At the instant when Ned had shot his quick glance at the wondering Tad, the latter with quick instinct, realizing that Ned had made a serious mistake, threw himself flat on the ground.
That move undoubtedly saved Tad Butler's life. At least, two bullets went ripping through the foliage over his head. The move served the further purpose of hiding him from the man who was shooting at him. The mountaineer had not even caught a sight of Butler, quick as had been his turn about. The fellow swung to the right letting go two more shots, evidently believing that he had not fired in the right direction.
In Tad Butler's right hand was gripped a piece of rock that he had grabbed when he threw himself to the ground. The boy came to his feet as if propelled by a spring. At that second the eyes of the mountaineer were fixed on a point several yards to the left of Tad.
Without a sound Tad let go the rock. But the movement caught the eyes of the ruffian. He swung toward Butler at the same instant pulling the trigger of his rifle.
Once more the rifle roared its savage protest. But that was its last roar for the time being. Almost at the instant when he pulled the trigger the mountaineer received Tad's rock in the pit of his stomach. With such force had the missile been hurled that the fellow staggered back, the rifle falling from his hands, both of which were suddenly clasped over the part of his anatomy that had been struck.
The fellow uttered a howl of pain. He swayed and staggered then fell over a dead limb, landing flat on his back with a crash.
Tad, without an instant's hesitation, sprang forward. The eyes of the plucky Pony Rider Boy were flashing. Tad had not even thought to draw his revolver. But his anger was kindled. He was dangerous in his present mood. He did not pause to think what a terrible chance he was taking in thus rushing forward. Fortunately for Tad, however, the mountaineer was suffering such agonies that he either gave no thought to the revolver that was hanging at his side, or else he was too weak to draw it. He staggered to his feet, swaying, groaning, shoulders hunched forward, chin on his breast.
Young Butler was upon him like a whirlwind.
Whack!
Tad's fist caught the mountaineer squarely on the point of the jaw as the man raised his head half defiantly, one hand groping awkwardly for his pistol.
The fellow went down in a heap.
"Whoop!" howled Ned Rector. "That's the blow that put the finishing touches to father. Cut me loose! Cut me loose! Quick, Tad! He'll be up in a minute!"
Butler had no need to be told this. He knew the first thing to be done was to secure the prisoner. Ned could wait. The danger lay with the man stretched out there on the ground. Tad worked rapidly. His rope was jerked free from his belt. Three swift turns were made about the body of the prostrate man, binding the fellow's arms firmly to his sides.
Next Tad jerked the mountaineer's revolver from its holster and cast it into the bushes. Then he tied the man's ankles together, after which he straightened up and wiped the sweat from his face and forehead.
"Whew! Warm, isn't it, Ned?"
"Rather," drawled Rector. "Warmer for some folks than others. It came near being pretty warm for you. Are you going to cut me loose, or am I to stay tied to this tree for the rest of the night?"
"I guess we will let you up now. We shall have to wait until our friend there comes to his senses before going farther. Tell me how you got into this mess."
"The same way Chunky gets into trouble. I blundered into it." Ned then went on to relate briefly how he had been jumped on by the mountaineer and made prisoner.
"What was he trying to get you to tell him?"
"He accused me of being a Texas Ranger, a member of some fellow's band, a fellow named McKay."
"The band or the man?" questioned Tad.
"That was the man's name. Billy McKay. He's a captain of Rangers, or something of the sort, it doesn't matter much what."
"I rather think it does," answered Butler dryly.
"How so?"
"Why, don't you see, it means that if the Texas Rangers are after this fellow he must be wanted for something very serious. Who is he?"
"You may search me. Stacy may be right after all. There are plenty of Germans in Mexico, so why not some of them up here to stir up trouble? He looks like pictures I have seen of some of those Hun assassins," declared Ned Rector.
"I think I will search him. He may have some more weapons about his person."
Tad found a bowie knife in the mountaineer's boot, but that was the only weapon left on his person. Tad threw the knife away. About this time the prisoner began to show signs of returning consciousness.
"You must have hit him an awful wallop," wondered Ned, standing over the man and eyeing him narrowly.
"I did. I hit him first with a stone, then with my fist. I skinned my knuckles, too."
Ned grunted.
"I'd hate to have you land on me that way. That surely was a sockdolager. He has his eyes open."
"Oh, hullo!" greeted Butler. "We rather turned the tables on you, didn't we?"
"I'll kill you for this!" growled the prisoner hoarsely.
"I don't think you will kill anybody to-night. What I would like to know is what you mean by trying to shoot us up."
"I'll shoot up the rest of you before I get through with you, you and your whole gang. You can tell Bill McKay what I say and—-"
"We don't know Bill McKay. We have nothing to do with any of you people down here. We are here for pleasure."
"That's what the other cayuse said. Looks like you wuz, hey?"
"You alone are to blame for present conditions. We were not looking for you. You began shooting at us before we got into the foothills. Who were you shooting at the last time? I mean before you tried to pot me just now."
A growl was the only answer.
"The question is, what are we going to do with this fellow, Tad?" asked Ned. "Surely it won't be safe to let him go, and we can't leave him here to starve to death."
"No. I'll tell you what. We will fix up a litter—-by the way, fellow, are there any more of your kind fooling about here?"
"You'll find out whether there are or not," grunted the prisoner.
"Thank you. You have answered my question. I now know you are alone.Ned, can you cut down a couple of saplings?"
"Where do you want to carry him?"
"Down to the fork."
"Then let's drag him. Dragging is good enough for that ruffian—-too good for him. He ought to be shot, then rolled down the hill."
"Don't be bloodthirsty. Prisoners of war should be treated with the utmost courtesy and consideration. I guess perhaps we had better not take the time to make a litter. We can carry him down to the fork. Take hold of the feet. I'll take the heavier end. And you, fellow! You will get along much better if you keep quiet. Remember, no yells nor struggles, else I shall be obliged to put you to sleep as I did a short time since. Do you understand?"
There was no reply to the question.
"All right. Pick him up, Ned," directed Tad.
"Are you going to take his rifle?"
"Yes, I guess perhaps it would be best. The rifle is good evidence," decided Butler.
Tad strapped the weapon to his own back. He did not bother to pick up the revolver or the bowie knife. The rifle was the evidence that he wanted to take with him. Then they gathered their prisoner up. He proved a heavy burden, though fortunately the distance was short to the fork where Tad had decided to carry the man. The fellow had nothing to say, but the expression in his eyes made up for what his lips did not utter. The two boys were glad enough when finally they reached their destination and dropped their burden, though none too gently at that.
"Now what?" demanded Ned.
"I want you to hurry over to where the ponies are tethered, then ride to the outfit. Tell them to pack up and move over here at once."
"Give me a signal before you come into the gulch here. I'll answer it if all is right. Then you may come in without fear."
"What are you going to do?"
"I am going to stay here to keep our friend company. He might get lonesome if we were to leave him alone," chuckled Tad. "Get back as soon as you can. I'll have a fire built, then we'll get supper. Did you know this fellow took another shot at Chunky?"
"No. Was that what he shot at?"
"That was it."
"I hope he didn't hit him."
"I guess not."
"Chunky seems to be getting more than his share of lead to-day," answered Rector with a chuckle. "Serves him right. It'll teach him to be more prudent."
"I don't think you are exactly in the position to say much yourself," replied Tad, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
Ned flushed to the roots of his hair.
"For goodness' sake, don't tell the crowd how I got jumped on. I am as easy as a baby. I'll never call myself a mountaineer again."
"Never mind. You showed your grit at any rate. You didn't appear to be the least bit scared."
"I wasn't. But honest, Tad, now that I've had time to think it all over, I'm scared stiff right this minute. I believe he would have shot me."
"There is no doubt of it in my mind. So he thinks we are Rangers?"
"Who are the Rangers, anyway?"
"The Rangers are a body of men who did much toward clearing this state of the bad men that infested it for a long time."
"They don't seem to have got them all," replied Rector.
"No, there are some near the border still. The Rangers are a sort of police who range over the state wherever their services may be needed. I understand they are paid by the state. I guess there are not many of them left. The necessity for Rangers is not what it was a few years ago."
"So I should judge from what has just happened," answered Ned somewhat ironically.
"Come, are you going to get started tonight?" demanded Tad with a laugh.
"I'm off this very minute."
Ned hurried away laughing. He bore evidences of his recent encounter with the mountaineer, but all this was forgotten now that the man had been taken and was safely tied up back there in the canyon with the ever vigilant Tad Butler on guard over him.
A short time after that Ned was riding his pony over the plain toward the camp at a fast gallop. He shouted as he neared the camp, where no fire had been lighted, uttering a subdued whoop as he rode in. Chunky and the professor met him a few rods from the camp.
"I—-I got shot again!" cried Chunky.
"Where is Tad?" called the professor.
"Over on the fork waiting for us. You are to pack up and return with me at once."
"But—-but, the danger," protested Professor Zepplin.
"The danger is past. I don't believe you will have to worry."
"Explain what you mean!"
"I'll leave that for Tad to do after we get over there. Are you all ready?"
"Is Tad all right?" demanded Perkins.
"Fit as a fiddle. You can't put Tad out of business for any length of time. You are to fetch everything. We are going into camp where we originally planned to spend the night," advised Rector.
The professor, very much relieved to learn that the boys had met with no harm, but still somewhat nervous from the hours of fretting he had passed when the lads failed to return, now hastened to get ready to accompany Ned. On the way he explained bow Stacy Brown had been fanned by another bullet when the fat boy indiscreetly showed himself on the rise of ground between the camping place and the foothills of the mountains.
"Maybe you'll learn something one of these days," scoffed Ned.
"I—-I've learned something to-day."
"Have you?"
"I have."
"Well, what have you learned?"
"That these fellows down here can shoot to beat the band."
"I have observed something of the same sort myself," muttered Ned, with the memory of the mountaineer's bombardment of Tad Butler.
The party had set out at a slow trot with Ned leading the way. Ned's confidence assured them that all was as it should be, but the young man turned a deaf ear to all their questions, replying only now and then with the remark that Tad would tell them all that was to be told when they got to the camping place.
In the meantime Tad had built up a fire, mainly for the reason that he wanted to keep his prisoner well in sight all the time. Butler knew that the man was a tough customer and that were he to get free it would be a sad night for Tad Butler, and so, too, perhaps, for the rest of the party.
The prisoner had nothing to say, nor did Butler seek to draw the fellow into conversation. But the man was watching every move of the young rider who had so cleverly outwitted and captured him. The mountaineer now believed more firmly than before that these two young men were carrying out the orders of Captain Billy McKay of the Texas Rangers. He swore to be revenged on every man of them when once he had gained his freedom. At present that hour of revenge was a long way off.
Suddenly a loud "Yip! Yip! Yahee!" sounded off on the plain. Tad smiled broadly.
"That's Stacy Brown, I'll wager my hat. I'll bet Ned is scolding him, too."
Ned was. He was at that instant threatening to break Chunky's head if he opened his mouth again before they reached the camping place. Shortly after that Butler's keen ears caught the sound of hoofbeats. He stepped back into the shadows, the prisoner eyeing him inquiringly. Tad did not take the trouble to explain. Let the prisoner think what he might. Then the party rode in in single file. Tad was not in sight. He was hiding in the bushes.
Professor Zepplin pulled up short when his glances finally came to rest on the bound form of the mountaineer; Stacy Brown's eyes grew large and Walter Perkins gasped.
"Tad! Where is Tad? What does this mean?" demanded the professor.
"Hullo, boys," cried Butler stepping out into the light. "Did you think that was myself tied up there?"
Chunky, in the excitement of the moment, forgot to tell Tad that he had stopped another bullet out on the plain.
"What do you think of our prisoner, Professor?"
"Tad, will you be good enough to explain what this means?"
"Yes, sir. To be brief that's the fellow who shot at us. He tried to kill us both up here in the mountains."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"I guess I ought to know," grinned Rector, "He jumped me, tied me to a tree, then was about to blow my head off when Tad appeared just in time to save my precious life."
By this time Stacy had slipped from his saddle and striding over to the prisoner stood looking down at him. "So, you're the fellow who potted me twice to-day, are you?" demanded the fat boy sternly. The prisoner made no reply, but he gazed up at his tormentor so savagely that Stacy instinctively took a step backward.
"He is the man, but we landed him," answered Rector proudly.
"Is there any objection to my giving the ruffian a good hard kick for luck?" asked Stacy.
"There certainly is objection to your doing anything of the sort," returned Tad sharply. "We have not come to the point where we treat our prisoners of war the way the Germans do theirs. You let the man alone or I'll have something to say to you."
"Stacy!" rebuked Professor Zepplin sternly.
"Yes, sir?"
"You will keep away from the prisoner. Tad, I want to hear all about this."
"There is not much to tell, except that we got him, though he nearly got us. He caught Ned napping. I should have fallen just the same had I been in Ned's place, for this fellow is a bad man. Ned has told you what happened to him, else I shouldn't have said anything about that part of the affair. While Ned was trying to find where the shot came from that caught Stacy last, this fellow spotted and captured him. I was hunting for the source of the shot at the same time, but went astray. I was finally attracted by the smell of smoke. I arrived on the scene about the time that fellow was getting ready to take Ned's life. At least, that was the way it seemed to me."
"Yes, he was," interjected Rector.
"You were an easy mark!" jeered Stacy.
"At least I didn't stop two bullets," answered Ned witheringly.
"The fellow caught Ned looking at me and knowing instantly that something was wrong he whirled and shot at me. He missed, then I shied a stone into his solar plexus," said Tad.
"That sounds like astronomy," ventured Stacy.
"You're wrong; it's geography," chuckled Rector. "I'll finish the story. The ruffian fired twice more after the first two shots at Tad; then he went down as the stone landed on him. By the time he had got up, Tad was on the job and punched him in the jaw."
"Boys, boys!" rebuked Professor Zepplin. "One would think this was a prize fight you were describing."
"It's the truth," protested Ned.
"Of course it is," laughed Tad.
"That may be. But be good enough to moderate your language. You can describe the scene without using questionable language."
"Yes, it's disgraceful," added Stacy, whereat Ned gave the fat boy another withering look.
"As I was about to say," continued Rector, "this gentleman of the mountains had got to his feet when Tad gently smote said gentleman on the tender part of his chin. The gentleman fell down and went to sleep like a little child after a full meal. When the gentleman woke up we had him hog-tied—-"
"During which time our friend Ned remained tied to a tree," chuckledButler.
"Pshaw! I thought so," grunted Stacy. "Brave man is Ned Rector! If you were a scarred veteran like myself then you'd have a right to swell out your chest," added the fat boy, gingerly stroking the bullet mark on his cheek. "Well, go on. We're listening."
"That's all there is to tell, Professor, except that we carried the man down here and there he is."
Professor Zepplin stroked his bristling whiskers reflectively.
"What is your name, my man?" he asked stepping up to the prisoner.But the fellow made no reply.
"I said what is your name?" repeated Professor Zepplin.
"What's that to you, old Whiskers?"
The professor started, a faint touch of color showing under his tan, while audible chuckles might have been heard from the boys in the background.
"Such language will not help you. What is your name?"
"Yours will be Mud when I git out of this, you old scarecrow! Don't you stand there jawing over me. I don't like it," added the prisoner, so savagely that the professor shrank back a little.
"It's no use to question him, professor," spoke up Tad. "He won't answer questions."
"I question our right to hold him," said Professor Zepplin. "We have no proof that he is the man who shot at us."
"I've got proof that he assaulted me," bristled Ned.
"And I that he shot at me four times," added Tad. "I should think that were proof enough. What would you do, Professor?"
"I was thinking that we should let the man go with an admonition."
"No, no, no," protested Chunky. "I don't want to be shot up again to-day."
"Don't be afraid, little boy," urged Rector. "We are not going to let the man go—-not if I have to fight for it."
"Professor, this fellow thought us Rangers," began Tad.
"Rangers?"
"Yes. He admitted in his questioning of Ned that he thought we wereRangers, or that we had been employed by the Rangers to run him down.That is why he sought to kill us."
"But surely you assured him we were not," protested Professor Zepplin.
"Little stock did he take in our assurances," scoffed Ned. "You might as well talk to the wind."
"But what are we going to do with him, boys?"
"I have thought of that," replied Tad. "It is my idea that he is a bad man. He must be, else the Rangers would not be looking for him. He has proved that he is a dangerous customer to be at large—-"
"Yes, he's large, all right," mumbled Stacy. "As I was saying, it seems to me to be our duty to turn him over to the officers of the law."
"Where?"
"I don't know. Is there any town near here?"
"Some twenty miles to the southeast, I believe," answered the professor.
"Then that is where we must take him."
"We may find, then, that we have made a mistake," objected the professor, still doubtful about the wisdom of the course proposed by Tad Butler.
"Then we will make a complaint against him ourselves," answered Tad firmly. "I don't propose to let him off after what he has done. Why, were we to let that man go our lives wouldn't be worth a cent. He would shoot us before the night was over. No, Professor, he must be held prisoner until we can get him to town."
"But we can't go on to-night."
"No. The morning will be time enough. We will give him some food."
"Let me feed the animal," urged Stacy.
"You have steady business performing that office for yourself," retorted Ned Rector.
"In the morning we will take him to town. Shall we get some supper now?"
"Yes. I will think over your proposal in the meantime. Stacy, you might gather some more wood for the fire. Ahem! This has been a most remarkable proceeding all the way through."
"You would have thought so if that fellow had jumped on you as he did on me," growled Ned Rector. "I thought the mountain had fallen down on me. He is bad medicine."
Tad by this time was getting out the things for supper. They were late with this meal owing to circumstances over which they had not had full control, though matters were now pretty well in the hands of the Pony Rider Boys.
"You had better tell us who and what you are. You have heard what has been said here, my man," said the professor returning to the prisoner.
"I reckon I've heard enough. I reckon, too, that you've made a mistake. I ain't what you think. I'll tell you, now that the fresh young feller isn't listening."
"Do so," urged Professor Zepplin, preparing to listen.
"Lean over so the others won't hear."
"Surely."
"You're a right smart old party and I don't mind talking to you, for you've got right smart sense and you'll understand what I'm getting at."
"Say what you have to say, my man. I am listening."
"Between you and me I'm an officer. I'm looking for some parties that have been cutting up didoes down in these parts of late. When I saw your party I thought you were the lawbreakers, so I up and let go. I saw that there were too many for me and it was the only chance I had to—-"
"But surely you didn't have to kill us."
"I didn't kill you, did I?"
"True; true."
"I was telling you, I thought you were they and I let go a few shots, just as a tickler. You see, I could have picked you off one at a time just as easy as eating pie. I'm a dead shot, I am."
"Then you only sought to drive us off?" questioned the professor.
"Yes, that's it. You're a wise old party. They're a bad lot, you know."
"But what about this assault on my boys?" demanded the professor.
"Same thing. I thought they were them."
"Your grammar is shocking, my man, but what you say is deserving of careful consideration. You say you took us to be bad men?"
"Sure I did."
"Who did you think we were?"
"Tuck O'Connor and his crowd."
"Who are they?"
"Well, you see, they do some smuggling over the Rio Grande. Then again, they are up to a few other tricks that the public hasn't got on to yet. What I want to do is to get away from here, quiet-like, so the youngsters won't get wise in time to cut up. Of course I ain't afraid of them. I don't want to hurt them, you see."
"I see," observed the professor dryly.
"I've got to get away to-night. If I'm held till morning I'll have to take you all in. You'll all have to go back with me to State Line and you'll be locked up for interfering with an officer."
"How comes it that you feared we were Rangers then, if this be true?"
"Aw, I was jest bluffing. I wanted the youngsters to give theirselves away, you see."
"I see," reflected the professor.
"Then you'll let me out?"
"I am afraid I can't do that."
"Then lean over here and I'll tell you a secret that'll make you change your mind."
The professor leaned closer. The man's hands, free from the wrists, were moving cautiously. All at once Professor Zepplin's revolver was snipped from its holster and a bullet tore through his clothes, taking some of the professor's skin with it. The professor fell back, staggering to one side out of range where he sank down to the ground holding a hand to his side.
So unexpected had been the shot that, for a few seconds, the boys stood dumbfounded.
"I'm shot! I'm shot!" yelled the professor.
Bang!
A bullet whistled close to the head of Tad Butler. Stacy Brown, who was just coming into camp with an armful of dry wood for the campfire, dropped his burden and with a howl made for shelter. Tad and Ned had sprung to one side so as to be out of range, while Walter Perkins had flattened himself on the ground.
"Lie still!" commanded Tad sternly as the professor started to get up from where he had sunk down. "Are you much hurt?"
"I—-I don't know."
"Drop that pistol, you!" commanded Tad, glowering at the prisoner.
The man laughed.
"I've got you children now," he sneered. "I'll pick you off unless you do as I tell you. Now you come over here. Walk straight, one hand out. Leave your guns behind. Cut me loose or you're a dead one," commanded the prisoner.
"Oh, am I?"
Tad glanced around to make sure that all the boys were out of range. Then with a quick leap he got entirely out of range of the revolver in the hands of the prisoner. Tad had thought he was out of range before, but the man on the ground had twisted the weapon about until its muzzle was pointing in Butler's direction.
But this time the lad got out of range without question. But he was no better off than before. Reaching for his revolver he made the discovery that he had thrown off his belt with revolver and cartridges before beginning to get supper. The others were in no better shape. Not a boy had his revolver on, and the professor's weapon was in the hands of the prisoner.
"I know a trick. I've played it once to-day and I can play it again," declared Tad, searching for a stone, while the others got well out of the way, watching T. Butler. In an emergency they always looked to him to get them out of their difficulties.
"Professor, you lie still. Don't move. I'll fix this fellow. You had better get a good bit farther off," advised the lad, observing a movement on the part of the mountaineer.
Suddenly the latter braced his head and digging his heels into the ground ran around, pivoting on his head. Tad anticipated the movement by running a few seconds in advance. For a few moments it was a race of wits. The lad as yet had not found a stone suited to his immediate requirements. He was using his eyes in this direction as well as watching the prisoner. Once the latter tried a shot at the boy. The bullet passed Butler rather too close for comfort, but the Pony Rider Boy appeared not to have heard the shot.
Not a word was being said by the lad's companions. The professor lay where he had fallen, the perspiration streaming from his face and body up the side of the canyon the big eyes of Chunky might have been seen peering through between the bushes at the exciting scene below. All at once Tad stooped over. When he straightened up with a bound that carried him several feet to one side, he held a good-sized stone in his right hand.
"Now will you drop that pistol?" demanded the Pony Rider Boy.
"I'll drop you!" roared the enraged enemy.
No sooner had he uttered the words than Tad, with a well-directed toss, dropped the stone fairly on the stomach of the man on the ground.
The prisoner uttered a yell that might have been heard a quarter of a mile away. Ere the yell had died out another stone landed nearly in the same place. The weapon dropped from the hands of the fellow, falling between his legs where he could not reach it without changing his position materially. This he tried to do in a series of quick twists and wriggles, though the boys knew from the expression on his face that he was suffering great pain. It was not surprising, in view of the fact that two rocks, each weighing from eight to ten pounds, had been dropped on his stomach.
The fellow found no opportunity to recover the lost weapon. Tad was upon him with a rush. Grabbing the mountaineer's feet he dragged the man roughly to one side.
"I guess that will be about all for you, my man. You may push us too far. I shan't promise to let you off so easily if you try any more tricks. Professor, are you much hurt?"
"I—-I don't know. I'm bleeding."
"Let's see what he did to you."
A quick examination developed the fact that the professor had sustained merely a flesh wound. It was bleeding very little now. Tad, at the professor's direction, washed and dressed the wound, binding a piece of cloth firmly about the waist.
"There, I guess you will be all right now. You may come down, Chunky. The fun is all over for the present. How did he happen to get you that way, Professor?"
Professor Zepplin explained how the prisoner had tricked him, declaring his belief in Tad Butler's statement that the prisoner was a bad man. The professor no longer urged the release of their prisoner. Tad smiled mirthlessly. Perhaps it was better that the professor should have had an object lesson. He would take no further chances with the fellow after that. As for the prisoner, he was fairly frothing at the mouth with rage.
Now that the excitement had come to an end for the moment Stacy Brown went about his task of gathering more wood for the fire. This time he went quite a distance down the canyon, carrying a torch that he might the better find that for which he was in search.
Stacy was busy gathering wood, muttering to himself as was his habit, when all of a sudden he straightened up, conscious that some one was standing beside him. As he rose the fat boy's nose nearly bumped into the muzzle of a revolver. The revolver was backed by a not unpleasant, but stern face.
"Wha—-wha——-what—-" stammered the fat boy. "Wh—-wh—-who—-"
"Not a sound, young man, if you value your life. Who and what are you?"
"I—-I'm a Pu—-Pu—-Pony Rider Boy."
"A what?"
"A Pu—-Pony Rider Boy."
"What are you doing here?"
"Ga—-gathering firewood."
"Who is your party?"
"Pro—-professor Ze—-Zep—-Zepplin and the boys," stammered the fat boy, trembling at the knees. "I haven't done anything, but I'm a bu—-bu—-bad man when I get ma—-mad."
The stern-faced stranger grinned appreciatively.
"You are not the fellows who came in at State Line the other day, are you?"
"Ye—-yes, we're the bu—-bu—-bunch."
"Oh, fudge!" groaned the stranger. "And to think I've been to all this trouble to round up a bunch of tenderfeet." The man thrust his revolver into its holster with a grunt of disgust.
"I'm Withem," he snapped.
"So am I," answered Chunky.
"I said, 'I'm Withem,'" repeated the stranger.
"I said I was too," reiterated the fat boy.
"Look here, what are you trying to get at, young man?" demanded the newcomer with a slight show of irritation. "Are you trying to make sport of me?"
"N—-n——no. You said you were with them—-with us—-with the crowd, you know. And I said I was too."
The stranger tilted back his head and laughed softly.
"You little cayuse, my name is Withem. W—-I—-T—-H—-E——M!" he spelled.
"Oh!"
A broad smile grew on the face of the Pony Rider Boy as he asked:
"What do you reckon you want here?"
"I'm just looking around a bit. I think I'll go to your camp with you."
Stacy surveyed his companion critically from head to foot.
"All right," he said. "If you want to take the chance, I'm willing."
"What chance?" demanded the stranger.
"Tad Butler might take it into his head to throw you out, or something, if he doesn't like your looks."
"I'll take the chance."
"All right; come on. But mind you, it'll be the worse for you if you try to start anything. We're a bad lot, we are, and don't you forget it."
A moment or so later the Pony Rider Boys were amazed to see Stacy strutting in with a stranger in tow.
"He's with us fellows," was the fat boy's announcement.
"Withem's my name," corrected the stranger.
"Yes, he's with 'em. But he hasn't said who it is he is with. I thought I was with him when he shoved a pistol under my nose."
"Good evening, sir," said Tad stepping up, directing a quick, keen glance of inquiry into the eyes of the newcomer. In that one glance Butler decided that the man was all right. It was a relief to see a face like that after their experience with the mountaineer.
As for the prisoner himself, who lay back in a shadow now, he started violently the instant he beheld the man who had just come into the camp of the Pony Rider Boys. The prisoner looked as if he had a severe case of ague for he fairly shrank within himself.
"You are just in time to join us for a bite, Mr. Withem. That is your name, is it not?"
"That's my name."
"Mine is Tad Butler. This is Professor Zepplin. The young man with whom you came in is Stacy Brown, otherwise Chunky, and here are Mr. Rector and Mr. Perkins. If you will gather around the fire I'll serve the chuck."
"Thanks, young man. You certainly know how to do the honors, as well as how to fry bacon. I could smell that across a county and I'd ride to it as fast as horseflesh could carry me."
"Are you from these parts?" asked the professor after they had seated themselves on the ground.
"Yes, I'm from everywhere," laughed Withem. "By the way, young man, that looks like the mark of a bullet on your cheek," he continued, bending a keen glance on Stacy.
"Then it looks like what it is," muttered the fat boy.
"I don't want to be inquisitive, but—-"
"No, it isn't considered good manners to be too curious down in this country, I've heard."
"Right you are, yonnker," laughed Withem, in which the others joined heartily. "Men have been known to get into trouble by being too curious, especially down on the Rio Grande. The——-"
The visitor's conversation was interrupted by something falling over from beside the tree against which he was sitting. That something was the rifle the boys had taken from the prisoner.
Withem picked up the gun with the purpose of replacing it. He was just standing it against the tree when suddenly he stopped, bringing the gun around in front of him where he could get a better view of it.
The Pony Rider Boys were regarding him questioningly, Tad almost suspiciously. Chunky was wondering if their visitor was going to shoot. The fat boy was ready to run at the first sign of trouble. He had stopped enough bullets for one day. As for the prisoner, his bloodshot eyes were taking in every movement of the man Withem.
"You seem to be much interested," suggested Tad.
Withem flashed a keen, searching look into Butler's face.
"I am."
"Why that's——-" began Walter, then subsided at a warning look from Tad.
"Pardon me, but will you be good enough to tell me where you got this rifle? I have good and sufficient reasons for asking the question," said Withem almost sternly.
"We took it from a man who had set out to shoot us up, sir," repliedButler.
"Tried to shoot you up? When? Where?" demanded the visitor with a trace of excitement in his tone.
"This afternoon and to-night. Stacy Brown's cheek bears evidence of the fellow's marksmanship. It seems the man took us to be officers—-Rangers, he said."
"Then you—-you talked with him?"
"We did," answered Tad with a twinkle in his eyes. "In fact we held quite a lengthy conversation with the gentleman."
"Explain what you are getting at." Withem was deeply interested in the scant information that had been given to him. They saw that he was containing himself with difficulty.
"Tell, Mr. Withem. Don't beat about the bush," advised the professor.
"Yes; tell me what became of the fellow who shot you up," urged the visitor.
"What became of him, sir?"
"Yes, yes!"
"Why we caught and made him prisoner."
"What!"
"Yes, sir, and we have him now," smiled Tad Butler.
"You've got him now? Where is he?" roared the visitor springing to his feet, permitting the captured weapon to fall to the ground.
"He is over there in the bushes," said Tad. "However, I think you had better wait until I get over there before you pay him a visit. I have a sort of proprietary interest in that fellow and I don't propose to have any monkey business. He nearly killed Professor Zepplin, bound though he is. Wait one moment, please. Why do you wish to see the man?"
"Because I think I know him. Gentlemen, I am a Ranger. I am Lieutenant Joe Withem, and I have good reasons to believe your prisoner is a man whom I have been anxious to meet for some time. I am ready to be shown."
Tad wonderingly led the way over to their captive, the lieutenant following in quick, nervous strides, the others of the party bringing up the rear, Chunky lugging a rifle which he kept in position for instant use in case the stranger should seek to liberate their prisoner. But there was little danger of Lieutenant Joe Withem doing anything of the sort,
Tad had snatched a burning brand from the fire, carrying it along with him so that Withem might get a good look at the prisoner. The lad considered it a fortunate coincidence that the Ranger lieutenant should have visited their camp at that particular time.
The instant Withem set eyes on the prisoner he uttered an exclamation under his breath, while the prisoner glared up at him with menacing eyes.
"Hullo, Dunk," greeted the Ranger. "You seem to be in limbo. I reckon you bit off more'n you could chew, for once in your life. Thought you were shooting up Rangers, did you? Instead you barked up against some tenderfeet who were too much for you. I guess you ain't quite so smart as you thought you were."
"I reckon you've made a mistake," growled the prisoner. "I don't know what you're chewing about."
"That's all right, Dunk. I don't reckon it makes any difference what you think about it. We've got you hard and fast, and you're done for. I reckon, too, that the captain will be glad to see you. He'll have a warm welcome for you, you bet. They certainly have you tied up for keeps," laughed the lieutenant, bending over to examine the prisoner's bonds. "They certainly have. Come on, let's finish that bacon," added the Ranger straightening up.
The party took its way back to the campfire, Stacy disgustedly throwing his gun on the ground at the foot of the tree where lay the prisoner's rifle.
"Now, sir, perhaps you will explain who and what this man is? You appear to be well acquainted with him," said the professor.
"I am that. But how did you get him?"
"Master Tad there will answer that question. He and Rector made the capture."
"You two younkers caught that man?" wondered the lieutenant.
"Yes, sir," replied Tad modestly. "But I'll admit that it was a pretty tough job. He nearly got us."
"Tell me about it."
Tad did so briefly, making as little of his own achievement as possible.He related also, how the prisoner had gained possession of ProfessorZepplin's revolver and of the latter's narrow escape from death.
"Boys, you've done a big thing. The captain will be interested in you," said Mr. Withem. "He's been wanting this man for a long time."
"You haven't told us who the fellow is, yet," reminded ProfessorZepplin.
"He is Dunk Tucker, sir, one of the most dangerous customers infesting the border. We have been on his trail for weeks, but he's managed to give us the slip every time. We never expected to capture him alive. We expected to have to shoot him on sight, which we probably would have done."
"Is it possible?" murmured the professor. "I did not suppose such conditions existed on the border at this late day."
"They do not, ordinarily."
"What has the man Tucker done?"
"Done? It would be easier to tell you what he hasn't done. He's committed pretty nearly every crime in the calendar and some that aren't in the almanac. He is one of a band of thieves that has been operating on the border for months. They are smugglers and thieves. They have even gone back to the old style of stock stealing. Up to date it is estimated that they have run across the border into Mexico several hundred head of stock. The ranchers are up in arms. The Rangers have been called in to put the Border Bandits out of business. This is the first one of the gang that we have captured. And, after all, we didn't capture him. That was left for a bunch of plucky young tenderfeet—-two of them, to be exact.
"Furthermore, it is suspected that Dunk and some of the other bad men of his crowd are in the pay of German agents in Mexico. The Germans are trying to stir up trouble on this side of the line, and these border ruffians are ready to do anything for the sake of easy money, even at the expense of being traitors to their country. It is believed that German money is finding its way into their pockets. The hounds!" raged the Ranger.
"Surely these men have not resorted to force—-committed murder or anything of that sort?" interposed the professor.
"Not that we know of, though some of them did have a pitched battle with a rancher over on the western border of the state. A few stopped bullets, but so far as we know no one was killed. I am telling you all this in confidence. There are a good many in this thing whose names we do not know."
"You can make the prisoner confess, can you not?" asked ProfessorZepplin.
"Confess?" the lieutenant laughed. "You don't know these Border Bandits. No, they never confess. There will always be more or less trouble down on the Rio Grande. It is so close to Mexico, so easy to get across the border that bad men cannot resist taking advantage of it. That is why the Rangers are still in business. If it were not for the border we all should be looking for other jobs. As it is there aren't many of us left."
"How many?" asked the professor.
"Some thirty in the state, that is all. We are subject to the orders of the governor, though we're left pretty much to ourselves."
"Who is your commander?"
"Captain Billy McKay."
"That's the man Dunk named. He accused us of belonging to McKay's band of Rangers," said Rector.
"He did, eh?"
"Yes."
"I thought so. Still, he might have shot you up just the same, even if he had known you hadn't anything to do with us."
"Where is the rest of your party, Mr. Withem?" asked Tad.
"They're out on the trail," was the somewhat evasive answer. "I'll get in touch with them sometime to-night or to-morrow."
"But you will take Tucker with you, will you not?" asked Ned.
"I reckon I will," laughed the Ranger.
"Shall we take him along for you? You have no horse?" asked Tad.
"My nag isn't far from here," smiled the lieutenant. "I'll load him on like a sack of meal. He'll get a good shaking up, but it won't hurt Dunk. He's too tough to be bothered by a little thing like that. We'll land him in the calaboose in El Paso by the day after to-morrow. Where are you folks going?"
"We planned to do the Guadalupes, then go on down to the Rio Grande," answered Professor Zepplin.
Withem reflected.
"I reckon the captain will be wanting to see you. There's a reward out for Dunk. Captain Bill is on the square. He'll 'divvy' with you fairly."
"We are not looking for any rewards," spoke up Tad quickly. "You may tell him that whatever reward is paid, belongs to the Rangers. We are glad to have served you, but remember, we did so to save our own skins."
Withem extended his hand, grasping Tad's hand within it.
"You're the right sort, young man. I wish we had you with us."
"In the Rangers?"
"Yes, of course."
"I am afraid that would not be possible," smiled the Pony Rider Boy.
"Wholly impossible," affirmed Professor Zepplin with emphasis.
"I suppose so. However, I want you to see the captain. I'll tell you what to do." The lieutenant lowered his voice. "We will be in camp to-morrow night about twenty-five miles to the southwest of here. Know where Doble's Spring is?"
"No, sir."
"You can find it. The water gushes out of the rocks pretty high up, falling in a sort of spray. You can't miss the place. You'll hear it if it's after dark when you get there."
"And, further, you'll probably see a campfire, but sing out before you come in too close. Some of our boys are rather sudden when they're interrupted at night," grinned the Ranger.
"I should call it violent," declared Stacy. "The way you poked that pistol in my face back there was a caution. You nearly scared me out of a week's growth."
No one paid any attention to Chunky's interruption.
"Will your captain be there?" asked the professor.
"I reckon he will But I can't tell for sure. McKay is a pretty busy man. You don't know where to find him. He may be here to-night. and to-morrow morning he may be sixty or seventy miles away. You can't tell about Billy McKay."
"Is there any danger of our having difficulties with any of this fellow's companions?" asked the professor apprehensively.
"I reckon not. At least there won't be after you have come up with our party. We'll see to that."
"Where are their headquarters—-in these mountains?" questioned Tad.
"We don't know. That's what we're trying to find out. We have reckoned they had their hang-out here, but we haven't found it yet"
"How many are in this band of Border Bandits?" asked Butler.
"There are some that we don't know. We do know a few of them, however.For instance, there's the Mexican, Espinoso, known as the 'Yellow Kid.'Then there's Greg. Gonzales, a half-breed Mex bandit, and Willie Jones."
"Willie Jones! That's a funny name," laughed Stacy. "That doesn't sound very savage. I shouldn't be afraid of a fellow with a name like that."
"You would if you knew him. Willie is a dude. He dresses like a city fellow with all the frills he can pile on, and he has the manners of a city chap too. But you look out for Willie. There isn't a colder blooded man in the state than Willie Jones. He's quick as lightning on the gun and can hit a bull's-eye with his own eyes shut."
"If he is any worse than our prisoner over there, I don't think I care to make his acquaintance," replied Butler with a laugh.
"He is, young man. You'd know Dunk to be a bad man the first time you saw him. You wouldn't think it of Willie and by the time you get him sized up, it's too late to do you any good. I hope you don't meet with Willie and try to land him. If you do you'll be carried out on a litter, reduced to a pulp."
"Br—-r——r—-r!" shivered Chunky.
"Where—-where is this bad man supposed to hide himself?" asked the professor.
"I wish I knew," sighed the Ranger. "It would be worth a cold thousand dollars to me and perhaps some more. There's a price on Willie's head. But what's the use speculating about it? We'll get him some day, but he'll be a dead one when we do. I'd a sight rather capture him alive."
The boys listened to all this with deep interest. They had never come in contact with such cold-blooded discussion over human lives. They began to understand something of the things they had read concerning conditions in the Lone Star State in the early days when men's passions ran riot; when practically the only law of the land was the law of the gun. Now, conditions had changed. It was only in certain localities that lawlessness reigned in Texas, but these were bad spots, as evidenced by the presence of the Rangers, that intrepid body of men that for thirty years had been the terror of evildoers. The Rangers were pitted against a worthy foe in this instance, though it was a certainty that in time the Rangers would get their men, either dead or alive.
"And now I reckon I'll be going," decided the lieutenant, after having partaken heartily of the appetizing meal. "I'll be expecting you at the Spring when we get there to-morrow."
"Thank you; we will endeavor to be there. It will be a pleasure to meet your commander. We may get some useful advice from him."
"We'll bring up your horse if you will tell us where he is," offeredTad.
"Thanks, pard. He's on the other side of the creek about fifteen rods from here."
Accompanied by Ned, Tad hurried down, but found some difficulty in locating the horse, so carefully had the animal been secreted. Withem smiled when he saw them coming back.
"I guess you boys are all right," he nodded.
They helped him load the prisoner over the horse's back, after which, giving each of the party a cordial shake of the hand, Lieutenant Withem rode away. They observed that his rifle was resting across the body of the prisoner, as if the lieutenant were looking for trouble. The trouble came sooner than they expected. The Ranger had been gone less than twenty minutes when a volley of rifle shots crashed out.
"He's attacked!" cried Tad.
"Quick! Put out the fire!" shouted the professor.
"Don't wait for the fire. We must go to his assistance!" answered Tad, snatching up his rifle and making a bolt for his pony. "Come on, boys, we've got something to do this time."
"Stop!" commanded the professor.
"What, sit here while a band of bandits are perhaps murdering Lieutenant Withem? I can't do that. You stay here, Professor. We will take care of ourselves. Don't worry about us. Chunky, you'd better stay here with the professor. You haven't got sand enough to—-"
"What, me stay here?" shouted the fat boy, starting for his own mount."I guess you don't know what kind of a man I am. Come on, fellows.Whoop!"
Stacy leaped into his saddle. Ned Rector and Walter Perkins already had taken to their saddles. The professor saw that it was useless to try to stop the boys. He groaned aloud. But Professor Zepplin was very active for his years. Ere the enthusiastic Pony Riders had started to gallop away the professor had made a flying leap into his saddle and a few seconds later was pounding down the canyon, along the West Fork, in the wake of the racing Pony Rider Boys.
"There they are!" cried Tad, as bursting out on the plain they saw vicious flashes of light, accompanied by the crashing of guns.