For a moment Bud Merkel seemed unable to comprehend the bad news thus brought to him by his cowboy helpers and friends. Nort and Dick, also, were shocked by the intelligence. But Bud quickly recovered. Perhaps it was because of his heritage of the west—the ability to face danger and disaster with grim courage, part of his father's stock in trade.
"Rustlers, eh?" repeated Bud, and his voice was steadier than Yellin' Kid or Snake Purdee expected to find it. "Did they get many?"
"Quite a bunch," answered Yellin' Bad. "We rounded up as many as we could, and—"
"You mean you rounded up therustlers?" asked Nort, eagerly.
"No, what was left of the steers," answered Snake. "Guess we wouldn't be back here alone—that is, just us two, if we'd had a run-in with the rascals. We didn't see 'em, but we did find traces of 'em. What are you going to do, Bud? Get on their trail?"
"Let's talk it over, first," suggested the boy rancher, and he looked at Nort and Dick, for they were partners with him on this venture of trying to raise cattle in Happy Valley—which would have been almost a desert save for the water that came through the strange mountain tunnel.
"Tell us about it," urged Dick.
"Well, there isn't so much to tell," replied Yellin' Kid, his voice a bit lower, now that there was serious business afoot. "Snake an' I started there, to haze back th' steers as you; told us, Bud. But when we'd rounded up th' herd, drivin' 'em in from where a lot of 'em had strayed, we saw, right away, that th' count was short. First we thought a bunch was hidin' out on us, but we made a pretty good search an' then we got th' evidence."
"The evidence?" exclaimed Nort.
"Yes, we saw where the rustlers had been at work. They must 'a' been there a day before we arrived. They probably cut out a good bunch of cattle an' drove 'em off. But they didn't drive 'em all."
"What makes you think so?" asked Bud. "Do you mean that we have a few left?" and he laughed uneasily.
"Oh, there's more'n afew," said Snake. "But by evidenceKid means we saw where they'd been blurrin' the brand—theDiamond X brand!"
"Oh, they're doing that; are they?" asked Bud, sharply.
"Yes, we found th' ashes of two or three brandin' fires," went on Yellin' Kid, "an' we picked up th' broken handle of a brandin' iron. No marks on it, like there was on the other," he said, referring to the time one of the irons from Double Z had been found on the range of the boy ranchers. "But we brought it along, anyhow," and he exhibited a broken and charred piece of wood.
"But we found more than that," he continued. "We found one steer they'd killed, for beef likely, after they'd blurred th' brand. There wasn't much left. What th' rustlers didn't take th' buzzards did. But there was enough of th' hide left to show what work they were up to—blurring th' brand."
This, as you have learned from the previous books of this series, consists in burning some other mark over the legitimate brand on cattle, so that the original one can not be made out. Then the animal may be claimed by whoever has it. Blurring a brand, that is, making it illegible, or changing one brand into another, are two of the methods used by unscrupulous men to steal cattle.
The boy ranchers well understood what was meant by the news brought them by the two cowboys. The next thing to decide on was what course to pursue. "Did they leave any trail?" asked Bud.
"Well, we didn't stop t' hunt for it, as long as it wasn't a plain one," Snake answered. "Likely we could 'a' picked it up. But as long as there had been a raid we decided th' best thing t' do was t' save th' rest of th' cattle, an' then come an' tell you, Bud."
"How many cattle do you think they took?" asked Nort.
"Oh, I should say fifty," answered Yellin Kid, "includin' th' one they killed for beef. Probably they blurred th' brands on th' others an' drove 'em off—an' I shouldn't be a bit s'prised," he went on, "but what we'd find most of your cattle, Bud, walkin' around on Double Z."
"Hank Fisher; eh?" exclaimed Dick.
"Yes, an' that slick Mexican half-breed of his, Del Pinzo!" declared Snake. "Anyhow, they got away with a bunch of your steers, Bud, an' now what are we goin' t' do? Are we goin' t' sit back an' let 'em laugh at us?"
"Not much!" declared the boy rancher. "But let's get this straight. I wonder why they didn't drive off the whole herd while they were at it?"
"Probably it was too big a contract for 'em," remarked Yellin' Kid. "An' then, too, they might not 'a' had men enough, or th' cattle may 'a' stampeded."
"An' maybe they was scared off," added Snake.
"Yes," agreed his partner on the ride from which they had just returned, "that may have been so. Somethin' may have scared th' rustlers. But if I get a chance at 'em, I'll throw a bigger scare int' 'em!" and he significantly tapped the grim .45 at his hip.
"Any trace of which way they went?" asked Bud.
"There is—up to a certain point," admitted Snake.
"What do you mean?" the boy rancher asked.
"Well, I mean we could trace the cattle down the valley up to that low place between the hills-a sort of pass. And then all trace of 'em was lost."
"Lost!" repeated Nort.
"Yes, sir, lost!" declared Snake. "You couldn't see any more signs of 'em than if they'd been lifted up in one of them flying machines and histed up over the mountain! That's th' funny part of this raid."
"There have been some other queer things around here," said Dick."There was that bottle last night."
"What was that?" asked Snake, quickly.
"There was some promiscuous shooting around here last night," said Bud. "I'll tell you about it as soon as we get the straight of this rustler business. Maybe there's some connection. But I wonder——"
He was interrupted by a voice singing, and the song was one of the usual cowboy refrains, though the voice was rather better than usual.
At first the boy ranchers thought it might be Old Billee Dobb who, with Buck Tooth, had been out to a distant part of the valley to see if he could get on the track of a mountain lion which had been killing cattle. But a glance showed the approaching singer, who was also a rider, to be a stranger. He sat astride a big, black horse, much larger than the ordinary cow pony, and as he approached the camp the sun glinted in curious fashion on his face.
"Four eyes!" exclaimed Snake, meaning, thereby, that the stranger wore glasses. The rising sun had reflected on their lens. On came "Four Eyes," singing as he advanced, until, when he came within hailing distance, he drew rein, saluted the assembled company with a half-military gesture and called out:
"Any chance of a job here?"
Silence followed this greeting and question, and then the two boy ranchers, and their cowboy friends, waited for Bud to speak, he being, in a sense, the head of the new organization. Though Dick and Nort held equal shares, purchased for them by their father, the two lads who had lived so long in the east deferred to the boy of the west in this matter, thinking, naturally, that he would better be able to handle it.
"Looking for a place?" asked Bud, genially enough, as he surveyed the newcomer, from the top of his broad-brimmed range hat to the pawing hoofs of his black steed, for the horse was impatiently digging in the dirt.
"Yep!" was the answer. "I'm looking for a place." The voice was pleasant, and there was none of that clipping off of the final "g" in his words, so common a practice among most of the cowboys. Perhaps they didn't have time to use the proper endings. "I'm dead anxious to ride for some outfit," went on "Four Eyes," as he had been dubbed and as he came to be called, as long as he remained with Diamond X Second. "Your father sent me over here," he added.
"My father!" exclaimed Bud. "Do you know him? I don't know you!" he added quickly, for he sensed that the stranger, in some manner, had managed to pick him from all the others as the son of the proprietor of Diamond X.
"I don't claim to know your father, only having met him once, when I rode up, yesterday, to ask for a job," went on Four Eyes. "I slept out last night—back there," he added with a wave of 'is quirt in the direction of Diamond X. "Had supper with the boys at your father's ranch, and he told me you might be needing some one. If you don't——" He paused suggestively, evidently ready to ride on and try his luck elsewhere if there was no chance in the valley.
"I may need some one," Bud said. In fact, he was in need of an additional hand, and since this latest action on the part of rustlers he wanted help more than ever, for he was about to put into execution a plan for getting on the trail of these marauders. "But how'd you know who I was?" he asked, anxious to ascertain how the stranger had picked him out, as distinguished from Nort or Dick.
"Oh, your father looks like you," was the easy answer, given with a laugh, in which Snake, Yellin' Kid and the boy ranchers joined. "When he said he didn't need any riders, adding that perhaps you might, I decided to take a chance."
"All right. I can use another hand—or, rather,wecan," and Bud waved his hand toward his cousins. "You can turn your pony into the corral," he added, "and we'll give you something to eat—unless you've had breakfast?" he questioned.
"Not so much but what I can eat more. Thanks! My name's Henry Mellon. I've ridden some for Curly Q and Long L if you want any references."
"I reckon my dad sized you up all right," spoke Bud.
"I reckon he did!" laughed Henry Mellon, or Four Eyes, as I shall call him, following the custom of the others on the ranch. "I wouldn't want to try to put anything over on him."
"It isn't exactly healthy," agreed Bud, for his father bore an enviable reputation for finding out the truth about matters in that "cow country."
"Ever ride for Double Z?" asked Yellin' Kid, and the loud tone's of his voice appeared to startle the newcomer.
"Why, no," was the answer. "I can't say that I have. One of Mr.Merkel's ranches?" he asked.
"No. It's Hank Fisher's place," spoke Snake. "Glad to meet up with you," he added, riding forward and extending his hand. "That's quite a hoss you got there. Beckon he can go some!"
"Well, he doesn't take dust from many," was the cautious admission, as the new cowboy shook hands all around. "He'll be glad of a rest, though, for I've ridden hard lately. I suppose I can use another?" he asked Bud.
"Sure," was the answer. "Snake here, or Yellin' Kid, will show you which ones you can add to your string. See you later, fellows," Bud called to his cowboy helpers, as he motioned to Nort and Dick to follow him to their own private tent.
"What do you think of it, Bud?" asked Nort, when they were alone, and the new cowboy was being made to feel at home by Snake, Yellin' Kid, and Old Billee, who had by this time ridden in. The smell of cooking arose from the tent that Buck Tooth had turned into a kitchen.
"You mean him?" and Bud nodded toward where the cowboys were congregated in friendly talk.
"No, I mean about the rustlers."
"Oh, they're bad! No question about it—they'rebad!" declared Bud. "As soon as we get a chance we'll ride over and take a look at the place. It doesn't seem reasonable that they can drive a bunch of cattle off down the valley, and then have all traces of 'em disappear as if they'd gone up in an airship."
"That's right!" chimed in Dick. "Do you s'pose this Four Eyes saw the rustlers?"
"He didn't come from that direction," declared the western lad.
"Hesayshe didn't," spoke Nort. And when Nort accented that one word Bud looked at his cousin quickly.
"Don't you believe what he says?" Bud asked.
"All the same I'd call up your father," went on Nort.
Bud hesitated a moment and then said:
"I will! No use taking chances. He may be all right, but it won't do any harm to know it. I like his looks, though we don't often get a cowboy with glasses. I'll call dad!"
Which he did, on the telephone, learning from his father that Mr. Merkel knew nothing about the stranger, though he "sized him up," as being all right.
But Mr. Merkel had done more than this. He had called, on the telephone, or had been in communication, otherwise, with the late employers of Henry Mellon, and the cowboy was well spoken of. He was a reliable hand, it was said.
"So we don't have to worry abouthim," Bud told his cousins. "But we do have to take some action about these rustlers! Hang 'em! I wish they were all bottled up in the tunnel!"
"That's right!" chimed in Dick.
"Are we going on their trail?" asked Nort.
"If we can pick it up," agreed Bud. "Anyhow, we'll take a ride over that way. What with cattle missing, and queer shots being fired behind your back, we're likely to be in for as lively a time as when we had the water fight!"
"Or locating a Triceratops!" added Nort with a laugh.
After breakfast, and the finishing of the usual "chores" about camp, the boy ranchers prepared to ride over and look at the place where the raid had been made. "What cattle had not been taken—and it was only a small part of the herd that had been driven off—were now nearer the camp headquarters, having been hazed over by Snake and Yellin' Kid. Mr. Merkel had been told of the theft, and had advised prompt action on the part of his son and nephews.
"Four Eyes seems to be making himself right at home," remarked Dick, as the three boys started toward the corral, intending to saddle their ponies and ride over to the scene of the cattle-rustling operations.
"Yes," agreed Bud.
Henry Mellon was in the midst of Old Billee, Buck Tooth, Snake and Yellin' Kid, and, as the boy ranchers watched, they saw N Four Eyes twirling his lariat above his head.
"What's he doing?" asked Dick.
"Oh, just showing 'em some fancy roping," Bud answered.
"Let's go over," suggested Nort. "I'd like to get on to a few tricks, myself."
They found Four Eyes attempting some of the more difficult feats of rope throwing. After twirling his lasso about his head, the rope forming a perfect circle, he changed the direction from horizontal to perpendicular, and nimbly leaped backward and forward through the swiftly circling lariat.
Snake tried this, but his spurs caught and there was a queer mix-up of man and rope. Snake could equal the newcomer's feat in twirling the rope around his head horizontally, but failed, as did Yellin' Kid, in the other trick.
"It's just a knack," said Four Eyes, modestly enough. "I had a lot of spare time, and I practiced some of these fancy twists. I can rope four horses at once."
"Yes you can—not!" challenged Snake.
"I'll prove it—of course they have to be going in the same direction," stipulated the new cowboy.
"Even with that I doubt it," went on Snake. "I've heard of that, but I never saw it done."
"If you fellows will ride past me I'll rope you all," and FourEyes indicated Snake, Yellin' Kid, Old Billee and Buck Tooth.They mounted horses, and as Bud, Nort and Dick watched, thenewcomer prepared for the test.
"Say when!" called Snake to the spectacle-wearing cowboy, as the reptile-fearing cow puncher and his companions prepared to let themselves be roped by the new arrival—providing he could do it.
"I'll be ready in a moment," remarked Henry Mellon, and Bud and his cousins could not but note how differently he spoke from the average run of ranch hands.
"More like one of those college professors who were after the ten-million-year-old Triceratops," remarked Nort, commenting on the talk.
"Yes, he is a bit cultured in his speech," assented Bud. "Guess he hasn't been out west long."
"Then how can he be such a wonderful roper?" Dick wanted to know, for there was no doubt about the ability of Four Eyes, even if he had not yet made good oh his boast of putting his lariat around four galloping horses at once.
"Oh, well, it comes natural to some people," said Bud, "and then, too, he may have been in Mexico. Some of the Greasers are pretty slick with the horsehair. But let's watch."
By this time the four cow punchers, counting Buck Tooth as one, for the Indian was a good herdsman, had lined themselves up about a hundred feet from where Four Eyes sat on his horse—not the same black one he had ridden in, but another, of Bud's stock, that had been assigned him.
"Ready?" asked Yellin' Kid.
"All ready! Come a running!" shouted Four Eyes, and even here he did not drop a "g."
In an instant the four horses were in motion, coming together, in line, down the stretch which the newcomer faced. In another moment Four Eyes had ridden across the path of the oncoming steeds, and on the ground he spread out his lasso in a great loop, leaning over in his saddle to do this. He retained hold of the rope end that was fastened to his saddle, and then, having spread the net, as it were, he pulled up on the opposite side of the course down which the four were now thundering in a cloud of dust.
"Can he do it?" asked Nort.
"He can that way—yes," Bud said. "It's a trick! I thought he was going to make a throw."
"It's a good trick, though, if he does it," declared Dick.
In another instant all four horses ridden by the cowboys and the Indian were within the spread-out loop of Four Eyes as it lay on the ground. And then something happened.
With a mere twist of his wrist, as it seemed, Henry Mellon snapped the outspread rope upward and, reining back his horse, he suddenly pulled the lasso taut.
It was completely around the sixteen legs of the four horses, holding them together, the rope itself being half way down from the shoulder of each animal.
"He did it! By the great rattler and all the little rattlers, he did it!" shouted Yellin' Kid, as he pulled his horse to a stop, an example followed by the others. For though they might all (save one, perhaps) have pulled out of the encircling rope, there possibly would have been an accident. One, or more, of the horses would have stumbled, or been pulled to the ground. And there was no need of that in what was only a friendly contest.
"You did it!" declared Yellin' Kid, as Four Eyes loosed his rope and it fell to the ground, the riders guiding their horses out of the loop. "You shore did it!"
"But it was a trick!" declared Old Billee. "'Tw'an't straight ropin'!"
"Yes, it's a trick, but not every one can do it," said the new cowboy.
"Betcher I can!" declared Snake.
He tried—more than once, but failed. It was not as easy as it looked, in spite of the fact that it was a trick.
"No one can throw, with any accuracy, a loop big enough to take in four horses on the run," declared Four Eyes when it had been demonstrated that he alone, of all the "bunch" at the Happy Valley ranch, could do what he had done. "At least if they can, I've never seen it. Two, maybe, or three, but not four. Putting your rope on the ground, and snapping it up as the horses get in it, is the only way I know."
"I wish you'd show me," spoke Nort.
"I will," promised Four Eyes. "You don't often have need for a trick like it, but it may come in useful some day."
Then he showed the boys the knack of it, though it was evident they were not going to master the "how" in a hurry.
Other feats in roping were indulged in by the cowboys, but none was as expert as Four Eyes. He seemed to possess uncanny skill with the lariat, though some of his tricks could be duplicated by Snake, Yellin' Kid and even by the boy ranchers.
But life on a western ranch is not all fun and jollity, though as much of this as possible is indulged in to make up for the strenuous times that are ever present. So, after the roping exhibition was over, and the newcomer had been assigned certain duties, Bud, Nort and Dick rode down the valley, intending to look over the place where the steers had been stolen, and the carcass of one left as a grim reminder of the raid.
Otherwise all in Happy Valley was peaceful. The water was running into the reservoir, through the pipes that connected with the mysterious underground course, once utilized, it was thought, by the ancient Aztecs.
Here and there, feeding on the rich bunch and Johnson grass, were the cattle in which the boy ranchers were so vitally interested. The most distant herd had been driven in by Snake and Yellin' Kid—the herd on which the raid had been made. Like black specks on the green floor of the valley were the cattle, dotted here and there.
"If we have luck this season we ought to round up a good bunch this fall," observed Bud, as he rode with his cousins.
"Yes," agreed Nort. "The water can't be shut off now, and we have nothing to worry about."
"Except rustlers," put in Dick.
"And the fellow who broke the bottle for us," added Bud. "I'd like to know who he was."
"It was a bit queer," Nort admitted. "But I believe it was some passing cow puncher playing a joke on us. This cattle stealing is no joke, though, and it's got to stop!"
"You let loose an earful that time," spoke Bud, in picturesque, western slang. "We'll have to let the bottle-breaker wait for a spell, until we size up this rustler question. We may have to get up a sheriff's posse and clean out the rascals."
"If we can find 'em," grimly added Dick.
It was some distance to the place where Yellin' Kid and Snake Purdee had seen evidences of the raid, and it was long past noon when the boys reached it. They had stopped for "grub" on the way, having carried with them some food. Water they could get from one of the several concrete troughs that had been installed, the fluid coming through pipes from the reservoir.
"Here's where they killed the steer, or yearling," Bud said, pointing to a heap of bones.
It was all that remained from the feast of the buzzards.
"And here's where they started to drive off the cattle, evidently," added Nort, pointing to where a plain trail, made by the feet of many animals, led away from the ground that was more generally trampled by a large herd.
"Let's follow it," urged Dick. "We want to see when it gets to the disappearing point."
"That's right!" chimed in Bud.
They urged their ponies slowly along the trail left by the rustlers. It seemed to go down the valley to the place where the hills lowered on either side to form a sort of pass. It was in this pass that the two cowboys said the trail was lost.
"We've got some distance to go, yet," observed Bud, as they paused to look and make sure they had not lost the trail.
"And, after all, maybe we'll only find the same thing Snake andKid did—nothing!" said Nort.
"Well," began Bud, "we've got to get to the bottom of this, and if we don't in one way we will——"
He was interrupted by a shout from Dick.
"Look!" cried the stout lad. "There's a fire! The grass is on fire, Bud!"
The western lad gave a quick look in the direction Dick indicated. It was off to the right from the trail they had been following.
"It is a fire—regular prairie fire," Bud murmured.
"Could any of the reservation Indians be on the rampage and have set it?" asked Nort.
"I don't know! We've got to find out about it!" shouted Bud."Come on, fellows!" And, wheeling his horse, he abandoned thetrail of the rustlers, and galloped toward the fire, followed byNort and Dick.
Some time before the boy ranchers reached the scene of the grass fire toward which they were riding, they caught the smell of the burning fodder. That it was only grass which was aflame they had known before this, for that was all there was to ignite in that section of the valley. There were no buildings as yet, tents taking their place. Though Bud and his father planned to erect substantial structures if this year was successful.
"A lot of good fodder going up in smoke, Bud!" yelled Nort, as he rode beside his cousin.
"If it isn't any worse than that we're lucky," was the answer.
"How do you mean?" asked Dick.
"I mean if we don't lose any cattle. The grass isn't any good after it dries up on the ground, the way this has. But if the fire starts a stampede of cattle—that will mean a loss."
"Do you think that's what the game is?" asked Nort, encouraging his pony, Blaze, by patting the animal's neck.
"I can't see what else it is, unless the fire started when some one threw down a burning match or cigarette, and most cow punchers aren't that careless. Our fellows wouldn't do it, and I don't believe any other ranchers around here would, except on purpose."
"You mean the Double Z bunch?" asked Dick.
"Sort of heading that way," replied Bud, significantly.
Together the boy ranchers rode on toward the fire, silently for a time, the only sounds being the thud of their ponies' feet and the creak of saddle leathers and stirrups. The smell of the burning grass was more pronounced now, and the pall of black smoke was rolling upward in a larger cloud.
"It's a big fire!" exclaimed Nort. "How can we stop it, Bud?"
"It will soon burn out," the western lad replied. "I happen to know where this grass is. It's a place where we couldn't very well bring water to, and if it doesn't rain much, as it hasn't lately, the fodder gets as dry as tinder. There's a sort of swale, or valley, filled with this dry grass and it's just naturally burning itself off."
"Then no very great harm will be done; will there?" asked Dick.
"Not much, unless the cattle get frightened and start to stampede. That's what I'm afraid of, and why I'm riding over there. We can't hope to put out the fire." Owing to the fact that the grass was so dry that no cattle would feed on it, there were no steers in the immediate vicinity of the blaze Had the fodder been cut it would have made excellent hay, but it would need to be cut green to bring this about. As it was, the tall grass had just naturally dried up as it attained its growth.
"It doesn't take even as much as a blaze like this to start a stampede," said Bud, as he and his cousins rode nearer to the burning grass, They could feel the heat of it, now. "It's queer how frightened animals are of fire," went on the rancher's son. "There must have been some wonderful sights out here, years ago, when there were millions of buffalo, and when there were prairie fires, miles in width, driving them before it."
"I should say so!" chimed in Nort. "I've read some of those stories in Cooper's books. He's great; isn't he!"
"You delivered the goods that time!" remarked Bud.
"I wish the west was like that now," voiced Dick. "With Indians and buffalo all over."
"There are a few Indians left yet," said Bud. "They're mostly on reservations, except when they make a break, ride off and act up bad. I guess we stock raisers are better off without the wild Indians.
"As for the buffalo, they were mighty valuable, and if we could raise them as well as cattle, we'd make a lot of money. The government is trying to get several herds started, but it's no easy task. Why, there are almost as many buffalo in New York city as there is out west now."
"Where!" asked Nort, not thinking for the moment.
"In Bronx Park," answered Bud. "I haven't seen 'em but I've read about 'em."
"Oh, yes. So have I," agreed Nort. "I forgot about them. Whew! It's getting hot," he added, as a shift in the wind brought into their faces a wave of heated and smoke-filled air.
"We'd better not keep on any nearer," decided Bud. "Let's ride around to the other side, and see what we can see."
Accordingly they turned to the right, as the fire seemed less fierce on that quarter, and continued on. They had been riding over a stretch of the valley carpeted with rich, dark green and fairly damp grass. Bud and his cousins knew that when the fire reached this stretch it would die out for lack of fuel.
In fact the blaze, as they could see, was confined to an area about a mile square, but of irregular shape. So far none of the cattle in sight had shown more than momentary fear of the blaze. They had run some distance from it and then stopped, sometimes going on with their eating, and again pausing to look with fear-widened eyes at the sight of the leaping tongues of fire.
"But we can't tell what's going on behind that smoke screen," declared Bud. "Some rustlers may have started it to hide their work."
"Any of your men over in that direction?" asked Dick.
"They aren't supposed to be," Bud replied. "Of course some of 'em may have ridden over when they saw the smoke, same as we did. But I don't see how any of 'em could have reached here as soon as we did."
Together they rode on, circling to the right to get around the edge of the fire.
"She's dying out," observed Dick.
"Yes, it can't burn much longer," admitted Bud. "And no great damage done, either, unless we find something we haven't yet seen."
But when they had completed the circuit around the edge of the blazing grass, and could ride across the fire-blackened area, and behind what was still a thick screen of smoke, they saw something which caused them great surprise.
This was not the sight of a bunch of stampeding cattle, though it was what Bud and his cousins folly; expected to encounter. There were some cattle on this side of the fire, but they had run far enough away to be out of danger, and beyond where they could be frightened into a frenzied rush.
"Look!" exclaimed Nort, pointing.
"Four Eyes!" exclaimed Dick.
"By the great horned toad and Zip Foster—yes!" agreed Bud, and his cousins knew he must be stirred to unusual depths of feeling to use this name. Zip Foster had not been mentioned in several weeks. The mysterious personage, on whom Bud called in times of great excitement, was almost a stranger, of late, in Happy Valley. In fact Dick and Nort never could get Bud to talk about Zip. But that is a story which will be told in its proper place, and due season.
"ItisFour Eyes!" went on Bud, as he and his cousins recognized in the form of a distant rider that of Henry Mellon, the new cowboy. "And what he's doing here is more than I can imagine. I'm going to find out, though!"
The spectacled cow puncher was riding swiftly along, on a course that ran parallel to the direction of the fire. He was on the edge of the burned area, and galloping-away from the boys. But he was not beyond seeing or hailing distance.
"Hello there!" shouted Bud, dropping his reins and making a megaphone of his hands.
Four Eyes heard the call—there was no doubt of that, for he turned in his saddle and looked back. Then he must have seen the boys, for he waved his hat at them. Next he pointed ahead, as if to indicate that he was in pursuit of some one, and kept on, never slacking his pace.
"Come on!" shouted the impulsive Nort. "Let's catch up to him!"
He was about to spur his pony forward, but Bud caught the bridle.
"No use," said the western lad. "He's too far ahead, and our horses are too played out If he comes back well hear about it. If he doesn't—"
"Why, don't you think he'll come back!" interrupted Pick.
"It wouldn't surprise me if he didn't," Bud answered. "There are some queer things going on around here, and he may be one of 'em. Though I haven't any reason to suspect him—yet!" he quickly added.
"What are we going to do!" asked Dick, as he saw his cousin slacking his pony's pace. "Shall we go on to the end of the rustler's trail, or follow Four Eyes."
"Neither one," answered Bud. "At least not just yet," he added, as he saw Nort and Dick look at him curiously. "Let Four Eyes go, for the time being. He may have seen some cowboys he'd like to interview about this fire, and be after them. Or he may not. As for getting on the trail of the rustlers, we'd have to ride back quite a distance to do that, and it would be dark when we picked it up again. Too late to do anything."
"Are we going back to camp?" asked Dick.
"No, let's stay right here. We've got grub, and water isn't so far off. We'll just camp out for the night."
"Suits me," assented Dick.
"Same here," agreed Nort.
It was something the boys had often done. They carried blankets and tarpaulins on their saddles, ready for this emergency, and they "packed" sufficient rations for several substantial, if not elaborate, meals. They had a coffee pot, a frying pan, bacon and prepared flour, and flapjacks were within their range of abilities as cooks.
Pausing to note that the fire was rapidly dying out, that there was no cattle stampede in their vicinity, and noting that Four Eyes was now almost out of sight, the boy ranchers rode on to the nearest water-hole, and there prepared to spend the night, though it was still several hours until darkness should fall. But the horses were tired, for they had been run hard after the fire, and the boys decided to rest them. The lads, themselves, were fresh enough to have kept on, had there been occasion for it.
"Well, I'm glad this was no worse," observed Bud, as they sat down, having picketed their steeds, and looked at the receding pall of smoke. "I only hope the fellows at camp won't be worried."
"I guess they know we can take care of ourselves—at least we have so far," spoke Nort.
"Yes," agreed Bud. "You fellows have done pretty well since you came out here—you aren't tenderfeet any longer, not by all the shots that ever broke bottles."
"Say, what do you think of that, anyhow?" asked Dick, as he chewed reflectively on a bit of grass.
"I don't know what to think," asserted Bud. "There are a lot of serious questions we have to settle if we're going to keep on with this ranch."
"Why, we are going to keep on, aren't we?" asked Nort.
"I should say so!" cried Bud. "We're going to stick here, rustlers or not! And those are the only fellows I'm worrying about," and he tossed a lump of dirt in the fire which Dick was starting.
"Are there always rustlers to worry about on a ranch?" askedNort.
"More or less," answered his cousin. "Especially when you have a place so near Double Z. I don't accuse Hank Fisher of being a rustler, exactly," he went on, "though I think Del Pinzo is. That's been proved, but it didn't do much good, for he broke jail and they can't seem to land him."
"What makes Hank Fisher and that Double Z bunch so sore at you?" asked Dick.
"I guess it's because we're beating them at the cattle game," answered Bud. "And because dad dammed the Pocut River and took some water for this valley. As if that hurt Hank!" he added. "But he makes that an excuse. However, I'll fight him to the finish!"
"And we're with you!" added Dick and Nort.
After supper they sat around the fire, talking of various matters. But ever and again the question troubled them of whether or not they could get on the trail of the rustlers. And, too, they wondered what could be the object of Four Eyes.
Night settled down, quiet save for the occasional snorting of the ponies. The boys wrapped themselves in their blankets and crawled between their tarpaulins with their feet to the smouldering fire. They talked until drowsiness stole over them and then, having decided to maintain no watch, they all three slumbered.
What time it was that Bud awakened he did not know. But awaken he did, and suddenly.
And the cause of his awakening was the sound of a horse rapidly ridden, and, evidently, approaching the place where he and his cousins had camped for the night.
"Who's there?" cried Bud suddenly, and without preface. Under the blanket his hand sought his weapon.
"Who's there!"
Quickly the galloping hoofbeats came to a pause. With a motion of his foot, as he sat up amid his blanket and tarpaulin, Bud kicked into the fire a stick of greasewood which flared up, revealing a rider on a panting horse standing over the boy ranchers, all three of whom were now awake.
"Four Eyes!" cried Bud, for the flaring fire had revealed that cowboy. He had accepted his nickname in perfect grace.
"That's who," was the good-natured answer. "I saw the fire as I was riding back, and I thought you'd be here."
"Where were you ridingto?" asked Bud, pointedly, his fingers releasing their grip on the .45 under the blanket. "I thought you were with Old Billee."
"I was supposed to be," answered Four Eyes, "until my horse got out of the corral and Billee said I could trail him. That's what I was doing when I saw you behind the fire. I knew it was almost burned out, so I didn't stop, or come back to explain."
"Yes, the fire didn't amount to much, though how it was started is another question," said Bud. "You say your black horse got out?"
"Yes, jumped the corral fence. He's a bad one at that."
"You didn't get him back," observed Nort, for he and Dick, as well as Bud, had noticed that the new cow puncher bestrode one of the extra ponies kept at the camp corral for use in relieving the regular animals.
"No, he got clean away," and Henry Mellon did not seem to worry much about it. "All I have to say," he went on, "is that some one will get a mighty good mount, outside of his habit of jumping out of corrals."
"You may get him back—if whoever picks him up knows where he belongs," said Bud. For in that cow country it was still regarded as a great crime to steal a horse, or keep one known to belong to some one else.
"Oh, I'll prospect a bit farther for him tomorrow, maybe," said Four Eyes. "I didn't want to ride too far this evening, so I turned back. Did you get on any trail of the rustlers?" he asked, for he had been aware of the object of the boys' ride.
"We switched off to come over to the fire," said Bud. "Did you notice anything about it?"
"It was burning pretty good when I struck here, from over at your camp," was the answer. "I saw that it wasn't likely to do much damage, so I didn't ride back to tell Billee and the others."
"Did you see any one suspicious?" Bud went on, getting up and putting more wood on the fire.
"No, I didn't," answered Four Eyes, quietly. "Of course anyone would have had time to start the fire, and get well away before I arrived on the scene—judging by the way it was burning," he said. "Though I can't see what object anyone could have, and I'm inclined to think a passing cow puncher—not one of your crowd but some one else—may have flipped a cigarette butt into the grass where it smouldered for some time."
"That may have happened," Bud admitted. "As for an object, if the fire had stampeded the cattle it would have given some bunch of Greasers or rustlers a chance to get away with a few steers."
"Oh, yes, of course," agreed Four Eyes. "Well, I didn't see anybody. Guess I may as well turn in here. No use riding back to the camp to-night. It'll soon be morning."
"That's right, turn in," invited Bud. His suspicions had vanished.
"There's some cold coffee if you want it," added Nort.
"Guess I'll put it on to heat," said Henry Mellon. "It's a bit chilly."
"What time is it?" asked Dick, as the cowboy stirred up the embers and set the blackened coffee pot on over some stones that had been made into a rude fireplace.
"Two o'clock," announced Four Eyes, with a glance at his watch.
The boy ranchers watched him idly as he made and drank the coffee, munching some hard crackers he carried in one of his pockets. Then, rolling up in their blankets, the quartette went to sleep.
Morning came, in due course, without any untoward incidents having occurred. The boys looked across the fire-swept area to where, beyond it, many cattle could be observed grazing. There was no further vestige of fire. The heavy dew had extinguished the last, smouldering spark.
"Well, I'm going back to the camp," announced Four Byes, as they got the simple breakfast. And how appetizing was that aroma of sizzling bacon and strong coffee! "Want me to tell 'em anything for you!" he asked Bud.
"Tell 'em about the fire," was the request. "And say we're going on the trail of the rustlers. We'll be back to-day, though, around night, for we haven't grub enough to carry us farther."
"What you going to do about your horse?" asked Dick.
"What can I do?" asked Henry Mellon, in turn. "I can't spend all my time hunting him, when I've got to ride herd."
"We'll be on the lookout," Nort said.
"Hope you have luck," commented the strange cowboy, as he took off his glasses and wiped them on his silk neckerchief. "I'm lost without Cinder, though this pony isn't so bad," and he patted the neck of the animal he was riding.
A little later the boy ranchers were taking a short cut across the fire-blackened strip, to get on the trail of the men who had driven off their cattle, while Four Eyes turned the head of his pony toward camp.
"Well, it looks as if this was where the trail ended," announcedBud, several hours later.
"Mighty funny, to come to an end so suddenly," commented Dick.
The three boys had reached one end of the many small valleys into which the larger vale was divided. They had been following the trail of the cattle that had been driven off—it was plain enough until they reached a rocky and shale-covered defile between two small hills. Then, for some reason or other, all "sign" came to an abrupt end. There were no further marks of hoofs in the earth, and none of the ordinary marks to indicate that cattle and horses had been beyond a certain point.
"It's just as Snake said," observed Dick. "They must have driven the animals here and then lifted them over the hill in an aeroplane."
"They couldn't!" declared Nort.
"I know they couldn't. But how else do you account for it?" asked his brother.
"They may have driven 'em through the pass, and then scattered dirt and stones over the trail to hide it," suggested Bud.
"Let's look a little farther then," remarked Dick.
They did, but without discovering any clues. It was as though the rustlers had driven the cattle to the bottom of a rocky and bush-covered slope, and then as if the side of the hill had suddenly opened, providing a way through.
"Like some old fairy yarn!" declared Bud. "This gets me!"
"If we could only have gotten on the trail of the rascals sooner, Bud, we might have learned the secret," spoke Nort. "We ought to keep better watch!"
"How could we?" asked Bud. "We shoot off on the trail, now, as soon as we hear of anything."
"Yes, but we ought to get on the jump quicker," insisted his cousin. "If we had an airship, for instance!" and he laughed at the impracticability of his remark.
"You can see pretty nearly the whole of the valley from the top of Snake Mountain," spoke Dick, when he and Bud had joined in the laugh at Nort's airship idea. "If one of us could be up there—"
"We'd have to be there all the while!" interrupted Bud. "There's no telling when the rustlers will come. Talk about being on the watch! It's all right to say so, but how you going to work it?"
Dick suddenly uttered an exclamation.
"What's the matter?" his brother wanted to know. "See a snake?"
"No, but I've got the idea! A watch tower! Why not build one at our camp—or up on the side of the hill back of the reservoir? We could make it of logs—high enough to give us a good view. It wouldn't be much of a trick to climb up in the watch tower three or four times a day and survey the place. A watch tower is the thing, Bud!"
Nort and Bud stared at Dick for several seconds without making any remark. They were sitting on their ponies, completely baffled by the manner in which the trail of the rustlers had suddenly "petered out." And they had been about to turn and go back to camp when Dick made his enthusiastic remark.
"A watch tower?" repeated Bud.
"Sure!" declared his cousin. "We used to build 'em when I belonged to the Boy Scouts. Remember, Nort?"
"Sure! It begins to come back to me. We used to bind saplings together and make quite a high perch. The idea was that you might be able to see your way if you got lost," he explained to Bud.
"Not a bad idea, either," commented the western lad. "I begin to see your drift, as the wind said to the snowstorm. You mean to build a sort of high platform up by the reservoir, Dick?"
"Yes, a watch tower of logs, strong enough to hold one or two fellows. You could make ladders so's we could reach the top platform, or we could scramble up if we left hand and foot holds where we lopped the branches off saplings."
"That's right!" cried Bud, now almost as enthusiastic as was his cousin. "And with a good pair of glasses, or a telescope such as dad has at the ranch, we could see all over the valley."
"Let's make it!" cried Nort, and the matter was settled as quickly as that.
Something of the excitement that had moved them must have been visible on the faces of the boys when they returned to camp, for Old Billee, greeting them in the absence of the other cowboys, asked:
"Did you land 'em, Bud?"
"Who; the rustlers? No. Couldn't see where they'd vanished to any more than, as one of the boys said, as if an airship had been used. But we got an idea, Billee."
"They're valuable—sometimes," agreed the veteran cow puncher cautiously.
"We hope this one is going to be!" frankly laughed Bud. "We're going to build a watch tower, and take turns staying up in it with a telescope. We can see almost the whole valley if we get high enough, and as there aren't many patches of woodland where the rascals can hide, we hope to spot the rustlers as soon as they begin their tricks."
"Well, you may do it," and again the cowboy was very cautious. "I never heard of cattle rustlers bein' caught that way, but when other means fail, try suthin' diffrunt! We'll tackle th' tower!"
And as the other cowboys, even Four Eyes, pronounced the scheme worth trying, it was put into operation. Mr. Merkel, to whom Bud communicated his idea over the telephone, rather laughed at it.
"How about nights?" asked the ranchman. "No matter how high you are up after dark you can't see any better."
"But most of the raids of the rustlers have been in daylight," declared Bud.
"It's about fifty-fifty," his father told him. "However, it won't do any harm to try it. Only don't fall off that watch tower of yours. I'll come out and look at it when you get it done."
The boy ranchers and their cow punchers started work the next day. Dick and Nort remembered, in a dim way, how, as Boy Scouts, they had helped erect towers, hastily constructed of saplings. Their recalled knowledge, together with the natural adaptability and skill of the cowboys, finally succeeded in there being evolved, and erected, on the aide of the valley rather a pretentious tower. "It must look like an oil well derrick from a distance," observed Nort, when it was al most completed.
"What do we care how it looks, if it does the trick?" retorted Bud. "From that perch, and with this telescope dad let me take, I can tell the color of a cow clear to the end of our valley."
There was no question but what the watch tower did provide an excellent vantage point. From its top platform, reached by rude ladders, any unusual movement in the entire valley could be seen during the day.
It was planned that the boys—and by this I mean the hired cowboys also—should take turns in being on watch in the tower during certain periods each day. A schedule was drawn up by Bud and his cousins, and put into operation as soon as the tower was completed.
"And now we'll catch the rustlers at work!" boasted Bud.
But alas for their hopes! In spite of all their precautions, and setting at naught the hard work of constructing the tower, there was another raid on the cattle in Happy Valley, about a week after the wooden perch had been set up.
It was not a disastrous raid, and only a half score of steers were driven off from one of the more distant herds. But the raid took place, and at night. It was discovered one morning, just as Bud was going up into the tower, where a seat and sheltered place had been built.
"They fooled us, Bud," said Old Billee, riding in from a distant part of the valley.
"Fooled us? How?"
"They let us watch by day, an' they come an' robbed by night!Another bunch of steers gone!"
"Well—by Zip Foster!" cried Bud, slamming his hat down on the ground. "I'm getting tired of this!"
"What's the matter?" cried Dick, hastening from the tent where he had been making a new loop on his lariat, in preparation for practicing some of the stunts worked by Four Eyes.
"Have you discovered something from the tower?" asked Nort.
"Yes, I've discovered that the tower isn't any good!" exclaimed Bud with emphasis. "Oh, it isn't your fault, Dick," he went on, as he saw that his cousin looked a bit crestfallen. "The tower is all right."
"Then you saw some rustlers from it?" asked Nort.
"No, that's the trouble," said Bud, ruefully. "We didn't see them but they were here all right—last night. Tell us about it, Billee," he requested.
"Well, there isn't an awful lot to tell," said the veteran cow puncher. "I was just prospectin' around, over on that new growth of Johnson grass, like you told me to, an' I saw where a steer had been killed, an' they had eat most of it, too, by th' signs."
"You mean the rustlers?" asked Nort.
"Rustlers, Greasers, Del Pinzo's bunch—anything you like t' call 'em," asserted Billee. "Somebody, that hadn't any right t' do it, druv off our cattle!"
"And I say it's about time it was stopped!" declared Bud with as great positiveness as before. This time he picked up the hat he had dashed to the ground and dusted it off. "I'm going to do something desperate!" he declared.
"What, son?" asked Old Billee mildly. "They's allers been rustlers in this cow country, an' they'll allers be some, I reckon. Course if you can git 'em in th'act, they's nothin' t' do but shoot 'em up. But when you can't git 'em—"
"That's what I'm going to do!" declared Bud. "I'm going to get on the trail of these rustlers and clean 'em out! Tell us more about it, Billee. No use getting up in the watch tower now," he added, gloomily enough. "We've got other work cut out for us. Go ahead, Billee! Shoot!"
"Let me give you a word of advice first, Buddy boy," spoke the veteran cowboy as he slowly got off his pony, an act of grace for which the animal was, doubtless, duly thankful. Billee was no featherweight, though he was as active as need be, in spite of his bulk.
"What's the advice?" asked Bud good-naturedly. His first hot anger was beginning to cool.
"Well, my advice is to leave these rustler alone," said Old Billee. "They's allers been rustlers here an' they'll allers be here. Every cow country has 'em. They're like th' old pirates that used t' hold up th' ships. Taking tribute, so t' speak."
"But our country didn't pay that tribute long!" exclaimed Dick, remembering the brilliant exploits of Decatur against the corsains of Algiers, Tunis and Tripoli. "'Millions for defense, but not a cent for tribute'!" quoted Dick in a ringing voice.
"That's what I say!" chimed in Nort.
"Well, itistribute, in a way," admitted Old Billee. "I was going t' say if you'd let th' rustlers make off with a few steers now an' then it would save trouble. They're used t' takin' a few. But if you fight 'em then they'll make a big raid with a big gang, an' mebby, take all you got, Bud!"
"I'd like to see 'em try it!" cried the western lad. "And I won't sit by and have my cattle stolen; will we, fellows?" he appealed to his cousins.
"Not on your life!" declared Nort and Dick.
"Well, I shore do like t' hear you talk that-a-way," said Old Billee. "I didn't think you'd do it. Course it ain't no fun t' sit still an' let these onery Greasers walk off with your cattle. But, as I say, it's sometimes easier'n 'tis t' fight 'em. Lots of th' ranchmen do pay tribute in a way. Your father was one of th' fust t' fight 'em, Bud, but even he has sorter give up now, an' he don't raise no terrible row when a few of his steers get hazed off."
"Well, dad has more, and losing a few doesn't put a crimp in him," said Bud. "It's different with us, and I'm not going to stand it. Zip Foster wouldn't and I'm not going to!" and again he dashed his hat on the ground, thereby startling Billee's horse.
"Say, why don't you get Zip Foster over to help chase the rustlers?" asked Dick, slyly nudging Nort. They had long been trying to get Bud to a "show down" on the identity of this mysterious personage.
"Oh, I reckon we can do it ourselves," and Bud seemed to regret mentioning the name of his favorite.
"Just what are you aimin' t' do, son?" asked Billee, as Snake and Yellin' Kid rode up, ready for their day's work out on the range among the cattle.
"I don't exactly know, but it's going to be something and something hard!" asserted Bud. "Are there any clues over there, Billee, to give us a lead?"
"Not many, Bud. Just th' usual. They come onto a few scattered steers, killed one roasted what they wanted of it, slipped off the hide an' left th' rest t' th' buzzards. Then they druv off th' remainder. I didn't foller th' trail, for I could see they was half a dozen rustlers in th' bunch, an' it ain't exactly healthy for one man t' trail a crowd like that even if he was a two-gun man, which I don't lay no claim t' bein' no how," concluded the veteran modestly. They all knew he would be brave enough in an even fight. But they all recognized the fact that it would have been foolish for him, alone, to have attempted to trail a gang of desperate men.
"Well, I'm going to see what we can do," Bud declared. "If you've sized up all there was to see over there, Billee," and he nodded in the direction of the latest raid on Diamond X Second, "there's no use in me going over. I think I'll go have a talk with dad," he concluded. "I want action!"
"So do we!" added Dick.
"Then come along!" invited his cousin.
A little later the boy ranchers were riding out of the valley, on their way to the main ranch of Diamond X. They would not be back until late that night, or, possibly, until the following morning, for Bud wanted to have a good, long talk with his father, and decide on some plan of action, that would drive out the rustlers and keep them away.
As Old Billee had said, probably an older and more experienced rancher would have put up with a few losses for the sake of peace and quietness. But Bud, like most lads of his age, was impulsive. And, as he had said, the loss of even a few steers meant possible failure to him and his cousins, just starting in the ranch business as they were.
"Was that a black one?" suddenly asked Bud, as Nort's horse shied at something.
"A black what!" Nort wanted to know.
"A black jack rabbit that ran across the trail in front of you just now," Bud resumed. "If it was, it will bring bad luck, as Old Billee would say," and he laughed.
"No, it was a sort of gray one, part white," Nort answered, for it was one of those immense hares that had leaped across the trail, almost under the feet of his pony.
"That means we'll have part bad luck and part good," declaredDick.
And some hours later, when they had reached Bud's home, and Nell was serving peach pie and glasses of milk to the boy ranchers, Nort paused long enough in his eating to remark:
"Thisis the good luck, Bud."
"You declaimed something that time!" agreed his brother.
Mr. Merkel listened to what Bud and his cousins told them of the raids on Happy Valley.
"Well, you haven't suffered any more than the average ranchman, just starting in," said Bud's father. "The rustlers always seem to pick on a newcomer."
"Well, they'll find I'm a sort of prickly pear to pick on!" asserted Bud. "Dad, can't we clean out these rascals?"
"Well, it's your ranch, Bud! You can do anything you like, within reason, but I wouldn't like to see you take any foolish risks."
"There's got to be some risks," declared Bud. "I'm not looking to get out of 'em. But don't you think it would be a good thing if we could get rid of this Del Pinzo gang for good?"
"Sure, Bud. I'll give you all the help I can, and I'll spare you one or two more men if you need 'em—for a time, that is, as we're pretty busy here."
"All right. When we're ready I'll call on you," said Bud, as though he had great plans in preparation. As a matter of fact, as he admitted later, he really did not know what he was going to do, but he was not going to admit that to his father. In other words he was "putting up a bluff," and I have some reason for suspecting that Mr. Merkel knew this. However he gave no sign. In spite of the pie, cake and other good things set out by Nell and Mrs. Merkel, Bud and his chums decided to ride back to their camp that night. It was dark at the start, but the moon would be up later, and the trail was well known.
The boy ranchers rode leisurely along, for there was no special hurry in getting back. It might reasonably be supposed that the rustlers would not again make a raid within a few days at least. And Old Billee, Yellin' Kid, Snake Purdee and Four Eyes, to say nothing of Buck Tooth, were well able to look after matters in Happy Valley.
And thus proceeding at a foot pace, it was well after midnight when the boys started down the last slope that led into the valley proper. In daylight it would have been possible, from this part of the trail, to have observed the tents and the reservoir. But now all was shrouded in darkness.
No, not altogether darkness, for as the boys rode forward there suddenly glimmered in the gloom a light, high up in the air. At first Bud thought it was a star, but a moment later as it moved from side to side, and then up and down, he exclaimed:
"Look, fellows! A signal!"
"Signal!" repeated Dick.
"Yes. Over at our camp! See! There's a light on our watch tower."
"Maybe there's been another raid!" said Nort.
"Or going to be one!" spoke Bud, grimly.