"What is it?" cried Walter breathlessly, slowing up when he observed that the others were doing likewise. "It's a bear, I think," replied the Professor. "I only saw the head so I can't be sure. Keep away. Where is Stacy?"
"I—I think he's running, still," answered Ned, his voice somewhat shaky.
"There goes the other tent pole down!" shouted Tad.
"He's wrecking the place. That's too bad," groaned Walter.
"Are the provisions all in there?" asked the Professor anxiously.
"No, most of them are over in my tent, where I took them from the pack pony," Ned informed him.
"We are that much ahead anyway. I think we had better get a little further away, young gentlemen. We had better get near trees so we can make a fairly dignified escape if that fellow concludes to come out after us."
"He's too busy just now," announced Tad, with an attempt at laughter.
"Get the guns," ordered the Professor.
"I can't," cried Tad.
"Why can't you? I will get them myself."
"They are all in that tent there with the bear," groaned Tad.
"There's a box of shells in there, too," added Walter. "I put it there myself."
"Then, indeed, we had better take to the trees," decided ProfessorZepplin.
"Wait," warned Tad. "He won't get out right away. See, he has pulled the tent down about him."
"Yes, he's having the time of his life," nodded Ned. "I hope he never gets out. If we had our guns now!"
And, indeed, Mr. Bruin was having his own troubles. Angry snarls and growls could be heard under the heaving canvas as the black bear plunged helplessly about, twisting the tent about him in his desperate struggles to free himself.
They could hear the clatter of the tinware as he threshed about, and the crash and bang of other articles belonging to their equipment.
"Look! What's that light?" exclaimed Walter.
"Fire!" cried the Professor.
"The tent's on fire!" shouted Tad.
"Quick, get water!" urged Ned.
"What for? To put out the bear?" laughed Tad.
"I had forgotten about the lantern. That's what has caused the fire. When the tent collapsed the lantern went down with it, and in his floundering about he has managed to set the place on fire," the Professor informed them.
"There goes the parlor tent. That settles it," said Walter.
The other two boys groaned.
"Has he-ha-ha-has he gone?" wailed Chunky, peering from behind a tree.
"No, he hasn't gone. He's very much here. Don't you see that tent! What do you suppose is making it hump up in the middle, if he isn't there? And the tent's on fire, too," answered Ned, in a tone of disgust. "This is a bad start for sure."
"I didn't fall in that time, did I? I fell out," interrupted Stacy. "Lucky for me that I did, too. I would have been in a nice fix if that tent had come down on me and that animal at the same time." He shivered at the thought. "What is it, a lion?"
"Lion! No, you ninny, it's a bear. B-e-a-r," spelled Ned, with strong emphasis. "Do you understand that?"
"Y-y-e-s. I-I-I thought it was a lion. I did, honest," he muttered. "And it tickled my neck with its paw, too. Wow!"
Stacy instinctively moved further away from the tent.
Disturbing as their situation was at that moment, the lads could not repress a shout of laughter over Stacy's funny words. But Stacy's face was solemn. He saw nothing to laugh at.
"Lucky for both of you that you didn't yawn. The bear might nave fallen in," jeered Ned.
"Might have been a good thing for us if Chunky had yawned. Maybe the bear would have got to yawning at the same time, and yawned and yawned until he was so helpless that we could have captured him," laughed Walter.
"Not much chance of that," answered Tad. "Bears don't yawn until after a full meal. I guess our bear over there hasn't had one lately or he wouldn't have been nosing about our camp when we were all there."
"Keep back there, boys. Please don't get too close. He is liable to break out at any time. He is a small bear, but there is no telling what he may do in his rage when he emerges," warned the Professor.
"We're not afraid," answered Ned.
The boys, having no weapons, had armed themselves with clubs, prepared to do battle with their visitor should he chance to come their way.
"What's that racket over there in the bushes?" demanded Ned, wheeling sharply.
"It's the ponies," answered Tad, darting away.
At last the little animals had discovered the presence of the bear in camp and were making frantic efforts to break their tethers.
"Come over here, some of you. The bronchos are having a fit. I can't manage all of them at once," called Tad in an excited tone.
"What's the matter—are they afraid?" called the Professor.
"I should say they are. They'll get away from me if you don't hurry."
Leaving the hear to his own desperate efforts, the boys rushed to the aid of Tad Butler. They were not quick enough, however.
"There goes one of them!" cried Tad.
A pony had broken the rope and with a snort, had bounded away. Tad, leaped on the bare back of his own pony, first having caught up his lariat, and set out after the fleeing animal.
Luckily the runaway broncho had headed for the open and Tad was able to overhaul him before they had gone far from the camp.
Riding up beside the little animal it was an easy matter to drop the loop over his head and bring him down.
"There, that will teach you to run away," growled the boy, cinching the rope and dragging the unruly pony back to camp.
In the meantime the others, after considerable effort, had succeeded in securing the other plunging bronchos, more rope having been brought for the purpose, while Tad, breathing hard, staked down the frightened animal he had roped.
"Now we'll see how Mr. Bear is getting along," announced the Professor, as they turned back toward the camp, where the bear was still fighting desperately with the smouldering tent.
As they reached the scene they observed Professor Zepplin hurrying to his tent. He was back again almost at once.
"Just happened to think of my revolver," he explained.
"Think you can kill him with that?" asked Tad.
"I don't know. I can try. It's a thirty-eight calibre."
"Won't even feel it," sniffed Ned. "I've read lots of times that it takes a lot to kill a bear."
The Professor raised his weapon and fired at the spot where the tent appeared to be most active.
Though he had pulled the trigger only once a series of sudden explosions followed, seemingly coming from beneath the tent itself.
"What's that!" demanded the Professor, lowering his own weapon, plainly puzzled.
"Guess the bear's shooting at us," suggested Chunky wisely.
"No. I know what it is," cried Tad.
"You know?" demanded Ned.
"Sure. It's our cartridges exploding. The fire from the lantern has got at those pasteboard boxes in which we carried the shells."
Now they were popping with great rapidity, and instinctively the boys drew further away from the danger zone, though the Professor told them the bullets could not hurt them, there being not sufficient force behind to carry them that distance.
The Professor stood his ground as an object lesson and again resumed his target practice. The tough canvas resisted the bear's efforts, and the fire was burning slowly. However, the tent seemed to be ruined and the boys feared their rifles would share a similar fate.
"He's breaking out!" yelled Chunky, who was some distance to the right of the others, now dancing up and down in his excitement. "Look out for him!"
With a last desperate effort, the animal had succeeded in forcing his way through the stubborn canvas.
"Look, look!" yelled Walter Perkins, greatly excited.
The spectacle was one that for the moment held the boys spellbound. A mass of flame separated itself from the ruins of the tent. With snarls of pain and rage the mass ambled rapidly away in a trail of fire.
"The bear's on fire!" shouted Ned Rector.
"Help!" screamed Chunky.
Blinded by the pain and the flames that had gotten into its eyes, the animal not seeing the lad, lurched heavily against him and Stacy Brown went down with a howl of terror.
The boy, who had not been harmed, was up like a flash, running from the fearful thing as fast as his short legs would carry him.
"Oh, that's too bad!" exclaimed Tad.
He did not refer to the accident to his companion, which he considered as too trivial to notice, but rather to the sufferings of the animal. Tad felt a deep sympathy for any dumb animal that was in trouble, no matter if it were a bear which would have shown him no mercy had they met face to face.
"Professor, let me have your revolver please," he cried.
"What for?"
"I want to put the brute out of his misery. Please do!"
"There are no more shells in it."
"Then load it. I'm going to get Pink-eye. Hurry, hurry! Can't you see how the miserable creature is suffering?"
The lad darted away for his pony, while Professor Zepplin, sharing something of the boy's own feelings, hurried to his tent and recharged his weapon.
He had no more than returned when Tad came dashing up on Pink-eye.
"Where is he? Do you see him?"
"Over there, I can see the fire in the bushes," answered Ned Rector.
"Quick, give me the gun," demanded Tad.
"Wait, I'll go with you," said Ned.
"No, remain where you are," ordered Professor Zepplin. "Some of you will surely be shot. Thaddeus, remember, you are not to go far from camp."
Tad was off in a twinkle. Putting the spurs to Pink-eye, the animal leaped from the camp and disappeared among the trees.
"I am afraid I should not have allowed him to go," announced the Professor, with a doubtful shake of his head. But it was too late now for regrets.
Tad found the going rough. He soon made out the flaming animal just ahead of him. The beast was down rolling from side to side in a frantic effort to put out the fire that was burning into his flesh.
Tad could not understand why the fur should make so much flame. He spurred the pony as near to the animal as he could get. Then he saw that the bear had become entangled in the guy ropes, and that he was pulling along with him portions of the burning canvas, attached to the ropes. It was this which made the animal a living torch.
The pony in its fright was rearing and plunging, bucking and squealing so that the lad had difficulty in keeping his seat.
"Steady, steady, Pink-eye," he soothed.
For an instant the broncho ceased its wild antics and stood trembling with fear.
"Bang!"
Tad had aimed the heavy revolver and pulled the trigger.
Instantly the pony went up into the air again and the lad gripped its sides with his legs, giving a gentle pressure with the spurs.
"Whoa, Pink-eye! I hit Mm, I did. I aimed for his head, but I must have merely grazed it. I wish I could kill the brute and put him out of his misery," said the lad more concerned for the suffering animal before him than for his own safety.
No sooner had he fired the first shot, than the bear sprang to its feet and sped away up a steep bank. Tad noticed that the bear's rolling had extinguished some of the fire, but he knew that it was still burrowing in the beast's fur, causing him great agony.
"I am too far away to hit him. I've got to get closer," decided the boy. "Pink-eye, do you think you can make that climb?"
The pony shook its head and rattled the bits in its mouth.
"All right, old chap, try it."
A cluck and a gentle slap on the broncho's flanks sent him straight for the steep bank. At first his feet slipped under him; he stumbled, righted himself and digging in the slender hoofs fairly lifted himself up and up. In the meantime Mr. Bruin was making better progress. He seemed unable to escape from the fire, but he could get away from this new enemy, the gun in the hands of the boy on the horse.
Every little while as he found he had gained on his pursuer the bear would throw himself down, and with snarls and angry growls, take a few awkward rolls; then be up and off again.
Once more the lad thought he was near enough to take another shot.
Releasing the reins and dropping them to the pony's neck, he steadied the hand that held the gun with the left and fired.
"Oh, pshaw, I missed him!" he groaned. "That's too bad. I'm only adding to his misery. Next time I'll get nearer to him before I try to shoot."
He went at Pink-eye, applying every method with which he was familiar to increase the pony's speed. Pink-eye responded as best he could, and began climbing the hill that had now developed into a fair sized mountain, making even more rapid headway than the bear himself.
"Good boy," encouraged Tad. "We'll overhaul him if you can keep that up. Steady now. Don't slip or you'll tumble me down the hill and yourself, too. Steady, Pink-eye. W-h-o-e-e!"
"Bang!"
The bear was running broadside to him and the lad could not resist taking another shot at it. Like the previous effort, however, he had failed.
Tad tittered an exclamation of disgust and put spurs to the pony.
"I never did know how to handle a revolver," he complained. "I'll begin to practise with this gun to-morrow if I get out of this scrape safely."
He had failed to take into consideration that a bear was an extremely difficult animal to kill, and that frequently one of them could carry many bullets in its body without seeming to be bothered at all.
But the lad was determined to get this one. He had not thought of where he was going nor how far from camp he had strayed. His one desire now was to get the animal and put a quick end to it.
This time Tad was enabled to get closer to Bruin than at any time during the chase. He drove the pony at a gallop right up alongside of the animal.
Leaning over he aimed the gun at the beast's head, holding it firmly with both hands.
Tad gave the trigger a quick, firm pressure. A sharp explosion followed.
At the same instant, Pink-eye in a frightened effort to get clear of the bear, leaped to one side. The lad, leaning over from the saddle, was taken unawares, and making a desperate effort to grasp the saddle pommel, Tad was hurled sideways to the ground.
"Whoa, Pink-eye!" he commanded sharply as he was falling. But Pink-eye refused to obey. The pony uttered a loud snort and plunged into the bushes. There he paused, wheeled, and peered out suspiciously at the boy and the bear.
Tad's shot had gone home. His aim had been true. Yet the sting of the bullet served only to anger the bear still further. With an angry growl, it turned and charged the lad ferociously.
In falling, the plucky boy had struck on his head and shoulders, the fall partially stunning him. For an instant, he pivoted on his head, then toppling over on his back, he lay still.
Powerless to move a muscle, the lad was dimly conscious of a hulking figure standing over him, its hot breath on his face. His right hand clutched the revolver, but he seemed unable to raise it.
A loud explosion sounded in Tad Butler's ears, then sudden darkness overwhelmed him.
"Whoa, Pink-eye!" muttered the lad, stirring restlessly. "I'll get him next time. Look out, he's charging us. Oh!"
The boy suddenly opened his eyes. The darkness about him was deep and impenetrable and he was conscious of a heavy weight on his chest. What it was, he did not know, and some moments passed before he had recovered sufficiently to form an intelligent idea of what had happened.
All at once he recollected.
"It was the bear," he murmured. "I wonder if I am dead!"
No, he could feel the ground under him, and a rock that his right hand rested on, felt cold and chilling. But what of the pressure on his chest?
Cautiously the lad moved a hand toward the object that was holding him down. His fingers lightly touched it.
Tad could scarce repress a yell.
It was the head of the bear that was resting on him, and he had no idea whether the animal were dead or asleep, awaiting the moment when the lad should stir again to fasten its cruel teeth into his body.
The boy was satisfied, however, that by exerting all his strength he would be able to pull himself away before the beast could awaken, even, providing it were still alive.
First he sought cautiously for his weapon, his fingers groping about over the ground at his right hand. He could not find it. Undoubtedly it had fallen underneath the bear.
Tad determined to mate a desperate effort to escape. He felt as if his hair were standing on end.
With a cry that he could not keep back, the lad whirled over and sprang to his feet. As he did so he leaped away, running with all his might until he had put some distance between himself and the prostrate animal.
Realizing that he was not being followed, Tad brought up sharply and dodged behind a tree. There he stood listening intently for several minutes.
Not a sound disturbed the stillness of the night. The leaves of the trees hung limp and lifeless, for no breeze was stirring.
"I wonder if he's dead," whispered the lad, almost afraid to trust his voice out loud. "Maybe that shot finished him. I must find out somehow."
Tad searched his clothes for matches, finally finding his match safe. Next he sought to gather some sticks with which to make a torch, but the only wood he was able to find was of oak and so green that it would not burn.
"That's too bad," he muttered. "I'll have to try it with the matches."
Lighting one he picked his way carefully toward the place where he had been lying, peering into the shadows ahead of him suspiciously as he went.
"There he is," breathed Tad.
He could faintly make out the figure of the bear lying half on its side as it had been before, the only difference being that the animal's head was stretched out on the ground instead of on the lad's chest.
"I believe he's dead. He must be or he'd have been after me before this," decided the boy. "I 'm going to find out."
Mustering his courage, Tad continued his cautious approach, lighting match after match, shading the flame with his hands so that the light would not get into his eyes and prevent him from seeing anything ahead of him.
It required no little courage for a boy alone in the mountains to walk up to a bear, not knowing whether the animal were dead or alive. Yet when Tad Butler made up his mind to do a certain thing, he persisted until he had accomplished it.
He reached the side of the animal, that is, close enough so that he could get a good view of it.
The bear never moved and Tad drew closer, walking on his toes that he might make no sound. There seemed no other way to make certain except to stir the animal.
"I'll do it," whispered Tad.
Cautiously lighting another match he drew back his left foot and administered a sound kick to the beast's side.
Thinking that the bear had moved under the blow, Tad whirled and ran tittering a loud "Oh!"
He waited, but could hear no sound.
"I believe I am afraid of myself. That bear hasn't stirred at all. I'm going back this time and make sure."
He did. But this time, steeling himself to the task, Tad stood still after he had prodded the beast with his foot again. There was no movement other than a slight tremor caused by the impact of the kick.
"Hurrah, I've shot a bear!" cried the lad in the excess of his excitement. "I wonder what the boys will say. The next question is how am I going to get him back to camp?"
Tad pondered over this problem some moments.
"I know," he cried. "I'll hitch a rope to him and make Pink-eye tow him out. But where is that pony?"
All at once the realization came to him that the pony had thrown him off. That was the last he had seen of Pink-eye.
Tad whistled and called, listening after each attempt without the slightest result.
"He's gone. I've got to find my way back as best I can. The worst of it is I may be a long way from camp, but I guess I can find my way with the compass all right."
The compass, however, was nowhere to be found. The lad went through his pockets twice in search of it.
"Pshaw! Just my luck. I'm as bad at losing things as Chunky is in falling in. I'll get the gun anyway, for the Professor will be provoked if I go back without it. Ah, there it is."
Tad picked up the weapon joyfully.
"I've got something to defend myself with, at least," he told himself. A moment later when he discovered that the weapon held nothing but empty shells, the keen edge of his joy was dulled.
"Well, it's better to pack back an empty gun than no gun at all," he decided philosophically. "Let me see, I think we came up that way. They'll build a big fire so I can see it and I ought to be there within half an hour at least."
The lad struck out confidently. He had been lost in the wilderness before, and though he felt a slight uneasiness he had no doubt of his ability to find the camp eventually.
He walked vigorously for half an hour. Then he halted. The same impressive silence surrounded him.
"I think I have been going a little too far to the left," he decided. He changed his course and plodded on methodically again.
Another half hour passed and once more the lad paused, this time with the realization strong upon him that he had lost his way.
Placing both hands to his mouth Tad uttered a long drawn"C-o-o-e-e-e!" He listened intently, then repeated the call.
The sound of his own voice almost frightened him.
"Oh, I'm lost!" he cried, now fully appreciating his position.
The panic of the lost seized him and Tad ran this way and that, plunging ahead for some distance, then swerving to the right or to the left in a desperate attempt to free himself from the endless thicket, bruising his body from contact with the trunks of the trees and cutting his hands as they struck the rocks violently when he fell.
"Tad Butler, you stop this!" he commanded sternly, bringing himself up sharply. "I didn't think you were such a silly kid as to be afraid of the dark." But in his innermost heart the lad knew that it was not the shadows that had so upset him. It was the feeling of being lost in an unknown forest.
Instead of being in the foothills as he had supposed, he was penetrating the fastnesses of the Rosebud Mountains themselves.
"There is no use in my going on like this," he decided finally. "I'll sit down and wait for daylight. That's all I can do. I surely can find my way back to camp when the light comes again."
The next question was where should he go—where find a safe place to stay until morning. Tad remembered with a start that there were bears in the range. He knew this from his own recent experience. How many other savage beasts there might be in the woods he did not know. He had heard some one speak of mountain lions, and having seen these before, he fervently hoped he might not have another experience with them, unarmed as he was.
"If this gun only were loaded, I should feel better."
After searching around for some time, Tad found a ledge that seemed to rise to a considerable height. Up this he clambered. It would give him a good view in the morning anyway, besides protecting him from any prowling animals that might chance in that part of the forest.
Tad ensconced himself in a slight depression, and with a flat rock for a resting place, leaned back determined to make the best of his position.
A gentle breeze now stirred the foliage above his head and all about him until the sound became a restless murmur, as if Nature were holding council over the lad's predicament.
The lost boy did not so interpret the sounds, however. He made a more practical application of them.
"It's going to rain," he decided wisely, casting a glance above him at the sky, which was becoming rapidly overcast. "And I haven't any umbrella," he added, grinning at his own feeble joke. "Well, I've been wet before. I cannot well be any more so than I was last night. I'll bet the rainwater will be warmer than the waters in the East Fork. If it isn't I'll surely freeze to death."
Fortunately he had worn his coat when he left the camp, else he would now have suffered from the cold. As it was, he shivered, but more from nervousness than from the chill night air.
"Yoh—hum, but I'm sleepy," he murmured drowsily. A moment more and his head had drooped to one side and Tad Butler was sleeping as soundly as if tucked away between his own blankets back in his tent in the foothills.
Tad awakened with a start.
His first impression was that he smelled smoke, and for the moment he believed himself back in camp. A movement convinced him of his error. A jagged point of rock had cut into his flesh while he slept. He almost cried out with the pain of it, and as he moved a little to shift his body from it, the wound hurt worse than ever.
The lad was still surrounded by an impenetrable darkness. It all came back to him—but standing out stronger than all the rest was the fact that he was lost.
"Wonder how long I've slept," he muttered. "Seems as if I had been here a year. Lucky I awoke or I'd been stuck fast on that rock, for good and all. Whew! B-r-r-r! I think it's going to snow. Thought it was going to rain just before I went to sleep. Wonder if they have snow up here in the summer time. Have almost everything else," continued the lad, muttering to himself, half under his breath.
Slowly rising he shook himself vigorously and rubbed his palms together to get his circulation stirred up.
"Hello, what's that? I remember now, I smelled smoke or thought I did."
Tad sniffed the chill air suspiciously.
"It is smoke," he decided. "Maybe I've set the woods on fire with my matches. Guess I'll climb down and investigate."
He started to move down the side of the ledge when it occurred to him that perhaps it would be better to investigate from where he was; he did not know what danger he might be running into if he were to climb down without first having made sure that it was perfectly safe to do so. Just what he might meet with he did not know. But he felt an uneasy sense of impending danger.
"Often feel that way when I first wake up, especially if I've been eating pie the night before," he confided to himself, in order to urge his courage back to life.
Bending forward he peered from side to side, but was unable to find a single trace of light, anywhere about him. If it were a fire it must be some distance away, he concluded.
"If it were some distance away, I wouldn't smell it. The wind has died down. No, the fire that smoke comes from is right near by me," he whispered.
The sense of human habitation near him caused his pulses to beat more rapidly. The question that remained for him to decide, was who was it that had started the fire?
Tad Butler determined to find out if possible, and at once.
He crept cautiously to the right, feeling his way along the ledge, not being sure how near he was to the edge. He found it more suddenly than he had expected, and narrowly missed falling over head first.
"Whew! That was a close call," he muttered. "I must be more careful."
There was no sign of either smoke or fire below him, as he observed after getting his balance again. He drew back cautiously and worked his way to the side that he had been facing, yet with no better result than before.
There yet remained two sides to be investigated—the one he had climbed up and the other that lay to the left of him. Tad chose the latter as the most likely to give him the information he sought. However, he found that the edge lay some distance away. The table of rock was much wider than he had imagined, when he first ascended to it.
The way was rough. Once the lad's foot slipped into a crevice. In seeking to withdraw it he gave the ankle a wrench that caused him to settle down on the rocks with a half moan of pain. His shoe had become wedged in between the rocks so that he had difficulty in withdrawing it at all, and the injured ankle gave him a great deal of pain as he struggled to release himself.
"Guess I'll have to take off my shoe. Hope I haven't sprained my ankle. I'll be in a fine mess if I have," he grumbled.
The ankle gave him considerable trouble; but he rubbed it all of ten minutes, and he found that he could endure his shoe again. He was full of curiosity as well as anxiety to learn the cause of the smoke, which, by this time, seemed to be coming his way in greater volume.
After having relaced the shoe and leggin, Tad started on again, this time on all fours, not trusting himself to try to walk, feeling his way ahead of him with his hands, which he considered the safer way to do.
"There's somebody down there," he whispered, after a long interval of slow creeping over the rocks. "I wonder who it is? Perhaps they are looking for me. I'll give them a surprise if they are."
The surprise, however, was to be Tad's.
At last he reached the edge of the little butte. Slowly stretching his neck and lying flat on his stomach, he peered over.
A cloud of black smoke rolled up into his face, causing the lad to withdraw hastily.
"Aka-c-h-e-w," sneezed Tad, burying his face in his hands.
"Whew, what a smudge! I'll bet they heard that sneeze."
"What's that?" demanded a gruff voice below. "Sounded like somebody sneezing."
"No, it's an owl," replied another. "I've heard that kind before. Sometimes you'd think it was a fellow snoring."
"Must be funny kind of a bird," grunted the first speaker.
"He's right. That's exactly what I am," growled Tad, who had plainly overheard their conversation. Yet he was thankful that the men below had not realized the truth. Tad was quite willing to be mistaken for a bird under the circumstances.
After making sure that the men were not going to investigate the sound, the boy crept again toward the edge, working to the right a little further this time, so that the smoke might not smite him full in the face as had been the case before.
There were four of them—strangers. The boy observed that they were dressed like cowboys, broad brimmed hats, blue shirts and all. From the belt of each was suspended a holster from which protruded the butt of a heavy revolver.
"Cowboys," he breathed. "At least they ought to be and I hope they are nothing else."
The lad's attention was fixed particularly on one of the party. He was all of six feet tall, powerfully built, his swarthy face covered with a scraggly growth of red beard, and with a face of a peculiarly sinister appearance.
"When do they expect the herd?" asked the first speaker.
"Be here the day after tomorrer I reckon," answered the man with the red beard.
"How many?"
"They say there's five thousand sheep in the herd, but it's more'n likely there'll be ten when they git here."
"Huh!" grunted the other.
"There'll be less when we git through with them."
"You bet."
"Boss Simms will be mad. He'll be ripping, when we clean him out."
Two of the men rose at the big fellow's direction and stalked off into the bushes to attend to their ponies, which the lad could hear stirring restlessly, but could not see.
"Simms!" breathed Tad. "What does this mean? Those men are up to some mischief. I know it. I must find out what it is they are planning to do."
Tad learned a few moments later, but in his attempts to overhear what the plans of these strange men were, he nearly lost his own life.
"Has Simms been warned that he'd better keep them out of this here territory?" asked one.
"Yes."
"Who told him?"
"Bob Moore, who owns the Double X Ranch on the west side of the range. I saw to that," announced the man with the beard.
Tad decided that he was the leader of the party, but it was not yet clear what they were planning to do. Yet he knew that if he listened long enough something was sure to be dropped that would give him a clue to the mystery.
"Bob's mad as a trapped bear over it. Swears he'll kill every sheep in the country before he'll let Simms drive in the new herd and graze it here."
"Suppose you put it into his head proper like to do something?" laughed one.
"Well, I did talk it over with him a bit," admitted the leader. "But he wasn't hard to show."
"When is the thing coming off?"
"We haven't decided yet. We four will talk that over. Perhaps the same night they get in. They'll be restless then and easy to start."
"But won't the foreman corral the sheep?"
"Don't think so. Haven't room. They haven't fixed up a new corral, because they expected to graze the sheep on north. That many will clean up the range right straight ahead of us for more'n a hundred miles, so that we cattle men won't have half a chance to graze our cattle," grinned the spokesman of the party.
His companions laughed harshly.
"I reckon," answered another. "We'll have all the cattle men on both sides of the Rosebud range so stirred up that they will pitch into that flock like hyenas who haven't had a square meal since snow fell last. When they break loose there's going to be fun, now I tell you. That's the time we get busy. We ought to be able to get a thousand of them anyhow. Before next morning we'll be so far down toward the Big Horn range that they won't catch us. And besides, after the cattle men get through killing mutton, a thousand more or less won't be missed. It'll make a nice bunch to add to our flock. If we work that a few times we'll have enough to make a shipment worth while."
"So that's the game is it?" muttered Tad Butler. "Well, they won't do it if I can help it." Yet be realized how powerless he was at that moment to defeat their nefarious plans.
Somehow they were going to urge the real cattle men to use highhanded measures to destroy Mr. Simms's flock. They were going to scatter them, and then these men were going to make off with all they could drive away. It did not seem to the listening boy that such things were possible; yet Mr. Simms was authority for the statement that such acts were not unknown in this far northern state.
There were still many points that Tad was not clear on, but he had heard enough to enable him to give the rancher a timely warning of what they proposed to do.
The lad knew what that meant. It meant trouble. His sympathies had been largely with the cattle men—he had looked down on the sheep industry and for the reason that he knew only what the cattle men had told him about it.
At that moment Tad Butler was experiencing a change of heart. That they could plan ruthlessly to slaughter the inoffensive little animals passed his comprehension. A remark below him caused the lad to prick up his ears and listen intently.
"As I came over the Little Muddy this afternoon, I thought I saw some sort of a camp in the foothills," said a voice. "Thought mebby that might be the outfit, though I couldn't see what they were doing on that side of the range."
"Oh," laughed the big man, "I know the one you mean. Yes, I took a look at that outfit myself."
"Oh, he did, eh? Wonder we didn't see him," grunted Tad, realizing that the men referred to the camp of the Pony Riders. "There was something besides bears around there, I see."
"Find out what it was!"
"Yes, it seemed to be a camp of boys. There was only one man in the bunch so far as I could see. He was a tall gent with whiskers that hadn't been shaved for two weeks o' Sundays."
Tad could not repress a laugh.
"I wish the boys could hear that," he said, laughing softly. "That hits off the Professor better than a real picture could do."
"Huh! What were they doing!"
"You can search me for the answer. I haven't got it," laughed the big fellow. "We don't need to bother about them. They're out here with some crazy idea in their tops. They can't interfere with our plans any."
"You'd better not be too sure about that," chuckled Tad. "Perhaps one of them may if he has the good luck to get out of here without being discovered."
"What's the plan, Bluff?"
"So that's his name? I'll remember that," muttered Tad.
"That's what I wanted you boys to meet me here for. I want you to see all the ranchers before to-morrow night on both sides of the Rosebud. Understand now, no blunt giving away of the game. You want to start by telling them you hear Boss Simms is bringing in ten thousand head of sheep, and that he's going to graze them up the valley all the way over the free grass to the north. Tell them that it'll be mighty poor picking for the cows and so on until you get 'em good and properly mad——"
"Yes, what then?"
"Better let the ranchers make threats first, then you can say that you hear the others are going to teach Boss Simms a lesson and stampede his flock to-morrow or next night. Say you hear the word will go out when the mine is ready to touch a match to. You'll know how to work it?"
"Sure thing, Bluff. Who do you want us to see?"
"I want you and Jake to take the west side of the mountains. Lazy and I will take the east. Work it thoroughly and don't you go to making any bad breaks. Right after the job is over, besides the sheep we get for our own herd, there'll be a few thousand laying dead around these parts. We'll take the contract to skin them for the hides. That'll be another rake off. Do you follow me?"
"Yes."
"To-morrow night meet me at the Three Sisters and I'll be able to give you your orders for the rest of the boys."
"You don't think they'll suspect you—that they'll be wise to what the game is?" asked one of the men apprehensively.
"No fear of that. They'd never mix me up with any such deal as that. I'm a respectable law abiding rancher, I am," laughed the man with the red beard. "Don't you go to getting cold feet. That's the sure way to get caught," admonished the leader.
"Want us to start now?"
"No, sure not. What's the use? We'd better turn in and get some sleep. It'll be light enough by three o'clock in the morning. We'll get a rasher of bacon and some hot coffee, then we'll light out for the valley. You know you don't have to see Bob Moore. And better not go near the Circle T Ranch. I'm not any too sure about those fellows. We'll turn in now."
"I've heard enough to hang the whole bunch," thought Tad Butler. "The trouble is I don't know who they are. But that does not make so much difference. Only if I did know, Mr. Simms might be able to have them arrested. As it is, I guess the best he can do is to get ready to fight them off when they do come," reasoned the lad.
"Better stake the ponies nearer camp in case anything comes along. I came across bear tracks a few miles to the east of here," the big man advised them.
"So did I," thought Tad.
"I forgot to tell you that there'll be three or four Crow braves with us on the raid as well as half a dozen Blackfeet?"
"Blackfeet? What are them redskins doing down here, off the reservation?" demanded Jake.
"They're like all critters, think the pasture over the fence is better'n their own," laughed Bluff. "Guess there's no need of any of us keeping awake. We ain't likely to have any surprises."
The cowboy outlaw, however, was about to have the most surprising of surprises that could have come to him at that time.
Tad, in his anxiety to catch every word that was uttered, had drawn his body close up to the edge of the cliff, his head and shoulders hanging well over.
In front of him, right down to the camp stretched a long, sloping rock, whose smooth face, glistened in the light of the camp fire. As the men rose to prepare for the night, Tad began pulling himself cautiously back, bracing himself with one hand.
Suddenly the hand slipped. How it happened he was unable to tell afterward, but instantly Tad was over the rock and tobogganing down its side head first.
A spot rougher than the rest of the rock, caught in his clothes, righting the boy's body, permitting him to shoot down the rest of the way, feet first.
The Pony Rider Boy's presence of mind did not desert him for an instant. It was not a long drop. He felt that he would land safely, providing he did not turn again and land on his head instead of his feet. It was a chance very liable to happen, as he knew from his experience of a second before.
They heard him coming, but did not catch the significance of it.
"What's that!" exclaimed Bluff, springing up in alarm.
"I don——"
"Y-e-o-w!"
Tad had uttered the shrill scream. With great presence of mind he hoped to take them so by surprise that they would hesitate for the few seconds, and that in this delay he would be able to get away.
The lad's feet struck the ground, his body plunged forward and he fell sprawling at the very feet of the men he was seeking to get away from.
"Catch him! It's a man!" roared the leader.
With one accord they sprang for the prostrate form of Tad Butler.
Tad was lithe and supple. As the champion wrestler of the high school, back in his home town in Missouri, he was possessed of many tricks that had proved useful to him on more than one occasion since the Pony Riders set out on their summer's jaunt.
"Y-e-o-w!" yelled the lad in a high-pitched, piercing voice, intended to confuse his enemy. And it served its purpose well.
As the men leaped upon him, Tad raised himself to all fours, his back slightly arched. In this position he ran on hands and feet like a monkey, darting straight between the legs of the man with the beard.
The big man flattened himself on the ground face downward, while Tad, who had tripped him, was well outside the ring. In an instant the leader's fellows had dropped on him and the four men were floundering helplessly, in what, to all appearances, might have been a football scrimmage.
Tad was not yelling now. He was fairly flying, running on his toes and seeking to do so without making the slightest sound.
The men quickly untangled themselves and with yells of rage bounded from their camp in search of the one who had caused so much disturbance. It had all happened so quickly that they had not succeeded in getting a good look at their tormentor.
"It's a boy!" roared Bluff. "Catch him. No, shoot! Don't let him get away!"
"Where is he!"
"I don't know. Fan the bushes, fan everything. We've got to get him!"
"Keep it up. Do you see him?"
"No."
As Tad heard the bullets snipping the leaves over his head, he instinctively ducked and, turning sharply to the left, skulked through the trees. By the flickering light of the camp fire he had seen something that gave him a sudden idea.
"Watch out. There he is?"
"Where, where?"
"There, by the ponies. Give it to him!" cried Jake.
"Stop, you fools!" thundered the leader. "Do you want to kill the bronchs? Get after him. What are you standing there like a lot of dumbheads for?"
"I see him. I kin pink him," yelled one of the four.
"I said go after him. Not a shot in that direction!" commandedBluff.
Tad bad caught a glimpse of the ponies.
"I'm going to try it," he breathed.
No thought of wrong entered his mind. He was about to take a horse that did not belong to him. He knew his life was at stake and that having overheard their plans he would be sure to suffer were he to fall into their hands.
"It's not stealing. It's just fighting them on their own ground," gasped the boy, tugging desperately at the stake rope in an effort to free the first pony he came to.
The leash resisted all his efforts.
Out came the lad's jack knife. One sweep and the rope fell apart. They had discovered him. Every second was precious now. He was thankful that the men had removed neither bridles nor saddles, though he knew the bit was hanging from the animal's mouth.
But Tad cared little for this. He could manage the pony, he felt sure. With a yell of defiance he leaped into the saddle and dug his fist into the animal's side, uttering a shrill, "yip-yip!"
The pony, responding to the demands of its rider, sprang away through the forest, putting the lad in imminent peril of being swept off by low hanging limbs.
"He's getting away. He's got one of the ponies. Give it to him now, but don't hit the rest of the cayuses!" yelled the leader in high excitement.
Tad had it in mind to liberate the other animals and start them off on a stampede. It was the fault of the outlaw cowboys that he did not. They discovered his whereabouts sooner than he had hoped they might. It was all he could do to get one pony free and mount in time, for they were running toward him at top speed.
Instantly, upon their leader giving them the order to fire, the men raised their weapons, taking quick, careful aim, and pulled the triggers.
Their bullets whistled far above the head of the fleeing boy, as the ground was sloping and he was traveling downward rapidly.
"Keep it up. You may get in a chance shot. No, stop. Take to the ponies."
Three of them, including the leader, cast loose the remaining animals, and springing upon their backs, spurred the bronchos into a run. They were in hot pursuit of the lad now, with freshly loaded guns ready to fire the instant they came within range of him.
Tad's pony was crashing through the brush, making such a racket that there could be no trouble about their keeping on the trail. They needed no light by which to follow it unerringly.
The boy soon came to a realization of this. Then again the men were so much more familiar with mountain riding that he felt sure they would eventually overhaul him. Even now they were gaining. There could be no doubt of that.
"I'll ride as long as I can, then I'll try to get away from them some other way," he decided.
The moment was rapidly approaching when he would be forced to resort to other tactics. Just what these should be he did not know. He would either be shot or captured in the event of his being unable to devise some other method of escape.
Tad Butler was resourceful. He had no idea of giving up yet. He was determined above all, to defeat the desperate purpose of these men and save Mr. Simms from the loss of his flock.
"We're gaining on him!" cried one of the pursuers. "I can hear the pony plainer now."
"Yes, I kin hear him snort," added another.
"You'll hear that cub doing some snorting on his own account in a minute," snarled Bluff, applying the spurs mercilessly.
"Shall we shoot, Cap!"
"I'll let you know when to shoot. No use filling all the trees in the range full of lead. We'll be up with him in a few minutes now and there'll be things doing. He can't get away. We've got him to rights this time."
"He's a slick one whoever he is. Think he heard us?"
"Can't guess. Don't make any difference anyhow. He won't have a chance to use the information, if he did hear."
"We're coming up on him," cried Jake.
"Halt!" bellowed the leader.
The pony in the lead did not slacken its speed in the least.
Bluff repeated his command, but still without perceptible result.
"Halt or we shoot!"
Tad Butler made no reply. He was leaning far over on the pony's neck now. In this position he was less likely to be swept off by limbs, and, again, were they to fire on him as they had threatened, there was a much better chance of the shots going harmlessly over, instead of through him. Thus far their marksmanship had been poor.
This was the second time the lad had been under fire, the first having been in the battle of the mountaineers, when the Pony Riders were in the Rocky Mountains, on which occasion Tad had conducted himself with such coolness and bravery.
Tad realized no fear, however. It thrilled him. A strange sense of elation possessed him. He felt strong and resourceful—he felt that he would be willing to do or dare almost anything.
"Let him have it!" commanded the leader sternly.
The men obeyed instantly.
Their weapons sent a rattling fire in the direction of the fleeing broncho.
"Halt! Will you halt!"
The pony still plunged on.
"Once more!"
The men fired again, two rounds each.
This time they heard the pony plunge crashing to the ground. His rapid course had come to a sudden end.
The pursuers set up a yell of triumph.
"He's down! He's down! We've got him!"
"Give him another one!"
To make sure that their man should not escape they fired their weapons again.
The pursuers dashed up with drawn revolvers, ready to shoot at the least sign of resistance.
Bluff leaped from his pony and struck a match.
Tad's mount lay dying in the brush.
"There's no one here," said Bluff, his face working nervously.
Of Tad Butler there was no sign. He had disappeared utterly.
"There's Pink-eye!" exclaimed Ned Rector.
"Is it possible?" answered the Professor. "Then something has happened to Tad."
"Mebby—mebby the bear's got him," suggested Stacy Brown, his face blanching.
All through the night the little party had sat up anxiously awaiting the return of their companion, who had set out after the bear. The tent had been ruined, but they found that the rifles had not been harmed at all, having been stacked in front of the small tents.
Early in the morning the three boys and Professor Zepplin had followed Tad's trail for some distance into the foothills, but feared to penetrate too far for fear of getting lost. The Professor reasoned that it would be much better to return to camp and give Tad a chance to find his way in in case he himself should prove to have been lost.
This the boys had done, but they were impatient to be doing something more active. Ned Rector was fairly fuming, because their guardian would not permit him to set out alone in search of the missing boy.
"No," the Professor had said; "if I did that with all of you, we should have the whole party scattered over the mountains and it is doubtful if we should all get together again before snow flies."
Yet when Tad's pony came trotting back to camp, the matter took on a more serious aspect. Something must be done and at once.
"Now, will you let me go, Professor?" begged Ned.
"Not in those mountains alone, if that is what you mean."
"Then what can we do?"
"If the guide were only here!" interjected Walter. "Do you suppose I could find him?"
"It will be useless to try, my boy. About the only course we can follow now, is that leading back to Forsythe, and I am not sure that we shouldn't be lost doing that."
"Then we don't know it," retorted Ned. "I know the trail. I could go back over it with my eyes shut. Why would that not be the idea, Professor? Why not let me ride back to Forsythe? Mr. Simms would give us some one who knew the foothills and mountains and I could bring him back."
"Let me see, how far is it?" mused the Professor.
"Thirty miles, he said."
"Why, it would take you couple of days to make that and back."
"You try me and see. I can get a fresh pony to come back with, and if I do not return with the guide, what difference does it make? He's the one you want. But never fear, I'll be back with him between now and morning if I have no bad luck," urged the lad earnestly.
"I am half inclined to agree to your plan. If I were sure that you knew the way——"
"It is not possible to get lost. We have the compasses and we know the direction in which Forsythe lies. All we have to do is to travel in an opposite direction from that by which we came."
"Supposing we all go!" suggested Walter.
"Wouldn't do at all," answered the Professor, with an emphatic shake of the head. "Some one must remain here in case Tad returns. That boy will get back somehow. I feel sure of that. He is resourceful and strong. And besides, he has my revolver. No; more than one on the trip would be apt to delay rather than to help. Master Ned, you may go." "Good!" shouted the lad. Bad-eye looked up almost resentfully as the boy approached him on the run, threw on the saddle and cinched the girths.
The hits were slipped into the animal's mouth, and, placing his left foot in the stirrup, Ned threw himself into the saddle.
"I'm ready now," he said, his eyes sparkling with anticipation, as he rode up to the little group.
"I'll show you that I'm not a tenderfoot even if I am fromMissouri," he laughed.
"Be careful," warned Professor Zepplin.
"Don't worry about me, and, Chunky, you look out for bears. If Tad should come in within the next half hour or so, you can fire off your rifles to let me know. Then I'll turn about and come back. Good-bye, all."
"Good-bye and good luck," they shouted.
Giving a gentle pressure to the spurs, Ned Rector started off on his long ride at a brisk gallop. Within a short time the lad had the satisfaction of finding that he was emerging from the foothills. He then pulled up the pony and consulted his compass. "Five points north of east. The Professor said that should take me back. Besides I remember that we came this way yesterday. I'm going to save some time by fording that fork without going the roundabout way we took before."
Ned galloped on again. Had it not been for his anxiety over Tad, he would have enjoyed his ride to the fullest. The morning was glorious; the sun had not yet risen high enough to make the heat uncomfortable; birds were singing and in spots where the sun had not yet penetrated a heavy dew was glistening on foliage and grass.
Ned drew a long breath, drinking in the delicious air.
"This is real," he said. "Nothing artificial about this. I wish I might stay here always."
The lad did not think of the deep snows and biting cold of the northern winters there, winters so severe that hundreds of head of sheep and cattle frequently perished from the killing weather. He saw nature only in her most peaceful mood.
He had ridden on for something more than two hours, when he came to the East Fork, where they had had such an exciting experience two nights before. After a few moments' riding along the bank he discovered the spot where they had made their camp on the opposite side.
"I'm going to take a chance and ford right here," he decided. "No, I guess my mission is too important to take the risk. If I should get caught in there I should at least be delayed. There's somebody else who must be considered. That's Tad."
Half a mile above, the lad found a place that he felt safe in trying. Luckily he got across without mishap. He had found a rocky bar without being aware of it, and the water while swift was shallow enough so that by slipping his feet from the stirrups and holding them up, he was able to ford the stream without even getting them damp.
"I wonder why we didn't find this place the other night," he said aloud. "I guess we were in too big a hurry. That's the trouble with us boys. We blunder along without using our heads. But, I guess I had better not boast until after I have gotten back safely from Forsythe," he laughed. "I may need some good advice myself before that is accomplished."
The pony with ears laid back had settled to a long, loping gallop, covering mile after mile without seeming to feel the strain in the least.
Some distance beyond the Fork, Ned descried a horseman who had halted on beyond him, evidently awaiting his approach.
Ned was not greatly concerned about this. On the contrary, it was a relief to see a human being.
The man hailed him as he drew up. Ned noted the red beard and the general sinister appearance of the man.
"How," greeted the stranger, tossing his hand to the lad.
"How," answered Ned in kind.
"Where you headed!"
"Forsythe."
"Stranger in these parts, I reckon?"
"Yes, sir."
"On a herd?"
"Expect to be soon. Just finished a drive down in Texas."
"Cattle, of course?"
"Oh, yes."
"That's right. This sheep business has got to stop. I hear there's going to be something doing round these parts pretty lively," grinned the stranger.
"What do you mean?" asked the lad, peering sharply into the man's face.
"Oh, nothing much," answered the other. "Thought being as you were a cowman it might interest you some."
"It does," replied the boy almost sharply.
"Well, guess the rest, then," laughed the stranger. "Where'd you get that pony?"
"Is that not rather a personal question?" asked Ned, smiling coldly.
"Not in this country. Kinder reminded me of a nag that belonged to me. He strayed away from my ranch a few weeks ago," said the fellow significantly.
"It wasn't this pony," retorted Ned, flushing. "I bought this animal.Good day, sir, I must be getting along."
"In a hurry, ain't ye?"
"I am," answered Ned, touching the spurs to the pony's sides and galloping off.