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CHAPTER VI
THE RUSTLERS
Diamond X ranch was one of the largest in that part of the country. Mr. Merkel's holdings were in one of our western states, not far from the Mexican border, which fact was not altogether pleasing to him. It made it too easy for cattle thieves to operate, and more than once Diamond X had suffered from depredations of the "rustlers," as they were called, doubtless from the fact that they "rustled" or "hustled" cattle that were not their own, off lawful ranges.
But it was all part of the day's work, and Mr. Merkel's ranches were too valuable to be disposed of easily, even though their proximity to Mexico, the home of lawless "Greasers" and half breeds, was too close for ease of mind.
Diamond X, like many other western ranches, took its name from the brand used to mark the cattle that fed on its succulent grass and drank its abundant water. The brand was a diamond with the letter X in the centre, a mark easily recognized, even at a distance. Other marks were used on other and adjoining ranches, Mr. Merkel owning two others, one of which went by the name Square M, from the fact that the distinguishing brand was a square with the letter M inside. The other's mark was a triangle with a B in it, that ranch being known among the cowboys as the Triangle B.
Double Z was a ranch adjoining that of the Diamond X on the north, Hank Fisher being the proprietor, while to the west was the Circle T ranch, its cattle being marked with a large circle, in which the letter T appeared, it being owned by Thomas Ogden, a friend of Mr. Merkel.
"Gosh! But your father has a lot of cows!" exclaimed Nort, as he and his brother rode along through the early evening, beside Bud. "Must be a million of 'em," added the city youth as, from a rise, he caught a glimpse of many herds, some restrained from wandering by fenced ranges, and others being slowly driven along by cowboys, who waved to Babe, Bud, and the city lads.
"Not quite a million!" laughed Bud. "And we don't call 'em cows, though some of 'em are, of course. They're cattle, or steers. Mother keeps a cow or two for the sake of the milk, and of course our men are called cowboys, or punchers, and this is cow country. But we don't speak of 'em as herds of cows."
"Glad you told me," murmured Nort. "I'm going to be a ranchman some day, and I want to learn all I can."
"Same here!" commented his brother.
It was a wondrously beautiful night, calm and clear, with the stars shining overhead more brightly than Nort and Dick had ever before seen them. It is the clearness of the atmosphere in the West that renders objects so plain at a distance, that brings out the beauty of the stars and which also enables such wonderful moving pictures to be made. In the East the day is rare when there is not some haze. It is just the reverse in the West.
Through the silent night rode the boy ranchers, for Nort and Dick were beginning to think of themselves in that class. The cousins rode together, with Babe in the rear, lugging the bottles of antiseptics that were destined for the injured men.
"What are those cowboys riding around the cattle for?" asked Nort, as they turned aside from a large herd restlessly moving amid a constant dull rumble.
"They're driving 'em over to the railroad, to be shipped," explained
Bud. "That's what dad raises cattle for – ships 'em away for beef.
This bunch has been fattened up on a range we keep specially for that.
This is a good time to sell now, prices are high, so we're disposing of as many as we can.
"The cowboys will drive 'em to the railroad, taking their time, so as not to run all the fat off the steers. The heavier they are the more money we get for 'em. I guess they won't go much farther to-night, though," he added, with a look back at the herd they had passed. "This is the first day they've been driven, and we always go a bit slow at first."
"Say, but it's great! Wonderful!" exclaimed Nort, half rising in his stirrups and breathing deep of the pure, keen air, for it was now chilly.
"You said an earful!" commented his brother. "I wouldn't have missed this for anything!"
"Glad you like it," murmured Bud.
"What's that – a wolf? A prairie wolf?" asked Nort, suddenly as a sort of whine broke the silence of the night, punctuated otherwise only by the soft footfalls of the horses.
"Wolf? No!" chuckled Bud. "Don't let Babe hear you say that. It's him – singing! Lots of the men do it."
As Bud's whisper died away, the assistant foreman let his voice soar from a whine into a more or less of a roar, as he intoned:
"Oh, sing to me not of the joys of a city
Where innocent cowboys are left in a trance.
Give me a hoss, an' some room to do ridin',
When I am daid bring me back to the ranch!"
"Does he get that way often?" asked Dick in a whisper, as the cowboy began on the second verse of what promised to be a lengthy song.
"More or less!" answered Bud. "The cowboys sing a lot, and some haven't half bad voices. The songs, too, are corkers, some of 'em. They sing 'cause it's lonesome ridin' line, and then, too, it seems to sort of soothe the cattle. Dad has told us, lots of times, where a stampede has been stopped just by the bunch singing songs."
"Good idea," commented Nort. "Oh, but this is the life for me!" he chanted.
"Only this ride isn't lasting long enough," said Dick. "That's the camp, down in there; isn't it?" he asked his cousin, pointing ahead toward where, in the light of the newly risen moon, could be observed some white objects.
"Those are the professors' tents," declared Bud. "We got here sooner than I expected. Talking to you chaps made the time pass quickly."
"What do you think of those fellows, anyhow?" asked Nort, in a low voice of his cousin. It was evident he referred to the two scientists who had been attacked that afternoon.
"I don't know what to think," admitted Bud, frankly. "I never heard of anything in this part of the country, more valuable than gold, that was worth prospecting after. There hasn't even any gold been found, as far as I know, though there were rumors that once a prospector made a lucky strike about ten miles from here. But these men do seem to have something they're afraid will be taken from them."
"Well, it needn't worry us," commented Dick. "We're going to be cow punchers – not miners."
"You said it!" declared Nort.
By this time they were within the range of several fires gleaming in the midst of the camp of the scientists, and a moment later Professor Blair emerged from the tent that had been so jealously guarded during the day.
"Oh, it's you; is it?" he asked as he recognized the boys and Babe.
"It is very kind of you, to take this trouble."
"'Sall right," remarked the assistant foreman, as he handed over the bottles of medicine. "Tell th' boss to use it just as it is – don't need any dilutin' with water."
"Oh, you mean Professor Wright," said the other, so translating the cowboy's use of the word "boss."
"Yep," answered Babe. "Tell the boss to use it straight."
"Well, he isn't here just now," said the other. "The men who were shot seem to be doing well, however. I'll attend to them myself. Thank you again."
His voice was cultured and his manner pleasant. But it was evident that he invited no confidences.
Little could be made out, even in the moonlight and the gleam of the fire, save the usual scattered camp outfits, and the white tents.
The boy ranchers and Babe had done what they set out to do – deliver the medicine, and no incident had marked their trip, unless the singing of the assistant foreman can be called such.
"Some of us'll ride over to-morrow," promised Babe, as he and the boys turned to take the trail back to the ranch.
"Thank you, but we may not be here," remarked Professor Blair. "We may move on. But thank you, just the same."
"Don't mention it," begged Babe, slightly sarcastic of the other's cultured accent and words. "We aim to please, an' be neighborly."
"Of which you have given ample evidence," was the rejoinder.
"Guess that'll hold him for a while," murmured Bud to his cousins.
"Good-nights" were called and the outfit from Diamond X ranch was on its way again. Nort and Dick were eagerly questioning Bud about western matters, learning to their delight that there would be chances to go hunting and fishing after the big round-up, and Babe was beginning on about the forty-seventh verse of his favorite song, when Bud suddenly stopped in the midst of telling some incident, and gazed intently across the rolling range.
"What's the matter?" asked Dick in a whisper, for the silence of the night, and the strangeness of their surroundings, seemed to call for whispers.
"I thought I saw cattle moving," said Bud. "Yes, I do!" he went on, quickly. "Look, Babe!"
Babe broke off his song at a point where a dying cowboy was begging to be "toted back to the chuck house," and looked to where the boy rancher pointed.
"That's it, shore as rattlers!" the assistant foreman said. "It's about time they tried suthin' like this! Got your guns, boys?"
"What for?" asked Nort, a thrill of excitement leaping through his veins. "What is there to shoot?"
"Rustlers!" said Bud, grimly. "Somebody – Greasers, likely – are trying to run off some of our fat steers! Come on, we'll ride 'em down!" He clapped spurs to his horse, an example followed by Nort and Dick, but, quick as they were, Babe had shot ahead of them, and in the moonlight the city lads caught the gleam of his gun as he pulled it from the holster.
CHAPTER VII
A CRY IN THE NIGHT
Needless to say that Nort and Dick were thrilled through and through. Having lived in a city nearly all of their lives, though with the usual city lad's dreamings of adventures in the open, of camps, of desperate measures against desperate men, they had never hoped for this.
"Crickity! Think of it!" hoarsely whispered Nort to his brother as they galloped along side by side. "We haven't been here a day yet, and we're run into cattle rustlers!"
"Great!" commented Dick. "Oh, boy!"
"We haven't run into 'em yet, that's the trouble," spoke Bud grimly, as his pony worked in between the two brothers. "But we will in a little while – Babe'll fix 'em."
"Can't we take a hand?" asked Nort eagerly, as his hand sought the weapon at his side.
"We may have to," Bud admitted, "but dad doesn't think I'm old enough, yet, to mix up in a man-sized fight. Maybe he's right, but he always tells me to hold back until I'm needed."
"We can take a hand then, can't we?" asked Nort eagerly.
"Sure thing!" exclaimed Bud. "But there may not be any need of a scrap. These rustlers know they're caught now, and they may run for it. They can't get away with the steers, anyhow, without a fight. Of course if they get Babe covered – and us – they'll make their getaway, but he may bluff 'em off."
"What does it all mean, anyhow?" asked Dick, as the assistant foreman spurred off through the night, following the trail of the now running steers. If there were rustlers driving the cattle away the men themselves gave no sign, but remained hidden.
"It means cattle rustlers – that's all," explained Bud, as he led the way for his cousins to follow, since the young representative of the Diamond X ranch knew the trail. "Rustlers are just men who take other folk's cattle, drive 'em off, change the brands and sell 'em wherever they can. Sometimes they get away with it and sometimes they don't!"
"And are they running off your dad's cattle now?" asked Nort.
"Looks that way," admitted Bud, "though I haven't seen any of the men doing it. You know some of our cowboys drove in a bunch of fat steers from one of dad's distant ranches the other day. They're being taken over to the railroad to be shipped. Not the station where you fellows came in, but another, about two days' trip from here. It's a bunch of these cattle that's being hazed away from us, I reckon."
"I didn't know they hazed steers, like they do college Freshmen," ventured Dick.
"Hazing cattle means to sort of work 'em along easy like – drive 'em where you want to go," explained Bud. "We have to do a lot of hazing when we have the round-up – that's when the cattle owners send their cowboys to collect the animals that have been feeding on the open range during the year. Each man separates into a bunch the cattle with his brands, and also the little calves, or the mavericks, and hazes them toward his corrals."
"What's mavericks?" asked Nort. He could not forbear the question, even though considerable excitement seemed just in the offing. He wanted to learn all he could about ranch life.
"A maverick gets its name from an old Texas ranchman named Sam Maverick," answered Bud. "He didn't brand his cattle, and one day, during a stampede, his steers mixed in with a lot more that were branded. He and his men cut them out and hazed over to his range all cattle that weren't branded. Every cow, calf or steer that didn't have a brand on was called one of Maverick's, and so we call, now, any unbranded animal a 'maverick.' Anybody who finds it can brand it and claim it as his, though; in some places all the mavericks are bunched together and divided. But say, I wonder what Babe's doing, anyhow? I haven't heard a shot, and he must be up to that bunch of rustlers now, if that's what they were."
"What else could they be?" asked Nort.
"I don't know," Bud replied. "Anyhow, here's some of the cattle. Look out you don't run into 'em!" he called sharply, as he pulled in his pony.
He spoke just in time to warn Nort and Dick, for, in another instant, they found themselves among the tail-enders of a bunch of cattle that had run from them at first.
No men were in sight – not even Babe – and there was a haze of clouds over the moon now, and a sort of fog close to the ground, that prevented clear vision.
"Are these your cattle?" asked Dick.
"Tell you in a minute," responded the young cattleman. He rode up alongside one of the animals and focused on its rump the gleam from an electric flash light. Bud carried one of these mighty handy pocket articles, which are much more effective than matches for making observations at night. In the bright gleam of the little light the boy ranchers saw, plainly branded in the hide of the animal, a large diamond, with the letter X in the centre.
"Dad's stock – all of 'em, I reckon!" exclaimed Bud, as he flashed his torch on others in the bunch, revealing more of the Diamond X brand.
"But where are the rustlers?" asked Nort, in a tense whisper, and his hand sought the holster where his newly-acquired weapon rested.
"I don't know," began Bud. "They may have ridden off, or it may be that – "
He stopped suddenly and listened. Dick and Nort heard, as did Bud, the rapid approach of a horseman. In an instant Bud had switched off his pocket electric light, and then in the half hazy light of the partly obscured moon he and his cousins peered forward. Nort and Dick had drawn their guns, an example set them by Bud.
"Don't do any shooting until you hear me," ordered Bud. "There may be no need of it!"
The rider, unseen as yet, was coming nearer and nearer, the thud of his horse's feet pounding hard on the turf. He seemed to be approaching from the direction in which Babe had disappeared.
In another instant the rider was pulling his horse to a quick stop beside Bud's animal, and when a beam of misty moonlight flashed out from beneath a cloud it was seen that the assistant foreman of Diamond X ranch had returned.
"Oh!" exclaimed Nort, and there was almost a note of disappointment in his voice because the rider did not develop into a cattle rustler.
"Did you see any of 'em?" asked Bud eagerly.
"Not a hair," answered Babe Milton, who proved that he could be active enough when occasion called for it, in spite of his size and weight. "But I heard some one riding off down the gully, and if it was any of our boys, or any of the fellows around here, they wouldn't have run. Besides, these steers belong to the bunch Happy Day is hazin' over to the railroad. They didn't get cut out by themselves."
"Not much," agreed Bud, while Nort and Dick listened eagerly.
"So I'm going on a little farther," said Babe. "You fellows stay here, and if I don't get back in an hour – well, you'll know something happened."
"Can't we come?" asked Dick, eagerly.
"You'd better stay here," advised Babe. "Somebody'll have to ride herd on these steers, and I can deal with those rascals better'n you boys – though I may need your help later. Anyhow, Bud, you stay here, and herd 'em in till I get back – if I do."
"And if you don't?" asked Bud. There was a world of meaning in those few words, for cattle rustlers were desperate men.
"If I don't, ride back to the ranch an' tell the boss," spoke Babe simply, as if it was all in the day's work – or night's.
"All right," agreed Bud. He realized that though he was the son of the owner of Diamond X ranch, in this case the word of Babe exceeded even his heritage.
Turning his horse quickly, after a brief examination of his saddle girths, Babe spurred away into the haze of the cloudy moonlight, leaving the boy ranchers to guard the cattle. The animals, after their run, were content to remain quiet now, moving about a bit uneasily, and rumbling as if in protest now and then. They were all full-grown beasts, ready for the market, and valuable.
"S'pose he'll get any of 'em?" whispered Nort.
"Can't say," answered Bud, briefly. "Babe generally does get what he goes after, though." This was significant.
In silence, broken only by the occasional lowing of the cattle, the boy ranchers waited – waited for they knew not what. And then, as suddenly as an explosion, came a cry in the night – and such a cry!
An unearthly noise of long drawn out howling notes, mingled with roars, the crescendo effect ending in a peal of weird yells that were like the cries of a laughing hyena, mingled with the sardonic wails of a baboon.
CHAPTER VIII
"THE PROFESSOR!"
Loud and long drawn out was that weird cry of the night. It sent shivers down the spines of Nort and Dick, and they both confessed, afterward, that if they had not been wearing the heavy range hats, supplied them by Bud, that their hair would surely have risen and stood up straight.
Then, as suddenly as it had come to them out of the half darkness, the fiendish noise ceased, dying away in what seemed to be sobbing, insane laughter. With a swallow or two, to wet his parched lips and fear-dried throat, Dick asked in a whisper:
"What – what was that?"
Like an echo came his brother's question:
"Was somebody killed?"
Bud's hearty laugh relieved the tension.
"It was only a coyote," said the boy from the ranch.
"A coyote!" repeated Nort and Dick in unison.
"Yes; you'll see plenty of 'em, and you must have heard of 'em. Little animals, sort of half wolf, half dog. They hang about for something to eat, and they sure can howl!"
"Howl!" exclaimed Nort. "If that's a howl I want to know it! Of all the infernal noises – "
"You said it!" exclaimed his brother. "Was that his death cry, Bud?
Did Babe shoot one?"
"No, of course not. It isn't as easy to shoot one of the pesky coyotes as you'd think, and it isn't much use. They don't do any particular harm around here. Besides, you didn't hear any shooting; did you?"
Dick was forced to admit that he had not, and he reproved himself for not using his faculties to better advantage. He was beginning to realize that if he was to be a westerner, an outdoor lad and a rancher, he must learn to observe, something that Bud had already acquired in large measure.
"Do they always howl that way?" asked Nort, as he shoved back into his holster the gun he had half drawn again.
"Not always – lots of times it's worse!" chuckled Bud.
"Worse!" cried Dick. "I don't see how it could be. What do they do it for?" he asked, as, once again, that strange cry welled forth on the night.
"Oh, just to keep each other company, I reckon," answered Bud. "Same as dogs bark. This may be a lone coyote calling to his mate; or he may be summoning the pack to feed on a dead calf, or something like that. I reckon they always howl pretty free on moonlight nights. We're used to 'em."
"Don't believe I'd get used to that if I lived here a hundred years," commented Dick, as, for the third time, the cry rose and fell, even louder and more horrible than before.
"The cattle don't mind 'em," said Bud. "In fact it seems to sort of soothe 'em. Look, some of the steers are lying down."
This was so. In the clearer moonlight which prevailed for a few moments, the lads from the city saw numbers of the bunch of cattle resting easily on the grass. They were either tired out from the rapid pace at which they had been driven, or had concluded that they were to stay there for the night.
"Come on," suggested Bud, a moment later, as he urged his horse forward. "Hit it up!"
"Where?" asked Dick.
"We'll ride herd for a few minutes, to make sure none of 'em stray off. I can't see just how many there are in this bunch, the light is so uncertain."
Nort and Dick followed their cousin, slowly circling the bunch of cattle on which an attempt had been made to drive off. There were about fifty, as Bud roughly estimated, when he and his cousins had completed the circuit, thus "riding herd," as it is called, to distinguish it from "riding line," when the cowboys move slowly up and down along the line of fences that enclose the more modern ranches.
Diamond X ranch consisted of both sorts. Mr. Merkel owned a number of large expanses of land, completely fenced in, and on these grazed thousands of cattle.
He also took advantage of the open range, letting some of his animals mingle on those vast expanses in common with steers and cows from other ranches. Some of the open range was richer in grass than the fenced-in portions, but there was a certain amount of additional work attached to the use of the open range. It meant round-ups twice a year, and the branding of cattle which were claimed as the property of the different owners.
In places where there were no fences to keep the animals from straying it was often necessary to "ride herd." That is, the cowboys, night and day, rode slowly around the bunch of steers, keeping them from straying or stampeding. At times they were "hazed," or driven to other feeding places, or to water, until such time as they were collected and driven to the railroad to be shipped.
Where stout wire fences held the cattle within bounds the work of the cowboys was easier, but even here "riding line" was necessary, as one could never tell when a break might be made in the fence, or when rustlers might cut the wire, to enable them to drive off a choice herd, or part of it.
So the boy ranchers rode herd, in a fashion, the two city lads gazing off through the half darkness, across the rolling prairies where, for all they knew, Babe might be trailing the rustlers or engaged in a desperate fight with them.
"Though I reckon he didn't come up to 'em," ventured Bud, after a wait of half an hour, during which no sign or sound had come from the assistant foreman.
"Will he come back here?' asked Nort.
"Sure – if he can," answered Bud, significantly.
"How long'll we wait?" asked Dick.
"Can't say – exactly," answered Bud. "But say, I forgot about you fellows," he went on, quickly. "You've traveled all day, and must be tired. It isn't far back to the ranch, and I can start you on the plain trail. I don't mind staying here alone – I've done it before."
"Go back? I guess not!" exclaimed Nort.
"Forget it!" advised Dick. "This is just what we want!"
"Well, if you like it," began Bud, "I s'pose – "
"Like it?" cried the two city lads in unison. "It's just what we came out for," added Nort.
"Well, morning'll come, sooner or later, though I expect Babe'll be back long before then," Bud went on. "Those rustlers have probably given him the slip, and – "
"Hark!" suddenly whispered Nort. "I hear some one coming."
The noise of an approaching horse could be made out. It was approaching slowly, seeming to stumble now and then. There was an uneasy movement among the cattle, and the boys peered eagerly forward, their hands on the butts of their guns in the holsters.
"Is it Babe?" whispered Dick.
"I don't know," answered Bud. "Doesn't ride like him, but – "
A moment later, from out of the shadow cast by the cattle, a solitary horseman rode, almost stumbling along. At first he could not clearly be made out but suddenly the haze cleared from the moon, and with startled eyes the boys recognized the rider.
"The professor!" gasped Bud, and Nort and Dick knew the horseman for the scientist from the mysterious camp they had recently left – Professor Hendryx Wright!
