The following morning an impressive cavalcade set out for the ranch of Colonel Billings, led by the genial owner himself. Behind him came Ted and Stella, between whom rode little Dick.
Then came Mrs. Graham in a well-appointed carriage, and acting as her outriders and escorts were the boys. When they arrived at the ranch, after passing numerous herds of fine cattle on the way, they found one of the finest ranch houses in the West.
It was a great, white modern structure that could be seen for miles across the level prairie, which showed hardly a single rise or depression in all the miles they had ridden.
None of the guests whom the colonel had told Ted would be present accompanied the party. The colonel explained this by saying that other matters had detained them in town, and that he preferred to permit them to follow, rather than defer the pleasure of being their escort.
This was said with so much sincerity that Ted could not doubt him. Mrs. Graham and Stella were ensconced in a large apartment on the first floor, with large windows opening upon a wide veranda.
Both expressed themselves as delighted with their room, much to the gratification of their host. The broncho boys found quarters in the spacious second floor, which had as many rooms as the average hotel.
"Well, what do you think of Colonel Billings now?" Ted asked of Stella, when they met on the broad lawn in front of the ranch house after they had seen their rooms.
Stella simply shook her head.
"What do you mean by that?" asked Ted. "That you don't know, or that you don't care to say?"
"I can't tell you yet, Ted. I like him somehow for his genial ways, and yet something tells me to beware."
"Well, I'd sooner trust your intuition than my judgment. I'll keep an eye on him. And—yet, I feel the same as you in a way. But I hate to distrust any one."
"I know you do, Ted, and that is why you get fooled on some people sometimes."
"But not on all people all the time?"
"That's it."
"Then what does one's first impression amount to, anyway?"
"Not much, unless they can make good a good first impression."
"I'm not going to worry about him. The other fellows are the ones for that."
"That's what I think."
"I'm going to ride out over the range, and take a look at the cattle. Want to go along?"
"Of course I do."
They found their horses in the corral, and after telling Colonel Billings that they would be back for dinner, departed.
"When you go through the west gate into the big pasture, look out for a big Hereford bull in there," Colonel Billings called after them.
Ted nodded and waved his hand, and they were off. Colonel Billings certainly did have a splendid ranch. They rode for miles within the fences before they came to the west gate.
"Think we better go any farther?" asked Ted, when they had come this far.
"Yes. Let us go on," replied Stella. "We have plenty of time, and I would like to see just how big this ranch is."
"Don't forget the red bull," said Ted, as he closed the gate behind them.
"I've seen many a dangerous bull before," laughed Stella.
"If we find him and he takes after us, keep on the far side of me. I don't much fancy that pony you're on."
"I don't myself. I wish we had a bunch of Moon Valley ponies here to ride. I've never seen any that could come up to them."
They were following a trail that led directly into the west. It was a cattle trail, and Ted's practiced eye told him that it led to water. Several miles to the west he saw the plain became broken.
"There's water over there," he said.
"That's where we'll find the cattle," answered Stella. "Do you want to go that far and look at them?"
"I will if you think you can stand it."
Stella looked at him scornfully.
"I guess this beast will go the distance," she answered, giving the little gray a clip with her quirt, and galloping ahead of Ted, who was not slow to follow.
As they proceeded the ground became more and more broken.
"I believe there is a bit of 'bad land' over there," said Ted, pointing forward.
Still they saw no cattle, although Colonel Billings had told him that morning that his greatest herd, the one he wished the boys to examine with the view to purchase, lay in the big west pasture.
But all they could see so far was the broad stretch of green prairie and the low line of the rough land in the distance. Not a living thing was in sight.
The only movement was the flying shadows of the white clouds over the prairie, and the waving of the deep, rich grass when a vagrant breeze swept by.
But suddenly Ted pulled in his pony, and shaded his eyes with his hand, staring into the west.
"What is it?" asked Stella, reining in.
"I thought I saw something red shoot across the horizon to the west, where you see those gray rocks," answered Ted.
"A cow—or, perhaps, the dangerous red bull," laughed Stella.
"Nothing like that. It wasn't the right color. Did you ever see a scarlet cow?"
"Never did."
"Well, the thing I saw was scarlet, and it was not shaped like a cow."
He was still looking intently into the west.
"There it is again!" he exclaimed, unlimbering his field glasses.
After a moment of intense scrutiny, he raised the glasses suddenly to his eyes.
"By Jove!" he cried, "it's a motor car, and I believe it's 118."
"Impossible!" cried Stella.
"No, entirely possible," said Ted intensely. "Don't you see if it was this fellow Checkers who got the machine from the agent by false pretenses he would take it as far away from town as possible?"
"Yes, I see that."
"Then which direction would he take if, as I think, he is in league with the train-robbing syndicate, which we have persuaded ourselves to think made their headquarters at Green River, but in this direction? We have learned that others of those we believe to be in it are to be the guests of this ranch, and—"
"I see. He could not well bring the red car to the ranch house."
"That's it."
"Then where do you suppose he's going with it?"
"There's no better place to hide it than in those very 'bad lands,' if I am guessing right, at the rough land yonder."
"True. What are you going to do about it?"
"I'm going to find that red car and my friend, Checkers."
"Not alone, Ted. You're going to get the other boys to help you, aren't you?"
"Now is the accepted time. I'm going right away now. But it would be a good scheme for you to ride back to the ranch and tell Bud and the boys quietly what I am about, and have them come out in case I should need help."
"I hate to see you ride away alone, Ted. You can't tell what there is over there. Better let me go along."
"No, Stella, it would be no use. You know that I appreciate your courage and skill in every way, but this, probably, will be no work for girls."
Stella pouted at this. She did not like the idea of the long ride back to the ranch house alone.
She looked at Ted to see if he really was in earnest, and when she saw the look in his face she turned back with a wave of the hand and a "So long!" and started for the ranch house.
"Tell Bud to bring three or four of the boys out here with him," shouted Ted after her. "Thank you, Stella."
But she only nodded her head and pursued her way, and Ted, after looking after her for a moment, rode forward. He had not seen the red car for several minutes, it having disappeared behind a rocky butte.
Having a fair horse, he gave it the gad and struck into a gallop. Soon he entered upon the rough land, and from a rise saw a stream below and a herd of cattle beyond, where the prairie began again; the railroad, and a small red station house, with two or three low buildings about it.
He now understood that he had seen the red car on the far side of the ravine, through which the stream flowed, and went down to the stream, his horse sliding on its haunches amid a clatter of broken clay and pebbles.
He was soon across and clambered up the other wall of the ravine, and there in the clay found the impression of the tires of the red car.
"I'm all right now," he muttered to himself. "On the track of Checkers and the robbers' automobile. I wonder where it will end."
He had no difficulty in following the tracks of the automobile for a considerable distance, when the ravine ran out on that side and the bank of the stream flattened; and he rode along it, following the trail with ease.
Then the bank of the stream rose again, and the water flowed through a ravine, into which the red car had entered. It could not escape him, and Ted chuckled, and examined his revolver, loosening it well in its holster, for he had not forgotten the warning against Checkers given him by Chief Desmond.
The ravine grew deeper as he advanced, and soon it became tolerably dark at the bottom where the high walls shut out the light. Suddenly his horse stumbled, and, as Ted shot over its head, he heard the twang of a broken wire that had been stretched across the path.
He had fallen into a trap. As he struck the earth, he was stunned for a moment, then a heavy weight was upon him.
He twisted around and felt for his revolver, but it had fallen from his holster, and he felt his arms grasped and a thong passed around his wrists, and then around his ankles.
The weight was lifted from him and he rolled over on his back. Standing above him was the man whom he knew as Checkers.
"Well, my lad, you delivered yourself like a lamb to the slaughter," said Checkers, with a smile.
Ted could say nothing. He was too busy wondering how easily he had fallen into the toils.
"You went up against a tough proposition when yon tackled me," continued the man. "It would have been a good thing for you if you had never run across me. You know too much to be left alive. I shall see that you are properly taken care of."
Checkers issued a shrill whistle.
"Come," he said to Ted, "get to your feet."
Ted arose as three men came around an elbow of the wall of the ravine.
"Take care of this boy," said Checkers to them. "And if he escapes—"
He finished the sentence with a smile that made the men wince.
"Come on, fellow," said one of the men, jerking Ted along by hops.
"We'll attend to him all right, boss," said another.
"He'll get all that's coming to him," said the third, with a grin that was almost as diabolical as that of Checkers.
Around the elbow of the ravine wall, in a small cove was a log cabin with a lean-to shed, under which was sheltered the fatal red car which had lured him to captivity.
The cabin was backed up against the wall of the ravine, and was small and dirty as to interior. A fire burned in a big stone fireplace at one end, filling the room with a suffocating smudge.
The room was almost dark, but Ted, from the corner into which he had been flung, was soon able to make out that the men were cooking something over the glowing embers, at the same time taking swigs from a black bottle, and smoking reeking pipes of vile tobacco.
After the food was cooked they began to eat, but did not offer Ted any of it, all the while making jokes at his expense, and vaguely hinting at his fate.
Ted wished now that he had taken Stella's advice, and had not rushed in so rashly. Had he waited for Bud and two or three of the boys to come to his assistance, he could easily have caught the whole lot for their cabin was in a perfect pocket from which they could not have escaped.
Who were these rough fellows with whom Checkers would not associate, for Ted could hear his archenemy pacing up and down outside, and he had not forgotten how he had addressed these men?
Probably they were only ordinary villains who did the dirty work planned by the wiser heads of the syndicate. He wondered if the boys would be able to find him before they settled with him, as they had promised.
After the men had finished their meal the voice of the leader summoned them outside. Ted could hear commands being given in a low voice, and mumbles from the men.
It appeared from what Ted could gather from the tones of the voice, rather than from any words that he caught, that one of the men was protesting against what Checkers was ordering.
Suddenly there was a cry of agony.
"Don't do that, boss," said one of the men.
"Shut up, or you'll get a taste of the same knife," came the voice of Checkers in a tone of rage. "When I say a thing must be done it is as good as done. Now go ahead and do as I tell you."
"But, boss—"
"Go on, and do it. Are you a coward? You've done it before," Ted heard Checkers say. "I'm going away now, and if you can't show me what I want when I get back, well—you know."
In a moment Ted heard the chug of the motor car, then the grating of the tires on the earth as it started away.
"Remember what I said," the voice of Checkers came floating back.
"Say, Bill, this is a derned outrage," said one of the men outside. "I, fer one, am not in favor of standin' for it."
"Well, if yer don't, you'll get the same," said other man.
"I never see any one so handy with that bloomin' knife o' his."
"Look out you don't get a taste o' it, then."
"Is he dead, Bill?"
There was a shuffling of feet outside, and Ted knew that they were turning a body over.
"Yes, he's stone-dead."
"Pore Dick! He had his faults, but he was a good pal."
"He wuz, but too derned soft-hearted. He didn't want ter kill a feller in cold blood never."
"An' yet he wa'n't no coward. I never see ther time Dick w'd refuse ter fight if ther other feller had some show, an' he wa'n't squeamish about holdin' up a train er runnin' off a bunch o' cattle, but I always hear him say thet he didn't take no stock in plain, straight murder."
"That's so, but it's not murder, Tom, when yer kills ther feller what's yer enemy. Now, honor bright, is it?"
"I dunno. I was brought up ter fight, an' fight like ther devil hisself when it come ter fightin', but I reckon I'm too much o' a derned coward ter murder cold."
"Well, this is one o' ther times when it's got ter be did, an' I reckon we might as well be about it. Git ready."
"No, sir, I'm not goin' ter do it."
"Tom, yer a fool. Do yer know what'll happen when ther boss comes back an' finds out that it ain't been did?"
"I do."
"An' aire yer goin' ter resk it?"
"I be."
"Then ye're a bigger fool than I am. I'm goin' ter carry out orders. What's ther difference? A couple of good slashes an' it's all over."
"But think o' the death cry, Bill. I've heerd too many o' them already. I hears them when I sleep and they wake me up."
"Tom, yer talk ter me like a sick canary peeps. I always thought yer wuz a man."
"An' don't yer think so now, Bill?"
"Not from ther way yer talkin'."
"Well, if yer has any doubts erbout it I'll give yer a chanct ter prove it, any way yer like."
"Now, what's ther use o' talkin' that away, Tom? Dick's dead by ther hand o' ther boss. What's thar in it fer you or me if ther cub in thar dies er not? Be sensible."
"It ain't matterin' a chaw o' terbaccer ter me whether he dies er not, but he's got a right ter die in a natural way, so to speak."
"An' how is that, my Sunday-school friend?"
"In a fair fight, by gosh!"
"An' who's goin' ter give him a fair fight? I don't want none o' it."
"So that's ther way yer built, is it, Bill? I always thought yer was a game man."
"I reckon I be, but that's not in this question. Here's an enemy ter ther gang what lays bound in the cabin. Why should I resk my life in a fight with him er fer him. It's so derned easy fer a feller ter go in thar an' stick a knife inter him, an' then, yer see, it's all over with."
"Yer wrong, Bill."
"I'd sooner do that than have ther boss come back an' stick his knife inter me."
"Aire yer afraid ter fight ther boss?"
"He's ther only man I be afraid of."
There was a long silence following this, and Ted understood the terrible power of Checkers over his men, and Desmond's warning.
"Well, I'm tired o' chewin' erbout ther virtue o' killin' a man one way or another, an' I'm goin' ter foller orders. If you don't want ter jine in I reckon as how I'll have ter tell ther boss that yer flunked."
There was no response to this, and a few moments elapsed in which Ted listened hopefully for his champion's voice.
Suddenly something dropped in the fireplace, and Ted, straining his eyes in that direction, saw a tiny pair of tan riding boots come into view, followed by a tan skirt, and Stella dropped noiselessly into the room.
She held up a warning finger as she saw Ted in the corner.
"Sh, sh!" she whispered, as she felt for his bonds and cut them.
Ted was on his feet on the instant, and Stella pressed a revolver into his hand.
"I didn't go back to the ranch house, but followed you here. I saw the red car go out, and hid. Then I sneaked along until I heard those fellows quarreling. I was on the top of the bluff here, and guessed that you were inside the cabin, as I couldn't see you anywhere outside, so I just dropped in." As Stella whispered this she smiled, and Ted could only look his thanks.
The fellow named Tom, who had been opposed to killing Ted, had evidently been doing some hard thinking, and the threat of his mate to expose him to Checkers evidently convinced him that he would rather be alive than perish for a mere sentiment.
"All right, Bill," he said; "I don't like it, but we've got to share it."
"Sure," said the other. "It'll be blow and blow. We both strike together."
"Come on, then."
"Now," said Ted, putting Stella behind him and crouching in the darkness.
The two men entered the cabin noisily, knowing that they had nothing to fear from an unarmed boy bound hand and foot and lying in the corner with nothing to hope for.
As they approached the corner they were surprised to see a stalwart young form arise suddenly and a pair of revolvers gleam through the darkness as a voice rang out commandingly:
"Hands up!"
The hands of both went up very promptly.
"Drop those knives!"
A pair of knives clattered to the floor.
"Face about, both of you, and go out. The first to make a break gets a shot in the back."
At Ted's command both men obeyed. When they were outside in the sunlight, Ted looked them over. Both had revolvers in their holsters.
"Take their revolvers away from them, Stella," said Ted.
As the girl moved forward to comply with the request of Ted Strong, the men stared at her in amazement.
"Now, which of you is Tom?" asked Ted.
"I am," said one of them.
"You lie!" answered Ted. "I know you by your voice. You are not Tom:—you are Bill."
"Yes, I'm Tom," said the other fellow.
"That's right," said Ted.
"Now, see here, Tom, if I give you the chance will you dig out of this and escape? It won't be very long before you are caught, anyway, and you know what that means."
"You bet I will," said the fellow, who had protested against the murder of Ted.
"All right, I'll give you the chance. I'll take your friend in charge myself. You can take down your hands, Tom."
The fellow was in a state of wonderment as he did so.
"Who are you, anyway?" asked the fellow called Bill.
"I am Ted Strong."
"Then it's all up. We're done for," said the train robber, in a resigned voice.
Tom signaled to Ted to step aside, and, telling Stella to keep the other fellow covered with her revolver, Ted accompanied him.
"Thank yer fer turnin' me loose," said Tom. "I've been tryin' ter get away fer months, but couldn't. Here's a tip: They're goin' ter rob ther Overland Express t'-night right out yon at that little station yer can see from ther top o' ther rise. Ther loot is ter be hid near Bubbly Spring until things blow over, but ther gang will come here. Thar's my tip. Good-by. I'm off."
The fellow disappeared up the bank of the stream.
Ted bound the other upon the back of his pony, which he found not far from the scene of his own downfall, and conveyed him to Green River, where he placed him in jail, with instructions that he should be allowed to communicate with no one.
Then he and Stella returned to the Billings ranch house.
"Say nothing whatever about our adventure," said Ted, as he and Stella rode along discussing the matter. "I think there will be something doing there to-night."
When they got back to the ranch, Ted simply explained their absence by saying that they had ridden farther than they had at first intended.
Ted was introduced to the other guests, who had arrived in his absence. There was Mr. Norcross, the banker, who looked a little sheepish when Ted shook hands with him and acted as if he had never seen him before. The man with the black mustache and the red necktie was Mr. Dennis Corrigan, of Chicago, and neither he nor the boys appeared to have seen him before. The young man with the pointed beard was Mr. van Belder, of New York.
Colonel Billings was full of hospitable notions, and made the afternoon pass delightfully.
"They tell me there is very good shooting in the neighborhood at times," said Mr. Corrigan, as they all sat on the veranda in the afternoon.
"Excellent," said the colonel. "At this time of the year the snipe shooting is fine."
"What is the best time to shoot them?" asked Van Belder.
"I should say after dark," said the host, with an imperceptible wink at Mr. Corrigan.
"I don't see how you can shoot snipe after dark," said Ted.
"You don't exactly shoot them," explained Mr. Corrigan. "It's this way, and a fine game, and often practiced in South Chicago: The party goes out, and one holds the bag while the rest go along and drive the birds in, and the fellow who holds the bag catches them in it. It's lots easier than shooting them, and you get more birds."
"By Jove, that's a new experience to me!" said Ted. "I'd like to try it."
Mr. van Belder looked at him curiously, but drawled that he thought it very fine sport. So it was agreed that that night they should go on a snipe-bagging expedition.
The party was to be made up of Ted, who was eager to hold the bag for the snipe to run into; Mr. Corrigan, the colonel, Mr. van Belder, and a few others.
Most of the boys declined absolutely to go.
"Say, aire ye gittin' plumb dotty?" asked Bud, when he got Ted out of hearing. "Tell me, is it possible thet yer eyeteeth aire so far secreted up inter yer head thet yer don't know erbout baggin' snipe?"
But all the answer Bud got was a wink.
"Now, what hez ther hombre got up his sleeve, I wonder?" said Bud, as he wandered off.
Ted and Stella had an animated conversation a few minutes later out of the sight and hearing of the others. But Stella walked off, smiling. She knew.
It was just getting dark when the party left the ranch house.
Ted carried a large, empty sack over his shoulder. With the organizers of the party went Bud, Ben, Kit, Carl, and Clay.
The maddest person in the house that evening was Stella, because she couldn't go, too. But as she said good-by to the party from the steps of the ranch house she smiled comprehensively at Ted.
A walk of a half mile brought the party to the edge of a small creek.
"Now," said Mr. Corrigan, "here's where you wait with the bag while we go up to the creek and chase them down. You may have to wait a little while, and you must have patience."
"Don't worry about me," answered Ted; "I have plenty of that. I'll be here when the snipe come down, and if any of them get away, charge them to me."
After they had been gone some time Ted lit a match and looked at his watch. It was a quarter to nine.
The Overland Express was due in Green River at nine-twenty. The little red station of Polifax would foe passed by ten minutes after she left Green River.
While he was in Green River that afternoon Ted had been very careful to find the exact location of Bubbly Spring. He was more than two miles from it in his blind to wait for the snipe.
As soon as the crashing of the feet of the snipe drivers and the shouts and laughter had died away, Ted left his hiding place and darted through the dark woods and swampy ground for Bubbly Spring.
Long before he got there he heard the long screech of the whistle of the Overland Express announcing its approach at Green River, and a few minutes later its whistle that it was on its way. He had just reached Bubbly Spring and concealed himself in the bushes when the whistle gave a long shriek of danger.
The signal of the train robbers had been given at Polifax. The engineer had seen the red light and had whistled to the trainmen that danger was ahead, and that he was going to stop.
In a few moments Ted heard a few pops, and knew that the train robbers were firing their revolvers alongside of the train to prevent interference.
What if the train robbers should fail?
The train started up again, and Ted knew by that that nobody had been killed, and it added to his anxiety as to the success of the robbery. He wanted it to occur, for if he could secure the loot he could destroy the train robbers surely.
All he wanted now was tangible evidence. He lay back breathlessly in the bushes, waiting. Soon he heard the rapid hoofbeats of horses, then a crashing in the bushes.
These noises were approaching him rapidly. The crisis was at hand.
In a moment the moon burst through the clouds, illuminating the little valley through which the small stream from the spring flowed, and Ted crept into closer cover. Then into the glade galloped ten men.
Between two of them was swung a small, square thing, which was dropped at the foot of a cottonwood tree not a dozen feet from where Ted was concealed.
A man leaped from the back of a horse. He had a spade in his hand, and as he advanced Ted drew in his breath sharply.
It was Corrigan, the Chicago millionaire. Behind him was Norcross, the banker.
Ted looked vainly for Checkers. If he had been with the robbers at the holdup, he had not come here with them. Meanwhile, the dirt was flying, and a hole was being dug at the foot of the cotton wood.
After it was deep enough an iron box was dropped into it and covered with earth, and silently the men remounted and rode away.
Ted waited about fifteen minutes to be sure that none of them would return. Then he dug into the freshly laid earth and soon had exhumed the iron box. It was somewhat of a heavy load, but he packed it manfully, and in about half an hour carried it in his bag into the living room of the ranch house.
He was greeted with shouts of laughter from Corrigan and several of the others. But Stella looked at him anxiously, and he gave her a reassuring glance.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Corrigan. "What do you think of snipe hunting now?"
"It was a good joke," said the colonel, "but I'm sure you will take it good-naturedly."
"Yes," said Mr. Norcross, the banker. "It's quite a favorite amusement out here."
Only the New Yorker said nothing, but gave Ted a peculiar glance. Ted looked around at the group with a foolish smile.
"It was a good joke, gentlemen," said he, "and I have never been sore because I have been handed one."
Another burst of satisfied laughter greeted this from the big three—Corrigan, Norcross, and the colonel. But Stella and the boys looked glum that Ted was being made the butt of a joke.
Then Ted put his sack on the floor and opened it and lifted something out and placed it on the table. It was the iron box he had dug from the earth at Bubbly Spring, with the fresh earth still sticking to it.
Corrigan's face turned white. Norcross had to lean against the corner of the table to keep from falling.
Ted easily opened the lock of the box, and threw it open.
"You left me to hold the bag, did you?" he asked of the astounded conspirators. "Well, what do you think of these for snipe?"
The room was as quiet as a church.
"Gentlemen, you are all under arrest. Boys, get into your saddles. We are going to ride to the rendezvous of the gang of robbers which to-night robbed the Overland Express and stole the money I have here," and he lifted out package after package of stolen currency.
Stella was laughing and waving her hat.
"I knowed yer had somethin' up yer sleeve when yer consented ter go snipe huntin'! Yer ther limit," said Bud.
Only Mr. van Belder of all the conspirators was calm. He ripped a beard from his face, and there stood Darby O'Neill, the United States secret agent!
"Say, Ted, give me that counterfeit of the Green River National Bank. It is all I need to take Norcross away for a long term. I've been working on him for a long time, but you knocked the persimmon at last."
"You had me guessing," said Ted. "When I got that note that was slipped into my pocket in St. Louis I ought to have guessed that it was you, but you are so clever at disguise that you always fool me."
"But you've never fooled me yet," was the reply. "I've banked on you every time, and every time you've come back with the goods."
"But who was the young lady who slipped me the note?"
"My sister, who is a very clever girl detective, as you may know some day."
After the boys had made secure the three men at the head of the train robbers' syndicate, they went to the cabin in which Ted had so nearly lost his life, and secured the rest of the robbers.
Next morning at daylight they found the body of Checkers lying beside the fatal red car not far from the scene of the holdup. He had been killed by a stray shot fired by one of his own men.
Thus was the train robbers' syndicate wiped out through the acumen and courage of Ted Strong, and the loyal backing of his comrades.
The broncho boys decided that more stock was needed at the Moon Valley Ranch, and the entire outfit set out for No Man's Land, in northern Texas.
"Say, podner, might I be so free an' onquisitive ez ter inquire ez ter whar yer got thet thar palfrey yer ridin'?"
The speaker was a tall, gaunt old man with a tangled mass of grizzled whiskers, and the "podner" he addressed was Bud Morgan.
"Yer might," answered Bud, eying the questioner keenly.
"Well!"
"Why don't yer?"
"Oh, I see. Whar did yer git it?"
"I traded a Waterbury watch fer it, an' ther feller what made ther trade throwed in a pack o' cigareets."
"Oh!"
"Anything else ye'd like ter know?"
"Well, seein' ez yer so communicative, I'd like ter hev yer tell me how fur it's ter Yeller Fork."
"Betwixt grub."
"Come ergin."
"Ez fur ez yer kin ride betwixt 'arly breakfast an' dinner."
"Well, I'm obleegin' ter yer. I reckon we'll be hikin'."
"Who's ther kid?"
"Thet boy is my grandson. We come outer Missouri ter see what could be did in this yere new country, an' it's mighty hard sleddin'."
"What's ther trouble?"
"Well, stranger, so long ez yer kind ernuff ter inquire, I'll tell yer."
"I'm listenin'."
"I'm too old ter work at ther only thing what seems ter be out yere—cow-punchin'—an' ther kiddie is too young. Now, if 'twas farmin', we'd be in it."
"Thar ain't no more farmin' out yere than a rabbit, thet's shore. What might yer bizness be at home?"
"I'm a hoss trader."
"Thar ought ter be somethin' doin' out yere fer yer, then. All thar is in this country is hosses an' cattle."
"They ain't my kind o' hosses."
"Yer don't seem ter fancy cow ponies, eh?"
"I reckon they're all right in their way, podner, but they're a leetle too wild fer me to break, an' the kid's not strong enough."
"Askin' questions seems ter be fash'n'ble. Whar did yer git thet magpie hoss?"
Bud was looking over the old man's mount, a beautiful little black-and-white-spotted pony, as clean limbed as a racer, and with a round and compact body. It was a bizarre-looking little animal, with a long, black mane and tail, at the roots of which was a round, white spot. It was the sort of animal that would attract attention anywhere.
"Magpie! Podner, I riz her from a colt."
"She's shore a showy beast."
"She is some on ther picture, ain't she?" asked the old man, looking the pony over admiringly.
"She's all right, but—"
"But what, podner?" The old man looked at Bud with a frown.
"Well, I ain't none on knockin' another man's hoss, but I never see one o' them black-an'-white-spotted animiles what could do more than lope, an' out in this yere country hosses hez got ter run like a scared coyote ter be any good in ther cow business."
"Yer reckon this yere Magpie can't run?" asked the old man, bristling.
"I ain't said so."
"Well, yer alluded ter a magpie hoss as couldn't do nothin' but lope."
"I ain't never see none what could do much more."
"You ain't never see Magpie split ther wind, then."
"I ain't."
"Mebbe ye'd like ter."
"Mebbe I would."
"I reckon yer thinks ther cow what yer a-straddlin' of now kin run some."
"A leetle bit. But, yer see, when I got him he was a broken-down cow hoss what hed been ridden ter death an' fed on sand an' alkali water so long thet he wa'n't much good nohow."
"Jest picked him up wanderin'?"
"Not eggsactly. Yer see, it wuz this way: I was coming ercross Noo Mexico about a month back, when I runs foul o' a hombre what is all in. He hadn't et fer so long thet yer could see ther bumps made by his backbone through his shirt. I hed some grub in my war bag, an' I fed an' watered him. This yer nag wuz all in, too, an' he hed a long way ter go, so when ther feller ups an' perposes ter trade ponies I give him ther merry cachinnation."
"Ther what?"
"Ther laugh."
"Go ahead, podner, yer shore hez a splendid education."
"I see thet he'll never git ter whar he's goin' on ther nag, an' I thinks I'll do him a favor by sittin' him on a piece o' live hossmeat, an' I said I'd trade if he hed anythin' ter boot. Now, what do yer think he hed?"
"I ain't got a notion."
"A pack o' Mexican cigareets what burned like a bresh fire an' smelled like a wet dog under a stove."
"Haw, haw! An' yer traded?"
"I thought some fust, an' then I thinks what's ther odds? Thar's plenty o' hosses in camp, an' it'll probably save ther feller's life ter let him hev ther pony, what ain't none out o' ther common, so I says, 'It's a go, pard.' I clumb down an' we changed saddles, an' he handed over ther pack o' cigareets an' we went our ways."
"Yer shore is a kind-hearted man."
"I ain't, neither. I jest knows a hoss when I sees one."
"Yer don't call thet a hoss yer a-straddlin', I hope?"
"I shore do. He ain't much fer ter gaze on admirin', I agree, but he's a good little cayuse. I reckon, now, yer some proud o' thet magpie hoss."
"I be. It kin outrun anythin' this side o' ther State o' Newbrasky."
"P'r'aps yer lookin' fer a race ter see what ther best we've got in camp kin do, no?"
"Thar ain't nary time what I won't run a race if I think thar's ary merit in my hossflesh. How erbout ther animile what yer sits on so graceful?"
"Oh, I reckon he kin ride rings eround ther magpie hoss," said Bud, who was a trifle nettled at the old man's jeering tone.
"Yer certain got a lot o' confidence in a dead one."
"I reckernize ther fact that he ain't none pretty, but handsome is as handsome does. Hatrack is some shy on meat an' he's got a temper like a disappointed woman, ter say nothin' o' havin' had ther botts, ringbone, heaves, an' spavin', but he's a good nag, fer all thet, an' would be good-lookin' ernough if his wool wasn't wore off in so many places."
"Haw, haw! He ain't what ye'd call a show animile."
"He ain't, but, say, stranger, hekinrun."
"What d'ye say ter a leetle brush betwixt Magpie an' yer Hatrack?"
"I'm ther gamest thing what ever yer see when it comes ter a hoss race."
"What'll we race fer?"
"Nag an' nag. If yer beats me, yer takes Hatrack, an' if he gits away with ther spotted pony, why, yer turns her over ter me. Is it a go?"
"If yer throw in a six-shooter fer odds."
"All right, pard, jest ter show yer thet I ain't no shorthorn, I'll go yer. I've got a shooter in my war-bag up ter camp what'll kick ther arm outer yer socket every time yer pulls ther trigger, but she'll send a bullet through a six-inch oak beam."
"Anything, so it's odds. I'll go yer. I reckon I could sell it fer a dollar er so."
"I reckon yer could," said Bud sarcastically. "I wuz offered ten dollars fer it by a hombre down ter Las Vegas a month ago. But he was a husky feller, an' wanted a strong shooter. He wanted ter go out huntin' fer a feller with it, an' I wouldn't let him hev it. Is it a go, shore enough?"
"It be."
"All right; come over ter ther camp an' stay overnight, an' fill yer pale American hides with ther best grub what ever wuz cooked on ther range. Our cook is an artist."
Bud led the way on his little, flea-bitten skeleton of a pony that snorted and reared, kicked, and showed the whites of its eyes when he woke it from the drooping position it had held while he was talking to the old man.
In half an hour they were in sight, from the hill they had topped, of a vast band of cattle grazing in a broad valley.
In a sheltered spot below the hill was a typical cow camp. A white-covered chuck wagon shone in the rays of the departing sun, and the smoke arose from the cook's fire, where he was baking biscuit in a Dutch oven, while the fragrant odors of frying bacon and steaming coffee filled the air.
"What have you found this time?" asked Ben Tremont, as Bud came into camp.
"This yere gent is a maverick from Missouri what I found wanderin' across the peerarie searchin' fer Yaller Fork, an' he hez bantered me ter a hoss race, I ast him ter come in an' stay overnight, an' eat, an' we'll run ther hosses in ther mornin'."
"What horses?"
"I'm goin' ter run Hatrack agin' thet magpie mare o' hisn, an' throw in a six-shooter with Hatrack if I lose."
"Say, are you going altogether dippy?" growled Ben. "Why, that little mare will run away from you as if Hatrack was tied to a post."
"Reckon so? Well, maybe I want to lose Hatrack, an' maybe all I want is ter capture thet magpie pony."
"Oh, what a lovely pony!"
Stella Fosdick had ridden into camp, and her exclamation of admiration for the magpie pony drew the attention of the boys to her.
"D'ye like thet thar pony?" asked Bud.
"I think it's beautiful," answered Stella enthusiastically.
"Then it's yours."
"What do you mean?"
"This old gent an' me is goin' ter hev a race in ther mornin', hoss fer hoss, an' when it's over ther magpie hoss is yours."
A peal of rippling laughter greeted this.
"See yere, gal, what is all this noise about?" asked Bud huffily. "If yer laughin' at ther idea o' Hatrack beatin' ther magpie hoss, don't yer do it, fer thet's showin' ignerance o' hossflesh, an' I thought yer wuz too well brought up at Moon Valley ter think thet pretty spots on a hoss hez anythin' ter do with his ability ter make a race er hold a cow."
"Forgive me, Bud, I didn't mean to laugh at Hatrack, but, really, he doesn't look as if he could run any faster than a lame dog."
"Oh, I reckon he'll git over ther ground fast ernough," said Bud, with a sly wink at the girl. "But he won't do it with me on his back. I'm a trifle heavy fer fast work. I'll hev ter git Kit ter pilot him, I reckon."
"I reckon you won't," said Stella. "If any one rides him it will be me. I'm a good many pounds lighter than Kit."
"All right, Stella. I wanted yer ter ride him, but I didn't like ter impose on good nature by askin' yer ter do it."
"Why, I'd love to ride the race. You ought to know me by this time."
"It's a go, an' if yer win, as win yer must, ther magpie hoss is yours."
"Oh, Bud, you don't mean it! Then I'll certainly ride to win."
So it was settled, and the old man and his grandson were accorded the hospitality of the camp.
After a hearty supper, while they were all sitting around the fire, and the old man was telling stories of his trip into the Southwest, for the broncho boys were now herding a big bunch of range cattle in what is known as No Man's Land, an arm of northern Texas lying west of Oklahoma, and claimed by both, the day watch rode into camp, and, stripping their saddles from their ponies, turned them loose. Then the boys threw themselves upon the ground to rest after several hours of constant riding.
One of the cowboys in the outfit, Sol Flatbush by name, stood staring at the old man and the boy.
He was scratching his forelock in a meditative sort of way, as if trying to remember something.
"What is it, Solly? I reckon what yer tryin' ter think of is that ye've forgot yer supper," said Bud.
"No, 'tain't that," said the cow-puncher, staring harder at the old man.
"Hear about ther race, Sol?" asked Ben.
"Now, don't yer expect me ter ask yer what race an' then spring thet ole gag about ther 'human race.' I won't stand fer it. I've got troubles enough. Thet buckskin pony o' mine hez hed ther very divil in him all day, an' I ain't feelin' none too amiable."
"This is on the square."
"Well, cut loose."
"Bud is going to race Hatrack against that magpie horse grazing out there, and throw in a six-shooter if the old gent wins."
Sol Flatbush turned and looked at the magpie pony, then at the old man. Suddenly a gleam of intelligence illuminated his face, and he grinned.
"Say, Bud, I wisht ye'd come over yere an' look at this buckskin's off hind foot, an' tell me what ye thinks o' it. He's been actin' powerful queer on it all day."
Bud rose lazily and followed Sol out of camp. The buckskin was grazing peacefully a few hundred yards away, and as they walked toward it Sol Flatbush said:
"Bud, d'ye know that ole maverick?"
"I shore don't. Never even ast him his name," answered Bud.
"Well, I do. That's ole 'Cap' Norris. He's a hoss sharp fer fair. He an' that boy don't do nothin' but ride the country with that magpie hoss, pickin' up races at cow camps an' ranches an' in towns. That hoss o' hisn is a 'ringer.' His real name is Idlewild, an' he's a perfessional race hoss. Boy, yer stung!"