Again his speech was greeted by the laughter of the Indians, to whom it was interpreted by the disguised white man.
"So you think I will not fight, eh? You think I am a squaw, do you?" said Ted quietly.
The Indian only laughed.
"I will show you who is the squaw. I will thrash you with my quirt until you cry out with pain. You may keep your gun. I am not afraid of it."
"Now you begin to talk a little like a man. But you won't fight. Little pony, you are ridden by a squaw. Why don't you throw him off and come to me, who is a fighter?"
"Fellows, stand fast," said Ted to the boys. "I'm going to give that young buck such a licking as he never thought possible. If they don't play fair, shoot."
Ted threw his rifle to Ben, so that he would not be burdened by it, and rode toward the Indian, who also threw his weapon to one of his followers. In his right hand he carried a long, braided Indian whip of thongs. It was a cruel weapon, for the Indian is cruel to everything in his power, from his squaw to his dog.
This he grasped firmly in his right hand, and awaited Ted's coming with a satirical smile on his face.
Ted had been coming on quietly, but when he was a few feet from Crazy Cow he suddenly gave Bingo the spur, and the astonished horse reached the Indian's side in two jumps.
Without a moment's hesitation Ted reached forward and grasped the Indian by a collar of leather which he wore laced around his throat, somewhat after the fashion of the white linen chokers worn by young white men.
Furiously the young Indian lashed out with his quirt, which struck Ted across the shoulders, and made him wince with the burning sharpness of it.
But Ted was back at him like a flash, and his quirt sang through the air and slapped upon the buckskin shirt worn by the Indian.
Crazy Cow, whom the lash had not hurt in the least, only laughed.
Ted saw that he might go on thrashing the Indian all day upon his shirt, and that it would have no more effect than if he whipped a covering of iron.
The other Indians also saw the humor of the situation, and joined in the laughter.
Meantime, the Indian was plying his quirt with all his force, and every time the lash struck Ted across the shoulders or neck it left a blue welt.
Whipping fights are common among the Indian lads, and are merely tests of courage, and the power to endure pain without crying out. The Indian boy who cries out unexpectedly at some particularly stinging blow is called a squaw, and sent into Coventry by the others for varying lengths of time, during which none of them will speak to him.
Crazy Cow had often indulged in the whipping sport, and knew how to wield the quirt most effectively.
So the battle of the quirts went on, the blows falling as fast as their arms could fly, but Ted plainly was getting the worst of it on account of the protection which the buckskin shirt gave the Indian.
Ted saw that this soon must change or he would be ignominiously beaten. He had not shown that he suffered any pain from the blows he received, although the Indians watched his face closely for any sign that he was weakening.
At last Ted thought that he had discovered a vulnerable spot.
With a sudden wrench of his strong wrist upon the leather collar which he grasped, he whipped Crazy Cow flat across his saddle and held him there.
Then with all his strength he brought his quirt across the seat of Crazy Cow's blue flannel trousers, which were drawn tight, and upon the tender part of the back of his legs.
The Indian struggled furiously, but could not release himself, and all the while the cruel blows were raining upon him.
A huge burst of laughter rose from the broncho boys, but the Indians could not see the joke, and with angry exclamations started forward to rescue their young chief.
But at this sign of hostility Ben Tremont let out a roar, and every broncho boy threw his rifle to his shoulder, and the Indians shrank back in silence.
Ted thrashed the Indian until his yells of agony and his struggles ceased, then threw him aside.
"Go back to your people and tell them that you are no longer fit to be chief. That you have been whipped with a quirt by a white boy until you cried. It is you who are the squaw," said Ted, riding back to his party.
As Ted released the badly punished young Indian and rode back to where the boys were waiting for him, Crazy Cow painfully raised himself to a sitting position in his saddle. But the pain was too great, and he slowly and painfully slid to the ground. But the backs of his legs were so seamed with welts that he could not walk.
He was, indeed, an object for pity, but he had been defeated, and not only that, but had been whipped on the most shameful spot, in Indian fighting, and his friends would have none of him.
When he looked toward them for sympathy they only pointed the finger of scorn at him, and laughed.
Now Ted rode out in front of the boys, and, raising his voice, said to the Indians:
"Go back to your village. Do not come to my ranch again. Next time it will be something worse than quirts with which we fight, and dead men, instead of squaws with sore legs, will be the result. Go!"
The old medicine man turned his pony toward the mountains, and in a guttural voice gave the command.
Without a word, and without looking back, the Indians started on their way, Crazy Cow following dejectedly on foot, leading his pony.
He had been conquered and humiliated, but his heart burned with hatred for the young white chief who had been the cause of it.
When the Indians were out of sight, Ted returned to the boys.
"Well, that's over for the present," he said.
"Yes, but we'll have trouble with those fellows later, you may be sure," said Ben. "Look out for a ball or a knife in the back from Crazy Cow."
"I don't fear him as much as I do the cunning and treachery of that old villain, Flying Sun, who plans these raids and lets the young men execute them while he stays back in a safe place."
"What interests me more than anything else just now is Stella and Bud. I propose that we drop everything else and hunt for them. You know that since the appearance of the man without a face, and now this encounter with the Indians, to say nothing of sending Sol Flatbush's body home on his horse, the members of the Whipple gang will be pretty keen after every member of our party."
"True, Ben. We must be very careful of Stella from now on. I would not have taken this ranch had I known that it was menaced by such a gang of thieves as seems to be in the mountains."
"Where had we better scout?" asked Ben.
"Do you think Bud and Stella went farther west?"
"Yes. As we started away from the ranch house I heard Bud say to Stella, 'When the gang came out of the corral just before daylight I saw that most of them headed into the west. If we go that way we're sure to beat the others to the trail.' Then I saw them slip away quietly back of the house, and later they disappeared over a rise due west."
"Then that's where we must look for them. Forward, fellows. We're going to find Bud and Stella."
"Do you think it is necessary for all of us to go?" asked Kit.
"No, I don't. The ranch must have a guard of some sort. About half of you turn back to the lines, and two of you ride to the ranch house to see that all is well, and guard it."
Ben sorted out the fellows who were to go back to the ranch, keeping all the broncho boys to start on the hunt for the missing ones.
No one felt exactly uneasy for the safety of Stella and Bud, but it was proper, under the circumstances, to see that they were safe.
"As before, we will split up into couples to search for Bud and Stella," said Ted. "You better come with me this time, Ben."
To the west of the line of the Long Tom Ranch the land became more broken. At first the hills ceased to be rolling and broke off into cañons, more or less deep, with sometimes sides that assumed the dignity of precipices.
The sides of the foothills were clothed in small tracts of scrubby pine timber, and altogether it was not a pleasant country to travel over in winter.
When Bud and Stella left the ranch house, Stella was bubbling over with joy at the prospect of being in the hunt for the Indians, and the prospect of Bud teaching her the mysteries of the trail, particularly the war trail.
"Don't say a word," said Bud, with a wink, "an' we'll fool 'em all. Them Injuns never went nowhere except inter ther east. I throwed out a blast o' hot atmosphere erbout them goin' west. That wuz ter fool ole nosey Ben, who had his neck stretched out like a spring chicken's ter hear what was bein' said, an' git ther advantage o' my sooperior knowledge.
"Well, when I see that I thort I'd give him somethin' ter chase, so I hands out the west p'int, when I mean ter go ter ther east. When we start out we'll ride ter ther west until we come ter ther first draw, then foller it ter ther south until we come ter a break leadin' east, then foller that, an' we'll be fust onter ther red man's tracks."
"All right," laughed Stella. "That will be a good joke on Ben. He didn't like it because he couldn't go with us."
Now it will be seen that Bud's little fiction in the hearing of Ben was not the proper thing, and, as it turned out, Bud was mighty sorry for his apparently innocent fib before the end of the day, or the dawning of the next.
They did as Bud planned, and when they were well out of sight and hearing of the other boys they turned to the east, and, when well out on the prairie, turned their ponies' heads to the north.
As they cantered across the prairie, on which the snow was like dry sand and only about an inch deep, they could see bands of their cattle here and there pawing the snow off the grass, or "rustling" for their fodder, as the cowmen call it.
"I shore believe thar's somethin' wrong on this yere range," Bud remarked, after they had gone a few miles.
"Why?" asked Stella.
"Somethin' wrong with ther cattle."
"In what way?"
"Thar ain't half enough o' them here."
"Do you mean that some of them are gone?"
"Yep. Thet's jest what I mean."
"Strayed, probably?"
"No. Stole."
"Nonsense. Who could have stolen them? The Indians?"
"No. I reckon not. The Injuns is keen after ponies. In the fust place thar ain't nobody what kin wear out a pony as fast as an Injun. They work their ponies ter death, starve 'em, beat ther hides off'n 'em, neglect 'em, and when they're wore out turn 'em loose fer ther wolves. Second, they kin run off a bunch o' ponies in a hurry, but they balk some at rustlin' cattle because they move so slow. If we aire shy on beeves ther white men has got 'em."
"When we get back we ought to round the cattle up and count."
"That's ther only way ter do it. I've got a pretty good eye fer a herd, an' it's my idee thet we're losers here, an' that ther rustlers is gittin' rich off'n us."
About noon Bud pulled in his horse, and examined the snowy ground carefully.
He had struck a trail.
Winding across the prairie in a northeasterly direction was a broad trail, the tracks of many cattle and horses.
"Here we are," said Bud. "Thar's whar some o' our cattle and several ponies have passed."
He got down to the ground, and, stooping over the trail, regarded it carefully.
Suddenly he straightened up.
"This is not an Injun trail," he said.
"It isn't?" asked Stella.
"No. Here are the tracks of cattle, an' on top of them those of horses ridden by white men."
"How do you know they were not Indians?"
"Here's an impression o' a horseshoe, an' here's another o' a different size. These were made by animiles ridden by white men."
"I can understand why you should know that they were white men's horses because Indians do not shoe their ponies, but I'm blessed if I can see how you know that white men were riding them."
"Easy enough. These horses were ridden straight. An Indian, in spite of stories to the contrary, is not a good horseman. He rides all over the ground instead of straight ahead when he is going anywhere, seemin' as if he wanted to get his money's worth of the ride. If it had been Indians who were driving off these cattle, you would see pony tracks all over the prairie about here."
"Then we've struck the wrong trail."
"Well, we've missed the Indians, but we've struck another and a better lead. Ther boys under Ted will most likely git in ther trail o' ther pony snatchers, but we're on another lay—cattle thieves."
"This is something of a surprise, isn't it?"
"You bet. If we hadn't run ercross this yere trail we mightn't have got on ter ther fact thet our steers wuz bein' lifted ontil so many o' them wuz gone thet it would make a big hole in our herd."
"Have they much the start of us?"
"I reckon they have." Bud was down on his knees, looking closely at the tracks.
"Yes," he continued, "they went by here shortly after midnight."
"How do you know?"
"Against ther east side o' each o' these leetle depressions made by a hoof is some fresh snow."
"I don't see how that tells the time."
"I do. Along about midnight last night a wind come up an' blew from ther west fer half an hour. It drifted a little snow before it, which settled inter these depressions an' banked up against ther east side o' these tracks."
"That seems reasonable. Bud, where did you learn all these things about trailing?"
"Never learned them nowhar. It's jest thinkin' about what yer see what makes a scout an' trailer. These cattle is somewhar up in them hills yon. They probably drove until sunup, an' then stopped ter give ther critters a rest before shovin' them inter ther mountings."
"Then I suppose we better hurry. We may be able to find out where they are."
"Righto, we'll mosey. I reckon we've struck a good thing."
"How many beeves do you suppose there were in that steal?"
"Oh, I reckon fifty er sixty."
"Whew! That's worth going after."
Bud had mounted, and they galloped along the trail, which was broad and deep. It led them through coulees and over hills and down into valleys, and the sun was high and the trail apparently endless.
"Bud, let us stop and eat our lunch. I'm hungry," said Stella.
"All right. I'm a bit peckish myself," was the reply.
They were in a narrow valley which was strewn with great bowlders, and on the sides of the hills grew a great many scrub pines. Through the center of it ran the broad trail.
The lunch was tied to the cantle of Bud's saddle, while Stella carried a canteen of coffee, for she was a great favorite of McCall, the cook, and when she started out for the day he invariably put up the best lunch a cow camp could afford.
Bud, in the meantime, had found a spring on the hillside and had watered the horses, then made a fire of pine boughs over which they heated the coffee and warmed themselves. Then they began their luncheon.
Bud was so busily appeasing his hunger that he did not say much, and did not think it strange that Stella said nothing. They were seated on opposite sides of the fire, and Bud, thinking that perhaps Stella might need something, looked across at her.
What he saw caused him to stare.
Stella was looking over his head with an expression of horror on her face. Her wide, staring eyes were filled with an unspeakable horror.
Her hand was poised in mid-air, just as if she had been going to put something into her mouth, when the action was arrested by the sight of something that froze her with terror.
"Stella, what's ther matter?" Bud managed to blurt out.
Stella's lips moved, but no sound came from them. She was too frightened to speak.
Then Bud, observing the direction in which she was looking, turned his head.
In an instant he was on his feet. He had become very pale, and his hand shook as he reached slowly toward his holster.
Standing behind him was a creature such as he never had seen before.
It was a man of great stature, clad entirely in black, over which was thrown a long, black cloak.
But the horror of the creature was the face. Out of an expressionless mask of silver, without nose or mouth, gleamed a pair of fierce, black eyes, that twinkled maliciously. Midway of the face were two holes, nostrils through which he breathed.
It was the man at whom Carl had fired his six harmless bullets—the man with the silver face.
Bud stood staring at him like one frozen, but Stella, when she saw that Bud was as frightened as herself, was able to take her eyes away from those terrible orbs that shone through the silver face, and regained her composure, and now was able to look at him without terror and with curiosity.
There was something fascinating in that blank, rounded, shining, white face, lighted only by those remarkable eyes.
What was behind that mask? A face, or only a blank?
Bud had somewhat recovered from the ague of terror into which the sudden appearance of the man with the silver face had thrown him, for he was a brave fellow, and not easily shaken from his courage.
"What do you want?" he asked at last, but yet with a little tremor in his voice.
There was no answer, but the eyes continued to burn in a very suggestive way. It seemed as if the man behind the mask was trying to speak, but could not.
Presently, however, he made a motion with his hand that told them to follow him.
"I'll be derned if we do," said Bud stubbornly. "Who aire yer, anyway, an' what business hey yer buttin' in on us this away?"
A strange, inarticulate, bubbling sound came from behind the silver face, but Bud could not understand it.
Again came the signal to follow.
"Not on yer life," said Bud firmly. He drew his revolver, and a look of decision came into his face. When Bud took on this look he meant business.
"Oh, Bud, don't oppose the terrible creature," whispered Stella, to whom fear had come again from looking on that blank but fascinating face.
"No, by jing, I ain't goin' erlong with thet freak. If I could see his face an' knowed who he wuz I might talk business."
As he said this the eyes behind the silver mask fairly shot forth sparks of anger, and again that horrible bubbling noise was heard.
The creature raised his arm. There was a sudden rush, and Bud felt his arms grasped from behind.
But as this happened he had presence of mind enough to point his revolver at the man in the silver mask and pull the trigger.
The weapon crashed, and, as the smoke cleared away, Bud saw the thing of horror still standing unharmed where he had been, although the revolver had been pointed directly at his heart, while from behind the mask came again that sickening, bubbling laugh.
At another signal from the figure Bud was dragged a little way up the hillside, and his wrists were securely tied, his arms embracing a tree.
While this was being done Stella, too frightened to make an outcry, was led away, and, looking over his shoulder, Bud saw her mount Magpie and ride away surrounded by four men, led by the man with the silver face, who bestrode a splendid black charger.
Bud was left alone to survive, if he could, the perils of frost and hungry wolves.
Stella could not keep her eyes from the silver mask of the man who rode by her side. She was wondering continually at the mystery of him.
For an hour or more they rode up one valley, then across a hill or stretch of prairie, and through valleys again, the black mountains coming nearer all the time, until at last they entered a forest of pines, which they traversed until night began to fall.
At a gesture from "Silver Face," as Stella had named the man who rode by her side, the party came to a halt.
Stella now saw that it was the intention to camp, for, while some of the men cared for the horses, others cut down several small pine trees and built a shelter of pine boughs, into which she was ushered, and before which a blazing fire had been lighted.
It had grown very cold, and Stella was grateful for the heat that filled her shelter.
One of the men had brought food, and a pan and coffeepot from a pack on one of the horses, and now began to cook supper.
Stella fully realized the peril of her situation, but particularly that of Bud, who had been left alone, bound and helpless, in that wilderness.
If he had not given the impression to the boys that he was going west instead of east, things might have been easier for them, but now Bud might perish of cold or be the prey of wild animals before Ted could come to their rescue, which she was sure he would do soon.
After she had eaten the supper which the man with the silver face brought her with his own hands, she felt better and more cheered, and began to take a brighter view of the situation.
The floor of her lean-to shelter had been thickly strewn with pine boughs, which were soft and aromatic, and Stella reclined upon them, and gazed into the fire, listening to the strange sounds that filled the forest, for the camp was absolutely quiet.
After eating their supper the men had silently smoked their pipes and then curled up on their blankets, which had been spread on mattresses of pine boughs, and were asleep.
Only Silver Face was awake, and he sat wrapped in his cloak near the fire, his eyes taking on a fiercer gleam as the flickering lights struck them.
Stella wondered who he was. Evidently the mask concealed a horrible mystery. Could he talk, and would not? Was that eerie, bubbling laugh of his the only articulate sound he could make?
Stella wished she knew more about him, and that he would talk to her.
The night was growing on, but Stella did not feel like sleeping.
Occasionally Silver Face arose and replenished the fire with resinous pine logs, and for a while the flames leaped high, filling the woods with strange shadows and ghostly, wavering spots of light.
Then afar, it seemed, there sounded the night cries of wild animals, timber wolves, those dreaded monsters of the lupus tribe, and occasionally the scream of the cougar, like a woman in agony. Then, close behind her shelter, there sounded a horrible, snarling shriek. It was the night cry of a bobcat close at hand, attracted to the camp by the scent of the meat which had been cooked for supper.
It was so near and clear that for a moment Stella's heart seemed to stop beating altogether, and she felt as if she would suffocate, and buried her face in her hands, expecting every moment to feel the claws of the terrible animal sink into the flesh of her back.
But at the sound Silver Face leaped to his feet, and was coming swiftly around the fire.
Through the silver mask his eyes were gleaming wickedly.
Stella heard him, and looked up. He was standing before her at the corner of her shelter, his blank face turned toward the place from which the cat's cry had come.
Suddenly a strange thing happened. From the breast of the black garment worn by Silver Face leaped a flame, followed by the crash of a revolver. This was succeeded by another, and a third.
The sleeping men had been aroused, and were sitting up in their blankets, blinking stupidly.
Behind her shelter Stella heard a thrashing among the frozen underbrush, while Silver Face stood immovable, the blazing eyes in the mask staring in that direction.
Meanwhile, Stella was marveling at those shots which had seemed to spring from his very body, and without the apparent use of his hands.
But soon the noise in the brush ceased, and Silver Face stepped out of sight.
In a moment he was back, and threw into the circle of light about the fire the body of an enormous mountain cat.
The men had fallen back into their blankets and were sleeping again, while Silver Face resumed his place before the fire.
Soon Stella, began to yawn, and her eyes grew heavy with sleep.
But she did not want to sleep. She had a foreboding that if she slept she would be in danger.
However, the dancing flames and the soft, comfortable heat which came from the fire were too much for her resolution, and her head began to droop, and presently her body sank gently down, and, as she pillowed her head on her arm, she fell into a deep sleep.
How long she slept she did not know, but when she awoke it was light.
The fire had burned low, and she felt cold and numb.
Staggering to her feet, she looked around. The camp was deserted.
The men were gone, and so were the horses. Beside the fire was a considerable pile of wood, and Stella hastily pulled the embers of the fire together and threw several sticks upon it. As the fire blazed up and she grew warmer, she tried to review the situation.
Why had the men who had captured and brought her thus far deserted her? Had they been frightened away by the proximity of the boys? No, it could not have been that, for the boys were far away.
Then a thought of horror flashed across her mind. She had been brought here to perish in the wilderness. Probably Silver Face and his men, desiring to wreak vengeance upon Ted, and feeling that keeping her a prisoner would be too much of a burden, had brought her into this dangerous place to leave her a prey to the wild animals that she knew infested the forests.
If they had only left her Magpie, she might have stood some chance of escaping.
But her fortitude soon returned to her. She was not dead yet, and, while she had a fighting chance, she would not despair.
Something of pity must have moved the men, for she found that they had left her revolver and her rifle beside her in the lean-to, and that in a pile not far from the fire was food enough to last her for several meals.
She set about cooking some breakfast, and caught herself singing as she did so.
After she had eaten she sat down in her shelter to think a way out of her predicament.
She was in the midst of a reverie when she was brought to her feet by that most dreaded of sounds—the howl of the timber wolf.
For a moment she stood trembling, trying to think what her best course would be.
The wolves had smelled the frying bacon from afar, and had been attracted to it, for the scent had carried far in the clear air.
From another direction came another wolf cry, and presently they seemed to come from every direction.
They were far away as yet, but the wolves were gathering.
Without trying to reason further, Stella gathered up what food she could carry, and, grasping her rifle, struck out into the forest in the direction away from that from which the howls of the wolves came to her.
Suddenly to one side appeared a slinking, gray form, which slunk along, apparently dodging behind the trees, but following her.
As it came from behind a tree in fair sight, she swung her rifle to her shoulder and fired.
It was a strike, for the wolf, with a howl of pain sprang in the air, then rolled over on the snow and lay still.
As the report of the shot reverberated back from the mountains, it was followed by a perfect crescendo of wolf howls.
They sounded louder and nearer now, and Stella's heart began to beat rapidly with fear.
Too well she knew what would happen if they caught her.
But suddenly a thought came to her, and she stopped.
Surely Ted and the boys would come to find her. They might even now be on the way, and who could say they were not far away?
If she could only send them a message to let them know that they were on the right trail!
Her face lighted up with an inspiration. She had the means.
Breaking a stick from a low-growing tree, she began to write in the snow:
"I am followed by a wolf pack. Hurry." "Stella"
These were the words she left behind her for Ted to read should he come that way.
Then she hurried on with all speed.
Every few minutes the howls of the wolves assailed her ears as she struggled on through the snow.
Her burden of food was becoming very heavy, and she cast away a part of it.
Perhaps, she thought, it would serve to stop the wolves for a while when they found it on her trail.
Every moment seemed to bring the cries of the wolves nearer.
They were following in her footsteps now, for the noise was all behind her, not scattered over the forest, as it had been at first.
The brutes had gathered into a pack, and Stella shuddered as she pictured in her mind the gray band coming upon her with long, loping, tireless strides; with red, long, lolling tongues and slavering, sharp-fanged jaws.
Presently she heard another noise behind her, and looked over her shoulder.
The sight that met her eyes caused her to almost faint.
Not twenty yards behind her was an enormous gray wolf, loping along easily but as swiftly as a horse.
His eyes were blazing like green lamps, and his great body was scarred and torn. Evidently he was the king of the pack.
Stopping suddenly, she drew her revolver and fired two shots at him.
He came to a halt with a snarl of rage and began biting at his shoulder.
Then Stella turned and ran again, with the clamor of the pack close behind her.
But she was failing, and her run had become a painful stagger, and her breath came in gasps.
She was near the end, and she realized it. She fancied herself falling into the midst of that ravenous crew and shuddered. What could she do to save herself?
Not far ahead was a tree with a forked branch growing low enough for her to reach it if she still had strength to get so far. With almost a superhuman effort she continued her flight toward it.
As she reached it the great, gray king of the pack was only a few feet behind her, so close that she could hear him pant from his long run.
She reached up to the branch and tried to pull herself up, but it was an impossible task burdened with food and rifle and her coat, which she had removed at a time when she had stopped long enough to write another message in the snow for Ted.
She threw the rifle in the snow and tried it again, but she could not, and then cast aside the food and the coat, and succeeded in clambering into the sheltering nook just as the great wolf, leaping into the air, swept past her, carrying in his teeth a shred of her skirt. She was safe, but by a very narrow margin.
She looked up into the tree, for the branch upon which she was perched was so near the ground that she was not safe from the leaps of the savage and famished brutes.
But the next higher branch was far beyond her reach or her ability to climb to.
She must defend herself as best she could.
Fortunately she had retained her revolver and had a good supply of ammunition.
As the old wolf leaped again she fired, and knew that the ball had entered his neck. If she could shoot him often enough, she ought to kill him after a while.
But now the clamor was all about her. The pack had arrived, and was leaping about the foot of the tree like waves upon a storm-tossed shore.
Her red coat had been torn to shreds, and, in the fight over the food she had cast aside, more than one of the brutes had met his death by the razorlike teeth of his comrades.
Suddenly, through the din about her, Stella lifted her head and listened, while for a moment the wolves ceased leaping and howling and stood listening also.
From afar off, and very faintly, there came to her a subdued cheer. Her heart leaped with hope. Could it be the boys who were signaling to her?
But now the wolves, even more savage than before, were leaping at her, their saber teeth snapping within an inch of her, as she fired into their faces, and laughed as she saw them roll upon the snow in their death agony.
Again she heard a faint cry in the forest. Oh, if she should be wrong, and it was not the dear old Moon Valley yell, she would die.
Now the old king of the pack returned to the attack.
He was bigger and stronger than any of the others, and when he snapped at them with his terrible teeth they made way for him.
He began a succession of leaps at her, and every time she planted a bullet in his massive and seemingly invulnerable body.
But each leap brought him closer to her perch.
The next jump might be the one by which he would reach her, she thought, and that surely would be the end, for, if he ever succeeded in getting his hooked fangs fastened in her clothes, she would be pulled from the tree in an eye twinkling, and she shuddered as she thought of the sequel.
The end seemed very near, and she had about given up hope of holding out until the boys could reach her, when a well-known yell was wafted to her on the frozen air. The boys had come.
She felt the fangs of the king of the pack fasten in her skirt, and she knew that she was being pulled out of her perch when, through the woods came Ted and Bud and Ben, and the rest of her friends, yelling like mad and amid a perfect fusillade of rifle shots.
Then she began to slide out of the tree. But she did not reach the ground, for Ted was there, and she slipped naturally and without harm into his arms, as the last of the pack that remained alive escaped into the forest.
There was great rejoicing when Stella so far recovered from the strain which she had been undergoing, to learn that Bud was safe, although he had passed a very uncomfortable as well as perilous night tied to a tree with the cold numbing him, and wolves sniffing and snarling at him.
These he had been able to keep off for several hours by kicking them whenever they got close enough.
But he was rapidly becoming exhausted when in the distance he heard shouts.
Ted and the boys had ridden to the west until they realized that it was useless to go any farther, for they had not come upon the trail of Bud and Stella, and Ted came to the conclusion that they had gone in the opposite direction.
But it was almost night when they turned their faces to the east, and day was dawning when they heard Bud's cry for help, and rescued him by driving the snarling pack from his heels.
When they had heard his story about the man with the silver face and his crew, and the fact that they had taken Stella away with them, the boys waited only long enough to make a fire to thaw out Bud, and to make some coffee, and took up the broad trail.
When they came to the deserted camp they were almost sure that Stella had gone on with her captors, and were about to follow the trail.
Had they done so, Stella would have perished in the woods. But Ted had one of his "hunches" that Stella was not far away, and rode around the camp in a wide circle.
He was soon rewarded by finding the prints of Stella's shoes in the snow, and, concluding that she had in some manner escaped from her captors, he called the boys together and started on her trail.
They had not gone far when they, too, heard the howls of the wolf pack, and knew that Stella was in great danger.
Presently they came upon Stella's message in the snow and obeyed her injunction to hurry.
They had been compelled to leave their horses at the camp, for the forest was too dense to permit them to ride.
When Stella told them of her adventure and about Silver Face and the stolen cattle, they decided to push forward on the trail, and, if possible, regain their stolen property.
At the camp they remounted, and, having to ride double where Bud and Stella were concerned, made but slow progress.
But the trail was broad and good, and they made good time as compared with a slow cattle drive.
Early in the afternoon Ted became conscious, in that remarkable way of his, that not far ahead some one was on the trail.
Stella was riding behind him, for the boys had taken turns in carrying her so as not to burden any one horse too much, and he transferred her to Kit's pony, and, telling the boys to move forward slowly, rode on ahead to scout.
Ted wanted to see for himself this wonderful Silver Face, who was impervious to bullets, and who could fire them from his chest with no apparent effort on his own part.
Ted was also affected as the others had been who had seen him; that is, by the mystery of the creature.
He had ridden quite a distance ahead of the party, and had just entered into the pass of a cañon which seemed to broaden out into a respectable valley farther on, when he was brought to a halt by the scream of a rifle ball close to his head.
This was warning enough, and he scurried into the shelter of a huge rock that jutted from the cañon wall.
In a few minutes he emerged from it and rode back over the trail.
When the party came up with him he told them of the shot.
"It's my opinion," he said, "that Silver Face and his men and our cattle are in that cañon or valley, but how to reach them I don't know."
"S'pose we go scoutin' on ther hills above, an' take a look," said Bud. "Stella an' ther boys can cache ther hosses an' hide, er come erlong with us."
"Very well," said Ted. And so they did. Hiding their horses in a thick glade of cedar trees, they climbed in single file up the side of the mountain, and were soon in an advantageous position, from which they had a good view up and down the valley.
A curious sight met their sight.
In the center of the valley they saw their bunch of steers close herded by several cowboys, while not far away two men were butchering one of the steers.
"They're going to have beef for dinner," said Ted, with a grin.
"I hope it chokes 'em," growled Bud.
"Or that they never get a chance to eat it at all," said Stella.
Lounging around the fire were a party of Indians, but, though Ted could not see from that distance whether or not they were the followers of Crazy Cow, he thought most likely they were.
The great figure of Silver Face could easily be picked out from among his followers, even were it not from the reflected light from his silver mask whenever the rays of the sun smote it.
Close to the west wall of the valley, and huddled under its shelter, were a number of Indian tepees, while farther on were several white canvas tents.
"Boys, we've stumbled upon the permanent camp or rendezvous of the outlaw Indians, and the members of the Whipple gang," said Ted.
As they were looking they saw a young woman, dressed as cowgirl, and with long, blond hair hanging down her back, come out of one of the tents, and look over the scene.
Silver Face strode to her side, and then began a strange pantomime between the pair with her hands. This convinced Stella that the man with the silver mask was unable to talk.
"I don't see how we are going to get at those fellows," said Ted.
"They do seem to be pretty well fixed to defend themselves," said Ben, who was lying flat on the rocky edge of the cañon wall, looking into the scene below.
"Oh, Ted," cried Stella, grasping the arm of the leader of the broncho boys. "Look there. It is Magpie, my pony. There isn't another like him in the world. We must get him back, Ted. Think of letting a dirty Indian outlaw ride and abuse the splendid fellow."
"All right, Stella," replied Ted. "Show us how to do it successfully, and we'll go down and tackle the whole mess."
"See, there's an Indian throwing his filthy blanket on Magpie's back. I can't stand that."
Stella put her rifle to her shoulder, and was about to pull the trigger when Ted's hand closed down over the lock of the weapon.
"Not on your life," he said. "This is not the time for anything like that. If we were to get them after us right now we'd last about as long as a snowball on a hot stove. Wait a while."
While Stella said nothing she was angry clear through. It hurt her like a blow to have her pony ridden by another.
The Indian, having fastened his blanket on the pony's back to his satisfaction, sprang upon his back, and began to lash him with a quirt.
"Oh, the brute!" exclaimed Stella. "I hope Magpie throws and kills him for his cruelty."
Magpie wheeled and bucked under the unusual punishment, and the Indian continued to beat him.
"I can't stand it any longer," cried Stella, gnashing her pretty, small, white teeth.
This time she got her rifle to her shoulder, and, before she could be restrained, had fired a shot. Perhaps Ted knew that the provocation was great, for he did not interfere this time.
At any rate, the ball flew close enough to knock the hat from the Indian's head, and cause him to dismount and scurry to the shelter of the rock wall.
But it caused the greatest excitement in the camp.
The man with the silver mask rushed forward, rapidly scanning the cliff for whoever had fired the shot.
He did not have long to search, for the smoke hovering over the spot where Stella was lying on the top of the cliff was advertisement enough.
A man by his side handed him a rifle, which he sighted, then took down as a puff of smoke rose above him.
Then there followed the smash of a bullet on the rock, a foot below where Stella was lying.
"Pretty close work," said Ted. "That fellow is a corking good shot. Look, he's coming to shoot again. Duck! I'll bet he gets the range this time."
Every head went out of sight. Then came the sharp report of the rifle, and the ball from it shattered the edge of the rock not far from Stella's head.
"That'll be about enough of that," said Ted, picking up his own Winchester. "We'll have to stop that fellow's fun, or he'll end by hurting some of us."
Ted poked the barrel of his Winchester over the edge of the rock, adjusted the sights, took a short aim, and fired.
Then he looked to see the result of it, and saw the man with the silver face drop his rifle, stagger to the side of the cañon, and sink down.
"By jove! I got him," exclaimed Ted. "I believe that from here we can drive that whole bunch out of the valley and get back our cattle and horses, if we dodge back and shoot straight. We'll try it. Every fellow get ready to fire."
On seeing their leader fall, the men, both white and red, in the valley, ran hither and yon in a state of great excitement.
But when the boys began to fire systematically at them, kicking up the snow about them with every shot, it became a veritable panic.
Shouts of terror were heard, and, as the young woman raised the man with the silver mask to his feet and helped him walk to the tent, the others hastily saddled their ponies, and prepared to decamp.
All the while the boys were pumping Winchester balls into them, and occasionally a horse dropped, or with a yell a man would grasp a leg or an arm and fall to the ground.
"We've got them going," shouted Ted. "Keep it up until we get them on the run."
The boys fired their rifles until they got hot, then waited for them to cool, and resumed firing.
It was like bedlam in the valley, and not one of the men attempted to retaliate by firing back. They were in a panic of fear.
As soon as one got his horse saddled he dashed away toward the head of the valley out of the way of those spiteful bullets which sang about them like enraged hornets.
Not one of them stopped to burden himself with his baggage, nor did they pay any attention to the stolen cattle.
They were in too much of a hurry to get away safely themselves.
The Indians left their tepees standing, and ran for their lives.
Soon the valley was clear of men. All that remained in sight were the bunch of cattle, a small band of ponies in a rope corral, and the tepees and tents.
"I guess we're safe to go down now, and take possession of our own," said Ted.
"Don't forget that Silver Face and the young woman are in that tent," said Stella warningly. "Look out for treachery."
Without further delay the boys and Stella climbed down the mountain to where their horses were, and, mounting, rode fearlessly into the valley.
As they approached the tents the flap of one of them was pushed back and the young woman came out.
Her hand was raised for silence, and the tears were coursing down her cheeks.
"Hush!" she said. "He is dead."
"Who is dead?" asked Ted, with the greatest respect.
"Silver Face," was the answer.
"Who was he?" asked Ted.
"I don't know. I found him lying in the mountains almost dead from an accident a few months ago, and nursed him back to life, but he never spoke again, and he has never been able to let me know who he was."
"Pardon me, but who are you?" asked Ted.
"I?" said the woman, drawing herself up proudly. "I am Whipple."
"What? Leader of the Whipple gang?" asked Ted, almost incredulously.
"The same," said she. "I have laughed many times at the fear I inspired among you ranchmen in the valley, and the officers of the law, to say nothing of the soldiers. But that was because they had never seen me, and believed me to be a man."
They all looked their astonishment, for she was an exceedingly pretty woman, and spoke in gentle tones.
"But it is all over now," she continued sadly. "If those steers and ponies are yours, take them. I am going to leave the mountains, and my men are scattered and will leave also. I told them to go. And now that Silver Face is no more, there is no reason why I should stay here."
"You loved him?" asked Ted, nodding toward the tent.
"Yes," she answered quietly. "He was my husband. When I had nursed him back to life I sent my boys out and kidnaped a preacher. I had him brought here blindfolded, and made him marry us, then sent him back, not knowing where he had been."
Ted and the boys looked their sympathy.
"Can I be of any assistance to you in caring for him?" asked Stella, very sweetly.
A look of terror crossed the woman's face.
"No, no," she cried. "Leave me with my dead. Take what belongs to you and go."
She retired into the tent, and they heard her weeping, and turned away.
The boys started immediately on the back trail to the ranch, where they arrived with their cattle and ponies.
That was the last of the Whipple gang, for the members of it left the country, and the outlaw Indians were gathered in by the troops and the Indian police, and imprisoned on the reservations.
But on winter evenings, as he sat before the big fire in the Long Tom ranch house, his big snow camp, Ted Strong often turned over in his mind the facts about the death of Silver Face, the man of mystery.
Somehow, away down in his heart, he did not believe that the man with the silver mask was dead, but that he would some day meet him again and solve the mystery that surrounded him.
In the early part of December, however, the members of the Moon Valley outfit left the Long Tom Ranch for Phoenix, Arizona.
Although it was winter, the air was soft and pleasant, and at noon the sun shone with some fervor.
It was Arizona, and as Ted Strong sat on Sultan and gazed across the wide valley, over which the sun's warm rays shimmered above the sand and cactus, greasewood and sage toward a low-lying ranch house in the far distance, it did not seem at all like Christmas.
But it was Christmas Eve, in spite of the fact that there was no snow, no sleigh bells, no apparent use for Santa Claus, and that roses were blooming in yards where there was sufficient black earth for them to thrive.
Behind his saddle Ted had a great bundle wrapped in burlap and securely tied.
For many miles on the way Ted had cast anxious glances behind him, and occasionally reached back to assure himself that he had not lost his freight.
This argued that it was a very precious burden.
"I guess that must be the place," mused Ted, as he looked at the apparently deserted house.
Not a live creature was to be seen about the place, neither man, woman, nor beast.
"Cheerful-looking prospect for Christmas," Ted continued to soliloquize, as those who travel or ride on mountain or plain in solitude often get in the habit of doing.
"Wonder where the folks are?" he continued. "Hope they got here all right. But, of course, they did. Bud is too good a leader to let them get off the trail. Besides, they have been long enough on the way to have got here and back again." Again he paused, musing.
"Well, Sultan, old chap, it has been a long, dry drive, hasn't it?"
Sultan, on hearing his name, gave a toss of his head and a soft snicker, and Ted's hand passed gently over his beautiful, glossy mane with a caressing gesture.
"Hello, here comes some one. Wonder who it is. That's the only sign of life, except a few rattlesnakes and horned toads I've seen since I left the railroad at San Carlos."
Shading his eyes from the sun, Ted looked for several minutes at the dark speck bobbing along in the distance, a mere shadow against the yellow surface of the earth.
"He's taking his time," muttered Ted. "Reckon he's wondering who I am, and what I'm standing here for. It can't be one of our fellows. I guess I'll just wait for him to come up and say howdy."
There was a faint trail, or road, which skirted Sombrero Peak, the mass of multicolored rock at Ted's back, over which he had come on his way from San Carlos to the Bubbly Well ranch house, which he was now facing in the distance. But where he was now standing the road branched off to the west, while a fainter trail lay straight before him to the ranch house.
Bubbly Well was the ranch of Major Caruthers, an Englishman, and a retired officer of the British army, who had come to America to pass his remaining days in the open. He was a well-preserved man, tall, stalwart, with white hair and a red, fresh-looking face, who could ride well and was an excellent shot, but who knew nothing about the cattle business.
Ted had met him in Phoenix, at the hotel, and had dropped into "cow talk." When the English major learned that Ted knew so much about the cattle business, he told of his ranch at Bubbly Well, confessing that his own knowledge of steers, cows, round-ups, and the like was so limited that, instead of making the ranch pay, it had been steadily losing money for him.
It was then that the major had invited Ted to visit him at the ranch, look the situation over, and give expert advice how to better the condition of things.
"I'll tell you what we'll do," said the major; "let's make up a Christmas party for Bubbly Well. The holidays are so beastly lonely out here, don't you know, and Christmas knocks me all of a heap. Come out and help me make things cheerful."
"I'd like to," Ted had said, "but I'm not a free agent. I am with a party of friends, who are also my partners in the cattle business and other enterprises. You see, my first duty is to them. I don't know what their plans are."
At this the major looked considerably crestfallen. Then Ted, as briefly as he could, told the Englishman all about the broncho boys and their plans and principles.
As he talked, Major Caruthers occasionally interjected such exclamations as "Extraordinary!" "Very remarkable!" "Fawncy!"
He was intensely interested in Ted's accounts of some of the adventures which the members of the Moon Valley outfit had gone through, and when Ted stopped, with an apology for having consumed so much time in talking about himself and his friends, the major assured him that he could listen with pleasure and profit all night if Ted could only go on telling him such stories.
"My boy, I have the very thing," said the major, after a moment's thought.
Ted looked at the Englishman inquiringly.
"Do you think your friends, not knowing me, would accept an invitation to spend Christmas at Bubbly Well, and as long thereafter as they can and will?"
"That's a very kind thought," said Ted. "You see, we generally contrive to be at our Moon Valley Ranch at Christmas time, but this year we had business in this part of the country, and could not finish it in time to get back home, and were planning to get as much joy out of the day in the hotel here as we could."
"Christmas in a hotel!" exclaimed the major. "I can't think of anything more dismal. I'd spend Christmas in my own place even if there wasn't another live thing there, and nothing to eat but cheese and crackers."
"I feel very much that way myself," laughed Ted.
"Then you'll come?" asked the Englishman eagerly.
"I think my friends will be very glad to accept the invitation," answered Ted. "I am sure I should like to, personally, and I thank you for the privilege and the honor."
"Don't speak of it."
They talked of other things; about sport, and about the dangers of ranching in that country.
Before they parted it was decided that the broncho boys should visit Major Caruthers' ranch. They were to take their own mounts on the train to the nearest railroad station to Bubbly Well, where they would be met by one of the major's men as a guide.
It was three days before Christmas when all of them, except Ted, arrived at the ranch and were given a hearty welcome by the Englishman. That is, all arrived there except the leader of the broncho boys, who had remained in Phoenix to attend to some business details and do some shopping, agreeing to follow them later and arrive at the ranch Christmas Eve.
At the opening of this chapter we find him within sight of Bubbly Well, with a pack of Christmas presents for all hands on his back, waiting patiently for the approaching rider.
In the course of a few minutes, the stranger rode up, and, with a cold and quiet greeting, pulled in his mount, a beautiful chestnut mare, and looked Ted over from top to toe in a cool manner.
He was a handsome young chap, dressed in such a manner that Ted could not quite determine what he was. He had not the appearance of a cow-puncher, nor was he a town man, for he was bronzed by the sun, and he sat his mare like a born horseman.
His clothes were dark, save for a tan vest which buttoned close around his throat; his boots were of the very best quality, and fitted the calf of his leg snugly, and on his head was an expensive Stetson, with the skin of a rattlesnake for a band.
But it was his face that affected Ted with a sort of dislike that yet had something of fascination in it, while at the same time it puzzled him, it was such a strange mixture of good and bad.
"Can you tell me what ranch house that is over there, and who owns it?" said the stranger, in a well-bred manner that yet had the freedom of the West in it.
"Yes," answered Ted. "That is the Bubbly Well Ranch, and it is owned by Major Caruthers."
A strange expression passed over the young fellow's face.
"Jack Caruthers—do you happen to know?"
"I have never heard him called Jack," said Ted, smiling. "He signs himself 'John Stairs Caruthers.'"
"It must be the same," said the young fellow musingly.
"Do you know him?" asked Ted.
"Well, no. That is, not exactly." The stranger thought a moment. "I suppose I'll have to put up somewhere for the night; it's a dickens of a way to anywhere out here. I started from Rodeo, across the mountain, early this morning, thinking I could make it to San Carlos by night, but——"
"You couldn't get there before morning if you rode at top speed," said Ted, as the other hesitated.
"Are you going to the ranch house?" asked the stranger suddenly.
"Yes."
"Do you think your friend would put me up for the night?"
"I haven't a doubt of it. And to-morrow, too. You know this is Christmas Eve."
"So it is. I hadn't thought of it. My name is Farnsworth—Hilary Farnsworth."
The young fellow looked defiantly at Ted, who had started slightly at the name.
"Do you want to take me to the house now?" asked Farnsworth, with a slightly contemptuous smile.
So this was Farnsworth. "Fancy" Farnsworth, as he was called in the Southwest. Ted looked at him with new interest, and the other stared back with his gray eyes, which were as handsome as a woman's, and yet had in their depths a wicked, cruel gleam.
"I don't see why not," said Ted.
"You know me?" asked Farnsworth, with a smile.
"By reputation."
"May I ask your name?"
"Certainly. I beg your pardon. I am Ted Strong."
At this Farnsworth suddenly pulled his horse to its haunches, at the same time throwing his hand backward, and, with almost incredible rapidity, whipping out a revolver.
His face was white, and had as suddenly assumed an expression in which fear and determination were equally present.
"No, you don't!" he said slowly and coldly. "You don't get me that way. I'm not as easy as that."
Ted had made no move to draw his revolver, and was smiling in an amused sort of way.
"I'm sure I don't want you," he said.
"You're a deputy United States marshal, aren't you?"
"I am, but I'm not after you."
"Then you haven't heard?"
"Nothing about you recently. When I was in this part of the country before I heard——"
"Oh, you can always hear a lot about a fellow in this rotten part of the world—except the truth. Then you haven't heard the latest news from Rodeo?"
"Not a word."
"And you don't want to arrest me?"
"Not now. I wouldn't know what to arrest you for, and I haven't seen a United States warrant for months."
"I believe I can trust you. You seem to be a square chap, in spite of what I've heard of you. But I want to tell you one thing: I've got eyes in the back of my head, and there isn't a quicker man on the draw in Arizona, so no monkey business. This is not a boast, but a warning."
"I have nothing against you now," said Ted quietly; "but if I ever have, you'll know it, and have your chance. But I don't see any use in standing here in the sun palavering. Let's hike to the house yonder. I've been riding since daybreak without a drink, and I'd like to sample the major's famous Bubbly Well."
Farnsworth looked sharply at Ted for a moment, then replaced his revolver, and signaled to lead the way.
They rode in silence along the trail toward the ranch house for several minutes.
"How shall I introduce you to the major—as Farnsworth?" asked Ted, at last.
Farnsworth paused to think before replying.
"I think not," he said at last. "If I am to stay there for the night, there may as well be no unpleasant feeling. Call me anything you like but that, and I will fall in with it. They may know something about me, and, while I would be safe while Major Caruthers considered me a guest, still, it might cause some restraint."
"Probably you are right. How will Mr. Dickson do?"
"As good as any. Say, Strong, you're a brick! I won't forget this."
"This is a sort of truce. Anyway, it's Christmas, and a fellow should put away malice at such a time."
"Have you malice toward me?"
"No, I can't say that I have. But I have heard things about you that haven't prepossessed me in your favor."
"Have you ever thought that perhaps you have heard more than the truth?"
"Of course; I know that men are usually painted worse than they are."
"That's true. It's especially true with regard to myself."
For a moment Ted said nothing. He was running over in his mind several of the stories he had heard about this handsome and daring young fellow.
"Well, I'll take your word for it because it's Christmas," he said at last.
"I'll make you believe that I'm telling the truth before our acquaintance ends," said Farnsworth. As Ted looked into his eyes he saw that they had changed in expression. Now they were bold and brave and truthful, where before Ted had seen only a cold, cruel, relentless look.
Ted threw back his head, and the Moon Valley yell issued from his mouth.
It instantly transformed the slumbering ranch house. Out of doors, from around corners, and even as if they sprang out of the ground, appeared the broncho boys, and the air fairly rang with their shouts of welcome.
"That's the way I'd like to be greeted," said Farnsworth, a little bitterly.
"Then why don't you fix it so that you are?" asked Ted, smiling.