"Why not?" Dick asked, momentarily pulling his pony back, and it was not easy, for the creature was thirsty.
"Maybe this is the poison water the cows drank."
"Running water like this couldn't very well be poisoned," declared Dick. "A stagnant pool or a water hole might be, but not this. And horses won't touch bad water. Watch mine."
The pony fairly got beyond control, now, in its mad desire to quench its thirst and was soon drinking greedily, an example followed by the other two.
"Yes, I guess this water's all right," Bud finally admitted. "As you say, a horse won't touch bad water. I'm going to sample some myself."
This he did, and he and his cousins found the stream sweet and refreshing. There was no taint to it and they drank their fill as did their ponies.
"Well, what next?" asked Nort, as he sat easily in the saddle, while he watched the water dribbling from the champing jaws of his steed. "Shall we go back and get that horse doctor, and then bury the dead cows?"
"Not yet," answered Bud. "I want to ride up that defile and see what's at the other end." He indicated a long, narrow valley leading up into the wooded and rocky hills.
"What's the idea?" asked Dick.
"Oh, just a notion," Bud replied. "That would make a good hiding place for rustlers," he added.
"It's dark, and silent and secret enough," agreed Dick as they turned their horses into the defile. "Regular smugglers' glen!" and he chuckled at his suggestion.
"We can call it that," assented Bud. "Come on, then, let's see what we'll find in Smugglers' Glen."
They rode on into the narrow, sinister valley, all unaware what they would discover there.
"Nifty hiding place—this," remarked Dick as the three rode side by side up "Smugglers' Glen," as they had jokingly named the defile.
"Sure is," agreed Bud.
"A man, or a band of men, if they wanted to, could hole up in here for the winter, slip out when they liked and raid a ranch, and get back again without any one being much the wiser," suggested Nort.
"Let's hope that doesn't happen," remarked Bud. "But it's just as well to know about this place. Some of our cows might wander up in here and, not finding them on the range, we'd think the rustlers had paid us a visit."
"That's right," came from Nort.
"Maybe rustlers have used this for a hiding place," was Dick's nest remark.
"Smugglers' Glen or Rustlers' Glen—it's about the same," commentedBud. "If those fellows we fought last year, who were running theChinks over the Mexican border, had known of this glen they'd have usedit."
"That's the truth for you," agreed Dick. "And, speaking of Chinks, when are we going to get that Celestial cook we talked of?"
"I expect he'll be back at the ranch when we get there," was Bud's reply. "Fellow in Los Pompan promised to ship me out a good one."
"I won't be sorry!" chuckled Nort. "I'm tired of cooking and washing dishes."
The boys and their older companions had taken turns with the not very agreeable duties of housekeeping on the ranch. Old Billee Dobb was an experienced cook and Snake often said the old puncher could make beans taste like roast turkey. But Billee drew the line at washing dishes. Said he couldn't see any sense in cleaning plates only to muss 'em all up again. So when it came his turn to cook somebody else had to do the cleaning.
Talking of various matters, speculating on the mystery at Dot and Dash, and wondering what had caused the latest deaths, the boys rode on and on up into the depths of the glen. As they went on, the little valley seemed to shrink in width until it was barely wide enough for the three of them to ride abreast. On either side the grim, rocky hills, studded here and there with trees and bushes, rose high above their heads. Now and then they came upon a little stream meandering its way down the defile. Here and there it dropped over a ledge of rocks, making a pleasant, if miniature, waterfall.
Aside from the clatter of their horses' feet, the occasional fall of a dead branch or the rattle of loose stones and the tinkle of the stream, the only sounds were those of the boys' voices.
"This place sort of gives me the creeps!" remarked Nort with a little shiver and a backward glance. "We might as well have called it a Pirate Den as what we did."
"It is sort of dismal," assented Bud. "But I guess we aren't going to find out anything here, so we might as well turn back in a little while."
"Say after the next turn," suggested Dick, indicating a place where the defile swung around a shoulder of bare rock.
"Suits me," came from Bud.
They reached the big rock, swung around the narrowest section of the defile they had yet encountered and, a moment later, made a discovery which filled them with surprise.
Burrowing into the side of the gorge, just beyond the sharp turn, was a cave with an arched opening. At first glance it looked as if it had been cut by the hand of man, but it evidently had been made by the erosion of water through many centuries.
"Jumping flapjacks!" cried Nort, pointing to the cave. "Do you see that?"
"Why not?" chuckled his brother. "It's big enough to be seen."
"But did you know it was there?"
"I didn't," put in Bud. "Though that's nothing, for this is the first time we've ever been here. But dad said this was a wilder and different country than back home, and caves aren't anything unusual."
"No," assented Nort, "and I s'pose I might have expected to find one or more in these hills. But it sort of startled me. Wonder if there's anything in it?"
"Meaning bears, wildcats or other such varmints?" inquired Dick with a laugh.
"Yes," said Nort. "Or maybe rustlers might have hung out in there."
"The only way to find out is to go in and have a look," suggested Bud. And, urging on their steeds, which they had, involuntarily, pulled to a halt, they were soon at the cave entrance. It was big enough to give passage to a man on horseback—at least for a little distance within, but the boys did not think it would be safe to guide their ponies into the cavern. They were not certain of the footing.
Dismounting, then, at the opening, and tethering their horses, the three boys entered the dark hole, not without some trepidation. For it was very dark; the outside light, which was not strong on account of the darkness of the defile, only penetrating a short distance inside the cavern.
Their footsteps echoed eerily as they advanced, and the state of their nerves can be judged when Dick and Nort jumped and exclaimed aloud as Bud took out a flashlight and suddenly switched on the current, sending a brilliant, though small, shaft of illumination down the stretches of blackness.
"Did I scare you?" chuckled young Merkel.
"A little," Dick admitted. "I didn't know you had a lantern with you."
"Oh, I generally carry a small pocket torch," Bud replied. "Never can tell when you'll be caught out after dark."
The flashlight showed the cavern to be hewn out of solid rock, though how high the roof was, or how wide the walls from side to side, they could not judge, for their light was not powerful enough to penetrate. But the cave was, evidently, a big one.
Suddenly, as they walked along, Bud became aware of a growing sheen of light ahead of them. At first he thought it was but the reflection of his own torch on what might be crystals in the cave's sides or roof. But as they walked on the glow increased.
Nort and Dick also noticed it, and Nort exclaimed:
"Guess this is more of a tunnel than a cave. I see daylight ahead."
"'Tisn't daylight—too red for that," objected Bud. "Looks more like a fire."
And, a moment later, as they rounded a turn, they saw that the light was caused by a fire. It was a fire blazing on the floor of the cavern. Over the fire, suspended on a tripod, was a black kettle, a veritable witch-caldron and, bending over it, if not a witch, was a good imitation of one. For it was the figure of an old man—a man with long, straggling white hair and a flowing white beard, as the flames revealed. It was the same old man who had called at the ranch with his sinister warning when he sold the Elixer of Life.
"Look!" murmured Bud, but he need not have said this. His two cousins were looking with all the power of their staring eyes.
"It—it's him!" murmured Nort, and the others knew what he meant.
"But what's he doing?" whispered Dick.
There was hardly need to ask that question. Undoubtedly the old man was brewing something in the kettle over the fire. There was a peculiar odor in the air, not unpleasant, but rather overpowering.
"He's making that stuff he bottles and sells," went on Dick. "TheElixer. And maybe——"
He did not finish the sentence. Either the cautious talk of the boy ranchers, or some noise they made carried to the sharp ears of the old man.
He started back, out of the circle of light cast by the fire under the kettle. He seemed to be alarmed.
"Who's there?" he cried.
The boys did not answer. They did not know what to do. It was all so strange and startling.
A moment later the queer hermit, for such he seemed to be, had snatched the kettle off the chain by which it was suspended. With a quick motion of his foot he scattered the embers of the fire so that immediate section of the cave was obscured by smoke and fantastic shadows. Then the old man ran back into the darkness of the far reaches of the cavern and disappeared from view.
"There he goes!" cried Nort. There was no longer need of whispering.
"After him!" cried Dick.
"No! Don't go!" exclaimed Bud. "You don't know what he was doing, what he may be up to nor where he's gone. It isn't safe!"
This last was so evident that Nort and Dick at once agreed to the proposition and halted. But Dick added:
"We don't know, for sure what he was doing, but I can pretty near guess!"
"What?" asked Bud.
"He was brewing stuff to poison our cattle. He's the fellow that's been doing it. He's the cause of all the trouble at Dot and Dash. We ought to have him arrested, and we've got good proof against him!"
"What proof?" Bud asked.
"The bottles of stuff he sold us. Lucky we didn't take any of it! It's poison, sure! Come on, let's get back and then send word to the sheriff to come and arrest this old man."
It seemed to be good advice and the best thing to do under the circumstances, whether or not Dick's theory would be borne out by facts.
"We'll go back and have that Elixer analyzed," said Bud as he swung around with his cousins and began the retreat. "I meant to have it done before but there's so doggoned much to do here it slipped my mind. But I'll have it looked after now."
It did not take the three long to emerge from "Elixer Cave," as they named the place where they had seen the hermit over his brew. Their horses were patiently waiting and in a little while the boys were within sight of the ranch house.
But something seemed to be going on there. Snake, Billee and Yellin' Kid were standing near the cook house, whence came a series of wild, yipping yells.
"What's the matter?" cried Bud as he rode up to the group of cowboys."Who's doing all that yelling?"
"Fah Moo!" answered Old Billee Dobb.
"Who in the world is Fah Moo?"
"The new Chinese cook that come out from town soon after you boys left."
"But what's the matter with him?" asked Dick. "Doesn't he like it here that he's taking on like this?"
"Maybe he's singing for joy," suggested Nort as a louder series of yelping cries came from the cookhouse.
"More like he's in pain," remarked Snake Purdee. "I'm mighty glad I didn't drink any of it."
"Any of what?" asked Bud, wonderingly.
"That Elixer of Life the old gazaboo sold for a dollar a chunk. There was three bottles of it, you know."
"Yes, I know," assented Bud with growing uneasiness.
"Well," went on Snake, "you know I started to take a swig from the bottle I bought, but Nort wouldn't let me. Then Old Billee locked the three bottles in a cupboard."
"That's right," assented Bud.
"Well," resumed the cowboy, "we discovered, a little while ago, and soon after Fah Moo arrived to take charge of the kitchen, we discovered that those three bottles were gone. We found 'em in the new cook's department and the last one was empty."
"You mean he drunk all that Elixer?" cried Dick.
"Onless he used it for bathin', which I doubt!" chuckled Snake. "He must have been nosing around, discovered where the stuff was hid and he drunk every last drop. That's what makes him sing so, or cry—whichever way you take it."
"He's poisoned!" cried Bud, no less excited, now, than were his two cousins. "Poor Fah Moo is poisoned. We just discovered some of our cattle dead over on the south range. And we found a cave where the old man brews that Elixer. It's poison, sure. I guess it's all up with the Chink, but we'll try to get a doctor to save him. I'll 'phone in to town!"
Bud disappeared into the ranch house while the cowboys looked at each other's startled faces, and, meanwhile, Fah Moo continued to yelp, yap and yip in his high, falsetto voice.
Bud Merkel lost no time in getting connected, through the telephone, with the only physician in Los Pompan. Old Doc Taylor, the medical man was called, though he was not very old. It was more a term of affection.
"Our Chink cook is poisoned!" Bud explained. "Can you come out quick?"
"Pronto!" was the illuminating reply and then there was nothing to do save wait for Dr. Taylor's arrival.
"He's got a flivver," announced Snake who, with Yellin' Kid, had paid more than one visit to town since arriving at Dot and Dash, thereby learning considerable about the place and its inhabitants. "It won't take long for the doc to get here."
"But can't we do anything, meanwhile, for that poor Chink?" asked Nort.
"Guess there isn't much hope for him if he drank all that stuff," remarked Bud in gloomy tones. "Though we might try to help him get it out of his stomach."
"How you goin' to do that?" Snake demanded.
"By giving him an emetic," Bud answered. "Mustard and water's good, I've heard. Come on—we got to try something," and he turned to his cousins as the most likely ones to be of service.
They found poor Fah Moo rushing around the somewhat narrow confines of his kitchen. The Chinese was still yelling and holding both yellow hands across the pit of his stomach. On a table, amid pots, pans and dishes, were the three bottles of the Elixer of Life. Two were completely emptied and the third had but a little fluid remaining in it.
"You drink all that?" asked Bud, pointing to the three bottles when he could get Fah Moo's attention for a moment.
"Can do! Dlink lot—chop-chop!" was the groaning answer the import of it being that he had taken the stuff quickly.
"Whew!" murmured Nort. "Guess there's no hope for him."
"There may be," said Dick. "Sometimes an overdose of poison is its own antidote. He may have taken so much that he'll be sick and that would be the best thing for him."
"He sure took an overdose," declared Bud. "See if you can find some mustard, you fellows. I'll put on a kettle of water to boil. The mustard ought to be mixed with warm water to make it work."
The boys bustled about, Fah Moo, meanwhile, rushing around, clutching his stomach and howling at the top of his voice. Billee and his companions looked in now and then to ask if they could help, or to offer suggestions, more or less useless, but their services were not required. Indeed there was room for no more first-aiders in the small kitchen.
In due time the water was warm, the mustard had been found and a big dose mixed. Then came the difficulty of administering it to the Chinese cook, and a great difficulty it was. As soon as he got the idea that he was to be made to drink something more, and when he had sight of the unappetizing yellow mixture of warm water and mustard in a big bowl, the cook revolted. He retreated into a corner, pulled a chair in front of him and yelled:
"No can do! No can do!"
"But you've got to do!" insisted Bud. "It's the only way to save your life! Drink it!"
"No can dlink! Fah Moo dlink chop-chop—plenty—no can do!"
And that was all there was to it. He yipped and yapped, clutched his stomach but would not come out of his corner nor touch the emetic. The boys were in despair, and their comrades were of no help, Snake even suggesting that it served the Chink right for taking the stuff. But just when it seemed that Fah Moo would raise the roof with his yells, Dr. Taylor arrived in his rattling flivver and took charge of the case.
"What did he take?" was his first question.
"Poison!" chorused the whole Diamond X outfit.
"All right, but what kind? I can't tell what to give him to counteract it until I know what poison it was," said the medical man.
"Here's the dope!" announced Yellin' Kid, handing over the bottle containing what was left of the Elixer.
Dr. Taylor smelled it, tipped the flask to get a little of the mixture on his finger and then, gingerly, applied the digit to his tongue. He waited for any possible reaction, and then took a larger taste of the stuff. Then a slow smile spread over his face as he indulged in even a bigger "swig," as Snake called it.
"This stuff isn't poison," he said, setting the bottle back on the table. "If this is all the Chink drank he won't die."
"Not if he took three bottles of it?" asked Bud.
"Not if he took a dozen. It may make him mighty sick, but he won't die this trip."
"What is that stuff?" asked Nort.
"Sarsaparilla!" was the chuckling answer. "Nothing but good, old-fashioned sarsaparilla soda pop with the pop left out. It's as flat as ditch water. Where'd you get it?"
"Bought it from an old geezer who said it was Elixer of Life," Snake informed the doctor.
"You mean old Tosh?"
"Don't know what his name is," Bud said, "but he's an old man and he has a place back here in a cave. We caught him, a little while ago, brewing the stuff. Just before that we found some of our cattle dead and we sort of jumped to the conclusion that he'd poisoned the animals. Then, when we got here and found the Chink taking on so, and discovered the three bottles in his kitchen, empty, we thought he was poisoned."
"Not a bit of it!" chuckled Dr. Taylor. "A barrel of that wouldn't poison anybody, though, as I said, it would make them ill and give considerable pain. Elixer of Life! Ha! Ha!"
"Do you know this old man—what did you say his name was?" asked Dick.
"Old Tosh he calls himself. Might better beBosh! No, I don't know him—never saw him as far as I know. But a lot of fools in Los Pompan have bought his dope, and it made some of them sick. That's how I happened to know what it was soon as I tasted it. I've seen samples in the homes of folks who called me in to treat them for stomach pains. Almost always it was because they had taken too much of this Tosh elixer. I've sampled dozens of bottles of it. He puts it out under all sorts of names—makes the labels himself, I guess. So I didn't recognize his concoction here until I sampled it," and the medical man waved his hands at the three bottles. "So that's that. Fah Moo won't die."
"He'll wreck our nerves, though, if he keeps this yelling up!" complained Bud. "Can't you give him something?"
"Yes, I can relieve him," chuckled the doctor. "Mustard and water; eh?" he went on as he saw the mixture. "Good enough but you have to swallow too much of it to be effective. I've got something that will do the work."
He produced a couple of capsules, which after much urging, the Chinese was induced to swallow when told they would save his life. Then he was led outside and far away by Snake and Yellin' Kid. In a short time Fah Moo was a very sick Celestial, but after that he grew rapidly better and came creeping back to the kitchen, somewhat pale, wan and drawn, but no longer yipping, yelling and yapping.
"Can do now," he said, meaning that he could proceed with his work, which he did, when he had formally been engaged by Bud who was virtually head of the new ranch.
"Well, I guess that's all there is to this case," remarked the doctor as he repacked his black bag. "There was no danger. He would have gotten over it in time, anyhow."
"So the Elixer is only sarsaparilla; is it?" asked Bud.
"That's about all. Just a sort of root beer mixture of herbs and barks the old man concocts. Harmless enough. It hasn't even the virtues of soda water, for that has carbonic acid gas in it and that's beneficial at times. So he calls it Life's Elixer; does he?"
"He does," assented Bud.
"And he stung me for a dollar!" sighed Snake. "Wait till I get hold of him! Did I hear you boys say you caught him in a cave?"
"We didn't catch him—he vamoosed as soon as he heard us," reported Bud. "But we saw him boiling the stuff. Only we thought it was poison, on account of the dead cows."
"That's so—you did mention dead cows!" exclaimed Billee. "So DeathValley is livin' up to its name. Let's have the yarn, boys."
Bud and his cousins explained what they had discovered and the older cowboys looked anxious. Dr. Taylor listened attentively.
"I don't believe old Tosh had any hand in it," he said. "He bears the name of being a harmless crank, always imagining every one is going to die who doesn't take his herb medicine."
"I wonder if you could tell what those cows died of?" asked Bud.
"I could take a look at 'em," said the medical man, "but unless signs of the poison—granting that it was poison—were very plain, I could not say what kind was used. It would require an autopsy and a chemical analysis. I'm not equipped for such work."
"Well, would you mind having a look at the bodies?" asked Bud. "I know it isn't in your line——"
"Oh, I don't mind," said Dr. Taylor, good-naturedly. "Anything to oblige. I'll run out and go over the matter with you to-morrow. I've got to get back to town now. Not that my practice is so large," and he laughed, "but I've got to look after it. Your Chink cook will be all right in a little while," and he hurried off in his flivver, promising to return next day.
"How'd Fah Moo get the Elixer?" asked Bud when matters had somewhat quieted down and the Celestial was busy in the kitchen.
"Oh, I reckon he was snoopin' around and found where I hid the stuff in the cupboard," Billee answered. "If he's going to be our regular kitchen canary, Bud, I'll have to keep things better hid."
"I guess he's had his lesson," said young Merkel. "And I guess he'll be our permanent pot wrestler from now on. I left word for a man in Los Pompan to send me the first one he could get hold of, and Fah Moo is the result."
"And I'm glad he's here!" voiced Dick. "I'm sick and tired of giving the dishes their bath." The others felt the same about it, so Fah Moo became a fixture at Dot and Dash.
Billee and the others were surprised at the news the boys brought back from their little expedition. The finding of the cave was not considered remarkable, as Billee said there were many such about the neighborhood.
"And it wasn't strange that old Tosh, if that's his name, skipped out when he saw you," went on the veteran puncher. "Likely he thought you were coming to steal his Elixer secrets. So I guess we don't need to worry about him."
"Probably not," assented Bud and his cousins. "But," added Mr. Merkel's son, "it will be necessary to give some attention to the deaths of the cows."
"You're right there!" declared Billee. "Looks like the same old trouble was starting up again."
However the mystery was not solved by Dr. Taylor who came to the ranch next day. He looked at the dead cows, but beyond saying that they had undoubtedly died from some sort of poison he could give no opinion. And, because of the hot weather, it was not considered wise to cut up any of the bodies to send the inner organs away for a laboratory test.
"We'll have to solve the problem some other way," Bud said.
So the unfortunate cows were buried and then, resolving not to be frightened in their operations by this streak of bad luck, the boys carried out Mr. Merkel's ideas by completing the purchase of several score more head of choice animals and hiring additional cowboys to help with the work at Dot and Dash.
The new ranch was, by this time, quite an establishment, and though many croakers in Los Pompan predicted failure for it, as those who had gone before failed, Bud and his chums went on with their heads high and their hearts strong.
Fences were repaired, the herds were put out to graze, arrangements were made to ship away cattle at the most advantageous times and the work of Dot and Dash was now in full swing. Meanwhile nothing more had been seen or heard of the old hermit, as the boys called Tosh.
Bud and his cousins paid another visit to the Elixer Cave, as they christened it, but aside from the ashes of the fire they found nothing. The cavern was too big for them to explore completely in the limited time at their disposal, though they resolved, after the fall round-up, to investigate it fully.
Fah Moo fitted well into the routine at Dot and Dash. He was a good cook and was popular with the punchers for that reason. But he was cured of any "snooping" habits he may have had. He would not touch a bottle of any liquid, no matter how openly it was left around. Two or three times some of the cowboys, having heard the story, laid traps for the Chinese. But he blandly passed them by, murmuring:
"No can do!"
Mr. Merkel had been informed of the progress of affairs and though he expressed a little anxiety because of the fact that those five cattle had been found dead, he added that the animals might have eaten some poison weed which the others in the herd did not get at. And as since then nothing had happened, he expressed the hope that nothing would, and that his wisdom in buying Dot and Dash at a bargain would be demonstrated.
So matters went along for a few weeks. Every one was busy, things looked favorable for a good season and Bud and his cousins were getting ready to laugh at themselves for thinking there was a jinx.
But one afternoon, when the three had ridden over to mend a broken fence, and when they were returning home, as they passed the entrance to what they still called Smugglers' Glen, Dick's horse suddenly started, reared and then, after a fit of trembling, as though in fear, made a mad dash across the range. An instant later the steeds of the other boys did the same and three frightened horses were soon carrying their puzzled riders over the hills.
Excellent riders as were the boy ranchers, it took them some little time and effort to calm their ponies and bring the frightened animals to an easy canter which gave Bud and his cousins a chance to consider the matter.
"Whew!" exclaimed the ranchman's son as he eased up on the reins and patted the neck of his mount. "That was some dash!"
"Not muchdotabout it!" chuckled Nort.
"For a pun like that you ought to be forced to drink a bottle or two ofTosh Elixer!" retorted Bud. "How about it, Dick?"
"I'm with you! That was rotten—not muchdot—I suppose that's a play on the worddoubt—not muchdotabout it—thatdash! Oh, somebody hold me!" and he shook his fist at his brother.
"I was thinking we'd soon need somebody to hold our horses," said Nort, not a little pleased at his own joking words, however nonsensical his two companions thought them. "What happened?"
"That's what I want to know," chimed in Bud. "All of a sudden my pinto here started off as if there was a race."
"Same with me," went on Dick.
"Something must have frightened the ponies," said Nort.
"Yes, and we've got to find out what it was," declared Bud. "Come on back." He wheeled his mount as he spoke.
"Maybe we can't get 'em back," suggested Dick.
"Well, at the place where they begin to balk we'll know the trouble started," suggested the ranchman's son. "And we'll know we have to look for the trouble right there."
"What do you reckon it could have been to make them bolt so suddenly?"Dick wanted to know.
"Skunks, maybe," was the thought Nort offered.
"Not many skunks in this neighborhood, thank goodness," said Bud. "I wouldn't say there aren't any, but I've never heard of them."
"Or smelled them," added Nort.
"That's right—smelled 'em, either, and, what's more, I don't want to!No, I don't believe it was skunks."
"Rattlesnakes, maybe," was Dick's next contribution. "Horses are afraid of rattlers all right."
"Yes, and with good reason," Bud said, "though I don't know as I ever heard of a horse dying from a side-winder's bite. It may happen, but, personally, I can't prove it. All the same I don't believe it was rattlers, though there are plenty in this region."
"Why couldn't it have been snakes?" asked Dick.
"Well, if any rattlers had sounded their warning, and they always do rattle before they strike, we would have heard them as well as the horses would, and I didn't hear anything."
"No, I didn't, either," Dick and Nort admitted in turn. "But what was it, then?" Nort asked.
"It was something the horses smelled!" declared Bud with conviction. "They got a whiff of something they didn't like and they lit out like all possessed."
"Do you mean a bear?" asked Dick.
"Bear what?" came from Bud who had urged his pony somewhat ahead of the mounts of his cousins.
"Did the horses smell a bear, do you think?" went on Dick. "You know a bear, even a tame circus one, will set a cow pony off quicker than anything else."
"Yes," agreed Bud. "But I hardly think this was a bear. There are probably some back in the woods and hills, but they don't very often venture into the open, especially at this time of year. And if it had been a bear I think I would have winded him."
"I don't know about that," came from Nort. "You know a horse, and almost any other animal, has a keener sense of smell than most humans. The horses might have smelled something we didn't."
"That's true enough," assented Bud. "But the fact of the matter is I noticed a queer sort of smell just before the horses bolted. It wasn't very strong, and was more like perfume than anything else. In fact I thought it might be some sort of flower or perhaps an herb the ponies stepped on and crushed. I was just going to mention it to you fellows when the rush began and I had my hands full, same as you did. Either of you notice any smell?"
Nort and Dick had to confess that they had not, but Dick added:
"You've lived out of doors more than we have, Bud, and you got a better nose—I mean for smelling, not for shape!" he added as Bud's hand went to his olfactory organ. "So you might have caught a whiff of something we didn't."
"There's something in that, though I don't like to boast," said Bud. "I'm pretty sure that's what it was—a queer smell the ponies didn't like, and feared, and so they ran away from it."
"But what kind of a smell could it be?" asked Dick.
"Maybe we'll find out when we get back to where the thing happened—that is if the ponies will go back," spoke Bud.
However there seemed to be no trouble on this score, for, as the boys came nearer and nearer to the place whence the animals had started on their dash, there was no sign of fear or nervousness. The steeds trotted on as they had done over any other stretch of the range, and the deepest breathing of which the boys were capable betrayed to their alert noses not the slightest taint in the air.
"This is mighty queer!" murmured Bud as he guided his mount to and fro around the locality. "Mighty queer!"
"It's almost as if we had dreamed it," remarked Nort.
"It was no dream the way I had to pull my horse back!" declared Dick, and the others agreed with him.
"Well, I guess we'll have to give it up and put it down as part of the unsolved mystery of Dot and Dash," said Bud as he wheeled his horse around and headed for the ranch house.
"Unless you want to take a ride up there again," suggested Nort.
"Where do you mean?"
Nort pointed to the defile—that gulch which the boys had namedSmugglers' Glen—and added:
"We might catch the old man in Elixer Cave."
"What good would that do?" asked Dick. "You don't imagine he had anything to do with scaring our horses; do you?"
"Not exactly," replied his brother. "But, seeing we're so near the place, I thought we might give it the once over."
"Not much point to it," said Bud. "There's nothing to be learned up there. No, I guess it was some sort of queer weed or flower I smelled and which also frightened the ponies. I wish I knew more about botany. I might find out what it was," and he looked at the trampled grass over which they were now riding. But it gave no clew.
"If there's a weed, the mere smell of which causes a horse to bolt," said Nort, "it may be the thing that's causing the cattle to die. Maybe it's the poison weed that caused so many deaths here."
"I can't believe anything as strange as that," declared Bud. "But after we get things running well I'm going to have a doctor, or a chemist or somebody who knows about such things come out here and look the place over. We've got to get to the bottom of this puzzle."
His cousins agreed with him. However there was nothing they could do at present. So they rode back to the ranch where they told their strange experience, and suggested to Billee, Snake and the other cowboys that it would be well for them to be on the watch, to find out if any strange weed or flower growing in Death Valley was responsible for the sinister manifestations.
"It may be a new brand of loco weed," suggested Yellin' Kid in his big voice. "Some of that's deadly."
"To eat, yes, but not to smell," Bud reminded him. "But you may be right at that. Keep your eyes open, boys."
"Loco weed!" exclaimed Billee. "I've had experience with that—I mean some ponies I once owned went crazy from it. It sure is queer stuff." He referred to a species of bean plant, growing in some sections of the west. Horses and cattle who inadvertently eat this weed with their other fodder run madly about as if insane and often have to be shot. Sometimes loco weed is powerful enough to kill, it is said by some, though there is a doubt on this point. But none of the cowboys had ever heard of the odor from loco weed doing any damage.
The incident of the ponies running away was soon forgotten in the rush and detail of work that soon piled up at Dot and Dash ranch. More cattle were put out to graze, to thus fatten up for market. More hands were hired and the place soon was almost as busy, big and important as the boys' ranch in Happy Valley, or the original one at Diamond X.
There was one thing Bud and his cousins noticed and spoke of, however, and this was that all their cowboys came from distant places, with the exception of Billee, Kid and Snake. All the hands hired gave their addresses as of ranches far removed from Death Valley. And though when they first started business the boy ranchers had endeavored to hire hands in Los Pompan, they were not successful.
"Why don't you want to sign on with us?" Bud asked more than one.
"Oh, well, I don't have nothin' against you, personal, boss," would be the answer, "but I don't jest like that locality."
Then Bud and his cousins knew that the sinister reputation of Dot andDash was at the bottom of the refusal.
But enough men from other places were hired to run the ranch, and matters were shaping themselves nicely. Bud sent word home that in spite of the sensational stories, and the one or two strange happenings the boys had themselves experienced, it looked as if the proposition would be a successful and paying one. Fah Moo was a jewel of a cook and there was soon established quite a happy little family at Dot and Dash.
Then, without warning, another blow fell.
It was decided that some of the original herd, purchased with the ranch, could now be sold, as cattle on the hoof were bringing good prices. And, talking it over one night, Bud and his chums planned to cut out a number of fat steers and ship them away.
"I'll ride over to that range in the morning," Bud told his cousins at the conclusion of the conference, "and give the bunch the once-over. Then you two can do the cutting out for I've got to go to town the next few days to sign up some papers for dad. So I'll leave the shipment to you."
"It will be our first from here," said Dick.
"Yes," agreed his brother. "And I hope they don't die before we get 'em to the loading chutes."
"Not much danger, I guess," Bud remarked. "This jinx seems to be passing us up. Guess it got tired of the way we came back at it. Well, I'll go over the first thing in the morning and next day you can begin to round up and cut out."
"When'll you be back?" Nort asked his cousin when Bud slung his leg over the saddle next morning. The two Shannon boys were to be busy at some duties about the ranch during their cousin's absence.
"Oh, I'll be back by noon," was the answer.
So Bud rode away, singing the Cowboy's Lament, and idly flipping the end of his lariat.
Noon came almost before Nort and Dick realized it, so busy were they, and when Fah Moo cried: "Klum an' glit it!" which was the signal for dinner, Nort exclaimed:
"Bud isn't back yet!"
"No," said Dick. "Maybe he found the herd farther off than he counted on. But he'll be along before we finish."
However, Bud did not show up, and when all the cowboys had eaten, and the afternoon began to wane without the return of the ranch owner's son, his cousins looked at each other with anxious faces.
"Where do you reckon he is?" asked Dick.
"That's hard to say, but——"
"Say, let's ride out that way!" interrupted Dick. "We've finished here and——"
He did not complete the sentence, but his brother knew what was implied. Accordingly a little later, saying nothing to the other hands, the two saddled their ponies and started out on the trail to that part of the ranch situated near Smugglers' Glen, where the original bunch of cattle were grazing.
"I don't like this disappearance on Bud's part," said Nort, as they rode along.
"Is it a disappearance?" asked Dick, pointedly.
"What else is it? He hasn't come back."
To this Dick returned no answer, but there were anxious looks on the faces of the boy ranchers as they urged their ponies forward.
Pleasant enough it was, riding over the sunlit, undulating broad stretches of the range, and Dick and Nort would have thoroughly enjoyed it had it not been for the nature of their errand. Had Bud been with them they would probably have "whooped it up" with joyous, care-free exuberance. But now they were rather solemn, not to say glum.
Dick, noticing that his brother rode along with his eyes bent on the ground just ahead of the pony, inquired:
"What are you looking for—lost something?"
"No. But I was thinking about the possibility of poison weed and I thought maybe I could spot it before anything happened."
"I don't take much stock in that poison weed theory," said Dick.
"No? What do you think caused the deaths?"
"Hanged if I know! I'm more concerned, right now, with finding out what's keeping Bud away."
"Well, that's why I was sort of looking for this weed—if there is such a thing."
"You thought maybe he'd been overcome by it?"
"Somewhat—like Sam Tarbell was overcome, you know."
"There's a possibility of that," admitted Dick, with an anxious air."But we ought to meet him soon."
However they rode on for several miles, and though they strained their eyes for a sight of their returning cousin, they did not glimpse him. It was getting dusk when they came within view of the original herd which had been purchased with the ranch. The cattle were quietly feeding, chewing cuds or roaming about as suited each individual taste. But there was no sight of Bud.
"Something must have happened to him!" said Nort, voicing not only his own fear but that of his brother. "He doesn't seem to be around here. Something sure has happened!"
"I'm beginning to fear so," admitted Dick. "He might have had a tumble, or his pony might, and gotten a broken leg from it—I mean Bud might."
"He could manage to sit on his horse with a broken leg—that is some kinds of broken legs," Nort pointed out.
"He couldn't get back up in the saddle if he fell off and broke his leg," objected Dick. "Gosh! I wish we'd find him."
They topped a little rise, which gave them a good view of the surrounding territory, and eagerly scanned the vista. There seemed to be nothing but cattle in sight, but a few moments after reaching the little hill summit Dick exclaimed:
"There's a pony!"
Excitedly he pointed to it, and a moment later Nort had taken his field glasses from their case and was focusing on the animal. After what seemed like a long time, but which, really, was only a few seconds, Nort cried:
"That's Bud's horse all right!"
"Do you see Bud?" anxiously inquired Dick.
"No, he doesn't seem to be in sight. But let's ride over there."
They urged their ponies forward at top speed but as they drew near Bud's favorite mount, which he had brought with him from Diamond X, the steed perversely kicked up his heels, wheeled about and was away on a fast trot.
"He must have lost his bridle, or else the reins are caught up on the saddle horn!" cried Dick as he and his brother took after the runaway. For a Western horse, in almost all cases, will stand still if the reins are dropped over his head to the ground. Of course there are exceptions, but Bud's mount was well trained in this habit. Consequently when Nort and Dick saw the animal running from them they realized that one of two things must have happened. A horse cannot run far with the bridle reins dangling in front of him. He is very likely to step on them and trip himself up. But nothing like this happened with Star, which was the name of Bud's pony. He ran on easily.
"Have to rope him, I guess!" cried Nort, who was a little in advance of his brother.
"Go to it! We got to find out what's wrong!"
There was an exciting race for a few minutes but in the end Nort and his trusty lariat won. The coils settled over the head of the runaway and he was gently brought to a halt. Once caught he was tractable enough. It was as though he had wanted to show off.
"Bridle's gone; eh?" remarked Dick as he cantered up alongside his brother and the captured horse. "That looks bad."
"Unless Bud took it off himself, to let his pony graze in more comfort."
"He wouldn't do that without hobbling him, and look—there's his rope."Dick pointed to the coils on the saddle horn.
"Then what happened? Is there any——"
Nort did not like to use the word "blood," but that is what he implied.And his brother knew the thought—that Bud might have been shot by somerustlers or roving desperados and so had been dropped from the saddle.But there were no evidences of foul play, and no signs of a struggle.No marks showed on the pony, either.
"Well, this sure is a mystery!" exclaimed Nort when the casual examination, was over. "What has become of Bud?"
"That's what I'd like to know," echoed Dick. "What's the next move?"
"Better go back and tell some of the boys. We'll have to organize a search."
"Guess that's the only thing to do," admitted Dick. "Gosh! The jinx was only on a vacation. Now it's back in full force."
"Oh, I wouldn't go thinking the worst—not yet a while," urged Nort as they started back for the ranch, leading Bud's mount by a rope around his neck. "Something might have given Bud a fall and his pony might have run away. Then Bud may have met some cowboys who loaned him a mount to get back on. He may be back at the ranch when we get there."
But Dick shook his head over this theory.
"If Bud had ridden back on a borrowed horse we'd have seen him, sure!" he declared. "We came the same trail he'd have used."
Truth to tell Nort did not think much of his own reasoning, but he put it forward as the best under the circumstances. There was clearly only one thing to do, and that was to acquaint the cowboys with the mystery of Bud's disappearance as soon as possible, and get a search under way.
There was plenty of excitement at Dot and Dash when, in the shadows of the coming night, Nort and Dick galloped into the yard and shouted the news. They knew, without asking, that Bud had not returned in their absence, so Yellin' Kid did not have to shout:
"He isn't here!"
"Then we've got to find him!" was Billee's conclusion after hearing the brothers' story. "Come on, boys! We've got to search for Bud!"
Darkness, which shrouded Death Valley shortly after the search started, was a severe handicap. Even the most skillful followers of a trail, and there were several such among the cow punchers, could do little in the night. Still they rode out in various directions from the Dot and Dash ranch house—big, stern-faced men, with lariat and gun ready and determined looks in their eyes.
Though some of the cowboys had only been associated with Bud Merkel during the short time of their hire, they had come to admire the boy rancher who treated them as his father would have done, with fairness and kindness.
"If any doggoned rustlers have been playing tricks with Bud," voiced Yellin' Kid as he rode off with Nort, Dick and Billee, "they had better make their wills. I'm after 'em, boy, I'm tellin' you!" and he shouted this information to the silent night.
So they rode forth into the blackness. The Shannon brothers, with Yellin' Kid and Old Billee Dobb, made up one party. Snake Purdee with Sam Tarbell headed another, and the various new cow punchers, including one or two who had recently been sent by Mr. Merkel from Diamond X, took up such trail as there was.
At best it was only a series of faint clews that led toward Bud. It was known in what direction he had started that morning, and the finding of his horse near the original herd, and not far from the Smugglers' Glen, gave color to the theory that he had carried out his intention of getting information about the cattle he wanted to ship away. That was as far as clews went.
What had happened to the young man, how he came off his horse, how the pony's bridle was missing—all these were points to be cleared up by the searchers. And it was not easy in the night.
"We can't do much till morning," said Billee Dobb when he and his companions had circled around the wondering cattle of the original herd, without getting any nearer to the solution of the mystery. "Something's happened to Bud to put him out of business."
"Out of business!" exclaimed Nort. "Do you mean——"
"I mean only temporary!" Billee made haste to add. "Bud's in some sort of condition where he can't come back to us or send word. I don't really think anything could have happened to him—I mean anything serious."
"I hope not," murmured Dick, while Nort echoed the wish.
However, as the hours of the night passed, and searching as best they could by the glimmer of flashlights, stopping to shout Bud's name now and then, they did not find the missing young rancher.
"It's getting daylight," remarked Yellin' Kid in lower tones than he was wont to use. Perhaps the strange hush which always precedes the dawn, or perhaps the sorrow that pervaded all hearts on account of Bud's absence had an influence on Kid and he was more solemn.
"Yes, soon be time to eat," agreed Old Billee. "We'll have to go back, though. Didn't bring no grub with us."
This was true enough. When the search started no one thought it would last very long. There was no idea that the searchers would be out all night. Yet such was the case.
"Yes, we'll have to go back and then start out again after we eat," assented Nort.
They rode along for a time in silence. Slowly the light in the east grew. More and more rosy it appeared, now with golden streaks. Morning was about to break forth in all its glory.
"I wonder if he could have had anything to do with it?" spoke Nort suddenly, and apparently asking himself the question.
"Who?" inquired Dick a bit sharply. "What do you mean?"
"I mean the old Elixer peddler."
"Tosh?"
"Yes."
"How could he have anything to do with Bud staying away all night?"
"That's it. I don't know. I'm just wondering. Tosh is a queer old crank, you know, and he may have met Bud and tried to sell him some more of the stuff that Fah Moo got sick on."
"Well, there'd be no harm in that," remarked Billee. "Old Tosh probably tries to sell everybody he meets some of his dope, on the plea that it'll save them from the fate that overtakes so many in Death Valley. No harm in that. Poor, old crank!"
"No harm in trying to sell—no," assented Nort. "But if Bud didn't buy any bottles of the stuff—and he wouldn't be likely to—Tosh might have got mad and kicked up a row. There might have been a fight and——"
"Oh, I don't think so!" interrupted Dick. "That's a little too far fetched."
"Well, almost anything might have happened," argued Nort. "But I wish we'd find him!"
The others heartily echoed the thought. They were nearing, now, the entrance to the defile, or Smugglers' Glen. The sun was just peeping up above the line of round hills which represented the horizon. A new day was being born, but to those from Dot and Dash ranch it was not a joyful day—or it would not be if the mystery over Bud remained unsolved.
"I wonder if, by any chance, he could be up in there," mused Nort.
"Where?" asked Dick, who was gazing off across the range, his eyes intently focused on a small, moving object that did not seem to be either a cow or a horse.
"Up there where we found old Tosh making the witches' broth," and Nortlooked closely at his brother to see what was attracting his attention."I mean in Smugglers' Glen," went on Nort, for Dick had not turned."What you looking at?" suddenly demanded Nort.
"Why, I thought—I saw—" Dick was speaking in a preoccupied manner, his gaze still fixed on that small, dark object.
Then, so suddenly that it startled all of them, as they sat on their mounts, with back turned toward the defile, there came from the glen a noise. It was a noise of stones rattling one against the other.
Like a flash all turned from observing the object that had caughtDick's eyes, and the reason for the stone-rattling noise was explained.It was caused by some one walking unsteadily out of the defile, and theperson who was walking was—Bud Merkel!
For a moment the searchers could scarcely believe that they really saw the missing youth. But as he came nearer it was only too evident.
"Bud!" cried Nort and Dick in a duet as they spurred their horses forward. "Bud!"
"By gosh! 'Tis him!" roared Yellin' Kid.
"But he's 'bout done up!" commented Billee Dobb as he, with Kid, urged his pony forward. "What happened?"
It was obvious that something serious had taken place. Bud was hardly able to walk, and was supporting himself by leaning on a tree branch as a sort of cane or crutch. But his face brightened in the rising sun as he beheld his friends coming toward him.
"What happened?" called Dick, as he dismounted beside his cousin.
"It's a strange story," said Bud in a weak voice. "I've been practically kidnaped and put under the spell of some sort of poison gas."
"Kidnaped!" cried Snake.
"Poison gas!" echoed Billee.
"Who did it?" demanded Nort.
"Rustlers, I reckon," said Bud as he sank down on a bowlder and drank greedily from the canteen Dick offered. "I was surprised by a crowd of men back there," and he nodded back up the gulch. "They shot some sort of vapor at me that knocked me out, and I've been a prisoner ever since. I just managed to get away."
"Tell us about it!" cried Nort.
"And we'll go back there and clean those fellows out!" shouted Yellin'Kid, reaching for his gun.
He would have put his threat into execution, too, but Bud restrained him with a gesture as he said:
"It's no use!"
"Why not? Did you shoot 'em up?" asked Snake, with the beginning of a delighted grin.
"No," Bud replied. "But they aren't there now. They lit out. That's how I could get away."
"Say, there's more to this than you're telling us!" said Nort.
"Go ahead. Spill the whole yarn—that is if you're able," begged Dick.
"Oh, yes, I feel better now. Give me a little more water and I'll tell you what happened to me."