Together, Dave and Pocus Pete examined the posts of the corral fence. There was no doubt but that some of them had been partly sawed through, in order to weaken them so that only a moderate pressure was required to break them off short, close to the ground.
"So that was his game; eh?" exclaimed Dave in a justifiably angry voice.
"Whose game?" asked Pocus Pete.
"Len's! That's why he wouldn't stop to help me. He had been here sawing through the posts so our best bunch of cattle would get out and be spoiled. The hound! Wait until I get hold of him!"
"Better go a bit slow," advised Pocus Pete, in his drawling tones.
"Slow! What do you mean?"
"Well, I mean it isn't a good thing t' go around makin' accusations like that, without somethin' t' back 'em up. In this country you've got t' back up what you say, Dave."
"I know that, but—"
"An' what evidence have you got that Len did this mean trick? For mean trick it is, as shore as guns is guns. What evidence have you?"
"Why, didn't I see him riding away as fast as his horse could gallop just a little while ago?"
"Well, s'posin' you did. That's no evidence in a court of law. You didn't see him saw the posts; did you?"
"No, of course not. But look! Here's some fresh sawdust on the ground! The posts have been sawed within a few hours—perhaps even inside an hour. Maybe just before I came." Dave pointed to the moist earth under some of the splintered posts and boards. There was the fine sawdust where it had been preserved from the trampling hoofs of the steers.
"Yes, th' job's been done recent," admitted Pocus Pete, "but that doesn't prove anythin'. Now if we could find a saw with Len's name on it, that might be some law-evidence. But I don't see any; do you?"
There was no saw in sight. The cattle had retreated to the far side of the corral, leaving the part next the broken fence free for examination. But as Pete had said, there was no saw lying about.
"He could easily have carried it away with him when he rode off," Dave said, following up his suspicion.
"Yes, he could, an' he'd be foolish if he didn't—provided it was him as did this," agreed Pete.
"Well, I'm sure he did," Dave insisted. "And I'll take it out of him for trying to spoil dad's best bunch of cattle."
The word slipped from Dave almost before he knew it. But he did not care. As he had told Pocus Pete he was going to regard Mr. Carson as his father—he had thought of him so many years in that relationship that it was difficult to think otherwise.
"Well, you be careful of what you do, Dave; that's my advice t' you," saidPete.
"Why so? I'm not afraid of Len Molick," was Dave's quick response.
"No, maybe not. Yet Len trails in with a middlin' mean crowd, an' though you are pretty good, you're no match for Whitey Wasson an' his bunch of cowpunchers."
"But my quarrel is with Len, for I'm sure he did this."
"That's all right. I have a sneakin' suspicion that way myself, but Len is a coward, as well as a bully, an' he'd howl for help if you went at him. An' Whitey is just th' kind t' pitch in on you if he saw you givin' Len a drubbin'. So you take my advice, an' go a bit slow."
"I will. I won't have it out with Len until I can get him alone somewhere, and then I'll put it up to him."
"Well, maybe that's a good way, though I don't approve of fightin' as a rule."
"Oh, no! You don't!" laughed Dave, for it was a well known fact that Pocus Pete was considered the best man with his fists in that section of the country.
"Oh, of course I'll fight when I have to. But I'm not goin' out of my way t' look for trouble."
This was strictly true, and Dave knew it. Pocus Pete would never needlessly quarrel with any one, but once he had started on what he regarded as a right course, nothing would turn him aside until he had either vanquished or been beaten. And the latter was seldom the outcome.
"Well, that's my case," said Dave. "I'm not going to put this on Len until I give him a chance to defend himself. But now, Pete, what are we going to do? We can't leave these choice cattle here in a broken corral. They'll stray all over the range."
"That's right. We've got to fix that fence, and we'll need help. Some new posts will have to be set, and it's got to be done before dark. Tell you what to do. You ride back to the ranch, and get some of the boys."
"What will you do?"
"I'll stay here and guard the cattle. It won't take long, and your horse is faster than mine."
"All right, I'll go. But first let's make what repairs we can. That will make it easier for you to hold in the cattle."
There was some wire at the corral, and with this, and by using some of the broken posts and boards, the gap in the fence was made smaller so the cattle would not be so likely to try to rush through it.
This done, Pete prepared to mount guard while Dave leaped to the back of Crow and started for the ranch on the gallop, to bring help and to tell the story of the broken corral.
"I wonder if I'd better mention Len?" thought Dave, as he rode on. "I'm pretty sure he did the trick, but I don't want to accuse any one unjustly, even him."
After thinking it over Dave decided that it would be better not to say anything about Len just yet. He would let matters take their own course.
"But I'll be on the watch for him," he made up his mind.
Dave's mind was busy with many thoughts, and his body was weary with the exertions through which he had just passed. But there was a certain sense of exhilaration after all. He had done a good piece of work, and he realized it. Of course Pocus Pete had helped, but Dave was in a fair way to stop the stampede when the old foreman came along.
"I'll get to be a regular cowboy after a while," thought Dave, not without a little smile of gratification.
To get to the ranch more quickly the young cowpuncher took a trail that led through a patch of rocky woodland. It was a curious formation in the midst of the flat cattle country, being a patch several miles square, consisting of some rocky hills, well wooded, with a number of deep gullies in them. More than once cattle had wandered in among them and been lost. And it was said that at one time a noted band of cattle rustlers, or thieves, had made their headquarters in this wood, and had held out a long time against the attacks of the cattlemen.
Dave rode through this not very cheerful place. He had been keeping his eyes open for a sight of Len Molick, but had caught no further glimpse of the bully whom he suspected.
"Hit it up, Crow! Hit it up!" Dave called to his black horse, who was going along a not very safe trail amid the rocks and stones.
Dave was about half way through the place when the silence, undisturbed save by the rattle of Crow's hoofs, was suddenly broken by a cry.
"Help! Help!" Dave heard uttered in somewhat weak accents. "Help!"
The young cowboy was startled for a moment. He reined in his horse sharply, and looked about. He could see nothing, and the silence seemed more pronounced after the echo of the appeal for aid had died away.
"Hello!" Dave called. "Who are you, and what do you want? Where are you?" he asked, for he could see no one.
"Over here. To your right. I can see you, but you can't see me. I'm down behind a rock. I'm caught, and hanging over a gully. Wait, I'll toss up my handkerchief. Watch for it!"
Dave looked as nearly as he could tell in the direction of the voice. An instant later something white flashed up in the air, and fell down softly. Crow started violently.
"Whoa there, old boy! Steady!" Dave spoke to his horse, and the animal, that had been frightened by the sudden throwing into the air of the handkerchief, stood still.
"I see where you are!" Dave called to the unknown and unseen one—a man, evidently, by the tones of his voice. "I'll be with you in a minute!"
"Be careful of yourself," was the caution. "I had a bad fall in here, andI don't want to see any one else get into trouble. Go a bit slow."
"Thanks, I will," Dave said "But I know this ground pretty well. Stand still now, old fellow," he went on to his horse. "I don't want you falling, and breaking your leg or neck."
Crow whinnied as though he understood, and Dave, slipping the reins over the neck of the intelligent animal as a further intimation that he was to stay where he was without wandering, climbed from the saddle, a bit wearily it must be confessed, and started for the rock, behind which lay the injured man, and from which point the young cattleman had observed the white handkerchief.
"Careful now." cautioned the voice again.
"All right, don't worry about me," said Dave, easily.
A moment later he had turned around the intervening rock, and saw, stretched out on the ground, hanging half way over a deep and rock-filled gully, a man about twenty-seven years of age. Dave guessed this much though he could see only a part of the man's body, for his head and shoulders were hanging down over the ledge.
"What are you doing there?" was Dave's first question. "Why don't you get up?"
For it was exactly as if the man were lying face downward on top of a cliff, looking down.
"I can't get up," the man answered, his voice being a bit muffled because his head was hanging over the cliff. "My foot is caught in a cleft in the rocks, and I'm afraid to move for fear it will pull loose. If it does I'll lose my balance and topple, for I'm hanging more than half-way over this cliff now. And it doesn't look like a good place into which to fall."
This was true enough, as Dave knew, for the bottom of the gully was covered with jagged rocks. More than one straying steer had fallen over there and had been dashed to pieces.
"Steady!" called Dave. "I see how it is. I'll soon have you out of that.I'm going back for my rope."
"Are you a puncher?" asked the man.
"Yes," answered Dave, briefly. "But don't talk. Save your strength. I'll have you out in a jiffy."
He hurried back to where he had left his horse, and took from the horn of the saddle the rope which no cowboy is ever without. With this Dave took a turn about the man's waist, passing the rope under him. He then carried an end back to a stout tree and tied it there, working, the while, deftly and swiftly.
"That will hold you in case you slip when I loosen the rocks and free your foot," Dave explained. "You are pretty well overbalanced. But I'll get you up, all right."
The man was in a peculiar and perilous position, but Dave thought that he could cope with the situation. His life on the plains, and amid the perils of the range had made him resourceful, and quick to take advantage of all the chances for safety.
Dave looked at the man's foot. It was firmly wedged in between two rocks that came together in the form of a large V. Considerable pressure must have forced the man's foot there, for Dave could see that the stout leather of his riding boot was cut and scraped. The foot was twisted, and Dave remarked, in a low voice:
"If you haven't a badly sprained ankle I'll miss my guess!"
"Watch yourself now," David cautioned the man. "You can't fall, even if you slip over, for the rope's strong enough to hold you; but you may get a bad jerk when you bring up suddenly if you fall after I release your foot."
"I'm ready," said the man.
Dave looked at the two stones between which the man's foot was wedged. Then with a heavy tree branch, inserted in such a way as not to bring any crushing force on the stranger's leg, Dave used the branch as a lever and pressed down with all his might.
"It's giving!" the man cried. "I can feel it giving!"
"Look out for yourself!" Dave shouted.
Once more he pressed down hard on the tree lever.
The rocks were pried apart. The man's foot slipped free. Dave, seeing this, dropped the branch, made a grab for the leg, for the man's body was going over the cliff. Of course he could not fallfar, as the rope would hold him, but Dave wanted to save him this jerk if possible.
The young cowboy caught the stranger's boot. Dave was aware of a cry of pain from the man, and realized that the ankle must be severely injured.
"I can't help it," thought Dave, grimly. "I've got to hurt him some to save him more," and he held on desperately.
Dave was strong, and the man, now that his foot was free, was able to use his hands to push himself back, up over the edge of the cliff. After a few seconds of rather strenuous struggle Dave, with the help of the man himself, was able to get him to a sitting position on the edge of the cliff that overhung the gully.
The man was pale, and his face was scratched and bleeding. His clothing was disheveled, and he showed many signs of the struggle through which he had gone.
"Thank—thanks," he gasped, weakly.
"Now don't try to talk until you get your breath," Dave advised him."Here, drink some of this. It's warm, but it's wet."
Dave carried with him a water canteen, and this he now put to the lips of the man. The latter drank greedily.
"That's good," he whispered. He lay back weakly, Dave supporting him in his arms. The man's eyes closed, and Dave feared he was about to faint. Quickly the young cowboy whipped off his coat, and folding it in pillow shape, put it on the rocks, and laid the man's head down on it.
The stranger opened his eyes.
"Don't be alarmed," he said. "I'm not going to die. I'm just getting my breath back. I was hanging there a good while I guess."
He closed his eyes again, and moved his foot—the one that had been caught between the rocks.
A groan came through his clenched teeth and tightly pressed lips, and, accompanied by a sudden wave of whiteness that made his face paler than before, a shudder passed over him.
"He's fainted this time, for keeps," decided Dave, grimly.
Dave Carson had some knowledge of rough and ready first-aid work. There was often occasion for it on the ranch, and though fainting men were not common sights, still, now and again, such a contingency would arise. Cowboys often get severely hurt, and it is not always within the nerve power of a man to hold back when a deathly faintness overcomes him.
"I've got to get help to tote you back to the ranch," Dave said, as he sprinkled some water from his canteen in the face of the stranger.
"You've got to be looked after. Maybe the ankle's broken."
He glanced at the injured foot, but did not offer to touch it, for he knew how sensitive it must be, when even a slight movement sent the man off in a faint.
The water had the desired effect, or perhaps the faint was only a slight one, for presently the man opened his eyes, looked about him in some wonder, and murmured:
"Oh, I remember now. Was it last year I tried to fall over the cliff?" He smiled wanly.
"No, it was only a little while ago-or at least it was only a little while ago that I pulled you back," Dave said. "I don't know how long you had been hanging there, though."
"It seemed ten years," was the answer given with another wan smile. "Well, what's the next move? I hope it isn't mine, for I don't know how I can manage it. My ankle is either broken, or badly sprained."
"I'm afraid so," Dave answered. "Now I don't know where you came from, or where you're going, but our ranch—Bar U—is the nearest place you can get help. I can put you on my horse—I guess I can manage that—and walk with you, but it will take a long time. Crow won't carry double, I'm afraid. Certainly not with the way I'd have to put you on."
"I had a horse," said the stranger. "He can't have gone very far. I left him beside the trail while I came in here to look about. He must have wandered off a way."
"A horse!" cried Dave, eagerly. "That's good, if I can find him. We'll not have any trouble getting you to the ranch in that case, Mr.—er—"
Dave paused significantly, adding, after a moment's thought:
"My names is Dave—Dave Carson." He had hesitated, and then quickly reflected that this was no time to enter into explanations about his lack of parentage. "My father, Randolph Carson, owns Bar U ranch."
"Yes, I have heard of him," the man said. "In fact I was going to call on him within a few days in regard to a certain matter. I am afraid I can't reach my card case, but my name is Bellmore—Benjamin Bellmore. I'm from Chicago, but I'm out here representing the Rolling Valley Water Company."
"Never heard of them," Dave said. "They don't deal in cattle; do they?"
"No, they hope to deal in water; that is later on. But I'll go into details after a bit."
"Pardon me, Mr. Bellmore!" burst out Dave. "Here I am keeping you talking, when I ought to be looking for your animal, and helping you to our ranch. I don't know what's got into me. But I just had some trouble with a bunch of our cattle, and I guess I'm thinking of that yet.
"I was on my way to the ranch to get help, when I took this short cut and heard you call. I'll go and see if I can find your horse. If I can't we'll use mine, and I can walk. It won't be the first time, though we cowpunchers are more used to a saddle than we are to our own legs."
He gave Mr. Bellmore another drink from the canteen, and then seeing that the man was as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, went back to the trail to look for the missing horse. Dave saw his own steed contentedly munching some of the scanty herbage, &and, speaking to him, passed on.
Reaching a point where he could look down into the valley below, Dave peered long and earnestly for a sight of a riderless horse. To his delight he saw the animal almost at once.
"Well, you didn't run far," he murmured, "and if you don't get a tantrum, and gallop off when I come up, I'll soon have you."
Going back to where he had left Mr. Bellmore, Dave reported:
"Your horse is down in the valley. I'll jump on mine and try to catch him for you. If I can, we'll not have any trouble, and I'll soon have you at our ranch."
"Thanks," murmured the representative of the water company. "His name is Kurd," he added. "My horse's, I mean," he explained, with a smile. "He generally comes when I call him, but here are some lumps of sugar I give him. He'll be sure to come if you hold these out to him."
Dave took the sweets, which Mr. Bellmore extracted from his pocket, and hurried back to where he had left Crow. A moment later Dave was moving off down the trail toward the valley.
"Careful, old boy," he cautioned his steed, for the going was anything but good. "It won't do for you to slip and stumble now."
But Crow had no intention of doing anything of the sort, and a little later Dave was galloping rapidly—across the grassy plain toward the lone horse.
"I hope he doesn't bolt and give me a chase," reflected the young cowboy."I haven't much time," and he looked at the declining sun, and thought ofPocus Pete on guard at the corral, waiting for help to mend the brokenfence.
"It's all Len's fault, too—the mean skunk!" said Dave. "If it hadn't been for him the cattle wouldn't have gotten loose. Though I suppose if they hadn't I wouldn't have ridden home this way, and I wouldn't have discovered that man. Maybe it'll be a good thing, in the end."
Just how "good" this chance was to prove to Dave, the young cowboy little dreamed.
"Here Kurd! Kurd!" he called, as he approached the horse. Dave wondered how Mr. Bellmore had hit on that odd name. "Here, Kurd!" the youth called.
The horse, a beautiful and intelligent beast, raised his head, and looked at Dave approaching on Crow.
"Here you are, old boy. Kurd!" called the young ranchman again.
The other pony, who had been cropping the grass, moved off a short distance.
"That won't do!" Dave murmured. "If he once starts he'll keep going. Looks as if he had speed, too, but I think you can beat him, Crow, old boy," and he patted the neck of his faithful beast.
Kurd continued to amble slowly away. Then Dave thought of the sugar. He took the lumps out of his pocket and held them in the palm of his hand, at the same time bringing Crow to a stop.
Kurd raised his head, whinnied once or twice, stretched out his velvet muzzle, as though to smell what Dave held out, and then came slowly toward the youth.
"That's more like it," Dave murmured. "Now if you don't take a sudden notion, and bolt off just as I reach for your reins, I'll be all right. Steady boy! Come on Kurd!"
The strange horse seemed to have cast his suspicions to the wind, and came fearlessly. A moment later he and Crow were sniffing at each other, and then Kurd took the sugar from Dave's palm. Then the lad grasped the reins, and, turning about, riding his own horse and leading Kurd, made for the place where he had left Mr. Bellmore.
"Good luck!" Dave called as he came in sight of the prostrate man. "I've got your horse, and now we'll soon be at the ranch."
"Fine! Now I'm going to ask you to do something else for me. This foot of mine is paining worse every minute, but I think if I could get my boot off, to allow room for that swelling to expand, it would ease me."
"I'll try," Dave said.
However, it was found impossible to pull off the footgear without so yanking on the injured foot that Mr. Bellmore nearly fainted again.
"Guess I'll have to cut it," Dave said, dubiously.
"Do then."
"It's a pity to spoil a good boot."
"Well, the chances are I won't be able to wear one again for a few weeks, and I simply can't stand this pain."
"Here goes," Dave said. With his keen knife he slit the leather. A sigh of relief came from the man.
"That's better-a whole lot better," he murmured.
It was no easy matter to get him astride his horse, but Dave finally managed it, and wrapped the swollen ankle in his own coat to prevent its striking against the side of Kurd as they rode off.
"How did you come to fall?" asked Dave, as he got into his own saddle, ready for the trip to the ranch.
"I'll explain later. I can't talk very well now. But I was prospecting around, looking at the rock formation, when I slipped. I thought it was all up with me, but my foot caught, and I was held suspended over the gully."
"I see," Dave replied. "Well, we'll doctor you up."
Carefully they made their way out of the rocky woodland, and started across the plain, toward Bar U ranch. As Dave took the lead, making as much speed as was possible under the circumstances, he saw, some distance in advance, a solitary horseman.
Again something in the peculiar saddle position of the rider attracted his attention.
"There's Len Molick again!" he exclaimed aloud. "I suppose he's hanging around to see how his trick worked!"
"Len Molick!" exclaimed Mr. Bellmore. "Why I want to see him. I have been looking for him!"
Dave looked curiously at the man he had rescued. From him he glanced toward the figure of the young bullying cowboy whom he suspected of having been instrumental in causing the stampede.
"Do you know Len Molick?" asked Dave slowly, as he guided his horse along the trail.
"No, but I want to know him," was the answer. "I have a letter to him, and I understand that he is one of the influential cattle raisers in this vicinity."
Dave breathed easier. It was evident a mistake had been made.
"I guess it's Len's father, Mr. Jason Molick you want to meet," Dave said.
"That's right. Jason is the name!" admitted Mr. Bellmore. "I heard you mention the name Molick and I didn't pay much attention to the first part. So there are two of them?"
"Yes, Len and his father,"
"Do you know them?"
"Oh, yes, every one around here knows them."
"You don't speak very enthusiastically," said Mr. Bellmore, with a strange look at the boy. "Is it possible that some error has been made on the part of those who gave me letters of introduction? Is not Mr. Molick influential in these parts?"
"Oh, yes, that's all right," assented Dave, and still his voice had no ring to it. "Mr. Molick is influential all right—too much so, at times."
"You don't seem to like him," said Mr. Bellmore. "I wish you would be frank with me. I am a stranger in these parts, and I have to depend on residents here for my information, and, in a large part, for my success. I know nothing about the Molicks."
"Well, since you asked me to be frank," went on Dave, "I will be, and I'll say you haven't missed much by not knowing the Molicks—especially Len. I'm after him now, for I suspect him of having tried to do us a serious injury."
"Is that so! That's too bad. If I had known that—"
"Oh, don't let me prejudice you against them," Dave went on. "Mr. Molick may be able to do business with you in the way you want. I am not speaking from the business end of it. Personally I don't like the Molicks," and Dave mentioned the cattle stampede.
"Well, if he did that I should say he wasn't a person to be trusted," said the Chicago man. "But still—"
"Of course. I'm not certain of it," Dave continued. "I'm going to find out about the sawed posts, though. But see Mr. Molick yourself, and make up your own mind about him."
"I will, but I shall be on my guard on account of what you have said. It is well to know the character of the man one is dealing with. I'm afraid though," he added as a spasm of pain crossed his face, "that I sha'n't be able to do any active business for a while," and he glanced down at his injured foot.
"We'll soon be at the ranch," Dave remarked. "The rest of the trail is easy."
Dave was thinking of many things as his pony ambled on, followed by Mr. Bellmore's horse. It was strange, the manner in which he had come to help the injured man, and it was stranger still that the latter should be seeking to do business with the Molicks of whom the members of the Bar U ranch had no very high opinion.
"I was on my way to Mr. Molick's place, when I got off the trail to look after that rock formation," resumed Mr. Bellmore after a pause. "Rocks always interest me, for I am always looking to see what the possibilities are for striking a supply of water."
"Why water?" asked Dave.
"Because I am an irrigation engineer," was the reply. "That is my business. I have been sent out here by a concern, recently formed, called the Rolling Valley Water Company. Our concern has acquired rights in the valley of the Rolling River, and I have been sent out to see what the chances are for getting the ranchmen and other land-owners interested."
"I thought irrigation schemes had only to do with farming," said Dave.
"No, irrigation takes in much more than that. Of course farmers need water, and we hope to develop some big farms out here. But ranchmen also need water for their cattle."
"Yes, that's true," said Dave. "My—my father was saying only the other day, that he could do a lot more if we had a better water supply."
"Then he's one of the men I need to see!" exclaimed Mr. Bellmore. "Perhaps he already has some rights in the water supply of this valley that we could negotiate for.
"You see our idea is," he continued, "to get the whole water supply under one head in a big company, of course giving those who sell us their rights, a certain control. Then we intend to build a big dam to conserve the water supply. As it is here now I imagine, from what I know of other places, at one time you have too much water, and at another you don't have enough."
"That's just it," Dave admitted. "It isn't even."
"Well, that's what we irrigation engineers are aiming to do—make the water supply even the year around. I certainly must talk with your father. Maybe, after all, it's a good thing I sprained my ankle, though it certainly does hurt!" he exclaimed, with a sharp indrawing of his breath.
"Well, of course I'll be glad to have you see Mr. Carson—my father," and again Dave rather hesitated and stumbled over the word. "But, as a matter of fact, some of the rights he has in Rolling River are subject to some agreement with Mr. Molick. I know my father doesn't like it, for it makes him too dependent on this man, but he could do nothing else. He had to have water for his stock."
"Of course," agreed Mr. Bellmore. "Well, perhaps we can get together and form a company so he can have more water and will not have to worry about it."
"I hope so," Dave said.
A little later they came within sight of the ranch buildings, which were glowing in the rays of the setting sun.
"What a fine place!" exclaimed Mr. Bellmore.
"Yes, I like it," Dave made answer. Then a pang seemed to shoot through him. What if he had to leave the place? He could not count on always staying there, as he might have done had he been Mr. Carson's son. Even though the ranchman might love Dave as one of his own blood, when Mr. Carson died there would be other heirs very likely, who would step in and claim the place. Dave was not legally adopted. He might inherit nothing.
He had always counted on taking up as his life work, the cattle business. But now, since the disclosure had been made, this was, perhaps, impossible. And He sighed again as he looked at the group of buildings set down in a little valley, with Rolling River in the distance glistening in the slanting rays of the setting sun. On all sides stretched the vast prairies on which grazed the hundreds of cattle—not only from the Bar U ranch, but from the Centre O, and others.
"Yes, that's our place," said Dave. For the present, at least, this man need not know his secret, though he might find it out soon enough. "And I guess you'll be glad of a chance to lie down; won't you?"
"Indeed I will," was the answer.
A moment later the two rode up toward the main ranch buildings. The cowboys had come in from their day's labors, and were washing themselves at their bunk houses, in readiness for supper. From the quarters of Hop Loy, the Chinese cook, came a grateful odor.
"That certainly smells good!" exclaimed Mr. Bellmore.
The cowpunchers looked curiously at the drooping figure on the horse that followed Dave. It needed but a glance from their sharp eyes to tell that the man was hurt. Mr. Carson came out.
"Well, Dave," he began, "I was just wondering where you were. Are the cattle all right?"
"They are now, Dad, but they weren't for a time. They got out of the corral, but Pocus Pete and I got them back again. I'll tell you about that later.
"Here's a gentleman who needs help. He's a Mr. Bellmore from Chicago interested in irrigation. He was in the rock-grove, caught by the foot. I got him out. You look after him, Dad. I've got to get some of the boys, with fence material, and go back to relieve Pete. He's on guard there."
"Say! It takes you to tell it!" exclaimed Mr. Carson with a smile. "Welcome to Bar U, Mr. Bellmore. I don't exactly understand all that boy of mine has gotten off, but it's all right. We will look after you. Sprained ankle; eh? Well, I know something about them. Come boys, one of you help Mr. Bellmore down, and make him comfortable.
"You'll stop and get something to eat, Dave, won't you, before you go back?"
"Yes, just a bite, Dad. We haven't much time."
A little later Mr. Bellmore was comfortably installed in the ranch house, while Dave and two other cowboys, after a hasty meal, were on their way back to relieve Pocus Pete, and repair the broken fence.
This work was soon under way. While Pocus Pete had been on guard a cattleman, passing, had given him an important message for Mr. Carson.
"So you'd better ride back and tell him, Dave," Pete said, as he and the other punchers began to work on the fence, a snack having been brought for Pete's supper.
"But I want to stay and help you," objected Dave.
"You'll do better work by getting back with that message," the foreman said, and once more Dave turned his horse's head toward Bar U ranch.
It was getting dusk now, but it was not so dark but that Dave could make out, after he had ridden some distance, the figure of a horseman just ahead of him.
"Len again!" he murmured. "I'm going to see what he has to say, and why he's hanging around here. We may have to guard those cattle all night."
At a word Crow leaped forward in a gallop, and in another moment, thoughLen made an effort to spur on ahead, Dave had ridden alongside of him.
"Trying to see how your trick worked?" asked Dave, with a sharp look at his enemy.
"Are you speaking to me?" demanded Len.
"I certainly am."
"Well, I don't want to talk to a nobody!" was the retort.
Giving utterance to this sneering remark Len Molick began to urge his horse forward, but, though his face flushed, and a sense of anger choked him, Dave remained cool as he put out a hand and caught the bridle of the other's steed.
"Not so fast, Len Molick!" Dave exclaimed.
"You may not want to talk to a nobody—that's your business—but you're going to talk to a somebody right now, and that somebody is I!"
"Huh! you don't even know your name!" Len sneered, but he did not try to break away.
"Names don't matter," said Dave, trying to retain his calmness. "You can call me Injun Jack if you like, but I want to ask you a few questions."
"Well, I'm not going to answer them," snapped Len, "and I want you to let me go! If you don't—"
He raised a riding quire he carried, and seemed about to lash it intoDave's face.
"Look here!" Dave cried. "If you try to strike me with that I'll pull you off your pony and give you the best drubbing you ever had." He snatched the quirt from Len's wrist, breaking the thong, and flung the little whip far out on the prairie.
"Oh!" mumbled Len, and he shrunk away in fear.
"I won't touch you—at least not now—if you don't try any more of your underhand work," promised Dave. "But I'm going to converse with you right here and now. Why did you cut the posts of our special corral? Answer me that!"
"I didn't cut any posts!" was the sullen answer.
"You didn't; eh? Well, I think you did, and I'll prove it too, sooner or later. What are you hanging around here for now?"
"Isn't this a free range? Haven't I a right to ride it if I want to?"
"Yes, you have, but you must have some object in it, and I believe you want to see our cattle stampede. But I fooled you that time, Len Molick, and I'll fool you again. Now I want to know something else. Is Whitey Wasson the only one who told you I—that I wasn't Mr. Carson's son?"
For the life of him Dave could not help the falter that crept into his voice.
"Yes; he's the only one who told me," was Len's sullen answer.
"How did he find out about it?"
"Huh! How should I know? Ask him!"
"I intend to after I get through with you."
Len winced again.
"Oh, don't worry. I'm not going to thrash you—at least not now," said Dave, grimly. He was willing that Len should get what satisfaction he could out of that promise.
"Well, if you're through with me, you let me go!" the bully demanded. "You haven't any right to hold me up this way."
"I've just as much right as you have to take a saw and cut through our fence posts, so that the least pressure by the cattle would crack 'em off short," retorted Dave.
"I didn't saw any of your posts, I tell you!" insisted Len.
Dave was working his horse around to get closer to Len. Before the bully suspected it Dave had suddenly slipped his hand in under Len's coat, and had pulled out a short saw.
For a moment Len was too surprised to utter a word. Then he cried:
"Here! Give me that!"
"No, I don't think I will," Dave said, coolly. "I may need it as evidence.I thought you said you didn't saw any posts."
"I—I didn't!"
"Then Whitey Wasson, or some of your crowd, did. I suppose they passed the saw to you to get rid of, which you would have done if you were wise."
"I—I found that saw on the plains," stammered Len.
"Probably where Whitey dropped it," Dave retorted. "Now look here Len Molick," he went on. "You say you didn't saw those posts, but I think you did, and I'm going to try to prove it. This saw is part of the proof. I guess I'll just keep it.
"And one thing more. If I catch you hanging around our special corral, even if you are on free range land, I'll tackle you. Don't forget that!"
"If you dare to touch me!" fairly screamed Len, for he was very angry now, "if you dare to touch me I'll have you arrested! My father knows the sheriff—"
"You can't scare me by any talk like that," Dave said, coolly. "You knowI'm a nobody, and I can't be disgraced like any one who bears the name ofMolick!" and he laughed mockingly, though there was a sore spot in hisheart.
After all it is small satisfaction to be a "nobody."
Dave released his hold on the bridle of Len's horse, and urged his own steed back toward Bar U ranch.
"You just wait! I'll fix you for this," Len threatened.
"I'm a good waiter," Dave told him. Then, speaking to Crow, he galloped off through the gathering darkness.
On reaching the ranch Dave found that Mr. Bellmore was very comfortable. Mr. Carson had applied rough and ready, but effective treatment to the injured ankle, and the two men were deep in a talk of irrigation matters when Dave entered the room.
"Back again, son?" remarked Mr. Carson, and there was no hesitancy in his endearing tone. For of course he had known, all along, that Dave was not his son, though, as he had said, he so loved and so regarded him.
"Yes—Dad, back. Perkins sent word about that bunch he was speaking of," and he delivered the message left with Pocus Pete.
"Well, Dave, you have done a good day's work since morning," commented Mr.Carson.
"You saved that valuable bunch of special cattle, and you bring me as a guest a man, who, I think, can do me a lot of good."
"I'm glad to hear it, Dad!"
"Yes, your father and I have been talking irrigation, Dave," said Mr. Bellmore, who had taken a sudden liking to the young cowboy. And to himself Dave could not but admit that the more he saw of Mr. Bellmore the better he liked him. "We think we can get together on this irrigation project," the Chicago man went on.
"Of course that is if we can deal with Molick," suggested the ranchman.
"Oh, yes, it depends a great deal on Molick," Mr. Bellmore admitted.
"I wish it didn't," Dave said.
"Why, son?" asked Mr. Carson.
Then Dave told his story, which was received with rather ominous shakes of the head on the part of Mr. Carson.
"Well," said the owner of Bar U ranch, when Dave had finished, "there's no two ways about it! I wish it hadn't happened, and I think as you do, Dave, that Molick, or some of his friends, had a hand in it. However, that isn't proof, and we can't move until we get better evidence than just a saw.
"Another thing I'm sorry for—this may make more bad feeling between Mr. Molick and myself. There's not much love lost between us as it is," he went on, "and this will only add to his feeling."
"I'm sorry, Dad," Dave began.
"Oh, it isn't your fault," said Mr. Carson, quickly. "You acted as you thought best, and I haven't a word of fault to find. It just had to be so, I reckon. But I'll know how to act—that's one thing sure. I'll be on my guard from now on."
"It will be best so," said Mr. Bellmore.
A little later Pocus Pete and one of the cowboys returned, to report that the fence had been repaired.
"Where's Gimp?" asked Dave, referring to the other cowpuncher who had ridden with him.
"Oh, he stayed there on guard. Thought it best t' leave him there—to-night anyhow," the foreman said to Mr. Carson.
"I understand," was the answer. "We can't afford to lose any of those steers."
They were all up late at Bar U ranch that night, for the day had been a momentous one. Then, too, the visit of Mr. Bellmore had created a little diversion. He and Mr. Carson sat up for some time after the others had retired, talking irrigation matters.
"I wonder if I'll ever have a part in them?" reflected Dave, as he went to his room. "How long can I stay here, now that I know I am not Dave Carson—but somebody else? And who am I?"
Dave's wonderings were not of the most cheerful sort as he fell into an uneasy slumber.
Cowboys rushing here and there. Dust arising in clouds, settling into a hazy mist, only to be shattered again, as some rushing rider rode recklessly through it. Yells, shouts, the snapping of whips, the barking of heavy calibred revolvers, now and then the shrill neigh of a cow-pony.
Above all a deep resonant note—a sort of distant thunder—a pounding of the earth as thousands of hoofs smote it at once.
That was the scene on which Dave Carson gazed, as he rose in his saddle, his breath coming in quicker measures, while a fierce light shone in his eyes, for he was having a part in it all.
It was one of the many round-ups on the Bar U range, and there was work for all, more than enough.
"Hi there, Gimp! Watch where yo-all are a-ridin'!"
"Swing him over there! I'll handle that critter!"
"What's the matter with your fire? Can't git no kind of an impression with irons as cold as a chunk of ice!"
"Look out for that cayuse! He's shore a bad 'un!"
"Over this way now!"
"That's talkin'!"
This was only some of the talk, part of the shouts, a few of the yells that were bandied back and forth, as the cowboys rounded up the herd, cut out the designated steers or cows, branded the new ones that had never yet felt the touch of the hot iron, and generally did the work that falls to every ranch at certain times of the year.
Dave had been among the busiest, now roping some refractory steer, now helping a cowboy heat the big irons, with their mark "Bar U.", now scudding out of the way on the back of his fleet pony, Crow. Now finding a moment of respite, he galloped up to where Mr. Bellmore was sitting in the shade of the chuck wagon, as the cooking outfit is known.
"Well, what do you think of it?" asked the young cowboy, as he pulled his horse back sharply, so that Crow reared. But he was used to that, and Dave was exceptionally gentle with him.
"It's just great!" exclaimed the man who had been a semi-invalid since coming to Bar U ranch. "I never imagined there was so much work attached to a round-up."
"Oh, there's work all right," said Dave, removing his big hat and wiping the sweat from his brow with a big handkerchief. "It isn't much like locating a water trail, I expect?"
"Not much," assented the visitor, who had now been at the ranch about a week, and who was progressing favorably. His ankle would not yet permit him to step on it, but he managed to get about with the help of his horse. To-day he had ridden out in the chuck wagon to witness the round-up.
"Locating a good place to plant an irrigation scheme is child's play compared to this cattle business," went on Mr. Bellmore. "Still I suppose you get more or less used to it."
"In a way, yes," said Pocus Pete, who rode up just then. "But there are always some things you never can count on. Gimp's horse just broke his leg," he added, more to Dave than to the visitor.
"You don't say!" exclaimed the lad. "That will make Gimp feel bad."
"Well, it's all in the game," added the foreman with a shrug of his shoulders. "That's the end of him," he went on as a shot rang out. There had been little firing of late, for the work of branding the strays and other cattle was almost over.
"Did he shoot him?" asked Mr. Bellmore.
"Th' horse? yes!" said Pete sententiously.
"That's all we can do for a horse when he breaks a leg. He ain't no good to anybody. That's the law of th' range. Yo've got t' make good or quit!"
"Poor Star," murmured Dave. "He was a good horse."
"While he lasted," added Pete. "But Gimp pulled him around too sudden like, I'm thinkin', t' get out of the way of an onery steer. Well, that's th' way it goes!"
And Dave, as he thought of his own new and peculiar position, wondered if that was to be his way. He was really no one now. Would he be thrust aside, and not counted as one of the family?
And yet, as he reflected on the fact that Mr. Carson had always known of their relation—or, rather their lack of relation—he would not be likely to change.
"I wonder if I'll ever find out who my parents are?" thought Dave. "I must have some folks, somewhere."
But as he recalled what had been told him—how he had been swept down the river in a great flood—the chances that he had any kin living seemed more and more remote.
But the boy was awakened out of his momentary brown study.
"Hi there!"
"Look out for that critter!"
"He's a bad one!"
"Rope him!"
Such were the wild cries that greeted Dave as he spurred away from the chuck wagon toward what seemed more than the usual commotion. A steer that had been roped and thrown that a new brand might be put over the almost obliterated one, had broken away and regained its feet and was wildly rushing here and there.
A lasso had been thrown over his head, and this now trailed in the dust Several of the cowboys, clapping spurs to their ponies, set off either to throw more ropes about the escaping beast, or else to grasp the trailing lariat.
"Take him, Dave!" cried Pocus Pete, who wanted the lad to get as much practical experience as possible.
"I'll get him," was the instant call in response.
"Look at him go!" murmured Mr. Bellmore, who half rose from a pile of blankets to watch the antics of the steer.
"Yes, that boy of mine can ride!" said Mr. Carson, who was looking on. A tender look came into his eyes.
No one looking at him would have suspected that, only a comparatively short time before, he had confessed to this same lad that there was no real relationship between them. That they were actually, strangers, save that there was a love between them that could only come of long association.
"Yes. He surely can ride," murmured the ranch owner. "If he lives I hope he'll succeed me as operator here. And if I can put through your irrigation scheme it will make Bar U one of the best ranches in this part of the country."
"Oh, we'll put it through all right," said the Chicago man. "Don't worry about that. We'll put it through."
"If Molick doesn't kick up a row," observed Mr. Carson.
"Yes, of course we've got to look out for him. But I think—"
Mr. Bellmore never finished his sentence.
"Look out, Dave!" he yelled, as if he could warn the lad who was riding toward the rushing steer.
"Oh! Oh!" gasped Mr. Carson.
The next instant they both saw the trailing rope on the steer's head tangle around the legs of Dave's pony. The plucky Crow made a brave effort to keep his feet. But a moment later he went down heavily in a cloud of dust with his rider, while the maddened steer, brought up short, reared and seemed to fall backward on pony and cowboy.
With one bound, it seemed, Mr. Carson leaped away from the side of his invalid guest, and was in the saddle of his favorite pony, that had been standing near the chuck wagon.
"He's killed!" was the thought that came instantly into the mind of Mr.Bellmore. "No rider could suffer such a fall, and live!"
Such an idea, too, it seemed, was in the thought of the ranch owner, for he was slightly pale underneath his coat of tan as he spurred his steed forward.
A number of other cowboys had seen the happening, and those who could leave the work in which they were engaged, started for the scene of the accident. But there were some, holding down a refractory steer, or engaged in putting on the hot branding irons, who only looked over, shrugged their shoulders, and kept on with their tasks.
For that, too, was the law of the range. If a man had a fall, he was either killed or he was not killed. If he was killed there was no use dropping important work to go to his aid. If he was not killed he must either help himself, or take such help as could be sent to him at the time.
Cruel, perhaps you will say, but it was eminently practical, and, after all, that is life.
If Dave was really dead no power the cowboys could exert would save him. The accident had happened—it was over with—and that was all there was to it.
Of course some did go to his aid—Mr. Carson and several of the less busy punchers. And, to do justice to the others, not a man but, would have rushed to help Dave had he been in a position to do so. But the work of the ranch must go on—and it did.
Long before Mr. Carson reached the scene, or, for that matter, before any of the others were in a position to help Dave, a movement was observed in the tangle of pony, rider and steer. Just who, or which, was doing the moving it was hard to determine, as the haze of dust still overhung everything.
"Can a person live after that mix-up?" asked Mr. Bellmore, speaking aloud, unconsciously.
"Oh, him plenty mluch alive!" glibly replied the Chinese cook. "Dave he plenty mluch hab fall, an' he come up smilin'."
"Oh, he does; eh?" asked the Chicago man.
"Sure!" was the answer, given with a bland grin. "He clum' up smilin'."
"Well, I hope he does," was the comment.
By this time it could be seen that Dave was at least alive. Out of the haze of dust he limped, But the steer lay prone.
Mr. Carson jumped from his horse, and an instant later had the young cowboy in his arms.
"Dave! Dave!" he cried. "My boy! My boy! Tell me you're not hurt!"
As the other cowboys rode up one of them gave a look at the prostrate steer.
"He's done for," he commented.
It needed but a look at the curiously and grotesquely twisted neck of the animal to tell that it was broken.
"Dave, are you hurt?" gasped the ranchman.
"Well, I've felt better," Dave answered, slowly, making a wry face as he limped to one, side. He leaned heavily on the arm of Mr. Carson.
Then, as if remembering something he had forgotten, Dave looked toward his pony. To his great relief he saw Crow rise to his feet, shake himself and run off a little way, seemingly little the worse for his adventure.
"Thank goodness!" murmured Dave, and there was a prayer of gratitude in his heart. "I thought he was a goner."
"And we thought you were," put in Tubby Larkin, as he strode up. "That was some fall—believe me!"
"Must have got tangled up in the rope," commented Pocus Pete, who had finished a task he was at, and who now spurred forward.
"That's what happened," Dave explained, as he rubbed the back of his head and threw out one leg as if to test whether or not it had been knocked out of joint. "I didn't see the trailing lasso, and it got around Crow's feet."
"Yes, that's how it happened," said Mr. Carson. "But I certainly thought both steer and pony fell on you."
"I managed to roll out of the way," said Dave, grimly.
"Lucky for you," commented Pocus Pete. "That's one of the biggest and worst steers on the ranch, and he weighs something, too."
"His own weight broke his neck," said Tubby, reflectively. "Well, we was needin' some beef an' now we've got it."
"I'm sorry he had to go," remarked Dave, as he walked off toward his pony, having made sure that none of his bones was broken.
"Better him than you," murmured Mr. Carson. "Are you sure you're all right, Dave, my boy?" he asked anxiously.
"Oh, yes I'm a bit shaken up, but I'll be all right. I can go on with the round-up."
"You can—but you'll not!" was the ranch owner's decision. "I want you to take a little rest. The worst of the job's over, anyhow."
Dave was nothing loath to have a little respite, and as he came up to the chuck wagon, where Mr. Bellmore was eagerly waiting for him, the Chicago man said:
"Well, I never expected to see you come up this way, Dave," and he held out a welcoming hand.
"Oh, we get used to little things like that."
"Little things!" exclaimed the irrigation engineer. "Well, I thought I had a hard time when I was hanging over that gully. But that wasn't a circumstance to yours."
"It's all in the day's work," said Dave with a shrug of his shoulders, as he sank down on a pile of sacks.
"He's grit clear through," thought the visitor. "I like him more every dayI see him."
As for Dave, in addition to the thankfulness in his heart that he was not hurt, and that his favorite pony had escaped, was a deep sense of gratitude for the manner manifested toward him by Mr. Carson. No father could have showed more love toward his own son than the ranch owner did toward his ward, his nameless ward.
The excitement caused by Dave's fall soon passed, for, after all, such things are comparatively common on the ranch, and he had really been more than usually fortunate.
And so the work of the round-up went on, day after day. Hard, hot, sweaty and dusty work it was, too, with little of the romance that attaches to the book stories of life on a cattle range. But no one complained, least of all Dave Carson.
It was about a week after this that Dave was sent out again to look up some stray cattle. He was not riding his own pony Crow, who had, after all, developed a lame shoulder from his fall. So he was left in the stable for a day or two.
As the animal Dave had was rather strange he took the precaution of staking him out as he halted for a bite to eat at noon. Dave was taking his nooning, resting lazily on the silent plain, when he heard a noise that caused him to rouse up suddenly.
What he saw brought an exclamation of anger to his lips, for in the act of cutting the rope that held the somewhat restive pony was Len Molick. Dave had caught him in the nick of time.
Len had looked around, to make sure he was unobserved, but his back was toward our hero, who was down in a little hollow.
"The sneak!" murmured Dave.
Then, silently, he began stalking the bully, who was preparing to go back to his own horse, that was standing with reins over its head.
Len's object was plain. He wanted to let Dave's pony run back to the ranch, so our hero would have a long walk. But his plan failed.
Just as Len was about to sever the lariat Dave sprang up, and with a yell that startled both horses, fairly threw himself on the back of the bully.
"At last I've got you just where I want you, Len Molick!" Dave cried. "Maybe I can't prove you sawed the fence posts, but I don't need any more evidence than I've just had of what you were going to do. I've got you!"
"You—you let me alone!" whimpered Len, who was a coward, as most bullies are.
"I will, when I've finished," said Dave, laying aside his coat.
"What are you going to do?" asked Len, who had straightened up, after having been rolled on the ground by Dave.
"What am I going to do? I'm going to give you the best drubbing you ever had. Stand up and fight now, you big coward!"