Ted had engaged several sections on the through sleeping car to North Platte, Nebraska, the old home of Colonel William Cody, known all over the world as "Buffalo Bill."
But they were to leave the train at Green River, ostensibly to buy cattle for their ranch. This, of course, was to avert suspicion from their real purpose of hunting down the express robbers.
For Mrs. Graham and Stella the stateroom of the carOrizabahad been engaged, and the boys made it a sort of ceremonial chamber.
The car was well filled with other passengers, many of them tourists on the way to Colorado or the Pacific coast, and they were much amused at the free-and-easy spirit with which the boys conducted themselves, and when it became generally known that they were the broncho boys, with Ted Strong at their head, they received a great deal of attention, which was not particularly to Ted's liking.
As usual, wherever they were, Bud Morgan, Ben Tremont, and Carl Schwartz provided a fund of amusement for everybody.
Little Dick Fosdick had never known such happiness as he was now experiencing. He worshiped Stella, admired Ted, and looked upon Bud as the greatest pal a boy ever had.
He and Bud were inseparable, and Bud never tired of telling him yarns about cow-punching and Indian fighting, while the boy proved a breathless listener, hanging upon every word that fell from the yellow-haired cowboy's lips.
He knew by heart many of the adventures through which Ted Strong had passed, and often surprised Ted by correcting some inaccuracy which, through a lapse of memory, Ted had made.
They were sailing across Missouri toward the West, and the boy kept his face glued to the window, watching for the first glimpse of the golden West of his fancy. Just at present he saw only farms and little towns, through which the fast train whizzed without stopping.
The boy knew this sort of country well, and was rather disappointed that the boundless prairie did not roll before him from horizon to horizon.
Then he turned his attention to the luxury of the car, but being a healthy boy, this did not impress him long, and he turned to his heroes for relief.
Bud was sitting comfortably sprawled out on two seats, singing softly to himself. Bud could not sing a little bit, but he thought he could, which served his purpose personally quite as well as if he could.
Ben was in the seat behind him, reading. After a while Bud's music, or the lack of it, got on Ben's nerves, and he reached over and poked Bud on top of his golden head with the corner of his book.
"Say," said he, "put on the soft pedal, won't you? Perhaps you can sing, and maybe some one told you you could, but take it from me you have no more voice or musical ability than a he-goat."
"Oh, mercy!" retorted Bud. "Does my music annoy you?"
"It certainly does," snapped Ben.
"Then why don't yer move away?"
"Bah! You're an old goat."
"Thanks fer ther compliment, although yer don't mean it thet away. But when yer likens me ter a goat yer do me proud. If yer were more goatlike yerself ye'd be a heap more wiser."
"I'm glad you like it. The pleasure's all yours. But if a fellow called me a goat, I know what I'd do."
"Maybe, perhaps. But yer needn't be afraid that any one will liken yer ter a goat. Any self-respectin' goat would get sore at it. If I wuz ter pick out yer counterpart in ther animile world, I'd say yer most resembled the phillaloo?"
"What's a phillaloo?"
"A phillaloo is a cross between a penguin and a jassack."
"Say, you long-haired lobster!" cried Ben, leaping to his feet, apparently in great anger, "don't you call me anything like that."
"Well, didn't yer jest call me a goat?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then sit down an' git back ter yer love story; we're square. Nothin' is lost on both sides. But callin' me a goat don't make me sore none. I jest dote on goats. If I wasn't jest what I am, I'd sooner be a goat than a collidge gradooate."
"I've heard about enough, if you're alluding to me."
"Take it er leave it. But, ez I wuz goin' ter say before my conversation was cut inter by a loud an' empty noise, speakin' o' goats reminds me o' a time down on ther Pecos—"
"By Jove! I'm going to ask the conductor to move me into another car. This is too much. I might, perhaps, stand for being called a phillaloo, but I swear I'll not be compelled to stay here and listen to one of those silly and impossible stories of this insane cow-puncher."
At first some of the passengers thought that Bud and Ben were really angry at one another, but the wise ones soon saw that it was all bluff, as, of course, the broncho boys knew.
But it was very real to Dick Fosdick, who had yet many things to learn about the boys and their ways, and while the little chap was far too clever naturally to show his feelings, he sided with Bud, and thought that Ben was very unreasonable, especially as the boys, and some of the passengers, had flocked around Bud, who appeared not to notice them.
"I reckon, Dick, you'd like ter hear thet thar story erbout the time I lied down on ther Pecos in the summer o'—"
"Conductor," said Ben, detaining that official as he was passing through the car, "is there no way of stopping the noise this person is making? I cannot take my nap on account of his chatter."
Several persons who were not in the secret were for interfering in behalf of Bud and his story, which they wanted to hear, but were headed off by the conductor, who said:
"Sorry, but I cannot interfere with the gentleman. He does not seem to be annoying the other passengers. If you wish to take a nap you are at liberty to go up ahead in the smoking car."
At this Bud began to gloat.
"I hear they've put a cattle car up next ter ther injine fer sech sensitive people like you. Yer might enj'y a leetle siesta on ther straw."
Ben sank back into his seat, and began to snore gently.
"What about the story down on the Pecos, Bud?" said Dick.
"You'd like to hear it, eh? Then I'll tell it to you. Of course, the other folks may listen to it, but it is understood betwixt me an' you thet it's all yours, an' whatever goes inter their ears is jest ther leavin's. Is that a go?"
The boy nodded eagerly, even though he didn't understand the drift of Bud's remarks.
"What's the story about?" asked the boy.
"The goat, my boy. Perhaps you don't know it, but the goat is one of the noblest animals what walks. He is also one o' ther smartest, an' in former years used ter be able ter talk, but ez soon ez he got ter be so popular in secret societies ther gift o' speech was withdrawed from him, so thet he wouldn't be able ter give erway ther secret things what he saw an' heard at ther meetin's."
"But, Bud, are they really smart?" asked Dick.
"Smart ain't no name fer it. All yer got ter do to find out if they're smart is ter look at their whiskers. The smartest o' all animiles is man, an' don't he wear whiskers? An' I want ter ast yer what other animile hez whiskers exceptin' ther goat. Ther goat knew what he was about when he begin ter raise whiskers. He says ter hisself—"
"What bosh!" exclaimed Ben, snorting in his sleep.
"Aire you addressin' yer remarks ter me?" asked Bud, looking over the back of the seat at Bud. But the only answer was a gentle snore.
"What did he say?" asked Dick eagerly.
"'Why,' says he, 'if they won't let me talk they can't keep me from bein' ez near a man ez I kin go; by gravy, I'll raise whiskers like Deacon Smith,' who was a member o' ther lodge in which ther goat officiated; and, by jinks, he did, an' ther fashion wuz follered, an' they wear them ter this day.
"There ain't no question o' their smartness, an' their prominence. Ain't one o' ther signs o' the zodiac up in ther heavens named after ther goat—Capricornus is ther feller ter what I refer—an' them heathen chaps what wuz half man an' half goat? Didn't they come pretty near bein' ther whole thing?"
"But about the Pecos?" inquired Dick, who was not partial to preaching, but wanted to get at the heart of the story.
"Oh. yes. I wuz leadin' up ter it gradooal, fer what I'm goin' ter relate—if thet yap will choke off on thet moosical snore—"
"Here, wake up, you're snoring so loud we can't hear ourselves holler," said Kit, reaching over and shaking Ben.
"I can't keep awake while that fellow persists in yarning away like a fanning machine. It's so monotonous I can't keep awake," and Ben stretched and yawned.
"Let's get away from here and go to some other part of the car," whispered Dick.
"No, we'll just stay here an' spite him. He'll wake up after a while an' be glad to listen to ther story. So here goes!
"I was punchin' cow's down on the Pecos one summer fer ther Crazy B Ranch. We had eight punchers in ther bunch, a good chuck wagon, an' easy work, so I wuz pretty well suited, an' thet summer I gained twelve pounds, even if it wuz a hundred an' forty in ther shade, which we hed forgotten ter bring along with us."
"Forgotten to bring what?" asked the boy.
"Our shade. Yer see, down in thet country ther sun is so strong thet every one carries his own shade, fer there isn't a tree in ther whole country big enough ter cast a shadder o' any sort. Out on ther ranches, at certain seasons o' ther year, they serve out shade ter ther men jest ther same ez they do bacon an' saleratus ter ther outfit thet goes out herdin'."
Dick looked seriously at Bud for a moment, hardly knowing whether or not to doubt him, but Bud's face was as grave as a deacon's.
"I don't understand it, I'm sure," he said. "But where do they get the shade to give to the men?"
"That's easy enough. It's always gathered on dark nights, generally late in ther fall er in ther winter, so thet it'll be real cool."
"But where do they get it?"
"What—ther shade? Why, they just go out an' gather it off the ground in thin shapes, kinder longer than broad. It can be rolled up just like a blanket, an' carried behind ther saddle. It's gathered in ther cold months. Ye've heard o' ther 'cool shade.' Well, that's why they gather it late in the year. Summer shade is no good, because it's too warm."
"But what is it like?"
"Oh, it's black, an' I hear they strip it off close ter ther ground. We don't get no shade like it in this part o' ther country. Ther only place what hez it is ther West, whar it's needed most."
"But how about the Pecos?"
"Sho! I almost fergot it, didn't I, while teachin' yer something erbout ther way they do things in Arizony an' her sister-in-law, Noo Mexico? Now I'm off, shore.
"Ping-pong Martin wuz in ther outfit thet year. Mebbe yer knows him?" Bud looked at the small boy inquiringly, much to his embarrassment.
"No, sir, I never heard of him before."
"Well, no matter, but this Ping-pong cuss, he had a personal friend, a goat, what couldn't no more be shook than a sore thumb, and had follered Ping off ter ther wars, so to speak.
"Ping run off from home on ther quiet ter join our outfit, leavin' ther goat to home, locked up in ther barn. Ping thought he hed ther goat faded, but one day, when we wuz half asleep in our saddles, a feller over on ther other side come a-runnin' in.
"'What's ther matter?' sez I.
"Thar's a funny animile over here. He shore is ther devil, fer he wears horns, an' hez a face exactly like thet o' ole man Pillsbury. I ain't bettin' none it ain't him. But if it is Pillsbury, he better not go home lookin' like thet 'thout lettin' his wife know first.'
"Ping an' me rode over ter ther other side, an' thar stood a goat, lookin' so nice an' socierble.
"'Great hevings!' shouted Ping, makin' a rush fer ther goat, 'thet's my goat Ezra, ain't you?'"
"Did the goat understand him?"
"Did he understand him? Well, I should whisper sweetly. Why, thet goat jest jumped all over Ping, a-runnin' his whiskers inter his eyes, an' laughin', he wuz so glad ter see him. He'd traced Ping plumb ercross ther desert ter get ter us, an', o' course, we couldn't sic him home after that.
"We all got ter love Ezra fer his lovely ways; that is, all except 'Boney Bill' Henderson."
"Why? Didn't the goat like him?"
"Well, it wuz this way: Boney Bill had a habit o' beggin' ther grease from ther fryin' pan every night ter ile his boots. This made 'em good an' strong, ez well ez easy ter chew on. One night, Ezra bein' fond o' boots, finds 'em an' chews ther tops off'n 'em. They wuz ther only boots Bill hed, an' we wuz two hundred mile ter another pair, so Bill hed ter go through ther season barefoot, an' ther sun jest nacherly warped his feet out o' all shape.
"But thet wuzn't what I wuz goin' ter tell yer erbout. That fall ther Utes went on ther warpath, an' wuz headin' our way, an' I want ter tell yer we wuz some scared. We hed several brushes with ther Injuns, an' ther courier we sent ter ther fort fer help wuz killed an' scalped.
"Thar we wuz, in a little valley entirely surrounded by Injuns thirstin' fer our gore. How long we could hold out agin' 'em wuz ther problem. But whenever one o' 'em showed his head we took a pop at it, an' they returned ther compliment. We wuz prayin' fer ther comin' o' ther soldiers, which wuz ther only thing what could save us from a horrible death.
"Ther Injuns got next ter ther fact thet our ammunition wuz runnin' short, an' they wuz gittin' some gay; sorter takin' advantage o' us in a way. I could see thet they wuz gettin' ready ter make a rush down inter ther valley an' massacree us all, an' we prepared ter sell our lives dearly.
"One mornin' we missed Ezra, ther goat. I'll never fergit ther misery on ther face o' Ping-pong when he finds it out.
"'Bud,' he says ter me, 'I'm goin' out ter find Ezra, an' if them Injuns hez got him, I'm goin' ter bust ther whole tribe wide open.'
"I tried ter persuade him not ter go, but he will, so I goes with him. We sneaks up ther side o' ther hill, an' looks over ther ridge right down inter ther Injun village. The sight what met our gaze almost, but not quite, made me bust open with laughin'.
"Ther Injuns wuz all down on their hands an' knees, bowin' ter Ezra, who wuz walkin' eround on his hind legs, sashayin' sideways an' noddin' his head jest like a live bock-beer sign. Yer see, ther Injuns hed never seen a goat before, an' when Ezra walks onto them, waggin' his whiskers in a wise sort o' way, they thinks he's some kind o' a god, er somethin' like that. But when he got up on his hind legs an' begin ter sashay thet settled it. They wuz shore o' it then.
"We watched ther performance fer a while, then ther Injuns got up an' begin ter mosey. In an hour thar wuzn't a Injun within twenty mile. They jest hit ther high places fer home.
"Thet wuz ther way Ezra saved our party. After thet he could hev et every boot in ther outfit, an' thar wouldn't hev been a kick."
"What became of him?" asked Kit.
"Oh, he went back home with Ping an' raised a large family, an' they wuz talkin' o' runnin' him fer ther legislature an account o' his whiskers an' his smartness."
"He was a smart goat, wasn't he?" said Dick.
"You bet. Thet's why I said that some goats wuz jest ez smart ez lots o' collidge gradooates what I hev met."
When they arose in the morning the train was speeding over the prairie, and Dick could hardly be pulled away from the window long enough to go to breakfast with Stella and Mrs. Graham, so great was his delight at being in the "really and truly" wild West.
When they were all back in the car again, Ted, for the first time, noticed a large man, flashily dressed, who wore a flaming red necktie, and who evidently thought himself irresistible to the ladies.
He walked up and down the aisle on the slightest pretext, ogling every pretty woman in the car, and Ted was getting very tired of it, especially as once or twice he had the impertinence to stop and look into the stateroom in which Stella and Mrs. Graham were sitting.
"I'll take a fall out of that fellow if he keeps up that sort of thing much longer," said Ted, who was sitting beside Kit.
"I was thinking of the same thing," said Kit. "He makes me tired. I wonder what he is, anyway?"
"He has the make-up of a gambler or a saloon keeper," answered Ted. "He better keep away from me if he knows when he's well off."
At a town farther down the line a young lady entered the car, and took a seat directly in front of Kit, who was alone, Ted having gone to the front of the train to consult the conductor about a mistake that had been made in their tickets.
Presently the flashy man with the red necktie spied her and sauntered past her down the aisle. In a few moments he came back, twirling his black mustache, which evidently was dyed, and casting glances at the young lady.
Stopping in front of her, he said:
"Is this seat taken, lady?"
The young lady looked up, and answered coldly:
"No, sir; but there are plenty of other seats in the car which are unoccupied."
"This one looks good to me," said the fellow, with a smile which was supposed to be very fetching.
Without further excuse he plumped himself down in the seat beside her, and threw his arm familiarly over the back of it, at the same time hitching closer to her.
Then he tried to draw her into conversation, but she turned from him and looked out of the window.
But he persisted, and she showed that his attentions were annoying her.
Kit watched the proceedings, and was boiling with anger, but he did not feel that he had the right to interfere until the young lady showed by her manner that she desired assistance.
Presently the man said something to the young lady in a low voice that seemed to arouse her anger, for she rose hastily to her feet, her face burning.
"Let me pass!" she said.
"Don't leave me like this," said the fellow, blocking the way with his knees. "Sit down. We'll soon be good friends. You'll find me a good fellow."
"I insist, sir, that you allow me to pass," said the girl, growing pale, her voice rising a little.
Kit could stand it no longer. He reached over and tapped the fellow on the shoulder.
"Allow the lady to pass," he said quietly.
The hawk turned his head and sized Kit up. This did not take much time, for Kit was small and slender, his black eyes being the largest part of him, proportionately.
"What the deuce have you got to do with this?" he sneered, looking savagely at Kit.
"Just enough to make sure that you do it," said Kit, rising.
"Well, I don't allow no pups like you to interfere with me. You sit down an' let this gal an' me attend to our own business, er I'll bend you an' tie you into a knot an' throw you out of the window."
Kit did not reply, but he reached over and got the fellow by the coat collar and jerked him into the aisle, and, twisting him around, planted his toe between his coat tails with a force that sent him halfway down the length of the car.
"You're on the wrong train," said Kit. "The cattle train is on the other track."
The fellow soon regained his balance, and came rushing back like a charging bull.
"You little snipe!" he roared, "I'll kill you for that."
But as he got near Kit dodged into the space between the seats, and as the fellow rushed past, carried on by the momentum of his run, Kit swung at him with his right fist.
It caught the fellow back of the ear, and the force behind the blow, as well as the rate at which he had been coming, sent him headlong between two seats, where he lay crumpled up like a rag.
The commotion had attracted the attention of Bud and Ben, and they were by Kit's side in a moment.
"Need any help?" asked Bud.
"Not a bit," replied Kit. "I'm not very large, but no man of that sort can call me a pup."
The fellow lay where he fell, and Bud warned away several passengers who wanted to go to his assistance.
"He's all right," he said. "A crack like that never injured any one permanently, but sometimes it wakes them up ter ther foolishness of insulting a lady when ther broncho boys are around."
Kit lifted his hat to the young lady.
"Pardon me for making a disturbance," he said. "I don't think you'll be bothered again."
The young lady was profuse in her thanks, and resumed her seat.
Presently the fellow on the floor got up and sneaked into another car, without looking again at either Kit or the young lady.
"Hello, Kit! What was it all about?" asked Ted entering the car.
"Oh, I never could stand for red neckties, nohow," answered Kit apologetically.
When the train stopped for dinner they all trooped into the station dining room, and secured for themselves a long table, around which they sat like a big and happy family.
As Ted and Kit were walking along the platform toward the dining room Ted suddenly halted and stared at a man who was leaning against the wall of the station.
"By Jove, I believe it's him!" he muttered.
"Who's him?" asked Kit.
"The express robber, Checkers," answered Ted. "And yet I'm not sure. If it is him it's one of the best disguises I ever saw. Look at your friend of the red necktie hurrying up to him. By Jove, they're a good pair! I wish I could hear that fellow in the checked suit speak."
"That fellow will get caught up yet if he persists in wearing checked suits," said Kit. "It seems to be his badge, or a disease with him."
"I suppose that's why they call him Checkers," said Ted. "I wish I knew. I'd take a chance at arresting him."
At that moment the man in the checked suit looked up and caught Ted and Kit staring at him.
Hastily calling the attention of the man with the red necktie to them, he hurried around the corner, and the other followed.
Ted ran to the corner of the station, but all he could see of either was through a swirl of dust as the motor car in which they were riding flew up the street.
"By crickey! I'll bet anything that was Checkers," grumbled Ted. "I'm always too late to get to him. But next time I'll take a long chance with him."
The train pulled into Green River at eight o'clock that night, and they all went to the leading hotel, and Ted registered them as coming from the ranch.
During the evening the boys mingled with the crowd in the hotel lobby, talking cattle, and met many of the representative women of the section.
They were out after a bunch of stockers, and promised to be in the neighborhood for several days and to visit the ranches and look over the stock.
One of the men whom they met was introduced to them as Colonel Billings, ranch owner and speculator in cattle.
He was a middle-aged man of most pleasant features—benign, good-natured, and yet shrewd. He dressed well for a cowman, and from his pink, bald crown and gray chin whiskers down to his neat shoes, he looked the part of the prosperous business man.
"I have a lot of stock such as I think you boys need out at my ranch," he said to Ted, when he learned that they wanted to buy. "I'd like to have you bring your party out to the place and stay several days as my guests. You would then have plenty of time to look the stock over, and if you like them I'm sure we can strike a bargain."
Ted thanked him and promised to go out to look at the stock, but as for the invitation for the whole party to stop at the ranch, he would have to consult the wishes of the party. He rather liked the colonel, who was, apparently, bluff and sincere.
As Ted was on his way to the bank which had issued the bill which he had found in the haunted house, he stopped suddenly. He had just seen a young woman enter a store hurriedly, and look at him over her shoulder as she did so. She it was who had slipped the note of warning into his pocket in the Union Station, in St. Louis.
Evidently she was trying to avoid him. But why? He wanted to thank her for that kindly service, and, quite naturally, he had some curiosity to know who she was.
Without apparently hurrying he followed her into the store, and looked around for her. She was not in sight, and he walked up and down the aisles between the counters, but could not find her.
Then he observed that there was a back door to the store, which opened onto an arcade. She had escaped him through that, and Ted looked up and down the arcade. At the far end, where it opened out into the public square, a carriage stood, and a young lady was getting into it.
It was the young lady of the subtle perfume and the note.
In a moment she was gone.
He was not far from the bank, and giving the young woman no more thought, for he was sure he would see her again, for she seemed to be mixed up in his fortunes in some manner, he made his way to the financial institution and asked for the president.
"You will find Mr. Norcross in his private office at the end of the corridor," said the clerk.
At the door of the office Ted found a colored messenger, who stopped him and asked his business.
"Is Mr. Norcross in his office?" asked Ted.
"Yes, sah, but he is busy," answered the messenger.
"Well, take my card in to him, and tell him I would like to see him when he is at leisure."
The negro went away, and in a few moments returned to say that Mr. Norcross would be glad to see Mr. Strong presently.
While Ted waited he stood looking out of the window into the street. The door behind him opened, and he turned.
Walking rapidly down the corridor was the man with the pointed beard, whom he had seen in the Union Station in St. Louis give the signal to the girl who had slipped the note into his pocket.
Ted stared after him. The mystery of the note was getting thicker. But he would try to think it out later.
He found Mr. Norcross an elderly, but active man.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Strong," said the banker, referring to Ted's card.
"I come to you for information concerning a recent robbery and the murder of an express messenger in an express car in St. Louis," said Ted.
"In what capacity do you come?"
"As an officer of the government."
"Oh, ah, rather young for such work, aren't you?"
"Pardon, but that has nothing at all to do with it. I am a deputy United States marshal, and have received instructions to examine into certain matters regarding the recent robberies from express trains in this part of the country."
"I suppose you have your credentials as an officer."
"I think I can convince those who have the right to know that I am what I profess to be."
"Very well. I meant no offense, but there have been so many violent things done out here, that naturally a banker desires to at least know something of his callers. What can I do for you?"
"Did your bank make a shipment of currency to the East, last week?"
"Yes, sir, that is a well-known fact."
"What was the amount?"
"Forty thousand dollars. It was to meet some paper which was due in St. Louis."
"And it was stolen from the express car?"
"Yes. The express company has reimbursed us for it."
"What sort of currency was it?"
"Mostly of our own issue."
"Do you recognize this bill?"
Ted took from his pocket the counterfeit bill of the bank, and handed it to the president, who looked at it a moment and handed it back.
"Yes, that is one of the bills. The money sent was all in that series of numbers."
Ted picked the bill up, and put it in his pocket.
"Here, you mustn't take that," said the president. "That is the property of the bank. Give it to me. The express company will need it for evidence."
"Then I will keep it. It will be safer with me."
A suspicion had entered Ted's mind, which was strengthened by the conduct of the president, who was white-faced and trembling.
"From your examination of the bill, you are positive that it was one of those shipped to St. Louis?"
"I am not certain, of course, but as I said, it is within the series of numbers which we sent. Why do you ask?"
"Because it is a counterfeit."
The president sank down in his chair. He had suddenly become pale, and was trembling like a leaf.
"What will you take for that bill, young man? Name your own price," said Mr. Norcross.
"It is not for sale, and you have not money enough to buy it," replied Ted Strong.
"Well, friend, have you decided to come out to my ranch, and look my stock over?"
It was Colonel Billings, the genial ranchman, who addressed Ted, meeting him in the lobby of the hotel.
"Yes, I think I will," answered Ted. "When will it be convenient for you to be there?"
"I am going out to-morrow, and will be glad to see you and your friends."
"There are a good many of us," said Ted, laughing.
"The more the merrier. The house is large, and I could drop you all down into it, and the house would hardly know it."
"How do we get out there?"
"I see you have a couple of ladies with you, and I shall telephone over to my manager to send a carriage in for them, and horses for the use of you boys. How many horses and saddles will you need? There are plenty at the ranch."
"We will need eight horses. One of the ladies prefers to ride, and we'll need a gentle pony for the small boy, whose experience is limited."
"Sidesaddle for the lady?"
"No," said Ted, with a grin, "this young lady will not use one. She is a cowgirl, and rides a man's saddle."
"All right, my boy. The outfit will be here in the morning. By the way, I am going to have some other guests. I suppose you will not object."
"Certainly not."
"One of them is a young New Yorker, who has come West to invest in ranch property, and who has brought his sister with him. Charming people. The other is a rather uncouth person, but you will forgive his eccentricities, I am sure. To tell you the truth, he often grates on me, but I overlook it because he has lacked advantages. He made his money in the liquor business, in which he has been all his life. But he is a good fellow at heart, and is my partner in a way, having invested a large sum of money with me in cattle."
"I shall be very glad to meet them, although, I'm afraid I shall not be able to see much of them, as I shall be very busy."
"When you are under my roof, sir, you are as free as if you had been born there. I am glad you and your friends are coming. It does my old heart good to have young people around me. I will see you in the morning, and shall feel honored to escort you to my home."
With this they parted.
"Jolly old chap," said Ted to himself. "I know just how he feels about having a lot of people come to visit him. I like it myself."
Stella had been out for a ride with little Dick. She had secured a couple of ponies from the stable connected with the hotel, and had given Dick his first riding lesson.
Ted met them as they were dismounting in front of the hotel.
"Ted, that boy is going to be a second edition of you in the saddle," cried Stella enthusiastically. "I never saw such a seat for a kid. Why he takes to a horse like a young duck to water."
"That's good," said Ted. "Do you like to ride, Scrub, I mean Dick?"
The boy flushed at the name Scrub, but he recovered himself immediately.
"Yes, it's fine," he answered. "I like horses, and they seem to take to me. I'd like to ride a horse all the time."
"Well, you'll have all you want of it when you get out to Moon Valley," said Ted. "Would you like to go out again? If you do, go ahead. I guess we can trust you not to break your neck."
The boy smiled and nodded, and climbed into his saddle again, and was off.
"Ted, that boy is going to be a credit to us all," said Stella. "But he must have an education. Although he speaks well and doesn't use much slang, that is, for a boy, he knows absolutely nothing that he hasn't picked up. He must go to school some day, but not now, for he hardly knows his alphabet, and as for other branches of knowledge, why, he doesn't know they exist, and he is as full of superstition as a Cocopo squaw. Wherever he got his beliefs, I can't imagine."
"All right, Stella, he shall go to school. It doesn't really matter much, that he has never been to school before. He'll learn so fast that he'll make up for lost time, don't fear. That boy has a good head."
"I'm going to teach him myself until he is able to take his place in school with boys of his own age. He's just crazy to learn."
"His early education is up to you. I'm not afraid he will learn anything he shouldn't from you. Go at him slowly and sensibly. Don't try to stuff it all into him at once. Meanwhile, I'll teach him to ride, shoot, herd, rope, and all that, occasionally impressing upon him the cardinal principles of the broncho boys—truth, honesty, sincerity, courage, and kindness."
"He'll be a fine fellow some of these days, Ted, and a good-looking and good-tempered one."
"I think he will. Suppose we take a little walk, if you have nothing better to do. I want to get your opinion on some matters."
"The very thing. I saw a pretty little park on the bank of a river. We'll walk there."
"I have promised to go out to Colonel Billings' ranch to-morrow, and I took the liberty of accepting the invitation for you all, as there is nothing to do around here, and I have a hunch that something good will come of it."
"I'll be glad to go. You know how much I like the town. I wouldn't care if I never saw one again."
"It's all right, then. We'll start in the morning. I am more than anxious to go now, especially as Billings tells me he has invited several other people to be his guests."
"Who are they?"
"You remember the girl who slipped the note into my pocket in the St. Louis station, and the young fellow with the pointed beard. Well, I saw them both in town this morning. The girl ran away from me on the street, jumped into a carriage, and drove away."
"There's nothing about you to cause a girl to run." Stella looked up at Ted in a teasing way.
"That'll be all right," said he. "But a few minutes after I saw the fellow with the pointed beard coming out of the private office of Norcross, the president of the bank that was robbed of the forty thousand dollars. He went by me like a rocket, as if he were afraid of me."
"Sure it was he?"
"Positive. But the strange part of it was my interview with the banker. He acknowledged that the bank had been robbed of the money, and identified the bill dropped by Checkers in his flight, as one of the shipment, but when I announced that it was a counterfeit, he went all to pieces, and, after trying to bluff me into giving him the note, wanted to buy it, asking me to name my own price."
"What does that mean, I wonder?"
"It means, that this case of the robbery and the murder of the express messenger is not the simple thing I thought. There is a crime within a crime."
"What in the world do you mean?"
"Just this, Norcross, the banker, is mixed in the crime, and Heaven only knows how many more men quite as prominent as he. The express-robbing syndicate is a strong one, and hard to beat."
"But you'll beat it yet. I know you."
"Thank you for your faith and encouragement, Stella. But it's going to be a hard pull, and it will take all of us to do it."
"What do you think of it now?"
"My idea is, that the alleged forty thousand dollars was not real money at all, and that Norcross was trying to double-cross the very men he was standing in with."
"Still, I hardly understand."
"Well, Norcross agreed with the members of the syndicate to ship forty thousand dollars to St. Louis, which was to be stolen en route by the syndicate's own men. They would then have their forty thousand back, and the forty thousand which they could make the express company pay them. The original forty thousand would come back to Norcross, and he would get his share of the money which the express company would pay."
"That was easy."
"It would have been, but for the fact that Norcross insisted upon being insured for the use of his forty thousand in case anything else happened to it. In this way he got another large sum."
"I see. But from what you have found out so far, I don't quite understand how you figure it out."
"All I have to go by is my own way of deducing things. The forty thousand dollars which was to be stolen was supposed by the other members of the syndicate to be real money. It was for this that the syndicate insured Norcross. But, instead, he substituted counterfeits, if, indeed, most of the supposed money was not just blank paper."
"He is a real financier, eh?"
"Yes, but he didn't take into consideration that he had scoundrels just as shrewd as himself to deal with. For instance, I believe when the truth is known, it will be found out that the syndicate was going to beat Norcross. But that is mere supposition. The tug of war is coming soon. It will take place at the ranch of Colonel Billings."
"I thought you believed in him."
"I do. I have made a few inquiries about him. I wanted to find out what sort of a chap he was before taking you and your aunt out to his place. Every one speaks of him as one of the leading men in the county and State."
"Then why should he be drawn into this mess?"
"I think he has done it unconsciously. He has a partner who has invested money in Billings' cattle. Do you remember the fellow in the train whom Kit knocked down? The chap who insulted that pretty girl."
"Yes."
"From the description given me of one of his coming guests by the colonel, I believe the man with the red necktie is he."
"What? That horrid thing."
"I didn't tell you, but Kit and I saw him talking to a man at the station where we stopped for dinner, whom I am convinced was no other than Checkers himself."
"Whew! That looks suspicious."
"In addition to that, the colonel has invited a man and his sister to visit him while we are there. This man is a New Yorker; I don't know his name, but the colonel says he is out here to buy a ranch. Who do you suppose it is?"
"Haven't an idea."
"The girl who dropped the warning note into my pocket, and the young man with the pointed beard."
"Whew! again."
"Looks pretty complicated, doesn't it?"
"Worse than that. Ted, are you sure about this Colonel Billings?"
"One is sure of nothing in this world, but I have taken a fancy to Billings, and when I like a man he generally turns out all right, making allowances for minor faults and habits. Yes, I think I can trust Billings."
"But not his friends. Ted, do you want to know what I think?"
"Certainly."
"I feel that the invitation out there is a trap to catch you, and possibly keep you away from the town."
"Nonsense! Why should they want to keep me away from the town? There doesn't seem to be anything wrong in town that I could bother them in, except the Norcross incident, and if, as I suspect, he has duped his partners, he will say nothing to them about me."
"Suppose they want to get out there to do away with you."
"They wouldn't ask all of you out there with me in that case."
"That is where you are mistaken. They are too shrewd to excite your suspicions by inviting you alone. It will not be hard for them to get you away from the ranch to look at some cattle and then kill you. Ted, you are too dangerous to them to be let alone."
"Well, it can't be helped now, and being right in among them is a hope I did not expect to see realized so easily. But they will have no advantage over me, for none of the syndicate, I take it, know of the counterfeits as yet, except Norcross and the inevitable Checkers. But at that, I don't think they will resort to violence. We are too strong for them, at the ranch, at least I believe they will use diplomacy."
"Well, we can play at the game ourselves. There, perhaps, I can help you."
"You bet you can. But let us go down to the station and see if the red motor car, 118, has arrived yet."
When they reached the station, Ted went to the express agent and asked for the car.
"Yes," said the agent, "the car arrived this morning, Mr. Strong, and I delivered it according to your instructions. The charges are not paid yet. Your messenger said you would call later and settle for them, and, knowing you by reputation, I let it go."
Ted was staring at the agent.
"You delivered it according to my instructions?"
"Yes, sir."
"I didn't give any one an order for the car."
"Why, you must have forgotten it. Here it is. I happened to see one of your boys down here, and called him to one side and asked him if it was your signature, and he very promptly identified it."
"Let me see that order."
The agent produced an order written on the note paper of the hotel.
Ted stared at it incredulously.
"It looks like my writing, but I didn't write it. I'll swear to that. Look at this, Stella. Is that my hand?"
Stella looked at the paper studiously for a minute or two, then handed it back.
"A casual look at it would deceive me, but you did not write it. It lacks several of your individualisms, and has others that are not yours."
"That is right. This order is a forgery. I did not write it. The express-robber syndicate is getting bolder every minute. They'll come in and steal you some day," Ted said to the agent. "Notify your company that my car has been stolen, and that I want it restored to me."
"Great Scott!" was all the agent could say.
"What sort of looking chap was it that presented the order?" asked Ted.
"Well, he was an ordinary-looking chap. He had on a—"
"Checked suit?"
"Yes, sir. How did you know?"
"Checkers has come into his own at last," said Ted, turning to Stella.