As Rob toppled forward into vacancy, he received a startling momentary impression of familiarity from the tones of a loud laugh which rang out behind him. Fortunately for him, the water at the foot of the bridge abutment was some six or seven feet deep, and he struck it spread-eagle fashion, so that beyond the shock of his sudden fall he was uninjured. He at once struck out for the bank. When he stood again on the dry ground, shaking the water from himself, he began to rack his memory for the recollection of where and when he had heard a similar laugh to the one that had sounded in his ears as he plunged forward into space. Try as he would, however, he could not place it, and giving up the attempt finally, he made his way back to the hotel.
The checker players started up as the dripping figure of the Boy Scout leader entered the room, and naturally began to ply him with questions. Rob's story of the events of the preceding few minutes was soon told, but so far as the shedding of any light on the mystery was concerned, it remained as blank a puzzle as ever.
"I'd like to think that I dreamed it all," said Rob, "but these"—wringing out his wet clothes—"won't let me."
"Well, there's no doubt that you were shoved over intentionally," decided Harry Harkness, "but who is there out here who would do such a thing?"
"It might have been one of those two cow-punchers you had the row with this afternoon," suggested Merritt.
"No. I saw Clark and Jess ride out of town a good half-hour before Rob could have been shoved over," said Harry.
"Maybe they mistook me for some one else," suggested Rob, as the easiest way of disposing of the matter. Privately, though, he entertained adifferent opinion. If he could only place that laugh! But try as he would, he could not for the life of him recall where he had heard it before.
Soon afterward the Boy Scouts and their ranch friend retired to bed, Tubby having been sufficiently aroused to make his way upstairs to their room. Tired out as Rob was, he sank into a deep sleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. With Tubby things were different, however. His nap in the chair had rendered him wakeful, and he tossed and turned till almost midnight before he began to grow drowsy. Just as he was dropping off, two persons entered the adjoining room. The partitions, as is usual in the West, were of the very thinnest wood, and he could easily hear every movement made by their neighbors.
"Well, Jack," said one of the voices, evidently resuming a conversation that had been begun some time previously, "so you did the kid up, eh?"
"Yes, sent him head first over the bank. Wish he'd broken his neck. The kid is one of thatbunch that was responsible for my leaving Hampton."
"Is that so? I don't wonder you are sore at him. Why didn't you hit him a good crack on the head while you were about it?"
"Oh, I figured that a cold bath would do as a starter. Wait till that bunch gets up to the mountains. Clark and Jess and my friends, Bender and Handcraft, will attend to them."
Tubby's brain was in a whirl. He had had no difficulty in recalling one of the voices,—that of the one who had spoken of sending Rob over the bank of the San Pedro. Who the other was he couldn't imagine, however, except that he was evidently a crony of the first speaker. Impulsively the stout youth shook Rob's shoulder, and as the other opened his eyes, enjoined him to silence.
"Say, Rob, who do you think is in the next room?" he gasped.
"I don't know, I'm sure. The emperor of China?" asked Rob in a sleepy voice.
"Hush! don't talk so loud. It's Jack Curtiss!"
"What!"
"It is. I'm sure of it. He was boasting about having shoved you over the bank of the river."
"Whatever can he be doing out here?"
"Living on the allowance his father sends him, I suppose. I heard before we left Hampton that he was some place in the West. I guess his father would soon stop his allowance if he knew he was up to his old tricks. Mr. Curtiss thinks that Jack is studying farming."
"Raising a crop of mischief, I guess," breathed Rob, in the same cautious undertone that the two boys had used throughout their conversation. "I wonder if Bill Bender and Hank Handcraft are with him?"
"That reminds me. I heard him mention them. They are on some ranch up in the mountains—where we are going, I gathered."
"That means trouble ahead," mused Rob.
"Are you going to have Jack arrested?"
"No, how can I prove that it was he who shoved me in? Just overhearing a conversationis no proof. I know now, though, why that laugh I heard sounded so familiar."
Both boys listened for some time, but they heard no further talk from Jack Curtiss and his companion regarding themselves. Their talk seemed to be about money matters, and as well as they could gather, Jack was in debt to some gamblers for a large sum which he despaired of raising.
"I've only got a month to get it in," they heard him say.
"Well, we'll hit upon a plan, never fear," rejoined his companion.
The next morning Harry Harkness was told of the happenings of the night. He, of course, already knew of the bold attempt of the former bully of Hampton Academy to kidnap one of the Boy Scouts, as related in the first volume of this series, and was inclined to warn the boys to be careful of such a dangerous character. Viewed in the cheerful light of the early day, however, the boys did not regard the matter so seriously. Indeed, they forgot all about Jack and his threatsin the bustle of preparation for their long trip across the waste lands.
Breakfast was soon disposed of, and then the boys in a body made for the corral. Jose had been told two hours earlier to catch up and hitch the mules, but the long-eared animals were still browsing at the hay pile, and not a vestige of Jose was to be seen when the boys emerged.
"There he is in the hay," shouted Rob suddenly, pointing to two long, thin legs sticking out of the fodder heap.
"Asleep again, the rascal," exclaimed Harry. "Come on, Rob; you lay hold of one leg, and I'll take the other."
Both boys seized hold of a designated limb, and soon the sleepy Jose, expostulating loudly, was hauled out into the sunlight.
"Why aren't those mules hitched?" demanded Harry.
"Me go sleep," grinned the Mexican teamster apologetically, showing a row of white teeth.
"We don't need telling that. You are alwaysasleep, except when you're eating. Get busy now and hitch up."
Urged thus, Jose soon had his rawhide rope circling, and in ten minutes had caught up the team with far more agility and skill than would have been suspected in such an easy-going individual.
The mules were soon attached to the heavy wagon and the single line which guided them threaded. This manner of driving was new to the boys, but they were soon to find that most teamsters in the far West use only a single rein attached to the lead mules on the right side. The others follow the leader. If the driver desires to turn his team to the left, instead of pulling the single line, he shouts, "Haugh!" and over swings the team.
The boys' baggage had lain at the depot all night, and accordingly the first stop was made there. It was soon loaded on, and then, with a loud cry of, "Ge-ee, Fox! Gee-ee-e, Maud!" from Jose, the lead mules swung to the right. Over the bridge, beneath which Rob had met hismisadventure of the night before, thundered the heavy vehicle. Swinging in a broad circle, they then headed toward the south, where the Santa Catapinas, blue and vague, were piled like clouds on the horizon.
Early as was the hour at which the start was made, however, two persons in Mesaville besides the hotel employees were up to see it. These were Jack Curtiss and the friend who had shared his room the night before. They peered out of the window at the four boys with eager glances.
"Look them over well, Emilio," Jack urged his companion, who in the daylight was seen to have a swarthy skin and the cigarette-stained fingers of a Mexican town lounger. Emilio Aguarrdo was a half-breed gambler, and a thoroughly vicious type of man. In him were combined the vices and evil passions of two races. His thin lips curled back from his yellow teeth as he watched the boys, who, with shouts and laughter, were loading up their belongings, while Jose slept on his lofty seat.
"I won't forget them, Jack," he promised, asthe wagon started off, the long whip cracking like a gatling gun.
All that morning the wagon lumbered on across the hot plains, an occasional jack-rabbit or coyote being the only sign of life to be seen. As the sun grew higher, the boys saw in the far distance the strange sight of the town of Mesaville, hotel and all, hanging upside down above the horizon. It was a mirage, as clear and puzzling as these strange phenomena of the desert always are.
As the hours wore on, the mountains, from mere wavy outlines of blue, began to take on definite form. They now showed formidable, seamed and rugged. As well as the boys could perceive at that distance, the hills were covered with dark trees to their summits and intersected by dense masses of shadow, marking cañons and abysses. A more forbidding-looking range could hardly be imagined, yet in the foothills to the southeast there grew great savannas of succulent bunch grass on which several ranges of cattle roamed.
The noon camp was made in the foothills near a small depression in which grew some scanty grass of a dried-up, melancholy hue. The wagon road was at some little distance from this, and as soon as a halt was made, Jose, at Harry's orders, took a shovel from the wagon and started for the dip in the foothills.
"Going to dig potatoes?" asked Tubby casually, as he watched the lazy Mexican saunter off.
"No, water," responded Harry. His serious tone precluded any possibility that he was joking. But the idea of water in that sterile land seemed so ridiculous to the boys that they burst into a laugh.
"I mean it," declared Harry. "Here, you fellows, take those buckets from under the wagon. We carry them to water the mules. Pack them over to that dip and in half an hour you'll be back with them full."
"Huh! guess I could carry all the water that will come out of that place in one hand," commented the fat boy.
"Don't be rash," laughed Harry; "before longyou'll take digging for water as a matter of course."
"Wish you could dig for ice-cream sodas," muttered the fat boy absently, picking up a bucket and starting off after Jose. Rob and Merritt followed, while Harry busied himself unhitching the mules for their noonday rest. This done, he lighted a fire of sage-brush roots, and awaited the return of the boys.
The first thing the boys saw Jose do when he got to the bottom of the dip was to lie flat on his stomach and place an ear to the ground.
"He's going to sleep again," suggested Merritt.
"Looks like it," agreed Rob.
But this time the Mexican did not drop off into a peaceful slumber. Instead, he presently straightened up, and shouldering his shovel, began tramping off once more. The boys followed him over several dips and rises till at last he descended into another depression in which grew some scanty herbage. Here he repeated the otherperformance and arose with a grunt of satisfaction. Suddenly he began digging furiously.
"Wow! he's making the dirt fly," exclaimed Tubby, as the industrious Mexican dug as frantically as though his life depended on it. So fast did the work of excavation proceed that soon quite a large hole had been made in the soft ground.
"Pity they haven't got him down at Panama," commented Merritt dryly.
Jose had paid no attention to the boys hitherto, but now he suddenly shouted, pointing downward into the hole: "Mira qui!"
"What's that about a key?" asked Tubby.
"Try to conceal your natural ignorance," rejoined Merritt, with withering scorn. "He said, 'Mira qui.' That means 'Look here.'"
"Oh, and 'latcha-key' means open the door, I suppose," retorted the stout youth. "You're a fine Spanish scholar, you are."
"I've a good mind to throw you into that hole," threatened Merritt.
"Try it," shouted the stout youth, hopping about aggravatingly.
"I will."
Merritt made a rush at the irritating Tubby, who leaped provokingly away. But suddenly he gave utterance to a yell of dismay, as in his efforts to retreat he stumbled into the hole which Jose had dug. By this time, to Rob's astonishment, for he had been watching Jose's methods with interest, quite a lot of muddy water had appeared, and into this accumulation of moisture the stout youth fell with a resounding splash.
Even the solemn Jose smiled as Tubby sputtered and splashed about in the pool.
"Come out of that water," commanded Merritt.
"Call this water?" demanded Tubby, sputtering some of it out of his mouth. "Ugh! it tastes more like soap suds to me."
"Him alkali," grinned Jose, as Tubby scrambled out and stood, rather crestfallen, on the verge of the magic pool; "mucho malo."
"What's 'mucho malo'?" demanded Tubby of Merritt, the self-appointed interpreter.
"It means you're a nuisance," retorted Merritt, which reply almost brought on a renewal of hostilities. Rob checked them, however, by reminding the stout youth that the water was for drinking and not for bathing purposes. The boys were anxious to dip their buckets in and return to the wagon, but Jose told them they must wait till the water cleared.
"Pretty soon him like glass," he said.
Sure enough, after a long interval of waiting, in which there was nothing to do but look at the sand and the burning blue sky above it, the previously muddy seepage water began to take on a green hue. With a yell, the boys rushed forward to dip it up.
But as they bent over the brink of the water hole a sudden shout from Jose made them look up. They echoed the Mexican's yell as they did so, for outlined against the sky was a startling figure.
It was that of an Indian, his sinewy limbsdraped in a blanket of gorgeous hue, and astride of a thin, active-looking calico pony. For an instant the piercing eyes of the red man and the white boys met, and then, with a strange cry, he wheeled his pony and vanished over the rim of the depression.
"Was that an Indian?" gasped Tubby, for the figure of the red man had appeared and vanished so swiftly that it seemed almost as if it might have been a delusion.
"Moqui, very bad Indian," grunted the Mexican, who seemed nervous and fearful all of a sudden.
"Oh, I thought maybe it was a jack-in-the-box," said Tubby, with a cheerful grin, which froze on his face, however, as suddenly as it had come.
The rim of the water hole was surrounded by twenty or more wild figures, the companions of the solitary horseman. They had appeared as if by magic.
The interval of silence which succeeded to the discovery that they were surrounded by Moquis was the most trying any of the party had ever known. Resistance was useless, for each of the Indians carried a rifle of modern make, and even had the boys been armed, they could not have defended themselves.
"What do you want?" demanded Rob at length, of an Indian who, judging by his ornate feather headdress, seemed to be the chief of the party.
"White boys go to mountains?" demanded the chief.
"Yes. We are going to the Harkness ranch," rejoined Rob, a trifle more boldly, as there did not seem to be any active antagonism in the chief's tone.
"White boys got money?"
"It's a hold up!" gasped Tubby.
"Say, hold your tongue for once, can't you?" snapped Merritt angrily.
"Yes, we have some money. Why?" inquired Rob.
"We want um."
It was a direct demand, and as the boy hesitated, a grim look spread over the chief's face. Rob, like the others, carried most of his money in a belt about his waist, but each lad had a few bills in his wallet and some small change in his pockets.
"Say, what is this—Tag Day?" demanded Tubby, as the chief, having solemnly taken all Rob's small change, drew up in front of the stout youth and extended his dirty palm.
"All right," said the fat boy, hastily digging down into his pocket, as the red man stared steadily at him. "Here's all I've got. Take it, Chief What-you-may-call-um, and I hope whatever you get with it chokes you."
Fortunately for Tubby, the chief did notunderstand this, or it might have fared badly with the irrepressible youth. Merritt's turn came next, and then Jose, with many lamentations, surrendered a few small silver coins.
"All right. You go now," said the chief, as with a shrill, wild yell he dug his naked heels into his pony's sides, and the little beast plunged up the steep bank. Echoing his shrill cries, the other Indians joined him, and the body of marauders swept off across the foothills at a rapid pace.
"So that's the noble red man, is it?" demanded Tubby. "Hum! back home we'd call them noble panhandlers."
"What did they want the money for?" asked Rob of the Mexican, who was still wringing his hands over the loss of his pocket money.
"Moqui's go snake dance. Moocho red liquor," explained the guide from across the border.
"Oh, that's it, is it?" said Rob. As he spoke, his eyes fell suddenly on a small piece of paper the Indian chief had dropped when he rode up the steep side of the water hole. He picked it upand opened its folds carefully. It appeared to be a scrap torn from a notebook, and the boy stared as his eyes fell on the name "Clark Jennings, His Book."
"Say, fellows, look here," he cried excitedly, as he perused some writing on the other side. "That sneak I gave the razzle-dazzle to yesterday is in this."
"What, Clark Jennings?"
"The same. Listen!"
From the side of the paper which bore the writing Rob read as follows:
"'They will be near the water hole at noon. All three have money.'"
"Well, what do you make of it?" asked Tubby in a puzzled tone. "I don't see the connection, quite."
"It's plain enough. I've heard that these Indians are placid enough if they are not interfered with and given money. That fellow Clark knew they were somewhere hereabouts—you remember he asked Harry about them yesterday.He and Jess Randell left Mesaville early, so as to meet them and bribe them to hold us up."
"But can the Indians read English writing?" asked Tubby.
"Yes. Most of the present generation have been to government schools and are comparatively well educated."
"Hooray for education!" shouted Tubby. "They sure are promising scholars."
There came a sudden shout from above.
"Hey, what's the matter with you fellows, anyhow? You've been gone almost an hour."
Harry Harkness stood at the edge of the dip, looking down at the excited boys.
"An hour isn't the only thing that's gone," wailed Tubby; "all our change has gone, too."
When the laugh at Tubby's whimsical way of putting it had subsided, the situation was explained to Harry, who agreed that there was nothing to be done.
"We had better be pushing on as fast as possible, though," he said; "there's no knowing when those fellows may wake up to the fact that wehave more money about us and come back after it."
A hasty lunch was cooked and eaten, and the mules watered with a bucket of water each. This done, the team was once more hitched, and Jose, who had in the meantime dropped off to sleep again, awakened. But as the Mexican cracked his whip, and his long-eared charges began to move, a sudden surprise occurred. From a little dip ahead a horseman suddenly appeared and hailed the boys.
He was a tall, bearded man in regulation plainsman's costume, and his sun-burned face was shielded by a broad sombrero. On his face was a look of determination and self-reliance. As the boys looked at him they felt that here was a man of action and character.
"Hullo, strangers," he said, checking the splendid horse he rode, as the mules came to a stop. "Have you seen anything of any Moquis hereabout?"
"Why, yes," responded Rob; "they——"
"Saw us to the extent of all our small change," put in Tubby.
"Mine, too!" wailed the Mexican. "Mucho malo Indiano."
"What! you have been robbed by them?"
"Feels that way," said Tubby, patting his empty pockets.
"That's too bad," said the man. "I am Jeffries Mayberry, the Indian agent from the reservation. I am trying to round those fellows up without making a lot of trouble over it, and having the papers get hold of the story and print exaggerated accounts of an uprising. They are really harmless if they don't get hold of liquor."
"Or money," put in Tubby.
"Well, as far as we know, they swept off to the southeast," said Rob.
"Yes. They are going to have their snake dance in the Santa Catapinas. Every once in a while they break out and head for there. All the renegade Indian rascals for miles round join them, and besides the dance, which is a religious ceremony, they drink and gamble. Well, I mustbe getting on, and thank you for your information."
With a wave of his hat, he dug his big blunt-rowelled spurs into his horse's sides and was off in a cloud of dust.
"I'd like to help that fellow get his Indians rounded up," said Rob; "he seems the right sort of a chap."
"Yes, his name is well known around here," rejoined Harry, as the wagon moved onward once more. "He is the best Indian agent that the Moquis have ever had, my father says. He knows them, and can handle them at all ordinary times. He dislikes fuss, however, and hates to see his name in the papers. Otherwise, I guess, he'd have had the soldiers after those fellows."
"I wish we had the Eagle Patrol out here," said Merritt. "We'd soon get after that bunch of redskins."
"Well, why not?" said Harry enigmatically.
"Why not what?"
"Why not form a patrol out here? You knowwe talked about it in the East in the brief time we had together."
"Say, that's a great idea," assented Rob.
"Who could we get to join, coyotes, rattlers, and jack-rabbits?" asked Tubby solemnly.
"Say, Tubby, this is no joking matter," protested Merritt.
"I'm not joking. Never more serious in my life. A coyote would make a fine scout."
"Yes, to run away," laughed Rob. "But seriously, Harry, could we get enough fellows out here to form a patrol?"
"Sure; I know of a dozen who would join. We could make it a mounted division, and maybe we could help Mr. Mayberry round up his Moquis."
"Say, fellows!" exclaimed Rob, with shining face, "that would be splendid!"
"Maybe we'd get our money back then," grunted Tubby.
"Tell you what we'll do," said Harry. "To-morrow I'll take you with me, Rob, and we'll ride round all the ranches where I know someboys, and get them to sign up. We ought to have a patrol organized in a week at that rate."
"Put me in as a commissariat officer, will you?" asked Tubby.
"That goes without saying," laughed Rob.
As the wagon jolted on over the road, which grew rapidly rougher and rougher, the boys eagerly discussed their great plan.
The foothills were now passed, and they were forging ahead through a deep cañon, or gorge, well wooded on its rugged sides with dark trees and shrubs. Here and there great patches of slablike rock cropped through the soil and showed nakedly among the vegetation. All at once Rob gave a shout and pointed up the hillside at one of these "islands" of rock.
"Look, look!" he shouted. "Something moved up there."
"Something moved," echoed the rest, Indians being the "something" uppermost in every mind.
"Indians?" gasped Tubby.
"No; at least, I don't think so. It was some animal—a huge beast, it seemed to be."
As he spoke there came a crashing of brush far up on the hillside, and every one in the party, even the sleepy Jose, gave vent to a perfect yell of amazement. On one of the rock shelves far above them was poised the massive form of an immense bear. His huge body showed blackly against the sunset-reddened shelf on which he stood. With the exception of one spot of white on his great chest, he was almost black.
"Silver Tip!" shouted Harry Harkness, too excited even to remember his rifle, which lay in the bottom of the wagon.
As he uttered the exclamation, the great ragged brute gave a snort of apparent disdain and clumsily lumbered off into the darker shadows. The next instant he was gone.
"Silver Tip!" echoed Rob, as the immense monarch of the Arizona forest crashed his way off through the undergrowth. "Well, when you told us about him on the steamer, you didn't exaggerate his size. He's as big as a pony."
"Plenty of bear steaks on him," remarked Tubby judiciously.
"I guess you'd find them well seasoned with lead," laughed Harry. "Every hunter in this part of the country has shot at Silver Tip, and plenty of them have hit him, but he always managed to get away. The Indians and the Mexicans are scared of him. They think he is not a bear at all, but some sort of demon in animal form. Eh, Jose?"
"Silvree Teep mucho malo bear," grunted the Mexican. "Only can kill with silver bullet."
"What do you think of that," laughed Harry. "But our hunters have wasted too many lead bullets on old Silver Tip to try him with silver ones. But in spite of his wonderful good fortune hitherto, that bear's day will come."
"Like a dog's," commented Tubby. "You know they say every dog has his day—I guess it's the same way with that old sockdolliger."
"That's so, I guess," rejoined Harry.
Soon afterward they clattered and rumbled down a steep grade leading from the cañon into a wooded, green dip in the foothills. Before them suddenly spread out the vista of apparently illimitable pasture grounds, dotted with feeding cattle. In the foreground, half hidden by big cotton-wood trees, and overtopped by a windmill and water tank, stood a long, low ranch house, with numerous outbuildings and corrals about it.
"That's the range," said Harry, pointing. And as the boys broke into an admiring chorus, the mules plunged forward into a brisk trot. In a short time the outer gate was reached, and opened by dint of pulling a hanging contrivancewhich worked on a system of levers, that opened and closed the gate at the will of whoever was entering or leaving, without obliging them to dismount.
Around the bunkhouse stood a group of cowboys in leather chapareros and rough blue shirts, awaiting the call to supper in the low, red-painted cook-house. Some of them were gathered about a tin basin, removing the grime of the day. In a large corral were their ponies, browsing on a railed-off stack of grain hay, and occasionally kicking and biting and squealing, as some fractious soul among them instigated a fight.
Suddenly a door in the ranch house opened, and a figure, which the boys recognized as that of Mr. Harkness, emerged. His hands were extended in a hearty welcome, and a smile wreathed his bronzed features.
"Hulloa, boys!" he hailed. "Welcome to the Harkness ranch."
The boys broke into a cheer, and leaping from the wagon, ran forward to greet their kind-hearted host, whom they had last met on thedeck of a stranded steamer on the Long Island shoals.
After the first chorus of greetings and questions had passed, Mr. Harkness inquired what had delayed them.
"Indians," rejoined Harry. "They tried to steal mules going down, and they robbed the boys here of their small change on their way up."
The face of the rancher grew graver.
In response to his questions, Rob had soon placed him in possession of the facts surrounding the appearance of the Moquis at the water hole and the subsequent events.
"We shall have to keep a sharp eye on the cattle, then," he said soberly. "I've got a bunch over on the far range, right up in the foothills. If these gentry get hungry they are likely to make a raid on them, or they may even do it out of pure wantonness."
"Yes, it wouldn't be the first time," said Harry. "By the way, pop, we met Mr. Mayberry, the Indian agent, on the way up. He's after them."
"That's bad," gravely commented the rancher.
"Bad!" repeated Harry. "Why, dad, I've heard you yourself say that he was the best Indian agent you ever knew."
"So he is, in a sense. But he is too kind-hearted. What those renegade rascals need is a file of soldiers with fixed bayonets and a burning desire to use them. However, come in, boys. Jose, wake up and put those trunks off. Get two men to help you bring them into the house. Come in, boys, and make yourselves at home in a rancher's shanty."
Mr. Harkness may have called it a shanty, but to the boys' eyes there had seldom been presented a more attractive interior than that of the Harkness ranch house. The furniture was dark and heavy, and the walls were hung with trophies of the hunt. Bright-colored Navajo rugs were all about, lending a brilliant dash of brightness to the dark woods and walls. At one end of the room was a huge open fireplace, which was now filled with fresh green boughs.
"Why—why, it's great!" exclaimed Rob, glancing about him admiringly.
"Glad you like it," said the rancher, evidently well pleased at the boy's pleasure. "Those heads there are all the tale of my rifle."
"The collection is only lacking in one thing—a single item," commented Rob.
"Which is——"
"The head of Silver Tip, the giant grizzly."
"You know about him, then?" Mr. Harkness seemed much surprised. At the time of his leaving the stranded ship he had not overheard the conversation between his son and the Boy Scouts.
"We've seen him," put in Tubby, nodding his head very sagely.
Then of course the story of their glimpse of the monster had to come out.
"It is unusual for Silver Tip to be about here at this time of year," commented Mr. Harkness. "He usually does not visit us till later. That's an additional peril to the cattle."
"How is that?" inquired Rob.
"In two ways. In the first place, Silver Tip is what we call a rogue grizzly. He lives all alone, hunts by himself, and has nothing to do withany others of his kind. He is as cruel, wantonly so, as he is formidable. For instance, last winter he killed fifty or more head of steers just for the sheer love of killing. Then, too, he is dangerous in another way. It takes very little to stampede a band of cattle. I have seen them started by a jack-rabbit leaping up suddenly from the brush. The sight of such an appalling monster as Silver Tip would be sure to start them off. No, I certainly don't like to hear that he is about."
Not long after this remark the announcement of supper put an end to further discussion of Silver Tip and his ways. Then and there Rob determined in his own mind that, if it were possible, the skin of that inaccessible monster would journey East with him when he returned. Absurd as the idea seemed, of him, an Eastern boy, green in the ways of the West, winning such a trophy, still Rob could not help dwelling on it. After the meal Mr. Harkness left the house for the bunkhouse, to give some orders to the night-riding cow-punchers. The news of the nearneighborhood of the Moquis had made him nervous and unsettled.
The evening passed away in further discussion among the boys of the proposed mounted patrol of Boy Scouts, and before they knew it, ten o'clock had arrived. Pretty well fatigued by the events of the day, they were not unwilling to seek their beds, which were situated in three small upper rooms, directly above the big main living room.
Rob was just dropping off into unconsciousness when he heard a clattering of hoofs outside. Somebody had ridden up to the ranch house at full speed.
"Who is it?" he heard asked in Mr. Harkness's voice.
"It's me—Pete Bell," an excited voice rejoined, evidently that of the horseman who had just arrived.
"Well, Pete, what is it?" inquired the voice of Mr. Harkness once more.
"Why, sir, you know I was one of the bunch you sent to the far pasture to-night."
"Yes, yes! Go on, man! What is it—the Indians?"
"No, sir, no Indians. But, sir, we've seen it again."
"What, that foolish ghost-story thing! Haven't you fellows got over harping on that yet?"
"It ain't imagination, Mr. Harkness, as you seem to think," Rob heard the cow-puncher protest. "I seen it with these eyes as plain as I see you now. It come out on the cliff where the old cave dwellings are, and we saw it wring its hands a few times and then vanish just like it's always done before."
"Nonsense, Pete," replied the hard-headed rancher. "I thought you knew better than to take stock in ghost stories."
"So I do, sir; but when you see the ghost itself, that's getting close to home."
"Well, get back to the pasture now, Pete, and I'll guarantee the ghost won't bother you any more. Come on, get some color in your face. You are chattering like a child."
"Won't you send somebody back with me, sir? That thing ought to be looked into."
"Nonsense! I wouldn't waste time, men or thought on such rubbish. If you get track of any Indians, let me know, but don't bother me with any ghost stories. Now be off!"
"Y-y-yes, sir," said the cow-puncher obediently, but Rob noted that his pony didn't travel back toward the far pasture as fast as it had come away from it.
"So," thought Rob to himself, "there are haunted cliff dwellings near here, as well as a rogue grizzly and a bunch of bad Indians. Well, it looks as if we had fallen into an ideal spot for Boy Scouts."
The next morning before breakfast Rob recounted to his chums the conversation he had overheard the night before. The story of the ghost of the ancient cliff dwellings was, it appeared, no new thing on the Harkness ranch, which accounted for its owner's apathy in regard to it. Successive batches of cow-punchers doing duty in the far pasture at night professed to have seen the grisly object on its nightly rounds, but nobody had ever had the courage to investigate it.
After the morning meal had been dispatched, Mr. Harkness announced that he expected to be busied about the ranch for the morning.
"But, Harry, you take the boys down to the corral," he said, "and have one of the men catch up some horses for them. You boys know bestthe kind of stock you want, so I'll let you choose them."
The boys thanked him, and a few moments afterward he left the room. A short time later he galloped off to make a round of the different sections of the range and to prosecute inquiries about the renegade Moquis.
The corral was, as was usually the case, full of ponies of all colors and grades of disposition, from mild beasts to fiery, half-broken bronchos. As the boys neared the enclosure, a stout little cowboy in a huge hairy pair of "chaps" approached them, airily swinging a lariat. His eyes opened and shut as rapidly as a loose shutter slat in a breeze. Cowboys have nick-names for everybody. His was of course "Blinky."
"Good mornin', Master Harry. Want some cattle this a. m.?" he inquired.
"Yes, Blinky. Have you got some good ones caught up?"
"Why, yes, you can have White Eye, and what kind of stock does your friends fancy?"
There was a twinkle in Blinky's fidgety opticsas he asked this, for the boys, although they had donned regular ranch clothes, still bore about them that mysterious air which marks a "tenderfoot," as if they bore a brand.
"How about you, Rob?" asked Harry, also smiling slightly. "Want a bronc, or something more on the rocking-horse style?"
Now, although Rob could ride fairly well, and both Tubby and Merritt had had some practice on horseback, none of the boys were what might be called rough riders. But something in Blinky's tone and Harry's covert smile aroused all Rob's fighting blood.
"Oh, I want something with some life in it," he said boldly.
"Um-hum! The same will do for me, but nottoomuch life, if you please," chimed in Tubby, somewhat dubiously.
"Anything I don't need to use spurs on," ordered Merritt, following up the general spirit.
"All right, young fellers," said the cow-puncher, opening the corral gate. "Come on in while I catch 'em up for you."
The instant the rawhide began whirling about Blinky's head the ponies evidently realized that something was up, for they began a wild race round and round the corral, heads up and heels lashing out right and left. The three tenderfeet regarded this exhibition with some apprehension, but they were too game to say anything.
"I'll rope my own," said Harry, picking up a lariat which hung coiled over a snubbing post near the gate. The ranch boy stood by the post, leisurely whirling his rawhide and just keeping the loop open till a small bay pony, with a big patch of white round each eye, came plunging by with the rest of the stampede. The lariat suddenly became imbued with life. Faster it whirled and faster, the loop finally sailing through the air gracefully and landing in a rawhide necklace round White Eye's neck.
At almost the same instant that White Eye became a captive, Blinky let his loop go, and roped a small, active buckskin pony which, as soon as it felt the loop on its neck, laid back its ears and began squealing and bucking viciously.
"I guess that's your pony, Rob," said Tubby generously, as the cow-puncher drew the struggling little animal up to the snubbing post, and tying him there, went into the barn for a saddle.
"If you are in any hurry, you can have him," volunteered Rob.
"No, I guess I can wait. How about you, Merritt?"
"Same here, I'm in no hurry."
"Well," thought Rob, "I'm in for it now, and if that bronc doesn't buck me into the middle of next week, I'm lucky."
After more struggles, the bridle and saddle were forced on the buckskin, and Blinky cast him loose, still maintaining a grip on the bridle, however.
"All aboard!" he said, with a grin in Rob's direction.
Feeling anything but as confident as he looked, Rob boldly put his foot in the heavy wooden stirrup with its big leather tapadero covering, and swung into the saddle. Hardly had he touched it when a strange thing happened. The boy feltas if an explosion must have occurred directly beneath him, and he was being shot skyward by it. The next instant the sensation changed, and as the broncho struck the hard ground of the corral, all four legs as stiff as drum sticks, Rob felt as if every bone in his body was in process of dislocation.
"Stick to her, boy! Yow-ee-ee!"
Blinky, roaring with laughter, shouted the advice. At this moment, too, just when Rob would much rather not have had any spectators about, several cow-punchers appeared as if by magic, and perching themselves on the corral rails, settled down to enjoy the spectacle.
"Whoop!" they yelled. "That's a regular steamboat bucker."
"Go on, boy! Grip her!"
"Don't go to leather!"
These and a hundred other excited exclamations were borne dimly to Rob's ears as the buckskin threshed about, trying in vain to rid itself of the troublesome boy. How he did it Rob never knew, but he stuck like a cockle-burr, and thatwithout "going to leather," or, in other words, gripping any part of the saddle. He must have been a born rider to stand the antics of the maddened cayuse as he did. One second the little brute, tiring of bucking, would rear backward as if it must overbalance, and the next it would be fairly standing on its head. Once it lay down and tried to roll over, but the high horn of the saddle prevented this. As it collapsed to the ground, Rob skillfully slipped off, and when it struggled upon its feet again, the boy was standing over it and was as firmly in his seat as ever by the time the animal was ready for a new performance.
All at once the buckskin made a mad rush for the corral fence. It was five feet in height, and Rob turned sick as he faced what seemed inevitable disaster.
The yells of the cowboys, however, made him determined to stick it out.
"I've stood it all this time. I'll stay with it if it kills me," thought the boy.
The next instant the little broncho rose at thefence. The bars rose in front like an impassable wall.
"He'll never make it," was the thought that flashed through Rob's head.
But even as the fear of a direful crash flashed through his mind, the active little animal he bestrode had cleared the barrier, its hind hoofs just splintering the upper edge of the top rail. The buckskin alighted on the other side, trembling and sweating, with expanded nostrils and heaving flanks, but its ears were no longer back, nor did its eyes show white. The broncho seemed to have realized that it had played its trump card and lost.
"Get up!" cried Rob, kicking the shivering pony in the sides.
Meekly the little buckskin obeyed the rein, and Rob rode it back toward the corral gate—a conquered animal. From that time on the buckskin owned Rob as its master, and a better animal never bore saddle. As the cow-punchers burst into a loud chorus of admiring yells, wrung from them by the plucky exhibition, Rob took offhis hat and waved it three times round his head. For the life of him, he could not have abstained from this little bit of braggadocio.
"Yip-ee!" he yelled.
"Good for you!" shouted Harry. "It was a mean trick of Blinky, and I was going to get him in a lot of trouble for it, but—all's well that ends well."
"Say, you were fooling all of us. You must have been out with a Wild West show," exclaimed Blinky admiringly, as Rob patted the wet shoulder of the conquered buckskin.
"I'm glad I could stick on," declared Rob modestly.
"Stick on!" echoed another cow-puncher. "Why, you're a broncho buster, boy!"
"Well, I've had enough of it to last me for a long time," laughed Rob.
Two other ponies were soon caught and saddled, and much to the delight of Tubby and Merritt, they found that the cow-puncher's love of fun had been worked off when Rob was given the buckskin, and that they were each providedwith mounts that tried no such tricks as standing on their heads.
"Now, then, come on," said Harry, when all were mounted. "We've got a big round to make. The first ranch we'll head for will be Tom Simmons's. He and his two brothers will join, I'm sure. After that we'll finish up the others and issue a call for a meeting."
The remainder of the day was spent in the saddle, with a brief stop for a noonday dinner at the Simmons ranch. By the end of the day the Boy Scouts' list contained ten names, which were as follows: Tom, Jack and Bill Simmons, Eph and Sam Ingalls, Henry Randolph, Charley and Frank Price, Silas Lamb and Jeb Cotton.
All the would-be scouts had been ordered to report, three days from the day of their signing on, at the Harkness ranch. In the meantime the boys wrote to Eastern headquarters for organization papers, which, as Rob and his companions were already so well known, they anticipated no difficulty in receiving without delay, which, indeed, proved to be the case. Rob had, meanwhile,received a letter from Hampton which reported the successful formation of another patrol in that village where the famous Eagles first saw the light.
The interval between the call for the meeting and the meeting itself the boys put in in practicing riding and shooting. As they all three were familiar with the rifle and revolver, even that brief practice made them fairly expert with firearms and their riding improved every day.
Mr. Harkness and Mr. Simmons had consented to act as Scout Masters, and were present at the first meeting of the organization. Rob, on account of his experience as leader of the Eagle Patrol, was voted in as leader, with Merritt and Harry as corporals. Tubby was appointed a sort of drill master and instructor to the new scouts. This done, they all dispersed, subject to immediate call.
As the ranches of Mr. Harkness and his neighbors, though separated widely by actual distance, were each joined by telephone, it was decided that it would be an easy matter to assemble the scoutsat a given rendezvous. The opportunity to test this came sooner than any of the boys expected. One afternoon, about a week after the formation meeting, during which interval Tubby had held two drill nights, a cow-puncher on a sweat-covered horse galloped into the corral. Slipping off his exhausted animal, he dashed at top speed toward the house.
"The cattle in the far pasture have stampeded," he panted, bursting into the rancher's office, "and are headed for the Graveyard Cliffs!"
"Boys, boys!" shouted Mr. Harkness, hastily springing up from his account books and jamming a sombrero on his head. "Here's a chance to show your boy scouts some action. Here, you, Blinky, saddle my horse and the boys' animals! Sharp work now! There's not a moment to lose! We must head them off!"