The cry of fire at any time, is a dreadful one to hear. Whether it be in the crowded city, or in the lonely country; whether on board a ship on the heaving ocean, or an alarm given where factory workers are assembled; it is fearsome, always.
And though Dave and his friends were out on the great, open prairies, where the fire might have full sweep without ever coming near them, yet the cry of the young cowboy roused all instantly.
For fire on the prairies means more than would at first seem, and when a herd of cattle is in its path it is a warning that must be heeded at once if one would save the stock.
If there is not actual danger from the fire itself, there is the risk of its stampeding the cattle causing them to make a mad rush in which many will be killed.
"Fire! Fire!" yelled Dave, but his first cry was enough. All the sleepers jumped to their feet, and an echoing cry came from the cowboys who, on the far side of the herd of cattle were riding around them to keep them from straying.
As yet the animals had not taken the alarm. They could not smell the fire, for it was too far away, and the dull, distant glow in the west, as yet, meant nothing to them.
Nor had Dave's cries, and the answers thereto, given them any alarm. They were accustomed to the shouting and yelling of the cowboys day and night, and a little more or less of this noise did not startle them.
"Fire did you say, Dave?" cried Mr. Carson, as he shook his blanket from him.
"Yes, Dad. Over there!"
Dave pointed to the glow. It was brighter now.
"Yes, it's a fire sure enough," was the ranchman's remark. "And traveling fast, too."
"Wind's blowing her this way," remarked Pocus Pete, who had joined the two. "Got t' get busy, boys." That last to the cowboys who were now up, ready for business.
"A prairie fire!" cried Mr. Bellmore. "How are you going to fight it?"
"There are only two ways," said Pocus Pete. "By plowing, or by firing a strip so wide that the main fire can't cross. We won't have time to plow. We've got to fight fire with fire. Come on, boys."
"Oh, if we only had water!" murmured the engineer.
"It wouldn't do us much good," said the ranchman. "When that fire gets here it will be a mile or more wide, and no hose would reach that far."
"That's right," chimed in Dave. He had not seen many prairie fires, but he knew something of their danger. "I guess we'll have to back fire. Though we could send for some plows, Dad."
"Yes, and I think I'll do that," the ranchman said. "The wind may shift, and I'd feel better if I had some plowed furrows between that blaze and my cattle."
Plowing and burning a strip are the two principal methods used in fighting prairie fires. The dry grass of the plains, when it starts to burn, goes like tinder. If it can be done in time, it is often effective to light another fire in front of the one that is rolling forward. This consumes the grass on which the flames feed, and when they reach that spot there is nothing for them to burn. And if one stands on the area burned he will be comparatively safe. Of course care must be taken not to get singed in the back-fire.
Another method is to plow the ground, turning the dried grass under, and leaving only the bare earth exposed. If a strip can be plowed wide enough the fire can not leap over it.
"Lively now, boys!" called Mr. Carson. "Dave, you go over and help keep the cattle from stampeding. Keep 'em milling." This means keeping the animals going around and around in concentric circles, like a mill wheel. When they can be made to do this they seldom break and run wild.
"Oh, Dad! Let me go to fight the fire!" pleaded the youth.
"All right. Only take care of yourself," was the caution.
"I'll go and help the boys mill the cattle," offered the water engineer."I believe I can do that."
"I think so, though it isn't going to be an easy task," said the ranchman.
The glare of the distant fire was now brighter, and a dull roar could be heard. The cattle seemed to be aware of the danger, and it required hard work on the part of the punchers to keep them from breaking. With shouts and yells, with lashings from their shortened lariats and with shots from their heavy revolvers the punchers did manage, however, to keep the creatures in a compact mass.
Some cowboys, leaping into the chuck wagon, had started to drive to the ranch buildings to bring back plows and plow horses. They might, if they were lucky, return in time to help in keeping back the flames.
But the main fighting force, which Dave joined, rode straight toward the onrushing flames in the desperate endeavor to fight fire with fire. They would need to reach a spot, though, where the wind was blowing away from them and the cattle, and toward the main blaze. Such places can often be found in the rolling prairie, with its many glades and swales. Then, too, the heat of the big fire often creates a vacuum, or back draft, causing air to rush in toward the leaping flames, and making a wind blow toward them that will carry with it the fire started to offset the menacing one.
"Here's a good spot!" exclaimed Pocus Pete at length. "Scatter along here, boys, and set the grass ablaze."
Leaping from the backs of their ponies, the cowboys gave the reins into the hands of one of their number to hold, for the horses could not be trusted to stand alone with the fire coming ever nearer them. And without their mounts the cowboys would be lost.
The spot where the party now found itself was down in a little depression, or swale, and the wind was blowing away from them and toward the main conflagration.
"Light, boys!" cried the foreman, as he struck a match and applied it to a bunch of dried grass that made a rude torch. The others, including Dave, did the same. Soon little spurts of flame in the grass showed where the contending fire was started.
"Watch it now, boys!" Pocus Pete warned them. "If you see it starting to creep back on you swat it out. Take your blankets, and see if you can't find a water hole. Sozzle your blankets in that and swat the blaze if she starts to run back on you."
A spring, or, rather a mud-hole that passed for one, was found, and in this the blankets were wet. Then, as the contending fire burned onward, some little tongues of flame crept back toward the spot where the cattle had been left. These were "swatted" with the wet blankets as fast as seen.
"Well, she's going!" cried Dave, as he saw the fire they had set to fight the other leaping onward as though to meet the blazing enemy. "That ought to burn a safety strip."
"If th' wind doesn't turn," murmured Pocus Pete. "If th' wind doesn't turn."
Anxiously now they waited, looking the while to see that no stray sparks set a fire behind them. Dirty, dusty, choking and smoke-begrimed, the cowboys fought the oncoming fire. Back of them their comrades worked hard to hold in check the frightened cattle, while others were racing back with the plowing outfit.
And off to the west glowed, roared and crackled the menacing prairie fire.
"Lively boys! Swat it out! Farther off to the left there, Skinny!"
"All right, Pete! I get you!"
"Dave, there's a flicker behind you. Swat it out!"
"Out she goes!" answered the young cowboy.
"Tubby, step along with a little more life!" the foreman cried. "Th' fire'll git yo' if yo' don't watch out!"
"I'm goin' along as fast as I can, Pete."
"Well, move faster. We've got to beat this fire!"
Thus with friendly gibes and taunts Pete kept his men at work. The fire was coming nearer, but the burned strip was widening too, and soon would be too broad for the flames to leap over.
They would separate, of course, and travel down on either side of the charred section, but the cattle might be saved.
Up and down the length of the line of fire they had started to offset the other, keeping well back of it, and watching that no stray sparks or wisps of burning grass got behind them, Dave and his comrades worked hard. The immediate danger seemed to have passed, but a shift in the wind might come at any time, and render their task futile.
"A little more, boys, and we'll call it done!" exclaimed the foreman, wiping his grimy, sweaty face on his sleeve. It did not greatly improve his countenance, however.
Dave and the others lengthened the line of back-fire, and then, seeing that they had burned a strip sufficiently wide to make it comparatively certain that the oncoming fire would not leap over it, they turned back to help plow the furrows, or to keep the cattle in order and from stampeding.
Leaping on their snorting ponies the cowboys rode back, leaving behind them two fires where before there had been but one. But soon the two would merge into one, leaving a broad, blackened barren strip, that contained no fuel for the flames.
"It's lucky we struck that swale where the wind blew in the other direction," Dave remarked.
"Mighty lucky," assented Pocus Pete.
Of course where a strong wind is blowing a prairie fire toward one, another method of escape can be taken. If there is time a fire can be started where one is standing. The wind will carry it in the same direction as that in which the main blaze is advancing, but ahead of it. Then, as the grass is burned off, and the ground cools, one can follow the second fire, getting far enough in toward the center of the area one has burned to be safe. But this method can not be used where the second fire would consume buildings or cattle, as would have been the case here.
"How'd you make out?" demanded Mr. Carson, as Dave and the others, smoke-begrimed and weary, rode up.
"All right. There's a big burned patch between us and the fire now," saidPocus Pete. "Have the plows come?"
"Not yet."
"Hark!" exclaimed Dave. "What's that?"
A thunder of hoofs could be heard, thudding on the ground.
"The cattle—a stampede!" gasped Tubby Larkin.
"No, it's the boys coming back with the plow outfit," said Dave. "I can hear the rattle of the wheels on the chuck wagon."
And his guess proved correct. A little later the wagon rumbled up. Led along behind it were a number of horses kept for use on the farm that was attached to the ranch. The animals were quickly hitched to the plows—several of them—and then began the turning over of a number of damp furrows of earth, which would offer no food for the flames.
The fire was increasing, for it found much dry material on the sun-baked prairie. It had not yet reached the strip that had been burned to stop it. Would it pause there, and divide? Or would it still come on toward the cattle?
Those were questions each one was asking.
The cattle were becoming more and more excited as the sky was lighted more brilliantly by the bright glare. The smell of fire and smoke was in the air, and the crackle and roar of the flames sounded louder. The cattle heard and were afraid.
"Come, Dave!" called Pocus Pete. "Guess we'll find our work cut out for us over there now. They won't need us to help with the plowing."
Indeed the cowboys in charge of the cattle had their hands full. Every now and then some steer would make a break, and if he were not quickly turned and driven back it meant that others would follow. Quick action was required.
And while the men selected for that work attended to the turning over of the brown earth, Dave and the others, under the direction of Pocus Pete kept the cattle from stampeding.
The prairies were now as well lighted as at early dawn. In fact with that dull, red glare over everything, it was not unlike a dawn—the dawn that brings a storm in its wake.
The roar of the fire sounded like distant thunder, and there was a smoky taste to the air, which was hot and stifling.
"Look out for that fellow, Dave!" called the foreman, as a big steer made a break for liberty.
"I'll get him!" shouted the young cowboy, as, whirling his lasso in readiness he spurred after the animal.
As Dave rode on, another steer, thinking perhaps to take advantage of the distraction, started out after the first one, and directly behind Dave. With lowered head the animal took after the horse and rider, seemingly with the intention of trying to overthrow them.
"Look out, Dave!" yelled Mr. Bellmore. "He'll toss you!"
The engineer sent his horse on the run toward Dave, but it is doubtful if the Chicago man could have done anything, not being an expert in handling the rope.
But Skinny had seen Dave's danger, and with a yell he took after the second steer. An instant later his lasso had settled over the animal's head, and as the pony stopped short, and braced back, the steer fell, his feet kicking in the air.
Dave himself was not aware of what had happened, so intent was he on driving back the brute he was after. And it was not until he had done this, and looked back, seeing the prostrate creature, that our hero was aware of what had happened. Then he understood at once.
"Thanks, Skinny," he said, pantingly.
"Don't mention it," replied the other. He shook free his rope, and the steer, now subdued, and tractable, rose to his feet and went back to the herd.
It needed every effort and attention on the part of the cowboys to keep the cattle from stampeding, but they managed to do it. The fire came on, halted at the burned strip, hesitated as if considering a leap across, and then divided, rolling down either side of the bare strip.
"That does the trick," said Mr. Carson. "I guess we've saved our stock."
"And we didn't need the plowed strip after all," Dave said, for, so far, the blaze had not approached within danger-distance of the herd.
"Well, it isn't over yet," said the ranch owner. "That fire still has plenty of ginger in it, and the wind may shift any minute. Dave, you worked well!"
"Oh, no better than any of the others."
"Yes you did! You worked well, and I shan't forget it But I'd like to know how this fire started. No cowman would be so careless with matches when he knows how dry it's been. And I don't believe lightning set it. I'd like to know how it started."
"So would I," said Dave, "and I think I'll investigate."
"How? Where?" asked the cattleman.
"Why, I'll go over there where the fire started. I may be able to learn something."
"Better take one of the boys with you," Mr. Carson cautioned him. "That's in the direction of Molick's ranch, and they may be in a bad humor. Take some one with you."
When Dave's intention was made known Pocus Pete and Mr. Bellmore offered to accompany him. Dave was glad to have them.
They rode over the blackened, scarcely-cooled area, there being light enough from the distant flames to enable them to see well. But there was nothing to observe—that is at first.
Finally, however, as they went on, Dave gave a sudden exclamation.
"What is it?" asked the engineer.
"Hush! Not so loud!" was Dave's caution. "Don't you see some one crouched down in the grass there, lighting matches?"
The other two looked to where he pointed. They did indeed see a dark figure. Suddenly it became plain, and the three saw some one stooping over in the dry grass, setting fire to it with matches.
"The scoundrel!" cried Mr. Bellmore. "Who is he?"
"I don't know, but we'll soon find out," said Pocus Pete, grimly. "Come on, boys!"
He spurred forward, followed by Dave and Mr. Bellmore. The person in the grass heard them, and, leaping to his saddle, leaving the little blaze to grow, he was off at a gallop. But Dave and his two friends chased on after him.
"Looks like he was the very man we want," murmured Pocus Pete.
"What about that fire?" asked Mr. Bellmore, as he galloped on beside Dave.
"I don't know," was the doubtful answer. "What do you say, Pete?"
"What's that?" called back the foreman, his eyes never leaving the dim figure that was racing on ahead.
"The fire he started," replied Dave. "Won't it eat back to the cattle?"
"It may. But they've got enough men to fight it now, and the plowed strip will stop almost any blaze. Come on, we want to get that skunk!"
"Do you think he set the big fire, Pete?"
"I don't know what to think, I'm goin' to catch him first!" was the grim reply. "I'll do my thinkin' afterward."
The glow of the big fire was dying away now. One reason for this was that the blaze was working its way behind a range of hills. Another was found in the coming of the dawn, the fire paling before the glow of the rising sun.
Dave gave a look back at the blaze in the grass he had seen started by the crouching figure. The flames were spreading in the dry, tinder-like grass, and for a moment Dave was worried. Then he reflected that the cowboys who were with the herd ought to be able to handle it, and, as Pete had said, the plowed strip would act in the same manner as had the burned area.
"We've got to take a chance," murmured Dave, "and it can't be a much worse chance than the one we took earlier in the night. And we must get that fellow!"
It would be the worst possible procedure to leave loose in the country so desperate a character as one who would deliberately start a prairie fire. He could do untold damage.
"I wonder who he is?" mused Dave. Yet in his heart he had an answer ready. "Some of the Molick crowd," he whispered. "Their ranch would be safe with the wind blowing the way it does now, and they must know it would send the fire right down on us. It was the Molick crowd, I'll wager a hat!"
He hurried on with the others. Dawn was breaking rapidly now. It seemed scarcely more than a few minutes since Dave saw that glow in the midnight sky, yet it was several hours. But so crowded had they been with work and worry that it seemed hardly more than one—or, at most, a few minutes.
The figure ahead was riding desperately to escape.
"He's got a good horse critter," observed Pete, admiringly. He could admire even an enemy's mount.
"Yes, but he can't keep up that speed," said Mr. Bellmore. "And our animals are fresh."
This was true, as during the fire-fighting the ponies of the Bar U ranch had been able to rest. Now they were fresh for the chase that was on. And a fierce chase it was.
Setting a prairie fire, when the person who did it could not but know it would eat its way toward a bunch of cattle, was a crime not far from horse stealing, than which there is no blacker offense in the West, where a man's life depends on his horse. And the person who was riding thus desperately away must have known, or at least feared, that quick vengeance would be dealt out to him.
"Th' skunk!" muttered Pete, as he and the others swept on. "Th' mean, onery skunk!"
Up came the sun from below the horizon, shining red in the smoke-filled air—red and dim, like some great balloon. The morning was hot with the heat of the fire, and it would soon be warmer and more depressing from the heat of the sun's rays.
"It's a good thing dad has his cattle where there's some water for them," said Dave.
"Yes," agreed Pete. "There isn't much, but it's better than being over at the other place, where Molick and his crowd can cut us off altogether."
"If worst comes to worst, and he's built up that dam again," said the engineer, "we'll go and tear it down once more."
"That's what we will," Pete said. "I'm not going to lose the cattle for want of some water, when we saved 'em from the fire."
Dave was about to make a remark, when he gave a cry of surprise instead.
"What's up?" asked Pete.
"Look! If that isn't Len Molick I'll eat my rope!" cried the young cowpuncher. "Len Molick started that fire!"
"It's him all right," agreed Pete, after an instant's glance.
The figure racing on ahead so desperately had turned for a moment in the saddle, and this turning gave a view of his face. Dave had seen it was his enemy—the enemy who had taunted him with his lack of knowledge concerning his birth and parentage.
"And we've caught him with the goods," remarked Pete, indulging in the slang which meant so much. "He'll go to jail for this."
"If we catch him," suggested Mr. Bellmore.
"Oh, we'll get him," declared Pete. "Come on here you cayuse you!" he called merrily to his mount.
But alas for Pete's hopes. Whether the extra burst of speed was more than his horse could respond to, or whether in the excess of his zeal Pete forgot his usual caution probably would never be known.
But the fact of the matter was that his horse Stepped into the burrow of a prairie dog, and, a moment later, the foreman went flying over the head of his steed, landing on the soft grass some distance away.
Dave and Mr. Bellmore pulled up at once, but they had hardly done so before Pete leaped to his feet.
"Ride on I Ride on!" he yelled. "Don't mind me. Get that skunk!"
"But you may be hurt!" Dave called.
"Hurt? No, not a bit! I'm all right!"
"What about the horse?" asked the engineer.
The animal had picked himself up, and walked with a limp toward his master, for Pete had trained him well.
"Poor brute's got a twisted shoulder—I'll have to ride him slow after I rub him down," Pete said, mournfully enough. "I can't make any kind of speed on him. Ride on, you fellows! Don't let that skunk get away!"
It was the law and custom of the range. When a chase was on, if one failed and fell behind, the other, or others, must keep going. It was a hard law, but life on the range was not easy, nor was it one for children.
"All right!" called Dave, recognizing the necessity for prompt action."We'll get him!"
"And watch out for him," Pete warned them. "He'll be desperate if he finds you're closing in on him."
"We'll watch out," said Mr. Bellmore.
Again he and Dave dashed on, leaving Pete to minister to his injured horse. The foreman at once proceeded to rub vigorously the strained shoulder with a bunch of grass. His steed winced it the pain, but seemed to know it was for its own good.
"I'll have to go back," Pete said, mournfully. "But I hope they catch that skunk!"
It was the meanest name he could think of to call Len Molick.
The chase was resumed. Pete's accident had cost Dave and his companion some precious moments and they had lost distance. But they felt that, eventually, they must win. For their horses were fresher than was the mount of the youth who had set the fire, and already they had appreciably lessened the distance between them.
Len's horse had shown a wonderful burst of speed at first, and he had secured a quick start.
"But it won't do him any good," said Dave. "We'll have him ridden down in ten minutes more."
"I hope so," murmured Mr. Bellmore, "Why. Can't Kurd stand it?"
"Oh, yes, but I'm afraid I can't. This is more riding than I've done sinceI had my accident, and my ankle is paining me."
"Say, you drop out," Dave urged him. "I can manage Len all right."
"Indeed I'll not drop out! I'm going to stay in to the finish, but I'll be glad when it comes. This Western life is, indeed, rough and ready, Dave."
"Then you're not a Westerner by birth?"
"No, I came from the East. I'll have to tell you my story some day. It's rather a curious one."
Dave reflected that his own was, also, but he was not so sure he wanted to tell it. Every day had increased his admiration for Mr. Bellmore, but there are some facts that we keep even from our best friends.
They were on a downward slope now, and the going was better. Slowly but surely they were overtaking Len. Now and then he glanced back over his shoulder, as if to measure the distance separating him from his pursuers.
"Do you think he'll shoot?" asked Mr. Bellmore.
"He may," said Dave, calmly. "He's a big enough bully to do so, but he's the worst shot you ever heard of. I really believe he's afraid of a gun."
"Still, sometimes those chaps make a bull's-eye out of pure luck."
"We've got to take the chance," Dave said. "Keep well down on your horse's neck."
But Len showed no intention of drawing a weapon. Probably it was all he could do to manage his now fast-tiring steed.
Suddenly the stillness of the morning was broken by a prolonged shrill screech.
"What's that?" cried Mr. Bellmore.
"Railroad train," said Dave. "The line passes just below us. You can see the smoke of the train in a minute. There she is—a fast freight. Whistled because they're going to stop for water I guess. Yes, there she goes up to the tank."
Down below them they could see the crawling freight. As they watched they saw it draw up to the tank and stop. Water poured into the tender of the engine.
"Why, look at Len! He's riding straight for the freight!" cried Dave.
"That's what he is," echoed Mr. Bellmore. "Maybe he's going to take it!"
"If he does—" murmured Dave.
They spurred on, but were too far away. A moment later they saw Len leap from his horse, abandon the creature, and jump on one of the freight cars. The engine whistled, started off and rapidly gathered speed, taking Len away from his pursuers.
"Well, if that isn't tough luck!" bitterly said Dave, as they pulled up.Len had escaped. There was no use in chasing the fast freight.
Sitting astride his tired horse Dave looked lung and earnestly at the fast-disappearing freight, as it went around a bend in the hills. He could not see Len, but he knew the young bully was aboard.
"Well, you're gone now, but there'll come a time when you may want to come back," mused Dave. "And when you do, I'll get you. I think you started the big fire, but I'll give you a chance to prove you didn't."
He sat there musing for a while longer. The freight was out of sight now but there came to his ears, faintly through the heavy morning air, the sound of the distant puffing. And he could see the trail of smoke.
"Smoke! Ugh!" exclaimed Dave. "I've seen enough, and smelled enough, in the last few hours to last me a year!"
His eyes smarted from the acrid fumes of the burning prairie grass, and his mouth was parched.
"Guess you must want a drink too, Crow," said Dave aloud, and his horse whinnied as though understanding. Dave saw Len's horse, which the young rascal had abandoned, taking a long drink from a pool that had formed under the railroad tank.
Dave's horse needed no urging toward the inviting water and soon both master and beast were drinking deeply. Dave also plunged his head down in a puddle and soused his arms and hands in it.
"There, I feel better," he said. "A heapsight better. And now what am I going to do with you?" he asked as he saw Len's abandoned horse cropping the grass near the tank. "I can't leave you here for rustlers to make off with. You're too good an animal, if you do belong to a mean skunk. And yet I don't feel like doing Len any favor. If I take you I may get into trouble with Mr. Molick, too.
"Oh, I'll take a chance though. Can't see a horse suffer," Dave went on, and when his own mount had sufficiently refreshed itself with water and food, the young cowboy leaped to the saddle and rode up to Len's animal.
He had no difficulty in catching the pony, as it was quite exhausted from the run. And thus leading his prize, Dave started back. Mr. Bellmore, who had done as Dave had, taken a long drink and a wash, was also much refreshed.
"It surely was tough luck," remarked the engineer, "but it couldn't be helped. We did our best!"
"I should say so!" exclaimed Dave. "I regard it as a pretty sure sign of his guilt—that running away; don't you?"
"Well, most people would, I think," said the Chicago man slowly, "and yet, from what you have told me, I guess Len would run from you anyhow, wouldn't he, if he saw you take after him?"
"He might," admitted Dave, with a grin, as he thought of the encounter he had had with the bully. "Yes, I guess he might. But we saw him start one fire; didn't we?"
"Yes, but of course he could claim that he was starting a back-fire, just as we did."
"Huh!" Dave mused. "I didn't think of that. But I'm sure Len did start the big blaze, anyhow. He wanted to either stampede our cattle, or burn some of them, and you can't make me think any differently."
"Oh, I'm not trying to," said Mr. Bellmore. "I'm only giving you an idea of the view a judge and jury might take of it, if you had Len arrested."
"I didn't think of that," Dave said. "I guess it won't come to an arrest, as far as that is concerned. We Western folk generally administer the law ourselves. If we waited for judges and juries we'd get left in a good many cases. But I don't believe Len will come back, in a hurry."
"Perhaps not But what are you going to do with his horse?"
"I don't know. Take it back with us for the time being. It's a good animal I might hold it as a sort of hostage until Len claims it. But I don't believe he will. Whew! That was some chase!"
"It certainly was," agreed Mr. Bellmore.
They rode back slowly. The air was gradually clearing of the smoke from the prairie fire, though far off it could be observed burning yet. But the worst of it was over. Bar U ranch was no longer in danger.
"What's the next thing on the programme?" asked Mr. Bellmore.
"Finish the round-up, get rid of as many cattle as we can, provide for the rest so they'll have plenty of water in the dry spell, and then fight the Molick crowd," said Dave.
"Plenty of room for action there," commented the engineer with a smile.
"I guess so," assented Dave. "But we're depending on your help."
"And I'll give it to the best of my ability. I think it is wise to undertake legal action as a starter to regaining control of your water rights. If they don't help us—-"
"Why, then we'll try some of our Western persuasive ways," finished Dave. "I guess dad will be anxious to get busy right away. This fire shows how desperate that other crowd is."
"Yes. And if the Molicks had a hand in starting it, which seems reasonable to believe, they probably did it out of revenge for the breaking of the dam. But we had a perfect moral, if not a legal, right to do that," the Chicago man said.
They rode back slowly, and soon overtook Pocus Pete, who was ambling along on his injured pony.
"How'd he get away?" asked Pete, as he saw Dave leading the riderless horse. "Was there any shootin'?"
"No, nothing like that," Dave replied. "He jumped on the fast freight, and left his animal behind."
"Huh! Well, maybe it's jest as well," the foreman said. "It's one skunk less in a country that's got more than its share. That's a good horse," he went on, sizing up Len's mount.
"Yes," said Dave. "You'd better take it for awhile, and give yours a rest."
"I will,' said Pete, dismounting and leaping to the saddle of the other. It was a great relief for his own mount, whose shoulder was badly wrenched.
"This is forcin' th' enemy to give us aid an' comfort," commented Pocus Pete, as he settled to the saddle, having put on his own in place of the one Len used, which did not fit the foreman.
Back over the burned prairie they rode. It was hot with the heat of the sun, which rose higher and higher in the sky, and the air, though it was morning, still seemed to have in it some of the heat from the big fire.
Dave and his friends found Mr. Carson and the cowboys waiting anxiously for them. The story of the chase and its failure was soon told.
"Well, you did your best, Dave, and I'm much obliged to you," said Mr. Carson. "I agree with you that it looks as though the Molick crowd was getting desperate, and trying to drive us out of the country either by a stampede or by fire. If you hadn't discovered that blaze in time there's no telling what might have happened. Now I've got to plan what to do."
"And let me help—Dad," said Dave in a low voice. "I want to do all I can for you and the Bar U."
Mr. Carson did not reply at once, but he held out his hand and Dave grasped it in a firm clasp. They understood one another.
A conference was held, and it was decided that the round-up should be finished as soon as possible, and the cattle intended for shipment driven to the nearest railroad point. The others would be scattered over the different grazing ranges Mr. Carson owned.
"And then we'll take up this water fight," said Mr. Bellmore. "If I had my papers here I could begin some preliminary work now."
"What you folks most need is a rest," said Mr. Carson. "You've been up the best part of the night, fighting fire, and on this chase. Now get some breakfast and stretch out in the shade of the chuck wagon. There's nothing to be done right away. Hop Loy, get 'em something to eat!"
"Slure I glet bleckflast!" exclaimed the happy-faced Celestial. "Plenty hungly Mlister Dave?" he asked cheerfully.
"Yes, plenty hungry," Dave assented.
While he, Pocus Pete and Mr. Bellmore rested after the meal Mr. Carson and the others finished the round-up work, branding such cattle as had not already felt the iron. Then the herds were separated, the ones for shipment being cut out from the others.
The next few days were busy ones, the work going on from the first peep of daylight until it was impossible to see. And in due time the shipment was successfully made.
"Well, I can breathe more easily now," said Mr. Carson, when the train had departed, some of his cowboys going with it to see that the cattle were fed and watered on the trip. "No matter what Molick does now he can't ruin me completely."
"That's so, and now we'll take up this water matter," said the engineer."I'm afraid it's going to prove a legal tangle, though."
And so it did. The chief fight was about the ownership of the water rights at the point where Molick had built the dam that the Bar U boys had destroyed.
It had at once been rebuilt, as was expected and all water was shut off from Mr. Carson's land in that vicinity. But as he was not pasturing any cattle there for the present, no damage resulted.
"But you have a right to that water, and I'm going to see that you get your share of it," said Mr. Bellmore. "It was partly my fault that Molick built that dam, for if I had not mentioned it to him he probably would never have thought of it. So it's up to me to make this fight for you, and I'm going to."
Nor was the fighting all on one side. Molick brought suit against Mr. Carson for the destruction of the dam, but it would take some time to settle this, since many questions were involved.
In turn Mr. Carson sued the owner of Centre O ranch for shutting off the water supply. Mr. Carson, Dave and Mr. Bellmore also went before the Grand Jury and gave information about having seen Len starting a prairie fire. That body lost little time in returning an indictment against the missing bully. But of course it was out of their power to go after him and bring him back.
"But if he ever does come back I'll get him," the sheriff assured Dave. "He daren't set foot in this county again. Of course I'm not saying he's guilty, but I'll arrest him and he'll have to prove his innocence."
"That's all we want," said Dave.
Meanwhile the legal tangles increased. A number of suits were started on both sides, and as a result there were several physical clashes between the cowboys of the Bar U and the Centre O ranches.
The horse of Pocus Pete was more seriously hurt than he had at first thought, and he had to give his mount a long rest.
"But I've got Len's critter!" Pete chuckled, "and I'm goin' to ride that."
This he did to his own great satisfaction. Several times when he and his boys got into more than verbal arguments with the Centre O crowd Pete used Len's horse.
"It's like gettin' th' enemy's ammunition an' firin' it at him," said Pete with a laugh. "I guess they don't relish it none."
And Molick and his crowd did not. They did not make a claim for the horse, however, since this would have involved admitting that Len rode it to escape from the country, and they did not want to do this. So Pocus Pete kept the contraband horse.
Work was easier on Bar U ranch after the big cattle shipment, but still there was plenty to do. Mr. Bellmore was busy working up his water irrigation project, in addition to helping Mr. Carson fight the Molick crowd. After a number of suits had been started Molick brought an action against the engineer for breach of contract.
"He claims I promised to go into the water matter with him, and then backed out," said Mr. Bellmore. "Well, I did nothing of the sort. I might have gone in with him, if you had not warned me, though Mr. Carson."
"Well, I'm glad I warned you, for he'd have you all tangled up if you had gone in with him."
"I guess you're right. But well get straightened out after a bit, I think."
The Molick outfit was the only one that fought the irrigation project. All the other ranch owners in the vicinity recognizing the value of it to their places, entered into it.
"Dave, are you fit for a little ride this morning?" asked Mr. Bellmore, about two weeks after the prairie fire.
"Why, sure," was the answer. "What's on?"
"I want to go over to the stone valley, and make some calculations of the flow of water there. It isn't much of a stream, to be sure, but if we're going into this irrigation scheme, we can't neglect even a small flow of water. We might want it in dry weather. I need some one to help me make the measurements."
"Why sure I'll go. Be with you in a little while. There's a little matterI want to see dad about, and then I'll come."
Though Dave spoke thus lightly of a "little matter," it was one that meant a great deal to him. For it was nothing less than an attempt he had made, or, rather, started, to solve the mystery of his identity.
All along, ever since Dave had been told the truth of his rescue from the Missouri flood, he had sought some means of finding out who he was. Mr. Carson had said there was no means of knowing, since he had made inquiries at the time in the vicinity of the flood, and no one had laid claim to the then small baby.
"Which led me to believe, Dave," the ranchman said, "that your parents and all your relations were drowned."
The young cowboy was silent after this, and a look of sadness came over his face.
"But there is a bare chance that some—even distant relatives—might have been saved," he said. "And on that supposition, if I had some little clew on which to start it might put me on the right track.
"How was I dressed when you found me? Wasn't there any distinguishing mark?"
"Huh! Well, now I come to think of it, perhaps there might have been," Mr.Carson had said. This conversation had taken place some time previously.
"What was it?" asked Dave eagerly. "Was there a note pinned to my dress? I suppose I must have worn dresses, if I was so little at the time?"
"Yes, you wore dresses," the ranchman said, with a far-off look in his eyes. He was struggling to recall the dim and distant past. "Yes, you had on a dress. I think it must have been white at the start, but the muddy water had stained it a dark brown. But there was no note or anything like that pinned to it. I looked for that. But you did have on something that perhaps might prove a clew."
"What was it?" asked Dave eagerly.
"It was a sort of life-preserver," said the cattle man. "At least I took it to be that.
"A life-preserver!" echoed Dave.
"Well, maybe I'm wrong about it, for I never had much to do with water or the sea," admitted Mr. Carson. "But it was some sort of a cork jacket. It was made from a lot of bottle corks, all strung together, and wound around in a sort of belt."
"They don't make life-preservers that way," said Dave, who had been on a trip East, and had seen the life-saving apparatus on a steamer. "A life-preserver is made from broad sheets of cork, sometimes granulated, and pressed together. I never heard of one being made of corks from bottles strung together."
"Well, that's what you had on," said the ranchman. "Maybe it was a home-made one. Come to think of it, that's probably what it was. I reckon it saved your life, too, for though you were on a pretty big piece of wreckage, you looked as though the waves had washed up over you a number of times. Yes, that home-made cork life-preserver undoubtedly saved you."
"What became of it?" asked Dave. "I suppose you threw it away. You must have had your hands full, looking after a small baby."
"Why, no, I didn't throw it away," said Mr. Carson slowly. "I sort of had an idea it might prove a relic, so I kept it."
"Where is it now?" asked Dave, eagerly.
"Well, I didn't take it all over with me," went on the owner of the Bar U ranch. "I left it in Denver with a lot of other things of mine. It's there yet I reckon, in storage."
"Could you get it?" exclaimed the youth, his eyes shining with eagerness.
"Yes, I reckon so. But what good would it do, Dave?"
"It might—it might prove my identity."
Mr. Carson shook his head.
"I'm afraid not," he said. "There wasn't anything to it but a lot of corks strung together. They were wound around you like a belt."
"But could you send for it? I should like to see it. And it might—it might, after all, be a clew."
"Well, I'll get it, of course. I suppose you aren't satisfied to be just what you are. You know I'll look after you all your life. You know that, don't you, Dave?" asked the ranchman softly.
"Yes—Dad—I know that," and the youth's voice faltered. "But I want—I just want to know who I am. I don't intend to leave you. I guess you know that. I haven't any other place to go. But I would like to know who I am. Maybe—maybe," and Dave's voice was husky, "I might have a—a sister somewhere in this world. Oh, what I'd give if I had!" and unshed tears shone in his eyes.
"Well, Dave, I never thought of it in just that way," said the ranchman. "Yes, what you say may be true. I'll send for this life belt of bottle corks, and let you look at it. Mind, I don't believe it will be of any use as a clew, but I'll send for it."
And so the matter had ended for the time being. There had been so much to do, what with the fire and the trouble over the water rights, that there had been a delay in sending for the old relic of the flood.
But finally Mr. Carson had written for it, together with some of his other goods in storage in Denver, and they had arrived that day. He had promised Dave to unpack them, and show him the belt, and it was this matter that the young cowboy wished to see about before going over to the stone valley with Mr. Bellmore.
"Well, Dave, there it is," said Mr. Carson, as he opened a trunk, and took out several articles. "Here's the little dress and the other things you wore when I hauled you from the water."
He held up a white garment, clean, but yellow with age, and smelling faintly of some perfume.
"It doesn't look as though it had been through a flood," said Dave.
"No, I had it washed and ironed, and then a lady I knew packed it away in rose leaves for me. She said that's how she kept the baby clothes of her own little ones. Those are the shoes you wore," the ranchman went on, as something fell to the floor, when Dave unrolled the dress.
The shoes, too, had once been white, but were soiled now, not having responded to the cleansing process as had the dress. They were stuffed out with wads of paper.
"It would be some job to get in them now," Dave remarked with a smile as he glanced down at his booted and spurred feet. "Some job!"
"Yes," assented Mr. Carson. "And here's your petticoat, Dave. I reckon that's what you call it," and he held up some other garments. "I saved 'em all," he said, "thinking they might be a clew, but they never turned out so."
"But where is the cork belt?" Dave asked. He was impatient to see that. He realized that baby dresses must be more or less alike, with seldom a distinguishing mark. But the cork belt impressed him with the possibility of being different.
"Here it is," said Mr. Carson.
From amid the contents of the trunk he pulled out a queer object
Dave held it up to get a better view of it. As Mr. Carson had said it was a belt, composed of a number of corks strung together on a strong cord, there being many rows of them, one above the other. The corks were of all sizes, the cord passing through them on the short axis. There were two holes for the arms, and a sort of tape by which the belt could be tied around one.
It was small, clearly made for a child, though for a larger one than Dave could have been at the time he was picked up in the flood.
"I must have rattled around in that?" he said, with a questioning look.
"Yes, it was lapped around you a couple of times," said the ranchman. "But, just as I said, Dave, it isn't much of a clew. They are just common corks."
This was so. There were no marks on the corks, as far as Dave could see, by which any identification could be made. He looked closely at the odd life-preserver.
"I say, Dave, are you coming?" called Mr. Bellmore from without.
"Right away," was the answer.
Dave sadly laid down the cork jacket and went out.
Profound indeed was the impression made on Dave by the sight of the childish things in the trunk Mr. Carson had received from Denver. Sadness, too, was mingled with his feelings. Somehow he felt as though the last hope had gone from him, for he did not see how he could find any clew to his identity in the corks, strung into such a queer jacket.
Dave tried to look cheerful as he came out to join Mr. Bellmore for the ride across the prairies to the place where they were going to measure the flow of water. He did not want his companion to suspect anything.
"Feel like taking it on the gallop?" asked the engineer.
"Yes, I guess Crow can stand it if your animal can," Dave said.
"Oh, I'll bank on Kurd!"
Together they were off at a fast pace that fairly ate up the distance, and soon they were half-way to the place where a small stream had given Mr. Bellmore hopes that he could add it to his water conservation scheme.
"I wonder how it would be to take a trip over to the Molick dam, and see what they're doing?" suggested the water man. "It's just as well to keep tab on those fellows."
"Go ahead, I'm with you," said Dave.
They changed their course slightly. The whole day, or, rather, the best part of it was ahead of them, for they had made an early start. Dave had not much to do at the ranch since the big cattle shipment, though Mr. Carson was getting ready to increase his stock as soon as the question of providing water for them was settled.
"Looks as if something was going on," commented Mr. Bellmore, as they approached the place where the Molick dam had been rebuilt.
"Yes, there's a crowd there, anyhow," agreed Dave. "And some of them are on our land, too!" he exclaimed, excitedly.
"Now take it easy," advised his friend. "This matter must take a legal course, since we have started it that way. Keep cool."
"Oh, I will," the young cowboy promised, as he spurred on, followed by the engineer.
They found Molick and several of his men making a sort of supplementary dam, the water having backed up more than they had calculated on, so that some of it was now flowing in the old bed of the stream over Mr. Carson's property. It was to prevent this that another dam was being made.
"He wants to get every drop!" said Dave, bitterly.
"Yes," assented the engineer. "He isn't satisfied with a fair share."
Some of the workmen who knew Dave seemed a bit embarrassed as he caught them on the Carson land, for it was necessary for them to go there to complete the dam. The young cowboy, however, said nothing, preferring to leave it to Mr. Bellmore. The latter looked significantly at Molick, and remarked:
"Seems to me you're overstepping a bit; aren't you?"
"I don't know that I am," was the surly answer.
"Why, you're on Bar U land—or some of your men are."
"I know it."
"What gives you the right?"
"The law. It says I can go where I have to, to recover my property. I guess that's right enough."
"Where is any of your property on Mr. Carson's land?"
Molick pointed to the trickling water.
"That's mine," he said. "It's escaping from my pond over the dam. I'm making the dam bigger, and if I have to go on Bar U land to do it, to save my property, the law gives me a right. I know what I'm talking about, for I've looked it up."
As this was a point on which the engineer was not certain of the rights of Mr. Carson, he thought it better to say nothing. He observed, however, that there was more water than even he had calculated on, and that though the dam were raised it would overflow again, thus necessitating further trespassing on the Bar U property.
"And if the flow keeps on increasing," the engineer reasoned, "it will give us a water supply in spite of all Molick can do. Guess I'll let matters take their course for a while."
He said as much to Dave in a low voice, and the two rode away. They had seen all they needed to.
"Dad can pasture here again soon," said the young cowboy.
"Yes," assented the engineer, "I guess we don't need to worry much. There'll be more water than Molick can impound unless he raises a big concrete dam, and before he can do that we'll have legally established our own rights, I think."
They resumed their way to the valley to measure the water there, and for some time were kept busy, Dave helping his friend make the calculations.
"Well, there isn't as much as I thought there'd be," was the comment of the engineer, "but every little helps. We'll make a different section of this a year from now. If it wasn't for Molick standing out against the irrigation scheme we'd have the whole of Rolling River Valley in it."
"Is there any way of forcing him?" asked Dave.
"There may be, after he sees what he's missing."
Together they rode home in the early evening. Now that the work of the day was over Dave's mind went back to the scene of the morning, when he had handled his baby garments and the cork jacket. His manner must have been strange and distracted, for Mr. Bellmore said:
"What's the matter, Dave? You act as though you had lost your last friend."
"Well, I have, in a way," was the unexpected answer.
"You have! What do you mean? Seems to me, if I were you, with the kind of a father you have, and a dandy ranch like this I'd be the happiest fellow on—"
"I haven't any father!" burst out Dave. "And that's the trouble. Oh, it's just as Len Molick said—I'm a nameless nobody!" and his voice choked and broke.
Mr. Bellmore rode his horse over beside Crow. He put his arm around the lad, who hung his head.
"Look here, old man!" said the engineer. "I don't want to intrude, but if it will do you any good, tell me all about it!"
"I will!" exclaimed Dave, taking a sudden resolve. "I wasn't going to tell you," he went on, after a pause, "for, though some of the fellows at the ranch know it, and though some over at Centre O do, also, still I wasn't going to tell you. I was so happy before I knew it."
Then, slowly, and haltingly, he told how Len Molick had fired the taunt at him and how, upon making inquiries of Mr. Carson, the latter had confirmed the rumor, saying that Dave was not his son, though he loved him as such.
"And where did you say he found you?" asked the engineer. There was a curious light in his eyes, and an eager expectancy in his manner.
"It was during a flood somewhere in Missouri. I've forgotten the exact name of the place. He can tell you. He picked me up on some wreckage, and looked after me. That was a long while ago—or at least it seems so," Dave remarked with a smile.
"It couldn't have been so very long ago. You're not more than twenty; are you, Dave?"
"Nineteen, I think. Of course I don't know my exact age."
"No, I suppose not. Then I'm not so much older than you. I'm twenty-seven.But yours is a strange story. Dave, we are brothers in misfortune."
"Brothers in misfortune! What do you mean?" cried the young cowboy.
"I mean, that I haven't any near relatives either. And while I do know who I am, and who my parents were, still that isn't much satisfaction. I have lost them."
"Lost them?" Dave echoed.
"Yes, and in a flood, such as nearly claimed your life. I must find out just what town you came from. It may be that our folks lived in the same place. It would be a strange coincidence, but it might be that it is so. I lost all my folks, including a baby brother in a Western flood. I don't know many of the particulars, for I was with relatives in Ohio at the time, so I escaped.
"I am anxious to hear Mr. Carson's story. It interests me mightily. To think that we have gone through much the same sort of suffering. But I should have thought so small a baby as you must have been at the time would have been drowned."
"I would have been if it hadn't been for one thing," returned our hero, with an odd little smile.
"One thing? What was that?"
"I doubt if you can guess."
"Maybe you were bound fast to the wreckage, or it didn't float into deep water."
"I don't know about being bound fast, but I do know the wreckage floated around, or rather, down stream. But that wasn't what I referred to."
"What was it?"
"Can't you guess?"
"I don't think so."
"I had on a cork life-preserver," said Dave. "I was looking at it this morning when you called to me."
"A cork life-preserver?" excitedly repeated Mr. Bellmore. "Was it—was it any particular kind, Dave?"
"Why, yes, it was. But why do you look at me so strangely?"
"Never mind that now! Tell me about that life-preserver. How was it made?"
"From bottle corks strung together and made into a belt. I had it around me when dad—I mean Mr. Carson—picked me up. I—I thought the preserver might be a clew but it isn't, for—"
"A clew! Of course it is!" fairly shouted the engineer. "Hurrah, Dave itisa clew. Put her there, old man! Shake! I said a while ago that we were brothers in misfortune! We're more than that.
"We're real brothers, Dave Carson—no, not Dave Carson any longer! DaveBellmore! We're brothers, I tell you! brothers!"