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."
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.
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.
"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 Idomean," 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 authoritieshavetaken 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.
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 beensomeshindy, 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 suretherewhen 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 jestmust'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.