought no response from mun bun. only an old crow cawed in reply, and of course he knew nothing about mun bun or where he had gone. russ got off the rail again in his excitement, and down went the calf! "oh, you mustn't!" gasped rose. "you'll drown him." "but i guess we've got to find mun bun," said vi. russ, however, had another idea. he was frightened because of the little boy's disappearance, but he did not want to lose the calf, having already partly saved him from the mud. "you and laddie, vi, come here and help rose hold down the rail," said russ. "but i must go look for mun bun, too!" cried rose. "wait a minute," said russ, "and we'll all go and hunt for him." russ had noticed a post of the old fence that had rotted off close to the ground. it was quite a heavy post, but russ was strong enough to drag it to the side of the miry pool where the calf was fixed. he rolled the post upon the platform, and then on the end of the rail which the other children were holding down. the post did not stay there very firmly at first. it was not perfectly round and it was gnarled (which means lumpy), and it did not seem to want to stay in place at all. russ, however, was very persevering. he was anxious too, to keep the poor calf from drowning in the mud. and at length he got the post fixed to suit him. "now get up," russ told them, and rose and vi and laddie stood up. "that fixes it!" cried laddie, in great excitement. "it's all right if the calf doesn't struggle much while we are gone," said russ doubtfully. "which way did mun bun go?" "he went on ahead, towards that dripping rock we started to see," said vi. "i saw him start, but i didn't think he was going to run away." so the five bunkers started off hurriedly along the log road through the swamp, calling for mun bun as they went, and hoping he had not got into real trouble. and he had not come to any harm, although he had wandered some distance from the swampy pool where the calf was. by and by mun bun heard them calling, and he called back. but he was so busy that he did not return. they ran on along the road and at last around a turn, and there was mun bun down on his hands and knees in the middle of the road, so much interested in what he was looking at that he did not at first give the others much of his attention. "what are you doing, mun bun?" cried rose, first to reach the little boy. "oh, what's that?" asked vi, at once curious when she saw the object before mun bun. "i dess it's a box," said mun bun, looking over his shoulder. "but sometimes it walks. i'm waiting to see it walk again." "a walking box!" shouted laddie. "i can make a riddle out of that, i know. when is a box not a box at all?" "when it's a turtle!" exclaimed russ, beginning to laugh. "no, no!" said laddie. "that isn't the answer. when it walks. that is the answer to _my_ riddle, russ." "that is an awfully funny looking turtle," rose said. "see how high up it is." none of them had ever seen a wood tortoise before, and the box-like, horny shell was not like that of the little mud-turtles in rainbow river or the snapping turtle laddie had found at uncle fred's. the tortoise was so scared (for mun bun had been poking it with a stick) that its legs and head were drawn into the shell and it refused to move. russ did not know but that the tortoise would bite, so he said they had all better go back to the calf. mun bun did not like to give up his new-found treasure, but he went back, clinging to rose's hand and looking back at the tortoise as long as he could see it. when they came to the place where the calf had been stuck in the mud there was tad munson and with him a man. the man had already dragged the calf out to the road and was wiping the mud off with a bunch of grass. "i declare, you are smart young ones," said john winsome. "i would not have lost this calf for a good deal. i thank you. i never would have got him out if you hadn't thought of those rails, sonny." russ did not much care about being called "sonny." he said that he might as well have been called "moony"--and he didn't go mooning about at all! older folk were always calling him "young staver" and "chip of the old block," and things like that. they didn't mean any harm; but of course russ, like other boys, did not fancy being called out of name. and "sonny" did not make the oldest bunker feel dignified at all. "don't mind, russ," said rose in a soft little voice when the man had led the staggering calf away. "don't mind if he did call you sonny. i guess he thinks you are pretty smart just the same. anyway, we know you are." "i would have helped you get the rails and build that platform if i had stayed," said tad munson. "but i don't know that i would ever have thought of using the rails to save that poor calf. you see, all i could think of was running for john winsome." "and i guess that was the first thing to think about," russ observed, nodding. "anyway, it's all over now and the calf is safe again. we might as well go on to the dripping rock and see what it looks like." "oh, yes!" cried vi. "and find out what it drips." they trooped along the road, and, coming to the place where mun bun had so earnestly studied the wood tortoise, the little bunkers were surprised to find that the hard-shelled creature had totally disappeared. "oh!" mourned mun bun. "my turkle is gone. somebody come and took him." "no," rose told the little boy. "he was watching you very slyly, and when he saw you had gone, he ran away just as fast as he could travel." "he needn't have been so scared," said mun bun, in disgust. "i wouldn't have hurt him." "but you were poking him with a stick, you know, and he prob'ly thought you might poke his eyes out. come on; let's hurry to the dripping rock." they did this, and vi, in her curiosity, even got wetted a good deal with the water that dripped from the rock where the spring welled out of the ground and spattered over the lip of the stone basin on top of the big boulder. ferns grew all about the pool of water below, and rose and vi and margy gathered a lot of these to carry home to mother bunker. "i want to pick ferns, i do!" cried mun bun. "i want to take mother the biggest bunch of all." he worked so hard at pulling the ferns that he tired himself out. and that and the walk to the dripping rock and the excitement about the calf in the mud, added to the walk back to captain ben's bungalow, made mun bun very tired and not a little cross when he got home. "i want to give these ferns to mother. and i want my face and hands washed. and i want bwead and milk and go to bed right away!" was mun bun's declaration. although it was only lunch time, they let him have his way, for mun bun often took a nap in the early afternoon and mother said it made him as bright as a new penny when he woke up again. so it was the others, and not mun bun, who told their elders about the calf stuck in the mud. the end of their stay at captain ben's bungalow had now come, and although all the little bunkers were sorry to leave captain ben and remembered with delight all the fun they had had here at grand view, home at pineville beckoned them. "even if we have to go to school," said russ, "it will seem like visiting at first. don't you think so? almost as though our vacation kept on--because we haven't been home much." "well," sighed rose, to whom he spoke, "i sort of like to go to school. but if father goes 'way out west to that cowboy jack's, and without us," and she sighed again, "it will seem awfully hard, russ." "maybe something will happen!" cried the oldest little bunker suddenly. but just what did happen, even russ bunker could not possibly have imagined. chapter vi the coal strike mother, of course, took mun bun and margy back to pineville by train. it was much too long a journey for them in an automobile. mr. bunker, with the four bigger little bunkers (doesn't that sound funny?) drove in a motor-car and spent one night's sleep on the way at a very pleasant country inn. they did not have quite so much excitement here as they had at the farmhouse on their way down to the shore. but rose and vi had a room all to themselves, and felt themselves quite grown-up travelers. russ and laddie were in a second bed in mr. bunker's room, and in the night laddie must have had a very exciting dream because he began to kick about and thrash with his arms and woke up russ very suddenly. "get off me!" cried russ. "stop!" then he became wide awake, sat up, and saw that it was not a dog jumping all over him, as he had supposed, but his brother. "why, laddie!" he exclaimed, shaking the younger boy. "if you don't stop i'll have to get out and sleep on the floor." "oh!" gasped laddie. "am i sleeping?" "well, you're not now, i guess. but you were sleeping--and kicking, too." "oh!" said laddie again. "i thought that old calf was pulling me down into the mud to take a bath. that--that must be a riddle, russ." "what's a riddle?" asked his brother, yawning. "when is a dream not a dream?" asked laddie promptly. "i--ow!--don't know," yawned russ. "when you wake up," declared laddie with conviction. but russ did not answer. he had snuggled down into his pillow and was asleep again. "well--anyway," muttered laddie, "i guess that wasn't a very good riddle after all." they got home to pineville the next day, and as the automobile rolled into the bunker yard mother and norah, the cook, besides mun bun and margy, were in the doorway. the two little folks at once ran screaming into the yard. "there's a strike!" cried out margy. "you tan't go to school!" added mun bun. "what do you mean--strike?" asked russ wonderingly. "that old thunder struck us. that's enough," said rose, harking back to their exciting time in the old house at the seashore. "who got struck?" asked violet. "did it hurt them--like it did mun bun and me when the tree fell on us?" "it's a coal strike," said margy. "and the school can't have any coal." neither rose nor russ just understood this. what had a coal strike to do with their going to school? but they found out all about it after a time. something quite exciting had happened in pineville while they had been down at grand view. of course, it happened in quite a number of other places at the same time; but only as the coal strike affected their home town did it matter at all to the six little bunkers. daddy bunker had plenty of coal in the cellar against the coming of cold weather when the furnace should be started. but everybody was not as fortunate--or as wise--as daddy bunker. and in the school bins no coal had been placed early in the season. suddenly the delivery of coal in cars to pineville was stopped. the coal dealers in the town had no coal to deliver, although they had sold a great deal of it for delivery. frost had come. indeed, the flowers and plants in the gardens were already blackened by the touch of jack frost's scepter. that meant that soon it would be so cold that little boys and girls could not sit in the big rooms of the schoolhouse unless there were warm fires to send the steam humming through the pipes and radiators. "here we are, three weeks late for school already, and no likelihood of coal coming into the town for another month. of course there will be no school," mother bunker said decidedly. "i should not dare let the children go in any case unless the fires were built." "quite right," said daddy bunker. "and i presume the other people will feel the same about their children. school must be postponed again." "oh, bully!" cried russ. he shouted it out so loud that the older folks, as well as the children, looked at him in some amazement. "what is bully?" asked vi. "do you mean a coal strike is bully? why can't we have coal to burn? who has got our coal?" nobody gave her questions much attention, which of course was not unusual. but daddy bunker began to laugh. "i can see what is working in russ's mind," he said. "you reason from the cause of a lack of coal, to an effect that you need not go to school?" "i--i don't mind going to school," rose said, a little doubtfully but looking at her elder brother. "and i don't mind, either," said russ promptly. "only daddy is going to that cowboy jack's. and if we can't go to school for a month, why can't we go with daddy? we might as well." "oh! oh!" cried the other children in chorus, seeing very plainly now what russ had meant by saying the coal strike was "bully." "perhaps you are taking too much for granted," mother bunker said soberly. "still, charles, maybe i had better not unpack our trunks quite yet?" "i'll see what the outlook is to-morrow morning," said daddy bunker quite soberly. "anyway, i shall not start for the southwest until day after to-morrow. will that give you time, if----?" "oh, yes," said mother bunker, who had become by this time an expert in making quick preparations for leaving home. "norah and jerry will get on quite well here." this was enough to set the six little bunkers in a ferment. at least, to put their minds in a ferment. they were so excited and so much interested in the possibility of going away again that they could not "settle," as norah said, to their ordinary pursuits. even rose had by this time decided that she would be able perhaps to pronounce the name of the man daddy bunker was going to see--mr. john scarbontiskil. "and, anyway," she told russ, "maybe i won't have to talk to him much." "you needn't mind that," said russ kindly. "daddy says everybody calls him cowboy jack. daddy has met him and likes him, and he told me that cowboy jack likes children, although he has none of his own." "why hasn't he?" demanded vi. "don't they have little boys and girls down there on the ranch where he lives?" "he hasn't got any," said russ. "so he likes other people's children." [illustration: russ and laddie got out their cowboy and indian suits. _six little bunkers at cowboy jack's._ (_page _)] russ and laddie were very busy getting out their cowboy and indian suits and having norah mend them. of course they would want to dress like other people did in the southwest. the coal strike in western pennsylvania really did send the six little bunkers off to the southwest almost as soon as they had returned from the seashore and their visit to captain ben. daddy came home the next noon and said that coal enough to supply the pineville school might not arrive before november. at least, there would be four full weeks before school could safely open. "we might as well make a long holiday of it, charles," said mother bunker, quite complacently. for she, too, liked to travel, and had, by now, got used to journeying about with the children. russ and rose were so helpful, too, that a trip to cavallo did not seem such a huge undertaking after all. "shall we take our bathing suits, mother?" asked rose. "no bathing suits this time, for we are not going to the seashore," declared mother bunker. but in repacking what few things had been unpacked there were two things forgotten. the children really did not have time to "count up" and see if they had all their most precious possessions with them. it was after they were on the train the following morning, and pineville station, with norah and jerry waving good-bye on the platform, was out of sight, that rose suddenly discovered a lack that made her cry out in earnest. "oh! oh! i've lost it!" she said. "what you lost?" asked vi. "my watch!" gasped rose. "oh, dear me! your nice new wrist watch?" asked mother bunker admonishingly. "yes, ma'am," sighed rose. "i--i haven't got it." "oh, my!" cried laddie suddenly. he was fumbling at his scarf and trying to look at it by pulling it out to its full length and squinting down his nose at its pretty pattern. "and what's the matter with you, laddie?" asked daddy bunker. "what have you lost?" "oh, my!" said laddie, quite as dolefully as rose had spoken. "i--i don't see my new stick-pin. it isn't here. i--i just guess i have lost it, too." chapter vii the soup juggler rose was almost in tears when she found that her watch was lost. but although laddie felt very bad about his missing stick-pin, he would not cry. just the same, he did not feel as though he could make a riddle out of it. "now, rose, and you, laddie," said mother bunker admonishingly, as she seated them before her in one of the double seats of the pullman car in which they had their reservations, "i want to know all about how you came to forget the watch and the pin--and just where you forgot them?" although mother bunker was usually very cheerful and patient with the children, this was a serious matter. carelessness and inattention were faults that mother bunker was always trying to correct. for those two faults, as she pointed out so frequently, led often to much trouble, as in this case. the loss of the wrist watch and the stick-pin could not be passed over lightly. laddie shook his head very sorrowfully. "that _is_ a riddle, mother," he said. "i can forget things so easy that i forget how i forget them." but rose was thinking very hard, and she broke out with: "maybe i never had it there at all!" "where?" asked mrs. bunker, while the other children stood in the aisle or knelt on the seat behind to listen at the conference. "where didn't you have it?" "at home, mother. i--i guess i haven't seen that watch since we were at captain ben's." "oh!" shouted laddie. "that is just it! i left my stick-pin at the bungalow. i left it sticking in that cushion on the bureau in that room where russ and mun bun and i slept. of course i did." "are you sure, laddie?" asked mrs. bunker. "i remember that i did not go into that room to see if anything was left. i should have done so, but we were in such a hurry." "my rememberer is all right now," declared laddie, with conviction. "that is where i left the pin." "and you, rose?" asked their mother. "i--i don't know for sure," admitted rose. "i can't remember where i had the watch last--or when i wore it last. but i do not believe i had it at all when we came home to pineville." "well, laddie is positive, and i suspect that you were quite as careless as he was," mrs. bunker said. "you should not be, rose, for you are older." "oh, mother! i am so sorry," cried rose. "don't you suppose we'll ever see my watch and laddie's pin again?" "we will write a letter to captain ben at once," said mrs. bunker, getting the writing pad and fountain pen out of her bag. "he has not left grand view, and he may have already found them both. but, of course, we cannot be sure." "he would know they belonged to rose and laddie, if he found them," said russ, trying to comfort the others. "yes. if he cleans up the house he might find them. but it is likely that he will hire somebody to do that, and we cannot be sure that the person cleaning up is honest." "oh, how mean! to steal rose's watch and laddie's pin!" cried russ. "what makes them steal, mother?" queried vi. "because they have not been taught that other people's possessions are sacred," said mrs. bunker gravely. "you know, i tell all you children not to touch each other's toys or other things without permission." "well!" ejaculated vi, "laddie took my book." "i didn't mean to keep it," cried her twin at once. "and, anyway, it wasn't a sacred book. it was just a story book." "stealing is an intention to defraud," explained their mother, smiling a little. "but vi's book was just as sacred, or set apart, to her possession as anything could be." "i--i thought sacred books were like the bible and the hymn book," murmured laddie wonderingly. which was of course quite so. it took laddie some time, he being such a little boy, to understand that it was the fact of possession that was "sacred" rather than the article possessed. however, mother bunker wrote the letter to captain ben, asking him to hunt all about the bungalow for both the wrist watch rose had lost and the stick-pin laddie was so confident now that he had left sticking in the cushion on the bureau in the bedroom. she also wrote a letter to norah asking the cook to look for the lost articles. "now what will you do with them?" asked vi, referring to the letters. "mail them," replied mother bunker. "how will you mail them? is there a post-box in the car?" "no. but we will find a way of getting them into the mails," her mother assured the inquisitive violet. "i know!" cried russ. "i saw the mailsack hanging on the hook at the railroad station down on the coast, and the train came along and grabbed it off with another hook." "that is getting the mail on to the train," said vi promptly. "but how do they get it off?" when mrs. bunker had finished writing the letters and had sealed and addressed the envelopes she satisfied vi's curiosity, as well as that of the other children, by giving the letters and a dime to the colored porter, who promised to mail them at the first station at which the train stopped. then they all trooped into the dining car for dinner, where daddy had already secured two tables for his party. they had a waiter all to themselves, and the children thought that he was a very funny man. in the first place, he was very black, and when he smiled (which was almost all the time) he displayed so many and such very white teeth that mun bun and margy could scarcely eat their dinner properly, they looked so often at the waiter. he was a colored man who liked children too. he said he did, and he laughed loudly when vi asked him questions, although he couldn't answer all her questions any better than other people could. "why is he called a waiter?" vi wanted to know. "for he doesn't wait at all. he is running back and forth to the kitchen at the end of the car all the time." "that's a riddle," declared her twin soberly. "'when is a waiter not a waiter?'" "you'll have to answer that one yourself, laddie," said daddy bunker, laughing. "when he's a runner," laddie said promptly. "isn't that a good riddle?" "and he juggles dishes almost as good as that juggler we saw at the show," russ declared. "he must have almost as much skill as a juggler to serve his customers in this car," said mrs. bunker, watching the man coming down the aisle as the train sped around a sharp curve. "oh! look there!" cried rose, who was likewise facing the right way to see the waiter's approach. the smiling black man was coming with a soup toureen balanced on one hand while he had other dishes on a tray balanced on his other hand. the car swayed so that the waiter began to stagger as though he were on the deck of a ship in a heavy sea. "oh! he's going!" sang out russ. the waiter jerked to one side, and almost dropped the soup toureen. then he pitched the other way and his tray hit against one of the diners at another table. "look out what you're doing!" cried the man whom the tray had struck. "yes, sah! yes, sah!" panted the waiter, and he tried to balance his tray. but there was the soup toureen slipping from his other hand. he had either to drop the tray or the soup. each needed the grasp of both his hands to secure it, and the waiter, losing his smile at last and uttering a frightened shout, made a last desperate attempt to retain both burdens. "there he goes!" gasped russ again. "i guess he _is_ a soup juggler," declared laddie, staring with all his might. "he's got it!" after all, the waiter showed wisdom in making his choice as long as a choice had to be made. even daddy bunker, when he could stop laughing, voiced his approval. the tray and the viands on it flew every-which-way. but the waiter caught the hot soup toureen in both hands. it was so hot that he could only balance it first in one hand and then the other while the train finished rounding that curve. "my head an' body!" gasped the poor waiter. "i done circulated de celery an' yo' watah glasses, suah 'nough. but i done save mos' of de soup," and he set the toureen down with a thump in front of daddy bunker. the steward came running with a very angry countenance, and the people who had been spattered by the water sputtered a good deal. but daddy bunker, when he could recover from his laughter, interceded for the "soup juggler," and the incident was passed off as an accident. when daddy paid his bill and tipped the very much subdued waiter, laddie tugged at his father's sleeve and whispered: "what is it, son?" asked mr. bunker, stooping down to hear what the little boy whispered. "ask him if he will juggle the soup again if we come in here to eat?" but mr. bunker only laughed and herded his flock back into the other car. the children, however, thought the incident very funny indeed, and they hoped to see the juggling waiter again when they ate their next meal in the dining car. mother bunker had brought a nicely packed basket for supper (nora o'grady had made the sandwiches and the cookies) and she sent daddy into the buffet car for milk and tea. "the children get just as hungry on the train as they do when they are playing all day long out-of-doors," she told daddy. "but they must not eat too much while we are traveling. and i have to shoo the candy boy away every half hour." the boy who sold magazines and candy interested russ and laddie very much. russ thought that he might become a "candy butcher" when he grew up, although at first he had decided to be a locomotive engineer. "it must be lots nicer to sell candy than to work an engine," laddie said. "you get your hands all oil in an engine." "where does the oil come from?" asked vi, who had not asked a question since she had seen the waiter "juggle" the soup toureen. "what does an engine have oil for? do they keep it in a cruet, like that cruet on the table in the hotel we stopped at coming up from grand view?" and perhaps she asked even more questions, but these are all we have time to repeat right now. for evening had come, and soon the little bunkers would be put to bed. although they had two sections of the sleeping car, there was none too much room when the porter let down the berths and hung the curtains for them. besides, even after the little folks had all got quiet, peace did not reign for long in that sleeping car. the very strangest thing happened. even russ couldn't have invented it. but i will have to tell you about it in the next chapter. chapter viii an alarm and a hold-up of course, the six little bunkers were just ordinary children, although they sometimes had extraordinary adventures. and confinement for only a few hours in a pullman car had made them very restless. it was impossible for them always to keep quiet, and their running up and down the aisles, and their exclamations about what they saw, sometimes annoyed other passengers just a little. most of the passengers in this car were people, fortunately, who liked children and could appreciate how difficult it was for the six to be always on their best behavior. and the passengers could not but admire the way in which daddy and mother bunker controlled the exuberance of the six. but there was one man who had scowled at the little bunkers almost from the very moment they had boarded the train at pineville. that man seemed to say to himself: "oh, dear! here is a crowd of children and they are going to annoy me dreadfully." and, of course, as he expected to be annoyed, there was scarcely anything the bunkers did or said but what did annoy him. he was a very fat man, and the car was sometimes too warm for him, and he was always complaining to the porter about something or other, and altogether he was a very miserable man indeed on that particular journey. maybe he was a nice man at home. but it is doubtful if he had any children of his own, and probably nobody's children would have suited him at all! mun bun and margy made friends with almost everybody in the car but the fat man. he would not even look at mun bun when the little fellow staggered along the car, from seat to seat, and looked smilingly up into the fat man's red face. "go away!" said the fat man to mun bun. mun bun's eyes grew round with wonder at the man's cross speech. he could not understand it at all. he looked at the fat man in a very puzzled way, and then went back to mother bunker's seat. "muvver," he said soberly, "do you got pep'mint?" "i think you have eaten all the candy that is good for you now, mun bun," said mother bunker. "no," said mun bun earnestly. "not tandy. pep'mint for ache," and he rubbed himself about midway of his body very suggestively. "mun bun! are you ill?" demanded his mother anxiously. "are you in pain, you poor baby?" he explained then that he did not need the "pep'mint"; but knowing that mother bunker sometimes gave it to him when he had pain, he said he thought the man up the aisle would like some for the same reason. "better ask him," suggested daddy bunker, who had noted the unhappy face of the fat man. mun bun did this. he asked the man very politely if he needed "pep'mint." but all the cross passenger said was: "go on away! you are a nuisance!" so mun bun went back to daddy and mother in rather a subdued way, for he was not used to being treated so. mun bun liked to make friends wherever he went. perhaps the fat man was the only person in the car who was glad when the bunker children went to bed. he went into the smoking room while his own berth was being made up, and when he came back to the berths, daddy and mother, as well as most of the other passengers, had retired. the car was soon after that pretty quiet. russ and laddie were in the upper berth over daddy and mun bun. the boys in the upper berth had been asleep for some little time when russ woke up--oh, quite wide awake! there was something going on that he could not understand. whether this mysterious something had awakened him or not, russ lay straining his ears to catch a repetition of the sound. then it came--a sound that made the boy "creep" all over it was so shuddery! "laddie! laddie!" he whispered, nudging the boy next to him. "don't you hear it?" laddie was not easily awakened. when laddie went to sleep it was, as the children say, "for keeps." russ had to punch him with his elbow more than once before the smaller boy awakened. "oh, oh! is it morning?" murmured laddie. "listen!" hissed russ right in his ear. "that man's being mur--murdered!" "mur--murdered?" quavered laddie in response. "you--you tell daddy about it, russ bunker. don't you tell me. i don't believe he is, anyway. who's mur--murderin' him?" "i don't know who's doing it," admitted russ, shaking as much as laddie was. "how do you know it's--it's being done?" repeated laddie, his doubt growing as he became more fully awake. "he says so. he says so himself. and if he says he's being murdered, he ought to know--oh!" again the doleful sound reached their ears, this time laddie hearing as well as russ the moaning of a voice which uttered a muffled cry of "mur-r-rder!" "there! what did i tell you?" gasped russ. "i'm--i'm going to tell daddy." "wait for me! wait, russ bunker! i'm going with you," laddie cried. "i don't want to stay here and be mur--murdered, too!" that was an awful word, anyway. russ crept over the edge of the berth at the foot and dropped down behind the curtain. laddie was right behind him, and in fact came down first upon russ's shoulders and then slipped to the floor of the car. before they could get inside daddy's curtain--a place which spelled safety to their disturbed imaginations--they heard the moaning voice again groan: "mur-r-rder!" it was an awful choking cry--just like a hen squawked when jerry simms grabbed it by the neck and had his hand on the hen's windpipe! "he's mur--murderin' him all right," chattered laddie, tugging at russ's pajama jacket. "are--are you going to stop it, russ?" russ had no idea of going himself to the rescue of the victim; he had only thought of waking daddy. but now he put his head outside the curtain and looked into the narrow aisle of the sleeping car. the first thing he saw was the colored porter, his cap on awry, his eyes rolling so that their whites were very prominent, stalking up the aisle in a crouching attitude with the little stool he sometimes sat on in the vestibule gripped by one leg as a weapon. "it's the porter!" whispered russ huskily. "is--is he being mur--murdered?" stuttered laddie. "he--he looks more as though he was going to do the mur-murdering," confessed russ. laddie would not look; but russ could not take his eyes off the approaching porter. the colored man crept nearer, nearer--and then suddenly he snatched away the curtain almost directly across the aisle from where the two little bunkers stood. there was nobody in that lower berth but the fat man before mentioned! he lay on his back with his knees up, his face very red, his eyes tightly closed. again there issued from his lips the stifled cry of "mur-r-rder!" "fo' de lan's sake!" exclaimed the porter, dropping his stool and grabbing the fat passenger by the shoulder. "i suah 'nough thunk somebody was bein' choked to deaf. wake up, mistah white man! ain't nobody a-murderin' of yo' but yo'self." the fat man's eyes opened wide at that and he glared around. he saw the face of the porter at last and blinked his eyes for a moment. then he sighed. "i--i guess i was asleep. must have been dreaming," he stammered gruffly. "say, mistah!" the porter replied, "if yo' sleep like dat always, you bettah have a car by yo'self. for yo' ain't goin' to let nobody else sleep in peace. turn over! yo's on your back." russ and laddie could only stare, and some of the other passengers began to open their curtains and ask questions of the porter. the fat man grabbed his own curtain away from the colored man and quickly shut himself in again. "all right! all right!" said the porter, picking up his stool and going back to his place. "ain't nobody killed yet. guess we goin' to have peace now fo' a while." daddy bunker awoke too and sent his little folks back to bed, and russ and laddie did not wake up again till broad daylight. they had to tell the other little bunkers before breakfast about what had happened; but they never saw the fat man again, for he left the train at a station quite early. there were other things to interest the little bunkers. in the first place, it began to rain soon after they got up. a rainy day at home was no great cross for the children to bear. there was always the attic to play in. but on the train, with the rain beating against the windows and not much to see as the train hurried on, the children began to grow restless. it was reported that the heavy rains ahead of them had done some damage to the railroad, and the speed of the train was reduced until, by the middle of the forenoon, it seemed only to creep along. the conductor, who came through the car once in a while, told them that there were "washouts" on the road. "what's washouts?" demanded vi. "is it clothes on clotheslines, like norah's washlines? why don't they take the wash in when it rains so?" she really had to be told what "washout" meant, or she would have given daddy and mother no peace at all. and the other children were interested in the possibility that the train might be halted by a big hole in the ground where the tracks ought to be. every time the train slowed down they were eagerly on tiptoe to see if the "washout" had come. they were finally steaming through a deep cut in the wooded hills when, of a sudden, the brakes were applied and the train came to a stop with such a shock that the little bunkers were all tumbled together--although none of them was hurt. "here's the washout! here's the washout!" cried laddie eagerly. "can we go look out of the door, mother?" asked rose. for some of the passengers were standing in the vestibule and the door was open. daddy got up and went with the children, all clamorous to see the hole in the ground that had halted the train. but it was not a hole at all. it was something so different from a hole, or a washout as the children had imagined that to be, that when they saw it they were very much excited and surprised. chapter ix the big rock that fell down "where is it? let me see it!" was vi's cry, as she rushed out into the vestibule ahead of daddy bunker and her brothers and sisters. vi was so curious that she thought she just had to be first. daddy bunker tried to restrain her, for he was afraid she would fall down the car steps and out upon the cinder path beside the rails. and although it had now ceased raining, she might easily have been hurt, if not made thoroughly wet. "oh, vi's going to see the washout first!" cried laddie, who did not like to play second when his twin wanted to be first. "now, wait!" commanded daddy. "you shall all see what there is to see----" "i want to see the wash up on the clotheslines," said mun bun, breaking into his father's speech. "well, if you will be patient," mr. bunker said, smiling, "i think we'll all have a fair view of the wonder. but the 'washup' isn't going to be just what you think it is, mun bun." nor was it just what any of the six little bunkers thought it would be--as i said before. daddy went down the steps first and then turned and "hopped" the children down to the cinder path, one after the other. only russ, who came last, jumped down without any assistance. it was still very wet and all about were shallow puddles. but the rain itself had ceased. in places, especially in the ditches alongside the railroad bed, the water had torn its way through the earth, leaving it red and raw. and big stones had been unearthed in the banks of the ditches and in some cases carried some distance away from where they had formerly lain. "why, that isn't a hole in the ground at all!" cried laddie, first to realize that what had made the train stop was something different from what they had all expected. "oh!" shouted violet. "it's a great, big rock that's fallen down the hill." "well," said russ, soberly, "i guess it's a washout at that. for the rain must have washed it out of the hillside. see! there is the hole up there in the bank." "you are right, russ," said daddy bunker. "it is a washout, and it will take a long time to get that big rock off of the track so that the train can go on." the rock that had fallen completely blocked the west-bound track, as daddy said. and a good deal of earth and gravel had fallen with it so that the rails of the east-bound track were likewise buried. there was already a gang of trackmen clearing away this gravel; but, as the children's father had told them, it would take many hours to remove the great boulder. "suppose our train had been going by when the rock fell?" suggested russ to rose. "what would the rock have done to us?" asked vi, who heard her brother say this. "i guess it would have done something," replied russ solemnly. "it would have pushed us right off the track," declared rose, nodding her head. "and what would it have done then?" demanded vi. "i wish you wouldn't, vi," complained her twin suddenly. "wish i wouldn't what?" "ask so many questions." "why not?" "why, i was just thinking of a riddle about that big rock; and now it's all gone," sighed laddie. "no, it isn't gone at all," vi said wonderingly. "daddy says it will take hours to move it." "oh! that old rock!" said laddie. "i meant my riddle. that's all gone." "i guess it wasn't a very good riddle, then, if it went so easy," said the critical vi. "oh, look there!" "at what?" exclaimed her twin, following vi to the fence beside the railroad bed. "see that path, laddie? i guess we could climb right up that hill and see down into that hole where the big rock washed out." "so we could," agreed the boy. "let's." daddy and the other children were some yards away, but in plain sight. indeed, they would be in sight if vi and laddie climbed to the very top of the bank. it did not seem to either of the twins that they needed to ask permission to climb the path when daddy was so near and could see them by just looking up. so they hopped over the low fence and began to climb. it was an easy path, almost all of stone, and the rain had washed it clean. it was great fun to be so high above the railroad and look down upon the crowd of passengers from the stalled train and upon the workmen. the two explorers could see into the hole washed in the hillside, and it was much deeper than it had looked to be when they stood below. there was a puddle of muddy water in it, too. "guess we don't want to fall into that," said laddie, and vi did not even ask why not. "let's go on to the top. we can see farther." vi was quite willing to go as far as her twin did. and there really seemed to be no reason why they should not go. it would be hours before that rock could be moved, and of course the train could not go on until that was done. they reached the top of the bank. here was a great pasture which sloped away to a piece of woods. although the ground was wet, it had stopped raining some time before and a strong wind was blowing. this wind had dried the grass and weeds and the twins did not wet their feet. and---- "oh!" squealed vi, starting away from the edge of the bank on a run. "see the flowers! oh, see the flowers, laddie!" laddie saw the flowers quite as soon as she did, but he did not shout about it. he followed his sister, however, with much promptness, and both of them began to pick the flowering weeds that dotted the pasture. "we'll get a big bunch for mother. won't she be glad?" went on vi. mother bunker was supposed to have a broad taste in flowers, and every blossom the children found was brought for her approval. in a minute the twins were so busy gathering the blossoms of wild carrots and other weeds that they forgot the train, and the big rock that had fallen, and even the fact that they had climbed the bank without permission. at length laddie stood up to look abroad over the great field. perhaps he had pulled the blossoms faster than vi. at any rate, he had already a big handful. suddenly he caught sight of something that interested him much more than the flowers did. there was a stone fence near by which divided the fields. and on the fence something flashed into view and ran along a few yards--something that interested the boy immensely. "oh, look, vi!" cried laddie. "there's a chippy!" "what chippy? who's chippy?" demanded vi excitedly. "there he goes!" shouted laddie. "a chipmunk!" he dropped his bunch of blossoms and started for the stone fence. vi caught a glimpse of the whisking chipmunk, and she dropped her flowers and ran after her brother. "oh, let me catch him! let me catch him!" the chipmunk ran along the stone fence a little way, and then looked back at the excited children. he did not seem much frightened. perhaps he had been chased by children before and knew that he was more than their match in running. at any rate, that chipmunk drew laddie and vi on to the very edge of the woods, and then, with a flirt of its tail, it disappeared into a hole and they could not find him. laddie and vi were breathless by that time, and they had to sit down and rest. they looked back over the field. it was a long way to the brink of the bank from which they could see the train and the passengers. "i--i guess we'd better go back," said laddie. "and mother's flowers!" exclaimed vi. "do you know where you dropped them?" "i dropped mine just where you dropped yours, i guess," returned her brother. "we'll go pick them up. come on." they were both tired when they started to trudge back up the hill. and just as they started they heard a long blast of a whistle, and then two short blasts. "what do you suppose that is?" asked vi. "it's the engine. oh, vi! maybe it's going to start without us," and laddie began to run, tired as he was. "wait for me, laddie! it can't go--you know it can't. the big rock is in the way." but they were both rather frightened, and they did not stop to find their flowers. the possibility that the train might go off and leave them filled the two children with alarm. they ran on as hard as they could, and vi fell down and soiled her hands and her dress. she was beginning to cry a little when laddie came back for her and took her hand. he was frightened, too; but he would not show it by crying--not then, anyway. "come on, vi," he urged. "if that old train goes on with daddy and mother and the rest, i don't know what we _shall_ do!" chapter x where are the twins? the wrecking crew with their big derrick and other tools had not yet arrived in the cut where the stalled west-bound train, on which rode the bunker family, had stopped. but the section gang had shoveled away the dirt and gravel from the east-bound track. russ and rose and margy and mun bun had found plenty to interest them in watching the shovelers and in listening to the men passengers talking with daddy and some of the train crew. finally mun bun expressed a desire to go back into the car, and rose went with him. as they were climbing the steps into the vestibule a brakeman came running forward along the cinder path beside the tracks. "all aboard! back into the cars, people!" he shouted. "we're going to steam back. get aboard!" russ and margy being the only bunker children in sight, mr. bunker "shooed" them back to the pullman car. he saw rose and mun bun disappearing up the high steps, and he presumed laddie and violet were ahead. the train had started and the four children and daddy came to mother's seat before it was discovered that there were two little bunkers missing. "oh, charles!" gasped mrs. bunker. "where are they?" the train began to move more rapidly. "they are left behind!" "no, amy, i don't think so," mr. bunker told her soothingly. "i looked all about before i got aboard and there wasn't a chick nor child in sight. i was one of the last passengers to get aboard. the section men had even got upon their handcar and were pumping away up the east-bound track. there is not a soul left at that place." "then where are they?" cried mother bunker, without being relieved in the least by his statement. "i think they are aboard the train--somewhere. they got into the wrong car by mistake. we will look for them," said mr. bunker. so he went forward, while russ started back through the rear cars, both looking and asking for the twins. as we quite well know, vi and laddie were not aboard the train at all, and the others found this to be a fact within a very few minutes. back daddy and russ came to the rest of the family. "i knew they were left behind!" mother bunker declared again, and this time nobody tried to reassure her. her alarm was shared by daddy and the older children. even margy began to cry a little, although, ordinarily, she wasn't much of a cry-baby. she wanted to know if they had to go on to cowboy jack's and leave vi and laddie behind them--and if they would never find them again. "of course we'll find them," rose assured the little girl. "they aren't really lost. they just missed the train." daddy hurried to find their conductor and talk with him. he came back with the news that the train was only going to run back a few miles to where there was a cross-over switch, and then the train would steam back again into the cut on the east-bound track. the conductor promised to stop there so mr. bunker could look for the lost children. but mother bunker was much alarmed, and the children kept very quiet and talked in whispers. although russ and rose spoke cheerfully about it to the other children, they were old enough to know that something really dreadful might have happened to the twins. "i guess nobody could have run off with them," whispered russ to his sister. "oh, no! there were no gypsies or tramps anywhere about. anyway, we didn't see any." "they weren't carried off. they walked off," said russ decidedly. "maybe they will be back again waiting for the train." they all hoped this would be the fact. the train finally stopped and then steamed ahead again and ran on to the east-bound track that had been cleared of all other traffic so that the passenger train could get around the landslide. mr. bunker and russ went out into the vestibule so as to jump off the train the moment it stopped in the cut. the conductor and one of the brakemen got off too, but other passengers were warned to remain aboard. the train could not halt here for long. russ ran around the big rock that had fallen on the other track, and up the road a way. but there was no sign of vi and laddie. mr. bunker saw the path up the bank, and he climbed just as the twins had and reached the top. the big pasture was then revealed to the anxious father; but vi and laddie were nowhere in view. why! daddy bunker didn't even see the chipmunk laddie and his sister had chased. daddy bunker shouted and shouted. if the twins had been within sound of his voice they surely would have answered. but no answer came. "you'll have to come down from there, mr. bunker!" called the conductor of the train. "we can't wait any longer. we're holding up traffic as it is." so mr. bunker came down to the railroad bed, very much worried and hating dreadfully to go back and tell mother bunker and the rest of the little bunkers that the twins were not to be found. there was nothing else to be done. where the twins could have disappeared to was a mystery. and just what he should do to trace vi and laddie their father could not at that moment imagine. the train started again, but ran slowly. mrs. bunker did not weep as margy did, and as rose herself was inclined to do. but she was very pale and she looked at her husband anxiously. "my poor babies!" she said. "i think we will all have to get off the train at the next station, charles, and wait until vi and laddie are found." daddy bunker could not say "no" to this, for he did not see any better plan. of course they could not go on to cowboy jack's ranch and leave vi and laddie behind. the other passengers in the car took much interest in the bunkers' trouble. most of the men and women had grown fond of violet, in spite of her inquisitiveness, and all admired laddie bunker. it seemed a really terrible thing that the two should have become separated from their parents and the other children. "something is always happening to us bunkers," confessed russ. "but what happens isn't often as bad as this. i don't see what vi and laddie could have been thinking of." we know, however, that the twins had been thinking of nothing but gathering flowers and chasing a chipmunk until that train whistle had sounded. how the twins did run then across the pasture and up to the very verge of the high bank overlooking the railroad cut! "oh, the train's gone!" shrieked vi, when she first looked down. "and the workmen are gone too," gasped laddie. there was nobody left in the cut, and both the train and the handcar on which the section hands had traveled, were out of sight. it was the loneliest place that the twins had ever seen! "now, see what we've done," complained vi, between her sobs. "we ran away and lost mother and daddy and the others. they've gone on to cowboy jack's and left us here." "then we didn't run away from them," laddie said more sturdily. "they ran away from us." "that doesn't make any difference," complained his sister. "we--we're lost and can't be found." "say!" cried laddie suddenly, "how do you s'pose that train hopped over that rock?" this point interested vi at once. it was a most astonishing thing. if the train had gone on to cowboy jack's, it surely had got over that big rock in a most wonderful way. "how did it get over the rock?" vi began. "did it fly over? i never saw the wings on that engine, did you? and if the engine _did_ fly over, it couldn't have dragged the cars with it, could it?" "oh, don't, vi!" begged laddie, much puzzled. "i couldn't tell you all that. maybe they had some way of lifting the train around the rock. anyway, it's gone." "and--and--and what shall _we_ do?" began vi, almost ready to cry again. "we have just got to follow on behind it. i guess daddy will miss us and get off and come back to look for us after a while." "do you suppose he will?" "yes," said laddie with more confidence, as he thought of his kind and thoughtful father. "i am sure he will, vi. daddy wouldn't leave us alone on the railroad with no place to go and nothing to eat." at this vi was reminded that they had not eaten since breakfast, and although it was not yet noon, she declared that she was starving! "you can't be starving yet," laddie told her, with scorn. "we haven't been lost from the train long enough for you to be starving, violet bunker." "well, laddie, i just know we will starve here if the train doesn't come back for us." "maybe another train will come along and we can buy something from the candy boy. you 'member the candy boy on our train? i've got ten cents in my pocket." "oh, have you? that will buy four lollipops--two for you and two for me. i guess i wouldn't starve so soon if i had two lollipops," admitted vi. "i guess you won't starve," laddie told her without much sympathy. "now we must climb down to the tracks and start after daddy's train." "do you suppose we can catch it? will it stop and wait when daddy finds out we're not on it? and are you _sure_ he'll come back looking for us? shall we get supper, do you s'pose, laddie, just as soon as we get on the train? for i'm awfully hungry!" her twin could not answer. like the other bunkers, he was nonplussed by some of vi's questions. nor did he have much idea of how daddy bunker was going to stop the train, which he supposed had gone ahead, and return to meet vi and him trudging along the railroad tracks. chapter xi the man with the earrings the twins got out of the cut between the two hills after a time, and then it _was_ long past noon and laddie was hungry as well as vi. it seemed terrible to the bunker twins to have money to spend and no way to spend it. they might just as well have been on a desert island, like that man robinson crusoe about whom rose read to them. "i know a riddle about that robinson crusoe man. yes, i do!" suddenly exclaimed laddie. "what is the riddle, laddie? do i know it?" "you can try to guess it, vi," said the eager little boy. "now listen! 'how do we know robinson crusoe had plenty of fish to eat?'" "'cause the island was in the water," said vi promptly. "of course there were fish." "well, that isn't the answer," laddie said slowly. "why isn't it?" "because--because the answer is something about friday. you fry fish, you know--and anyway, crusoe's man was named _friday_." "pooh!" scoffed vi. "you fry bacon and eggs and lots of other things, besides those nice pancakes norah makes for breakfast when we're at home. i don't think much of that riddle, laddie bunker, so now!" "i guess it is a good riddle if i only knew how to ask it," complained her twin. "but somehow i've got it mixed up." "don't ask any more riddles like that. they make me hungry," declared vi. "and there isn't a candy shop or anything around here." she came very near to speaking the exact truth that time. on both sides of the railroad track where they now walked so wearily there seemed to be almost a desert. there were neither houses nor trees, and although the country was rolling, it was not at all pleasant in appearance. and how tired their feet did become! if you have ever walked the railroad tracks (which you certainly must never do unless grown people are with you, for it is a dangerous practise) you know that stepping from tie to tie between the rails is a very uncomfortable way to travel, because the ties are not laid at equal distances apart. first vi and laddie had to take a short step and then a long step. and if they missed the tie in stepping, their shoes crunched right down into the wet cinders, for the ground by no means was all dried up since the heavy rain. "oh, me, i'm so tired!" complained vi, after a while. "so'm i," confessed her twin brother. "and i don't see daddy coming for us," added vi, her voice tremulous with tears again. [illustration: "i see something!" cried laddie. _six little bunkers at cowboy jack's._ (_page _)] "i see something!" cried laddie suddenly and hopefully. he did not want his sister to begin crying. "is it daddy bunker?" demanded vi, looking ahead eagerly. "it's a house--right beside the railroad," said laddie, quickening his own pace a little and trying to drag vi along, as he still held her hand. "where? where is the house?" demanded vi anxiously. "i don't see any house." "well, it's a very small house. but there it is," said her brother, pointing ahead with confidence. "oh! i see it, laddie," cried vi. "oh, what a little house it is--and so close to the tracks! do you suppose anybody lives in that little house?" "i don't know. it is small," admitted laddie. "maybe a dog lives in it. it isn't much bigger than mr. striver's dog-house at home in pineville." "i guess it isn't a dog-house. anyway, we'll see." "maybe it's a candy store," suggested the reviving vi more cheerfully. "if you could spend your dime, laddie, for something to eat, i'd feel a whole lot better, i guess." "oh, i know what it is, vi!" exclaimed the boy suddenly. "it's a riddle." "there you go again with your old riddles," sniffed vi. "we can't eat riddles." "this is a good one," declared her brother cheerfully. "i'm going to ask you: what looks like a dog-house, but isn't a dog-house?" "i don't know. a hen-house, laddie?" "pooh! they don't build hen-houses right down beside railroad tracks, and just where a road crosses the tracks." "don't they? what do they build there, then?" "why," cried laddie, quite delighted at his discovery, "a flagman's house. that is what that little house is, vi. a flagman stays there to stop people from crossing the tracks when the train is coming. there! there's the flagman now. see him?" just as laddie spoke so excitedly a man came out of the little house, and he bore a flag in his hand. unnoticed by the children, there had begun behind them a rumbling sound, and the rails between which they walked began to hum. there was a train coming from the east. the flagman unrolled his flag, and then he looked both ways along the road that crossed the railroad. then he turned and saw the two little folks coming toward him. at sight of them he became much more excited than the children were. "look out-a da train!" he shouted. "look out-a da train!" "what does he say?" asked vi curiously. the flagman began to wave his arms and the flag, and ran toward the twins. he was a man with a very dark face, and his hair was black and curly. but what interested laddie and vi most about the flagman was that he wore big gold rings in his ears. "look out-a da train!" shouted the flagman again. "i never saw a man wearing earrings before," said vi soberly. "and he acts awfully funny, doesn't he?" the little girl began to feel a bit afraid of the strange man. she stopped walking ahead and pulled back on her brother's hand. "i guess he doesn't mean any harm," said laddie doubtfully. but drawn away by vi, he stepped with her off the ties into the path between the east-and west-bound tracks. the flagman stopped running, but still gestured to the children. and just then, quite startling in the twins' ears, sounded the long drawn shriek of a locomotive whistle. laddie and vi glanced behind them. around the curve, out of the railroad cut in which their adventure had begun, was coming a big locomotive drawing a long passenger train. the man with the earrings reached vi and laddie the very next moment. "look-a da train!" he cried. "you bambinoes want-a get run over--yes?" "we're not bambinoes, mister," said laddie. "we're bunkers." vi could not quench her usual curiosity, although the man seemed so strange in her eyes. she asked: "why do you wear rings in your ears? please, why do you wear 'em?" chapter xii cavallo at last the man with the earrings led the twins over the other track so that they would be sufficiently far from the train. to his surprise the engine began to slow down, the engineer and fireman waved their hands as they leaned out of the window and door of the cab, and by and by the train rumbled to a stop. "that looks just like our train," laddie announced confidently. "only ours was traveling on this nearer track. maybe the two trains were racing and our train got ahead in spite of the washout." vi stuck to her subject. she scarcely looked at the train when it first stopped. her gaze was fastened upon the flagman who had showed such anxiety for her safety and that of laddie. "say, please, mister," she continued to ask, "what makes you wear earrings?" a pullman coach had halted just opposite the spot where the twins and the flagman stood. they saw several people at two of the windows, waving to them. then russ bunker popped out of the front door of the car and down the steps. "look! look! here they are!" russ shouted, as he ran toward his brother and sister and the man who wore earrings. "why, russ bunker!" ejaculated vi, "how did you come on that train? were you left behind, too?" "come on! hurry up!" the oldest bunker boy replied. "this is our train. and the engineer will stop only a minute. do you know, it costs three dollars and thirty-three and a third cents every time the train stops? the brakeman told me so." "why does it cost that much?" demanded vi, forgetting the italian flagman and his earrings, as russ hurried her toward the car steps. "are you sure about the third of a cent, russ?" laddie looked back and waved his hand to the man who wore earrings. "good-bye!" he called to the man. "good-a-bye!" cried the flagman in return, smiling very broadly. "good-a-bye!" "why does he talk so funny?" asked vi, panting, as russ helped her up the car steps and into the vestibule. "he talks broken english," said russ in return. "come on, laddie." vi remembered that answer, and later, when she was helping laddie relate the story of their adventure to mother bunker and daddy and the other children, she declared that the man with the earrings was "a broken englishman," and would have it that russ told her so. it had been a very exciting time, both for the twins when they were lost and for the rest of the family on the train. vi and laddie could not stop talking about it. and, really, it had been a very important adventure in their small experience. "that man with the earrings thought he knew us, too," vi said finally. "of course he didn't know you," rose observed. "he thought we were mrs. bam--bam---- laddie, whose little boy and girl did that man think we were?" laddie did not understand her question at first; but finally he realized what vi meant. "oh, i know! 'bambinoes.' that was the name. he asked us about our being called 'bambinoes.'" "oh, dear me!" laughed mother bunker. "that was his way of saying 'babies.' he called you babies in his mixture of languages." "is that the broken english for little boy and little girl?" scoffed vi. "i guess that man doesn't know very much, even if he _does_ wear earrings." there was quite a celebration over the return of vi and laddie to the train, for the other passengers made a good deal of the two little lost bunkers. a lady and gentleman made a little party for them that afternoon at their end of the car. there was milk bought in the buffet car, and cakes. but mun bun declared he wanted ice-water. nothing else would satisfy his thirst. the glasses brought from home were all in use at the time at the "party"; so somebody had to go with mun bun to the ice-water tank at the other end of the car and get him his drink. "i'll go," said margy. "i can reach the paper cups." "be careful and don't spill the water all over him," mother bunker said to her, and the two smallest bunkers went to the end of the car on that errand. margy borrowed the porter's stool in the anteroom to climb up to the rack where the waxed-paper cups were kept. those cups pleased mun bun greatly. "wouldn't they be nice to make dirt pies in, margy?" suggested the smallest bunker longingly. "and puddings. if we only had 'em when we were at home, wouldn't they be nice?" "but we haven't any sand pile here," margy pointed out. "so we can't make dirt pies in them." "we can fill them with water. there's lots of water. you push that button again, margy, and let some more water run." "but you mustn't spill it on you. you know mother said you shouldn't," replied the little girl. margy was, however, quite as pleased with the wax-paper cups as mun bun was. when one cup was full, mun bun took it and set it carefully down on the floor. then he reached for another. he actually forgot he was thirsty he was so much interested in filling and stationing the cups in a long line on the floor. the porter had left his station in the anteroom and did not see what the two children were doing. and the rest of the bunker family were so much engaged at the other end of the car they quite forgot margy and mun bun for the time being. "get another! get another, margy!" mun bun kept saying. margy reached down the cups until there was not another one in the rack. and by that time the ice-water dripped very slowly from the faucet. the tank was just about empty. "i guess we have got it all, mun bun," said the little girl. "they are all full." "and i didn't spill a drop on me," declared the little boy virtuously. "so mother will say i am a good boy, won't she?" just what mrs. bunker might have said had she come upon the little mischief-makers we cannot know. for it was the colored porter who was first to discover what the smallest bunkers were doing. he came back from the other end of the car, smiling broadly at mun bun and margy when he saw them. the two stood to one side and looked rather seriously at the tall colored man. somehow they felt that perhaps their play would not entirely meet his approval. suddenly mun bun saw where the pleasant colored man was about to step. he cried out: "oh, don't! look out! all our puddin' dishes!" "what's that, little boy?" demanded the porter. "look out! you'll splash----" margy tried to warn him too. but she was too late. the porter stepped right into the first of the filled waxed-paper cups, and then went plowing on, almost falling over them! "my haid and body!" gasped the porter, stumbling on until he had overturned and stepped on the complete array of waxed-paper cups. "what you chilluns been a-doin' here, eh?" "now you spilled 'em," cried mun bun. "look, margy, how he's spilled 'em." there could be no doubt of that fact. the passage was a-flood with ice-water! the porter was sputtering, and the two children were inclined to be somewhat tearful when daddy bunker came along to see what they were up to. "these yere pestiferous chilluns!" exclaimed the colored man, trying to mop up the flood. "and dem cups was near 'nough to las' me clear to texas." "all right--all right, sam!" rejoined daddy bunker, giving the colored man a generous tip. "you get some more cups and some more ice, and call it square. i expect i'd better tie a halter to each one of my children for the rest of the journey so as to keep track of them. i can't trust them out of my sight any more." it was not quite as bad as that, although daddy was really annoyed by what mun bun and margy had done. they were old enough to know mischief from play, and he told them so. mun bun looked pretty sober when he got back to the party. "aren't we going to get to that wanch-place pwetty soon, muvver?" he asked mrs. bunker. "'cause if we ain't, i'd rather go back home. there aren't any nice plays here on this train. and i'm tired of it." "i suppose you are tired of it, dear," his mother said, taking him upon her lap. "we are all pretty tired of it. but after another night's sleep we shall be near our journey's end." this news was eagerly received by all the little bunkers. even russ and rose were tired of traveling by train. after a certain time, riding in the steam cars grew very wearisome. the bunker children were active by nature, and russ liked to build things. he missed the attic and the woodshed at home. the train rocked on into the southwest, and while the children slept it covered several hundred miles. after they got up and were washed and dressed and had breakfasted, the bags were packed, for they did not expect to open them again until they reached cavallo. they stared out of the windows, watching the prairie country slide past, now and then passing small herds of cattle, as well as many little towns at which the train did not halt. "i suppose cowboy jack will come with ponies and we'll all have to ride horseback," said rose. "i don't know that i can stick on very well." "you did at uncle fred's," russ told her. "but maybe i have forgotten how," his sister said doubtfully. but rose need not have worried about riding pony-back on this occasion. when the train stopped at cavallo and they all got out there were no horses waiting for the bunkers at all. the town did not look like a cattle-shipping place. and there was not a cowboy in sight! chapter xiii a surprise coming there was a nice-looking railroad station at cavallo and some rather tall buildings in sight. there was a trolley line through the town, too, and the children saw the cars almost as soon as they alighted from the train. but they were all loudly wondering where the cow-ponies were, and the cowboys whom they had expected to see. the little bunkers, of course, did not know that nowadays even the cattle-shipping towns of the great west are changed from what they were in the old times. whether they are improved by the coming in of other business besides that connected with the raising of cattle, horses, and sheep is a question that even the westerners themselves do not answer when you ask them. but, in any case, cavallo had changed a good deal since the time daddy bunker had previously seen it. "and what can we expect? the range bosses ride around in automobiles now because it is easier and cheaper than wearing out ponies. and i read only the other day," added mr. bunker, "of a montana ranch where they hunt strays in the mountains from an airplane. what do you think of that?" "are you sure mr. scarbontiskil got your message, charles?" asked mrs. bunker of daddy. "perhaps we had better go to a hotel." "oh!" cried laddie, "i want to go right out where the cows and horses are." "so do i," said russ. "a hotel isn't very different from a pullman coach." and they were all tired of _that_--even daddy and mother. but while they were discussing this point (the children rather noisily, it must be confessed) a big man in a gray suit came striding toward them, his hand outstretched and a broad smile upon his bronzed face. he wore a crimson necktie and a heavy gold watch-chain with a bunch of charms dangling from it, and a diamond sparkled in the front of his silk shirt. russ and rose noticed these rather astonishing ornaments, and although they thought the man very pleasant looking, they knew that he was not dressed as men dressed back home. at least, daddy would never have worn just such clothes and ornaments. but he did not look at all like a cowboy. "i reckon this is charlie bunker!" exclaimed the man in a booming voice. "i'd most forgotten how you looked, charlie. and is this the missus?" and he smiled even more broadly at mother bunker. "that's who we are," cried mr. bunker quite as jovially as the big man spoke. "and these are the six little bunkers, mr. scarbontiskil." "oh! that's him!" whispered rose to russ. "and i know i never _can_ say that name!" the ranchman, however, at once put rose and everybody else at their ease on that point. when he took off his broad-brimmed hat to make mrs. bunker a sweeping bow, he said: "don't put on any dog out here, charlie. i've most forgotten the name i was handicapped with when i was born. nobody calls me anything like that out here. call me 'jack'--just 'cowboy jack.' it fits me a sight better, and that's true. i was a cow-puncher long before i got hold of a lot of good texas land and began to own mulley cows myself. now, let me get acquainted with all these little shavers. what's their names? i bet they got better names than my folks could give me." rose and russ, and even the smaller children, liked cowboy jack right away. who could help liking him, even if he did shout when he spoke and wear such flashy clothes? his smile and his twinkling eyes would have won him friends in any company of children, that was sure. and then, though the clothes were odd, the children were not at all certain that they were not more beautiful than those their father wore. and what a game they made of telling cowboy jack their names, so that he would remember them--"get 'em stuck in his mind" as he called it. "i can remember 'russ' because he is the oldest," declared cowboy jack. "and 'rose' is the sweetest flower that grows, and i can't forget her. and 'violet'? why! she's the first blossom that comes up in the spring, and i sure couldn't forget her. and this boy, her twin, you say? 'laddie'? why, that's just what he is--a laddie. i couldn't mistake him for a lassie, so i'm sure to get _his_ name stuck in my mind," and cowboy jack boomed a great laugh, shaking hands with each of the children as daddy presented them. "and this is 'margy,'" proceeded the ranchman. "i'd know that was her name just to look at her. she couldn't have any other name but 'margy.' no other would fit. now, that's all, isn't it?" added cowboy jack, his eyes twinkling very much as he looked right at mun bun but appeared not to see him. "russ, and rose, and violet, and laddie, and margy? yes, that must be all." "there's _me_!" exclaimed the littlest bunker, staring up at the big man. "what's that i hear?" asked cowboy jack, looking all about the platform, and up in the air, and over the heads of the bunker children. "did i hear somebody speak?" the five older bunker children began to giggle, but mun bun did not take the matter as a joke at all. he was quite sure he was being overlooked and that he was just as important as anybody else in the crowd. "here's me!" cried mun bun again, and he laid hold of the skirt of cowboy jack's long coat and tugged at it. "you forgot me." "jumping grasshoppers!" exclaimed the big man, staring down at mun bun. "what do i see? another bunker?" "it's me," said mun bun soberly. "i have a name, too." "i--i wouldn't have seen you if you hadn't pulled my coat-skirt," declared the ranchman quite as soberly as the little boy himself. "and are you a bunker? honest?" "i'm mun bun," said the little boy. "jumping grasshoppers!" ejaculated the ranchman, stooping down very low and staring at mun bun. "another bunker--and named 'mun bun'? that's a very easily remembered name, isn't it? i couldn't forget you--sure i couldn't! for you see every time i go to the bake shop i buy buns--and you are a bun, so you say. are you a currant bun, or a cinnamon bun, or what kind of a bun are you?" "i'm a bunker bun," declared the little boy. "and you can't eat me." "no, i can't eat you," admitted the ranchman. "but i can pick you up--this way--and carry you off, can't i?" and he suited his action to the word and rose up with mun bun on one of his palms, and held him right out on a level with his twinkling eyes and smiling lips. mun bun squealed a little; but he liked it, too. it was just like being carried about by a giant! the next thing was to get something to eat in the lunchroom of the railroad station. to be sure, breakfast had been not many hours before, but there was a long trip yet before cowboy jack's ranch would be reached, and one could always count on one or more of the six little bunkers being hungry if not fed at rather frequent intervals. so sandwiches and buns--cinnamon buns, not mun buns--were bought, and milk for the children and coffee for the grown-ups, and a light lunch was eaten. there was really not very much to choose from, but the children were satisfied with what was got for them. "now, come on, all you little bunkers," said cowboy jack. "we've got to start right away for my ranch, or we won't get there before supper time; and then maria castrado, my cook, won't give us anything but beans for supper." "oh! where are your horses?" cried laddie and vi together. "out on the range," said cowboy jack. "plenty of 'em there." "but don't we ride out to your ranch on them?" russ wanted to know, as cowboy jack strode around the railroad station, again carrying mun bun, and they all trooped after him. "got something that beats cayuses," declared cowboy jack. "what do you think of _these_ for cow ponies?" what he pointed out to them were two great, eight-cylinder touring-cars, both painted blue, and behind the steering-wheel of each a smiling mexican who seemed as glad to see the bunker children as cowboy jack was himself. "pile in! pile in!" said cowboy jack in his great voice. he gave mun bun over to mrs. bunker, who got into one car with daddy and the hand baggage. but he put all the other children into the tonneau of the other car and got in with them. it was quite plain that he was fond of children and proposed to have a lot of fun with the little bunkers who had come so far to visit him. "i've got a lot to show you youngsters," he said to russ and the others when the cars started. "and i have a surprise for you out at my ranch." "what is the surprise?" vi asked. "is it something we can eat? or is it a surprise we can play with?" "you can't eat my surprise," said cowboy jack, with one of his widest smiles. "but you can have a lot of fun with it." "what is it?" asked vi again. "if i tell you now, it won't be a surprise," replied the ranchman. "so you'll have to wait and see it." they drove through the town in the automobiles, and it seemed a good deal like an eastern town after all. people dressed just the same as they did in pineville and there was a five-and-ten-cent store painted red, and a firehouse with a motor-truck hook-and-ladder just like the one at home. russ and laddie thought maybe they would not have any use for their cowboy and indian suits after all. but by and by the motor-cars got clear of the town and struck into a dusty road on which there were no houses at all. in the distance rose spied a moving bunch of cattle. _that_ looked like a ranch; but cowboy jack told her that his ranch was still a good many miles ahead. the little bunkers liked riding in these big cars, for the mexicans drove them very rapidly. the road was quite smooth and they kept ahead of the dust, except when they passed some other vehicle. the dust was very white and powdery, and margy and laddie began to sneeze. then they grabbed each other's right little fingers, curling the fingers around each other. "wish!" cried violet eagerly. "make a wish--both of you." "what--what'll i wish?" stammered laddie excitedly. "oh, dear! now you spoiled it," declared vi. "didn't he, rose?" "he can't make the wish after he has spoken," agreed the older sister. "no, laddie; it is too late now." margy began to wave her hands and evidently wanted to speak. "did you wish, margy?" asked vi. the smaller girl nodded vigorously. cowboy jack laughed very heartily, but rose said to the little girl: "you can talk now, margy." "i wished we'd have waffles for supper," announced margy, hungrily. "i like waffles." "and i bet we have 'em!" cried their host, laughing again. "maria can make dandy waffles." "well, i would have wished for something--just as nice if you'd let me," laddie broke in. "i don't see why i couldn't wish, even if i did speak first." "that's something mighty mysterious," said the ranchman soberly. "we can't change the laws about wishing. that would bust up everything." he talked so queerly that sometimes the little bunkers were not sure whether he was in earnest, or only joking. but they all liked cowboy jack very much. and best of all--so rose thought--they did not have to call him by his right name! the sun was very low when the cars got into a winding road through a scrubby sort of wood and then climbed into the range of hills that they had been approaching for two hours. mun bun was asleep. but the children in the ranchman's car were all eagerly on the outlook for the first sight of the ranch houses which cowboy jack told them would soon appear. "and then for the surprise," said russ to rose. "i wonder what it can be?" "something nice, i am sure," sighed his sister contentedly. "it must be something nice, or mr. cowboy jack would not have mentioned it." chapter xiv an indian raid it did seem, however, that the ranchman must have forgotten the surprise he had in store for the six little bunkers. he was so busy getting his mexican cook to make waffles for supper and seeing that the rooms had all been made ready by his mexican house boys for the use of the bunker family and doing a dozen other pleasant things for the comfort of his guests that he did not say a word about the surprise. it had been almost dark when the party arrived at the broad, low house in which cowboy jack and his household lived. if the surprise was outside the house the children would have been unable to see it. mun bun fell sound asleep over his supper, and margy had to "prop her eyes open," as daddy declared, before the meal was done. both these youngest bunkers made no objection to going off to bed. but vi and laddie wanted to stay up as long as russ and rose did. "we're almost as big as they are," declared laddie, when he was questioned on this point. "and if rose and russ would only stop and wait for us a little, vi and i would catch up to them--so now!" but russ and rose were quite as eager to grow up as were laddie and vi; so they were not willing to wait, could they have done so. daddy pointed out the fact of the "march of time" to the little folks and explained that everybody had to grow older each tiny second. "why can't we stop and wait?" demanded vi. "we can stop an automobile and get out and wait." "or get lost from a train," put in laddie, who was sitting on what cowboy jack called a "hassock"--a low seat--and studying a paper he had found. "i ought to make up a riddle about vi and me being lost from the train that time." "i'll give you a riddle," said cowboy jack, with one of his booming laughs. "is it a good one?" asked vi. "please do!" cried laddie. "i just love riddles." "well, here is one," said the ranchman. "'what is it that is black and white, but red all over?'" "black--white--and red?" repeated laddie, puzzled, for if he had ever heard that riddle he had forgotten it. "i know what is red, white and blue!" cried vi. "that's the flag." "three cheers!" returned cowboy jack. "so you do, little girl. you've got the flag quite right. but this isn't the flag i am talking about." "i don't believe i ever saw anything that was black and white but red, too," confessed laddie slowly. "oh, yes, you have," said their big friend, apparently just as much entertained by the riddle as the little folks. "i guess you must be mistaken, mr. cowboy jack," said laddie soberly. "i can't think of a single thing that is black and white, besides being red all over." "why, look at what you have in your hand!" exclaimed the ranchman. "this is a paper," said laddie. "and isn't it black and white?" "yes, sir. the print is black and the paper is white. but i don't see any red----" "but lots of us have _read_ it all over," chuckled cowboy jack. "it is black and white, and is _read_ all over!" "oh!" cried laddie, clapping his hands, "that's another kind of 'red,' isn't it? i think that is a nice riddle. don't you, vi?" but vi was leaning against her mother's knee and her eyes were fast closed. she had gone to sleep in the middle of the talk about the riddle. "it's time for all little folks to go to bed," said mother bunker. so none of the six little bunkers saw the surprise that night. but they had not forgotten it when morning came again. the six little bunkers never forgot anything that was promised them! while they were all at breakfast there was a great deal of noise outside--whooping and shouting and the like--that startled the children. but their mother would not let them leave the table to find out about it until breakfast was over. they heard, too, the pounding of ponies' hoofs, and then caught sight through the windows of a company of pony riders galloping by and off across the plain. "cowboys!" cried russ. "i guess we'd better go back and put on our cowboy suits, laddie." the smaller boy was just as eager as russ to get out and see the pony riders. as soon as they could honestly say they had eaten enough, mother bunker excused them all. but when they got outside upon the broad veranda at the front of the great house, the cowboys had disappeared. there was something else in sight, however, that astonished the children more than the cowboys could, for they had expected to see them. traveling across the plain some distance from the house was a procession that made all the little bunkers shout aloud. "what's those?" rose asked at first sight. rose almost always saw things first. russ gave one glance and fairly whooped: "indians!" "oh, dear me!" gasped rose, "are they _wild_ indians?" "they are real indians just the same!" exclaimed russ, with confidence. "they aren't just the dressed-up kind. look at them!" the big indians riding at the head of the procession wore great feather headdresses. "feather dusters" laddie called them. and they did look like feather dusters from that distance. "we'd better get our guns and bows and arrows, hadn't we, russ?" the little boy asked. "the indians are not coming this way," explained russ. "i guess we're safe enough." "see! there are indian babies, too," cried rose. "there's one strapped to a board on its mother's back--just like in the pictures." "just the same," said vi, rather soberly for her, "i'm glad they are going the other way." the indians were traveling away from the ranch house and soon were out of sight. so before the children could ask any of the older people about them they were gone. and "out of sight out of mind" was almost always the rule with the little bunkers, as daddy frequently said. besides, there were so many new and interesting things to see that the matter of the indians escaped the new-comers' minds. there were great corrals down behind the big house, as well as bunkhouses in which the cowboys lived, and stables, and a long cook-shed in which three men cooked for the hands, as cowboy jack called his employees. cowboy jack owned a very large ranch and a great number of steers and horses and mules. "it's almost like a circus," said russ. "and all the different kind of dogs, too. _that_ dog has hardly any hair, and he comes from mexico, so they say. while that _wolfy_ looking dog comes from away up in alaska. then there are dogs from places all between alaska and mexico." this information he had gained from one of the mexican boys with whom he became acquainted. they did not think to ask the friendly mexican about the indians, and not until the children went back to the house did they think to make inquiry about the procession they had seen right after breakfast. it was then vi, inquisitive as usual, who broached the subject. "why do indians wear feather dusters in their hair?" she asked. "for the same reason that ladies wear feathers in their bonnets," declared daddy bunker seriously. "because they think the feathers are ornamental." "and why do they strap their babies to boards?" demanded vi. "where did you see indians?" asked mother bunker, guessing the source from which violet's questions were springing. "oh!" cried rose. "there _were_ indians--lots of them. we saw their parade go by--just like a wild west show parade." cowboy jack began to laugh. and when he laughed his great body shook all over, and the chair in which he sat shook too. "are there indians here, mr. scarbontiskil?" asked mother bunker. "that's part of the surprise i told the children about," said cowboy jack, nodding to mother bunker, but smiling at the interested children. "those injuns are a part of it." but he would not tell them any more--at least, not just then. "it's a sort of a riddle," said laddie eagerly, when they were all out of doors again. "i know it's a riddle. and we ought to find the answer." "well," scoffed vi, his twin, "you can sit down and think of your old riddle if you want to. i'm going to pick flowers for mother." "there must be some nice flowers here," agreed rose. "i'll go look, too, vi." "me want to pick flowers!" cried mun bun eagerly. he always wanted to do anything the older children did. and picking flowers was one thing mun bun could do pretty well, little as he was. holding a hand each of rose and vi he trudged off from the ranch house. russ and margy and laddie came after. russ and laddie were still discussing the matter of putting on their cowboy suits so as to help herd the cattle with cowboy jack's "other hands." just at this time, however, they became more interested in picking flowers. for they did find pretty blossoms along the wagon track they followed. the ranch house was soon out of sight, for the children went over a little ridge and then down into a swale in which were clumps of low trees. it was quite a pretty country, and there was much to interest them. at one place something jumped out of the shrub and went leaping away along the wagon track with great bounds. "a rabbit!" cried laddie. "oh, such a big rabbit!" "the very longest legs i ever saw," agreed russ. "and long ears--like those on the mules in the corral." "and he thumps the ground just like a horse stamping," said rose. "there he goes out of sight. i--i believe i would be afraid of that rabbit if he came at me." "well, he is going, not coming," remarked russ. "i want to see where he went." he and laddie started on the run to mount the little ridge over which the jackrabbit had disappeared. this ridge crossed the swale, or valley, and divided what lay beyond from the view of the six little bunkers. when the children climbed the rise and came to the top, they all stopped. even russ did not say a word for a full minute; nor did vi ask a question, so astonished was she by what she saw. there, on the low land beside a stream of water, was a log cabin. it looked like a dilapidated cabin, for there were no windows and the door was off its leather hinges. there was a bonfire by the doorstep and a black kettle was hung over the fire from the tripod of smoke-blackened sticks. on the doorstep sat a woman who appeared to be rocking her baby to sleep in her arms. she was watching whatever was cooking in the pot. a man was chopping wood a little way; from the doorstep. he wore a funny fur cap, with the tail of some animal hanging from it down to his shoulder, and his hair was tied in a funny looking queue--the strangest way for a man to dress his hair the little bunkers had ever seen. suddenly russ pointed behind the cabin--over to another ridge, or knoll, of land. "look!" russ gasped. "those indians!" none of the bunker children had thought of the indians they had seen as really wild indians. but here came riding the indian men now on active ponies, and with be-feathered spears in their hands. their headdresses nodded, and, as the redmen rode nearer, the children saw that their faces were broadly striped in red and yellow. the paint made the indians' faces look frightful. "oh!" cried rose, clinging to mun bun, who clung to her in return. "those indians are coming right at that woman and her baby--and the man!" "it's an indian raid," murmured russ. "do you suppose it is _real_, or just make-believe?" chapter xv a profound mystery russ bunker was a sensible chap, and it did not seem to him that the indians could really mean to harm the people living in the old cabin. cowboy jack would not have let the children wander away from the ranch house unwarned had wild indians been in the neighborhood. at least, so russ tried to believe. but the other little bunkers were much frightened, and when the redmen began to hurry their horses down toward the cabin at the side of the stream, and began to whoop and yell and wave their be-feathered spears, even rose turned back and began to run toward the ranch house. "come on, russ! come on!" she cried to her older brother. "that poor little baby!" "aw, i don't believe the indians are really going to hurt those folks," objected russ. nevertheless, he soon caught up with his sister and the others. russ did not remain to see the outcome of the indians' attack upon the cabin. the younger children did not altogether understand what the excitement was all about. but they caught some fear from russ and rose and were willing to hurry along the wagon track without making objection at the pace the older children made them travel. and here came another astonishing thing. out of a woody place appeared a cavalcade of horsemen--and they were not cowboys! in fact, for a minute russ and rose were just as frightened as they had been by the charging indians. then russ exclaimed, with a deal of relief: "oh, rose! i know those men. they are soldiers!" "all in blue clothes?" questioned rose in doubt. "soldiers don't wear blue clothes. they are dressed in khaki or olive-drab. like captain ben was when he first came to our house." "those are soldiers. they have got swords and guns," repeated russ confidently. "and i guess they are american soldiers, too." "well, they are not indians, anyway," agreed rose. "i guess they won't hurt us, anyway. we can go by 'em. don't be afraid, mun bun." "not 'fwaid," declared the littlest bunker. "but i want to see muvver and daddy." "sure you do," agreed russ kindly. "guess we all do. come on. i'm going to tell that man riding ahead what the indians are doing to those folks at the cabin." they could still hear faintly the yells of the supposed savages behind the hill, down which the little bunkers had just run. this noise did not seem to disturb the men in blue, who trotted their horses along the wagon track in a most leisurely manner. the six little bunkers stood off the track as the soldiers rode nearer. the chains on the horses' bits jangled, and the sun flashed from the barrels of the short guns and from the sword hilts. the men wore broad-brimmed hats with yellow cords around them, and one of the men riding ahead, who was an officer, wore a plume on the side of his hat. "it's more than indians that wear feather headdresses," whispered vi to rose. "so why _do_ they?" like a number of vi's other questions, this one remained unanswered. when the head of the procession came up russ began to speak quite excitedly to the man leading it: "please, mister officer! there are indians over that hill. don't you hear them? and they are going to hurt some white people i guess." "there's a baby," added rose earnestly. "i wouldn't want the baby to be scalped." "hi!" exclaimed the leader of the soldiers, "it will be pretty tough if props' rag baby gets scalped, that's a fact. come on! shack along, boys! they are looking for us now, i bet." this seemed rather a strange way to command a troop of cavalry, and even russ bunker was puzzled by it. but as the soldiers in blue rode on at a faster pace rose called after them: "please save the baby! look out for the baby!" "we'll do that little thing, girlie," promised one of the soldiers riding in the rear. "don't you fear. we'll save the baby and the whole bunch!" this was quite reassuring to rose's troubled mind. but russ was greatly puzzled. these soldiers did not look like the soldiers he had seen, nor did they act or speak like soldiers. he stared after them with great curiosity as they disappeared over the hill. but the other little bunkers were so anxious to get back to the ranch house that russ could not remain any longer to satisfy his curiosity. rose and the smaller children told the story about the indians and the people at the cabin and about the soldiers in a very excited way to mother bunker. but russ went to find cowboy jack. he felt that the ranchman should know all about what was going on in that valley, and about both the indians and the soldiers in blue. mother reassured the younger bunkers. there was nothing really to be afraid of, she told them. but she did seem mysterious and smiled a good deal while she was telling the children not to fear any of the strange things they might see about cowboy jack's ranch. "it isn't anything like uncle fred's ranch," declared laddie. "why! it's a regular riddle here at cowboy jack's. i guess i can think how to ask that riddle in a minute--or maybe an hour. let's see." so laddie--or the others--was not by when russ propounded his question to cowboy jack, the big ranchman. "those indians? i told you they were part of the surprise i had for you little bunkers," declared cowboy jack, laughing very heartily. "and the soldiers?" murmured the puzzled russ. "part of the same surprise," answered the ranchman. "we--ell, we _were_ surprised. but i don't just understand how you come to have wild indians and soldiers--and they don't look just like _our_ soldiers back east--here on your ranch. and how about that baby?" "i promise you," said cowboy jack quite seriously, "that the baby will not be scalped--or any of the white folks at all. those indians are not so savage as they seem. to-night, after the day's work is over, i'll take you over to the redskins' camp and you can get acquainted with them." russ was rather startled by this suggestion. he wanted to be grateful for anything that cowboy jack said he would do; but--but---- "will daddy bunker go too?" asked russ, suddenly. "sure. we'll take your daddy along with us," agreed cowboy jack. "then i'll go," said russ bunker, with a sigh. he would go anywhere daddy went, although the matter of the wild indians did seem to be a profound mystery. chapter xvi mun bun takes a nap after lunch that day mun bun managed to have the most astonishing adventure of his life! and nobody could ever have imagined that the littlest bunker could get into trouble just by falling asleep. he had walked so far and seen so many strange sights that morning that after eating mun bun was just as sleepy as he could be. but he was getting old enough now to think that he should be ashamed of taking a nap in the afternoon. "only babies take naps, don't they, muvver?" he said to mother bunker. "and i aren't a baby any more." "you say you are not," agreed his mother quietly. "but of course you must prove it if we are all to believe that you are quite grown up." "i'm growed too big to take naps, anyway," declared mun bun, quite convinced. "what are you going to do if you grow sleepy?" asked his mother, before he started out after the other children. "i'll pinch myself awake," declared mun bun. "oh, i'll show i'm not a baby any longer." he was some way behind the other children; but as he started in their wake mother bunker did not worry about him. she was confident that russ and rose would look out for the little boy, even if he was finally overcome with sleep. but as it happened, the other little bunkers had run off to see a lot of mule colts in a special paddock some distance from the big ranch house. mun bun saw them in the distance and he sturdily started out to follow them. he was no cry-baby ordinarily, and the fact that the others were a long way ahead did not at first disturb mun bun's cheerfulness. but something else began to bother him almost at once. the wind had begun to blow. it was not a cold wind, although it was autumn. but it was a strong wind, and as it continued to come in gusts mun bun was sometimes almost toppled off his feet. "wind b'ow!" gasped mun bun, staggering against the heavy gusts. "oh, my!" that last exclamation was jounced out of him by something that blew against the little boy--a scratchy ball of gray weed that rolled along the ground just as though it were alive! it frightened mun bun at first. then he saw it was just dead weeds, and did not bother about the tumble-weed any more. but when he got to a certain wire fence, through which he was going to crawl to follow the other little bunkers, the wind had buffeted him so that he lay right down to rest! mun bun had never tried to walk in such a strong wind before. the wind blew over him, and the great balls of tumble-weed rioted across the big field. in some places, against stumps or clumps of brush, the gray mats of weed piled up in considerable heaps. mun bun watched the wind-rows of weed roll along toward his side of the field with interested gaze. he had never seen anything like those gray, dry bushes before. his eyes blinked and winked, and finally drowsed shut. he had no idea of going to sleep. in fact, he had declared he would not go to sleep. so of course what happened was quite unintentional on mun bun's part. while mother bunker thought he was with the other children, they had no idea mun bun had refused to take his usual nap and had followed them from the house. the mule colts in the paddock were just the cunningest things! margy and vi squealed right out loud when they saw them. "and their cunning long ears flap so funny!" cried rose. "did you ever?" "but their tails are not skinned down like the big mules' tails," objected laddie. "oh, they'll shave those later. that is what they do to the big mules--shave the hair off their tails, all but the 'paint-brush' at the end," said russ, who knew. the children pulled some green grass they found and stuck it through the wires for the colts to pull out of their hands and nibble. mule colts seemed even more tame than horse colts, and the children each "chose" a colt and named it, although the colts ran around in such a lively way that it was difficult sometimes to keep them separated in one's mind and, as cowboy jack said when he came along to see what the children were about, to "tell which from t'other." "let me see," he added, in his whimsical way. "i have to count and reckon up you little bunkers every once in so often so as to be sure some of you are not strays. let's see: there should be six, shouldn't there? one, two, three, four, five---- but there's only five here." "yes, sir," said rose politely. "mun bun's taking a nap, i s'pose." "he is, is he?" repeated cowboy jack, with considerable interest. "and where has he gone for his nap?" "he is up at the house with mother," russ said. "oh, no, he isn't," said the ranchman. "i just came from the house and mrs. bunker asked me particularly to be sure that mun bun was all right." "where is mun bun, then?" asked vi. "he's lost!" wailed rose. "why, he didn't come down here with us," russ declared. "he started after you," said the ranchman, quite seriously now. "you sure the little fellow isn't anywhere about?" he was so serious that russ and rose grew anxious too. the other little bunkers just stared. vi said: "he's always getting lost--mun bun is. why does he?" "'cause he's so little," suggested her twin. "little things get lost easier than big things." "that's sound doctrine," declared cowboy jack. but he did not smile as he usually did when he was talking with the little bunkers. he was gazing all around the fields in sight. he asked russ: "which way did you come down here from the house, son?" russ pointed. "down across that lot where the bushes are all piled up." "come on," said cowboy jack. "we'd better look for him." "oh!" cried margy suddenly, "you don't s'pose the indians got him, do you?" "those injuns wouldn't hurt a flea," declared the ranchman, striding away so fast up the slope that the children had to trot to keep up with him. "do the indians like fleas?" asked vi. "i shouldn't think they would. our cat at home doesn't." "i know a riddle about a flea," said laddie, more cheerfully. a riddle always cheered laddie. "it is: 'what is the difference between a flea and a leopard?'" "jumping grasshoppers!" exclaimed cowboy jack. "i should think there was a deal of difference--in their size, anyway." "no, their size hasn't anything to do with it," said laddie, delighted to have puzzled the big man. "a leopard is a big cat," said russ. "and a flea can only live on a cat." "pooh! that isn't the answer," declared laddie. "i guess that is a good riddle." "it sure is," agreed cowboy jack, still striding up the hill. "what is the difference between a flea and a leopard? it beats me!" "why," said the little boy, panting, "it's because--because a leopard can't change its spots, but a flea can. you see, the flea is very lively and jumps around a whole lot----" "can't a leopard jump?" demanded vi. "we--ell, that's the answer. somebody told it to me. a leopard just _can't_ change its spots--so there." "i think that's silly," declared vi impatiently. "and i want to know what has become of mun bun." they all wanted to know that. they were too much worried about the littlest bunker to laugh at laddie's riddle. they went up to the fence and crept through an opening where the tumble-weeds had not piled up in great heaps as they had in many places along its length. the wind was still blowing in fitful gusts, and laddie and margy and vi took hold of hands when they stood up in the field. "now, where can that boy be?" demanded cowboy jack in his big voice, staring all about again. "if he followed you children down this way----" "mun bun! oh, mun bun!" shouted rose. russ joined his voice to hers, and they continued to call as they wandered about the brush clumps and the piles of dry weeds. but no mun bun appeared! the ranchman looked very grave. russ and rose really became frightened. how could they go back to mother bunker and tell her that her little boy was lost on this great ranch? then cowboy jack began to shout mun bun's name. and how he could shout! "ye--ye--yip!" he shouted. "you--ee! ye--ye--yip! mun bun! mun bun!" rose shut her ears tight with her fingers. "my goodness!" she whispered to russ, "mun bun _must_ hear that--or else he has gone a very long way off." but mun bun was not a long way off. he was quite near. and after cowboy jack had shouted a second time all the other bunkers, and the ranchman himself, heard a small voice respond--mun bun's voice. "here i is!" said the small voice. "i'm here--_here_!" "i'd like to know where 'here' is," cried cowboy jack in his great voice. "if mun bun's up in the air i don't see his aeroplane; and if he's dug himself in like a prairie dog i don't see the mouth of his hole. and to be sure he isn't in this field----" "oh, yes, he is!" exclaimed russ bunker, suddenly diving for a great heap of tumble-weed against the wire fence. "anyway, here is his voice, mr. cowboy jack." "bring out his voice and let's see it," commanded the big ranchman. the others began to laugh at that, but mun bun did not laugh. he had not had his sleep out and did not like being waked up. the ranchman's loud shout had aroused the little fellow, and when he found himself under the heap of scratchy, sticky weeds he did not like that either. but russ pulled the weeds away in a hurry. the wind had rolled a great bunch of the dead weeds upon mun bun and had quite hidden him from sight. "like the babes in the wood," said rose thoughtfully. "only the robins covered them up with leaves." "i'm not a baby," complained mun bun. "and robins didn't cover me. it was nasty old dry grass things, and they've got prickers on them." indeed, mun bun was not quite his happy self again until they took him back to the house and mother bunker took him into her lap for awhile. margy stayed in the house with him, so the two smallest bunkers did not go with cowboy jack and daddy to see the indians, as the ranchman had promised russ. they all climbed into one of the big blue automobiles and cowboy jack drove the car himself. it was not a long way to go; but it was over the prairie itself, for there was no trail to the indian encampment. "i see the tents!" cried rose, standing up in the back of the car to see over the windshield. "those are wigwams," said russ. "aren't they wigwams, mr. scarbontiskil?" "you look out or my name will get stuck crossways in your throat and choke you," growled the ranchman. "you can call 'em wigwams. but those are just summer shacks, and not like the winter wigwams. anyhow, up there on their reservation, these indians have pretty warm and comfortable houses for the winter." the children did not understand all of this, but they were very much interested and excited. when the car stopped before the group of tent-like structures a number of indian children and women gathered around, laughing and talking. they seemed to be very pleasant people, and not at all like the wild-looking red riders the little bunkers had seen earlier in the day. "but i am just as glad those painted men are not here," rose said to russ. "aren't you, russ?" but russ had begun to see that there must be some trick in it. these squaws and indian children would not be so gentle if their husbands and fathers were as savage as they had appeared to be. he could not exactly understand it, but there was a trick in it he was sure. another surprise coming! chapter xvii in chief black bear's wigwam "where is black bear, mary?" asked cowboy jack of an old woman who was cooking something in a pot over one of the fires in the open. "out on the job, mr. jack," was the reply. "they ought to be in soon, for the sun is too low for good light. you can go into bear's wikiup if you want to." "oh! a bear!" whispered vi, clinging to daddy's hand. "is it loose?" "i expect it is loose, all right," chuckled daddy. "but you will probably not find it a very savage bear." "has it teeth--and claws?" pursued the little girl. "bears bite, don't they?" "i promise you that this one won't bite you," boomed cowboy jack's great voice. "he's just as tame a bear as ever you saw. isn't he, mary?" the old woman smiled kindly at the children and nodded. she was old and wrinkled, and her face looked as though it had been cured in the smoke of many campfires. nevertheless, she was a pleasant woman and even vi felt some confidence in her statement. at least, all four little bunkers went with cowboy jack and daddy to the big skin and canvas tent that stood in the middle of the camp. it was the biggest tent of all. it was rather dark inside the tent; but cowboy jack had a hand-torch in his pocket, and he took this out and flashed the light all about the interior of the tent by pressing his thumb on the switch of the torch. "never know what you'll find in these injun shanties," muttered cowboy jack. "black bear is college bred, but he's injun just the same----" "goodness me! what does he say?" gasped rose. "why, this black bear is a man!" exclaimed russ. "he's an indian. and i guess he must be a chief of the tribe. is he, daddy?" "you've guessed it," laughed daddy. "was he one of those awful painted indians we saw riding down on the cabin?" queried rose. "are they safe?" daddy laughed and assured her that "out of business hours" the painted indians were quite as gentle as the women and children about the camp. but rose and russ could not just understand what the indians' "business" could be. it was a very great mystery, and no mistake! vi and laddie were so curious that they wished to examine everything in the wikiup. and there were many, many things strange to the children's eyes. brilliant colored blankets hung from the walls, feather headdresses with what vi called "trails," so that when a man wore one the tail of it dragged to his heels. there were beaded shirts and pretty moccasins and long-stemmed pipes decorated with beads and feathers in bunches. there were, too, little skins and big skins hanging from the framework of the indian tent, and most of the floor was soft with cured wolf hides, the hair side uppermost. "black bear is 'heap big chief,'" chuckled cowboy jack. "when he travels he takes a lot of stuff with him. hello! here they come, i reckon." the four small bunkers heard the pounding of the ponies' hoofs on the plain. they peered out of the "door" of the wikiup as daddy held back the blanket that served as a curtain over the entrance. "oh, they _are_ the painted indians!" wailed vi, and immediately hid her face against rose's dress. "they won't hurt you," scoffed laddie. "you know they won't with daddy and mr. cowboy jack here." "but--but what did they do to that woman at the cabin--and her baby?" wondered vi with continued anxiety. "i don't see any scalps," said laddie confidently. "maybe it isn't the fashion to scalp folks any more out here." "you can ask black bear about that," chuckled cowboy jack. "i'm not up in the fashions, as you might say." the big ranchman was evidently vastly amused by the little bunkers' comments. the four children peered out of the wikiup and saw the party of horsemen dismount. a tall figure, with a waving headdress, came striding toward the children. vi and laddie, it must be confessed, shrank back behind the ranchman and daddy. "hullo!" exclaimed cowboy jack. "here's black bear now." "but he doesn't look like a bear," laddie whispered. "bears don't walk on their hind feet." "sometimes they do," said daddy bunker. "and this bear does all the time. he is 'mr. bear' just the same as my name is 'mr. bunker.'" the tall man lifted off his headdress and handed it to one of the women who came running to help him. underneath, his hair was not like an indian's at all--at least, not like the indians whose pictures the bunker children had seen. black bear's hair was cut pompadour, and if it had not been for the awful stripes across his face he would not have looked bad. even rose admitted this, in a whisper, to her brother russ. it was interesting for the four little bunkers to watch black bear get rid of the paint with which his face was smeared. he stripped off the deerskin shirt he wore and squatted down on his heels before a box in the middle of the tent--a box like a little trunk. when he opened the cover and braced it up at a slant, the children saw that there was a mirror fastened in the box lid. the indian woman held a lantern, and black bear dipped his fingers in a jar of cold-cream and began to smear his whole face and neck. he looked all white and lathery in a moment, and he grinned in a funny way up at cowboy jack and mr. bunker. "makes me think of the time they cast me for the part of the famous _pocahontas_ in the college play of 'john smith,'" said black bear. "that was some time--believe me! we made a barrel of money for the athletic association." "oh!" murmured rose, "he talks--he talks just like captain ben--or anybody!" "he doesn't talk like an indian, that's _so_," whispered back russ, quite as much amazed. but violet could not contain her curiosity politely. she came right out in the lantern-light and asked: "say, mister black bear, are you a real indian, or just a make-believe?" "i am just as real an indian, little girl, as you ever will see," replied the young chief, still rubbing the cream into his face and neck. "i'm a full-blood, sure-enough, honest-injun indian! you ask mr. scarbontiskil." "but you're not savage!" said the amazed vi. "not as savage as you all looked when you were riding down on that cabin to-day. we saw you and we ran home again. we were scared." "no. i'm pretty tame. i own an automobile and a talking-machine, and i sleep in a brass bed when i'm at home. but, you see, i _work_ at being an indian, because it pays me better than farming." "oh! oh!" gasped laddie. "scalping people, and all that?" "no. there is a law now against scalping folks," said mr. black bear, smiling again. and now that he had got the yellow and red paint off his face his smile was very pleasant. "we all have to obey the law, you know." "oh! do indians, too?" gasped rose. "indians are the most law-abiding folks there are," declared the chief earnestly. "then i guess i won't feel afraid of indians again," confessed rose bunker. "will you, russ?" but russ did not answer. he felt that there was a trick about all this. he could not see through it yet; but he meant to. it was worse than one of laddie's riddles. by and by chief black bear got all the paint off his face. then he washed the cold-cream off. he pulled on a pleated, white-bosomed shirt, and buttoned on a collar and tied a butterfly tie in place. then he went behind a blanket that was hung up at one side of the wikiup, all the time talking gaily to cowboy jack and mr. bunker, and when he reappeared he was dressed just as daddy bunker dressed back home when he went to the lodge or to a banquet! the four little bunkers stared. they could not find voice for any comment upon this strange transformation in black bear's appearance. but cowboy jack was critical. "some dog that boy puts on, doesn't he, charlie?" he said to mr. bunker. "he thinks he's down in new haven, or somewhere, where he went to college. beats me what a little smatter of book-learning will do for these redskins." this did not seem to annoy chief black bear at all. he laughed and slapped the big ranchman on the shoulder. "of course i'm a redskin--just as you are a whiteskin. only i have improved my opportunities, jack, while you have allowed yourself to deteriorate." that last was a pretty hard word, but russ and rose understood that it meant "fall behind." "probably your grandfather had a college education, jack," went on the indian chief. "but your father and you did not appreciate education. _my_ father and grandfathers, away back to the days of lasalle and even to cortez's followers who marched up through texas, had no educational advantages. i appreciate my chance the more." "but a boiled shirt and a tuxedo coat!" snorted cowboy jack. "keeps me a 'good indian,'" laughed black bear. "no knowing how savage i might be if i didn't dress for dinner 'most every night." russ knew all this was joking between the chief and the ranchman, and he saw that daddy bunker was very much amused. but the boy did not understand what the indians were doing here in cowboy jack's ranch, and why they should dress up like wild savages in the daytime, and then dress in civilized clothes when evening came. russ bunker had never been more puzzled by anything in his life before. he felt, of course, that daddy bunker would explain if he asked him; but russ liked to find out things for himself. chapter xviii the new ponies out of a box chief black bear took certain treasures that he gave to the four little bunkers who visited his wikiup. he even sent some fresh-water mussel shells, polished like mother-of-pearl, to the absent margy and mun bun, of whom cowboy jack told him. "they are some nice kids," declared the ranchman, who sometimes used expressions and words that were not altogether polite; but he meant no harm. "especially that mun bun. _he_ went to sleep in a fence-corner to-day and got covered up with tumble-weed. but he's an all right boy." cowboy jack seemed to think a great deal of the smallest of the bunkers. he was frequently seen admiring mun bun. even the other children noticed it, and rose had once asked her mother: "why doesn't mr. scar--scar--well, what-ever-it-iskil! why doesn't he have children of his own?" "but, my dear, everybody cannot have children just for the wishing," mother bunker replied. "i should think he could," murmured rose. "see how many children these indians and mexicans have; and they are none of them half as nice as mr.--mr.--well, mr. cowboy jack." to russ and rose and laddie and violet, black bear gave stone arrow-heads which may have been used by his forefathers when they roamed the plains, wild and free, as the young indian said. but better than those, he gave rose and violet little beaded moccasins that fitted just as though they were made for the little white girls! the children went away after that, for it was time for their own supper at the ranch house and cowboy jack always seemed afraid of making maria castrada cross if they were late for meals. but perhaps it was his own hearty appetite that spurred him to be on time. at any rate, the bunkers left chief black bear sitting cross-legged before a low table on which the indian women were serving his dinner, beginning with soup and from that going on through all the courses of a properly served meal. "funny fellow, that black bear," said cowboy jack to mr. bunker. "but maybe he's got it right. i was brought up pretty nice--silverware and finger-bowls, and all that sort of do-dads; but part of my life i've lived pretty rough. black bear has set himself a certain standard of living, and he's not going to slip back. afraid of being a 'blanket indian,' i suppose." the children--even russ and rose--did not understand all this; but they had been much interested in chief black bear. "only, i don't see why he paints up in the daytime and rides such wild ponies, and all that," grumbled rose, who, like russ, did not like to be mystified. whenever they tried to ask the older folks to explain the mystery they were laughed at. it was cowboy jack's mystery, anyway, and mr. and mrs. bunker did not feel that they had a right to explain to the children all that they wished to know. "figure it out for yourselves," said daddy bunker. "is it a riddle, then?" demanded laddie. "it must be a riddle. why does chief black bear paint his face, and--and----" "and take it off with cold cream?" put in vi. "why _does_ he?" "i guess that's the riddle," said her twin. "you answer it, vi." but although vi could ask innumerable questions on all sorts of subjects she seldom was able to answer one--and certainly not this one laddie propounded. next morning while the six little bunkers were at the big breakfast table in cowboy jack's ranch house there again arose a considerable disturbance outside in front of the house. this time the children were pretty well over their meal, and they grew so excited that mother bunker allowed them to be excused. russ and rose led the way out upon the veranda. there stood two of the smiling mexican houseboys--"cholos," cowboy jack called them--and they bade the bunker children a very pleasant good morning. russ and rose did not forget their manners, and they replied in kind. but the four smaller children just whooped when they saw what had brought the mexicans to the front of the big house. one of the men led two saddled ponies while the other held another fat pony that drew a brightly painted cart with seats in it and a step behind--just the dearest cart! rose bunker said. "oh, i know i can learn to drive that dear, dear pony!" rose added. "and there is room for every one of you children with me in the cart." "huh!" exclaimed laddie. "i am going to ride pony-back like russ does. which is my pony, mr. cowboy jack?" he asked of the ranchman who had followed them out of the house to enjoy their amazement and delight. "the one with the shortest stirrups, i guess," russ said. "this one looks as if i could ride him," and he took the bridle handed him by the mexican. "oh, lift me up! lift me up!" cried laddie, running to the other saddle pony. cowboy jack strode down and did so. meanwhile rose and the other children were scrambling into the pony-cart, while the pony which drew it tossed its head and looked around as though counting the number of passengers that were getting aboard. "isn't he just cute?" cried rose again. "oh, mr. cowboy jack! you are so good to us." "got to be," said the ranchman, laughing. "i haven't any little folks of my own, so i have to treat those i find around here pretty well, i do say." laddie clung to both the pommel and the bridle-reins at first, for he did seem so high from the ground at first. but russ trotted away on his pony very securely. russ had ridden quite a little at uncle fred's ranch and had not forgotten how. rose decided that she liked better to drive. but vi must learn to drive, too, she said. and even margy and mun bun clamored to hold the reins over the back of the sleepy brown pony. russ's mount was what cowboy jack called a pinto, but russ said it was a calico pony. he had seen them marked that way before--in the circus. laddie's pony was all white, with pinkish nose and ears. right at the start laddie called him "pinky." but the little girls could not agree on a name for the pony that drew their cart. there seemed to be so many nice names that just fitted him! margy wanted to call him dinah after her lost doll. "but that dinah-doll was black," said rose, in objection. "and this pony is brown. maybe we ought to call him brownie." "oh! i know!" cried vi. "let's call him cute. he's just as cunning as he can be." but this name did not appeal to the others, and they were no nearer finding a name for the brown pony when the ride was over and they all came back to the ranch house than at first. they had had so much fun, however, that they had forgotten for the time being the mystery of the indians and soldiers whom they had seen the day before. laddie had thought up a new riddle--and it was a good one. he knew it was good and he told everybody about it, he was so excited. "listen!" he cried, when he half tumbled out of his saddle by the steps of the veranda. "this is a good riddle. listen!" "we're listening, son," said cowboy jack. "shoot!" "what is it," asked laddie earnestly, "that looks like a horse, has four legs like a horse, runs like a horse, eats like a horse, but it isn't a horse?" "a cow," said his twin promptly. "no, no! a cow has horns. a horse doesn't," laddie declared scornfully. "a colt," guessed russ. "no, no!" rejoined the eager laddie. "a colt is a little horse, so that could not be the answer, russ bunker." "a giraffe," suggested vi again. "i wish you wouldn't, vi," complained the riddle-maker. "does a giraffe look like any horse you ever saw?" "a carpenter's horse," said rose. "pooh! that's made of wood. can a wooden horse _run_?" cried laddie. "i guess that _is_ a pretty good riddle," said russ soberly. "what is the answer, laddie?" "do you all give it up?" asked the smaller boy, his eyes shining. "you got us thrown and tied," declared cowboy jack solemnly. "i couldn't guess that riddle in a thousand years." "but you wouldn't want to wait that long to know what it is," laddie said delightedly. "now, would you?" "you'd better tell us now, laddie," said daddy bunker smilingly. "you know a thousand years _is_ a long time to wait." "well," said the little fellow proudly, "what looks like a horse, and has four legs like a horse, and runs like a horse, and eats like a horse, is----" "yes, yes!" exclaimed the impatient violet. "what is it, laddie?" "why," said laddie, with vast satisfaction, "it is a _mule_." they all cried out in surprise at this answer. but it was a good riddle. "only," said russ thoughtfully, "it's lucky you didn't say anything about its tail and ears. then we would have caught you." the bunker children had so much fun with the ponies cowboy jack had selected for their use during the next two or three days that they thought of very little else. the mystery of the indians and soldiers did not often trouble their minds. but something else did. mail came from the east, and with it was a letter from captain ben, and another from norah. "and," said mother bunker soberly, reading the letters to the children, "both say that they have found neither rose's wrist-watch nor laddie's stick-pin. i am afraid, rose and laddie, that your carelessness has cost you both your jewelry. it is too bad. but perhaps it will teach you the lesson of carefulness with your possessions." this, however, did not make either rose or laddie feel any better in their minds. they had been very proud of both the lost articles and it looked now as though they would never see the watch and the pin again. chapter xix russ bunker guesses right one morning, while mother bunker was amusing the four younger children in the house (for the twins and margy and mun bun could not always go where rose and russ went) the two older bunker children rode away from the big ranch house on that very wagon-trail that had led them into such a strange adventure the first day of their stay on cowboy jack's ranch. rose rode on laddie's pony, pinky. russ and rose had thought of something the night before, and they had planned this ride in order to do it. they had remembered black bear's wild indians and the strange soldiers in blue. the two older bunker children decided to try to find those strange people again, and the man and woman and baby at the brookside. just who those "white settlers" could be, and why they were living in that part of the ranch away from mr. cowboy jack's nice house, neither russ nor rose had been able to make up their minds. of course, there was a mystery about it, and a mystery was bound to worry the little bunkers a good deal. they were persistent, and russ, at least, seldom gave up any problem until he had solved it. "i saw a picture in a big book at the ranch," said rose to her brother, "and in it a frontiersman--that's what the book called him--was dressed like that man we saw chopping wood--the man with the squirrel-tail on his cap and his long hair tied in a queue." "did you? but that must have been the way they wore their hair a long, long time ago." "it said in the book under the picture that trappers and hunters out west here wore their hair long and tied in queues long after they stopped doing so anywhere else. some of the white hunters wore a scalp-lock like the indians. i guess maybe that was a scalp-lock," said rose. "well, those soldiers----" "they are not dressed like soldiers are now," rose interrupted. "but in the book there were pictures of soldiers in the mexican war--when was that, russ?" russ had read a little american history in his class the term before and thought he knew something about the mexican war. he told rose it had been fought long after the revolution. "well, the pictures showed soldiers in the mexican war dressed like those we saw the other day. or, anyway, very much like them." "goodness me!" exclaimed russ, "don't you suppose these soldiers know _that_ war is over?" so they had started out without saying anything to the older folks about their real object. in the first place, russ and rose did not like to be laughed at. and they knew that cowboy jack, at least, was very much amused by the fact that the little bunkers had not guessed the mystery of the indians and soldiers now on his ranch. the brother and sister rode on through the valley they had traveled before and up to the top of the ridge from which they had seen the cabin by the side of the stream. the cabin was now in truth deserted. there was no fire before it and not a person in sight. "maybe those indians took them captive. the poor little baby!" murmured rose. "don't be a little dunce, rose!" exclaimed russ, with exasperation. "you know that nice black bear would not hurt them. and, anyway, i guess that baby was only a doll. that is what that soldier said when you told him about it. he said it was mr. props' rag baby." "who do you suppose mr. props is?" asked rose. "and mrs. props? it must have been mrs. props we saw holding the--er--baby. for maybe it was a real baby." russ saw there was no use in arguing on this point. he urged his calico pony forward and pinky followed promptly. the two bunkers went along the trail past the cabin and up the next slope. they struck into a woodsy sort of road then, and by and by the children saw that the trail was leading them to a ravine between two steep hills. there was much shrubbery, so they could not see very clearly what was before them, but as they continued to ride on there came suddenly a lot of noise from the ravine. horses whinnied, men shouted, and two or three guns were discharged. "oh! it's a fight, russ!" shrieked rose. "do come away!" but russ had seen something that interested him very much. among the bushes on one side of the ravine he saw several indians creeping. they wore feathers in their scalp-locks, and had bows and arrows and guns. he did not see black bear with this company of indians, but they were acting just as though they were fighting somebody down in the bottom of the ravine. "it's an--an ambush, rose!" cried russ excitedly. "oh! there's a man with a machine----" in fact he saw two men with boxes on tripods, standing side-by-side and not many yards away in the trail. the men were turning cranks on the sides of the boxes. another man turned and saw the bunker children apparently riding nearer. he started back toward them, shouted and waved his arms. "oh, dear me!" shrieked rose. "it's--it's dynamite! they are going to blow up something! come, russ!" she twitched at pinky's bridle, and the pony swerved about and plunged away at such a fast pace that poor rose could only cling to the bridle and saddle and cry. but russ remained where he was. he was greatly amazed, but slowly a comprehension of the whole thing was forming in the boy's mind. "it's--it's only make-believe," russ bunker told himself. "they are not doing anything dangerous. it's a--a play, that's what it is. why, those men have got moving picture cameras! "oh, i know what the surprise is now--mr. cowboy jack's surprise! it's a moving picture company!" said russ bunker aloud. "they are make-believe soldiers, even if black bear and his people are real indians. they are making moving pictures--that is what they are doing, rose." but when he turned in his saddle to look for rose, the girl and pinky had completely disappeared. "my goodness!" said russ, somewhat alarmed, "she's so frightened that she has run back home. maybe she will fall off the pony." much as he would have liked to remain to watch the actors and the indians make the picture on which they were at work, russ felt it his duty to see that rose was all right. if anything happened to rose daddy and mother might blame russ, because he was the oldest. the pinto pony cantered away with russ at quite a fast pace. he kept to the wagon-trail that led back to cowboy jack's ranch house. and at every turn russ expected to see pinky and rose ahead. but he did not see his sister on laddie's pony. he came in sight of the big house, and even then he did not see her. so, when the pinto stopped before the big veranda and mother bunker and the other children appeared, russ could scarcely find voice enough to ask: "oh, mother! have you seen rose? did she come back alone?" "rose? i have not seen her since you both rode away together. do you mean to say----" then mother bunker saw that russ was having hard work to keep back the tears and she--wise woman that she was--knew that this was no time to scold the boy. "where did she go? when did you lose her?" his mother cried, running down the steps. "back--back where they are making the moving picture," gasped russ. "she was scared by the indians shooting at the whites. but, of course, they were only making believe. and--and rose rode away somewhere and--and--oh, mother! i can't find her." chapter xx pinky goes home rose had seen men digging and blasting at home in pineville for the new sewer system; so when the moving picture man had run back toward her and russ to warn them not to get into the field of the camera, rose had thought a charge of dynamite was about to be exploded. although the man who warned them did not wave a red flag, dynamite was all rose could think of. the appearance of the indians on the hillside, in any case, frightened her, and she was quite ready to yield to panic. as we have seen, she twitched pinky, the pony, around by his bridle-rein, and the spirited pony proceeded to gallop away. rose did not pay any attention to where pinky was going. and pinky did not remain on the trail by which the brother and sister had traveled from cowboy jack's ranch. pinky was very anxious to go, but where he went he did not care. he left the trail almost at once and cantered through a pasture where the scattered clumps of brush and greasewood soon hid him and his rider from the sight of anybody on the wagon-trail. at least, they were quite hidden from russ bunker when he rode back to look for his sister. rose did not at first worry at all about where she was or where pinky was taking her. she listened for the expected "boom!" of the dynamite explosion. but as minute after minute passed and the explosion did not come, rose began to wonder if she had made a mistake. pinky kept right on moving, just as though he knew where he was going and wished to get there shortly. but when rose looked around she knew she had never been in this place before. and, too, she discovered that russ had not followed her. this last discovery made rose pull up the pony and think. it alarmed her. she was not often frightened when russ was by, although she had given way to fright on this particular occasion. but she knew she would not have been afraid had her brother been right here with her. as it was, rose was very much frightened indeed. she did not know where russ was, nor did she know where she was. therefore it was positive that she was lost! now, pinky was a very intelligent pony, as was afterward proved. you will read all about it later. but he could not know that rose wished him to find his way home unless she told him as much. and that rose did not do. she just burst out crying, and the pony had no idea what that meant. he turned to look at her, tossed his head and pawed with one dainty hoof. but he did not understand of course that the girl on his back was crying because she was lost and was afraid. perhaps, too, if rose had let the bridle-reins alone pinky would have remembered the corral and his oats and have started back without being told that the ranch house was the thing rose bunker most wanted to see. but the little girl thought she had to guide the pony; so she grabbed up the reins at last and said: "come up, pinky! we have just got to go somewhere. go on!" pinky naturally went on the way he was headed, and that chanced to be in a direction away from cowboy jack's home, where the bunkers were then visiting. nor did the pony bear her toward the place where the moving picture company was at work. they went on, and noon came, and both pinky and the little girl were hungry and thirsty. pinky smelled water--or saw it. he insisted on starting off to one side of the narrow trail they had been following. rose was afraid to leave that trail, for it seemed to her that a path along which people had ridden enough to make a deep rut in the sward must be a path that was more or less used all the time. she expected to meet somebody by sticking to this path, or else come to a house. but here was a shallow stream, and pinky insisted on trotting down to it and wading right in. the water was cool, and the pony cooled his feet in it as well as his nose. he had jerked the reins out of rose's hands when he had sunk his nose in the water, and she had no way of controlling him. "you bad, bad pinky!" cried rose, leaning down, clinging with one hand to his mane and reached with the other hand to seize the reins. but she could not reach them. she lost her stirrups. she slipped forward off the saddle and upon the pony's neck. at this pinky was startled. he tried to scramble out of the brook. he stepped on a stone that rolled. and then he staggered and half fell and over his head and right into the middle of the brook flew rose bunker! it was a most astonishing overturn, to say nothing of the danger of it. splash went rose into a pool of water! but worse than getting wet was the fact that one of her ankles came in contact with a stone, and the pain of the hurt made rose scream aloud. oh, that knock did so hurt the little girl! "now! now see what--what you've done!" cried rose, when she could speak. "you naughty, naughty pinky!" pinky had snorted and run a few steps up the bank. now he was grazing contentedly--not trying to run away from the little girl at all, but quite inconsiderate of her, just the same. he let rose sit on the edge of the brook, with her hurt foot in the water, crying as hard as she could cry, and he acted as though he had no interest in rose at all! at least, he acted this way until he had got his fill of grass. then he trotted back to the brook for another drink. he did not come very near rose, who had crawled up out of the water and sat rocking herself too and fro and nursing her hurt ankle. it was so badly wrenched that the little girl could not bear her weight upon that foot. she had tried it and found out "for sure." otherwise she might easily have caught pinky, for the pony was tame enough in spite of his being spirited. but she could not walk far enough to catch the pony; and then she could not have jumped up into the saddle. pinky got tired of looking at her, perhaps. anyway, after drinking again he wandered up from the brook and once more fell to grazing. but he was not hungry now, and he remembered the corral at the ranch house. besides, something moved behind a clump of brush and startled him. the pony threw up his head and snorted. his ears pointed forward and he looked questioningly at the clump of brush. the creature behind the bushes moved again, and at that pinky dashed away, whistling his alarm. rose saw him go, but she could not stop him. and fortunately, for the time being, she did not know what had frightened the pony and sent him off at so quick a pace. he disappeared, and with his going it seemed to rose that her last thread of attachment to the big ranch house and daddy and mother bunker was broken. when pinky was out of sight and sound rose stopped crying. in fact, she stood up and did try to hobble a few steps after him. for rose was wise enough to see that the pony had probably started for home, and in that same direction lay her best path too. but she really could not limp far nor fast. the clumps of brush soon hid the pony, as we have said. and then poor rose heard the same sound in the scrub that pinky had heard! "oh! what is that?" breathed the little girl. she had not thought of any danger from wild animals before this time, for it was broad daylight. and what this thing could be---- then she caught a glimpse of it! it was of a sunburned yellow color, and it slunk behind a bush and seemed to be crouching there, hiding, quite as much afraid of rose as rose was of it. she saw its dusty tail flattened out on the ground. but whether it was frightened or was preparing to charge out upon her, the little bunker girl could not tell and was greatly terrified. she was just as frightened, indeed, as all the people at cowboy jack's ranch house were when pinky, the runaway pony, cantered into view with nobody on his back. cowboy jack and daddy were already mounted on ponies, and russ had refused to remain at home. he wanted to aid in the search for rose. "i can show them just where we were when rose turned back," he said to mother bunker. "and then cowboy jack ought to be able to follow rose." "i hope so," agreed his mother. then she, as well as the little folks, shouted aloud at the appearance of the cantering pinky. "he's thrown the girl off!" exclaimed the ranchman. "or else she has tumbled off. and it was some time ago, too. come on, charlie bunker! i'm going to get black bear and his injuns to help us look for her." "oh, mr. scarbontiskil!" murmured mrs. bunker, "is there anything out there in the wilderness to hurt her--by day?" "not a thing, ma'am--not a thing bigger or savager than a jackrabbit," declared cowboy jack. "but i wonder where the pony left her?" queried mr. bunker. "ask him, daddy--ask him," urged laddie eagerly. "he's an awful intelligent pony." pinky had been halted before the group at the ranch house. daddy bunker said again: "i wonder if he could show us where he left rose?" and when he spoke pinky began to nod his head up and down and paw with one hoof. the children were delighted--even russ. "oh! i believe he is trying to explain," russ cried. "ask him another question, daddy." mr. bunker laughed rather grimly. "let vi ask the pony questions; she can think of them faster than i can. or let laddie ask him a riddle. there is no time to experiment with ponies now." he and cowboy jack started away from the ranch house, and russ, for fear of being left behind, urged his pinto after them. he felt very much frightened because of rose's absence. and he felt, too, as though it might be his fault, although none of the older people had suggested such a thing. still, russ knew that he ought to be beside his sister right now! chapter xxi the lame coyote rose had, of course, heard of coyotes. she had heard them talked about here at cowboy jack's ranch. but she had not caught a glimpse of one before. nor did she know this slinking creature behind the bushes was that animal which ranchmen consider such a pest. although coyotes are very cowardly by nature and will seldom attack human beings, even if starving or enraged, the beasts do kill young calves and lambs and raid the ranch hen-houses just as foxes do in the east. besides, on the open range, the coyotes howl and whine all night, keeping everybody in camp awake; so the cowboys have a strong dislike for mr. coyote and have not a single good word to say for him. indeed, the coyote seems to possess few good traits. but rose bunker called the creature that had startled her a dog. "if i could run i know that dog would chase me!" she sobbed. "i wonder who it belongs to? it must be a runaway dog, to be away out here where there are no houses. i'm afraid of that dog." for this rose was not to be much blamed. this was a strange country to her, and almost everything she saw was different from what she was used to back in pennsylvania. even the trees and bushes were different. and she never had seen a dog just like that tawny one that dragged itself behind the hedge of bushes. the strange part of it was--the thing that frightened rose most--was that the animal seemed trying to hide from her. and yet she felt that it must be dangerous, for it was big and had long legs. she was quite right in supposing that if she had undertaken to run, under ordinary circumstances, the animal could have overtaken her. but rose's ankle throbbed and ached, and she cried out whenever she rested that foot upon the ground. she just couldn't run! so she began cajoling the supposed dog, hoping that it was not as savage as she really feared it was. one thing, it did not growl as bad dogs often did, as rose bunker very well knew. "come, doggy! nice doggy!" she cooed. and then she was suddenly afraid that it really would come! if it had leaped up and started toward rose the little girl would have fallen right down--she knew she would! but the yellow-looking creature only tried to creep farther under the scrubby bushes. rose began to think that maybe it was more afraid of her than she was of it. "poor doggy!" she said, hobbling around the end of the hedge of scrubby bushes. there she saw its head and forepaws. and it was not until then that she discovered what was the matter with the coyote. its right fore paw was fast in a steel trap. a chain hung from the trap. it had broken the chain and hobbled away with the trap--no knowing how far it had come. "the poor thing!" rose said again, at once pitying the coyote more than she was afraid of it. yet when it saw the little girl looking at him it clashed its great jaws and grinned at her most wickedly. it was not a pleasant thing to look at. "but he is hurt, and 'fraid, i suppose," rose murmured. "why! he's just as lame as i am. i guess his foot hurts him in that awful trap a good deal more than my ankle hurts me. the poor thing!" the coyote was evidently quite exhausted. it probably had come a good way with that trap fastened to its paw. but it showed rose all its teeth, and they did look very sharp to the little girl. "i would not want him to snap at me," thought rose. "and if i went near enough i guess he would snap. i'll keep away from the poor dog, for i would not dare try to get the trap off his foot." she moved away; but she kept the crouching coyote in sight. she did not like to feel that it was following her without her seeing it do so. and the coyote seemed to feel that it wanted to keep her in sight. for it raised its head and watched her with unwinking eyes. this incident had given rose something to think about besides her own lost state and her lame ankle. the latter was not paining as badly as at first. still, she did not feel that she could hobble far. and she was not quite sure now in which direction pinky, the pony, had run. she really did not know which way to go. "it is funny russ didn't come after me," thought the little girl. "maybe those indians got him. but, then, there was the white man. i thought he was setting off dynamite. but there wasn't any explosion. i guess i ran away too quick. but russ might have followed me, i should think." she could not quite bring herself to blame her difficulties on russ, however, for she very well knew that her own panic had brought her here. russ had been brave enough to stay. russ was always brave. and then, she had blindly ridden off the trail and come to this place. "i guess i won't say russ did it," she decided. "it wouldn't be so. and i expect right now he is hunting for me, and is worried 'most to death about where i am. and daddy--and mother bunker! i guess they will want to know where i've got to. this--this is just dreadful. maybe i shall have to stay here days and days! and what shall i ever eat, if i do? and i haven't even any bed out here!" the lost girl felt pretty bad. it seemed to her, now that she thought more about it, that she was very ill used. russ did not usually desert her when she was in trouble. and rose bunker felt that she was in very serious trouble now. she sat down again in plain view of the lame coyote and cried a few more tears. but what was the use of crying when there was nobody here to care? the lame coyote had its own troubles, and although it watched her, it did not care a thing about her. "he is only afraid i might do something to hurt him," thought rose. "and i wouldn't do a thing to hurt the poor doggy. i wonder if he is thirsty?" the stream of water into which rose had tumbled from pinky's back was only a few yards away, and perhaps the wounded coyote had been trying to get to it before the little girl and the pony came to this place. but the animal was too wary to go down to drink while rose was in sight. and fortunately there was nothing rose could take water to the coyote in. for she certainly would have tried to do that, if she could. she was just that tender-hearted. but it would have been unwise, for the coyote's teeth were as sharp as they looked to be, and it would not have understood that the little girl merely wished to help. rose sat and watched the beast, and the lame coyote crouched under the bushes and watched her, and it grew into mid-afternoon. rose felt very sad indeed. she did not see how she could walk back to the ranch house, even if she knew the way. and she could not understand why russ did not come for her. meanwhile russ was urging his pinto pony as fast as he could after cowboy jack and daddy bunker. they followed the regular wagon-track through the valley and over the ridge which had now become quite familiar to the little boy. they passed the cabin by the stream and then came to the knoll from which that morning russ and rose had seen the moving picture cameras. but neither those machines nor the men who worked them nor the indians on the hillside were now in sight. cowboy jack, however, seemed to know just where to find the moving picture company, for he kept right on into the ravine. "i reckon this is about where you saw the indians and the camera men, son?" the ranchman said to russ. "yes, sir," said russ. "but rose left me right on this hill. i thought she went back----" "i didn't notice any place where she left the trail," interposed cowboy jack. "but i reckon black bear can find where she went. you have to hand it to those injuns. they can see trailmarks that a white man wouldn't notice. and going to college didn't spoil black bear for a trail-hunter." "he is quite a wonderful young man," daddy bunker said. but russ was only thinking about his sister. he wondered where she could have gone and what had happened to her. pinky's coming back to the ranch alone made russ believe that something very terrible had happened to his sister. he urged his pinto pony on after the ranchman and daddy, however, and they all entered the ravine. it was a very wild place--just the sort of place, russ thought, where savage indians might have lain in wait for unfortunate white people. he was very glad that black bear's people were quite tame. at least, they could not be accused of having run away with rose. in a few minutes cowboy jack had led them up through the ravine and out upon what he called a mesa. there were patches of woods, plenty of grass that was not much frost-bitten, and a big spring near which a number of ponies were picketed. there was a traveling kitchen, such as the army used in the world war. men in white caps and jackets were very busy about the kitchen helping the moving picture company to hot food. and the actors and indians were all squatting very pleasantly side by side eating and talking. the indians wore their war-paint, but they had drawn on their shirts or else had blankets around their shoulders. russ saw black bear almost at once. he stood talking with some of the white men--notably with the one who was the commander of the soldiers, the man with the plume in his hat. but it seemed that a little man sitting on a campchair off to one side and talking to a man who had a lot of papers in his hands was the most important person in view. it was to this man that cowboy jack led the way. "that is mr. habback, the director," russ heard the ranchman tell daddy. "we must get him to let us have black bear, or somebody." the next moment he hailed the moving picture director. "can you spare some of your injuns for an hour?" asked cowboy jack. "there's a little girl lost, and i reckon an injun can find her trail better than any of my cholos or punchers. how about black bear?" the young indian whose name he had mentioned came towards the group at once. mr. habback looked up at chief black bear. "hear what this texas longhorn says, chief?" he said to the indian. "a little girl lost somewhere." "i can show you about where she left the trail," explained the ranchman earnestly. "was she over at my wikiup the other evening?" asked black bear, with interest. "she--she's my sister," broke in russ anxiously. "and she was scared by your indian play, and the pony must have run away with her." "hullo!" said chief black bear. "i remember you, too, youngster. so your sister is lost?" "well, we can't find her," said russ bunker. "i will go along with them, mr. habback," said the indian chief, glancing down at the director. "i'll take little elk with me. you won't need us for a couple of hours, will you?" "it's all right," said the director. "go ahead. we can't afford to lose a little girl around here, that is sure." "you bet we can't," put in cowboy jack. "little girls are scarce in this part of the country." black bear spoke to one of his men, who hurried to get two ponies. the indians leaped upon the bare backs of the ponies and rode them just as safely as the white people rode in their saddles. this interested russ a great deal, and he wondered if black bear would teach him how to ride indian style. but this was not the time to speak of such a thing. rose must be found. for all they knew the little girl might be in serious trouble--she might be needing them right then! the two indians and the ranchman and daddy bunker started back through the ravine. none of them was more worried over rose's disappearance than was russ. he urged his pinto pony after the older people at the very fastest pace he could ride. chapter xxii a picnic rose had now been so long alone that she was beginning to fear she never would see mother bunker and daddy and her brothers and sisters again. and this was an awful thought. but she had already cried so much that it was an effort for her to squeeze out another tear. so she just sat on a stump and sniffed, watching the lame coyote. rose pitied that coyote. if he was as thirsty as she was hungry, the little girl feared the poor animal must be suffering greatly. for it was long past noon and breakfast at the ranch house was served early. "i guess i'll have to begin to eat leaves and grass," murmured rose bunker. "i suppose i can wash them down with water, and there is plenty of water in the brook. only the poor, doggy can't get to it." while she was thinking these things, and feeling very miserable indeed, she suddenly heard the ring of horses' hoofs on the stones in the brook. rose sprang up in great excitement, for she did not know what this new trouble might be. then---- "oh, daddy bunker! russ!" she shrieked, and began to hobble toward the cavalcade that had ridden down from the other side of the stream of water. "rose!" cried daddy. "are you hurt, child?" "well, i _was_ hurt. but my foot's pretty near well now. only pinky ran away and left me after i tumbled out of the saddle--oh! wait! look out and don't scare off the poor lame doggy." this last she cried when she looked back at the coyote trying to scramble farther into the bushes. but the chain hitched to the trap had caught over a stub, and the poor brute could not get far. cowboy jack drew from his saddle holster the pistol he usually carried when he was out on the range; but rose screamed out again when she saw that. "don't hurt the poor doggy, mr. cowboy jack! he can't get away." "jumping grasshoppers!" muttered the ranchman, "does she think that coyote is a dog?" "she evidently does," black bear replied. "he can't get away. i'll tell little elk to stay back and fix him. no use scaring the child. lucky the brute was fast in that trap. he might have done her harm." rose did not hear this, but russ did. and he was quite old enough to understand his sister had been in danger while she remained here near the coyote. besides, it would have been cruel to have left the wounded animal to die miserably alone. he could not be cured, so he would have to be shot. this incident of the coyote made a deeper impression upon the mind of russ than it did on his sister's. he quite understood that, had the animal been more savage or had it been free of the trap, it might have seriously injured rose. there were perils out here on the open ranges that they must never lose sight of--possibilities of getting into trouble that at first russ bunker had not dreamed about. it made russ feel as though never again would he let any of the younger children go anywhere alone while they remained at cowboy jack's. rose prattled a good deal to daddy bunker about the "lame dog" as they all rode back to the ranch house. but russ was more interested in hearing about the moving picture company's camp and what they were doing. black bear told the little boy some things he wished to know, including the fact that the indians and the other actors were making a picture about olden times on the plains, and that it was called "a romance of the santa fé trail." "i should think it would be a lot of fun to make pictures," russ said. "do you think we bunkers could get a chance to act in it, chief black bear?" "i don't know about that," laughed the indian. "i shall have to ask mr. habback, the director. maybe he can use you children in the scene at the old fort where the soldiers and frontiersmen are hemmed in by the indians. of course, there were children in the fort at the time of the attack." "it--it isn't going to be a real fight, is it?" asked russ, rather more doubtfully. "it has got to look like a real fight, or mr. habback will not be satisfied, i can tell you." "but suppose--suppose," stammered russ, "your indians should forget and really turn savage?" "not a chance of that," laughed black bear. "i have hard enough work making them take their parts seriously. they are more likely to think it is funny and spoil the shot." "then they don't ever feel like turning savage and fighting the white folks in earnest?" asked russ. "you don't feel like turning savage and fighting red men do you?" asked black bear, with a serious face. "oh, no!" cried russ, shaking his head. "then, why should we red people want to fight you? you will be perfectly safe if you come down to see us make the fort scene," the indian chief assured him. so russ got back to the ranch house full to the lips with the idea of acting in the moving picture. rose's ankle had only been twisted a little, and she was perfectly able to walk the next day. but mother bunker would not hear to the children going far from the house after that without daddy or herself being with them. "i believe our six little bunkers can get into more adventures than any other hundred children," she said earnestly. "to think of that coyote being there with rose for hours!" "if he had not been in the trap he would have run away from her fast enough," returned daddy bunker. just the same he, too, felt that the children would better not get far out of their sight. they could play with the ponies about the house, for the fields were mostly unfenced. and the ponies were certainly great play-fellows. laddie was sure that pinky was a most intelligent horse. "if we had known just how to talk to him," declared laddie, "i am sure he would have told us all about rose and where he had left her that day." "maybe he would," said rose, though she spoke rather doubtfully. "but i slipped right out of that saddle, and i am not going to ride him any more. i would rather drive brownie hitched to the cart." "you mean dinah, don't you?" asked margy. "i guess she means cute," said vi. "oh, no! oh, no!" cried mun bun. "let _me_ name that pony. i want to call him jerry. i want to call him after our jerry simms at home in pineville." and this was finally agreed upon. all the bunker children liked jerry simms, who had been the very first person to tell them stories about the army and about this great west that they had come to. "i guess jerry simms would have known all about this moving picture the soldiers and mr. black bear's indians are making," russ remarked. "and mayn't we all go and act in it, daddy?" russ talked so much about this that finally mrs. bunker agreed to go with the children to see the representation of the indian attack on the fort. the six little bunkers looked forward to this exciting proposal for several days, and when mr. habback sent word that the scene was ready to "shoot," as he called it, the children could scarcely contain themselves until the party started from the ranch house. it was to be a grand picnic, for they took cooked food and a tent for mother bunker and the children to sleep in. russ and laddie rode their ponies, and all the rest of the party crowded into one of cowboy jack's big blue automobiles when they set out for a distant part of the ranch. "i know we'll have just a bully time," declared russ bunker. "it will be the best adventure we've ever had." but even russ did not dream of all the exciting things that were to happen on that picnic. chapter xxiii moving picture magic it was rather rough going for the big car, and the little bunkers were jounced about a good bit. russ and laddie trotted along on their ponies quite contentedly, however, and did not complain of the pace. but vi began to ask questions, as usually was the case when she was disturbed either in mind or body. "daddy, why do we jump up and down so when the car bumps?" she wanted to know. "you and mother don't bounce the way mun bun and margy and rose and i do. why do we?" "because you are not as heavy as your mother and i. therefore you cannot resist the jar of the car so well." "but why does the car bump at all? our car at home doesn't bump--unless we run into something. why does this car of mr. cowboy jack's bump?" "the road is not smooth. that is why," said her father, trying to satisfy that thirst for knowledge which sometimes made violet a good deal of a nuisance. "why isn't this road smooth?" promptly demanded the little girl. "jumping grasshoppers!" ejaculated the ranchman, greatly amused, "can't that young one ask 'em, though?" at once vi's active attention was drawn to another subject. "mr. cowboy jack," she demanded, "why do grasshoppers jump?" "fine!" exclaimed daddy bunker. "you brought it on yourself, jack. answer her if you can." "that's an easy one," declared the much amused ranchman. "well, why do they jump?" asked the impatient vi. "i'll tell you," returned cowboy jack seriously. "they jump because their legs are so long that, when they try to walk, they tumble over their own feet. do you see how that is?" "no-o, i don't," said vi slowly. "but if it is so, why don't they have shorter legs?" "jump--never mind!" ejaculated cowboy jack. "you got me that time. i reckon i'll let your daddy do the answering. you fixed me, first off." so vi never did find out why grasshoppers had such long legs that they had to jump instead of walk. it puzzled her a good deal. she asked everybody in the car, and nobody seemed able to explain--not even daddy bunker himself. "well," murmured vi at last, "i never _did_ hear of such--such iggerance. there doesn't seem to be anybody knows anything." "i should think you'd know a few things yourself, vi, so as not to be always asking," criticized her twin. daddy bunker was much amused by this. but the next moment the wheels on one side of the car jumped high over a clod of hard earth, and daddy had to grab quick at mun bun or he might have been jounced completely out of the car. "what are you trying to do, mun bun?" demanded daddy sharply. "i'm flying my kite," answered the little fellow calmly. "but i 'most lost it that time, daddy." before getting into the automobile mun bun had found a large piece of stiff brown paper and had tied a string of some length to it. although there was no framework to this "kite," the wind caused by the rapid movement of the automobile helped to fly the piece of paper at the end of the string. "look out you don't go overboard," advised daddy bunker. "you hold on to me, daddy--p'ease," said the smallest bunker. "you see, this kite pulls pretty hard." russ and laddie were riding close behind the motor-car, but on the other side of the trail. the minute after mun bun had made his request, a gust of wind took the kite over to that side of the car and it almost blew into the face and eyes of russ bunker's pony. [illustration: mun buns' "kite" frightened the pinto. _six little bunkers at cowboy jack's._ (_page _)] the pinto was very well behaved; but this paper startled him. he shied and wheeled suddenly to get away from the annoying kite. instantly russ shot over the pony's head and came down asprawl on the ground! as he flew out of the saddle russ uttered a shout of alarm, and pinky, laddie's mount, was likewise frightened. pinky started ahead at a gallop, and laddie was dreadfully shaken up. he squealed as loud as he could, but he managed to pull pinky down to a stop very soon. "wha--what are you doing, russ bunker?" laddie wanted to know. "is that the right way to get off a pony?" russ had not lost his grip of the bridle-reins, and he scrambled up and held his snorting pony. "you know i don't get off that way if i can help it," said russ indignantly. "but you did," said laddie. "well, i didn't mean to. my goodness! but my knee is scratched." the automobile had stopped, and mother bunker called to russ to ask if he was much hurt. "not much, mother," he replied. "but make mun bun fly his kite somewhere else. my pony doesn't like it." "mun bun," said daddy bunker seriously, "i think you will have to postpone the flying of that kite until later." "he'd better," chuckled cowboy jack, starting the car again. "first he knows he'll scare me, and then maybe i'll run the car off the track." of course that was one of cowboy jack's jokes. he was always joking, it seemed. at last they came in sight of the place where the several big scenes of the moving picture were going to be photographed. a river that the little bunkers had not before seen flowed here in a great curve which cowboy jack spoke of as the oxbow bend. it was a grassy, gently sloping field, with not a tree in sight save along the edge of the water. nevertheless, many trees had been brought here and a good-sized stockade, or "fort," had been erected. the structure was in imitation of those forts, or posts, of the united states army that marked the advance of the pioneers into this vast western country a good deal more than half a century ago. daddy bunker had told the children something about the development of this part of the united states the evening before, and russ and rose, at least, had understood and remembered. but just now they were all more interested in the people they found here at the oxbow bend and in what they were doing. in one place were several covered wagons and the traveling kitchen. here the white members of the moving picture company lived. at the other side was the encampment of black bear and his people. the indian camp had been brought to this place from the spot where the little bunkers had first visited it. black bear and little elk and the other indians welcomed the little bunkers very kindly. and on this occasion the eastern children became acquainted with the little indians who had come down from the indian reservation in oklahoma with their parents to work for the moving picture company. rose and russ felt they knew these indian boys and girls already. you see, they had seen more of the indians than the other bunker children had. they found that indian boys and girls played a good deal like white children. at least, the dark-faced little girls had dolls made of corncobs and wood, with painted faces, and they wrapped them in tiny blankets. one little girl showed rose her "best" doll which she had carefully hidden away in a tent. this doll was a rosy-cheeked beauty that could open and shut her eyes, and must have cost a good deal of money. she told rose that chief black bear had given the doll to her for learning sunday-school texts. the boys took russ and laddie down to the edge of the river and sailed several toy canoes that the men of the tribe had fashioned for them. the canoes were just like big indian canoes, with high prows and sterns and painted with targets. besides these toys the indian boys had bows and arrows that were modeled much better than the bows and arrows russ and laddie owned, and could shoot much farther. when russ tried the indians' bow and arrows he was surprised at the distance he could drive the arrow and how accurately he sent it. "i guess you boys know how to make 'em right," he told joshua little elk, one of the indian lads and a son of the big little elk who had helped find rose when she was lost. "laddie and i have only got boughten bow-arrows, and the arrows don't fly very good." "my papa made this bow for me," said joshua, who was a very polite little boy with jet-black hair. "and he scraped the arrows and found the heads." the heads were of flint, just such arrow-heads as the ancient indians used to make. but the modern indians, if they used arrows at all in hunting, have steel arrow-heads which they buy from the white traders. these things and a lot more russ and laddie learned while they were with the indians. but there was not time for play all of the day. by and by mr. habback, the moving picture director, shouted through his megaphone, and everybody gathered at the stockade, or fort, and he explained what was to be done. some of the pictures were to be taken that day; but the bigger fight would be made the day following. however, the bunker children were not altogether disappointed at this time. there was a run made by one of the covered wagons for the fort, and the little bunkers, dressed in odds and ends of calico and sunbonnets and old-time straw hats, sat in the back of the wagon and screamed as they were told to while the six mules that drew the wagon raced for the fort with the indians chasing behind on horseback. mun bun might have fallen out had not both russ and rose clung to him. and the little fellow did not like it much after all. "my hair wasn't parted, muvver," he said afterward to mother bunker. "and i didn't have my new blouse on--or my wed tie. i don't think that will be a good picture of me. not near so good as the one we had taken before in the man's shop that takes reg'lar pictures." but although mun bun did not care much for the picture making, the other little bunkers continued to be vastly amused and interested. they watched black bear and the commander of the soldiers smoke the pipe of peace in the indian encampment. mr. habback allowed russ to dress up like a little indian boy to appear with joshua little elk in this picture, because they were about the same size. they brought the ornamented pipe to the chief after it had been filled by the old indian woman, mary. it was a very interesting affair, and if mun bun was bored by it, he fell asleep anyway, so it did not matter. but the next day the big fight was staged, and that was bound to be exciting enough to keep even mun bun awake. the fight was about to start and the call was made for all the children to gather inside the stockade. the bunkers were all to be there. but suddenly there was a great outcry around the tent that had been set up for the use of mother bunker and the six little bunkers. mun bun was not to be found. they sent the other children scurrying everywhere--to the soldiers' camp, to the indian encampment, and all around. nobody had seen mun bun for an hour. and in an hour, as you and i know, a good deal can happen to a little bunker! chapter xxiv mun bun in trouble "why does he do it, daddy?" asked vi. "why does he do what?" returned her father, who was too excited and anxious to wish to be bothered by vi's questions. "mun bun. why does he?" "don't bother me now," said her father. "it is bad enough to have mun bun disappear in this mysterious way----" "but why does he disappear--and everything?" vi wanted to know. "he's the littlest of all of us bunkers, but he makes the most trouble. why does he?" "i'm sure," said mother bunker, who had overheard vi, "you may be right. but i can't answer your question and neither can daddy. now, don't bother us, vi. if you can't find your little brother, let us look for him." the whole party at the oxbow bend was roused by this time, and men, women and children were looking for the little lost boy. some of the cowboys who were working with the moving picture people scurried all around the neighborhood on pony back; but they could see nothing of mun bun. russ and rose had searched everywhere they could think of. mun bun had not been in their care at the time he was lost, and for that fact russ and rose were very thankful. this only relieved them of personal responsibility, however; the older brother and sister were very much troubled about mun bun's absence. the smallest bunker really had succeeded in getting everybody at oxbow bend very much stirred up. even the usually stolid indians went about seeking the little white boy. and mun bun was nearer the indians just then than he was to anybody else! the little fellow had gone wandering off after breakfast while almost everybody else was down at the fort listening to mr. habback's final instructions about the big scene that was to be shot. mun bun had already expressed himself as disapproving of the picture. he knew he would not look nice in it. he came to the indian encampment, and the only person about was an old squaw who was doing something at the cooking fire. she gave mun bun no attention, and he looked only once at her. she did not interest the little boy at all. but there was something here he was curious about. he had seen it before, and he wanted to see in it--to learn what the indians kept in it. it was a big box, bigger than mother bunker's biggest trunk, and now the lid was propped up. mun bun did not ask the old woman if he could look in it. maybe he did not think to ask. at any rate, there was a pile of blankets beside the box and he climbed upon them and then stood up and looked down into the big box. it was half filled with a multitude of things--beaded clothing, gaily colored blankets, feather headdresses, and other articles of indian apparel. and although there was so much packed in the box, there was still plenty of room. "it would make a nice cubby-house to play in," thought mun bun. "i wonder what that is." "that" was something that glittered down in one corner. mun bun stooped over the edge of the box and tried to reach the glittering object. at first he did not succeed; then he reached farther--and he got it! but in doing this he slipped right over the edge of the box and dived headfirst into it. mun bun cried out; but that cry was involuntary. then he remembered that he was where he had no business to be, and he kept very still. he even lost interest in the thing he had tried to reach and which had caused his downfall. of a sudden he heard talking outside. it was talking that mun bun could not understand. he was always alarmed when he heard the indians speaking their own tongue, for he did not know what they said. so mun bun kept very still, crouching down there in the box. he would not try to get out until these people he heard went away. just then, and before mun bun could change his mind if he wanted to, somebody came along and slammed down the lid of that box! poor little mun bun was much frightened then. at first he did not cry out or try to make himself heard. but he heard the person outside lock the box and then go away. after that he heard nothing at all for a long time. perhaps mun bun sobbed himself to sleep. at least, it seemed to him when he next aroused that he had been in the box a long, long time. he knew he was hungry, and being hungry is not at all a pleasant experience. meanwhile the search for the smallest bunker was carried on all about the oxbow bend. in the brush and along the river's edge where the cottonwoods stood, and in every little coulee, or hollow, back of the camps. "i don't see," complained rose, "why we bunkers have to be losing things all the time. there was my wrist-watch and laddie's pin. next came vi and laddie. then mun bun was lost in the tumble-weed. then i got lost myself. now it's mun bun again. somehow, russ, it does seem as though we must be awful careless." "you speak for yourself, rose bunker!" returned her brother quite sharply. "i know _i_ wasn't careless about mun bun. i didn't even know he needed watching--not when daddy and mother were around." nobody seemed more disturbed over mun bun's disappearance than cowboy jack. the ranchman had set everybody about the place to work hunting for the little boy, and privately he had begun to offer a reward for the discovery of the lost one. to cowboy jack came one of the older indian men. he was not a modern, up-to-date indian, like chief black bear. he still tied his hair in a scalp-lock, and if he was not actually a "blanket indian" (that is, one of the old kind that wore blankets instead of regular shirts and jackets), this indian was one that had not been to school. russ and rose were standing with cowboy jack when the old indian came to the ranchman. "wuh! heap trouble in camp," said the old indian in his deep voice. "and there's going to be more trouble if we don't find that little fellow pretty soon," declared the ranchman vigorously. "bad spirits here. bad medicine," grunted the old indian. "what's that? you mean to say one of those bootleggers that sell you reds bad whisky is around?" "no. no firewater. heap worse," said the indian. "can't be anything worse than whisky," declared cowboy jack emphatically. "bad spirits," said the indian stubbornly. "in box. make knocking. white chief come see--come hear." he called cowboy jack a "chief" because the white man owned the big ranch. rose and russ listened very earnestly to what the indian said, and they urged cowboy jack to go to the indian encampment and see what it meant. "what's a spirit, russ?" asked his sister. "alcohol," declared russ, proud of his knowledge. "but i don't see how alcohol could knock on a box. it's a liquid--like water, you know." they trotted after cowboy jack and the old indian and came to the big box that had been locked in preparation for shipping back to the reservation when the indians got through their job here with the picture company. it looked to be a perfectly innocent box, and at first the children and cowboy jack heard nothing remarkable from within it. "i reckon you were hearing things in your mind, old fellow," said the ranchman to the indian. the latter grunted suddenly and pointed to the box. there was a sound that seemed to come from inside. something made a rat, tat, tat on the cover of the box. "goodness me!" murmured rose, quite startled. "that's a real knocking," admitted russ. cowboy jack sprang forward and tried to open the box. "hey!" he exclaimed. "it's locked. where's the key? when did you lock this box?" "black bear--him lock it. got key," said the old indian, keeping well away from the box. "you go and get that key in a hurry. somebody is in that box, sure as you live!" cried the ranchman. "i know! i know!" shouted russ excitedly. "it's mun bun! they have locked him in that box!" "oh, poor little mun bun!" wailed rose. "do--do you suppose the indians were trying to steal him?" "of course not," returned russ disdainfully. "mr. black bear wouldn't steal anybody. he just didn't know mun bun was in there. i guess mun bun crawled in by himself." then he went close to the big box and shouted mun bun's name, and they all heard the little boy reply--but his voice came to them very faintly. "we'd better get him out in a hurry," said cowboy jack anxiously. "the little fellow might easily smother inside that box." chapter xxv something that was not expected there was great excitement at the indian camp during the next few minutes. everybody came running to the spot when they heard that mun bun was found but could not be got at. everybody but chief black bear. he had gone off to a place at some distance from the camp, and a man on pony-back had to go to get him, for black bear had the key of the big box. daddy bunker and mother came with the other bunker children, and vi began to ask questions as usual. but nobody paid much attention to her questions. laddie said he thought he could make up a riddle about mun bun in the box, but before he managed to do this the chief arrived with the key. when the lid of the box was lifted the first person mun bun saw was daddy bunker, and he put up his arms to him and cried: "daddy! daddy! mun bun don't want to stay in this place. mun bun wants to go home." "and i must say," said mother bunker, who had been much worried, "that home will be the very best place in the world after this. i will not let mun bun out of my reach again. how does he manage to get into so much trouble?" "why, muvver!" sobbed the littlest bunker, "i just tumble in. i tumbled into this box and then they locked me in." "how does he tumble into trouble?" demanded vi, staring at mun bun. "i _know_ there is a riddle about it," said laddie thoughtfully. "only i can't just make it out yet." they were all very glad that mun bun was not hurt. but it did seem that he would have to be watched very closely or he might disappear again. "he's just like a drop of quicksilver," said cowboy jack. "when you try to put your finger on him, he isn't there." just then the great horn blew to call everybody to the fort, for mr. habback was ready for the big scene of the picture. the little bunkers--at least, all but mun bun--were eager to respond, for they wanted to be in the picture. mother, however, kept the little boy with her, and they only watched the picture when it was made. that satisfied mun bun just as well, for he did not believe that he looked nice enough to go to a photographer just then. "i guess i'll have my picture taken when i get back to pineville, muvver," he said. "i'll like it better." but the rest of the party would never forget that exciting day. the indians led by black bear attacked the fort, and there was much shooting and shouting and riding back and forth. the shooting was with blank cartridges, of course, so that nobody was hurt. but even the ponies seemed to be excited, and russ told rose he was quite sure pinky and his pinto, who were both in the picture, enjoyed the play just as much as anybody! "only, they will never see the picture when it is on the screen. and daddy says we will, if nothing happens. when the picture comes to pineville we can take all the children we know at school and show 'em how we worked for the picture company and helped make 'a romance of the santa fé trail!'" this, later, they did. but, of course, you will have to read about that in another story about the six little bunkers. mr. habback thanked the bunkers when the work was done, and in the middle of the afternoon cowboy jack took them all back to the ranch house again in his big blue car, one of his cowboys leading in pinky and the pinto pony later. on the way to the ranch russ and rose heard daddy tell mother that he had managed to fix up mr. golden's business for him and that it would soon be time to start east. "i don't care--much," rose said, when she heard this. "we have had a very exciting time, russ. and i guess i want to go to school again. they must have coal in pineville. i should think they would have some by now." "i hate to lose my pinto pony," said russ. "can't we take him and pinky with us?" laddie asked. "i do wish we could." "can't do that," said daddy seriously. "we have enough pets now for jerry simms to look after." "i tell you what," said cowboy jack heartily. "i'll take good care of the ponies, little folks, so that when you come out to see me again they will be all ready for you to use." "and jerry, too?" cried mun bun. "i like that pony. he doesn't run so fast." "and jerry, too," agreed the ranchman. so the little bunkers were contented with this promise. when they got to the ranch house everybody there seemed very glad to see them, and maria, the mexican cook, had a very nice supper ready for the six little bunkers. she seemed to know that she would not cook for the visitors much longer, and she tried to please them particularly with this meal. there were waffles again, and all the little bunkers were fond of those delectable dainties. only mother bunker would not always let them eat as many as they wanted to. but there was something at the ranch besides supper that evening that interested the children very much. there was some more mail from the east, and among it a little package that had been registered and sent to mother bunker by captain ben from grand view. "i guess he has sent mother bunker a nice present," declared rose eagerly. "captain ben likes mother." "don't we all like her?" demanded vi. "i like her very much. can't i give her a present too?" "you are always picking flowers and finding pretty things for me," said mrs. bunker kindly. "i appreciate them just as much as any present captain ben could give me." "but what is it, mother?" asked rose, quite as excited as vi and the others. "we shall have to open it and see," her mother said. but she would not open the little package until after supper. perhaps that is why the little bunkers were willing to eat fewer of maria's nice waffles. they were all eager to see what was in the package. even daddy claimed to be curious. so, when the lamps were lit in the big living room and everybody was more than ready, as russ complained, mother bunker began to untie the string which fastened the package from captain ben. "i guess it is a diamond necklace," declared rose earnestly. "oh, maybe it is a pretty pearl brooch," said russ. "what do you suppose it is, daddy?" asked mother bunker, busy with the string and seals and smiling at mr. bunker knowingly. "it isn't a white elephant, i am sure," chuckled daddy bunker. "oh! now he is making fun," cried rose. "it is something pretty, of course, for mother." "i know! i know!" cried laddie suddenly. "i know what it is." "if you know so much," returned his twin "tell us." "it's a riddle," declared laddie. "i guess it must be," laughed his mother. "'riddle-me-ree! what do i see?'" and she opened the outside wrapper and displayed a little box with a letter wrapped about it. "from captain ben to be sure," she said, unfolding the letter and beginning to read it. "and it is a riddle!" repeated laddie with conviction. mother bunker began to laugh. she nodded and smiled at them. "it certainly is a riddle," she said. "it is almost as good a riddle as that one laddie told about the splinter." "i know! i know!" cried the little boy. "'i went out to the woodpile and got it.' i remember that one. but--but that isn't a splinter he has sent you, is it, mother?" "it is something that captain ben looked for and could not find. but all the time he had it. what is it?" the little bunkers stared at each other. laddie murmured: "that is a riddle! what can it be?" suddenly rose uttered a little squeal and clasped her hands. "oh, mother!" she cried. "is it--is it my _watch_?" at that laddie began fairly to dance up and down. he was so excited he could scarcely speak. "is it my pin?" he wanted to know. "my stick-pin that i left at grand view, mother? is it?" there certainly was great excitement in the room until mother bunker opened the box. and there lay in cotton-wool the missing watch and stick-pin. captain ben had hunted a second time for the lost treasures the little bunkers had so carelessly left behind, and had found the watch and pin. rose and laddie were so delighted that they could only laugh and dance about for a few minutes. but vi was rather disappointed that it was not, after all, a present for mother bunker. it was quite late before the little bunkers could get settled in their beds that night. that is, all but mun bun. he fell asleep in mother bunker's lap and did not know much about what went on. rose and laddie promised not to lose their treasures again. and, of course, they had not meant to leave the watch and pin behind at grand view. but daddy told them that thoughtlessness always bred trouble and disappointment. "like mun bun getting into the indian's trunk," said vi seriously. "he made us a lot of trouble to-day." mun bun made them no more trouble while they remained on the ranch, for mother bunker and rose were especially careful in watching him. the little boy did not mean to get lost; but cowboy jack laughingly said that mun bun seemed to have that habit. "some day you folks are going to mislay that boy and won't find him so easily. i tell you, he is a regular drop of quicksilver." but after that, although the six little bunkers had plenty of fun at cowboy jack's, they had no dangerous adventure. they rode and drove the ponies, and played with the dogs, and watched the cowboys herd the cattle and some of the men train horses to saddle-work that had never been ridden before and did not seem to like the idea at all of carrying people on their backs. "it is lucky pinky and your calico pony don't mind carrying us," laddie remarked on one occasion to russ. "i guess if they pitched like those big horses do, they would throw us right over their heads on to the ground." "well, my pinto threw me once," said russ rather proudly. "but it only shook me up a little. and, of course, accidents are apt to happen anywhere and to anybody." but laddie did not think he would care to be thrown over pinky's head. rose had told him it was not a nice experience at all! in a few days the bunkers packed their trunks and bags and the big blue automobiles came around to the door, and they bade everybody at cowboy jack's ranch good-bye. they had had a lovely time--all of them. "and i've had the best time of all having you here," declared the ranchman. "i hate to have you little bunkers go. i don't see, charlie, why you can't spare two or three of them and let 'em stay with me." "i guess not!" exclaimed daddy bunker. "we have just enough children. we couldn't really stand another one, but we can't spare one of these we have. could we, mother?" mother bunker quite agreed. she "counted noses" when the six little bunkers were packed into the cars with the baggage. you see, after all, it was quite a task to keep account of so many children at one time. and especially if they chanced to be as lively as were the six little bunkers, who never remained--any of them--in one spot for long at a time. that made them particularly hard to count. russ and rose and laddie and violet and margy and mun bun all told cowboy jack that they had had a good time, and they hoped to see him again. if they do ever go to cowboy jack's ranch again i hope i shall know about it. and if i do, i will surely tell you all that happens to the six little bunkers. the end six little bunkers series by laura lee hope author of the bobbsey twins books, the bunny brown series, the make-believe series, etc. * * * * * =durably bound. illustrated. uniform style of binding.= =every volume complete in itself.= * * * * * delightful stories for little boys and girls which sprung into immediate popularity. to know the six little bunkers is to take them at once to your heart, they are so intensely human, so full of fun and cute sayings. each story has a little plot of its own--one that can be easily followed--and all are written in miss hope's most entertaining manner. clean, wholesome volumes which ought to be on the bookshelf of every child in the land. six little bunkers at grandma bell's six little bunkers at aunt jo's six little bunkers at cousin tom's six little bunkers at grandpa ford's six little bunkers at uncle fred's six little bunkers at captain ben's six little bunkers at cowboy jack's six little bunkers at mammy june's six little bunkers at farmer joel's six little bunkers at miller ned's * * * * * grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the bobbsey twins books for little men and women by laura lee hope author of "the bunny brown series," etc. * * * * * =durably bound. illustrated. uniform style of binding.= =every volume complete in itself.= * * * * * these books for boys and girls between the ages of three and ten stand among children and their parents of this generation where the books of louisa may alcott stood in former days. the haps and mishaps of this inimitable pair of twins, their many adventures and experiences are a source of keen delight to imaginative children everywhere. the bobbsey twins the bobbsey twins in the country the bobbsey twins at the seashore the bobbsey twins at school the bobbsey twins at snow lodge the bobbsey twins on a houseboat the bobbsey twins at meadow brook the bobbsey twins at home the bobbsey twins in a great city the bobbsey twins on blueberry island the bobbsey twins on the deep blue sea the bobbsey twins in the great west the bobbsey twins at cedar camp the bobbsey twins at the county fair the bobbsey twins camping out the bobbsey twins and baby may grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york. the bunny brown series by laura lee hope author of the popular "bobbsey twins" books, etc. * * * * * =durably bound. illustrated. uniform style of binding.= =every volume complete in itself.= * * * * * these stories by the author of the "bobbsey twins" books are eagerly welcomed by the little folks from about five to ten years of age. their eyes fairly dance with delight at the lively doings of inquisitive little bunny brown and his cunning, trustful sister sue. bunny brown and his sister sue bunny brown and his sister sue on grandpa's farm bunny brown and his sister sue playing circus bunny brown and his sister sue at camp rest-a-while bunny brown and his sister sue at aunt lu's city home bunny brown and his sister sue in the big woods bunny brown and his sister sue on an auto tour bunny brown and his sister sue and their shetland pony bunny brown and his sister sue giving a show bunny brown and his sister sue at christmas tree cove bunny brown and his sister sue in the sunny south bunny brown and his sister sue keeping store bunny brown and his sister sue and their trick dog bunny brown and his sister sue at a sugar camp * * * * * grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the honey bunch books by helen louise thorndyke * * * * * =individual colored wrappers and text illustrations drawn by= =walter s. rogers= * * * * * a new line of fascinating tales for little girls. honey bunch is a dainty, thoughtful little girl, and to know her is to take her to your heart at once. honey bunch: just a little girl happy days at home, helping mamma and the washerlady. and honey bunch helped the house painters too--or thought she did. honey bunch: her first visit to the city what wonderful sights honey bunch saw when she went to visit her cousins in new york! and she got lost in a big hotel and wandered into a men's convention! honey bunch: her first days on the farm can you remember how the farm looked the first time you visited it? how big the cows and horses were, and what a roomy place to play in the barn proved to be? honey bunch: her first visit to the seashore honey bunch soon got used to the big waves and thought playing in the sand great fun. and she visited a merry-go-round, and took part in a sea-side pageant. honey bunch: her first little garden it was great sport to dig and to plant with one's own little garden tools. but best of all was when honey bunch won a prize at the flower show. honey bunch: her first days in camp it was a great adventure for honey bunch when she journeyed to camp snapdragon. it was wonderful to watch the men erect the tent, and more wonderful to live in it and have good times on the shore and in the water. * * * * * grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the flyaways stories by alice dale hardy author of the riddle club books * * * * * =individual colored jackets and colored illustrations by= =walter s. rogers= * * * * * a splendid new line of interesting tales for the little ones, introducing many of the well known characters of fairyland in a series of novel adventures. the flyaways are a happy family and every little girl and boy will want to know all about them. the flyaways and cinderella how the flyaways went to visit cinderella only to find that cinderella's prince had been carried off by the three robbers, rumbo, hibo and jobo. "i'll rescue him!" cried pa flyaway and then set out for the stronghold of the robbers. a splendid continuation of the original story of cinderella. the flyaways and little red riding hood on their way to visit little red riding hood the flyaways fell in with tommy tucker and the old woman who lived in a shoe. they told tommy about the magic button on red riding hood's cloak. how the wicked wolf stole the magic button and how the wolves plotted to eat up little red riding hood and all her family, and how the flyaways and king cole sent the wolves flying, makes a story no children will want to miss. the flyaways and goldilocks the flyaways wanted to see not only goldilocks but also the three bears and they took a remarkable journey through the air to do so. tommy even rode on a rocket and met the monstrous blue frog. when they arrived at goldilocks' house they found that the three bears had been there before them and mussed everything up, much to goldilocks' despair. "we must drive those bears out of the country!" said pa flyaway. then they journeyed underground to the yellow palace, and oh! so many things happened after that! * * * * * grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the blythe girls books by laura lee hope * * * * * =individual colored wrappers and text illustrations by= =thelma gooch= =every volume complete in itself= * * * * * the blythe girls, three in number, were left alone in new york city. helen, who went in for art and music, kept the little flat uptown, while margy just out of a business school, obtained a position as a private secretary and rose, plain-spoken and businesslike, took what she called a "job" in a department store. the blythe girls: helen, margy and rose; or, facing the great world. a fascinating tale of real happenings in the great metropolis. the blythe girls: margy's queer inheritance; or, the worth of a name. the girls had a peculiar old aunt and when she died she left an unusual inheritance. this tale continues the struggles of all the girls for existence. the blythe girls; rose's great problem; or, face to face with a crisis. rose still at work in the big department store, is one day faced with the greatest problem of her life. a tale of mystery as well as exciting girlish happenings. the blythe girls: helen's strange boarder; or, the girl from bronx park. helen, out sketching, goes to the assistance of a strange girl, whose real identity is a puzzle to all the blythe girls. who the girl really was comes as a tremendous surprise. the blythe girls: three on a vacation; or, the mystery at peach farm. the girls close their flat and go to the country for two weeks--and fall in with all sorts of curious and exciting happenings. how they came to the assistance of joe morris, and solved a queer mystery, is well related. * * * * * grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors repaired. table of contents, page changed to page to reflect text. page , "althought" changed to "although". (although at first) page , "nonplused" changed to "nonplussed". (was nonplussed by) page , "is" changed to "it". (is it a good) page , "once" changed to "one". (at one place) bobbsey twins advertisement, "stands" changed to "stand". (stand among children) flyaways and goldilocks advertisement, "goldilock's" changed to "goldilocks'" twice. one instance each of castrada and castrado was retained.