"I thought I saw cattle moving," said Bud. "Yes, I do!" he went on, quickly. "Look, Babe!"
Babe broke off his song at a point where a dying cowboy was begging to be "toted back to the chuck house," and looked to where the boy rancher pointed.
"That's it, shore as rattlers!" the assistant foreman said. "It's about time they tried suthin' like this! Got your guns, boys?"
"What for?" asked Nort, a thrill of excitement leaping through his veins. "What is there to shoot?"
"Rustlers!" said Bud, grimly. "Somebody—Greasers, likely—are trying to run off some of our fat steers! Come on, we'll ride 'em down!" He clapped spurs to his horse, an example followed by Nort and Dick, but, quick as they were, Babe had shot ahead of them, and in the moonlight the city lads caught the gleam of his gun as he pulled it from the holster.
Needless to say that Nort and Dick were thrilled through and through. Having lived in a city nearly all of their lives, though with the usual city lad's dreamings of adventures in the open, of camps, of desperate measures against desperate men, they had never hoped for this.
"Crickity! Think of it!" hoarsely whispered Nort to his brother as they galloped along side by side. "We haven't been here a day yet, and we're run into cattle rustlers!"
"Great!" commented Dick. "Oh, boy!"
"We haven't run into 'em yet, that's the trouble," spoke Bud grimly, as his pony worked in between the two brothers. "But we will in a little while—Babe'll fix 'em."
"Can't we take a hand?" asked Nort eagerly, as his hand sought the weapon at his side.
"We may have to," Bud admitted, "but dad doesn't think I'm old enough, yet, to mix up in a man-sized fight. Maybe he's right, but he always tells me to hold back until I'm needed."
"We can take a handthen, can't we?" asked Nort eagerly.
"Sure thing!" exclaimed Bud. "But there may not be any need of a scrap. These rustlers know they're caught now, and they may run for it. They can't get away with the steers, anyhow, without a fight. Of course if they get Babe covered—and us—they'll make their getaway, but he may bluff 'em off."
"What does it all mean, anyhow?" asked Dick, as the assistant foreman spurred off through the night, following the trail of the now running steers. If there were rustlers driving the cattle away the men themselves gave no sign, but remained hidden.
"It means cattle rustlers—that's all," explained Bud, as he led the way for his cousins to follow, since the young representative of the Diamond X ranch knew the trail. "Rustlers are just men who take other folk's cattle, drive 'em off, change the brands and sell 'em wherever they can. Sometimes they get away with it and sometimes they don't!"
"And are they running off your dad's cattle now?" asked Nort.
"Looks that way," admitted Bud, "though I haven't seen any of the men doing it. You know some of our cowboys drove in a bunch of fat steers from one of dad's distant ranches the other day. They're being taken over to the railroad to be shipped. Not the station where you fellows came in, but another, about two days' trip from here. It's a bunch of these cattle that's being hazed away from us, I reckon."
"I didn't know they hazed steers, like they do college Freshmen," ventured Dick.
"Hazing cattle means to sort of work 'em along easy like—drive 'em where you want to go," explained Bud. "We have to do a lot of hazing when we have the round-up—that's when the cattle owners send their cowboys to collect the animals that have been feeding on the open range during the year. Each man separates into a bunch the cattle with his brands, and also the little calves, or the mavericks, and hazes them toward his corrals."
"What's mavericks?" asked Nort. He could not forbear the question, even though considerable excitement seemed just in the offing. He wanted to learn all he could about ranch life.
"A maverick gets its name from an old Texas ranchman named Sam Maverick," answered Bud. "He didn't brand his cattle, and one day, during a stampede, his steers mixed in with a lot more that were branded. He and his men cut them out and hazed over to his range all cattle that weren't branded. Every cow, calf or steer that didn't have a brand on was called one of Maverick's, and so we call, now, any unbranded animal a 'maverick.' Anybody who finds it can brand it and claim it as his, though; in some places all the mavericks are bunched together and divided. But say, I wonder what Babe's doing, anyhow? I haven't heard a shot, and he must be up to that bunch of rustlers now, if that's what they were."
"What else could they be?" asked Nort.
"I don't know," Bud replied. "Anyhow, here's some of the cattle. Look out you don't run into 'em!" he called sharply, as he pulled in his pony.
He spoke just in time to warn Nort and Dick, for, in another instant, they found themselves among the tail-enders of a bunch of cattle that had run from them at first.
No men were in sight—not even Babe—and there was a haze of clouds over the moon now, and a sort of fog close to the ground, that prevented clear vision.
"Are these your cattle?" asked Dick.
"Tell you in a minute," responded the young cattleman. He rode up alongside one of the animals and focused on its rump the gleam from an electric flash light. Bud carried one of these mighty handy pocket articles, which are much more effective than matches for making observations at night. In the bright gleam of the little light the boy ranchers saw, plainly branded in the hide of the animal, a large diamond, with the letter X in the centre.
"Dad's stock—all of 'em, I reckon!" exclaimed Bud, as he flashed his torch on others in the bunch, revealing more of the Diamond X brand.
"But where are the rustlers?" asked Nort, in a tense whisper, and his hand sought the holster where his newly-acquired weapon rested.
"I don't know," began Bud. "They may have ridden off, or it may be that——"
He stopped suddenly and listened. Dick and Nort heard, as did Bud, the rapid approach of a horseman. In an instant Bud had switched off his pocket electric light, and then in the half hazy light of the partly obscured moon he and his cousins peered forward. Nort and Dick had drawn their guns, an example set them by Bud.
"Don't do any shooting until you hear me," ordered Bud. "There may be no need of it!"
The rider, unseen as yet, was coming nearer and nearer, the thud of his horse's feet pounding hard on the turf. He seemed to be approaching from the direction in which Babe had disappeared.
In another instant the rider was pulling his horse to a quick stop beside Bud's animal, and when a beam of misty moonlight flashed out from beneath a cloud it was seen that the assistant foreman of Diamond X ranch had returned.
"Oh!" exclaimed Nort, and there was almost a note of disappointment in his voice because the rider did not develop into a cattle rustler.
"Did you see any of 'em?" asked Bud eagerly.
"Not a hair," answered Babe Milton, who proved that he could be active enough when occasion called for it, in spite of his size and weight. "But I heard some one riding off down the gully, and if it was any of our boys, or any of the fellows around here, they wouldn't have run. Besides, these steers belong to the bunch Happy Day is hazin' over to the railroad. They didn't get cut out by themselves."
"Not much," agreed Bud, while Nort and Dick listened eagerly.
"So I'm going on a little farther," said Babe. "You fellows stay here, and if I don't get back in an hour—well, you'll know something happened."
"Can't we come?" asked Dick, eagerly.
"You'd better stay here," advised Babe. "Somebody'll have to ride herd on these steers, and I can deal with those rascals better'n you boys—though I may need your help later. Anyhow, Bud, you stay here, and herd 'em in till I get back—if I do."
"And if you don't?" asked Bud. There was a world of meaning in those few words, for cattle rustlers were desperate men.
"If I don't, ride back to the ranch an' tell the boss," spoke Babe simply, as if it was all in the day's work—or night's.
"All right," agreed Bud. He realized that though he was the son of the owner of Diamond X ranch, in this case the word of Babe exceeded even his heritage.
Turning his horse quickly, after a brief examination of his saddle girths, Babe spurred away into the haze of the cloudy moonlight, leaving the boy ranchers to guard the cattle. The animals, after their run, were content to remain quiet now, moving about a bit uneasily, and rumbling as if in protest now and then. They were all full-grown beasts, ready for the market, and valuable.
"S'pose he'll get any of 'em?" whispered Nort.
"Can't say," answered Bud, briefly. "Babe generally does get what he goes after, though." This was significant.
In silence, broken only by the occasional lowing of the cattle, the boy ranchers waited—waited for they knew not what. And then, as suddenly as an explosion, came a cry in the night—and such a cry!
An unearthly noise of long drawn out howling notes, mingled with roars, the crescendo effect ending in a peal of weird yells that were like the cries of a laughing hyena, mingled with the sardonic wails of a baboon.
Loud and long drawn out was that weird cry of the night. It sent shivers down the spines of Nort and Dick, and they both confessed, afterward, that if they had not been wearing the heavy range hats, supplied them by Bud, that their hair would surely have risen and stood up straight.
Then, as suddenly as it had come to them out of the half darkness, the fiendish noise ceased, dying away in what seemed to be sobbing, insane laughter. With a swallow or two, to wet his parched lips and fear-dried throat, Dick asked in a whisper:
"What—what was that?"
Like an echo came his brother's question:
"Was somebody killed?"
Bud's hearty laugh relieved the tension.
"It was only a coyote," said the boy from the ranch.
"Acoyote!" repeated Nort and Dick in unison.
"Yes; you'll see plenty of 'em, and you must have heard of 'em. Little animals, sort of half wolf, half dog. They hang about for something to eat, and they sure can howl!"
"Howl!" exclaimed Nort. "If that's ahowlI want to know it! Of all the infernal noises——"
"You said it!" exclaimed his brother. "Was that his death cry, Bud?Did Babe shoot one?"
"No, of course not. It isn't as easy to shoot one of the pesky coyotes as you'd think, and it isn't much use. They don't do any particular harm around here. Besides, you didn't hear any shooting; did you?"
Dick was forced to admit that he had not, and he reproved himself for not using his faculties to better advantage. He was beginning to realize that if he was to be a westerner, an outdoor lad and a rancher, he must learn to observe, something that Bud had already acquired in large measure.
"Do they always howl that way?" asked Nort, as he shoved back into his holster the gun he had half drawn again.
"Not always—lots of times it's worse!" chuckled Bud.
"Worse!" cried Dick. "I don't see how it could be. What do they do it for?" he asked, as, once again, that strange cry welled forth on the night.
"Oh, just to keep each other company, I reckon," answered Bud. "Same as dogs bark. This may be a lone coyote calling to his mate; or he may be summoning the pack to feed on a dead calf, or something like that. I reckon they always howl pretty free on moonlight nights. We're used to 'em."
"Don't believe I'd get used to that if I lived here a hundred years," commented Dick, as, for the third time, the cry rose and fell, even louder and more horrible than before.
"The cattle don't mind 'em," said Bud. "In fact it seems to sort of soothe 'em. Look, some of the steers are lying down."
This was so. In the clearer moonlight which prevailed for a few moments, the lads from the city saw numbers of the bunch of cattle resting easily on the grass. They were either tired out from the rapid pace at which they had been driven, or had concluded that they were to stay there for the night.
"Come on," suggested Bud, a moment later, as he urged his horse forward. "Hit it up!"
"Where?" asked Dick.
"We'll ride herd for a few minutes, to make sure none of 'em stray off. I can't see just how many there are in this bunch, the light is so uncertain."
Nort and Dick followed their cousin, slowly circling the bunch of cattle on which an attempt had been made to drive off. There were about fifty, as Bud roughly estimated, when he and his cousins had completed the circuit, thus "riding herd," as it is called, to distinguish it from "riding line," when the cowboys move slowly up and down along the line of fences that enclose the more modern ranches.
Diamond X ranch consisted of both sorts. Mr. Merkel owned a number of large expanses of land, completely fenced in, and on these grazed thousands of cattle.
He also took advantage of the open range, letting some of his animals mingle on those vast expanses in common with steers and cows from other ranches. Some of the open range was richer in grass than the fenced-in portions, but there was a certain amount of additional work attached to the use of the open range. It meant round-ups twice a year, and the branding of cattle which were claimed as the property of the different owners.
In places where there were no fences to keep the animals from straying it was often necessary to "ride herd." That is, the cowboys, night and day, rode slowly around the bunch of steers, keeping them from straying or stampeding. At times they were "hazed," or driven to other feeding places, or to water, until such time as they were collected and driven to the railroad to be shipped.
Where stout wire fences held the cattle within bounds the work of the cowboys was easier, but even here "riding line" was necessary, as one could never tell when a break might be made in the fence, or when rustlers might cut the wire, to enable them to drive off a choice herd, or part of it.
So the boy ranchers rode herd, in a fashion, the two city lads gazing off through the half darkness, across the rolling prairies where, for all they knew, Babe might be trailing the rustlers or engaged in a desperate fight with them.
"Though I reckon he didn't come up to 'em," ventured Bud, after a wait of half an hour, during which no sign or sound had come from the assistant foreman.
"Will he come back here?' asked Nort.
"Sure—if he can," answered Bud, significantly.
"How long'll we wait?" asked Dick.
"Can't say—exactly," answered Bud. "But say, I forgot about you fellows," he went on, quickly. "You've traveled all day, and must be tired. It isn't far back to the ranch, and I can start you on the plain trail. I don't mind staying here alone—I've done it before."
"Go back? I guess not!" exclaimed Nort.
"Forget it!" advised Dick. "This is just what we want!"
"Well, if you like it," began Bud, "I s'pose——"
"Like it?" cried the two city lads in unison. "It's just what we came out for," added Nort.
"Well, morning'll come, sooner or later, though I expect Babe'll be back long before then," Bud went on. "Those rustlers have probably given him the slip, and——"
"Hark!" suddenly whispered Nort. "I hear some one coming."
The noise of an approaching horse could be made out. It was approaching slowly, seeming to stumble now and then. There was an uneasy movement among the cattle, and the boys peered eagerly forward, their hands on the butts of their guns in the holsters.
"Is it Babe?" whispered Dick.
"I don't know," answered Bud. "Doesn't ride like him, but——"
A moment later, from out of the shadow cast by the cattle, a solitary horseman rode, almost stumbling along. At first he could not clearly be made out but suddenly the haze cleared from the moon, and with startled eyes the boys recognized the rider.
"The professor!" gasped Bud, and Nort and Dick knew the horseman for the scientist from the mysterious camp they had recently left—Professor Hendryx Wright!
Mutual recognition, followed by half suppressed and surprised exclamations, followed the advent of Professor Wright on the scene. He had been pursuing his way, whether peaceful or otherwise the boy ranchers could not determine, until he unexpectedly stumbled on Bud, Nort and Dick riding herd—said herd being the bunch of Diamond X cattle some one had tried to haze away.
"Oh!" murmured Professor Wright, as the growing illumination, caused by the moon coming out more clearly, revealed him to the boys and them to him. "Were you—er—looking for me?" he asked in his usual cultured tones.
"Not exactly," replied Bud. "We were just over to your camp, to leave the stuff for the men, and you weren't there."
"No, I had to leave," said the professor, smoothly. "I am going back now. I am sorry I missed you."
"You didn't!" Bud said grimly to himself. And then the scientist seemed to realize this for he added:
"I mean I am sorry I was not there to thank you. It was very kind of you to help the men. I'm sorry this trouble occurred."
"Oh, we're always glad to help," spoke Bud. "Out west you never know when you're going to need help yourself, so it's always a good plan to have a balance in your favor."
"Yes, I should say that was so," spoke the professor thoughtfully. "You found everything all right, at my camp?" he asked, rather than stated.
"All right—yes," answered Bud. "We left the stuff with ProfessorBlair. He said you were out."
"Yes, I had to make a little trip. But aren't you off your road?" he asked the boys. "I mean doesn't your ranch lie over there?" and he pointed in the proper direction.
"It does," assented Bud. "But we've got to look out for these cattle."
"Oh, I see. You are 'riding herd,' as I believe it is called."
"In a way—yes," spoke Bud and then he went on boldly: "Some rustlers tried to haze this bunch over the river, but we caught 'em!"
"Caught them?" repeated the professor quickly.
"Well, our assistant foreman is after 'em now," Bud explained. "We're waiting here for him to come back. We thought you were Babe as you came along, but as soon as I heard your horse I knew it couldn't be him. He doesn't ride—er—just that way."
"I realize that I shall never become a horseman," said the professor dryly, and with a little half smile, visible in the moonlight. "But I can ride enough for my purpose."
Bud, as well as Nort and Dick, found themselves wondering just what the professor's "purpose" was. However he did not seem inclined to disclose it, for he pulled up his horse, which was idly cropping the grass, and said:
"Well, I must be going. Thank you, again, for your kindness. I hope we may meet again. Good-night!"
He urged his animal onward, and a moment later was lost in the darkness, as a thicker cloud than any that had yet obscured it, covered the moon.
For several seconds the three boy ranchers remained, looking off in the gloom which had swallowed up the mysterious scientist. For that he was mysterious none of the lads could deny.
"Wonder where he had been?" mused Bud in a low voice, for in that silent, dark open place voices carried almost as clearly as across water, and he was cautious.
"Search me!" declared Nort.
"Guess he didn't expect to see us," added Dick.
"Say!" suddenly exclaimed Nort, urging his horse against Bud's in his eagerness and excitement, "maybe he was one of the cattle rustlers, Bud! He circled around and rode back after he found he couldn't get away with the steers, and that Babe was on his trail. That's what it is!"
"No," spoke Bud, quietly. "There's something queer about that man—Professor Wright as he calls himself—but he isn't the kind that rustles cattle. Cattle thieves don't make a permanent camp. They're wanderers—mostly Greasers, Indians and half breeds, with a bad white man mixing in—and they don't stay long in one place."
"Don't you think he had anything to do with trying to drive off your cattle?" asked Nort.
"Well, you can't be altogether sure of anything in this world," half drawled Bud, "but it doesn't seem reasonable."
"But he came from the direction to where those men ran that were driving away the cattle," said Dick. "Wonder if he met Babe?"
"You can ask him," said Bud. "Here comes Babe now."
The two other lads were not aware of the approach of the assistant foreman of Diamond X, but Bud's quick ears had caught the faint sound of the horse's feet approaching, and in another moment Babe rode up from a little clump of greasewood shrubs, which growth, to the eastern lads, had resembled sumac at first.
"Find 'em, Babe?" asked Bud in a low voice.
"Nope! They razzled off 'fore I could get up to 'em. All right here?" he asked, though a look convinced him there had been no serious trouble, at least.
"All serene," answered Bud. "Did you meet the professor?" he inquired.
"The professor?" Babe's tone of voice, indicating surprise, was answer enough. But Bud went into particulars, telling how the scientist had ridden up on them a little while before.
"No, he didn't come nigh me!" declared Babe. "Mighty funny, too," he went on.
"Could he be one of the rustlers?" asked Nort, eagerly.
"Oh, hecould, I reckon," admitted Babe. "But it doesn't seem reasonable. Guess he wouldn't head back this way if he'd tried to run off some Diamond X stock. I'd like to know where those fellows slipped to," he said, musingly.
"Well, they didn't get anything, anyhow," declared Nort.
"Not much, that's a fact, son," drawled Babe, as he eased himself down off his pony, for he wanted to stretch his legs. "Course I don't know how many there ought to be in this bunch," and he looked over the small herd that had now settled quietly for the night. "But they didn't get away with much. You fellows might as well ride on back, and send out some of the boys," he added. "Your ma'll be wondering about you, Bud."
"Yes, I reckon she will, 'specially as I have some tenderfeet with me," and he laughed good-naturedly.
"Don't go back on our account!" exclaimed Nort. "We can camp out here all right."
"It'll be pretty dry camping," chuckled Babe, "an' there's no need of it. Slim will be wanting to know how we made out, and he may get a report on the rustlers, not knowing that we headed 'em off. So it's just as well for you lads to go back. You can send out some of the night men, and I'll follow you as soon as I'm relieved," he added.
This seemed the best plan and back toward the ranch headquarters rode Bud, Dick and Nort, leaving Babe in charge of the small herd, a task easy to fulfill now, as the animals were quiet.
The weird howls of the coyotes followed the lads almost to the ranch houses, and the advent of the three, with the story they told, created no little excitement. Cattle rustling was not common enough to be a regular part of the day's work.
"Zing zowie!" exclaimed Slim Degnan as he heard the particulars. "You fellows landed feet first right into some doin's!" he added, looking at Nort and Dick.
"We sure did!" exclaimed the city lads, much pleased in spite of being weary.
A little later, while Bud and his cousins were eating what might be called a midnight lunch that Mrs. Merkel set out for them in the cozy living-room of the ranch house, two cowboys rode off to relieve Babe.
"And now it's time for you tenderfeet to turn in," said Mrs. Merkel to Nort and Dick. "I told your mother I'd look after you as I would Bud, if she'd let you come out, and, now you're here, I'm going to keep my word. Turn in, all three of you!"
And, for once in their lives, the boys were glad to go to bed without arguing, for the tenderfeet, at least, were dog tired.
No further trace of the cattle rustlers was discovered, if indeed there had been any. All the evidence there was lay in the sight Bud and the others had caught of a stray bunch of steers being hazed over toward the river, across which lay open range. The cowboys who relieved Babe reported nothing out of the ordinary as having happened during their night vigil.
Mr. Merkel came home that day, the second of the eastern boys' stay atDiamond X ranch, and the cattleman warmly welcomed his nephews.
"We'll fit you out to be regular ranchers!" he declared, and in less than a week Nort and Dick felt that they were, indeed, on their way to this enviable goal.
They were provided with sheepskin chaps, such as Bud and the other cowboys wore—chaps being in the nature of overalls, and affording much needed protection to the legs when riding amid a bunch of milling steers.
The eastern lads were given complete outfits, from the rather awkward high-heeled boots to the broad-brimmed range hats, and they wore their handkerchiefs, or "neckerchiefs," most proudly.
These neckerchiefs were more than ornaments. In the choking dust, often strongly alkali, the squares, pulled up over nose and mouth, gave needed relief and protection.
"Suppose we ride over and see if there's been any more trouble at the professor's camp?" suggested Nort to Bud one day.
"Good idea!" declared Dick.
"All right, if you want to," assented Bud. "Dad was sort of mentioning that he'd like to hear how the shot men were getting on. We can make it easy before supper."
Together the boy ranchers trotted over the gently rolling land toward the foothills, in the midst of which the camp lay. As they drew near Bud scanned the horizon for a sign of smoke, such as he and Slim had observed once before. But there was no trace.
"Shouldn't wonder but what they'd vamoosed," he said.
"Lit out, you mean?" asked Nort.
"Yeppie! There doesn't seem to be any signs of life."
And as they rode into the site of the camp the reason for this became plain. The camp was deserted. The tents were down, and all that remained were emptied tin cans, broken boxes and the cold ashes of the fires. But over on the side of the hill, where there was an outcropping of red sandstone, curious marks showed. They were the marks of digging and excavating on rather a large scale, and as Bud caught sight of these mute evidences of operations he uttered a low whistle of surprise.
"What does it mean?" asked Nort.
Characteristic it was of Bud Merkel not to answer at once the sharp and excited question of his cousin. Living all his life in the West, as he had done, and most of it having been spent on his father's ranches, Bud had unconsciously acquired the valuable habit of observation—and quiet observation at that. He wanted to look about and notice the "sign" before he gave his opinion. In this he was like the Indians, whence, doubtless, our own plainsmen developed the habit of looking twice before they spoke once.
I don't mean to say that Bud was not a regular fellow, or that he was not at times almost as impulsive as Nort. He was like the majority of boys, but on this occasion, when it appeared that something unusual was afoot, Bud held back his opinion for a moment.
"Well, what do you think of it?" asked Nort again, as eagerly as before. "Doesn't this look like they'd been digging for gold?"
"I should say it did!" cried Dick, no less eager, now, than his brother. "Those professors saying they weren't after the yellow boys was all bunk and bluff! They did it to throw us off the track, so we wouldn't try to have a hand in it. They've been mining here, Bud, as sure as guns!"
Bud slowly shook his head.
"Why not?" asked Nort, seeing his cousin's denial of the theory that fitted in so well with his own ideas.
"Well, they don't mine this way—that is, I've never seen any done in this fashion, and I've been in several mining localities," spoke Bud. "This looks more like they'd been prospecting for water, digging here, there and everywhere. But there wasn't any need of that, for here's a good spring of water, and the river isn't so far away. This is a good watered country, and that's what makes it so valuable for cattle—you've got to have grass and water and we've got that on Diamond X."
"But what do you s'pose this all means?" asked Nort again, as he slipped from his saddle, and, by pulling the reins forward, over his pony's head, thus gave that animal the universal sign of the plains that it was not to wander.
"I don't know," Bud was frank to say, as he shook his head. "They sure have been tearing up the ground," he added, as he noticed on the side hill, where there was an outcropping of red sandstone, that many excavations had been made.
"If it isn't gold maybe it's silver," suggested Dick, willing to accept a theory of less valuable metal. "Or diamonds!" and his eyes gleamed as he overmatched his brother's guess.
"Nothing doin!" laughed Bud. "Of course there are silver mines not far from here, down Mexico way, and diamonds have been found in the United States, but not around this locality."
"Well, what's your theory?" asked Nort of the more experienced boy rancher. "Here we've been gassing along, saying what we thought, and we don't know any of the ins and outs of the matter. You're right on the ground, and you've lived here all your life, so you ought to have some idea of what it all means."
"But I don't!" exclaimed Bud. "Wish I did," he added, as he joined his cousins on foot, walking about the debris of the camp, while the ponies sniffed, here and there, sometimes finding a choice morsel which they daintily lipped before eating.
"You'd say they were hunting for something, wouldn't you?" asked Nort.
"Yes, I'd go that far," admitted Bud.
"And they didn't find it," put in Dick.
"What makes you think so?" asked the young rancher quickly.
"Well, there isn't any hole, or any excavation, where they could have taken out a treasure chest, or bags of hidden gold; not to say mined gold," went on Dick. "In all the stories of recovered treasure I ever read, they always left a hole where they took out the stuff. There isn't any hole like that here, though there's enough to show that plenty of digging went on."
"I don't believe they've been after any gold, or anything like that," declared Bud. "That professor man said so, but——"
"But was he telling the truth?" asked Nort. "That's what we got to figure on."
"I s'pose," agreed Bud. "And from what I know of the country and sizing up this outfit, I'd say he was—they aren't after gold."
"What then?" asked Dick. "A man—two men like Professor Blair and Professor Wright don't hire an outfit such as they had, and prospect for nothing!"
"You are right," quietly agreed Bud. "They're after something, but I reckon it's something we don't know anything about."
"Maybe they were trying to run off some of your cattle, or some steers from the Circle T," suggested Nort. "Cattle rustlers; eh, Bud?"
"If they're cattle rustlers they're a new kind," said the ranch boy. "But of course it's possible. It may be they've gone into cattle rustling on a new scale, to throw everybody off the track, and finding out we were on to their curves, or maybe on account of having a fight among themselves, they couldn't turn the trick."
"That's right!" exclaimed Nort, in his impulsive way. "Maybe instead of being attacked by Greasers and Indians, who thought they could get some gold, the professor's bunch had a fight among themselves, and that's how those two men got hurt."
"It's possible," admitted Bud. "But, as Zip Foster would say, I don't believe that's the right of it either."
"Would Zip Foster know what all this meant?" asked Dick, waving his hand toward the deserted camp.
"Maybe," murmured Bud, turning quickly aside. "But there's no use staying here any longer. We can't learn anything here. Might as well get back to the ranch. If you fellows are ever going to learn to throw a rope, you've got to do some practicing."
"What's the matter with doing it here?" asked Dick. "We've got ropes with us."
To each saddle was looped the cowboy's most dependable friend aside from his horse and his gun—the ever-present lariat. Bud was an accomplished swinger of the rope, and Dick and Nort had been practicing hard since coming to Diamond X.
"Yes, we can try a few throws here," said Bud, as he walked toward his horse. "I'll sit up here and watch you two," he went on, as he leaped to his saddle, and pulled up his pony which had, as was usual, started off the moment he felt a weight on his back. "I can see you better up here," Bud went on. "Try it standing first. Tackle some of those stumps, and for cat's sake remember to keep your palms up when you shoot the rope out. You'll never be accurate until you do."
The brothers tried, one after the other, and Bud encouraged them by saying that they were improving.
"Now you show us," begged Nort, when his arm began to ache, for throwing a long coiled rope is no easy task.
"All right," agreed Bud. "But I'll try it from the saddle. It comes more natural to me that way, and nine times out of ten you do all your roping from the saddle. Of course this isn't regular, for you don't generally rope standing objects," he went on. "Sock isn't used to that, and he expects a pull on the rope after I fling it. But I'll try for that stump you fellows have been mistreating," and Bud laughed.
He rode Sock, his pinto pony, off a little way, coiling his rope in readiness as he did so. Then, wheeling quickly, and with a wild, inspiring "Yip-yippi!" the young rancher came riding fast toward a low, broad stump the two other lads had, more or less successfully, been trying to rope.
His right hand shot out, palm up, his cousins noticed, and the rope went twisting and turning through the air, lengthening out like a long, thin snake, and almost hissing like one. Instinctively, as though roping a steer, Bud prepared himself for the pull that always followed.
Sock, the intelligent pony, braced his feet to hold back as soon as he sensed that Bud had thrown the rope. For Sock had been taught that he must always do this when a steer was being roped, and though he could distinguish between a stump and an animal, Bud's action seemed to call for co-operation on Sock's part.
The coils of the lariat whirled through the air, and, just as they were about to settle over the stump, there was a sudden movement in a leaf-filled hole beside the remains of what had once been a big tree.
Up out of this burrow, or hole, where he had been lying asleep among dried leaves and grass that concealed him from the boys, rose a human figure. He was so close to the stump and he rose up in such a manner leaning slightly over, as if dazed from too sudden awakening from a sound slumber, that he received the noose of Bud's rope fairly about his shoulders!
So suddenly did the man appear, popping out of the hole beside the stump like a Jack in the Box, that Sock was startled, and pranced back, exactly as he would have done in order to drag a refractory steer off its feet. And this was just what took place with the man.
The noose tightened about his middle and he was dragged over the flat top of the stump, yelling and shouting in protest.
Nort and Dick did not know what to think—whether it was an accident, or a bit of play arranged for their benefit by their cousin. But a look at Bud's face was enough to convince them that he was as much surprised as were they.
There was a series of shrill yells of protest from the roped man—shrill language which Nort and Dick recognized as Mexican-Spanish, and then, as Bud stopped his pony, and the rope loosened, the man stood up. He scowled at the boys—a menacing figure of a Greaser, dirty and unkempt.
"Del Pinzo!" gasped Bud, as he recognized the fellow. "Del Pinzo! I didn't know you were near that stump!"
The man's answer was a deeper scowl, and his hand went toward the holster at his hip—a holster that Nort and Dick noted with relief was empty. For Del Pinzo's gun had fallen out as he was dragged by Bud's lasso from the hole beside the stump where he had been hiding.
"My mistake, Del Pinzo! My mistake!" exclaimed Bud, smiling as good-naturedly as possible under the circumstances. The young rancher leaped from Sock (so called because he had one white foot that looked exactly as if he had on a sock) and approached the Mexican, who had begun to loosen the lariat from around his body.
"I sure didn't know you were there, Del Pinzo," went on Bud, soothingly. "I was just showing these tenderfeet how to throw a rope,pronto,—when up you sprout, and get the benefit of it. Hope I didn't ruffle you any?" asked Bud.
"Hum! Too muchpronto!" muttered the man, but his face lost some of its scowl as he realized it had been an accident.
"What'spronto?" whispered Dick to Nort, noting that his brother had half drawn his gun, though there was no need of this action.
"Means quick," translated Bud, who overheard the question. "I was a little too quick with my rope. But I didn't know anybody was behind that stump."
"Nor I," said Dick, while Bud began gathering in the length of his lariat.
"I—sleep!" said the Mexican; with some of the gutturalness of the Indian. "No got a right to sleep?" he asked, half sarcastically, as he recovered his gun from where it had slipped from its holster.
"Sure you got a right to sleep," admitted Bud cheerfully. "This isn't Diamond X land, nor yet Double Z," he added, with a quick glance around. "Not that you wouldn't have a right to take a snooze if itwasDiamond X," Bud went on. "Well, I reckon we'll mosey along," he said slowly, making a sign to Dick and Nort to mount their ponies. "Got to get back to the ranch."
"Um!" was all the remark Del Pinzo made as he brushed himself off. Bather a useless proceeding it would appear, for he was always dirty and unkempt to the last degree.
"Who is he?" asked Dick of Bud as the three boy ranchers rode along the homeward trail, now out of earshot of the man Bud had so unceremoniously roped.
"Oh, he's a sort of Mexican half breed," was the answer. "Not very safe to have on the range during round-up."
"Why not?" asked Nort, as he turned to catch a last glimpse of theMexican slinking off amid the foothills.
"Well, he and his kind don't stop to look at the brand on a steer if they happen to feel hungry," explained Bud. "They'll cut one out of the herd, or appropriate a maverick, or an unbranded calf, and feast up on it. They'll skin it, salt down the hide after they blur the brand, and get away with it."
"What's blurring a brand?" asked Dick.
"Putting a hot iron on it over the brand that's already there," explained Bud. "Some brands can be changed from one to another without much trouble, but when this can't be done a cattle thief will simply make a botch of the brand, and it's a pretty slick ranchman who will swear, out of hundreds of steers and calves, that any particular one is his, if he can't make out the brand or earmarks clearly."
"Earmarks?" questioned Nort.
"Sometimes we clip a piece out of a calf's ear," explained Bud, "as well as branding 'em. Each ranchman has his own particular earmark for his cattle. But either may be botched or blurred by a thief if he's cute enough."
"And does this Del Pinzo do that?" asked Nort, a little thrilled at having been in such close association with a cattle thief.
"I wouldn't put it past him, and the gang he hangs out with," Bud answered. "Maybe that's what he was up to when I roped him."
"Where does he hang out?" asked Dick.
"He's supposed to work on the Double Z ranch—Hank Fisher's place," was the reply. "And Hank doesn't bear any too good a reputation around here."
"Maybe he was one of the men the professors hired, and who afterward turned against them," suggested Dick.
"Maybe," assented Bud. "I'd like to know what that camp meant," he murmured as he rode on with his cousins.
"If they aren't after gold, they're after something, and they're making a secret of it," declared Nort. "And meeting Professor Wright the night an attempt was made to steal some of your cattle, Bud, makes it look as if the whole outfit might be trying to rustle off stock."
"Yes, it might, and again it might not," said the western lad. "I'd hate to think two decent-looking men, like Professor Blair and Professor Wright, would be cattle thieves. But you never can tell. Their learned appearance may be all bluff. I'd sooner think it was Del Pinzo and his gang. But he may be working with the professors. Anyhow, they haven't got away with anything yet, and they won't if dad's boys keep their eyes open. Only I would like to solve the mystery of that camp," and he looked back toward the deserted one, where some strange excavations had been made.
"Maybe we can trail 'em and find where they've gone," suggested Dick.
"Oh, we could find 'em if we wanted to," said Bud. "An outfit like that can't travel along in a ranch country and not leave a trail like an old buffalo wallow. But will it be worth while—that's the question? We'll soon be busy with the round-up at Diamond X, and no time for trailing mysteries."
"Well, the round-up won't last forever," said Nort, "and when it's over we can see what all this means. It'll be a pack of fun!"
"It sure will!" agreed his brother, "and we can stay here till snow flies."
"And then you'll want to hit the trail for home," laughed Bud. "Though we don't get as severe storms as they do farther north, nor do they come so early. But it's bad enough, sometimes."
"What's that?" suddenly asked Dick, rising in his stirrups and pointing to two or three figures of horsemen, down in a little swale, or valley. They were evidently engaged in some lively occupation, for they were riding rapidly to and fro, and from a fire, about which knelt three figures, a curl of smoke arose.
"They're stealing some of your cattle now!" cried Nort. "Come on!We'll capture 'em!"
He spurred his horse forward, an act instinctively followed by his brother. Bud, too, rode after them at a fast pace, but there was a smile on his countenance.
"Keep your shirts on, fellows!" he advised. "That's only some of the Diamond X outfit branding stray calves they come across. But it'll give you a chance to see how it's done."
Riding rapidly across the open plains, where, here and there as they topped little hills the boys could see cattle grazing, the boy ranchers approached the group in the swale. After a quick inspection of the oncomers, the cowboys about the fire went on with what they were doing.
Two of them held down on the ground a struggling calf, while the cow-mother of the little beast, lowing and shaking her head, endeavored to break past two other cowboys who were heading her away from the scene of the branding operations.
For that is what was going on. Some of the Diamond X cowboys had come upon an unbranded calf with its mother as they rode across the prairies. As they were on their employer's land they knew the unmarked animal must belong to him, and it ought to be at once permanently identified as Mr. Merkel's property.
It was the work of but a moment for one of the cowboys to lasso the little bawling creature, and drag it to where he wanted it.
While some of the cowboys held the calf, not taking the time to "hog tie" the creature, others headed off the frantic cow-mother. Then a fire was made of greasewood twigs, and the branding iron, which one of the cowboys carried at his saddle, was put in the flames to heat. When hot enough it was pressed on the flank of the calf, burning into the hair and slightly into the hide, the diamond with the X in the centre—the mark of Bud's father's cattle.
As the men released the calf, it staggered to its feet, uttered a feeble bawl or two, and ran to its mother, who at once began to lick with her tongue the branded place.
"Where you headin', Bud?" asked Yellin' Kid Watson, one of the cowboys who had been engaged in the impromptu branding operations.
"Headin' home," answered the rancher's son.
"Then you haven't heard the news?" asked Snake Purdee.
"What news?" asked Bud, while Nort and Dick listened eagerly.
"Bad business," went on Yellin' Kid. "A lot of your dad's choice stock was run off from the far range a while ago. Tar Blake just rode in and give notice. Bad business!"
"I should say so!" agreed Bud. "Who did it; Greasers or some of that outfit?" and he motioned back to the camp he and his cousins had just left.
Yellin' Kid, Snake and the other cowboys stamped out the brands of the grease-wood fire, coiled their lariats and mounted their ponies before anyone answered Bud's question. He did not repeat it, knowing the character of the men to whom he was speaking. Then, as Old Billie Dobb, who might have been a foreman a dozen times over if he had only proved more reliable, spoke up and said:
"We don't know who did it, Bud; an' your paw don't neither! Tar just rid in with th' news, as we rid out to do some fence mendin'. We wanted to stop an' hear th' particulars, but your paw said for us to mosey over this way, an' we done so. He said if we seen you boys to send you home."
"We're heading that way," Bud answered. "We were just over to the camp where they had trouble the other night, but they've vamoosed."
"Can't see what they ever come here for," spoke Yellin' Kid. "An' it wouldn't s'prise me a bit if them fellers proved to be the cattle rustlers."
"Nor me," declared Nort, impulsively, thus drawing attention to himself.
"Well, you know all we do, Bud," spoke Billie Dobb. "Maybe your paw'll have more news by th' time you get there. Tell him you met us an' that we'll be back as soon as we find th' break an' fix it. It's a big bust, the report has it, an' he don't want th' cattle to stampede out."
"All right, we're going," declared Bud. "Come on, fellows," he called to his cousins, and they galloped away toward the ranch headquarters, while the cowboys rode on their way, Yellin' Kid singing at the top of his voice. The boy ranchers passed the newly branded calf, its mother still licking the burned place, but the little creature did not seem much to mind what had happened, for it was eating grass.
"Who broke the fence?" asked Nort, as he and Dick rode along on either side of Bud, whose horsemanship they were trying to imitate.
"Hard to say," was the answer. "Sometimes it's Greasers, and again Indians, who hope to get a few cattle in the confusion if a herd gets out. Then again something may have frightened the cattle themselves, and in a rush they may have broken through. Generally it's the cattle themselves, and then we have to rush a bunch of cowboys to mend the break, some of 'em stringing new wire while others keep the steers, cows and calves from coming out on the open range."
"Say, there's been a lot of excitement since we came here!" declaredNort, his eyes shining in delight at the prospect of more.
"Oh, there's always more or less going on like this," said Bud. "If it isn't one thing it's another, though I must say we haven't had anything like those queer professors in some time."
"I'd like to know what their game really is," remarked Dick.
"So would I!" exclaimed his more impulsive brother. "And I'd like to catch 'em at it when I had my gun loaded," and he tapped significantly the .45 on his hip.
"Don't be too fast with gun play," advised Bud calmly. "You'll find, if you ever become a rancher, that you'll use more powder on coyotes, rattlers and in driving cattle the way you want 'em to go, than you will on humans. There isn't so much shooting out here as the writers of some books would make out."
"Well, if there's only a little, I'll be satisfied," said Nort.
They reached the headquarters of Diamond X ranch without mishap, save that Dick's pony stepped into a prairie dog's hole, and threw his rider over his head. But Dick was rather stout, and cushioned with flesh as he was, a severe shaking-up was all the harm he suffered.
"They're nasty things at night—prairie dogs' burrows," said Bud. "But mostly a pony can see 'em in time to side-step. Yours just didn't—that's all."
"Yes, he—didn't!" laughed Dick, as he climbed back into the saddle.
There was enough excitement at Diamond X ranch to please even excitable Nort. As the other cowboys had said, one of Mr. Merkel's men from a distant ranch—Square M, to be exact—had ridden in to report that during the early morning hours several head of choice steers, that were being gotten ready for a rising market, had been driven off by rustlers. Leaving his companions in charge of the remaining cattle, Tar Blake—who got his name from his very black whiskers—had ridden to headquarters to give the alarm.
"Well, we'll see if we can trail these scoundrels!" declared Mr.Merkel, as Bud and his cousins rode up.
"Can't we go, dad?" asked Bud, as eagerly as Nort would have spoken. "Maybe it's the bunch from the queer professors' camp. Let us trail along!"
"Nope!" was the short answer from Mr. Merkel. "I've got other plans for you," he added quickly, and in a tone that took the sting out of his refusal. "You'll have plenty of excitement," he went on, "so don't look so down in the mouth, son. Get something to eat, and then pack your outfit for a few days. You've got to ride herd, while I pull in as many men as I can spare to trail these rustlers."
"What herd, dad?" asked Bud. "Over by Square M?" and he named the ranch where the thieving had taken place that morning.
"No, I want you to help haze that bunch from Triangle B over to the railroad yard. They've been showing signs of uneasiness, and I don't want 'em to bolt when they're on the last stretch. You'll find 'em over by the bend. Ride there, and tell Charlie Smith and Hen Wagner to come in. You'll relieve them. Dirk Blanchard will be with you, and so will Chot Ramsey, and you three ought to be able to bed 'em down to-night. Drive 'em along easy. Dirk knows how to do it, and there's plenty of water along the way. Don't hurry 'em; if you do they'll work off all their fat, and beef is too high now to waste it by running it off the hoof. Mosey along now!" and the ranchman turned from Bud to give other orders.
Nort and Dick, with one accord, started forward, but their cousin anticipated their appeal.
"Can't Nort and Dick come with me, dad?" asked Bud.
"Sure thing—if they want to," answered Mr. Merkel.
"As if we wouldn't want to!" murmured Nort. "Oh, boy!"
"Say! It'll be great—riding herd!" exclaimed Dick.
Several hours later found the boy ranchers within sight of the four hundred or more steers and cows they were to guard, and gradually head over to the railroad stock yards, whence they would be shipped to a distant city, there to be sold to the profit of Mr. Merkel.
"Whoop-ee!" came a distant hail from one of the cowboys left to guard the Triangle B cattle.
"Zip-sippy!" yelled Bud in answer, and a little later he was introducing his cousins to the cowboys.
"Oh, boy! Rustlers!" cried Charlie Smith, when informed that he andHen Wagner were to form part of the pursuing posse.
"Just my rotten luck, I have to stay here!" complained Dirk, while Chot, to voice his disapproval of having to remain behind, slapped his pony with his hat and rode off over the prairie, only to return as fast as he went. It was his way of letting off steam.
The two cowboys, who were to join the bunch from Diamond X ranch, departed in haste, and then Bud and his cousins made preparations for spending several nights and days in the open, riding herd and hazing the cattle to their destination.
It was the season of warm nights, as well as days, though there was a certain coolness after dark. No tents were set up. Each man, or boy, was provided with a canvas tarpaulin, which was all the protection needed. The prairie itself would be their beds, their saddles their pillows and the grass a combination mattress and spring. They had packed enough food with them, and, if needed, a calf could be killed and eaten. There were water holes in plenty—in fact, they could live off the land.
Over a fire of greasewood, while the hobbled ponies rolled on the ground, the bacon was soon sizzling and the coffee brewing.
"Gosh, but I'm hungry!" cried Nort.
"You said something!" declared his brother, while Bud and the others smiled at the fresh enthusiasm of the easterners.
There was really not much to do after darkness had settled down, for the cattle were comparatively quiet, and after a full day of eating the sweet grass, having drunk their fill of water, they were content to lie under the silent stars.
But in order that none of the steers might start to stray away, and start a stampede, also in order that no thieves might sneak up in the darkness and "cut out" choice cattle, by this very operation also starting a panic, it was necessary to "ride herd."
That is, the cowboys, of whom Nort and Dick now counted themselves two, took turns in slowly riding around the bunched cattle during the night hours. As the early hours were always the ones when it was most likely trouble would happen, the two veteran cowboys volunteered for this service, leaving Bud and his cousins to make their beds, such as they were, near the little fire. The boy ranchers would relieve the others after midnight.
So, wrapped in their tarpaulins, their heads resting on their saddles, and their feet to the fire, the three boys looked up at the silent stars. They talked in low voices at first, for the voice of man is soothing to cattle. Now and then some cow lowed, or a steer snorted or bellowed. But, in the main, the animals were silent. And to this state Bud and his cousins soon came, for they were tired with their rather long ride late that afternoon.
"I wonder if any rustlers will come here?" spoke Dick to his brother, when Bud's regular breathing told that he had fallen asleep.
"Don't know—wish they would," Nort answered, half drowsily.
"Well, I'm ready for 'em," murmured Dick, as he felt of his gun where it lay in its holster at his side, though he had loosened his belt to lie down.
The night became more silent and colder. The two other cowboys were on the far side of the herd now, working around in opposite circles, meeting and passing one another. It would soon be time for them to turn in, and Bud and his cousins to turn out.
Nort was turning over to get into a more comfortable position, when he heard something hiss through the air with a swishing sound. For an instant he thought of rattlesnakes, but almost at once it was borne to his mind that he had heard this sound before—the swish of a lariat through the air.
He sat up quickly, straining his eyes in the direction of the sound.Just then a piece of the greasewood burned up brightly, and revealed toNort this sight.
From somewhere in the darkness, beyond the circle of light, a lariat had coiled in among the lads. And as Nort looked, the coils settled over the head of his brother Dick. Before Nort could cry a warning, or scramble from under his tarpaulin, the rope tightened and Dick was pulled from his resting place near the fire out into the darkness, his frightened yells awakening the echoes, and startling the cattle into uneasy action.