It was two hours before the boys headed the cattle and got them to milling, and then broke them up and succeeded in getting them bedded down.
As they got a new camp fire made, and were lying around it, Bud said, with a laugh:
"That was a mighty slick trick o' yours, Ted. It certainly took ther herd off ther reservation in a hurry."
"I don't see yet why it was necessary to stampede them," said Ben, who was sore at having had to do so much work getting the herd together again.
"Can't, eh?" said Bud. "That's all er collidge eddication done fer yer? Why, if we hadn't got them cattle off'n thar pretty pronto, thet thar lootenant would hev bagged every animile on foot. But Ted, he foresee what they wuz up ter, an' ther simplest way wuz ter run 'em off in a fake stampede. It done ther work, too, fer we're out o' ther reservation whar they can't touch us."
Except for the night guard, the boys rolled themselves in their blankets and were soon sound asleep.
The next morning Ted began to drift the herd slowly into the north, where there was plenty of free range. They were still well within view of the fort.
It was almost time for the beef issue at the post, and Ted and Bud, walking their ponies slowly along in the lead of the herd, were talking about it.
"Wonder they ain't been out to head us off this morning?" said Bud.
"They know they cannot take forcible possession of our cattle when we are off the reservation," answered Ted. "Hello, what's that heading this way?"
Coming toward them from the direction of the fort, several riders were kicking up the dust in lively fashion.
As they got nearer the riders revealed themselves as four soldiers, accompanied by two ladies.
Suddenly Ted pulled in his pony, and grasped Bud's arm.
"If that don't look like Stella I'll eat my saddle blanket fried in butter," he said.
"Shore do look some like her," answered Bud, "an' that's ther same little ole red jacket what she wears."
In a few moments they heard Stella's hail, and answered it.
Then up galloped Stella and Miss Croffut, accompanied by the commandant of the post, Lieutenant Barrows, and two other officers, a captain and a major.
After greeting the boys, and formally introducing Miss Croffut, Stella told them that from their last telegram she thought she might be able to catch them at Fort Felton, and had not hesitated in coming on, particularly as she happened to know Miss Croffut.
"What's this trouble you fellows have been getting into with the folks at the fort?" asked Stella.
"We're not having any trouble, but we had some in the night when the dogies stampeded us," replied Ted, with an almost imperceptible wink at her.
"None of my business, I suppose?"
"None in the least."
"See here, Mr. Strong," the colonel broke in, "I suppose I was somewhat hasty last night in talking with you, especially as you had arrived on time. I wish you'd turn back, and let us have those cattle."
"Like to if you'd said so a little earlier, but since morning, and the expiration of the contract, beef has gone up."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that you haven't money enough to buy these cattle. What's the matter? Want a few head to feed to the Indians?"
"We want the whole herd, but as you have guessed the truth, we must have a few head to keep those crazy Indians from making trouble. They have heard that the cattle are gone, and I'm afraid that they will break loose and murder a lot of settlers to get even with Uncle Sam."
"What are the troops for?"
"We wouldn't dare go after them without orders from Washington."
"Well, you started it, and I would advise you to go on to the finish."
"If we don't get enough cattle to feed the Indians the post is ruined."
"You should have thought of that contingency when you sent your amiable young assistant out to me." He looked at Barrows.
"Well, I apologize for him. He was dead wrong, but so was I."
"Nothing doing! You would have given me the worst of it if I had been chump enough not to know the cow business as I do. But these cattle are due on the high range in a few days, and we must be moving on. Adios."
"Oh, Mr. Strong, please do let us have enough cattle for those poor Indians. The squaws and babies and growing children are actually starving, for the government has kept them on short allowance lately. Let a few head go to us."
Ted said nothing for several moments, during which they all looked at him anxiously.
"Come on, Ted, be a good fellow," said Stella, with a laugh.
"All right," said Ted. "How many do you want cut out?" Ted was looking at the colonel.
"I'd like to have the whole herd," answered the colonel.
"They're not for sale. They're going up to the high range for the rest of the summer, then to market, and I hope it will be a fairer one than this. But for the sake of the young ladies, who have more influence with this bunch in a minute than all the officers at Fort Felton have in a year, I'll cut out enough for the beef issue. How many head do you need for the Indians?"
"About five hundred," answered the colonel, in a very different voice from that he had used the night before.
"Bud, cut out, count, and deliver five hundred head at the post pasture. Stella, we're going on. Where's your aunt?"
"Up at the post. Say, Ted Strong, don't believe for a minute that I'm not going, too. I'll get a wagon for auntie, and we'll hit your trail in a couple of hours."
When Bud and the boys rode into the herd to cut out the five hundred head of cattle, the four officers went away to inspect the animals as they came out, leaving Ted to talk to the two girls.
Nothing was said about the unpleasant interview on the colonel's veranda the evening before, but Stella laughingly told how she had decided at the last moment to follow the fortunes of the boys, and had dragged her aunt off to Montana without giving her time to think about it.
While they were chatting the colonel rode up.
"Mr. Strong, I wish you would come up to headquarters and get your voucher for these cattle before you go. I should like you to dine with us, also."
"Please do, Ted," said Stella. "Then you can ride back to camp with aunt and I. I have been trying to persuade Hallie to join our party for a week or two, and experience the joys and excitement of the cattle trail."
"I should like very much to go with you, but——"
Miss Croffut looked at her father with some apprehension.
"If Mrs. Graham will consent to add to her burdens as a chaperon I have no objections," said the colonel whose manner toward Ted had been simply reversed by the independence and manliness the broncho boys had exhibited.
"We should be very glad to have you with us, Miss Croffut," said Ted. "And if you have never been on the long drive I believe you would find much that would interest you."
"Then it's all settled," cried Stella. "I'm sure aunt would be delighted to have you, and you will like the boys. They are like a lot of brothers to me, only they are better than most brothers, for they let me do what I please, and are a help instead of a nuisance."
They all laughed at Stella's estimate of the usefulness of brothers, and rode away toward the fort, Ted leading the way with Miss Croffut, whom he found to be an exceedingly interesting companion, and who expressed her love for riding and other outdoor sports.
"We're going to see the beef issue," Stella called to Ted.
"All right," he answered. "It will be some time before the cattle are up to the pens, and, in the meantime, we'll leave you there, and ride over to headquarters and settle the business end of it."
The girls were left at the office of the Indian agent near the place where the cattle were to be issued to the Indians.
Scattered over the prairie near the agent's office were the members of the tribe, waiting patiently for their portion of the fresh meat, which, at certain times of the year, Uncle Sam doled out to them.
It was a savage sight. Here and there were the smoke-browned tepees of the Indians, before which sat the squaws and papooses, and the old men and women.
The bucks, heads of families, strode back and forth majestically, with their rifles and old muskets in the hollow of their arms, while the young men and half-grown boys dashed here and there on their ponies.
It was an animated scene, and the two girls looked at it curiously, for neither of them had seen anything like it before.
While they were looking out of the window a shadow darkened the doorway, and they looked up to see a tall young buck Indian standing on the threshold.
He was very tall for a Northern Indian, and his broad, bronze-colored face, with its high cheek bones, and prominent, aquiline nose, with the black, beady eyes between, and the wide, loose-lipped mouth beneath, caused Miss Croffut to shudder unknowingly.
To her there was something repulsive about the fellow. But Stella looked at him boldly and inquiringly.
"How?" grunted the Indian.
"What you want?" asked Stella, in a business-like way.
"Me want agent," he answered, with a leer, which evidently he intended for a smile of fascination.
"Not here," said Stella sharply.
"Where go?"
"Get out."
The Indian stared at her with an expression of amazement, which gradually turned to one of admiration.
"Heap good-looking squaw," he grunted.
"Get out," said Stella again.
She was not frightened, only disgusted.
"Me Running Bear. Heap big chief. Heap rich. Heap brave. Running Bear want white squaw. Heap other wives cook for white squaw. Make plenty red dress."
When the Indian had first entered the room Stella thought that there was something decidedly familiar about the redskin, but when the name "Running Bear" fell from his lips, her worst fears were confirmed—this was the Indian with whom Ted had had trouble during the winter, when he had broken up the Whipple gang.
As he strode into the middle of the room, with his hand on the butt of the revolver that hung on his left hip, Miss Croffut uttered a faint scream.
Stella was not exactly frightened, but she felt that there might be some danger in being in the room with this Indian brute, with not a white man in hailing distance.
When he got nearer she smelled liquor. Running Bear had been drinking, and Stella knew that a drinking Indian is a crazy Indian who will do things he never would dream of doing when he is sober.
She unconsciously felt for her own revolver, but it was not at her side. Then she remembered that she had left it at the colonel's house when she had started out that morning.
She eyed the Indian closely as he advanced farther into the room, and saw that in the Indian's eyes there was a strange gleam. He reminded her of a snake about to devour its prey, as he moved toward her, almost imperceptibly, seeming not to move, and yet getting closer to her all the time.
Now he was quite close to her, and Hallie Croffut was sitting back in her chair gazing at the Indian with an expression of frozen horror on her face.
"White squaw give Running Bear a kiss," gurgled the brute.
Stella tried to scream, but her throat refused to give forth a sound. It was like the nightmare when one tries to scream for terror of the awful shape that is about to menace, but cannot utter a sound.
Somewhere outside she heard her name. It was Ted calling to her, but she could not answer.
Now the Indian was only a step away, and had reached out his arms to grasp her.
Suddenly the door flew open, and there stood Ted Strong. But only for an instant.
With one leap he was into the room, and as the Indian turned, with that beastly leer still on his face, Ted was upon him.
Catching the Indian by the collar, he swung him around, while at the same time his left arm flew forward, and his fist struck the Indian's jaw with a smash that sent his head back, and wrung a groan from him. Again and again the fist encountered the Indian's face, rocking his head horribly, until it hung upon his shoulder, and then, with an exclamation of disgust, Ted flung the brute from him, and the inert body rolled into a corner, where it lay still.
"Oh, Ted," exclaimed Stella, "that Indian is Running Bear, with whom you had trouble when putting the Whipple gang out of business."
"I know it, but I don't think he'll bother us any more. Come, girls," said Ted, "it's time to go out and see the beef issue. They're reading the names now, and the bucks are assembling."
Outside a strange scene was being enacted. A clerk from the Indian agent's office was sitting on top of the fence of the cattle corral reading the names of the Indians from a large book.
"Na-to-no-mah, John Fisher!" called the clerk, and a middle-aged Indian stepped forward listlessly and stood aside.
"The first name is his Indian or tribe name," explained Ted. "The name John Fisher is the name given him in Washington, so that the clerks will not get him mixed with an Indian whose name is similar."
So the reading went on, and after each name the clerk said "one" or "two," meaning that the owner of the name was entitled to one or two cows, according to the number of members of his family.
"Running Bear!" called the clerk.
There was no answer.
"Running Bear! Where is Running Bear?" The clerk looked around anxiously, for Running Bear was a prominent Indian, and was entitled to three cows, or as many as he could graft, and was never known to miss a beef issue. There were murmurs of wonder among the Indians at the absence of Running Bear, and the clerk was about to mark off his name, when he staggered out of the agent's house, groggy from the punishment he had received, with one eye a vivid green, and holding on to his jaw as if he was afraid of losing it.
"Ah, there you are, Running Bear," said the clerk. "You look as if you had collided with a streak of lightning. What's the matter?"
But the Indian only shook his head and pressed his jaw harder.
"Reckon you've got the toothache, eh? Well, when you get your teeth fastened into a piece of fresh bull meat you'll be all right."
Running Bear gave one look, in which all the concentrated hatred of a lifetime was to be seen. Then he turned away and went out to his tepee, where one of his squaws bound his jaw in a wet cloth.
But the roll had been called, and the Indians stood expectant close to the gate of the corral.
While the clerk stood up on the fence with his list he repeated the names and the number of cattle to which each Indian was entitled, and men inside the corral opened the gate and drove them out.
As a frightened cow or angry steer was loosed from the corral it was met with shouts, wild and blood-curdling, from all the Indians, and its owner sprang upon his pony and took after the poor beast, driving it into the open beyond, and away from the house and corral.
"Now begins the chase," said Ted. "We'll get out here where we will have a good view, but I don't think you will care to see much of it. It gets to be pretty—well, pretty raw after a while."
"Why don't they kill their beef in a slaughterhouse and give them the meat, instead of turning the animals over to them alive?" asked Stella.
"The Indians wouldn't stand for that," answered Ted. "This is the only sport they have in a year's time. You see, they are not permitted to leave the reservations to go far away to hunt big game, and they take it out in hunting, or playing they are hunting, these miserable cows."
"I don't see any fun in that," said Miss Croffut.
"You haven't the imagination of an Indian. You see, they make believe they are hunting buffalo again, and the chase is quite as exciting to them as if they were doing the real thing."
By this time the prairie was covered with steers and cows, lumbering along in front of the Indians, who were pursuing them with shrill cries, shooting at them with bows and arrows or with rifles, striving always to wound them, but not to kill them too soon, for if they killed them right away they would miss the fun of the chase.
This made the beef issue a carnival of brutality, and Ted soon saw that the girls were getting tired of it.
In the center of the great circle in which there were several dozen cattle running around aimlessly, pursued by a yelling, exultant, bloodthirsty band of Indians, were several wounded steers and cows, which had gone down and were unable to rise. Several groups of Indians, squatting on the rim of the circle, were shooting at them.
This was dangerous business, and the white spectators moved back out of range.
The shooting was very reckless at times, and the Indian agent had to protest to the soldiers, who, under Lieutenant Barrows, had the issue in charge.
Ted and the two girls were sitting on their ponies, watching the show from a position of safety, as they were out of line of any of the shooting parties.
Without warning a ball sang through the air, clipped through the mane of Ted's pony, and pierced the sleeve of Ted's jacket, passing out between him and Miss Croffut, who was by his side.
As Ted looked up hastily he caught a gleam of blue across the circle as it dodged behind the group of yelling and shooting Indians.
Ted glanced at Stella, and saw a look in her eyes which plainly said:
"Did you see it, too?" And Ted nodded.
Miss Croffut had screamed as the ball went past, and Ted's pony, burned by it, reared.
"Let's get out of this," said Ted quietly. "Those Indians are beginning to shoot wildly, and some one is going to get accidentally hit. I wonder that the soldiers don't regulate it better."
"They are afraid of getting the Indians angry," explained Miss Croffut. "The war department allows them to do as they please at this function, to keep them quiet at other times."
But most of the poor dumb brutes had succumbed to this slow method of butchering, and the squaws, with horrible cries, rushed into the field, every one to the steer which her lord and master had killed, and the hideous rites of skinning and cutting up the animals was begun by the women, who were even more bloodthirsty than the men.
"Come, we don't want to see this," said Ted, and led the way from the field.
"It is time for dinner," said Miss Croffut. "Then we must get ready for the trail. We will get a wagon from the storekeeper—a regular camp wagon with beds and a tent. Papa will arrange it all, and he will detail an orderly to drive it for us, and care for our things."
"That will be fine for you and aunt, but for me—the saddle and the camp fire," said Stella.
As they were riding toward the post they were joined by Ben, Bud, Kit, Clay, and Carl, who came riding up like Cossacks, and were presented to Miss Croffut, on either side of whom they fell into place, and began to talk animatedly and enthusiastically about the coming trail.
Ben expanded mightily in the presence of a new girl, while quiet Kit contented himself by slipping in a witty remark that was pointed enough to puncture Ben's gas bag of grand talk once in a while, to the great amusement of the army girl, who had never before met such fine, free, and easy, yet gentlemanly, fellows.
Ted and Stella were riding together behind them.
"Did you see him?" asked Stella at last, looking up at Ted.
"See who?" asked Ted.
"The man who shot at you, trying to murder you, and cast the blame on the Indians," she replied directly.
"Oh, that was an accident," said Ted. "I saw a flash of a blue coat over where the shot came from, but it was probably an Indian with a blue shirt on."
"And you didn't see who it was?" she asked again wonderingly.
"No."
"Don't you even suspect?"
"Hadn't thought of it."
"Suppose it was not an accident, who do you think would be most likely to try to shoot you from ambush, and make it appear an accident?"
Ted thought a moment. Could it be possible that it was not an accident? For a few minutes after the ball had plowed its way through their little party he had thought perhaps it might have been sent at them accidentally, as the Indians were doing some pretty wild shooting, and then again he almost believed it to be an intentional shot. It could not have come closer to him from such a distance, and yet so narrowly missed his heart, unless it was intended for him.
"Let me see," he mused. "Why, of course," he said, with a smile. "I didn't think of it before. It must have been that Indian, Running Bear, who was trying to get square for the punching I gave him."
"Ted, you're as blind as a rat," said Stella.
"Did you see the fellow who shot at me?"
"I did. Got a good, square, sure-enough look."
"Who was it?"
For a moment Stella did not reply.
"You'll hardly believe it," she answered, at last.
"I'll believe you. I don't know that you ever told me anything that was not the truth."
"But it seems so incredible, that I would hardly believe it if I had not seen it with my own eyes."
"Well, out with it."
"It was Lieutenant Barrows."
"Stella! You can't mean it."
Ted stopped his pony, and stood staring at the girl.
"It was he who fired the shot. I am positive of it. I saw him do it, and was just about to cry out a warning when the bullet struck your pony and passed through your coat sleeve, and he dodged out of sight."
"The hideous cur!" exclaimed Ted, who was the apostle of fair play, and who always felt bitterly when he saw another practice false, and especially an officer, who was supposed to uphold all the best standards for a gentleman. In fact, "an officer and a gentleman" were synonymous to him.
"It seems incredible," he said, at last. "I didn't think he was much of a chap, he has not had much experience, and I thought he would grow out of his bad habits."
"He's horrible," exclaimed Stella impatiently. "But that is not the worst of it. Hallie is engaged to marry him some day. Think of it!"
"Too bad. Of course she must know nothing of this. She must believe that it was an accident."
"Of course. Unless she mentions it we will say nothing about it, and I'll tell her that you do not care to have anything said about it."
"That's the thing. Pretty bad outlook for her."
"Yes, and the worst of it is, she's crazy about him, and the colonel, her father, is very much in favor of the marriage, and is doing everything he can to bring it about. You see, Barrows is very rich."
"Is he the son of Barrows, the railroad multi-millionaire, do you know?"
"Yes, Hallie told me all about it. She says his father is going to have him promoted through his influence in Washington to be military attaché to one of our embassies in Europe. He has completely dazzled her with his wealth, and the prospects ahead of her."
"Too bad."
"And she is such a sweet and sensible girl, but she has no mother, and the other ladies at the post, especially Mrs. Calhoun, the major's wife, have put a lot of nonsense into her head."
"Well, if she comes with us, we'll try to get some of it out."
"It looks as if Ben was trying to do that now," said Stella, pointing to where Ben was talking to the girl, who was laughing happily.
"Yes, or putting a lot of another brand into it."
"Don't they make a handsome couple. Ben is such a fine-looking chap in the saddle. I wish he would do something to cut out Barrows."
"Look out. Don't you go to meddling in this affair," laughed Ted. "Well, here we are at the colonel's. I reckon he didn't count on this addition to his table."
As they rode up to the others, Hallie Croffut was insisting that the other boys remain for dinner, and the colonel, hearing the contention from his chair on the veranda, came down to add his invitation to that of his daughter.
So it was that they all stayed, and just before dinner was announced Lieutenant Barrows rode up and joined the group.
He was hot and dusty, and in a bad temper. He acknowledged the introductions to the boys superciliously, and barely nodded to Ted.
Hallie looked at him with a puzzled frown, but said nothing, and entered the house with Stella.
During dinner Ben sat at the left hand of Hallie, with Barrows opposite.
Ben was in his usual good spirits, and was so easy and gentlemanly in his deportment, in spite of his rough clothes, that Stella was quite proud of him.
While he kept Hallie in a constant gale of laughter by his witty remarks, Barrows did nothing but scowl at him, when he was not casting sinister glances at Ted, who, however, never looked at him.
After dinner the girls rushed away to get ready for the trip, and the boys went out on the veranda to wait for them, while the colonel and Barrows went into the library, ostensibly to talk over business of the post, as Barrows was officer of the day.
But presently Ted heard the voices of the two men rising above the normal pitch.
"I seriously object to Hallie going with such people."
The voice was Barrows', and it was angry.
"But they are all right," said the colonel. "I know Strong well by reputation, and the Grahams are old friends of mine. Knew them for years when I was in New Mexico. Hallie and Stella went to school together. There can be no objection on that score."
"But this cad Strong is nothing but a common cow-puncher, and his companions are even worse."
"They're worth more than you are financially," said the colonel. "That is, they have made more individually than you have made. I'm not saying what your father gives, or will give you. And that counts for something."
"Well, there is no use saying anything more about it if you are willing to give your consent to Hallie traveling in the company of, and camping with, such a low blackguard as that fellow Strong."
"You dare not call him that to his face," came an indignant voice. Evidently Stella had entered the library in time to hear Barrows' speech.
"I am surprised to hear you speak in that manner of one of my guests," came the voice of Hallie Croffut. "Papa, I'm going with Stella. At first I hesitated to leave you and Clarence here alone, but now I am decided. You will not be very lonely, and I shall be very safe and happy with Stella and dear Mrs. Graham, who is like an own aunt to me, and with those gentlemen, the broncho boys. Good-by, daddy. We'll be back soon."
"So his name's Clarence, eh?" said Bud Morgan, on the veranda. "Well, wouldn't that jar yer?"
In the library Hallie was kissing her father good-by, and then offered her hand to Barrows.
"Good-by, Clarence," she said. "I hope you'll be in a better frame of mind when I get back."
"I want to talk to you privately before you go," said Barrows, in a sulky voice.
"It is not necessary," answered the girl.
"But I insist upon it. It is my right."
"You have no rights I do not give you. This is good-by."
"I'll make you regret this yet. I'll——"
"Hold hard, Barrows. Remember, you are in my house, and that you are talking to my daughter. Threats to a girl do not come gracefully from a gentleman." The colonel evidently had sprung to his feet, and his voice was cold and harsh.
"Very well, I will not threaten. I will execute."
The young officer strode from the room and through the hall, pausing to pick up his cap.
At the door he came face to face with Ted Strong, who was standing there quietly, waiting for the moment when he should think his presence would be necessary in the library.
As the two came face to face, Barrows stopped and looked into Ted's eyes with a look of intense hatred. He was as white as a sheet, and his lips trembled.
"So you have been acting the eavesdropper, eh?" Barrows said, with a sneer. "I hope you heard all I said about you, and that is not all I think, either. Would you like to hear some more."
"I don't care what you think about me. That will do me no harm. But if you desire to retain your beauty I would advise you to keep it to yourself. You probably know what I think of you, you cowardly assassin." Ted spoke these words in a tone intended only for the ears of Barrows himself.
"What do you mean?" stammered the young officer, pale as death.
"You know. You missed my heart at the beef issue by an inch or two, but you were seen, you cur, and you can't lie out of it. If I were to tell it, you would be drummed out of the army, and every place else where there are square men. Keep away from me and mine in every way, and especially with your filthy tongue. If you do not, I'll break you."
Barrows uttered an unspeakable epithet to Ted under his breath.
A loud crack sounded far enough to reach the ears of those in the library, and bring the broncho boys to their feet. Across the white face of Lieutenant Barrows were the crimson finger marks left by Ted Strong.
Without a word the lieutenant swung on his heel, and walked down the steps, mounted his horse, and rode away.
In the doorway stood a young girl who looked at his going with wide eyes. She was very pale, but as Barrows rode away without a word or a glance backward, a flush slowly mounted to her forehead.
She turned and threw her arms around the neck of Stella, for it was Hallie Croffut who had seen the blow delivered.
"He didn't even offer to resent the blow," sobbed Hallie. "Is it possible that he is a coward?"
"There, dear, I wouldn't worry about him," said Stella soothingly. "It was very wrong for Ted to do so."
Ted, who was standing near, also watching the departing lieutenant with some surprise, heard these words and turned to look at the girls.
He smiled, however, when he heard Stella trying to comfort Hallie by blaming him, for over the shoulder of the crying girl his girl pard winked at him with a smile that assured him that, no matter what she said, she thought that whatever happened he was all right.
"Say," drawled Bud to the other boys, "Ted put ther bloom o' youth on Clarence's cheek, didn't he?"
"He certainly did," said Ben, "and probably saved Clarence from getting a good, stout punch on the nose from me."
Ben held up for inspection a fist as big as a picnic ham, and worked it around as if it was fitted to a toggle joint.
"He didn't get all that was coming to him, either," said Kit. "If ever there was a cad he's got the job."
"And seems to be swelled up over it, too," said Clay.
"Ach, yes, dot iss der vay mit dem army offichers," sighed Carl. "Dey vas so conspicuousness in deir uniforms dot dey vos ridiculousness."
"Say, Dutch, you want ter look out or you'll blow out all o' yer teeth some o' these days sayin' them words," warned Bud.
"Well, it isn't such a good joke as it seems," said Kit reflectively. "A young fellow in the army, and with the backing he has, can make it pretty disagreeable for fellows like us living and doing business in a country where an army post is part of the civil government. Have you thought of that?"
"Kit's right," said Ted. "I guess we've made an enemy. But I'll be mighty glad of it if it serves to accomplish one thing."
"What's that?" asked Ben.
"If it will keep him away from Hallie Croffut," was the answer.
"I reckon there's others who will help attend to that," said Ben sturdily, whereat several of the boys smiled. Ben was forever coming to the rescue of maidens in distress, especially if they were more than merely pretty.
"We've all got to do our share at cheering the poor girl up," said Kit, with a sly glance at Ted, who grinned.
"Oh, I guess I'm large and strong enough to carry my own burdens," said Ben. "I've managed to pack a good many of them' so far without getting round-shouldered."
"Yes, and without losing your appetite."
"Hush, boys," cautioned Ted. "Here come the girls."
Stella came out of the house, bearing in her arms a lot of shawls and bundles, followed by Mrs. Graham and Hallie Croffut.
"When you see me coming at this stage of the game loaded down like this you'd know for sure that Auntie Graham was going on a roughing trip."
"That's all right," said Kit. "Mrs. Graham can take whatever she likes on the trips, if she'll only go along."
"You're a nice boy, Kit, to say such nice things," said Mrs. Graham, smiling. "But you're all nice boys to take an old lady like me with you, and stand for all my laziness and tantrums."
"That's right, auntie, you keep on with that line of talk, and you'll get these fellows so spoiled that I'll have to begin training them all over again. I just had them so that they were going along all right. But you mustn't let them know they're nice, or they'll quit being nice right there. Come, fellows, help carry Auntie Graham's things down to the wagon. We've got to get started pretty pronto."
They were all ready to start when an orderly dashed up on horseback, and handed Hallie a letter, saluted, and rode off.
The girl tore open the envelope, and read its contents.
"What shall I do?" she asked, handing the letter to Ted.
Ted's eyes ran over it rapidly.
"Forget it," he answered, crumpling the note in his hand and throwing it away.
As they rode away to join the herd, which had been moving slowly northward, Hallie and Stella rode together, and Hallie was telling her friend what she felt, and what she thought about her break with Lieutenant Barrows.
"That note was the most impertinent thing I ever read," Hallie was saying.
"What was it all about? Ted did not think it was of much importance," said Stella.
"And yet it was all about him."
"You don't say so. What was it?"
Stella was not very curious about the letter, for she was too free and independent to care what an enemy said of her or her friends. She had that intense loyalty of character that put tried and chosen friends before all the world, and she believed and stuck to her friends through all and above all. But this was a characteristic of all the broncho boys.
She didn't believe that anything any one could write about Ted Strong could hurt him, at least it could not with her.
"It forbade me going with you on this trip, and said some awful things about Mr. Strong," said Hallie.
"Is that all?"
"It said that Ted was a scoundrel, and that he felt it his duty to expose him, and that, moreover, Ted had declared himself his enemy, and he was going to get the bitterest sort of revenge for the insult Ted had offered him. And—and a lot more."
"If he wanted revenge, why didn't he take it while he had the chance? Anyway, Ted doesn't seem to be very much afraid, so I'm not going to worry."
Ted realized that he had made a bitter and dangerous enemy.
Barrows would be dangerous because he would not fight in the open, but would stab him in the back. The way in which he had taken the slap on the face proved that he was an open coward, but secretly was brave enough in his blows. The shot fired by him at the beef issue was proof enough for that.
But Ted, while he determined to keep his eyes open, was not borrowing trouble, and soon put Barrows and his enmity out of his mind.
They caught up with the herd in the middle of the afternoon, and Hallie, who had never seen so many cattle before in her life, was delighted with the experience she was about to undergo.
The weather was splendid, and Stella rode up and down with her along the line, introducing such of the boys as had not met her, and teaching her the points of the cattle business.
Finally, Hallie got hold of Bud, who volunteered to teach her how to shoot and throw a lariat, and she was perfectly happy, and soon forgot the unpleasant occurrences at her home before she left.
Stella was just spoiling for a good, hard gallop, and tried to get Ted to go with her in a race across the prairie, but he politely but firmly declined the honor, on account, as he explained, that he was responsible for the safety of several thousand head of cattle, and as he had been up against one failure with them so far he did not propose to face another because of neglect.
"All right, Smarty," said Stella. "You don't have to go. But you'll be sorry if anything happens to me."
"Stay with the herd, Stella," he said. "What's the use of tearing off alone across the prairie?"
"Not very much, as a matter of fact, but if you'd been shut up in a poky old hotel for a couple of weeks, and only going out with your aunt to shop around in stuffy dry-goods stores, you'd like to get out for a breezer yourself," she said.
"I reckon I would, but don't go far, and get back before dark."
She waved her hand to him gayly, gave Magpie a flick with her whip, and went flying across the country.
"Hi, Stella!" shouted Kit. "Where you goin'?"
But she was already out of hearing.
"Let her go," said Ted. "She's got one of her crazy riding spells on, and she'll just have to ride it out of her."
In a few minutes she was a speck on the horizon.
"That girl can ride some," said Kit, looking regretfully after her. Kit could "ride some" himself, and this afternoon he just felt like a good breeze across the turf, and no one suited him for a riding companion like Stella, for she was so fearless and bold, and never balked at a chance.
But Stella was gone, and the drive settled down to a steady thing.
We will leave the herd for the present to follow the fortunes of Stella, whose ride that afternoon had so much to do with fashioning the immediate fortunes of Ted Strong and the broncho boys.
As Stella was borne exultingly along through the clear, sharp air of the Montana uplands, she was singing in a high, sweet voice the cowboy song, "The Wolf Hunt."
"Over the hills on a winter's morn,In the rosy glow of a day just born,With the eager hounds so fleet and strong,On the gray wolf's track we jog along."
"Over the hills on a winter's morn,In the rosy glow of a day just born,With the eager hounds so fleet and strong,On the gray wolf's track we jog along."
As she paused at the end of the first verse she thought she heard an echo of it. It seemed that off to the north somewhere she had heard an eerie "Ai-i-e!" But she listened attentively, bringing Magpie to a stop, and hearing it no more, concluded that she had been mistaken.
Then she galloped on, still singing at the top of her voice from sheer happiness and good spirits, the other verses of the wolf song, and, although she paused frequently for the repetition of the cry, she did not hear it until she had sung the refrain for the last time:
"The race is o'er, the battle won,The wolf lies dying in the sun;His midnight raids are of the past,He's met the conquering foe at last.Well done, brave hounds! Thy savage preyWas shrewdly caught and killed to-day."
"The race is o'er, the battle won,The wolf lies dying in the sun;His midnight raids are of the past,He's met the conquering foe at last.Well done, brave hounds! Thy savage preyWas shrewdly caught and killed to-day."
As she stopped and looked around her at the brown, rocky hills, once more she heard that shrill and heart-searching wail.
"What can it be?" muttered Stella, reining in her horse. "Is it a woman, or is it a beast trying to lure me on? It sounds like a woman in distress, and yet cougars can cry like that, also."
She meditated a moment, and then decided to take a chance.
She would search out the creature that had sent forth that desolate cry.
"Ai-i-e!" cried Stella, imitating the other.
"Ai-i-e!" came the reply.
It came from the north, and seemed only a short distance away.
Slowly Stella crept forward up the rocky hillside, pausing now and then to listen.
Once more she heard the wail. This time it seemed to be under her very feet, and, guarding against treachery, she drew her revolver, and walked softly on.
Suddenly she stopped in amazement. At her feet lay a young Indian girl.
She was lying on a blanket, and the yellow front of her deerskin tunic was stained with blood.
Without an instant's hesitation Stella was on her knees beside the girl, working with swift and gentle fingers to unfasten the tunic.
As she did so the girl opened her eyes, and, seeing Stella, smiled.
Then her Indian stoicism failed her, and she uttered a groan and fainted.
"Poor thing," muttered Stella. "Poor, wounded, wild thing. Here lies the wild wolf 'dying in the sun,' as the song says. I wonder if she knew the song."
But by this time she had opened the tunic and saw a bullet wound on the brown skin, through which the blood was oozing steadily.
She stood up and looked around for a water sign, and not far away discovered a little clump of willows, which advertised a spring.
She hurried to it and filled her hat to the brim with the cool fluid and rushed back to the wounded Indian girl, who had not yet recovered from her fainting fit.
Stella bathed her head, washed her wound, and then poured some of the water between her lips.
At that the girl opened her eyes, and, with another smile, opened her lips as if to speak.
"Rest now, dear," said Stella, with so much pity and love in her voice that the girl could only smile once more, and gratefully close her eyes.
It did not take Stella long to improvise bandages from some of her own garments, which she tore into strips, and bound up the wound so that it stopped bleeding at last.
Another drink of water so refreshed the Indian girl that she tried to rise, but Stella gently forced her back, and told her to rest.
Stella never rode away from camp without taking food in a small bag, which was attached to the cantle of her saddle.
She now bethought herself of it, and hurried away for it.
The Indian girl was ravenously hungry, and her faintness was as much due to her abstinence from food as from the loss of blood.
But when she had eaten she appeared much stronger.
"What is your name?" asked Stella.
The girl looked up at her and smiled.
"I am Singing Bird, daughter of Cloud Chief," she answered.
"You can speak English well," said Stella, at which the girl looked pleased.
"Yes, I went to the Indian school, and learned to speak and to sing hymns."
"How do you come to be here?"
"My man shot me."
"What?" cried Stella, in a horrified tone. "Your man shot you? What do you mean by that?"
"I am Running Bear's squaw."
"You are married to Running Bear?"
The girl nodded her head.
"And did Running Bear shoot you?"
"Yes. He shot me and left me to die."
"The horrible brute. What did he shoot you for?"
"He said he had too many squaws, and wanted a white squaw."
"Couldn't he have sent you away without trying to kill you?"
"I wouldn't tell him something."
"Oh, that was the reason, eh?"
"Yes, he married me at the school for my secret, and when I wouldn't tell him he began to hate me."
"Tell me about it. How long have you been married to him?"
"Five months."
"I thought you were rather young to be a wife. How old are you?"
"I am seventeen."
"Where is your home; where does your father live?"
"My father is in the Far North. I cannot go to him any more now. My man has turned me out and tried to kill me, but yet I live. But there is nothing for me now but to die."
"Indeed, you are not going to die. You are going to live with me until you are well, then you can say what you are going to do."
"The white lady is too good to an Indian girl."
"No, that is only right. How do you feel now? Do you think you could travel if I was to help you into my saddle?"
"I will do what my sister wishes," said the Indian girl simply, trying to rise. But the effort was too much for her, and she sank back, the blood spurting freshly from the wound.
"That won't do," said Stella, easing the girl back, and rolling up her jacket and placing it under her head. "You are not able to leave here yet. At least, you cannot ride."
The Indian girl was perfectly passive under Stella's guidance, and did not think of having a will of her own.
"I wish one of the boys had come with me," Stella said to herself. "Something always happens when I go away alone. I must get word to them somehow."
"I am going to fire my revolver to bring help," said she to Singing Bird. "You will not be frightened."
The other girl shook her head.
Stella fired her revolver three times, and waited for an answer, but none came.
After waiting a while longer, she fired three more shots.
"No shoot again. Need bullets for wolves. Come around soon," said Singing Bird.
The day was going fast, and soon it would be dark. She could not leave the girl to go for help, for with the dark the wolves would come.
Singing Bird had fallen into a feverish doze, and Stella arose and gathered up some dry wood from about the spring, and carried it to where the girl was lying.
Stella had some matches in her outfit, and when it got dark she intended lighting the fire, hoping that the boys would see it when they came to look for her when she did not return at dark.
Again she brought water from the spring, and sat down beside her new-found friend to bathe her head and reduce her fever.
As darkness fell she heard vague rustlings in the tall grass, and looked carefully about. In the dim light she saw pale-green lights moving about, and knew that the wolves had smelled blood, and were gathering. But she was not afraid. She knew that she could keep them away with the fire and her revolver.
One of the wolves came quite close to the little camp and set up a howl, and the Indian girl awoke.
"White girl go to her friends," she said to Stella. "Leave Singing Bird to die as the Great Manitou intended."
"Indeed, I will not. I will stay with you until my friends come to me, and then we will take you with us and nurse you."
Stella thought it was time to light the fire, and as its flames leaped high, she felt more at ease.
When the wolves came close to the camp she fired her revolver at them, and drove them away.
The hours passed silently, Stella rising occasionally to replenish the fire and look at Singing Bird, who seemed to be sleeping. As a matter of fact, the young Indian, who had been reared out-of-doors, and was perfectly healthy, was recovering rapidly from her wound, although had it not been for Stella she would probably not have survived the night, for what the chill night air would not have done the wolves would have finished.
It was long past midnight when out of the west rose a clear, welcome shout that sounded as the sweetest music to her ear, the Moon Valley yell, and she answered it, while the Indian girl sat up and smiled at her.
They had been found at last.
Presently Stella heard the clatter of many pony hoofs on the turf, then a succession of yells, and Ted, Ben, and Bud galloped into the circle of light made by her fire.
"Hello, what have we here?" asked Ted, riding up and flinging himself from the saddle.
"I found this Indian girl, Singing Bird, daughter of Cloud Chief, lying here with a wound in her breast that would have killed an ordinary mortal, but I think she is getting better."
"We got worried about you when you did not return for supper, and started out to find you. If we hadn't seen the reflection of your fire against the sky we would have passed you by. How did this happen?"
"She tells me she is the squaw of Running Bear, with whom you had an argument at the beef issue."
"Yes, I remember him. What about him? Why is he not here to take care of his wife?"
"He shot her and left her here to die, because he was tired of her, and, she says, because she would not reveal to him a secret."
"He certainly is a precious scoundrel, and deserves worse than I gave him, and if I ever meet him again I won't do a thing to him."
"But we must get this girl to a camp where she can be cared for, Ted. It is cruel to leave her here on the cold ground when she can have a cot and plenty of blankets."
"I don't know how we are going to manage it to-night."
"One of you can ride back to camp, and get the wagon and a lantern, and come back for her. She ought to have better attention than I can give her here."
"That's all right. Bud, ride back to camp and get the wagon out, and fill it with blankets and my medicine chest, and get back here as soon as your team will bring you."
Ben had sauntered down to where the willows were seen, and soon returned with a big armful of wood, which he tossed upon the fire, then sat just outside the blaze and popped away with his revolver at the little balls of pale-green light, the wolves' eyes, which he saw floating among the tall grass, and he always knew when he had made a bull's-eye by the howl, and the thrashing around that followed it.
Ted sat with Stella, watching the Indian girl, who had again fallen into a deep sleep.
"Did she say what her secret is?" asked Ted.
"No, I didn't ask her, and I don't intend to. If she wants to confide in me, well and good, but I am not a sharer of other peoples' troubles or secrets. I have as many of my own as I can take care of."
It was almost dawn when they heard the rumble of wagon wheels, and Bud drove over the top of the hill, and came toward them.
"By my Aunt Hester's black cat's tail, I never had sech a time gittin' a team hitched up as this one. It took me an hour to ketch 'em out o' ther pony herd, and yer talks about drivers, I'd jest as soon try ter drive two bolts o' red-hot chain lightning. But I've got all ther ginger worked outer 'em now, an' I reckon that nigh bay will not never buck no more."
"Now we'll see if she can be moved," said Ted. "I think we can lift her right on the blanket on which she is lying, and into the wagon, if you will lend a hand, Stella."
Each of the four took a corner of the blanket, and with some difficulty, for Singing Bird suffered excruciating pain with every motion, they got her into the wagon and started for the camp, driving slowly over the rough ground.
It was almost daylight when they reached camp, where willing hands helped to make the girl comfortable in a tent which Ted rigged up.
Then Ted and Stella went to work with all their surgical skill, and soon had Singing Bird's wound properly dressed. Stella stood guard over her, and nursed her as tenderly as if the Indian had been a sister of her blood.
Ted had stayed the herd until Singing Bird should be well enough to get up. The pasturage was fine, and after their arduous drive Ted thought that it would do the cattle no harm to have a long rest.
He was undecided what to do with the Indian girl. It was not altogether practicable to take her with them, and it did not seem to be the humane thing to leave her behind to again fall into the hands of her brutal Indian husband.
At last one morning Stella announced that Singing Bird was almost well. On account of her health and generally fine physical condition she had made rapid progress toward recovery.
"What are we going to do with her?" asked Ted, when Stella announced that Singing Bird was well enough to travel.
"I don't know what she wants to do," said Stella. "One thing I am sure of, I am not going to see her come to any harm. I have grown very fond of her, for she is a sweet, good girl."
"Let us ask her what she wants to do. I suppose we shall have to abide by her decision, for we cannot turn her adrift."
Singing Bird was sitting in front of her tent in the sun, watching the cowboys sitting around their camp, weaving horsehair bridles, cleaning their guns, mending their clothes, and doing other things that fall to the leisure of a cow camp.
"Singing Bird, you are well now, and able to travel," said Stella, sitting down on the grass.
The girl looked at her and then at Ted with an expression of alarm in her face. They both saw that she feared what was coming.
"What do you want to do, Singing Bird? We must be on the trail again, for we have a long way to go to the big pasture to the north," Stella continued.
"I want to stay with you, sister," said the Indian girl simply. "I will die if you send me away. I will slave for you if you will only let me stay near you. I have no one else on earth. My husband has cast me out; my father will not have me back; the white man does not want the Indian. I am alone in the world. You have saved my life. I am your slave."
"That settles it," said Stella, with the hint of tears in her eyes. "You shall stay with me, dear. Ted, get ready to move the herd whenever you are ready. Singing Bird goes with me."
"All right," said Ted, glad that the matter was so easily disposed of. "You can do whatever you want to with this outfit. If you say she goes, why, she goes."
He went out to where the boys were to give orders for getting the herd on the move again.
"We'll hit the trail in the morning," he said. "It will take some time to break camp, and we might as well stay around here the rest of to-day and get an early start in the morning."
Far out on the prairie they heard a cheery shout, and saw coming toward them a horseman, driving before him a bunch of six steers.
"Git on to ther new herd crossin' our trail," said Bud derisively. "Jumpin' sand, hills, but thet feller hez a big bunch o' cattle."
"Wonder where he got them all. He's surely a big drover," said Kit.
But the stranger hustled the six steers into the camp, and pulled up a scrawny little cayuse, and, taking off his hat with a flourish to Stella and Hallie, who had joined the boys, said:
"Your pardon, ladies an' gents, but what may be ther brand that is burned inter ther hides o' yer esteemed cattle?"
Ted looked at him questioningly, and saw a tall, thin, bronzed individual, dressed in a most unusual costume for a cow-puncher, for such he evidently was from the manner in which he had driven the cattle, and the way in which he sat and handled his horse.
He had a strange face, half humorous and half sinister. One moment he would be merry and gay, but in an instant, and for an instant only, it would change to suspicion and caution. He was lean of frame, but very muscular, and his eyes were of a keen, piercing blue.
"Any particular reason for wanting to know?" asked Ted quizzically, smiling up at the tatterdemalion of a cowboy.
"Well, I reckon," was the drawling reply. "I picked up six strays out here a ways, an' they don't belong ter no brand in this yere part o' ther country, so I suspicions they belong ter some pilgrims' road brand. Now, yours is ther only bunch o' trail cattle what's passed this way recently, an' me, bein' wise ter ther ways o' ther plains, hez ther hunch thet they might be yours. Right cute o' me, wa'n't it?"
Ted laughed at the chap's half-humorous, half-serious manner.
"Our brand is the Lazy Z," he replied.
"Then them critters aire yourn. Look 'em over, an' if they don't belong ter you, hand 'em back, an' I'll make 'em ther noocleus o' a herd o' my own."
Ted rode up to the six strays, which were peacefully grazing not far away, and examined the brand. They belonged to the herd, all right, and he said so.
"Well, stranger, much obliged to you for picking them up and bringing them in," said Ted. "Now, what can I do for you? Those critters are worth a hundred dollars or more to this outfit. I'll split with you."
"No, you won't, stranger, seein' it's all ther same ter you. I may be a measly, fleabitten, hongry, lone maverick o' ther plains, but thar's one thing I ain't, an' that's a 'lost and found' department, 'suitable reward offered, an' no questions asked.' When I picks up a man's strays I hands 'em in if I can find him, or if I was so blame' hongry I couldn't resist ther temptation I might butcher one fer ther sake o' sinkin' my molars inter a tenderloin steak. But thet's ther wust a feller could say fer me. If ther critters aire yours, take 'em, an' welcome."
"All right, pardner," said Ted, who had taken a fancy to the fellow. "At least, you'll eat with us."
"Shore I'll break bread. I'm as hongry ez a shipwrecked sailor. When does ther tocsin sound?"
"The dinner bell will ring in about half an hour. Get down and turn your cayuse out to graze, and join us about the fire."
"Which means ter open ther mouth o' my war bag, an' give up my pedigree."
"Something like that," said Ted, with a laugh.
The ungainly cow-puncher slid out of his saddle like an eel, and slipped the saddle and bridle off his pony, and, giving it a slap on the haunch, sent it out to eat.
Throwing his horse furniture on the ground near the fire, he squatted in the ring of boys about, and proceeded to roll a cigarette in a leisurely way.
"Say, hombre," he said, looking at Ted. "You've got a mighty tidy outfit yere."
Ted nodded, and continued to watch the stranger's face.
"Which outfit mought it be?" asked the cow-puncher, picking a live coal out of the fire and placing the end of his cigarette against it.
"Moon Valley, Black Hills," said Ted.
"An' your name mought be——"
"Ted Strong."
The stranger paused with his cigarette halfway to his lips, and lifted his eyebrows.
"Sho! Yer don't say?"
"But I do."
"Well, I'm right proud ter meet up with yer, an' be able ter do yer a small service. My handle is numerous, not because I've ever had any serious reason ter change ther one my daddy give me, but because ther cow-punchers has a most humorous way o' hitchin' whatever label they thinks fits onter a man."
"What's your present label?" asked Ted.
"Ther cognomen what I packs with me now is sure fantastical. I'm known on ther Western free range as 'The Woofer.'"
"'The Woofer'? That's a strange name."
"It ain't my real name, which is 'Tennessee Al.'"
"How did you come to be named 'The Woofer'?"
"Well, it's jest a piece o' foolishness," said the cow-puncher, laughing at the recollection of it.
"Tell us about it."
"Well, it was this away: About two year ago last Chrismus I wuz punchin' cows over on Coburn's ranch. Chrismus Eve ther boys got some cagy, an' we all decided ter go inter Cut Bank, ther tradin' town some ten mile away, an' cellybrate. It wuz a bad night, with ther wind blowin' out o' ther nor'west, an' ther promise o' a bliz.
"Wallace Coburn balks some at ther boys leavin' ther cattle, fer he sees thet thar's some danger o' their driftin' in ther night. But yer don't can up a lot o' cow-punchers Chrismus Eve when they wants ter go, so finally he grunts out that we kin go, an' off we starts.
"'Fleshy' Wheeler, so called because he wa'n't no bigger round nor a lemonade straw, kep' a saloon in Cut Bank, an' thar wuz ter be a day. Well, we-all went ter ther dance, which progressed beautiful, when one o' ther boys come in an' announces that a big herd o' cattle had drifted through ther town while we wuz trippin' ther light fantastic toe, and that one o' ther critters had fallen inter ther town well.
"Naturally, ther town people objected ter havin' range cow mixed in with their drinkin' water, an' hinted strong that it wuz up ter us cow-punchers ter git it out, at ther same time emphasizin' their invitation with a lot o' shiny six-shooters.
"Well, we goes inter caucus, an' decided thet ther cow belongs ter ther Coburn outfit, an' that we're too humane ter let a pore critter stay in a well Chrismus Eve, when joy an' peace an' merriment is reignin' everywhere.
"Now, as you-all knows, when a cow is hauled out o' a bog or a well she don't feel no gratitood, she jest gits mad plumb through an' h'ists her tail, an' runs fer ther fust thing she sees afoot, with her horns ready fer immediate business.
"Before we goes out ter git ther cow outer ther well, we tells Fleshy ter stand guard at the door, an' when ther cow charges, ter let us in, then slam ther door in ther cow's face. He agrees.
"We ropes ther cow, an' altogether pulls her out an' puts her on terry firmy. Then we hits it up fer ther house, with ther cow as mad as a woman scorned, an' only two jumps behind me, what is ther last man ter git under way.
"Ther boys hits ther house, an' Fleshy lets 'em in, but me, bein' some feet behind, he doesn't see, at least, that's ther way he explains ter me later, an' he slams ther door in my face jest ez ther cow arrives.
"My only chance is ter keep runnin', an' I starts around ther house, hopin' that when I gits ter ther door ag'in Fleshy will have discovered his mistake, an' have it open hospitablelike fer me, but cold feet fer ther cow.
"But, no, ther door is closed an' bolted, an' I start on another lap around ther house with Mrs. Cow a-snortin' an' a-blowin' in my immediate vicinity, an' comin' fast. Every time I hit ther ground with my hoofs I grunted 'woof.' I wuz gittin' winded, what with runnin' an' yellin', so thet I wuz gruntin' 'woof' most all ther time.
"Inside, all wuz merriment, an' me runnin' fer my life, fer ther cow wuz most industrious, an' didn't know what it wuz ter git tired.
"Well, ter make a long tale short, I kept runnin' an' gruntin' 'woof' at every jump, ther sweat runnin' down an' freezin' on my clothes, until mornin', when ther cow gits tired an' goes away. Then ther boys comes out an' finds me, an' says they're mighty surprised ter see me, havin' conclooded that I'd gone home.
"'We hear somethin' goin' "woof" all night, an' thought it wuz ther cow,' says Fleshy, 'an' we didn't dast open ther door fer fear she'd want ter come in, an' as there wuz ladies there, it wouldn't do. Wuz that you what was woofin' all night?'
"After that I wuzn't nothin' ter them boys but 'The Woofer.'"