Characteristic it was of Bud Merkel, being a son of the west as he was, that his hand instinctively sought the leather holster whence protruded the grim, black handle of his .45. But he did not draw the weapon, nor did Nort or Dick pull theirs, which they had started to get out when they noted Bud's action.
For Bud smiled when he had a glimpse of the newcomer, and Buck Tooth, who had glanced up from where he was making the fire, gave a grunt of welcome.
"Babe!" exclaimed Nort, as he recognized the fat assistant foreman of Diamond X ranch. "Babe!"
"Sure! Who'd you think it was?" came the smiling question. "Looks like you had an idea it might be one of them rustlers that made trouble when you fellers was here before! Eh?
"Glad t' see you twoex-tenderfeet," and Babe Milton grinned broadly as he accented theex, and held out a welcoming hand to Nort and Dick. "They said you was comin' back to Diamond X, but I sorter missed you—been out tryin' t' locate a bunch of strays," he confided to Bud, "an' I didn't have no luck! Glad to meet yo' all, though, powerful glad! 'Specially on account of that there coffee!" and he sniffed the air as he caught the aroma of the fragrant pot Buck Tooth was putting on to boil.
"But what are you lads doing so far from Diamond X?" Babe went on, when they had moved over to the camp fire, the blaze of which was genially warm this cool morning on the mountain.
"We aren't stopping there this trip," said Nort.
"We're 'on our own,'" proceeded Bud. "I'm raising cattle in the old Buffalo Wallow Valley—Flume I call it now."
"Oh, yes, I did hear you were going to tackle that," spoke Babe. "Didn't know you'd got stocked up, though. Well, I've been over at Square M for so long I don't hear no real news no more. Gosh! But we did have some excitement the time those professor chaps pulled thatTromboneout of the ground; didn't we, Bud?" he chuckled.
"Triceratops, Babe! Triceratops!" corrected Bud, laughing at the expression of the fat assistant foreman's face.
"I never could remember the name of them musical pieces, nohow!" sighed Babe. "Fond as I am, too, of singing," and, taking a long breath, he bellowed forth on the unoffensive morning air this portion of a ballad:
"Sing me to sleep with a spur for a rattle,Fill up the biscuits with lead.Coil me a rope 'round th' ole weepin' willow,Curl my feet under my head!"
"Glad you feel that way about it," remarked Bud, rather soberly, as they squatted around the fire for breakfast, which Buck Tooth seemed to have prepared in record time.
"What's bit you?" asked Babe, pausing with a smoking flapjack half way to his mouth, while in his other hand he held a steaming tin cup of coffee. "Git out th' wrong side of th' saddle this mornin'?"
"No, but there's trouble over at the valley," explained Bud. "The water has stopped running and——"
"Thewaterstopped running!" interrupted Babe.
"Yes, and when we start out, intending to see what's the trouble, we get this warning," and Bud extended the dirty piece of paper that had been fastened to the tree with the thorn.
"Whew-ee-ee!" whistled Babe, as he read the scrawl of misspelled words. He opened his mouth again, to intone another of the hundred or more verses of his favorite cowboy song, but Bud motioned to him to refrain.
"Don't you like my singin'?" asked Babe, a bit hurt.
"Yes, but I want to ask you some questions," went on Bud. "You say you've been out looking for strays?"
"Yep; prospectin' up and down Snake Mountain all yist'day an' part of th' night. My grub giv' out with supper last night, an' I was hopin' I might even run into a bunch of Greasers, when I saw you folks spreadin' th' banquet table here."
"Glad you joined us," remarked Nort.
"So'm I," mumbled Babe, his mouth full of bacon and flapjacks. "But what's your questions, Bud? Shoot!"
"Did you see anybody who might have written this?" and the boy rancher again read the sinister warning:
"'Don't take no more watter frum Pocut River if you want to stay healthy.'"
"Why, no, I didn't see nobody," spoke Babe, with more force than grammar. "'Tain't a joke; is it?"
"Not when I tell you the water has stopped running," said Bud.
"So you did! Hum, that's mighty queer like!" mused the assistant foreman, who had, early in the spring, been transferred to Mr. Merkel's Square M ranch from Diamond X. "But some of us rather thought there'd be trouble when your paw dammed up the river to shunt some of it through the old water course over to Buffalo Wallow. Hank Fisher claims his water supply has been lessened by what your paw did, Bud."
"That's all bosh!" exclaimed Bud. "There's as much water for Hank Fisher as he ever had at Double Z. Besides, this isn't his way of doing business. He's as mean as they make 'em, but he'll come out in the open and tell you what he thinks of you."
"Yes, Hank is that way—sometimes," agreed Babe cautiously. "At th' same time I wouldn't put it past him. Better tell your paw about this, Bud. You got grit—all three of you!" and he included the other boys in his glance. "But you can't fight Hank Fisher, Del Pinzo and that onery gang of Greasers and Mexicans!"
"There!" cried Nort, clapping his hand down on his outstretched leg. "That's who that man was—Del Pinzo!"
"What man?" asked Babe.
"The one Bud shot."
"What's that?" cried Babe, half starting to his feet. "Did you shoot somebody?"
"Well, I may havecreasedhim," admitted the boy, using a word to denote a grazing bullet wound, hardly more than a scratch.
"Whew-ee-ee!" whistled Babe again. "This sounds like old times! Let's have the hull yarn, Buddy!" he appealed.
Whereupon Bud related how he had ridden from his new ranch—Diamond X Second—to meet his cousins whom he expected. He told of finding the stream of water shut off, of the appearance of the man, the shot, his sudden vanishing, and the subsequent night ride of the boys.
"That was Del Pinzo, I'm sure of it!" declared Nort. "I was trying to think where I'd seen him before, and now I remember!"
"You couldn't very well forget Del Pinzo," declared Bud. "But this wasn't he. That isn't saying that it might not have been, of course," he added, "for I understand he broke jail, after they caught him and sent him up for rustling our cattle. No, this wasn't that slick Mexican, Nort."
"Who was it?" asked Babe, helping himself to another of the flapjacks which Buck was making in a skillet over the greasewood fire.
"That's what we don't know," said Bud. "He just naturally vanished, the way my water did. What are you going to do, Babe?"
"Well, I ought t' keep on lookin' for them strays your paw's so anxious about," was the answer. "But I reckon I got time t' mosey along with you. You say you're goin' down to the river?"
"Yes, to see if there's anything wrong at the intake pipe," Bud answered.
"Then I'll go with you," offered Babe. "And before you try that ride through the old water course, under the mountain, you'd better call up your paw."
"What for?" Bud wanted to know.
"Well, he mightn't altogether like it. There's a risk, an' he may want t' send some of us with you. It's easy t' get him on the 'phone from the dam."
"Yes," agreed Bud, "I s'pose I had better do that." He remembered that where Pocut River had been dammed to enable water to flow into the pipe line, and then through the old river course to his reservoir, there was a general store, which boasted of a telephone.
A little later, breakfast having been finished, the party, now including Babe, reached the Pocut River. There an inspection showed the water from the river above the dam running freely into the pipe that carried it to Flume Valley.
"Nothing wrong here," remarked Bud as he looked into the dark tunnel which received one end of the pipe. And it was through this natural tunnel, extending under the mountain, being the course of an old stream, that the boy ranchers proposed riding.
"No, th' trouble must be somewhere inside," agreed Babe. "But call up your paw, Bud."
Which Bud did, learning from his father at Diamond X, that Old Billee had departed, early that morning, to take up his abode at the camp in the valley.
"Better wait until Old Billee reaches your place, and then call him up," suggested Mr. Merkel to his son over the wire, for there was a 'phone in Bud's camp. It seemed rather an incongruity, but it was a great convenience, since it connected directly with Diamond X, Triangle B and Square M ranches, as well as with the regular lines.
There was nothing to do but wait until Old Billee might be expected to have reached the camp in Flume Valley, and after several hours Bud called up his own new ranch headquarters.
"They don't answer," Central reported.
"He's taking his time," commented Babe.
But an hour or so later, after several other trials, the voice of Old Billee came back over the wire from miles distant.
"Hello! Hello there! Wassa matter? Wassa matter?" demanded the voice of the old cowpuncher. "Where's everybody, anyhow? Nobody here but me!"
"We're over at the dam—Pocut River," called Bud into the instrument. "Say, Billee, something happened at my place last night. The water stopped, and we came over here to see where the stoppage was. But it's all right here. How about you there?"
"All serene here, Bud, all serene! Wait a minute and I'll take a look at your reservoir. I can see it from the tent where you got this talkin' contraption strung. You say the water stopped last night?"
"Stopped complete, Billee," Bud answered back over the wire.
"Well then, if there's any comin' over the spillway, now, it's a sign she's runnin' here ag'in, I take it!"
"Sure thing. But is she running?" asked Bud, anxiously.
"Wait a minute, an' I'll take a look. Hold on to that there wire!"
"I'll hold it!" promised Bud, smiling at his cousins.
There was a moment of anxious waiting and, in fancy, the boy ranchers could see Old Billee going to the tent flap and looking toward the reservoir.
"Hello, Bud!" presently came the call over the wire.
"Hello, Billee. What about it?"
"Water's there all right! Must 'a' come back in th' night! She's runnin' fine now!"
Bud Merkel was about to hang up the receiver, with a blank and uncomprehending look on his face, when Babe caught the black rubber earpiece from him.
"Wait a minute, Billee!" called Babe into the transmitter. "See anything of anybody around there? Anything suspicious?"
The others could not hear what the old cowboy's answer was, but Babe soon enlightened them.
"He says it's all serene," Babe declared as he now hung up the receiver. "Nobody in sight, an' the water is runnin' through the pipe as natural as can be."
"I can't understand it!" declared Bud. "It was almost as dry as a bone when we left last night."
"But it's running in here from the river dam," said Nort.
"Then there must have been a break somewhere in the tunnel natural water course," declared Bud. "Well, if it mended itself so much the better. But that doesn't explain this," and he held out the scrawled warning. "And if the water stopped once it may stop again."
"Yes," agreed Babe, "but if anybody wanted to stop it they'd have to do it either at this end, where the pipe takes water from the river, or at your end, Bud, where it delivers water to your reservoir."
"Unless somebody stopped the stream inside the tunnel," suggested Dick.
"Then it would back up here at the river end," said Nort, quickly, "and it hasn't done that."
"No, it hasn't," agreed Bud. "It sure is queer. I'm beginning to think there may be more in that black rabbit than I believed first."
"What rabbit is that?" asked Babe.
"The one Old Billee said would bring me bad luck," Bud answered. "Well," he went on to his cousins, "we might as well go back to camp. We can't do anything here."
"If you've got water that's all you want in Flume Valley," declared Babe. "There isn't a finer place t' raise cattle in all th' world than there—if you havewater!"
"And if you haven't—you might as well quit!" spoke Bud.
"You eliminated an earful that time," the assistant foreman stated. "But I reckon it was just a little break, inside th' tunnel, an' it filled itself up natural like. You won't have any more trouble."
"I hope not," spoke the boy rancher. "Are you going on back to Diamond X, Babe?"
"Not until I find that bunch of strays from Square M. They're too valuable t' let slip."
"Especially to let Hank Fisher, or Del Pinzo, slip them away," exclaimed Bud as he and his chums left the store where they had been telephoning.
"Not so loud! Not so loud!" cautioned Babe.
"Why not?" Bud wanted to know, when they were outside.
"'Cause one of Hank's men was in there! He'll be sure t' tell what you said, Bud."
"Let him! I'm not afraid of Hank, or his tool Del Pinzo, and I'd just as soon either one would know what I think of 'em!"
"Don't be too brash; don't be too brash!" counseled Babe. "But they sure are both bad actors—Del an' Hank!"
There was nothing more that needed to, or could, be done at the Pocut River end of the flume, part natural, part artificial, which supplied Bud's new ranch with such a vital necessity as water. The stream had been dammed just above the intake pipe—not completely dammed, but enough to provide the necessary head of water.
As Nort had said, had the stream been stopped purposely or by accident inside the tunnel, the water would have backed up and run out around the pipe, flowing into the river below the dam. But this had not occurred.
"If it doesn't happen again we'll be all right," spoke Bud, as he rode back with his cousins, making an easy pace along the trail that led over Snake Mountain and down into Flume Valley. "But if the water stops running again——"
"Let's go through the tunnel; it's the only way to be sure!" interrupted Nort.
"I'm with you!" exclaimed Dick.
"It would seem to be the only way," agreed Bud. "Well, we'll hope this is the end of my black-rabbit bad luck, and look for success, now that you fellows are here. Cracky! But we'll have some good times, and there'll be plenty of work, too!"
"How many cattle you got?" asked Nort.
"About five hundred," Bud answered. "Course you have a share with me, that your dad bought, but we don't own 'em outright yet. My dad still has a mortgage on 'em."
"But if we have luck we can clear that off; can't we?" asked Dick.
"Sure, this year, maybe," assented Bud. "I never saw steers fatten so fast as ours have since I brought 'em to Flume Valley. I reckon the land, being without water so long, raises a specially fine kind of grass. Of course, there's always some at the far end of the valley, good grass, too, but when there wasn't any water for the cattle to drink there wasn't any use trying to raise stock there. But now it's different."
"And all we want is for the water to stay," added Dick.
"That's all," chimed in his brother.
With Buck Tooth trailing behind, the three boys took the mountain trail and reached their camp near the reservoir that evening. They found Old Billee and Yellin' Kid waiting for them, these two cowboys having been assigned by Mr. Merkel to help his son in the lad's new venture.
"Well, yo' got back, I see," remarked Old Billee as he greeted the lads, the Indian going off by himself, for he was rather taciturn in his manner.
"Yes, we're here," admitted Bud. "But I can't understand that water coming back so unexpectedly."
"Are you sure it stopped running?" asked Yellin' Kid in his usual loud voice.
"Sure!" declared Bud. "Didn't Buck see it—or, rather, he didn't see it, for there wasn't any water to see coming through the pipe—only a few drops."
"I wouldn't take his word," declared Old Billee. "Not that Buck would actually lie, but those Indians are queer."
"Oh, we all saw that the water wasn't running," declared Nort.
"Well, it was when I got here," stated the old cowboy. "And there wasn't a sign of anything wrong. But if there had been I'd expected it, 'count of——"
"That black rabbit, I reckon!" broke in Bud.
"Perzactly!" declared Old Billee. "A black jack shore is bad luck, at any stage of the game!"
But for a time there seemed to be no truth in this western omen. Following the first mysterious disappearance of the water, and its equally strange reappearance, peace seemed to settle down over Flume Valley.
The steers and yearlings, with which Bud's father had entrusted him and the boy ranchers, thrived and fattened on the succulent grass. Old Billee, Yellin' Kid, with Buck Tooth's help, aided the boys in such minor duties as were necessary to perform about the camp. The main duty was looking after the safety of the cattle, to see that none of them strayed beyond the wire fence at the far end of the valley. Should any stray from the other egress, nearest Diamond X ranch, no great harm would result, as they would still be on their owner's land.
But the farther, or north end, adjoined land owned by Hank Fisher, the Double Z representative. And there were ugly stories current concerning Mr. Fisher.
But as the days passed, and as the water still flowed through the pipes and underground tunnel into the reservoir, Bud and his companions began to think they had imagined more troubles than were really to occur.
"Guess that warning was only a bluff," said Bud, one day.
"And the black rabbit doesn't seem to have given you the jinx," added Nort.
"But we didn't find that man you shot," put in Dick.
"I don't believe I shot him," declared Bud. "There was blood, sure enough, but he may have stumbled, as, in fact, we saw him, and scratched himself."
"But where did he disappear to?" asked Nort.
"Give up," answered Bud. "We'll have to take another look after we get our first shipment out of the way."
For the first bunch of steers from the Flume Valley camp were to be disposed of shortly.
It was the day when this shipment was to be made that Bud, awakening early in the tent where he slept with his cousins, uttered an exclamation of surprise as he caught sight of something on the blanket that covered him.
"What's the matter?" asked Dick, sitting up.
"Did you leave this here?" asked Bud, as he held up a piece of board, evidently part of a packing case.
"Me? No!" answered Dick. "What is it?"
"Either it's a joke, or it's the black rabbit getting in his work," answered Bud. "It's from an unknown enemy—another warning!"
And, as Bud held up the board, Nort and Dick could read, scrawled on it, evidently with a fire-blackened stick, the words:
"Warning No. 2. When will you quit?"
"Guess that must be a joke," decided Nort, as he stepped gingerly from his cot, for it was cold in the mornings, though hot enough at midday. "Likely Old Billee or Yellin' Kid stuck it there," added the eastern lad, as he looked at the scrawled warning.
"Old Billee wouldn't do it," declared Bud. "He's gotten over his joking days. But it might have been Yellin' Kid."
"Sure!" agreed Dick. "Probably he did it to make what Billee said about the black rabbit come true—to sort of scare you, Bud."
"Well, of course thatmighthave happened," admitted the western lad, but from the tone of his voice, as he made a hasty toilet, his cousins could tell he was far from being convinced.
"You don't reckon it could be Buck Tooth, do you?" asked Dick, following his cousin's example in attiring himself for the day's work.
"What? That Zuni Indian? I should say not! His idea of a joke would make your hair stand on end—or it would in his wild and younger days. Now all he cares about, after he gets through riding herd, is to sit in the sun and smoke his Mexican cigarettes. Buck Tooth doesn't joke."
"Well, maybe it was Yellin' Kid," suggested Nort.
But when, a little later, they assembled in the meal tent, to partake of breakfast, and Bud produced the scrawled board, Yellin' Kid was the first to shake his head at the implied question.
"I like fun!" he remarked in his loud, good-natured voice, "but I don't play such jokes as this. My idea of fun would be to help dig up another one of them queer, slidin'-trombone insects with the three horns that the professor fellers discovered. But this—why, Bud, this may be serious business!"
"That black rabbit—I told you!" croaked Old Billee.
"Do you really think it means anything?" asked the boy rancher, while his young partners in the new venture leaned eagerly forward to listen to the answer.
"I sure do," declared Yellin' Kid. "All of us have known, Bud, an' your father among 'em, that puttin' a dam in Pocut River, an' taking water for you here, at Flume Valley, made the Double Z outfit mad enough t' rear up on their hind legs an' howl! Hank Fisher has claimed, all along, that th' Diamond X outfit hadn't any right t' take water from th' river, t' shunt over on th' other side of Snake Mountain, where we are, here."
"Yes, I heard dad say that," spoke Bud. "But if Hank Fisher had any rights that we violated, why didn't he go to law about it?"
"That isn't Hank's way," commented Yellin' Kid. "He'd more likely try some such tricks asthat," and the cowboy nodded toward the warning on the board.
"Do you think he left that?" asked Nort.
"And was he, or Del Pinzo, in our camp last night?" cried Dick.
"As to that I couldn't say," replied Yellin' Kid. "I slept like two tops last night, after I got t' sleep. I didn't even hear you fellowssnore," he added, for the three boy ranchers had a tent to themselves, while Old Billee and Yellin' Kid bunked in an adjoining one, Buck Tooth having his own special dugout near the camp fire.
"We never snore!" declared Nort.
"Well, I didn't hear a sound!" assented Yellin' Kid.
"Nor I," said Old Billee.
There was no use asking Buck Tooth. An actual demonstration would have been required to make him understand what a "snore" was, and then he might have misinterpreted it into an attempt to work some "magic" on him.
"Well, somebody came in our camp, and left that board—there's no getting away from the fact," declared Bud, as he put aside the ominous warning. "And it may have some connection with the stoppage of the water, or it may not."
"I'm inclined t' think it has," said Yellin' Kid. "An', what's more, Bud, I think we'll wake up again, some mornin', t' find that reservoir of yours out-a business."
"Do you mean Hank Fisher, or Del Pinzo and his crowd, will blow it up?" asked Bud anxiously.
"Not exactly that, but they'll cut off your water supply."
"But how can they?" asked Bud. "They can't do anything to the pipe intake at Pocut River without being seen, and dad had legal advice to the effect that he has as good right to that river water as Double Z, or any other ranch. And as for this end of the pipe here, we can look after that, I reckon," and he significantly tapped his .45 which he had strapped on, preparatory to getting ready for the cattle shipment.
"That's all right," asserted Yellin' Kid. "But you've forgotten th' big tunnel under the mountain, Bud, where the water runs free after it leaves the river pipe, an' before it gets to the pipe here."
"But Hank, or Del Pinzo, can't cut off the water inside the mountain tunnel without having it back up and run into the river again—and it didn't do that!" Bud insisted.
Yellin' Kid shrugged his shoulders, as he started for the corral to get his horse, since he was to aid in driving the cattle to the railroad stock yard.
"I don't know nothin' about th' scientific end of it," he drawled loudly, "but, mark my words, there's some queer business goin' on, an' Hank Fisher an' Del Pinzo have a hand in it. Look out for your water supply, Bud; that's my advice!"
"An' don't let any more black rabbits cross your path," added Old Billee.
"Bunk!" scoffed Bud. "Though I don't like this warning, all the same. Let's go take a look at the reservoir, fellows."
But an inspection of the concrete water-container showed nothing wrong there. The sparkling fluid, so necessary for the cattle, and so vital to Diamond X Second, was spurting from the pipe freely.
"Guess they're only trying to bluff us!" was Dick's opinion.
"Maybe," assented his cousin. "But, all the same, I'd like to know who was in our camp last night. If this thing is going to keep up we'll have to mount guard."
"That wouldn't be a bad idea," declared Nort. "I don't like to go to bed so early, anyhow."
"You'll be glad enough to turn in after we get into the swing of things here, branding cattle, shipping 'em off and all that," said Bud. "But let's take a look around after we get this bunch off."
And when Yellin' Kid, with another cowboy sent by Mr. Merkel to help Bud in getting the steers to the railroad station, had departed with the shipment, the boy ranchers, Old Billee and Buck Tooth made a careful examination in the vicinity of the tents.
Of course, with so many who really belonged in the camp, tramping around it, there was little likelihood of an alien foot being discovered. Nevertheless, Bud hoped for something of this sort. But it was not to be. No trace of the midnight intruder, who had left the ominous warning, was discovered. And yet he had come and gone—had even penetrated to the tent where the boys were sleeping.
"It's either bluff, or it means something," declared Bud, as they assembled for lunch. "And if it isn't bluff, but afight, Hank Fisher and Del Pinzo will find we can stick to our guns as well as they!"
"You said it!" cried Nort.
"Del Pinzo didn't stay long in jail; did he?" asked Dick, for, following the discovery of the Triceratops and the capture of the cattle rustlers, as detailed in the first volume, the Mexican halfbreed had been arrested.
"No, he managed to get out, and, by some hook or crook, he still manages to escape arrest," Bud answered.
For some time it appeared that the two warnings were only "bluffs." No sign came from the unknown, and no trace was seen of Hank Fisher, Del Pinzo or any of the unprincipled gang which had made so much trouble the previous year for the Diamond X outfit.
Nor did the water coming under Snake Mountain show any signs of giving out. Day after day it ran its limpid stream, furnishing drink for man and beast, and enabling grass to grow where it had never grown before.
"Some day I'm going to rig up a turbine wheel and attach a dynamo to it, so we can have electric light here," declared Bud.
"That'll be great!" exclaimed Dick.
The first shipment of cattle had been safely gotten off from Flume Valley, and brought a good price. This money did not all come to the boy ranchers, however, as Mr. Merkel had insisted on a strict business deal; and he was to be paid for his share of the stock he supplied Bud from the first money coming in. Later the boys would get their profits—if there were any.
But the first lot of steers had been sent away, bringing a higher price than usual because of their prime condition, attributed, so Bud said, to the finer quality of grass, and it looked as if the boy ranchers might make a success of their first venture.
"Even discounting the black rabbit and the warnings out of the air," said Bud.
It was, then, with somewhat of an ominous feeling that, one morning, as the boys and their cowboy friends were at breakfast, they saw a rider hastening toward them along the trail that led from Diamond X.
"It's Snake Purdee!" exclaimed Yellin' Kid, when the rider had approached near enough to be recognized.
"An' he's ridin' like he had suthin' on his mind!" added Old Billee. "I hope that black rabbit——" he murmured, and then his voice trailed off into a whisper as Yellin' Kid surreptitiously kicked him under the packing-box table.
"Don't scare th' boys!" whispered Yellin' Kid in explanation, as Snake Purdee galloped nearer.
The rider flung himself from his pony, which came to a sliding stop near the camp tents, and, looking first at the boy ranchers, and then at the big, peaceful valley stretching out before him, remarked:
"Yes, there's plenty of room here!"
"For what?" asked Bud.
"More cattle!" answered Snake Purdee. "There's been trouble over at Square M, fellows!"
"Trouble?" exclaimed the boy ranchers in chorus. "What kind?"
"Bad trouble," was the reply. "Call your father up on th' 'phone, Bud," he added. "He wants t' talk t' you. Yes," he went on, musingly, as Bud hastened in to the telephone, "there's bad trouble at Square M!"
Nort and Dick looked at each other as Bud slipped into the tent where the telephone had been installed. Snake Purdee strode over to the water pail, and took a long drink.
"That's good stuff!" he remarked with a sigh of satisfaction, and then he led his pony to the trough, into which the thirsty animal dipped his muzzle deeply. "Mighty good water!"
"An' I hope nothing happens to it," voiced Old Billee.
"Happens! What d'yo' mean?" questioned the bearer of bad tidings. "The water's here, ain't it?"
"But no tellin' how long it'll run," added the veteran cowpuncher. "A black rabbit run across Bud's path the day he was ridin' to meet Nort and Dick, and ever since then——"
"Do you mean t' tell me you still believe in that old superstition?" laughed Snake Purdee, who had acquired this name because of his exceeding fear of rattlers and other reptiles. He had been bitten once, he declared, and had nearly died.
"There's more'n superstition!" declared Old Billee. "Look at that!" and he brought out the board warning, and related the incident of the mysterious disappearance of the water, and its equally strange reappearance.
"Oh, it's just one of those freaks of the old, underground river course," said Snake. "Of course I wouldn't put much past Hank Fisher and Del Pinzo, but if either of them sent these warnings it was t' play a joke, an' scare our boy ranchers. Guess Hank's jealous!" laughed Snake.
"But what has happened over at Square M?" asked Dick.
"Has Hank or Del Pinzo anything to do with that?" Nort wanted to know.
"I don't see how they could," spoke Snake. "It's just that——"
But at this moment Bud came out of the tent, having finished his telephonic talk with his father.
"There's an epidemic of disease at dad's Square M ranch," Bud explained to his cousins and the others. "It's so bad that a lot of the steers have already died, and dad is going to take off the rest of the stock before they catch the trouble. Some he's going to put at Triangle B, some at Diamond X and some he's going to haze over to us. We'll have to double up, fellows," he told Nort and Dick. "I guess dad is glad he's got Flume Valley now. It may save him a lot of money that otherwise he'd lose."
"Got t' double up, eh?" murmured Old Billee Dobb. "How many head's he goin' t' send here, Bud?"
"About five hundred he told me. They'll be stock that hasn't been near the infected cattle," he went on, "so there won't be any danger to our herds."
"Can we look after five hundred more steers?" asked Nort.
"Oh, I'm comin' to help you," offered Snake. "I forgot t' say that I was going t' move into one of yourflats," and he waved his hand toward where the white tents made an attractive camp. "Didn't bring my duffle bag," he added, "but one of th' boys is going t' ride over this evening with his 'n' mine."
"Is some one else coming?" Bud wanted to know. "If we double up too much we'll need more grub."
"Your dad told me t' tell you he'd send some," went on Snake. "Yep, a new ranch hand is due t' arrive this evenin'. He's a wonder with th' gun an' rope, t' hear him tell it!" chuckled Snake.
"One of them fly boys?" asked Old Billee, mildly, with a gleam of light in his eyes, however. "Will his heels need clippin', Snake?"
"Might," was the brief answer. "But now you know th' worst. There's trouble at Square M, an' you'll have to double up with cow punchers an' stock, Bud."
"I don't mind," said the boy rancher. "Dad says he'll split the profits with me, and that's what we're looking for—to make a success of Flume Valley ranch. We'll do it, too!" he asserted confidently.
"If th' water holds out, an' no more black rabbits don't throw you," murmured Old Billee Dobb.
"Shucks!" laughed Bud, but the day was to come when he recalled the old cowboy's ominous warning.
"It's queer, though," said Bud that evening, when they were gathered around the camp fire, discussing the coming of the cattle from Square M, which were to arrive the following day, or the one after that. "It's queer what made that disease break out so suddenly among dad's steers. There aren't any cases of it at Double Z; are there?" he asked Snake. "And Fisher's place is the next one nearest ours."
"No, I don't recall hearin' that Hank's stock is sufferin' any," the cowboy admitted. "But Square M is hard hit. It's a disease the government experts are tryin' t' find a remedy for. Been experimentin' with all sorts of serums, germs an' th' like, I understand."
"Is it a germ disease?" asked Nort.
"That's what they call it," the cowboy asserted. "It can be given easy, from one steer to another, just by rubbin' horns, so t' speak. Or the trouble may break out sudden in a herd, if th' germ gets loose in 'em."
"That's all bosh!" declared Pocut Pete, the new cowboy who had arrived just about grub time, with his own outfit and that of Snake Purdee, who had ridden over "light."
"What's bosh?" asked Old Billee.
"The idea that this disease is spread by germs, or 'bugs,' as some folks call 'em. I think the cattle get poisoned by eating some weed, same as lots of 'em get locoed."
"Well, maybe," agreed Bud. "Anyhow, we got good feed here, and plenty of water for dad's cattle, as well as ours. We can double up as well as not. Now I wonder if we have blankets enough for you two?" and he looked at Snake and Pocut, who said his name had been given him as he had "punched" cows so long in the vicinity of the Pocut River.
"Oh, we'll make out," asserted Snake, who was easily suited.
But Bud, being the nominal head of the camp, would leave nothing to chance. While some of the others were still about the flickering camp fire, talking of the trouble at Square M, the strange disappearance of the water and kindred topics, the boy rancher went to inspect the tent where the older cowboys were to pass the night.
It was fitted with cots enough, and one to spare, but Bud wanted to make sure of the blankets. For it gets cold at night on the western plains on even very hot days.
As Bud entered the tent he saw, in the dim light of a turned-down lantern, a figure sitting on one of the cots.
"That you, Snake?" Bud asked.
"No, it's me," answered the voice of the new cowboy, Pocut Pete.
"Oh," remarked the lad, and as the other arose Bud caught the tinkle of glass. For a moment an ugly suspicion entered Bud's mind, but when his nostrils did not catch the smell of liquor, which was strictly forbidden on all Mr. Merkel's ranches, Bud felt a sense of relief.
Pocut Pete passed out, after Bud had assured himself that there were blankets enough, and as the boy rancher was leaving the tent, he trod on something that broke, with a grating sound, under his foot.
"What the mischief's that?" exclaimed Bud, as he unhooked the lantern from the tent pole and swung it toward the ground where he had set his foot. "Has Nort or Dick lost their bottle of paregoric?" and he chuckled as he recalled what use his cousins had made of that baby-pacifier when they had been captured at the camp of the professors, as related in the book prior to this.
"Itisa bottle, and I stepped on it and smashed it," went on Bud, as he saw the shining particles of thin glass. "That new cowboy, Pocut Pete, must have dropped it. Hope it wasn't any medicine he needed. Smells mighty queer, though!" and Bud sniffed the air. "I hope he isn't one of those 'dope fiends,'" and again a feeling of apprehension passed over him.
Bud picked up one of the largest pieces of the crushed glass bottle. The little phial appeared to have been filled with a sticky, yellowish substance, and the odor was not pleasant.
"Whew!" exclaimed Bud as he caught a strong whiff of it. "I wouldn't want to have to take any ofthatfor medicine. Guess I'll ask Snake what he knows of Pocut Pete before I make any inquiries on my own hook. And I'll tell him he'd better bury this glass if he doesn't want to cut his own feet, or that of the others."
"Bunks all right?" asked Old Billee Dobb, as Bud emerged from the tent.
"All ready to turn in," was the answer.
"Which I'm going to do dark an' early," declared the old cowboy. "I have the late watch t'-night."
For it had been decided, with the coming of the additional steers from Square M, that it would be necessary to ride herd, as so many cattle in a bunch might engender a stampede. And at Old Billee's suggestion the night-riding was to start then, to break them in, so to speak.
Bud saw Pocut Pete standing by himself at the cook tent, Buck Tooth having been induced to open some cans of peaches, a form of fruit much in favor on western ranches where the fresh variety is unobtainable.
"You'd better clean up that glass you left in the bunk tent," Bud remarked in a low voice.
"What glass?" sharply demanded the other, and there was in his voice a note of defiance, the boy thought.
"The glass bottle you dropped, and I stepped on," Bud resumed, for he did not hesitate to give orders in his own camp.
"I didn't drop any bottle!" declared Pocut Pete.
"Well, some one did, and I smashed it," asserted Bud. "If you don't want to cut your feet you'd better bury it," and he hurried off to wash from his hands some of the unpleasant-smelling mixture that had clung to them.
"I sleep with my boots on," said Pocut Pete. "But I'll tell the rest of 'em to be careful."
"It would be better," Bud flung back over his shoulder.
It was late next day when cowboys from Square M arrived, slowly driving before them the cattle that were to be doubled up with those which Bud, Nort and Dick considered specially their own.
"What's the situation over there now?" Bud asked one of the punchers, who looked tired and weary, for the trail had been long and dry, as evidenced by the eager manner in which the steers rushed for water.
"Pretty bad," was the answer. "This disease, whatever it is, seems to kill off mighty quick. I don't know how many your dad has lost, but I guess now, what with those we've brought here and them sent to Diamond X and Triangle B, that we'll get the best of the trouble. Gosh! You got a nice place here!" he added admiringly.
"Yes, it's pretty good," Bud agreed. "Bringing the water over from Pocut River made all the difference in the world."
"You got out a lungful that time!" asserted another of the cowboys who had helped "haze" over the steers that were transferred to save them from infection.
The visiting cowboys departed next day, leaving their animals mingled with those in which Bud, Nort and Dick had an interest. The doubled-up herd was not too large but what there was plenty of feed and water in Flume Valley.
During the days that followed, matters at Diamond X Second, as Bud sometimes called his ranch camp, adjusted themselves smoothly. There was no further sign, or evidence, of mysterious warnings. The cattle throve, and those from Square M, which were not in as good physical condition as the animals that had been longer in the green valley, began to "pick up" and fatten.
"I tell you what, fellows!" boasted Bud to his cousins, "dad'll be wishing he'd kept this ranch for himself! We'll beat him at his own game!"
"It would be a big stunt if we could, not taking advantage of his bad luck at Square M, though," spoke Nort.
"Well, you have to count on bad luck in this business," remarked Bud. "Not that black rabbits have anything to do with it," he laughed, as he looked at Old Billee.
Bud and his cousins were returning, one hot afternoon, from having ridden to a distant part of the valley, where Snake Purdee had reported he had found a calf killed. There was a suspicion that rustlers had been at work, but Bud decided the animal had been separated from its mother and the main herd, and had been pulled down by coyotes.
"What's that?" asked Nort, when they were within sight of the camp with its reservoir in the background.
"What's what?" asked Bud, who pulled his pony aside quickly, to escape a prairie dog's burrow.
"Looks like Old Billee waving his hat for us to hit up the pace," spoke Dick.
"It is!" asserted Bud, after gazing beneath his hands held in front of his eyes as a sun-shield. "I hope nothing's wrong!"
But when they had ridden up, the old cowboy riding out to meet them, it was made plain, in a moment, that something had occurred out of the ordinary.
Old Billee Dobb was much excited. His eyes blazed and snapped and he shook the reins in addition to mildly spurring on his pony.
"More mysterious warnings?" asked Bud.
"Worse'n that," was the answer. "She's dry ag'in!"
"The pipe line?" asked Dick.
"You hit it!" cried the other. "Water's stopped runnin' ag'in, Bud!"
"Whew!" whistled the boy rancher. "And with a double lot of stock on hand, too! Thisisbad!"